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THE 
 
 HISTOIilCAL AND SCTENTIFTC 
 
 H kMl"'^ i'M 
 
 *, i 
 
 lll;i 
 
 liV MISCELLAKi'; 
 
 t 
 fe 
 
 ^oah at nnimsul liiirndf a^f : 
 
 coMPPismo 
 
 IMrORTANT EVENTS IN XIIE IHSTOBY of THE WORLD. BIOGHAPHIOAl. 
 8KSTCUEK 0?. MANY OF THB OllEAT 
 
 STATESMEN, ORATOT^S AND POETS, ' 
 
 i'HE r-' .TEST .RMS Of LiiKit* 
 
 HiiiCt: 
 
 t V», AXl, INTEKIrWlSO ANP IMPOKTAT.T l)ISSBBTATIOa« BPOK 
 ril'^ UoKF(;t AETii ASIl 8CIS.>«CKS, SI."".a AS 
 
 AQTROSiOMY, C UEMIbTR Y AND L'). liLOSOPHY, 
 
 muor .)f ■ itlantrat^a Description of the Ilussixu Kmpiro armie, »nH m^r.<.i.„ i» 
 
 Family Bible ; " " HiRtorf of iha Holy iimo," &« , '&o 
 
 ILLUL^TiUTui'. Wmi UVi'R TWO IIUNDRFI.) ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 TWO VOLUMl.:S IN (.)N''E. 
 
 OOTVr MBX7S, O. ^n ■ 
 
 ERT & LxJ. LEY, PUBLfSIlEH*^ 
 18 7, 
 
 J 
 
Ifc. 
 
 in '•^^•i'& 
 
 -nw «w>iiiwii ii ii >»rrit 
 
 I'IpMwii 1^11 
 
1 
 
 THE 
 
 HISTORICAL AND SCIENTIFIC 
 
 AMEKICAIf MISCELLANY; 
 
 A 
 
 couPFisixa 
 
 IMPORTANT EVENTS IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD, BIOQBAPHICAL 
 SKETCHES or MANY OP THE GREAT 
 
 STATESMEJf, ORATORS AND POETS, 
 
 OF DIFPBUHT A0R9 AND Dn-KBBKHT COUHTBIBS. 
 
 THE CHOICEST GEMS OF LITERATURE. 
 
 DBWRIMIVI MgATS, AKD INTKBE8T.NO AND IMPOBTANT DI88KBTATI0N8 UPOK 
 THB DBBFOL AUTg AND SCIBNCM, SDCH AS 
 
 ASTRONOMY, CHEMISTRY AND PHILOSOPHY. 
 BY KOBERT SE^RS, 
 
 ILLUSTRATED WITH OVER TWO HUNDRED ENGRAVINGS. 
 TWO VOLUMES IN ONE. 
 
 COLUMBUS, O. 
 
 SIEBERT & LILLEY, PUBLISHERS. 
 
 1867. 
 

 Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year i860, 
 
 bt henry miller & CO., 
 
 I Ue Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United Statei, in and for the Southern 
 
 Diatriot of OUo. 
 
 nsHN • budi, 
 ramut. 
 
 nnnv * ulut, 
 
 aiaBiaa. 
 
 /2 
 
 "//if Jm — 
 
»« 
 
 f{Ce 
 
 BSO, 
 
 nd for the Southen 
 
 ■nt * uiuT, 
 
 lA 
 
 / 2,i. 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 T is a trite and oft-repeated observation, that "knowledge is 
 power." It was this that raised Franklin from the humble 
 station of a printer's boy to the first honors of his country ; 
 that took Sherman from his shoemaker's bench, gave him 
 a seat in Congress, and there made his voice to be heard 
 among the wisest and best of his compeers ! It raised 
 Simpson from the weaver's loom to a place among the first 
 of mathematicians, and Herschel, from being a poor fifer's 
 boy in the army, to a station among the first of astronomers. It is the philoso- 
 pher's stone — the true alchymy that turns everything it touches into gold. 
 It is the sceptre that gives us dominion over nature ; the key that unlocks the 
 storehouse of creation, and opens the treasures of the universe! 
 
 The prime object of this Work is to disseminate this knowledge, combining 
 useful information, fitted alike to the capacity of the child and the adult. It is 
 intended also as a depository of valuable stores, garnered up from sources 
 which, fiom their magnitude, rarity, and costliness, are as sealed fountains to 
 the great mass of the reading community. In this volume, the choicest read- 
 ing is presented in a condensed form, illustrative of History, Geography, 
 the Fine Arts, Natural History, Agriculture and Rural Economy, 
 Arts and Sciences, Biography, Travels, &c. ; all of which are illus- 
 trated by engravings, several hundred in number — some of which are from 
 original drawings, made expressly l,. 'ha Work \ thus adding to the interest 
 of the text, by a direct appeal to the eje, conveying a more vivid and accurate 
 impression of the subject than could otherwise be given. Thus the title, 
 " The American Miscellany, " it has been the aim of the editor to sus- 
 tain by the nature of its contents, comprising the several branches of general 
 knowledge, fitted to supply the means of mental improvement and self-education. 
 " For," says an eminent writer, '• of all the amusements that can possibly be 
 imagined for a hard-working man after his daily toil, or in its intervals, there 
 is nothing like reading. It calls for no bodily exertion, of which he has already 
 had enough, or perhaps too much. It relieves his home of its dulness and 
 sameness. It transports him into a livelier and gayer, and more diversified 
 
 
 
 ■•«"»■■■'■*(■ 
 
I 
 
 PRBfACB. 
 
 and interesting scene ; and, while he enjoys himself there, he may forget the 
 evils of the present moment, with the great advantage of finding himself iIh 
 next day with the money in his pocket, or at least laid out in real necessuiies 
 and comforlfl for himself and family, and without a headache. Nay, it accom- 
 panies him to his next day's work, and, if what he had been reading be any- 
 thing above the idlest and lightest, gives him something to thi;;k of, besides the 
 mere mechanical drudgery of his every-day occupation — something he can 
 enjoy while absent, and look forward to with pleasure. If I were to pray for a 
 taste which should stand me instead, under every variety of circumstances, and 
 be a source of happiness and cheerfulness to me through life, and a shield 
 against its ills, however things might go amiss and the world frown upon me, it 
 would be a taste for reading." « 
 
 The cordial welcome with which his former Works have been received, and 
 their widely-extended popularity, induce the editor to cherish the hope that the 
 present volume will be favored with a reception no less fluttering to his efforts. 
 In the sincere aim to present a volume of solid, instructive, and entertaining 
 reading, fraught with a direct moral and religious tendency, and thus adapted 
 to improve the heart while it instructs the head — a volume especially suited to 
 the domestic circle, ho can not but fnel conscious that his labors have in some 
 fort deserved this compliment 
 
 ii 
 
 ti- 
 
HI 
 
 f, he may forget the 
 
 finding hiinMcIf tin 
 
 in real ncccssariefi 
 
 e. Nay, it nccom- 
 
 !0n reading bo aiiy- 
 
 hii.'lc of, bcaides tlie 
 
 ■something he can 
 
 ^ were to pray for a 
 
 circumstances, and 
 
 life, ond a shield 
 
 frown upon me, it 
 
 been received, and 
 h the hope that the 
 jring to his;efforls. 
 e, and entertaininff 
 , and thus adapted 
 sspecially suited to 
 ibors have in some 
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 AgrlcultnrsI Soienc* paoi 140 
 
 Allittons' AphorUtuM 415 
 
 Amtirica i3g 
 
 American Continent 174 
 
 American Scenerjr 270 
 
 Amhoret College, with new Cabinet and Ob- 
 
 lerratory 488 
 
 Anclunt Um of Klephanti in War 116 
 
 Amient Wine-Preis 131 
 
 Aitronomy, Lecture* on. ..72, 119, 185, 209. 
 
 232, 316 1 1 ; 
 
 D«auty of a Benerolent Life .'.V.'.!l59 
 
 Belem or Para 260 
 
 biography of John Wlnthrop, Fiwt Oct- 
 
 ' ernor of Magflachoiietts 178 
 
 Biography of Hon. Robert C. Wlnthrop.... 425 
 
 Biography of Rev Spencer H. Cone 499 
 
 Blankets 32 
 
 Bonks— their Publioatlon and Circulation.. 78 
 
 Bo-Peep 80 
 
 Boston Common 52 
 
 Boston Custom Houie 396 
 
 Boston Water- Works 494 
 
 Boundlessness of the Material UniTe««....108 
 
 Bounties of Nature 85 
 
 Bounties of Providence ~ 329 
 
 Bowling Green .','496 
 
 Burial Places and Foneral Rights 23 
 
 Burying a Priest In Slam 386 
 
 Burying Beetle 446 
 
 Catacombs of Paris 478 
 
 Christmas in Germany 33 
 
 Christopher Columbus, and the DiscoTery 
 
 of America 342 
 
 Church of St. Qudule, firussala .218 
 
 Cincinnati 418 
 
 Cod-Fishery '. 1 1] 
 
 Commerce and Intellectual Eminence 328 
 
 Consolations gg 
 
 Cotton-Bleaching 240 
 
 Courtship 202 
 
 Croton Aqueduct, New York '.'.!!411 
 
 Cultivation of the Mind 157 
 
 Cu Mous Clock 288 
 
 Curiosities of Arithmetic 256 
 
 Curiosities of Art 398 
 
 Curiosities of Science 80 
 
 Customhouse at Philadelphia 35 
 
 ^Dead Sea 77 
 
 /Diamonds !!..'.'.".!l26 
 
 Divisions of the Globe „..."!278 
 
 Duties of Sisters and Brothers 102 
 
 Early Pleasure 442 
 
 England to America, Address of Rev. Thos. 
 
 Timpson 258 
 
 English Language... ., 287 
 
 Esquimaux Indians ^214 
 
 Exercise for the Eyes 368 
 
 Expulsion of the Aoadians 138 
 
 Extent of the Uaited Statu rAOi 39 
 
 Fall of Babylon 279 
 
 Frankness and Reserve 294 
 
 Genius superior to the Sword 647 
 
 Girard Colloge for Orphans 471 
 
 Gold and Silver Mines of Mexloo 94 
 
 Government of the Temper 336 
 
 OuHrdian Angel 124 
 
 Gutta Percha 239 
 
 Habits of the Roman Ladi»s 879 
 
 Heat' stone 289 
 
 Hindoo Scholar I44 
 
 Hotel de Vllle, Paris 476 
 
 Hoi^e of Rothschild 388 
 
 How to Live 247 
 
 How to make Steel Qg 
 
 Importance of Self-Knowledge 243 
 
 Independence end Accumulation 870 
 
 Independence Hall, Philadelphia 4M 
 
 Indian Child's Grave 482 
 
 Indian Look 247 
 
 Indians in Oregon 288 
 
 Infant Education 382 
 
 John Hampden 601, 
 
 John Hancock Ifl 
 
 John Wlnthrop, Pirf,i; Governor of Conneo- 
 
 ticut SSQ 
 
 Kindness and Censoriouiness 113 
 
 Landing of Wlnthrop, and Settlement of 
 
 Boston 462 
 
 Law of Kindness....! 308 
 
 Llndley Murray 300 
 
 Literature of China 260 
 
 Literature of the Jews 246 
 
 London Gin Palace 135 
 
 Lycurgus, the Spari-n Lawgiver 144 
 
 Mammon and Mankind 15 
 
 Marriage , 255 
 
 Massachusetts State House 330 
 
 Memoir of Loui* Philippe 226 
 
 Memory 407 
 
 Mercantile Biography 450 
 
 Merchants' Exchange, New York 474 
 
 Mexico 205 
 
 Migrations of Birds 285 
 
 Moral Character of the Monkey 183 
 
 Mutual Dependonoe 14 
 
 Mutual Instruction Classes 93 
 
 Natural Theology 291 
 
 Neapolitans on the Seashore 106 
 
 Nests of Fishes 148 
 
 Now England Liberality, Schools, and In- 
 stitutions , 20 
 
 New Houses of Parliament 492 
 
 New Year's Day 11 
 
 New Zealand 163 
 
 Niagara Falls 64, 72 
 
 Noah Worcester, the American Apostle of 
 Peace 88 
 
 & 
 
 ^ 
 
 f 
 
 " -i 
 
 '.if* 
 
 .....J 
 
 fjfi^ 
 
it 
 
 6 
 
 EMBELLISHMENTS. 
 
 Night 
 
 Old City Hall in New York 298 
 
 Oregon 338 
 
 Our Country , 7 
 
 Our Parents 415 
 
 Peace Societies 321 
 
 Philosophy of a Tear 92 
 
 Pilgrim Fathers 419 
 
 Pittsburgh 447 
 
 Plan for Emancipation 47 
 
 Popular Taste 424 
 
 Power of Music 193 
 
 Progress 306 
 
 Public Libraries in Constantinople ,..292 
 
 Rambling Essay upon Rooms 372 
 
 Remedies against Moths 95 
 
 Reserches on Food 14] 
 
 Russia 198,"206,"406 
 
 Saint Pauls Church, New York 312 
 
 Saint Petersburg 354 
 
 Saint Thomas, West Indies !!240 
 
 Scenery in England 480 
 
 Secret of Success 296 
 
 Self-Qovernment 266 
 
 Shakers cf New Lebanon 132 
 
 Ship-Anchorage at Whampoa, China 304 
 
 Sierra Leone, Western Africa 172 
 
 Smithsonian Institute 442 
 
 Snow, its Nature, Formation, and Uses 455 
 
 Social Influence 134 
 
 Solar System 130 
 
 Sons of the Ocean „ .....!..332 
 
 Sovereigns of £urop« 183 
 
 PAOK 130 |S. P. Q. R.— the Roman Standard paob 324 
 
 Steubenville, Ohio (57 
 
 Switzerland igg 
 
 Tears "391 
 
 The Head and the Heart 3g 
 
 The Lama 149 
 
 The Malays 394 
 
 The Niger '.2(i9 
 
 The Publication and Circulation of Books.. 78 
 
 The Seen and the Unseen 334 
 
 The Self- Tormentors 2")0 
 
 Trajan and Robert Fulton 267 
 
 Travels in the Holy Land.... 40, 58, 98, 150, 185 
 
 Tye 203 
 
 Vegetable Curiosities , 223 
 
 Viaduct over the Patuxent River 86 
 
 Visitations of Pestilence 441 
 
 Visit to Venice 218 
 
 Washington National Monument 431 
 
 Oration of Hon. R. C. Winthrop 433 
 
 Washington's Residence at New York 69 
 
 Wasp Family igQ 
 
 Western Emigrant 138 
 
 Westeni Scenery 324 
 
 West Point...., 37^ 
 
 Whitfield and Wesley 8£ 
 
 Window Gardening „ 83 
 
 Winslow House, Marshfleld 472 
 
 Winter Not Monotonous 105 
 
 Winthrop Monument 457 
 
 Woman 66, 454 
 
 Youth and Age.... 409 
 
 Zoophites, or Plant Animala 249 
 
 EMBELLISHMENTS. 
 
 DMlp for a Honament to the Memory of Governor 
 
 WInthrop..j. rRONTUPUCE 
 
 Wew-Ysar't Day.—" The Compllmonta of the Bea- 
 
 »on " ,^(,j 13 
 
 Portrait of John Hancock, with a Fac-Himlls of his 
 Bienature, copied from the Declaration of Inde- 
 pendence _ ____ ](( 
 
 The Hancork House. Boston .*..'.'.'.'.".".'."."'.".'."!!!! 17 
 
 Ejrj'ptian Funeral Procesaiin 24 
 
 Mummy-Caoeg and Marble Sarcophagi SO 
 
 Tombs of the Kinps of Golconda.T....;. 27 
 
 Embal mill);.— The Proccites of Bandiginr and an- 
 cient Egj'ptian Monument* 28 
 
 Painting an embalmed Body : designed from the 
 
 Tomb of Hyder All 7. 20 
 
 Horuii of Owhyee ,1 31 
 
 Lather and his Family, with their Chrlii'masVree!" 34 
 Custom House, Philadelphia-(formerly the United 
 
 Matf 8 Bank) ,^ , 37 
 
 OrientJil mode of Truveling "!!.!!!".!!!".!.".""!'.. "" 40 
 
 Camels loading prepuratory to etartinc .....'.'.'.". 41 
 
 Anbncsmpment 40 
 
 Hebron '.......!'.'..'.".'.' 43 
 
 Bethlehem !!",".".". 44 
 
 Jerusalem, with iU WalU-a"north'<re»i''view!!!!!, 45 
 Convent erected on what Tradition affirms to be the 
 
 Cnve of the Nativity in 
 
 Tomb of Rachel ["\,^\\ ; Jg 
 
 The Boston Common, with tho'stat'eHouie in the 
 
 tlisianc'c. 
 
 53 
 
 View of Niujtnra Fulls below Table Rock 55 
 
 The Mosque of O-^iar, Jerusalem— on Mount Mori- 
 
 ah, where -he Temple of Solomon stood 57 
 
 The Moiiiitnf dllyes „ 59 
 
 A ."^treel in Jerusalem „ no 
 
 Jl-ws' Place of Wailing— Temple Wall."..".".'.""."!!!' 61 
 
 View of Steubenville, Ohio eg 
 
 Niagara Fallj viewed from the Clifton House 73 
 
 The Uead Sea 77 
 
 Bo-Peep .".'!'.!!.".'.'.'.'.'.■.!.'.".".".'.'!! 81 
 
 Viaduct over the Patuxent, on the Baltimore and 
 
 Washington Railroad 87 
 
 Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives ! 97 
 
 Pool of .'^iloam gg 
 
 Part of the Valley of Jehosaphat, and Entiiiiice to 
 
 Jerusalem gg 
 
 Garden of Geth^emnne !!!!!!.!!!!!! 100 
 
 Neapolitans on the Seashore 107 
 
 Ancient Use of Elephants in War !! 115 
 
 Elephants destroying Captives Uken In War 117 
 
 Army on a March, with Elephants 118 
 
 The Guardian Angel JJ5 
 
 lUustralion of Diamonds ' 186 
 
 Ancient Wine-Press 131 
 
 The Pioneer of the Western Forest !..'!.!!!!! 137 
 
 The Hindoo Scholar „, ]« 
 
 DeAle between Jerusalem and Jericho ..!.!!.".!!1' ISl 
 
 Ruins of Jericho 154 
 
 The Plain of Jericho !!.!!...!!! 153 
 
 The River Jordan '..'.!!!!! 154 
 
 A party of Missionaries crossing a Swamp "i'n New 
 
 Zealand .„._ 154 
 
 Part of Regent's Town, a Settlement of libe'rated 
 
 Negroes in the Colony of Sierra Leone 173 
 
 Regent's Town, from the Governor's House 175 
 
 Portrait of John Winthrop, Pounder of the City of 
 
 Boston, and first Governor of Massachusetts 177 
 
 The Ueuth-Bed of Winthrop 181 
 
 Present aiipearance of Jerusalem 185 
 
 Terrace Cultivation .\, isfi 
 
 Mounts Eljiil and Gerliim 187 
 
 Mount Carmol igo 
 
} Roman Standard paob 324 
 
 hio (;7 
 
 .199 
 .391 
 
 the Heart 38 
 
 149 
 
 394 
 
 2«9 
 
 1 and Circulation of Books.. 78 
 
 he Unseen 334 
 
 ntors 2."i0 
 
 ert Fulton 267 
 
 loly Land. ...40, 58, 98, 150, 185 
 
 203 
 
 Dsities 223 
 
 10 Patuxent River 86 
 
 'estilence 441 
 
 •-. 218 
 
 tional Monument 431 
 
 Hon. R. C. Winthrop 433 
 
 lesidenco at New York 69 
 
 160 
 
 mt 138 
 
 y 324 
 
 378 
 
 Lesley 82 
 
 ling 83 
 
 , Marshfield 472 
 
 lotouous 106 
 
 iment 457 
 
 66,454 
 
 409 
 
 ant Animals 249 
 
 rs. 
 
 le, Ohio 68 
 
 3d from the CUflon Hoase 73 
 
 77 
 
 ., 81 
 
 'atuxent, on ths Baltimore aad 
 
 Iroud 87 
 
 I Mount of Oltrea 97 
 
 t Jehoisphat, and Entrance to 
 
 ine !'.".'.""!".!!!!! 
 
 Soaihore 
 
 phaiitsin War 
 
 g Captiret taken in War., 
 with Elephant* 
 
 M 
 
 ondg 
 
 8 
 
 Weatern Foreat 
 
 r 
 
 salem and Jericho.. 
 
 'lea croaaing a Swamp in New 
 
 wn, a Bettlemont of'Viberate*! 
 
 lonyof Sierra Leone 1 
 
 m the Governor's House 1 
 
 nihrop. Founder of tho City of 
 
 rovernnr of Massachuaetia 1 
 
 I'iDlhrop 1 
 
 of Jeruaalem 1 
 
 .w 1 
 
 iriiim 1 
 
 1S4 
 
 View of Kaiareth „ 
 
 Promonlory of Mount Carmel., 
 Vlaw of Zurich, Jwltierland 
 
 ..VAaa iniTheTomborReactnako.atW .,; Point pa«i r7 
 
 ^rVr^?A'^:ri'^''r"?'"'-r-r- ":""••:: Jo1?rsft'L.''2s:i:iSru?e'r.''^ion ^ 
 
 ?^^^, ^ ' r^?^r! ,^,T«S"l'», CO"'" am Cr,n.t.dt,..U..Town of the clISw" "•r^^."::::: 3^ 
 
 PuljillofHt Giiilule, Broaaala M7 
 
 The Bridge Hot,.|, Newhaven (Bnfland) '. 9U 
 
 Louis Philippe landing at NewhaTen...... sag 
 
 Louis I'bllippe and hi* Party at Breakfaat at tho 
 
 Bridfro luOi Newhaven „ ^ 931 
 
 8t. Thoinus, West Indlea, from WrIMit'a Wliarf!~ Ml 
 
 Indian (Hindoo) Lock, In the Form of a Bird 247 
 
 Viaw of Beleni, or Para, on the Amaion River... S5I 
 
 Portrait of Rbv. Thoma* TImpton, of London 8S7 
 
 Portrait of a Chi neie Bookaeller 9(3 
 
 ' Hountaina and Market-Canoea, naar Bokweta. on 
 
 tho Niger, West Africa 871 
 
 Bdlshazzar'a Feast— Daniel Interpretlnc the Hand' 
 
 writing on the Wall 
 
 The Fall of Babylon ...■.'".."; 
 
 Clock conrtructed by laaao Habracht, A. D.'issii!.'. 
 Interior of the Public Library i\ OonttanUnooIe.., 
 View of the old City Hall, '^all St., New York... „, 
 
 Ship-.Anchorngeat Whampoa, China 305 
 
 St. PauPa Church, and Aator Houae, New York... S13 
 
 The Roman i<tau(<ards, " S. p. O. H." au 
 
 Vlaw of tho State House. Boaton Si 
 
 Oregon City, on the Willamette River !." 3?7 
 
 Portrait of Christopher Columba* 344 
 
 Columbus before the Council of Salamanca 347 
 
 Columbus quelling the Mntlny on board the Santa 
 
 t«0 
 983 
 
 Maria.. 
 
 349 
 
 Columbus Uking PoaieaslonoftheNewWorld!".'." 351 
 Portrait of John Winthrop, Brat aovernor of Con- 
 necticut . 
 
 VI. . «i i -..- i:- — — Crown," Russia m 
 
 View of ClBClnoati, from the Ohio..... 417 
 
 V?.l5'i5°/K!'w'"I:,'''-J*''"^''''P' "' Ma^achuaetU 4W 
 
 VIxw of the Waahlngton National Monument 43] 
 
 Vltw of the Smithaonian Institute, Waahlnrton... 443 
 
 View of Pittaburgh. from the Northwest " 149 
 
 Flrat Settlement of Boston JJi 
 
 Undlng ofOorernor Winthrop at Salem'iiijio!!!!;'. 403 
 •m oarly Settler* of Boston tr valine through the 
 
 wiidemes* 4M 
 
 View of Trimountaln, 0, BMton, in "iiwJ.'.'.'.".'.".'.'.'.';.' 408 
 
 Map of Boston and Vicinity, In 1W7 457 
 
 View of Boaton, In 1776, Uken from the Road to 
 
 Doreheater 499 
 
 S'^i^'Si^V c»i'««e. phiiadeiphii;:.;;;:.";;.;.';.;; 471 
 
 The old WInalow House, Marahfleld, Maas 473 
 
 ne Merchant*' Bxehange, Wall St., New York... 47S 
 View of the Hotel di Vifle, Paris ....!. . 477 
 
 Indian Parent* at their Chlldren'a Oravi". .'.'...■.■.■.'.■.■.■.'.' 483 
 
 '^A.n'l ^"i" "?£•?' *" "»" of Independence, at 
 
 Philadelphia— Walnut Street Front. 484 
 
 Front view ot the old StateHouae, Cheanut street... 4U 
 '•^^^'*'"''*'»' *'""•«•' *'*•> "lo new Cabinet 
 
 and Obtervatory, from the Southwest 480 
 
 View of the New Houses of Parliament 403 
 
 View of the ilew York Bowling-Green 497 
 
 View of .John Hampden'a Residence 5i)l 
 
 View oT Hampden'a HonnmenI 503 
 
 Hindoo "td Krijhna, on an Kiephanu'composed 
 of h mala Attendanta.. . «w 
 
 39Bllfe« B »y «....^.....^ „^ „ jio 
 
 OONTEN"TS. 
 
 VOLUHB II. 
 
 Adams' Peak, Ceylon 929 
 
 Advantages of a Book „ 631 
 
 Alexander the Great 767 
 
 Algiers , 726 
 
 Alphabetical Writingi 931 
 
 American Aborigines 610 
 
 Anecdotes of Washington and Morris 790 
 
 Animal /lamanity 1022 
 
 Animal Language 901 
 
 Appearances of Design in Creation. 938 
 
 April .. .„ 696 
 
 Articles of Dress 700 
 
 Auscultation 597 
 
 Autobiography 656 
 
 August 882 
 
 Ararioe 786 
 
 Bargain-Hunters 1013 
 
 Bay-Tree, the '. 589 
 
 Bass-Rock 670 
 
 Before and after Dinner 863 
 
 Benjamin West 618 
 
 Be Industrious 755 
 
 Bible, concise History of the 1018 
 
 Birds of Paradise 760 
 
 Birds, Utility of. 735 
 
 Bison, tho 740 
 
 Black .ind Grey Squirrels , 544 
 
 Borrieaux loil 
 
 Bottle Tit and Nest '.'.*.'.'.,. 528 
 
 Botanic ffardens at Brussels 662 
 
 Boa Coii.strictor, the..., 969 
 
 Bright Side of Humanity 953lDutieB 
 
 Burrowing Owl and Prairie Dog 623 
 
 Carnival at Rome.. , 636 
 
 Castle Howard, England 766 
 
 Cataract in Iceland... , 751 
 
 Cathedral of Florence 64V 
 
 Causes of the American Revolution 891 
 
 Causes of the French Revolution 794 
 
 Cereopsia of New Holland 696 
 
 Chamois-Hunting 660 
 
 Chatham, Lord 965 
 
 Chetah, or Hunting Leopard 1006 
 
 China and the Chineae 691 
 
 t^ioero 835 
 
 Classification of Rooks 830 
 
 City of York 917 
 
 Colonization of Greenland.. < 733 
 
 Cologne, City of. 866 
 
 Commerce 738 
 
 Commonplace, the 1002 
 
 Constancy of Nature 980 
 
 Courtesy 950 
 
 Cromwell, Oliver 886 
 
 Cross Folks 626 
 
 Curious Facts about the Spider 894 
 
 Death of General Wolfe 954 
 
 Death of Little Children 994 
 
 Deoember 1005 
 
 Description of Texas 669 
 
 Disipline of the Eyes 576 
 
 Dress, Articles of. 700 
 
 Dripping Well at Ku.aresborough 601 
 
 to Society, &c 1019 
 
 irfidf 
 
 fr#**f''*!tte 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 il; 
 
 :\ I 
 
 DjBpepsia FAOB 644 
 
 Ei^rthquakes 821 
 
 Echoes 701 
 
 Emulation 956 
 
 Eud of Four Great Men 1024 
 
 Evaporation, Facts in S46 
 
 Eye, the 860 
 
 Pair of Reykiarik 854 
 
 Fallacy of Proverbs 587 
 
 Falls of Tocooa, Georgia 515 
 
 Falsehood 811 
 
 February 688 
 
 Fireplace, History of 808 
 
 Fireside Musings 739 
 
 Firmness of Character 883 
 
 Food of Man 974 
 
 Form and structure of the Earth 778 
 
 Franklin, Character of. 663 
 
 Freedom of the Mind 1011 
 
 Friendship 884 
 
 Gathering Olives 913 
 
 Gems of Thought 971 
 
 Genoa 787 
 
 Geology, its Objects, &o 743 
 
 Geology, Organic Remains, &o 868 
 
 Gibraltar 583 
 
 Gigantic Birds of Old 749 
 
 Gleaners of the Pontine Marshes 895 
 
 Glengariff 797 
 
 Grandeur of God 570 
 
 Greenland, Colonization of 733 
 
 Greenwich Observatory 655 
 
 Grotto of Neptune, at Tivoli 619 
 
 Grotto at Adelsburg 640 
 
 Grouse of Europe 709 
 
 Gnu, the 954 
 
 Habit of Observation 1015 
 
 Halls of the Moutezumas 905 
 
 Heart, the 936 
 
 History of the Fireplace 808 
 
 History .562, 935 
 
 Home 854 
 
 Honor and Truth „ 896 
 
 Hope 756 
 
 Horology 1024 
 
 Horses 928 
 
 How to get Rich 679 
 
 Human Body, the 763 
 
 Humorous People 632 
 
 Improvisatore, the 809 
 
 Incidents in the Life of Washington 672 
 
 Intolerance 877 
 
 Iron Age, the 627 
 
 Island of Capri 571 
 
 January 551 
 
 Jugglers of India 606 
 
 June 777 
 
 Kara Hissar 778 
 
 Kinkajou, the 667 
 
 Lago Maggiore..... 861 
 
 Lammcrgeyer, or Bearded Vulture 991 
 
 Landing of Julius Caesar, &o 624 
 
 Last Look, the 594 
 
 Leeds Castle 684 
 
 Length of Days ..„, 964 
 
 Life-Boat, the 652 
 
 Life without an Aim.. 
 Light from Flowers... 
 
 Longevity 
 
 Love of Life 
 
 Love of Nature 
 
 Luxor Obelisk 
 
 Lynx, the 
 
 Maccaroni Eaters 
 
 Manis, the.. 
 
 March. 
 
 Marseilles. 
 
 Massacre of the Mamelukes. 
 
 Mastodon Race, the. 
 
 May., 
 
 Memory 
 
 Mental Discipline 
 
 Metaphysics of Bnsiness 
 
 Mexico, City of 
 
 Mind, the, Beyond the Grave.... 
 
 Milage, the 
 
 Mississippi and the Nile 
 
 Mocking-Bird, the 
 
 Mohammedan Devotions 
 
 Moment of Success 
 
 Motives 
 
 Mountains 
 
 Mourning Woman of the East... 
 
 Muscular Strength 
 
 Music 
 
 Mysteries of Creation, the < 
 
 Narwal, the 
 
 National Gallery of England 
 
 Nauplia 
 
 Neapolitan Peasants 
 
 Nelson, Monument to 
 
 Newfoundland Dog, the 
 
 New Zealand 
 
 No Person Unimportant 
 
 November 
 
 Number Seven, the 
 
 Oak-Bark Feelers 
 
 Obelisk of Luxor. 
 
 Oberhasli ■ 
 
 Ocelot, the 
 
 October 
 
 Old BiUop House 
 
 Oporto, Portugal 
 
 Orange-Tree, the 
 
 Origin of American Aborigines... 
 
 Ottor, the 
 
 Palisades, the , 
 
 Pampas, the 
 
 Paris at the Present Day 
 
 Parks of England 
 
 Pathway of Science 
 
 Pericles 
 
 Peravians, the 
 
 Persistency of Family Features., 
 Perspiratory Tubes of the Skin. , 
 
 Petrified Cascade, &o 
 
 Philosophy of Mystery 
 
 Phosphorus 
 
 Piasan Rook 
 
 Plato 
 
 Pleasure after Pain 
 
 Polar Bear, the 
 
 .PAOi 1004 
 
 634 
 
 641 
 
 713 
 
 880 
 
 983 
 
 , 938 
 
 693 
 
 692 
 649 
 .1016 
 604 
 825 
 739 
 
 799 
 
 844 
 
 988 
 
 983 
 
 , 633 
 
 791 
 
 650 
 
 634 
 
 878 
 
 638 
 
 601 
 
 986 
 
 948 
 
 696 
 
 .693, 727 
 
 789 
 
 783 
 
 1020 
 
 629 
 
 693 
 
 830 
 
 926 
 
 747 
 
 1031 
 
 993 
 
 842 
 
 898 
 
 983 
 
 631 
 
 923 
 
 926 
 
 613 
 
 769 
 
 558 
 
 610 
 
 774 
 
 539 
 
 851 
 
 686 
 
 906 
 
 645 
 
 960 
 
 822 
 
 679 
 
 663 
 
 996 
 
 946 
 
 581 
 
 665 
 
 802 
 
 915 
 
 873 
 
FAail004 
 
 634 
 
 B41 
 
 7ia 
 
 , 880 
 
 983 
 
 938 
 
 693 
 
 B92 
 
 649 
 
 1016 
 
 IS 604 
 
 825 
 
 739 
 
 799 
 
 , 844 
 
 988 
 
 , 983 
 
 ve 633 
 
 791 
 
 650 
 
 634 
 
 878 
 
 , 638 
 
 601 
 
 , 986 
 
 Sast 948 
 
 , 696 
 
 693, 727 
 
 789 
 
 783 
 
 id 1020 
 
 629 
 
 693 
 
 830 
 
 926 
 
 747 
 
 „ 1031 
 
 993 
 
 842 
 
 898 
 
 983 
 
 531 
 
 923 
 
 925 
 
 613 
 
 769 
 
 558 
 
 nes 610 
 
 774 
 
 639 
 
 861 
 
 686 
 
 906 
 
 646 
 
 960 
 
 822 
 
 xires 679 
 
 Skin 663 
 
 996 
 
 946 
 
 581 
 
 665 
 
 , 802 
 
 916 
 
 873 
 
 ^'ttBELLISHMENTS. 
 
 1 
 
 Pompeii and H«roalu>eiim rxoi 620 
 
 Pope's Tree 682 
 
 Porpoise, the v 526 
 
 Power of Kindness 867 
 
 Power of tbe Voice 646 
 
 Progress of African Discovery 816 
 
 Prospects of tlie United States 755 
 
 Protection from Lightning 764 
 
 Presence of Mind 690 
 
 Pride, Offensive and Defensive 564 
 
 Pulse, the 699 
 
 Rational Keligion 983 
 
 Real Oreatness 953 
 
 Recreations in Np.tural History 617 
 
 Regalia of the British Crown 646 
 
 Reign of Terror 703 
 
 Reindeer, the 891 
 
 Reproduction of Plants 667 
 
 Resuscitation 662 
 
 Retrospection 682 
 
 Rotterdam 933 
 
 Rules aboatthe Weather 725 
 
 Sabbath Thoughts 763 
 
 Salt-Minesof Cardona. 697 
 
 Science of the Scriptures 1008 
 
 Scraps of Curious Information 1023 
 
 Scriptural Allusions to Dew 972 
 
 Sebastian Cabot 661 
 
 Servitude 621 
 
 September 898 
 
 Shaddock-Tree, the 581 
 
 Shaking Hands 603 
 
 Sorrow for the Dead 844 
 
 Spectacles faob 1033 
 
 Spider, Carious Fac^s about 894 
 
 Springer Antelope 688 
 
 Squirrels, Black and Grey 544 
 
 Star Worship 534 
 
 Stray Thoughts on the Beautiful 998 
 
 Study a Child's Capacities 773 
 
 Swordflsh, the 840 
 
 Tenacity of Life 538 
 
 Texas, Description of 669 
 
 Thoughts and Things 776 
 
 Thoughts on Winter 1000 
 
 Traveling in the East 845 
 
 Truth 615 
 
 United States, Prospects of 755 
 
 Upright, Downright, and Straightforward. 516 
 
 Uses of Things 599 
 
 Utility of Birds 735 
 
 Vegetable Kingdom 908 
 
 Venice 714 
 
 Visions of Good Men 660 
 
 Walrus, the 608 
 
 Washington, Oeorge 967 
 
 Weather, Rules about 725 
 
 West, Benjamin 518 
 
 Whale and Whale-Fishery 672 
 
 White or Barn Owl 868 
 
 Weisbaden 736 
 
 Wife of Lafayette 876 
 
 Wild-Turkey, the 666 
 
 Wolsthorpe Manor-Honse 805 
 
 World, the 703 
 
 York, City of. 917 
 
 EMBELLISHMENTS 
 
 The Falli of Toccoa 513 
 
 Tbe Family of Benjamin Weat 519 
 
 Harrowing Ovrls and Prairie Dog* 933 
 
 The Porpolae 527 
 
 Male and Female Bottle Tit and Neat 539 
 
 Paaaof Oberhasll 532 
 
 Camlvalat Rome 537 
 
 The Paliiadea, Hudaon River 540 
 
 Black and Gray Squirrel) 545 
 
 The Cathedral of Florence 549 
 
 Preparing to launch the Life- Boat 553 
 
 The Life-Boat in a Storm 555 
 
 gevlUe Orange Tree 561 
 
 Portrait of Benjamin Franklin 563 
 
 Wild Turkeys 5«7 
 
 Island o( Capri 5T2 
 
 Carerna Ayurra, In the Island of CnprI 575 
 
 Shaddock Tree 580 
 
 The Rock of Oibraltsr 584 
 
 Interior of the Hock ofGlbralUr 5iJ0 
 
 Bay Tree S'W 
 
 Long and Short-Tailed Mania 593 
 
 Cercopsis and Young 596 
 
 Dropping Well at 'tnaresborough 600 
 
 Mohammond All, witnessing the Massacre of the 
 
 Mamelukes 605 
 
 Walruses 609 
 
 View of the Old Blllop House, at Bentley, Staten 
 
 Island 619 
 
 The Aye-Aye, Cluiromy^t 3Iadag<ucariei>iu 610 
 
 View of Fulls of the Anio, at TlToli 640 
 
 Landing of Julius Cccsur in England 625 
 
 Nupolo dl Romania 631 
 
 The Mockine-Bird 635 
 
 View of the Hntrnnce to the Cavern of Adelsberg... 641 
 Qrolto of the Maddalena, at Adelaberg 643' 
 
 The Regalia of England, nsed at Coronations S41 
 
 Hunting the Chamois 651 
 
 View of the Observatory at Greenwich, England... 654 
 
 Portrait of Sebastian Cabot 661 
 
 Jardin Botanique, Brussels W8 
 
 The KInkaJou 666 
 
 View of the Baas-Rock 674 
 
 Harpooning the Whale In the Arctic Seas 077 
 
 Oangersofthe Whale-Fishery 877 
 
 Pope's Tree at Biofleld, Berks 683 
 
 Leeds Castle, Kent 685 
 
 Hunting the Springbok, at the Cape of Good Hope 689 
 
 The Maccaroni Sellers ofNaplea 694 
 
 The Salt-HiUs of Cardona, In Catalonia 696 
 
 Capercailiie, orCookof the Wood 709 
 
 Ptarmigan Oroaae 711 
 
 Venice ~ 715 
 
 The Rialto i 719 
 
 Gondola, with single Rower 722 
 
 The Ocelot 724 
 
 City of Alglera 7S7 
 
 Interior oi an Esquimaux House, at Frederibshaab, 
 
 Greenland 734 
 
 Public Rooms at Wiesbaden 737 
 
 The American Bison 741 
 
 Canoe and Natives, off Cape Wargari, New Zea- 
 land .:...... 748 
 
 Cataract at FiBSToUum, Iceland 752 
 
 Portraitof A.cxander the Great 757 
 
 Birds of Paradise— 1. Tbe Emerald ; 2. The Sifllef, 
 3. The Incomparable; 4. ITie Cloudy; 5. The 
 
 Superb 761 
 
 South Front of Castle Howard, Yorkshire, England 767 
 
 Oporto, Portugal 771 
 
 The Otter 775 
 
 Afloum Kara His*ar,crtbe Black Castle of Opium 779 
 
 J 
 
Spearing the Norwnl p^gg 794 
 
 City and Harbor or Oeooe 788 
 
 Mirage In the Plsina of Mezteo 792 
 
 Bajr of Olonguriff, In Ireland na 
 
 Plato (ft'oin an antlqaeboit) 803 
 
 Portrait of .Sir Isaac Newton ". 8uS 
 
 Sir liaac Newton'i Birthplace "."„'." goT 
 
 The Neapoliuu ImproTTliatore 810 
 
 Janctlon of ihe Rirera Tcbadda and Qnorra 817 
 
 Interior ofibe Temple of the Son, at Cuioo 8S3 
 
 Cretan or WallachUn Sheep 837 
 
 Monument to Nolion, Yarmouth .'.'"*.'.'.!!! 831 
 
 Oleero (from an antique Bait) " gas 
 
 The Swordnah 841 
 
 Orleatal Women on Oameli ".',.,'."!!!! 845 
 
 AnEncampment of Pllgrlmj , 846 
 
 Ancient City of Antloch '.','.".'.'.','. 848 
 
 March of a Caravan ."!!,'.'."! 850 
 
 Icelanders arrlTlng rrom the Interior at the Fair'iit 
 
 Reyklarlk 055 
 
 ■White or Bum Owl """" ^ 
 
 View on the Lago MaMlore, (h>m the Inn BaTeno 869 
 
 Church of St. Martin, Cologne 8«7 
 
 Polar Bears and Seals , " gj4 
 
 An Oratory or Place of Prayer 87B 
 
 Portrait of Oliver Cromwell .■.■■.;|;;; 885 
 
 Cromwell dissolving the Long Parliament " " 889 
 
 Milking the Reindeer ' 893 
 
 piaaners of the Pontine Harshaa... ,"".'"" 897 
 
 i'eeUng the Buk tnm tb* Oak. — „ „.. goo 
 
 St. James's Park, London rioi 907 
 
 Hyde Park— Bntrance from Piccadilly too 
 
 Gathering OIlTes ;.. ... ml 
 
 View of tlie City of York ,■.■.■■■".; 918 
 
 View of the West Front of York MIngter 920 
 
 Interior ■>f the Choir of York Minster , gn 
 
 Newfor .land Dog 937 
 
 View idam's rtak ".;;;. ggo 
 
 Kotterdam— ehowlng the Church of St. Lawrence »34 
 
 Lynxes _ 43^ 
 
 Herd of 6nns "," 945 
 
 Mourning Women of the East ."..'."."... 94t 
 
 Death ofOeneral Wolfe 95s 
 
 Bust of Pericles ' Jn 
 
 Portral of WUlUm Pitt— Lord Chatham '. «A 
 
 Attaektofa Boa Constrictor on a Sleeping Lascar 970 
 Olasgo w, with Stockwell Bridge from the South 
 
 Cask 975 
 
 New Broomlelaw Bridge, Glasgow '.'....'.. 977 
 
 Glasgow Exchange 979 
 
 Obelisk of Luxor, Place Louis XVI., Paris 985 
 
 ne Ummergeyer, or Bearded Vulture 999 
 
 Ine PetrUled Cueade of Pambouk Kalosl 997 
 
 TheChetah,or Hunting Leopard 1007 
 
 Bordeaux, and Bridge overtne Garonne „ 10I8 
 
 Port of Marselllet 1017 
 
 View of the National Oaltery In London losi 
 
 Sun Dials (Six Ulostratlons) 1085, 1088 
 
 Clepsydrw ;.io87 
 
 Me«huUa «f a eommsn WatGh...„...„ -,.,..1089 
 
 ( 
 
.....rAoc 907 
 
 eadilljr WB 
 
 »M 
 
 918 
 
 rk Minster , 
 
 liiuter gn 
 
 987 
 
 9J0 
 
 h of St. Lswrence 934 
 
 43t 
 
 9«t 
 
 94t 
 
 as* 
 
 991 
 
 :%8tbam 959 
 
 a Sleeping Lucar 070 
 [6 from the South 
 
 975 
 
 >w 977 
 
 vi.,p«rii ;; 98$ 
 
 l^ulture 999 
 
 uk Kalotl.... 997 
 
 1007 
 
 iaroDDS ,. 1019 
 
 1017 
 
 jondoD lOSl 
 
 loss, 1089 
 
 1097 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Thfm are few enjoyments more rational, more congenial to an unvitiated taste or mnn 
 subservient to the moral faculties of human intelligenoe, tha^tC praeSe of iudiS 
 reading By It we may sit by our fire«IJe, and i.oVj converse with tC'Sarch^s.^^a^^^^^^ 
 
 sentiments of the fathers ot science, philosophy, and religion; for Mie page of history holds 
 a secret but powerful language, full of meaning, full of knowledge and wise precentl Tr- 
 
 devdJ n"f a b 'i" ^'T'' "^ r-""^ "' '^' deformities of vL. While L &Zl 
 devoid of a taste for reading, wanders on amid the glowing beauties of the mental creation 
 
 ;i;^Sp^"r'''*'VP'''Pu""u"^ r'y ^y'^^ pronl„sities%f his animal nature? IrSbg 
 m,!fSn r^!;t'''"^"^''''^^'''"*'''»PP''«'='''*«« '^^ «^««t perfumes exhaled by thf 
 whni hl^t'"'^^^^ ""*{! ''[ '■""^"1? """^ 'e'lection. taught by the wisdom of that Creator 
 TroZn W^M- '■°"^'' i^"- •»«'''""' «f W" intellectual cultivation, see. in everything 
 l^^fJt^' *""ething to admire, something to charm him. and something to adore. hI 
 beiut es Z,i?h'Kl . h^' "'r* '^' Pl'^'^'y "/ ^'' "*'«'^"'=e. innumerable flowers, whSe 
 ^n fr^™?^ • '^'^e/nacle, and whose perfume will ascend as grateful incense to Heav- 
 
 ™«n «T .t' ™"^"k °[ ''}\?"r- ^*»"^ '^^ ^'ews. meditations, tnd hopes of the unread 
 man are circnmscnbed within the narrow limits of his own existence, and he looks back, in 
 the volume of the past, no farther than the few brief chapters that have been recorded since 
 Ills mtancy, and in the future his vision terminates at that point where the soul puts off' its 
 
 Z^pTr?''"''^''''"''*'^''^^''*^'''''^^*^"'^ '*"' knowl'edge which books and concomi! 
 tant meditation impart, views his own life as merely a faint speck within the urea of his 
 
 ^h»l ./r°"' ""^ "P°" ""^ "^"'^ °[ imagination he travels back to the matin of creation, 
 wheh " the morning stars sang together, and the sons of God shouted for jov." He sits 
 iKwn the apex of a great eminence, whence he beholds a panoramic view of the world, from 
 nh!n, '".f °"V- '\ f '■'^'" "^ ¥'" ^ *« P'e^e"' '"<""«"»• In the political horizon, h" 
 ^nd «t™Xf/ ""*'u power and petty sovereignties disappear at the approach of abso ute 
 and extended monarchy, and the whole earth governed by four great rulers. Again he sees 
 n»f «,"°{!f' i" ' yeakened by luxury and grown unwieldy by conquest, falling by their 
 own weight, and out of their rums smaller monarchies appearing. These, in their turn, fire 
 seen to give way to a mightier, a more liberal and enlightened, and. we trust, a more endu- 
 nng pnnciple in political government— that of the republic ! Thus he sees power after 
 power alternately destroying and destroyed, and watches, with intense interest, the progress 
 01 events, which, operating upon each other in accordance with a great design, have produ- 
 cea the eminently-promising political, social, and religious condition of the worid at this 
 eventful penod of its history. Thus may the student also watch the successive re volutions 
 in the great empire of mmd ; and while he reads the history of men and nations, he may 
 treasure up lessons of wisdom, upon which his country may make large draughts in the hour 
 
 This country is pre-eminently distinguished for the facilities afTorded for the tlifTusion of 
 know edge among all classes of the people. In addition to the admirable system of free 
 schools which universally prevails, and the instruction in the higher seminaries of learning 
 to be everywhere had at a mere nominal cost, there are more books, reviews, magazines 
 and newspapers, published here, than, it might almost he said, in the whole world besides! 
 1 here being no onerous duties imposed upon them, no laws restricting or limiting their circu- 
 lation, and they being consequently furnished at comparatively low prices, there is scarcely 
 
 
 «*" 
 
 KJ 
 
 
12 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 a family in the land, however humble its circumstances, but may have its library, opon 
 which Its members can draw for instruction or recreation during tneir leisure hours. The 
 benefits resulting from this are seen in the superior intelligence of people in the common 
 walks of life here, in comparison with the humbler classes in other lands. 
 
 But, however flattering to the national pride this may be, we are compelled in truth to 
 admit, these inestimable privileges, in both publishing and reading, are, t<) by for too great 
 an extent, lamentably abused. Any person who takes a comprehensive view of the quan- 
 tities of worse than worthless matter, under the name of " light literature," daily thrown be- 
 fore the public, and which forms the intellectual foml of so great a proi)ortion of the com- 
 munity at the present day, will inevitably arrive at this conclusion. The prolific press so 
 overflows with romances, .lovels, and magazines and newspapers, filled with visionary 
 scenes, that the public taste in reading has been seriously vitiated. The imagination, ever 
 susceptible to high-wrought pictures of romantic adventure, when improperly indulged, 
 " grows by what it feeds on," till it outstrips every other mental power. To this may be at- 
 tributed, in a great degree, the credulity too often exhibited, and the tendency to be drawn 
 into impracticable schemes and romantic speculations. An instance may perhaps be found in 
 the eagerness with which, at the present time, thousands, excited by the glowing descrip- 
 tions and extravagant stories almost daily published, of immense treasures to be found in 
 the new El Dorado of the Pacific, are leaving friends, family, all the comforts and endear- 
 ments of home — many relinquishing a safe and profitable business — and embarking on a 
 long and perilous voyage, bound for the " gold regions," with hopes buoyant, but which we 
 fear will result, with very many — not in disappointment merely (the moral taught might 
 compensate for that)— but in the loss of health and perhaps of life itself. Facts, the naked 
 realities of life, are too tame to arrest the attention. They must be clothed or distorted in 
 fiction, before they will possess sufficient interest for perusal. Many a magazine and news- 
 paper, which has dealt principally with matters of science and fact, has failed of adequate 
 support ; while others, which are filled with fictitious and unnatural tales, romantic inci- 
 dents, and sickly poetry, riot in abundance. 
 
 To lend the aid of our humble endeavors in turning this current of taste in reading, thus 
 tending to the broad waste of mental licentiousness, into a healthier channel, has been our 
 controlling motive in putting forth this volume, as it has been of the entire series of publi- 
 cations which have from time to time been issued by us. In the preparation of this work, 
 everything which might have an improper tendency has been carefully excluded. Nor has 
 the desim been a negative one merely ; care has also been taken that every article which 
 found admission to its pages should possess a positive value — should impart some useful in- 
 formation, or " point a moral." The illustrations have been selected with the same design. 
 Many of them are from original sketches, procured with considerable trouble and expense. 
 To avoid prolixity, and to give as great a variety as possible, the articles have generally 
 been of as limited length as was compatible with justice to the subjects upon which they 
 treated. There were a few exceptions, however, where the importance of the matters treat- 
 ed, warranted and required more scope. Among these we would instance, " Ciiristofher 
 CotuMBUS, AND THE DiscovERT OF AMERICA." When itis taken into consideration, that, 
 without the omission of a single important fact, we have here, condensed into twenty-six 
 pages, the substance of several octavo volumes, by one of the most eminent writers of the 
 present day— a scholar of whom our country may justly be proud— we are confident that 
 It will not be deemed as absorbing too great a space. We feel assured, also, that no one can 
 rise from the perusal of this description of the labors and trials of Columbus without a feel- 
 ing—not simply of admiration of the hardy adventurer, who, with desperate resolution, 
 launched forth on the Atlantic, hoping against hope, to discover he knew not whot— but, of 
 reverence for the philosophic truth-seeker, who, from the accumulated testimony of ages, in 
 the proud independence of conscious genius, moulded a most refined yet demonstrable theor' 
 of geographical facts ;— and whose mind, when he set sail from Europe, was so deeply 
 impressed with the weight of historical evidence, that he proceeded with confidence and 
 certainty on the voyage which resulted in the discovery of a New World. 
 
 There are many other subjects treated on, which will be found of more than ordinary 
 interest, but our limits will not permit a reference to them in detail. Jt is hoped that this 
 volume may be found in a measure worthy of that approval by che public which has been 
 so f/enerously accorded to our previous works. And should its publication tend, even in 
 a slight degree, to encourage a more judicious and salutary taste in reading, we shall feel 
 that we have not labored in vain. 
 
ve its library, opon 
 leisure hours. The 
 )I)le in the common 
 
 m polled in truth to 
 '•, f>) by fnr too p-eat 
 ! view of the qnan- 
 e," daily thrown be- 
 >j)ortion of the com- 
 rhe prolific press so 
 lied with visionary 
 he imagination, ever 
 nproperly indulged, 
 To this niuy be at- 
 'ndency to be drawn 
 perhaps be found in 
 be glowing descrip- 
 ires to be found in 
 omforta and endear- 
 nd embarking on a 
 lyant, but which we 
 moral taught might 
 . Facts, the naked 
 >thed or distorted in 
 magazine and news- 
 i failed of adequate 
 :ale8, romantic inci- 
 
 iste in reading, thus 
 mnel, has been our 
 itire series of publi- 
 ration of this work, 
 Jxcluded. Nor has 
 every article which 
 part some useful in- 
 ith the same design, 
 rouble and expense, 
 cles have generally 
 8 upon which they 
 of the matters treat- 
 ce, "Christopher 
 » consideration, that, 
 sed into twenty-six 
 inent writers of the 
 'e are confident that 
 dso, that no one can 
 ibus without a feel- 
 esperate resolution, 
 V not what — but, of 
 istiraony of ages, in 
 lemonstrable theorv 
 jpe, was so deeply 
 'ith confidence and 
 d, 
 
 more than ordinary 
 t is hoped that this 
 lie which has been 
 ation tend, even in 
 iding, we shall feel 
 
 17< 
 
 AMERICAN MISCELLANY. 
 
 OUR COUNTRY. 
 
 
 The pilgnm fathers were conducted to 
 these shores by an Almighty Hand. They 
 might have passed to other lands, far from the 
 aggressors, and been safe. There were coun- 
 tries nearer home that would have gladly wel- 
 corned them to their shelters. But a mts- 
 
 TERIODS INFLUKNCE RESTED UPON THEIR 
 
 minds; and, althodoh it was a hazard- 
 ous ENTERPRISE, TEEMING WITH DANGER, 
 THET RALLIED THEIR BROKEN SPIRITS. 
 BRAVED THE WINDS OP HEAVEN, THE STORMS 
 OF THE ANGRY DEEP, AND, IN HOPE AOMNST 
 HOPE, m THE VERT DEPTH OF WINTER 
 SPRANG OPON THE RUGGED ROCK OF PlTJI- 
 OUTH, BEARING WITH THEM THE SEEDS OF 
 A HOLT RELIGION AND A VAST EMPIRE. 
 
 Iheir ongm and national character form a 
 striking circumstance in the history of the 
 country. They were of no plebeian race, 
 neither were they all of high patrician birth 
 but generally selected from that class, which 
 in jfc-ngland especially, constitutes the very best 
 and most enterprising of her citizens. ^They 
 were inflexible, brave, and true. Indepen- 
 
 tlTv f """''' "^ f«"je»8 spirit, with an un- 
 paralleled strength of puqiose, were charac- 
 tenstics by which they were distinguished. 
 Another and a far different race might have 
 been our fathers; but God had high and im- 
 portant purposes in view, and he therefore se- 
 lected men ^yho possessed the power and were 
 tuniished with the materials to lay the deep 
 and broad foundations of a nation, destined 
 to ^e unexampled and glorious. 
 
 The nature of the constitutions and laws 
 they framed and adopted, their moral tenden- 
 cy, the stnctness of their religious sentiments, 
 all give evidence of an overruling Providence. 
 Mad the laws by which they were governed 
 been less ngid and severe, tlieir morals more 
 pliable, and their faith cast in a more polished 
 mould, It is a question whether their children 
 would have retained, for so many years, cus- 
 toms ana manner«, which, though antiquated. 
 and ridiculed by the refined and skeptical 
 
 have contributed in a great measure to per- 
 serve the American citizen, as yet, from Piany 
 ot the glaring absurdities and extravagant ni 
 tions of his trans-atlantic brethren. On the 
 I p!}"'?' we may consider the character of the 
 [ i^ilgnms, their conduct and views, as not only 
 benehcial, but absolutely necessary, in a re- 
 ligious, nioral, and political point of light, in 
 torming the basis of a great and highly intel- 
 ligent community. '' 
 
 Their preservation from the srr>lping.knife 
 ot the savage and from the sworl of France 
 18 another mark of Divine favor. No per- 
 sonal bravery, no tower of strength, could 
 have secured them from the accumulated dan- 
 gers that beset them. The country was then 
 covered with thousands of the red warriors 
 armed and on the watch for their prey, ureed 
 on by Frenchmen who thirsted for blc^. 
 iiarly in their history we also mark a gracious 
 interposition of Divine Providence, in the dis- 
 comfiture and defeat of a powerful airoament. 
 i!-re It had reached these shores, the Lord 
 commissioned the elements to fight against it, 
 and the proud fleet was scattered, dismasted, 
 and broken by the four winds. 
 
 And when the seeds of war sprang up in 
 the breasts of the revolutionary heroes, were 
 not the counsels of Great Bntain strangely 
 perplexed? The voice of wisdom forso-i 
 the senate and council-chamber, and the spirit 
 ot her king, her nobles, and her people, cow- 
 ered to a palpably ignorant policy. 
 
 At this period, big with the destinies of mil- 
 lions, when all that is dear and valuable to 
 man was at stake, and the hopes of America 
 were on the point of being blasted for ever, 
 the IMMORTAL Washington appeared en the 
 arena of battle. A mysterious and all- wise 
 i-rovidence seemed to designate him as the 
 ANGEL that was to lead the American armies 
 to vie ory and conquest. He soon redeemed 
 tne pledge his opening campaign gave to a 
 deeiSy anxious and troubled people. His 
 course was brilliant and successful. He met 
 the veterans of a hundred hard-fought fields 
 wearing the laurels of victory, and they were 
 
 il 
 
 "*^<* 
 
 i!«!'»l!») 
 
8 
 
 OUa COUNTRY. 
 
 signally bpat^n ; the country rnscued from 
 the invader's sworti, and its rif^hts and privi- 
 leens confirmed and acknowledged by the 
 irOice of nations and the wisdom of our fathers. 
 
 The framing of the constitution, that great 
 pillar of «i»r country's glory, is not among the 
 least of the blessings by which these United 
 States are di»tinguishe(l. 
 
 But who can read the page that opens upoti 
 the fiftieth anniversary of our independence, 
 and not be struck with astonishment at the 
 death of the two venerable patriots, Jeflcrson 
 and Adams, who wore both, on the morning 
 of that aus])icious day, basking in the sun- 
 shine of a nation's smile; but, ere the sun 
 had set, were gathered with their fathers ? — 
 who can pass over this imperishable mark of 
 Divine interference, and not feel the full force 
 of our observations 7 
 
 The prosperity which has always crowned 
 this country — more especially since her inde- 
 pendence was established, is further proof 
 that G(xl is with us. She has increased in 
 territory and in population, in riches, in enter- 
 prise, and renown. Her religious, literary, 
 and political institutions will bear a proud 
 comparison even with those of Great Britain, 
 France, and Germany. 
 
 From what has been said, we may fairly 
 infer that America is destined, at no distant 
 period, to take a more elevated and important 
 station in controlling the destinies of the earth. 
 If she is but true to herself, she can never 
 retrogade. She must ever prosper, gathering 
 strength and stability aa she advances. The 
 Almighty seems to have determined in her 
 favor. As long as the religion of Jesus is 
 permitted to lie deeply-rooted in her institu- 
 tions, she can not fall. The Rock of Ages is 
 as yet her abiding-place. She is supported 
 by pillars of strength and beauty, that suffer 
 no decay, and that bid defiance to the hand 
 of the oppressor, and the tooth of time. 
 Stupendous are the purposes, to accomplish 
 which, she is to be the honored instrument. 
 In the youth and vigor of her days, untram- 
 melled and unconfined, bearing in her bosom 
 the elements that have already given omens 
 of great ,iror,iise, what may she not perform ! 
 
 Her voice is swelling to a louder note in 
 other lands, and wherever the star-gemmed 
 banner sweeps the free air of heaven, there 
 will her influence be felt, and the fame of her 
 doings create a flame and arouse a spirit which 
 rivers can not quench, nor armed multitudes 
 subdue. The beacon of freedom to both 
 hemispheres, its light will soon blaze on every 
 island, sea, and mountain, on the globe, until 
 myriads, guided by its mellow radiance, shall 
 proclaim universal emancipation from chains 
 and slavery, and man assume his legitimate 
 place in the great scale of being. 
 
 V yet more glorious contemplation ;b 
 afliirded by this animating subject. For 
 achievements of moral sublimity, never em- 
 ulated nor surpassed sr'.iie the commence- 
 ment of time, America statids eminently con- 
 spicuous. Emanations that bear the royal 
 signature of Heaven, cluster around us on 
 every hand. Movements of a high and lofty 
 import, which cast far into the shade all that 
 has ever taken place on the earth since the 
 hour of man's redemption, seem to be shaking 
 the universe, and strongly intimate the near 
 approach of wonderful events. Christians in 
 fonner times waged war on the borders of the 
 enemy's dominions only : their battles were 
 but skirmishes. But their sons have resolved 
 to penetrate the thickest ranks, and to attack 
 the strongest fortresses; and they aim at 
 nothing short of the complete overthrow and 
 dovrnfall of the empire of sin. 
 
 The resources of this country are vast, her 
 spirit bold and daring, not easily subdued, and 
 capable of great and brilliant enterprise. It 
 is but natural then for us to place her in the 
 front rank of the Sacramental Host — her stars 
 pouring light on the millennial morning, while 
 her spirit-waking trumpet shall break upou 
 the ears of slumbering millions. 
 
 While we contemplate this magnificent 
 scene, and behold the glorious prospect which 
 the torch of inspiration reveals to our won- 
 dering eyes, let us fear and tremble, lest we 
 interrupt the high purposes of the Almighty, 
 and, by our rebellion and obstmacy, turn away 
 the streams of his munificence. We may 
 contribute to the downfall of these high and 
 towering hopes, by becoming forgetful of liis 
 mercy, and uetdng at naught his counsel. 
 Are there not already monitory voices iu the 
 land ? — Do they not appeal to our hearts in 
 the touching and emphatic language of na- 
 ture, and of truth ? 
 
 Wliat says the history of the world, in re- 
 gard to the evil to which we here allude? 
 The national debt of England is at present 
 about three thousand millions of dollars — a 
 debt produced by war ; the interest of that 
 debt,' and the parts of it already liquidated, 
 amount to about ten times as much more. 
 And what has England obtained for all this 
 mighty outlay of capital 7 Where shall we 
 look for the benefit which she has derived 
 from this incalculable expense ? Ask the 
 depths of the ocean, and the sunken fleets of 
 the Nile and Trafalgar will answer. She has 
 gained the fame of making her I'on roar on 
 the vanquished Armada ; of " letting slip her 
 dogs of war" upon the palmy shores of Hin- 
 dostan; of giving Wellington immortality 
 upon the plains of Waterloo : and is this all ? 
 No! she has erected monuments in West- 
 minster Abbey to the greatest butchers of our 
 
 J 
 
 gfflmiwi 
 
If) cniitctnplatlon 'b 
 mting subjoct. For 
 »ublhiiity, never om- 
 ■..<:e tlie coinmence- 
 tniids emiiH-ntly cnn- 
 Ihot bear thn rnyol 
 luster arouiul ns on 
 8 of a high and lofty 
 ito the shade all that 
 the earth since the 
 1, seem to be shaking 
 ly intimate the near 
 irents. Christians in 
 m the borders of the 
 : their battles were 
 ir sons have resolved 
 ranks, and to attack 
 ; and they aim at 
 iplete overthrow and 
 1 sin. 
 
 country are vast, her 
 t: easily subdned, and 
 lliant enter])rise. It 
 
 I to place her in the 
 mtal Host — her stars 
 nnial morning, while 
 et shall break npou 
 lillions. 
 
 to this magnificent 
 rions prospect which 
 reveals to our won- 
 nd tremble, lest we 
 es of the Almighty, 
 obstinacy, turn away 
 ificence. We may 
 
 II of these high and 
 ning forgetful of his 
 laught his conusel. 
 )nitory voices in the 
 eal to our hearts in 
 itic language of na- 
 
 of the world, in re- 
 ch we here allude? 
 ngland is at present 
 lillions of dollars'^a 
 the interest of that 
 t already liquidated, 
 nes as much more, 
 obtained for all this 
 1 Where shall we 
 ich she has derived 
 sxpense ? Ask the 
 the sunken fleets of 
 ill answer. She has 
 Lin" her I'on roar on 
 
 of " letting slip her 
 almy shores of Hin- 
 llington immortality 
 rloo : and is this all ? 
 onuments in West- 
 latest butchers of our 
 
 OUB COUNTRY. 
 
 ^ * 
 
 race that ever lived ; it has written poverty 
 ujHni the foreheads of the majority of her la- 
 borers ; it has crushed the many with burdens 
 and tnxes to honor the destroyers of our race 
 with a name — a name which, if society un- 
 der8t<x)d its interests as it ought, would only 
 render its possessor detestable and contempti- 
 ble. This is only the influence of war on 
 national prosperity. Infinitely more disas- 
 trous is it in its consequences upon private, 
 than upon public property; and infinitely 
 more extensive. Whole navies can better be 
 sunk in the ocean, than the poor man's house 
 be burned over his head by an invading army. 
 Wars add to national wealth ! Wars increase 
 national prosperity ! Give us the money that 
 has been spent in war, and we will purchase 
 every foot of land upon the globe : we will 
 clothe every man, woman, and child, in an 
 attire that kings and queens might be proud 
 of; we will build a schoolhouse upon every 
 hillside, and upon every valley upon the hab- 
 itable earth ; we will supply that schoolhouse 
 with a competent teacher ; we will build an 
 academy in every town, and endow it ; a col- 
 lege in every state, and fill it with able pro- 
 fessors; we will crown every hill with a 
 church, consecrated to the promulgation of 
 the gospel cf peace ; we will support in its 
 pulpit an able teacher of righteousness; so 
 that on every sabbath morning, the chime on 
 one hill should answer to the chime on another, 
 round the earth's broad circumference, and 
 the voice of prayer, and the song of praise 
 should ascend, fike a universal halo, from 
 earth to heaven ; the darkness of ignorance 
 should flee before the bright light of the sun 
 of science : Paganism would be crushed by 
 the fall of her temples — shaken to their deep 
 foundations, by the voice of Truth; War 
 would no more stalk over the eanh, trampling 
 under his giant foot all that is beautiful and 
 lovely beneath the sky ! This is not fancy ; 
 we wish it were : it reflects on men. It is 
 the darkest chapter in human depravity, to 
 squander God's richest blessings on passion 
 and lust. 
 
 Who that has attentively viewed the rela- 
 tion of parties for the past few years, can but 
 feel loathing and disgust for the conduct of 
 the partisan press of the country T We ad- 
 mit, for the honor of humau nature, that there 
 are exceptions, and we take pleasure in record- 
 ing the fact. But it is of the spirit of parties 
 that we would especially ^peak— it is that 
 state of things by which one man is favorably 
 or unfavorably affected toward another, ac- 
 cording to the degree of his supposed or known 
 adherance to partj , As a consequence, it has 
 led to deep-seated personal animosity ; it has 
 rfiven rise to clans or cliaues, whose conduct 
 has frequently caused the abandonment of 
 
 correct and sound principles ; has caused the 
 nomination of irresponsible men for responsible 
 stations, whose only qualifications for ofTicial 
 distinction were wholly based upon a blind ad- 
 hesion to the mandates of party, thereby ex- 
 cluding from office the most worthy and best- 
 educated men in our country. L(wk, for ex- 
 ample, at any of the convassings before any 
 of our general elections— see how low in the 
 scale of intellectual being those who have the 
 nianagement of parties descend — they ex- 
 hibit very little disposition to reason. The 
 leading editorials evince intensity of feeling, 
 and are frequently characterized by such vir- 
 ulence of manner, such heated temper, such 
 deep-seated personal animosity, involving a 
 total loss of self-respect, that the high con- 
 siderations of truth, justice, ond patriotism, 
 become merged in the tornado of passion and 
 excitement. Many forget the dignity of their 
 calling, and descend to write calumnies by the 
 wholesale. No place— no time — no condition 
 of any candidate for any considerable popular 
 favor, is beyond their malevolent attacks.— 
 Even the domestic circle is frequently invaded, 
 and things stated for truths which the authors 
 at the time well know to be wholly false. 
 How many columns of private scandal have 
 been printed to serve party purposes / How 
 often has the doctrine been acted U]x)n, that 
 the end justifies the means 1 Is this mere 
 imagination, or is it sober truth 7 Let every 
 disinterested reader answer for himself. How 
 many pure, upright, and honorable men, have 
 been excluded from political favor, by the ca- 
 bals of the day 7 Men of intelligence, of ac- 
 knowledged worth and abilities, have been 
 thrust ruthlessly aside, to give place to the 
 brawling demagogue. They were unwilling 
 to enter a contest where known merit, talent, 
 and strict adherence to principle, were made 
 subservient to the blustering officiousness of 
 the porter-house cliques of the times. We 
 firmly believe our country has been cursed 
 quite long enough by the trammels of party. 
 Let men Team to act and speak for themselves, 
 unawed by the frowns or threats of the mere 
 partisan, and in our opinion a healthier state 
 of things would immediately ensue. Let ns, 
 then, individually, and as a people, respect 
 real worth and sterling integrity, whenever 
 and wherever it is found. It was rnon these 
 principles our forefathers — the heroes of the 
 revolution— acted. They invariably made 
 merit the test of favor. Let us, in this respect 
 at least, imitate their example, and thus prove 
 ourselves worthy sons of such noble sires. 
 
 If there be one practical precept which we 
 could wish to be pruited in starry characters 
 on the dark face of our mighty sky, written 
 in sunbeams on the tablet of the earth, and 
 uttered both night and day in voices bom 
 
 I 
 
 1^ 
 Win*! 
 

 10 
 
 OUR COUNXaV. 
 
 the heavens, that the ■ttention of men might 
 be irresistibly turned U) it, and their hearta 
 unavoidably impressed by it, this is the one, 
 
 — '« rORBEAHINO onE ANOTHER IN LOVE." 
 
 This one short precept, universally obeyed, 
 would set all right, anu produce all order. It 
 would not at once reconcile all minds, but it 
 would harmonize all hearts. It would not 
 amalgamate all churches into an external uni- 
 formity, but it would combine them all in the 
 unity of the spirit, and the bond of peace. It 
 might not hush the voice of controversy, but 
 it would take from it the harsh dissonance 
 of human passion, and cause it to speak in the 
 inellifluous tones of Divine charity. 
 
 The souls of our countrymen, slain by in- 
 fidelity and intemperance, with their asso- 
 ciates in profligacy, error, and vice, lifteth 
 another cry, high up into the heovens. It 
 calls sternly for vengeance on these offspring 
 of a most cruel and relentless fiend. Such 
 enemies as these should find no favor, no har- 
 borage among the children of the Pilgrims. 
 For these sins the land mourns. While these 
 are countenanced, nay, even sometimes passed 
 by without reproof, and, what is still worse, 
 applauded, there is great cause to fear ; and 
 altnough as yet no very alarming consequen- 
 ces may have been the result, such departures 
 from the living God must sooner or later, ter- 
 minate unfavorably, leaving our country a 
 prey to the tempest, that bus overwhelmed in 
 Its resistless course the mightiest empires of 
 the old world, — that rolled upon lU-fated 
 France an avalanche of guilt and crime, 
 and whose destructive influence, if not boldly 
 and successfully encountered, may, ere long, 
 bury deep in its own ruins the noble fabric, 
 reared by the toils and virtues, the blood and 
 prayers of the illustrious fathers of our coun- 
 try." 
 
 Eloquent voices come down oat of heaven 
 to reprove us. They warn us of approach- 
 ing evils, and call ! judly upon us to repent in 
 dust and ashes. Let us, then, as individuals, 
 each one contribute his part to stem the tor- 
 rent of corruption. The enemy is at the 
 
 • Natiosal Morality. — Clatmiog fall exemption 
 from all Hoperstttion, we firmly believe, and lake plea- 
 rare in announcing it, that do utate can prwper in a 
 long career of true glory, in the disregard of the 
 claims of justice, and the injanctiona of the Chriitian 
 religion. A floodtide of apparent proiperity may 
 oome, filling for the time the avenues of trade, and 
 •atiating the cravings of taste and curionity, yet, 
 •ooner or later, it ha* it* ebb, and either cloy* with 
 its abundance, or leaves the void greater than before. 
 History is a silent but eloquent witness of iti> truth, 
 and from her undying lamp sheds a streani of on- 
 ceasing light along our pathway. The fabrics of an- 
 cient greatnese, built by injustice and consecrated to 
 ambition, arc now flitting shadows before ns, s'arting 
 op from behind the broken pillars and falling colurnna 
 (hat were reared to perpetuate the geoiai by which 
 tbey were wrought. 
 
 door. He is forcing an entrance into our most 
 sacred places. The temples of religion and 
 the scats of learning are tainted with the mon- 
 ster's foul breath, and the promise and strength 
 of our young men are bowing down under the 
 weight of his relentless and withering arm. 
 Beneath his iron heel the loveliest flowers of 
 earth are crushed, and the beautiful buddings 
 of virtue for ever blasted. There is no time 
 to be lost. And while each for himself mokes 
 secure the foundation of his ovm hopes, let 
 our prayers ascend for our country, that amid 
 all tlio flashings of its brightness, it may be 
 irradiated by the light of religion, blessed by 
 the prayers of its citizens, worshipped with 
 the gratitude of every patriot heart ; and then 
 the return of each year .shall be hallowed by 
 increasing associations of moral sublimity, till 
 every beam shall have met in one common 
 focus, even the salvation and happiness of ev- 
 ery individual who forms a part and lives 
 within the boundaries of the great repub'-: 
 of the western world. 
 
 One of the noblest moral pictures of an- 
 tiquity is that of Curtius leaping into the 
 gulf thot had yawned in the Roman Forum 
 —and the patriot poet could not have found, 
 in the rainbow regions of fancy, a more glori- 
 ous picture than that drawn by Robert Treat 
 Paine, which represents Washington stand- 
 ing at the portals of our national temple, 
 eatching, on the point of his sword, the light- 
 nings of faction, and guiding them harmlessly 
 to the deep. But higher honors await the 
 American patriot who walks around the bul- 
 warks of our empire, lifts the voice of warn- 
 ing ot every suspicious appearance, and moulds 
 its highest towers to the transcendent model 
 of republican beauty and Christian simplicity. 
 Bombastic, inflated forms of speech, although 
 used to surfeiting on the subject of our na- 
 tional independence, do not belong to it any 
 more than gaudy coverings and silken frippery 
 belong to the perfect forms of ancient statua- 
 ry. The sublimity of circumstance and of 
 fact is enough to chain the tongue to its most 
 chastened simplicity, while the ordor of the 
 grateful distended heart bums in the eyes, and 
 lends eloquence to language. 
 
 We have alluded to infidelity, as a serpent 
 foe in the midst of us — ^but althijugh we warn, 
 we do not fear. This serpent sholl trail the 
 dust beneath the chariot wheels of pure re- 
 publicanism — and a little further onward, 
 chained to the millenial car, the monster's 
 blood and the torn fragments of nis sinuous 
 body shall be scattered in the whirlwind revo- 
 lutions of angry wheels. There is a natural 
 land where there is no serpent. There shall 
 be an entire world where no moral serpent's 
 hisa shall startle innocence, or interrupt the 
 singing of the turtle-dove. 
 
 't 
 
 WHi 
 
itranco into our most 
 ple« of religion and 
 linted with tne tnon- 
 promise ami strength 
 tfin^ down under the 
 and withering arm. 
 
 loveliest flowers of 
 B beautiful buddings 
 I. There in no time 
 ch for himself makes 
 
 his own hopes, let 
 r country, that amid 
 ightness, it may be 
 
 religion, blessed by 
 IS, worshipped with 
 riot heart ; and then 
 hall be hallowed by 
 moral sublimity, till 
 net in one common 
 and happiness of ev- 
 ts a part and lives 
 
 the great repub'": 
 
 irnl pictures of an- 
 la leaping into the 
 
 the Roman Forum 
 uld not have found, 
 fancy, a more glori- 
 (vn by Robert Treat 
 
 Washington Rtand- 
 ur national temple, 
 bis sword, the light- 
 ing them harmlessly 
 sr honors await the 
 ttlks around the bul- 
 } the voice of wam- 
 )earance, and moulds 
 
 transcendent model 
 Christian simplicity. 
 
 of speech, although 
 ! subject of our na- 
 not belong to it any 
 9 and silken frippery 
 M of ancient statua- 
 ircumstance and of 
 le tongue to its most 
 ile the ardor of the 
 urns in the eyos, and 
 ige. 
 
 fidelity, as a serpent 
 It although we warn, 
 rpent shall trail the 
 
 wheels of pure re- 
 le further onward, 
 
 car, the monster's 
 nents of nis sinuous 
 
 the whirlwind revo- 
 
 There is a natural 
 
 srpent. There shall 
 
 e no moral serpent's 
 
 ice, or interrupt the 
 
 NEW-YBXa'S DAY. 
 
 11 
 
 Oo read the history of the pant, on pages 
 written wiiii bliK)d ! Count, if you can, the 
 sluugiitercd victims that have found their hint 
 resting-place on ihe gory battle-plains which 
 ore fill thiiikly interspersed tl^roughout our 
 rar.tli, making it, us it wire, one vast Potter's 
 fieliL Watch those drops of anguish and 
 sorrow, that have gushed from ati'cctionate 
 hearts, broken by the fierce carnage of war, 
 iind see them, as a mighty river, swelling to 
 an (Wean of grief sulHcicnt to drown all the 
 warring hostii of every age. Htmrken to the 
 wail of widows anil orjilmns, deep-toned and 
 terrible enough even to startle the myriads of 
 hell, and inuke them cower before tne stonn 
 of anguish ! But that stonn Hhall pass away ; 
 and mountains that have interposed to make 
 enemies of nations, shall be levelled before 
 the advancing triumphs of him who came 
 heralded as the " Prince of Peace." The 
 instrument of death, under the skill of the 
 ingenious mechanic, shall turn the sod and 
 prepare it for the seed, which shall i)resent 
 her " full com in the ear" to the hand of man. 
 Hapjnr ! glf)rious epoch in the world's history ! 
 The Lord hasten its consummation ! Then, 
 Christian patriot, is your triumph ! The bat- 
 winged miuiona of darkness sholl retreat be- 
 fore this morning of moral independence, and 
 one wide generous glow of radiance diflusc 
 itself above, around the lovely and loung dis- 
 ciples of the ever-blessed Jesus. Then shall 
 earth be like heaven. Then rejoicings shall 
 break out in every desert und barren land, 
 while the ancient fertility hastens back to 
 earth, as when Adam first sung his morning 
 hymn in Eden. Then the sons of God will 
 shout for joy, as in the morning of the young 
 creation. Then a more heavenly song than 
 the hoarse trumpets breathe, or the dec))- 
 mouthed cannon utter, shall roll its harmonics 
 through the vocal creation, swelling its solemn 
 sweetness to every ear — " Peace on earth, 
 
 A^D GOOD WILL TO HAN." 
 
 " O KeoM Borpassing fable, and yet trae i 
 Scenes uf accomplished bliu ! which who caa see, 
 Tboagh bat in distant prospect, and not feel 
 His soul refreshel with foretaste of the Joy 1 
 One gong employs all nations ; and all cry, 
 ■ Worthy the Lamb, for be was slain for as !' 
 The dwellers in the vales anJ on the rocka 
 Bhout to each other, and the moantain tops 
 From distant moontains catch ihe flying joy ; 
 Till nation after nation taught the strain, 
 Earth rolls the rapturoas hosannah roand. 
 See Salem built, the labor of a Qod ! 
 Bright a* a sun the sacred city shines ; 
 All kingdoms and all princes of the earth 
 Flock to that light ; the glory of all lands 
 Flows into her ; unbounded is her joy. 
 And endless her increase." 
 
 NEW-YEAR'S DAY. 
 
 "A HAPPT NKW TF^n!" has been the 
 repetition of a thou^fatu! merry voiees this 
 morning. This is a dny on which old feuds 
 fhould be broken down, warm friendships be 
 strengthened, and new acquaintances formed. 
 New York, of all the stat':>s, keeps new- 
 year's day with the greatest s])irit. It is one 
 of the bequeathments of our Dutch forefa- 
 thers. While in N«w Knglnnd the austerity 
 of the puriton breathed the denunciation of 
 the iconoclast on all festivols, the homely set- 
 tler of New Amsterdam encouraged them. 
 The savants of the eastienocted lows to make 
 the people sober, and to render illegal all sup- 
 port of such festivities. When bleak and 
 cheerless winter set in on the little inland of 
 Manhattan, the severity of the season was 
 utterly disnnnrd by the social (pialities of its 
 plain g(K)d-natured inhabitants. There was a 
 regular interchange of visits among the neigh- 
 bors, and all parties laid in a large supply 
 of cookies, os was called their koek, or cake, 
 on which to regale themselves. Probably 
 from this circumstance has come down to us 
 the present ogreeable custom of the gentle- 
 men making their calls on the ladies of the 
 household. The first day of the year has in 
 it something peculiar, and which at once rec- 
 ommends it to the observance of every heart : 
 the customary division of time of the world's 
 age, of the different phases of history, and 
 what endears it more j)articularly, of the life 
 of man. The birthday remembrance is but 
 an individual consideration, but on this day 
 the nations, as with n simultaneous thought, 
 add one to the years of their being, while old 
 mother Earth dots another year of her ex- 
 istence on the calendar of time. This is a 
 day of gifts, a day for the expression of af- 
 fection by little mementoes, which become the 
 household representatives of love and kind 
 regard. Man in many traits is the same now 
 that he was some thousands of yeors ago. We 
 now give new-year's presents — so did the an- 
 cient Romans. On the first of January, long 
 before the advent of the Messiah, the Etemiu 
 City was kept in a yearly hum with the pas- 
 sing feet of^ the bearers of the strenee, or 
 presents : the patron received them from his 
 client, the citizen gave them to the magistrate, 
 and friends gave them t« each other. The 
 visiter brought his xenium, or guest-gift, and 
 received his strenx, or return-gift. These 
 were new-year's presents. The gifts con- 
 sisted chiefly of rare coins, gilt dates, plumbs 
 dried and gilt, figs, and other small household 
 matters, ornamented with the head of Janus, 
 to which god the festivities of the day were 
 dedicated. Persons visiting had their com- 
 pliments, which have come down to us. An- 
 
 1 
 
 I 
 
^ 
 
 12 
 
 NEW YEAU8 DAY. 
 
 Hum fitir ''"ih' MictnqiU llhi, said the 
 •ncii'iii I : frii'tni. A prunpinms 
 
 0nil hiir, _ /,-, you ! grcM #tr'** Ixi- 
 
 It. I' ( ' iilnii tUe Wimi oroipiCTOus, {^^T n<\' «4 In 
 •44.^ rtW'tT 'W MPXV-yc if's (llliy, tlllgUri'd well 
 
 fe» the wliolc yirir. Th<! Uniids hod thuii 
 Inkpmn days fur cut tin:; tho sacivd misrlrtfie 
 with ft c<>lili'n knifn, from Kontie ajjod tri-o iu 
 theii foi. if. dfilicntrd to tin ii tikIs, This, 
 uHlliimuch ecrnn'iriy, wax drii-d ii, i braiirhi'K, 
 ,, fl di«tril)Htcd (tii new-year's day iit ^t'ls ti» 
 til,/ ji)f. '^«rSiiA'>nanco9tor», in comrnun 
 Willi ijie 'i lin nations or trilirs, made 
 
 mrrry on thw d y, obscrvinn it with ^^ifti mid 
 miUKUul tc^iivity. Indf'ed, it wn« Qi>».ason of 
 ^rcat inijHirtmico witii lliem, in froi/i it they 
 numlnircd their nj;i! ; nnd t\w hoiiry-hcndcd 
 liHiii of sinciity wiia cnllcd the irinii of sev- 
 enty ini'rry-iimkiiitjs, Kni;land dors not ccl- 
 ehratc the day with mncli festivity, tlie onlv 
 observance lieinu; that l)e2innini» on tho last 
 night of the old year ; the hells of the various 
 churclies rin!» out their merry |)eals initil pa-it 
 midnight — ns is said, they rinj; tho old year out 
 mid tho new year in. fliit the greatest rdat 
 is given to this festival in France, where all 
 other nations arc far oufstripited in tlie lavish 
 nature of the gifts. The expenditures for 
 sweetmeats, dkc, in Paris, cxer'cd $100,000, 
 while the sales of jewelry and fancy articles 
 for Konu' five days about this time, eipial one 
 fodrlh the sales of the whole year. A. Paris- 
 ian of 10,000 francs a year, will spend one 
 fifteenth of it in new-year's presents. In the 
 visits of the day, the French have an ntiipiette 
 which is quite becoming. The nearest rela- 
 tions ore first visited, and so on, until they 
 have all been called on ; then tlie friends are 
 visited. This is all done in the morning. A 
 dinner is given, and the evening winds uj) 
 with social amusements. Still, although we 
 do not make such lavish expenditures, we are 
 not a whit behind any people in the social 
 enjoyment of the ♦ime. The kind congratu- 
 lations between the sexes, make it a happy 
 day, and a fitting dehut of the coming year. 
 Enjoy it, then. Be social, forgiving, nnd 
 kind-h.'i.r*ed, nnd in the midst of this glad 
 festivu_ let gratituile have a place in every 
 heart. Remember those who are in ndversi- i 
 ty, and see that the poor have the means of i 
 uniting in thi; f(!slival. TemiJerancc! is a vir- I 
 tue, which confers on her faithful votaries, on 
 festis'alj like to-day, blessings in rich profu- j 
 8i(ni ; while Hacchus overwhelms his follow- 1 
 ers in drunkenness, disgrace, j)ain, despair, j 
 and sorrow. \ 
 
 We ca'i not better close our remarks on i 
 the new yi ■• r 'nan by giving the ruminations 
 of Washk -on Ihvino from his "elbow 
 chair :" — 
 
 " In this en v • ' i tivit", when tho gate 
 
 of time swinut* ofi^n tm it* hingi-n, nnd an h< n- 
 e»t, rosy-faced, ni'W year rorius waddling in, 
 like u jolly, fat-»ide(f alderinuM, loaded with 
 gy>f)d wishes, good hui- ir, and minced jties j 
 ' iiiyous era, it lias been the I'usiom, from 
 'lemorial, in this ancient and n spect- 
 ui' • i . (or periodical writers, from n'verend, 
 grave, uud nnimt essayists, like ourselves! 
 clown to tlu! hiiiiible but iiidiiBtrioiis editors ui 
 mHga/.ine», reviews, and iiewsiiapers, to ten- 
 r their subscribers the cumpliments of tho 
 - -'>ii ; and when they have slily tliawe<l 
 th, hearts with a little of the sunshine of 
 (lattery, to c(nRlude by delicatdy dunning 
 thein for their arrears of suiiscriptuui-money. 
 In like manner, the carriers of newspapers, 
 who uiiiloulitedly belong to the ancient unj 
 honorable order of literati, do regularly, at 
 the coinniencement of the year, saluti; their 
 patrons with abundance of"^ excellent advice, 
 conveyed in exceeding good poetry, for which 
 the aforesaid good-natured patrons are well 
 (ileased to pay them exactly twenty-live 
 cents. This honest, grny-beard custom of 
 setting ajiart a certain jiortion of this good- 
 for-nothing existence for the purjioses of cor- 
 diality, social merriment, anil good cheer, is 
 one of the inestimable relics handed down to 
 us from our Dutch ancestors. In addition to 
 this divine origin of new-year festivity there 
 is something ex(piisitely grateful to a g(Hid- 
 nutured mind, in seeing every face dressed in 
 smiles ; in hearing the oft-repeated salutations 
 that flow spontoneously from tho heart to the 
 lips ; in behoMhig the i)oor, for <nicc enjoying 
 the smiles of iilcnty, nnd forgetting the cares 
 whi( h press hard \ipon them, in the jovial 
 revelry of the feelings ; tho young children, 
 decked out in their Sunday clothes, and freed 
 from their only cares, the cares of the school, 
 trijiping through the streets on errands of 
 pleasure; and even the very negroes, those 
 holyday-loving rogues, gorgeously arrayed in 
 cast-off finery, <'olIected in junts, at corners, 
 disolaying their white teeth, nnd making the 
 welkin ring with bursts of laughter, loud 
 enough to crack even the icy cheek of old 
 winter. There is something so pleasing in all 
 this, that I confess it would give me real \>n\n. { 
 to behold the frigid influence of modem style 
 cheating us of this jubilee of Ike hrart, nnd 
 converting it, as it does evf.iy !ii:i( ,' ■ i>f ' jcial 
 iiitT-i'rourse, into an idle and umjaaii ig .ere- 
 mony. 'Tis the annual f' /•'••} of Tct.i hu- 
 mor; — it comes in the de.. . .. . ;nter, when 
 
 nature is without a charm, when our jdeasuros 
 are contracted to the fireside, and when every- 
 thing that unlocks tho icy fetters of the heart, 
 and sets the genial current flowing, shoidd be 
 cherished, as a stray lamb, found in the wil- 
 derness, or a flower blooming among thorns 
 and briers." 
 
 \ 
 
 m. 
 
 KIMMMatMMB 
 
h« Wniypx, nml nii h( n- 
 
 iir comiM wuililliii!; in, 
 lUlcriiiiiii, liiiidt'il with 
 iiir, anil itiiiu-i'il piog ; 
 hicri tin; ciiMttiiii, from 
 it iiiirii'iit oiiil n M|ii'rt- 
 .vritrrs, from rcvcri'ml, 
 iyi"*l''i like iiiirsrlvot! 
 ' indiiKtriims cilitorH ot 
 il rii'WH[m|iriH, to tcti- 
 10 (•(im|)liiii''iilt lit' tlio 
 •y Iiiivf! wliiy llmwi'd 
 :1(! (if tli(> NUiiNliiiio of 
 y drlinitcly ilumiiii;} 
 if .siili!(cri]itioii-inoii('y. 
 irriers of iii'WMimpers, 
 i;' to ihu iiiiiiriit uiiJ 
 rati, do ri'Kuliirly, at 
 tllr vciir, milutc tlu-ir 
 (i of (;xcill('lit iidvicc, 
 ;ood poftry, for which 
 iri'd pntroiis aro well 
 exactly twenty-live 
 riiy-l)(!ftnl cu.stom of 
 Iiortion of tliis good- 
 r till' piir|»isr)s of cor- 
 it, luid ^(lod clu'f'r, is 
 relics liaiidcd dowa to 
 ?stors. In udditlon to 
 w-ycnr festivity there 
 y grateful to a good- 
 every face dri'sspi] in 
 ft-repeated Haliitations 
 from the heart to the 
 MKir, for oiieo enjoying 
 id forgetting the cares 
 1 them, in the jovial 
 ; the young cliildren, 
 day clothes, and freed 
 10 cares of the school, 
 itreets on errands of 
 ) very negroes, those 
 gorgeou'jly arrayed in 
 1 injunts, at corners, 
 ecth, and making the 
 Its of laughter, loud 
 the icy cheek of old 
 thing so pleasing in all 
 mill give me real pain '. 
 lence of modem style ' 
 ike of the hrart, and i 
 evf y null ,';• iif - jcial 
 i and rnui' ni i j,; .;ere- 
 1 f' ■• ■■] lit "c I hu- 
 dec.>, I .■ ,. :nfer, when 
 m, when our jileasures 
 ■side, and when every- 
 'V fetters of the heart, 
 'ut flowing, should be 
 mb, found in the wil- 
 joming among thorns 
 
14 
 
 MUTUAL DEPENDENCE. 
 
 isi'f 
 
 t MUTUAL DEPENDENCE. 
 
 The mutual relationship and dependence 
 of those who constitute the body politic, and 
 who, when regarded in this point of view, 
 may be resolved into the two general classes 
 of governors and governed, is easily demon- 
 strable by such a plwn and simple process of 
 reasoning as that which follows. The body 
 of man, from its liability to be affected by 
 hunger and cold, stands m need of food and 
 raiment. With these, the Indian or the sav- 
 age, who is content to eat the flesh, and wear 
 the skins of the animals he shoots or spears in 
 the thicket or forest, can supply himself. But 
 the inhabitants of civilized countries, like our 
 own, commonly obtain their food and clothing 
 by purchase. There is no purchasing either 
 the necessaries or the comforts of life without 
 money : and unless this be possessed, as in 
 the case of those who are usually denominated 
 rich, by right of inheritance, it must be ac- 
 quired, as in the case of the poor, by indi- 
 vidual or relative exertion. Both rich and 
 poor, however, need protection, more than 
 themselves can furnish, from the attacks of 
 ruthless violence : the rich, that they may 
 keep possession of what they have inherited, 
 or honestly accumulated ; and the poor, that 
 their persons may be unmolested while they 
 are engaged in earning a subsistence for them- 
 selves and their families. This protection of 
 property and person, from the robber or plun- 
 derer, and the mischievously-disposed, is af- 
 fordjd to rich and poor alike, by the laws of 
 their country, which, for this purpose, impose 
 restraints, and threaten penalties. But tk? 
 laws of a country, in order to become efficient 
 as the means of^ yielding protection must be 
 duly administered and enforced. The admin- 
 istration of law devolves upon the executive 
 government. And in return for the protection 
 afforded both to rich and poor by a due ad- 
 ministration of the laws, such a government 
 is justly entitled to support from those under 
 its superintendence. 
 
 As the circumstances of the case thus es- 
 tablish a mutual relationship between the gov- 
 erned and their governors, so likewise do they 
 render them dependent upon each other ; and 
 as the governed can not say to their govern- 
 ors, " We have no need of your protection ;" 
 so neither con rulers say to those under their 
 jurisdiction, " We have no need of your at- 
 tachment and support." 
 
 And since a similar relationship exists 
 among the members of the social body, there 
 is also a similar state of dependence observa- 
 ble. The mechanic and the laborer are de- 
 pendent upon their employers for the means 
 of earning a li/elihood ; and their employers 
 aie dependent upon the mechanic and the la- 
 
 borer for the manufacture of their goods, and 
 the cultivation of their lands. The manufac- 
 turer is dependent ujx)n the merchant for the 
 vending of his wares; and the merchant is 
 dependent upon the manufacturer for a proper 
 quantity of merchandise. The agriculturist is 
 dependent upon the public at large for the 
 consumption of his grain ; and the consuming 
 public are dependent upon the agriculturist 
 for a plentiful supply of produce. The poor 
 are dependent upon the rich for the distribu- 
 tion of their wealth, that they may have 
 whf-rewith to purchase food and clothing ; and 
 the rich are dependent upon the poor for the 
 comforts and conveniences they derive from 
 the skill of artisans and servants. Trades- 
 men and workpeople, and, indeed, all ranks 
 in society, the higher as well as the lower, are 
 dependent upon those belonging to the learned 
 and scientific professions for the valuable and 
 beneficial exercise of their varied talents ; 
 and the members of these professions are de- 
 pendent I'.pon those who employ them, for 
 the emolument by which they are enabled to 
 support themselves, and maintain theii re- 
 
 Nor is this social dependence merely recip- 
 rocal. It extends throughout the whole com- 
 munity ; so that those of one class can not 
 say to any of the other classes around them, 
 " We have no need of you." The correct- 
 ness of this statement may be shown by the 
 familiar illustration which the materials and 
 making of a pair of shoes will furnish. Sup- 
 posing the leather to be a home production, 
 not imported from abroad, it is stripped in the 
 form of skin from the carcase of an animal, 
 bred by a farmer or grazier, and slaughtered 
 by a butcher ; and this skin is prepared by 
 the tanner, and dressed by the currier, pre- 
 vious to its being cut, shaped, and put togeth- 
 er, by the shoemaker and his assistants. In 
 putting the different parts of a shoe together, 
 waxed thread is used ; the wax being a com- 
 position of substances usually imported ; and 
 the thread spun by a twine-spinner of hemp 
 which he obtains from the flax-dresser, who 
 either imports the article, or purchases it f^f 
 the grower. And before a single nail cxa be 
 driven into the heel of a shoe, the miner must 
 be at work in getting iron ore ; the smelter in 
 separating the metal from the dross with his 
 furnace ; the forger in beating out the pig-iron 
 into bars or rods; and the iiailsmith m re- 
 ducing the iron rods to the size and length re- 
 quired. But the nailsmith, the forger, the 
 smelter, and the nriner ; the twine-spinner and 
 flax-dresser, the shoemaker, the currier, and 
 the tanner — all use a variety of tools in their 
 respective operations, which tools are made 
 by other artificers. A nd the ^commodities im- 
 ported from abroad are brought across the sea 
 
facture of their goods, and 
 leir lands. The manufac- 
 uj)on tho merchant for the 
 res; and the merchant is 
 I manufacturer for a proper 
 idise. The agriculturist is 
 e public at large for the 
 grain ; and the consuming 
 Bnt upon the agriculturist 
 )ly of produce. The poor 
 1 the rich for the distribn- 
 th, that they may have 
 lase food and clothing ; and 
 lent upon the poor for the 
 cniences they derive from 
 IS and servants. Trades- 
 ile, and, indeed, all ranks 
 sr as well as the lower, are 
 se belonging to the learned 
 jsions for the valuable and 
 of their varied talents ; 
 f these professions are de- 
 e who employ them, for 
 which they are enabled to 
 I, and maintain theii re- 
 
 1 dependence merely recip- 
 hroughout the whole com- 
 lose of one class can not 
 ther classes around them, 
 d of you." The correct- 
 ent may be shown by the 
 1 which the materials and 
 
 shoes will furnish. Sup- 
 to be a home production, 
 ibroad, it is stripped in the 
 the carcase of an animal, 
 r grazier, and slaughtered 
 
 this skin is prepared by 
 essed by the currier, pre- 
 »t, shaped, and put togeth- 
 ler and his assistants. In 
 It parts of a shoe together, 
 ed ; the wax being a com- 
 ces usually imported ; and 
 ' a twine-spinner of hemp 
 rom the flax-dresser, who 
 article, or purchases it f f 
 before a single nail cxa. he 
 1 of a shoe, the miner must 
 as iron ore ; the smelter in 
 ;al from the dross with his 
 • in beating out the pig-iron 
 
 and the aailsmith in ro- 
 s to the size and length re- 
 nailsmith, the forger, the 
 iner ; the twine-spinner and 
 hoemaker, the currier, and 
 3 a variety of tools in their 
 jns, which tools are made 
 And the .commodities im- 
 l are brought across the sea 
 
 MAMMON AND MANHOOD. 
 
 15 
 
 in sliips, which mir'?*; be constructed, fitted 
 
 out, iiid navigated, by ship-carpeuters, riggers, 
 storekeepers, and sailors. Consequently, those 
 who wear pegged shoes (which workiug and 
 country people geaertUy prefer), are dei«en- 
 dent, directly or indirectly, upon the shoe- 
 Hiakef with Lis lor.g list of co-ojierators ;• and 
 these again are all dependent upon the wear- 
 ers <if shoes for tlw) 8hart3 they contribute 
 towarJ providing them with employment; 
 nor can either party say to the other, " We 
 have no ueed of yoa." 
 
 It is fully e\"Aettt, therefore, that man is 
 not au icdependeut, but a dependent being. 
 His life, his comforts, his enjoyments, are all 
 derived. Aud in himself considered as a sol- 
 itary individual, he possesses no resources out 
 of which his wauts cuu be supnlied. On God, 
 as the Father of mercies, he depends for the 
 bestowmeut of providential favors; and oa 
 his felldw-ereatures, as members of society, 
 f(W the means of their attainment. *» Every 
 good gift and every perfect gft is from above, 
 and Cometh down from the Father of lights," 
 Jas. i. 17 ; yet the blessings he befitcrws ujkwi 
 his creatures are conveyed through the medi- 
 um of their fellow-men ; that by perceiviug 
 their fraternal relatiouship, tjey may act 
 toward each other as members of the same 
 vast family ; and by rendering each other 
 mutual assistance, may confinu and strengtheu 
 the natural bonds of social life., 
 
 MAMMON AND MANHOOD, 
 
 The Scripture speaketh not in vain in say- 
 ing that " the love of money is the root of all 
 evil," for there is U(jt an evil under the sun, 
 to the commission of which men are not 
 
 • It may aoi bo fmpropor to observe here, that thi« 
 exteBHwe dependence i» productive of frrett aJvnn- 
 tagus, since it enables individuals to parchase at a 
 cheat* rate, wliat otiierwiso it wouid l>e in]yo«8ible fur 
 many et' thena to procure. If one person had to pro- 
 vide and prepare all tlio roqaisTtoe for a pair of sixies, 
 as well as to put tbein toiietlior, tlie price demanded 
 as a fair renaticratiaii for time ooeuftied, and lab4r 
 bestowed, must of necessity be incalculably great, 
 lu a book entitled, " The Hesults <jf MaHiliwry," it 
 isieoiarked: "There are thousands of fflniilies, on 
 the face «f the eartb, thiK would be f^lad tn«Bcli«ng« 
 all tliey hav« for a tin kettle, or an iron p<it, which 
 can be bouglit almost anywliene for twenty «r 
 thirty oents. And could the jitnor rann in this coun- 
 try, but once see Imw even the rkih man in «ome 
 other plaoes must toil, diijr after day, before he cRa 
 scra(>e «r griad a stune. so as to be alJe to boil ■ lit- 
 tle water in k, or nake k serve for a lamp, he wonM 
 account liiuascif a poor man nit inore. A gipoy car- 
 ri<»a about witli hiu more ef tl)e conveniences of iiCe, 
 than are eujo\-ed by tite diiefs or rulers in countries 
 which naturafly have nuch finer cliaates iitu* mary 
 {narts of ODT owu." 
 
 prompted by the love of money; and yet, 
 notwithstanding all the light on this subject 
 given in the Scriptures, and confirmed by gen- 
 eral exijerience, men everywhere are occupied 
 ia the constant and keen pursuit of wealth, 
 and the prime object with the many is to ol)- 
 taiii it, and to push their families foiward in 
 the unhappy race of avarice and aggrandize- 
 ment. For money, men sacrifice domestic 
 comfort, health, character, and even hazard 
 life itself; for it, they are guilty of fraud, 
 deceirtion, and robbery. 
 
 For money they sacrifice friendship, grati- 
 tude, natural affection, and every holy and di- 
 vine feeling. For money, man becomes a 
 creeping, crawling, obsequious, despicable 
 creature, instead of walking erect as the olF- 
 spring of God. Mammon and Manhood are 
 incompatible. 
 
 Why all this anxiety about money ? why 
 this constant fever, this pu.shing and driving 
 in order to obtain it ? even because men form 
 a false estimate of life and its elements. " A 
 man'« life consisteth not in the abundance of 
 the things which he pos.sesseth." He who 
 would LIVE must stir up the divine fire that is 
 in him, to consume selfishness, and to dispense 
 light aud heat to all around. Money he may 
 seek in moderation, as a means, not as an end ; 
 aud in order to preserve his manhood, he must 
 learn to practise self-denial and economy, and 
 to be contented with small things : above all, 
 he must remember that God has set honor 
 upon labor, by ajipoiuting man to live by la- 
 bor; labor is truly honorable, and however 
 mcoB the occupatiou may be. if honest, it is 
 never disgracefuL 
 
 Instead, therefore, of sinking Manhood in 
 the pursuit of Mammon, by creeping, crawl- 
 ing, aud bending to every one whom you may 
 imagine can help you forward in the race of 
 worldly advancement, stand erect, detennine 
 in the strength of God to be a man, to buy 
 the truth, at whatever cost, aud never to sell 
 it for auy price ; to labor at any work if need- 
 ful, to spetik what is in thy heart, and never 
 to creep, and crawl, and mutter. God helps 
 those who help themselves. 
 
 Stand uptm thy Manhood in the world, not 
 uptm thy Mammon; stand upon thy own 
 character and upoii thj' own estimate of thy- 
 self trade in all honesty, not ujion the opiji- 
 ion of others. Be afraid of siu, but never 
 shrink at misrepresentation, or at contunK-ly, 
 or contemirt, or poverty. Why should you 
 be afraid ? Life is in thyself, and thy enioy- 
 ment should be unapproached and unapproach- 
 able. 
 
 It once was, when men were worthy of 
 office the people knew it first, but now the 
 office-seeker first finds it out. 
 
 - ^"'^'••mmmtm 
 
i~5j 
 
 Portr.it ef J.h» Haneoek. with fccrimita «f hi, signairre, e»pied from tl.e Declararion of iidependcBoe. 
 
 ^ JOHN HANCOCK. 
 
 Thy Bpint, Independrnce, let me nhare, 
 Lord of the lion heart and oaglo eye, 
 Thy stepa I follow ^*-itli my boaom bare, 
 Nor heed llie etorm that howte atone the sfey 
 Iinmortnl liberty, whose look Bttblinie 
 Hath blanched Uie tyranf» cheek in every varying 
 
 We have much pleasure m presenting to 
 our reatlers a corrert jiortrait of the alwve- 
 named celebrated imtriot, whose l)old awi 
 inanly wgnatuire is sf» miich admired, on tho 
 charter of our liberties, togeiher with a vie^v 
 of tlM! old mansioii-house, still standing in 
 Boston. ^ 
 
 Jolui Hancock was bom at Qui'wv, near 
 Boston, whence have emanated the two presi- 
 dents Adams. He was the son and granilson 
 of ennnrnt clergymen, but having early lost 
 his father, was iiKlebted for a liberal edoca- 
 tion to his uncle, a merchant of great wealth, 
 
 whose counting-liousR he afterward entered, 
 b«t sixm sailed for England, where lie was 
 present at the coronation of George III. His 
 uncle dying in 1774, he succeeded to his ?arge 
 fortune asid bttsiness. He was active as a 
 member of the provincial legislature uLiiinst 
 the royal governor, and became so obnnxions 
 to him, that after the battle of Lexington, he 
 and Samuel Adams were excepted l)y name 
 in a proclamation offering panlon to the rehels 
 who should 8Ave«r fealty to Britain. They 
 escaped fmm one door of a house as the Brit- 
 ish soldiers entered it at anotTn^r, and thus 
 their valuable petsoss were preserved to aid 
 the good cause of the Revohition. 
 
 Hancock was presiitent of the prwincial 
 csongress of Massachusetts, until seirt a dole 
 |»ate to the general congress at Philadelphia, 
 m 1775, -where he was soon chosen to suc- 
 ceed Peyton Randolph as president of that 
 august assembly. H© was the first to alEx 
 
 11 
 
 MMi 
 
 riWhMMH 
 
:Iararion of IiidepeodcnRc. 
 
 he aftorwanl entered-, 
 liilaml, vrhere lie was 
 m of Gcorjjo III. His 
 I succecdipil to his farge 
 
 He was active as a 
 ^al lej[jislature utjnin.st 
 J became so olmoxions 
 inttle of Lexfn^ton, Tie 
 ere excepted by name 
 nsi Jianlon to tbe rehe.ls 
 Ity to Britarn. Thev 
 of a house as the Brit- 
 
 at anntlKT, and thus 
 were preserved to aid 
 Revohition. 
 
 fent of the prmnticial 
 etts, until seirt a dele 
 gross at Philadelphia, 
 s soon chosen to stic- 
 1 as president of that 
 
 was the first to affix 
 
 -it; 
 
 fi 
 
 W^' 
 
18 
 
 JOHN HANCOCK. 
 
 his signature to the Declaration of Intlei)en. 
 dance, which was first published \vith no other 
 name attached. He filled this important chaii 
 ^11 1779, when gout compelled him to retire 
 from congress. He was then elected govern- 
 or of Massachusetts, and was annually chosen 
 from 1780 to 1785, and after an interval of 
 two years was re-elected, and continued to fill 
 the office until his death, October 8th, 1793, 
 at the age of fifty-six years. He acted also 
 as president of the convention of the state for 
 the adoption of the federal constitution, for 
 which he voted. 
 
 His talents were rather useful than brilliant. 
 He seldom sjwke, but his knowledge of busi- 
 ness, and facility in despatching it, together 
 with his keen insight into the characters of 
 men, rendered him peculiarly fit for public 
 life. Being well acquainted with parliament- 
 ary foiTns, he inspired respect by his atten- 
 tion, impartiality, and dignity. In private life 
 he was remarkable for his hospitality and be- 
 neficence. He was a complete gentleman of 
 the old school, both in appearance and man- 
 ners, and was a magnificent liver, lavishly 
 bountiful, keejping a coach and six horses, and 
 distinguished for his politeness and affability. 
 When Washington consulted the legislature 
 of Massachusetts upon the propriety of bom- 
 barding Boston, Hancock advised its beinw 
 done immediately, if it would benefit the 
 cause, although neariy his whole property 
 consisted in houses and other real estate in 
 that town. Carroll, of Carrollton, and Han- 
 cock, probobly risked more property on the 
 event of the struggle than any other two in- 
 dividuals. The estate at Quincy, which was 
 his inheritance, is now the property of our dis- 
 tinguished countryman, the venerable ex-pres- 
 ident, John Quincy Adams. 
 
 The first provocation of the British gov- 
 ernment which created a spirit of civil discord 
 among her provinces, was the imposition of 
 duties ui)on the importation of foreign mer- 
 chandise, and other injuries impairing the pros- 
 perity of the colonial commerce. Upon this 
 occasion, oil the address and diligence of Mr. 
 Hancock was exerted in opposition to a sys- 
 tem of legislation so rapacious uiul tyrannical. 
 It W03 by his agency, and that of a few other 
 citizens of Boston, that for the purpose of 
 procuring a revocation of these duties, asso- 
 ciations were instituted to prohibit the impor- 
 tation of British goods ; a j-iolicy which soon 
 afterward being imitated by the other colonies, 
 first served to awaken the apprehensions of 
 the people, and to kindle those passions that 
 were essential to the success of the war and 
 the preservation of their liberties. The agi- 
 tation of this subject produced no common 
 animosity, and in some instances acts of atro- 
 city and outrage, of which we may mention ps 
 
 among the most consjjicuous, the case of Mr. 
 Otis, who at the instigation of a British offi- 
 cer, was assailed by a band of ruffians, with 
 a violence which impaired his reason, and 
 hastened his death. 
 
 About the same time, a vessel belonging to 
 Mr. Hancock, being loaded, it was said, in con- 
 travention of the revenue laws, was seized 
 by the customhouse officers, and carried under 
 the guns of an armed vessel at the time in the 
 harbor, for security; but the people, exas- 
 perated by this offensive exertion of authority, 
 assembled, and pursuing the officers, beat 
 them with clubs, and drove them on board 
 their vessels for protection. The boat of the 
 collector was then burnt in triumph by the 
 mob, and the he uses of some of his most ob- 
 noxious adherents were, in the first trans])orts 
 of popular fury, razed to the ground. Thus 
 Mr. Hancock, in more ways than one con- 
 tributed to set the great wheel of the Revolu- 
 tion m motion, though he could not hiniself 
 have approved of such acts, which were dis- 
 approved by the legal authorities. Yet Han- 
 cock derived from his connexion with the af- 
 fair an increased popularity. At an assem- 
 bly of the citizens, Mr. Hancock and others 
 were appointed to request of the governor a 
 removal of the British troops from the town, 
 which the governor ottempted to evade. A 
 second committee being selected, of which 
 Mr. Hancock was chairman, voted the ex- 
 cuses made inadmissible, and by a more per- 
 eniptory tone of expostulation, urged and ob- 
 tained their removal. This governor had 
 complimented Hancock in 1767, with a lieu- 
 tenancy. But declaring his determination to 
 hold no office under a man whose vices and 
 principles he considered hostile to the liberties 
 of his country, he tore up the commission in 
 presence of many citizens; for which bold 
 act he received the severe reprehension and 
 threats of the royal government. 
 
 Of the modesty of Hancock there is a very 
 beautiful anecdote related by his biograjihers. 
 That there were members of the first Con- 
 gress of superior age to his, and men at the 
 same time of pre-eminent virtues and talents, 
 vrill not be denied. The occasion was one 
 upon which calnnr.css was essential, for rarely 
 in the vicissitudes of nations, has it hapjiened 
 that interests more sacred have been confided 
 to the infirmity of human wisdom and integ- 
 rity, or that a spectacle more imposing has 
 been exhibited to human observation. Mr. 
 Hancock's timidity at being called to fill the 
 chair was relieved, it is said, by a strong- 
 nerved member from the south, who led or 
 jjore him to the speaker's seat ; when placed 
 in thit conspicuous position, he presided with 
 a dignity and capacity that extorted the re- 
 spect and approbotion of even his enemies. 
 
 ■MKn 
 
icuous, the case of Mr. 
 gation of a British offi- 
 i band of ruffians, with 
 paired bis reason, and 
 
 e, a vessel belonj^ng to 
 aded, it was said, in con- 
 ;nue laws, was seized 
 icers, and carried under 
 essel at the time in the 
 
 but the people, exas- 
 e exertion of authority, 
 ling the officers, beat 
 
 drove them on board 
 tion. The boat of the 
 mt in triumph by the 
 F some of his most ob- 
 (, in the first transports 
 
 to the ground. Thus 
 e ways than one con- 
 t wheel of the Revohi- 
 he could not himself 
 
 acts, which werij dis- 
 uthorities. Yet Han- 
 connexion with the af- 
 larity. At an assem- 
 ■. Hancock and others 
 lest of the governor a 
 
 troops from the town, 
 empted to evade. A 
 g selected, of which 
 irman, voted the ex- 
 e, ajid by a more i)er- 
 ilation, urged and ob- 
 
 This governor had 
 
 in 1767, with a lieu- 
 a: his determination to 
 man whose vices and 
 hostile to the liberties 
 up the commission in 
 ens; for which bold 
 ere reprehension and 
 emment. 
 
 mcock there is a very 
 ;d by his biogra])hers. 
 ers of the first Con- 
 
 his, and men at the 
 It virtues and talents, 
 he occasion was one 
 s essential, for rarely 
 ions, has it happened 
 d have been confided 
 m wisdom and integ- 
 ( more imposing has 
 m observation. Mr. 
 eing called to fill the 
 s said, by a strong- 
 e south, who led or 
 s seat; when placed 
 ion, he presided with 
 hat extorted the re- 
 even his enemies. 
 
 JOHN HANCOCK. 
 
 19 
 
 After his death, his body lay in state at his 
 mansion, where great multitudes thronged to 
 pay th(! last offices of their grief and atfec- 
 riou. His obsequies were attended with great 
 pomp Qiid solemnity, and amid the tears of 
 his countrymen, he was committed to the 
 dust. 
 
 His ■wife was a Miss Quincy, whom he 
 married about twenty years before his death. 
 Shi: was the daughter of an eminent magis- 
 trate of Boston, and one of the most distin- 
 guished families in New England. No chil- 
 dren of this connexion were left to inherit his 
 fortune or perpetuate his name ; his only son 
 having died during his youth. 
 
 In staiure Mr. Hancock was above the 
 middle size, of excellent proportion of limbs, 
 of extreme benignity of countenance, posses- 
 sing a flexible and harmonious voice, a manly 
 and dignified aspect. By the imjjrovjment 
 of these natural qualities from observation and 
 extensive 'ntercourse with the world, he had 
 acquired a jjleasing elocution, with the most 
 graceful and conciliating manners. Of his 
 talents it is a sufficient evidence, that in the 
 various stations he filled, he acquitted himself 
 with an honorable distiiiction and capacity. 
 His conununications to the general assembly, 
 and his correspondence as president of con- 
 gress, are enduring proofs of his putting his 
 shoulder eflectively to the wheel of puolic 
 affairs. His knowledge was practical and fa- 
 miliar. He neither penetrated the intricacies 
 of profound research, nor did he mount to in- 
 accessible elevations. 
 
 Hancock first put his name to the immortal 
 Declaration of Independence ; had his life 
 been marked by no other event, it would have 
 entitled him to ever-enduring renown — ^but in 
 connexion with that act, he combined great 
 and useful wisdom in the councils of our in- 
 fant nation, and his name ■will descend to pos- 
 terity with untjualified lusti*. 
 
 The old mansion in which Hancock lived, 
 is situated upon the elevated ground in Bea- 
 con-street, fronting toward the south, and com- 
 manding a fine view of the " Common." The 
 principal building is of hewn stone, " finished, 
 not altogether in the modem style, nor yet in 
 the ancient Gothic taste." It is raised twelve 
 or thirteen feet above the street ; and the as- 
 cent is throngh a garden, bordered with flowers 
 and small trees. Fifty-six feet in breadth, the 
 front terminates in two lofty stories. While 
 occujiied by Governor Hancock, the east wing 
 formed a s])aciou8 heU ; and the west wing 
 was appropriated to domestic purposes : the 
 whole embracing, •with the stables, coach- 
 house, and other offices, an extent of two 
 hundred and twenty feet. In those days, 
 there was a delightful garden behind the man- 
 sion, ascending gradually to the high lands in 
 
 the rear. This spot was also handsomely em- 
 bellished with glacis, and a variety of excol- 
 lent fruit-trees. From the summer-house 
 might be seen West Boston, Charlesttnvn, 
 and the north part of the town ; the colleges, 
 the bridges of the Charles and Mystic rivers 
 — the ferry of Winnisimet, and " fine coun- 
 try of that vicinity, to a great extent." The 
 south and west views took in Roxbury, the 
 highlands of Dorchester and Brookline, the 
 blue hills of Milton and Braintree, together 
 with numerous farmhouses, verdant fields, and 
 laughing valleys. Upon the east, the islands 
 of the harbor, " from Castle William to the 
 lighthouse, engaged the sight by turns, 
 which at last was lost in the ocean, or only 
 bounded by the horizon." 
 
 Governor Hancock inherited this estate 
 from his uncle, Thomas Hancock, Esq., who 
 erected the building in 1737. At that period, 
 the "court part of the to'wn" was at the 
 " north end," and his fellow-citizens marvel- 
 led not a little that he should have selected, 
 for a residence, such au unimproved spot as 
 this then was. 
 
 In the lifetime of that venerable gentleman, 
 the doors of hospitality were opened to the 
 stranger, the poor, and distressed ; and annu- 
 ally, on the anniversary of the Ancient and 
 Honorable Artillery Company, he entertained 
 the governor and council, and most respecta- 
 ble personages, at his house. The like atten- 
 tions were shown to the same military body 
 by Governor Hancock, who inherited all the 
 urbanity, generous spirit, and virtues of his 
 uncle. 
 
 It is now', we believe, the property of some 
 of the descendants of Governor Hancock, and 
 rented as a jirivate dwelling. But since the 
 demise of that eminent man, the hand of time 
 and improvement has been constantly con- 
 tending, around and against it. It can not 
 long resist such attacks; and, before many 
 years elapse, this famous mansion will proba- 
 ily be razed to the ground, " and its place 
 supplied by others." 
 
 Government or Temper. — Every human 
 creature is sensible of the propensities to some 
 infirmity of temper, which it should be his 
 care to correct and subdue, particularly in the 
 early period of life ; else, when arrived at a 
 state of maturity, he may relapse into those 
 faults which were originally in his nature, and 
 which will require to be diligently watched 
 and kept unde-, through the whole course of 
 life ; since nothing leads more directly to the 
 breach of charity, and to the injury and mo- 
 lestation of our fellow-creatures, than the in- 
 dulgence of an ill-temper. 
 
 ■n 
 
20 
 
 NEW ENGLAND LinEEALITY. SCHOOLS, AND INSTITUTIONS. 
 
 NEW ENGLAND LIBERALITY, 
 
 SCHOOLS. AND INSTITUTIONS. 
 
 " Fon lonniins, bo liberal. Sniiro no cost ; for 
 by f luh jidi^iinuny, all ia lost ttint ia sftvcii ; but 
 ll!t it 111! CaEKUI. KNOWLEDOE, Buch as U coii.^ist- 
 
 eiit with truth and godlinosa." — William Penx. 
 
 The first settlers of New England are just- 
 ly entitled to a large share of the credit of 
 having given an impulse to the cause of pop- 
 ular education. In the year l(iG8, a document 
 was ])ubli.shed, by t^rder of the governor and 
 coimcil of Massachusetts, and oddressed to 
 the elders and ministers of every to\vn, in 
 which paper was set forth an earnest desire 
 for the moral and religious instruction of the 
 peo[)le, and an appeal to those to whom the 
 instrument was directed, to examine whether 
 the education of youth in the English language 
 was attended to. From the time of Win- 
 TURop, ]\I.\TiiER, and their associates, who 
 labored most zealously in this field of useful- 
 np.ss, to the present period, New England has 
 devoted her attention to the promotion of 
 knowledge ; and in the industry, integrity, ond 
 frugality, of her children, beholds now the bril- 
 liant results of her perseverance. When we 
 consider that the tide of emigration, which is 
 sweeping before it the forests of the west, 
 takes its rise in the eastern section of the Uni- 
 ted States, and bears upon its bosom the ele- 
 ments of enrichment — that it is composed in a 
 great degree of those who have been enabled 
 there to obtain the rudiments of learning — the 
 first principles of valuable information — ought 
 we not to be grateful to those who have toiled, 
 and feel it to be both a privilege and duty to 
 acknowledge with gratitude the many princely 
 donations of the " sons of the pilgrims" to the 
 cause of education, in order to keep the fount- 
 ain well supplied, pure, and transparent, for 
 future use 7 
 
 When proper respect is thus paid to such 
 as are possessed of those liberal talents and 
 enlightened views, which constitute true 
 GREATNESS, it must evidently be productive 
 of the happiest consequences — especially to 
 youth, whose minds are so open to impres- 
 sions, and on whom the force of example acts 
 with an imjiortant effect, that con not fail of 
 prcKlucing a corresponding good — exciting a 
 laudable emulation : leading their views from 
 grovelling pursuits to a search after and love 
 of virtue, knowledge, and the various quali- 
 ties which strengthen society, brighten the 
 social links which bind man to his fellow-man, 
 and so pre-eminently distinguishes the mem- 
 bers of a civilized, intelligent community, from 
 the rude and unenlightened nations of coun- 
 tries where education and its train of blessings 
 
 have never been, or arc but imperfectly 
 known. There is something peculiarly jdeas- 
 ing and impressive in the contemplntion of 
 great and good characters — in thoiie who just- 
 ly claim the appellation; — we view, ad- 
 mire, and feel an irresistible longing to be like 
 them, to imitate their virtues, and to jiractise 
 their precepts ; we feel ourselves better, and 
 destined to an advancement in knowledge and 
 strength, from the proud con.sciou.sness of par- 
 taking their natures, and possessing, however 
 humble, a spark of that celestial, intellectual 
 fire, which illumines so brilliantly their minds, 
 and emanates from one common source — the 
 great and inexhaustible Fountain of light and 
 goodness ! 
 
 It is universally admitted that ignorance is 
 the fruitful source of crime and misery. This 
 fact is sufficient, we should imagine, to arouse 
 the most profound attention, and create the 
 deepest anxiety in the bosom of every i)liilan- 
 thropist. The necessity of educating the peo- 
 ple of a free government is admitted on every 
 side ; and yet, through a culpable inertness, in 
 many states of the Union, on the part of those 
 whose duty it is to move forward on this mo- 
 mentous subject, an immense portion tif those 
 into whose hands the destinies of this last 
 sanctuary of freedom must be delivered, is left 
 in total darkness, and wholly unac(piainted with 
 the infonnation necessary to the formation of 
 valuable citizens. The cause of freedom — 
 the tranquillity of our country — the ]iresent 
 happiness and future prosperity of millions- 
 demand activity, and exhort the people of the 
 United States to unite in a " crusade against 
 ignorance" — a crusade in which every true 
 knight, who rallies under the holy standard, 
 can lay the flattering unction to his heart that 
 he is the champion of the cause of truth, and 
 of the disenthralment of the human mind from 
 the most debasing species of servitude. Let 
 the watchword be, in the ever-vigilant camp 
 of the faithful, " Liberty and Education." 
 We have been led into this train of reflec- 
 tion by j)erusing in the public prints, from 
 time to time, accounts of the various munifi- 
 cent individual donations of the wealthy, pa- 
 triotic, and benevolent citizens of Boston, in 
 support of its institutions for moral, religious, 
 and literary purposes — continuing unabated 
 from year to year.* Among the most recent, 
 we notice the donations of Hon. Abbott Law- 
 rence to Harvard college, amounting to fif- 
 ty thousand dollars. Hon. David Sears 
 has also given ten thousand dollars to the 
 same institution, and a like sum to Amherst 
 • Boston has been called Uie " literary emporium 
 of the western world," and perhaps justly, for it is a 
 fact that a greater portion of men disiiiiffuished for 
 acquisitions of this nature have arisen in this city and 
 the vicinity, than in any other part of the United 
 States. 
 
 
 iii iMOn i iiM * )!! mi I iWi j i a l Mi 
 
 MMbH 
 
 ■Mli 
 
'ITUTION3. 
 
 r ore but im])erfectly 
 lething ijcculiiiily jileos- 
 n the conteinplntion of 
 itflrs — in thoiii who just- 
 ntion ; — we view, Dtl- 
 listible longinj; to he like 
 ■ virtues, and to practise 
 el ourselves better, and 
 sment in knowledge and 
 ud consciousness of par- 
 md possessing, however 
 int celestial, intellectual 
 
 brilliantly their minds, 
 10 common source — the 
 le Fountain of light and 
 
 mitted that ignorance is 
 rime and misery. This 
 lould imagine, to arouse 
 tention, and create the 
 bosom of every i)hilan- 
 ity of educating the peo- 
 mt is admitted on every 
 
 1 a culpable inertness, in 
 ion, on the part of those 
 >ve forward on this ino- 
 fimense portion of those 
 5 destinies of this last 
 aust be delivered, is left 
 holly unac(piainted with 
 ary to the formation of 
 he cause of freedom — 
 r country — the ])resent 
 prosperity of millions — 
 sxhort the people of the 
 B in a " crusade against 
 3 in which every true 
 der the holy standard, 
 inction to liis heart that 
 the cause of truth, and 
 if the human mind from 
 ;ies of servitude. Let 
 the ever- vigilant camp 
 RTT AND Education." 
 nto this train of reflec- 
 he public prints, from 
 
 of the various munifi- 
 ms of the wealthy, pa- 
 ; citizens of Boston, in 
 ms for moral, religious, 
 — continuing unabated 
 Vmong the most recent, 
 lof Hon. Abbott Law- 
 lege, amounting to fif- 
 3. Hon. David Sears 
 ousAND dollars to the 
 a like sum to Amherst 
 
 id tlie " literary emporium 
 i perlmpB justly, for it is a 
 
 of men distiiiffuished for 
 Imve arisen in tliis city and 
 
 other part of the United 
 
 NEW ENGLAND LIBEllALITY, SCHOOLS, AND INSTITUTIONS. 
 
 21 
 
 collegi.* Amos Lawrenck, Esq., Hon. Thom- 
 as II. Pkiikins, William Api'lkton, Es(|., 
 and many oth(;r gentlemen of well-kmnvu lili- 
 crality, in Massachusetts, have contributed of 
 their abundance to the advancement of learn- 
 ing. Such instances of enlightened liberality 
 are to bo highly commended, and constitute 
 one of the noblest features of New England 
 goo<l sea'ie and feiding. 
 
 We might furnish similar amounts of oth- 
 ers, whose eotlers are nut closed, l)ut who are 
 ever on llio giving hand — encouraging talent, 
 promoting industry, and fostering the tine arts, 
 thus setting a most nobh; and jiraiseworthy 
 example to the wealthy men of other cities, 
 which we could wish more generally imitated. 
 These benevolent and useful men — descend- 
 ants of the noblest ancestry ever ])ossessed by 
 any people — citizens of the " mother state" of 
 New England, the v(;ry birthplace and cradle 
 of American freedom — possess the principles 
 of that most remarkable body of men, per- 
 haps, which the world has ever produced. 
 They well know that knowledge is an all- 
 powerful engine to preserve their civil and re- 
 ligious rights, and transmit them to posterity. 
 They therefore very early laid the foundation 
 of those /rce sclwols, of which all the sons and 
 daughters of New England are justly jiroud. 
 Exclusive of infant and sabbath school schol- 
 ars, about a quarter part of the population of 
 Boston is kept at school throughout the year, 
 at an annual expense of two hundred thousantl 
 dollars. Since the year IHDO, not less than 
 TWO MILLIONS OF DOLLARS havc bccn ajipro- 
 priated to the cause of education by the citi- 
 zens of Boston. Tliis is good evidence that 
 ' ' the pilgrim spirit has not yet lled."t Under 
 
 * Five thnHtani ihllam to Harvard CoUeoje for the 
 erection of an Obskevatoky Tuweh, now known as 
 tlie Sears' Tower. In this tower is placeil tlie Great 
 Telescope, the f,'ill of Bortou citizens, and from it are 
 ilatcd all the scientific reports of the observers, Mesars. 
 G. and G. T. Bond. 
 
 Five thoHnnnd dollart to create a fund, the income 
 of which is to Ixj appropriated to tlie supijort of tlie ob- 
 server;!, and other purposes of science. 
 
 Ten t/iotisand do/Ill). 1 10 Amhcri^ Collefre to cstab- 
 li.sh a foundation an(i an accumulating fund, for the 
 advancement of literature ami science, the income to 
 bo applied, as the trustees, in their discretion, maj' 
 vote the proper objects. 
 
 The other gentlemen mentioned have also been equal- 
 ly liberal, in various ways, with tbfir own views of 
 utility, and merit an equally distinguished notice. 
 
 t Says a celebrated (oreigu writer, in no wise par- 
 tial to tlie Puritans : " They were men whose minds 
 had derived a peculiar character from tlie daily con- 
 templation of superior beings and eternal interests. 
 Not content with acknowledging in general terras 
 an overruling Providence, tliey habitually ascribed 
 every event to the will of the Gkeat 'Bei.vo for 
 whoso nower nothing was too vast, for whose inspec- 
 tion iKithint? was too minute. To know Hi.m, to serve 
 Him, to enjoy Hi.m, was with them the great end of 
 Umir existence. They rejected with contempt the 
 oeremouiou« homage which other sects substituted 
 
 no system but Christianity does true liber- 
 ty exist, or are human rights properly re- 
 spected. By it the existence of man is in- 
 vested with dignity and importance ; by this 
 levelliiig and exalting system, every human 
 being, in whatever circumstances of degrada- 
 tion no may be jilaced, stands on an equality 
 w-ith the mightiest potentate on earth, ond to 
 his fate is attached a mysterious and incon- 
 ceivalile importance. 
 
 We are well aware that all political dema- 
 gogues, to whatever party or profession they 
 may belong, are, as it may naturally be sup- 
 posed, secretly, if not openly, opposed to pop- 
 ular education. And they are so, because an 
 ignorant, idle, and immoral pojmlation are more 
 easily managed to suit the purposes of a dem- 
 agogue than an enlightened and well-principled 
 one. 
 
 In a late article on the subject of education, 
 by one of our ablest and most industrious wri- 
 ters,* particularly on statistics, we find the 
 following remarks : — 
 
 "As respects New England, however, it 
 will be universally admitted, we think, that 
 none of its states has ever fallen into so low a 
 condition, that the mass of its citizens, under 
 whatever party banners they might be enlist- 
 ed, would allow their political leaders to break 
 dowii a system which affords every individual 
 an opportunity of obtaining an education at 
 the public exiiense, and, consequently, free 
 of charge to the poorest classes. 
 
 " It is true that even in Ma.ssachusetts, 
 whore education, from the most elementary 
 to the highest branches of instruction, has been 
 most liberally encouraged — not by the state, 
 but by individuals — the demagogues belong- 
 ing to the profession of the politician, as well 
 as the demagogues in all other vocations of 
 life, have not lieen wanting in their wishes and 
 exertions to hinder an advancement in popular 
 education, and even to lower its present stand- 
 ard ; but they never have had the countenance 
 of any considerable portion of either of the 
 two predominating political jiarties. • • • 
 
 " On the distribution of the surjilus revenue 
 of the United States some few years since, an 
 effort was made liy the friends of popular ed- 
 ucation, in and out of the legislature, to lay 
 aside the share coming to Massachusetts — 
 amounting to $1„047,620— as a fund, the in- 
 come from which to be applied to the promo- 
 tion of education ; but it failed. 
 
 " In truth, of the vast sums which, for half 
 
 for the homage of the soul. On the rich and the elo- 
 quent, on Dobles and priests, they looked down with 
 contempt ; for tliey esteemed themselves rich in a 
 more precious treasure, and eloquent in a more sub- 
 lime language — nobles by the right of an earlier cre- 
 ation, and priests by tlie imposilica of a miahtier 
 hand." 
 
 * H. Lee, Esq., of Boston, 
 
 itfjit 
 
 .^f 
 
R I'.pntury and more, have been appropriated 
 for the support of education and for iu ad 
 
 vanopinent, by far the larrest portion has oris- 
 en from the heiiefactions of charitable and mu- 
 nificent individuals. As a state, considering 
 that the annual income of its inhabitants is 
 much greater than that of the people of any 
 other state of e(iual number of jjcrsons, we 
 havir done less for the promotion of education 
 than Vew York and several other members of 
 the Union. And, but for the unexampled gen- 
 erosity of individuals, the institutions for in- 
 struction in the higher branches of education 
 —leaning, as they have done, almost wholly 
 on the best(nvTnents of individuals for support 
 — mu;-t, without that private aid, have been 
 m a very low condition, compared with their 
 existmg one. .So, in regard to charitable es- 
 tablishments : they mainly owe their origin 
 and support to the well-considered and wiseTy- 
 bestowed contributions of individuals, — nine 
 tenths of which, perhaps, may have come 
 from the citizens of Boston. 
 
 " Although the legislatures of Massachu- 
 setts, and especially within the last fifty years, 
 have not shown s() enlightened and liberal a 
 disposition as thiur predecessors have done 
 (considering the vast accession to the proper- 
 ty of its inhabitants) in regard to popular ed- 
 ucation, in consequence of the hinderanccs 
 thro^vn in the way of the advocates of educa- 
 tion by the demagogues of both jiarties — nev- 
 ertheless, it is to be hoped that the time has 
 arrived when the resistance made bv the dem- 
 agogues in the legislature and elsewhere, to an 
 advancement in the quality of the schools, and 
 m the qualifications of the teachers, will be 
 discountenanced and overcome by influential 
 men of all parties. Such will certainly be 
 the conduct of reflecting men ; for what, we 
 ask, is there so necessary to the prosperity, ! 
 self-respect, and to the general welfare of the ' 
 mass of the people, as the advantages deriva- 
 ble from education ? 
 
 " Upon this all-important subject of educa- 
 tion, there are the following just and timely 
 remarks in Governor BRiaos' late address to 
 the legislature : — 
 
 " 'I can not,' says this intelligent and ex- 
 cellent magistrate, ' forbear to present to your 
 earnest consideration, as I have heretofore pre- 
 sented to the consideration of your predecessors, 
 the important subject of ]3opular education. 
 
 " ' This subject should be ever present with 
 the people of the commonwealth and wth their 
 legislature. Neither can neglect it without 
 bringing a just reproach upon themselves, and 
 doing injustice to rfie rising generation. 
 
 " I In the order of Providence, to each suc- 
 ceeding generation of men is committed the 
 education of the children. This is a high and 
 sacred duty. No generation con perform it 
 
 It can not be omitted without 
 
 but once 
 guilt. 
 
 " ' The people of Massachusetts can not for- 
 get, and ought not to forget, that uniler Prov- 
 idencc, the imi)crtant clement of her prosperi- 
 ty has been the ceaseless, diversified, and per- 
 severing industry of her population. To labor, 
 contnved by the heads and perfonned by the 
 hands of her freemen, under the control and 
 influence of her moral, religious, and free in- 
 stitutions, she mainly owes her present char- 
 acter and standing among the states of this 
 confederacy. 
 
 '"On this she must rely for her future weal 
 and success. Our people regard all honest 
 employment as honorable, and look u]mn idle- 
 ness, among the rich or the poor, as the pro- 
 lific parent of vice. But labor, to be success- 
 ful, must bo intelligent. The well-spring of 
 this intelligence is, and always must be found, 
 for the great mass of our population, in the 
 district school-house.' 
 
 " In order to overcome, in some degree, the 
 prejudice which, it is conceived, usually exists 
 on the ])art of the uneducated portion of the 
 country against opinions of leading men in the 
 educated states, we cite the following editorial 
 remarks from a respectable journal published 
 in Richmond, Virginia : — 
 
 " ' The reason of the eminent success, and 
 the wonderful manifestation of intellectual and 
 moral power which the New-England states 
 are exhibiting on the rest of the states, and on 
 the general welfare, consists in these two 
 things: every child must be educated, and 
 placed on the same footing while receiving his 
 education ; and every honorable occupation is 
 held in like esteem. The consequence of this 
 state of things is, that all men ore mentally fit 
 for all ])ursuits to which their genius ajiplies, 
 and talent is not uselessly employed. This 
 8tat( of things will make any peojile rich ond 
 powerful. If a man has genius for the intri- 
 cacies of mechanism, he will not nor can not 
 distinguish himself or thrive as a fonner, law- 
 yer, doctor, or merchant. By reversing the 
 system of things here, as they exist in New 
 England, we are struggling against the Al- 
 mighty himself, and of course we can not suc- 
 ceed. Our policy is wrong, and the sooner 
 we right it the better.' 
 
 " If, as alleged by this Virginia writer, the 
 prosperity of New England is justly attribu- 
 table to the advantages deri\ed from a system 
 of general education, it would seem to follow 
 that the poverty of Virginia is owing to the 
 people of that commonwealth having, as as- 
 serted by the editor, acted upon ' the reverse 
 of the New-England system.' — ' Our policy,' 
 says this intelligent writer, ' is wrong, and the 
 sooner we right it the better. We are stru"-- 
 
3t be omitted without 
 
 nssijchusotts can not for- 
 Forget, that under Prnv- 
 elemcnt of hrr i)ros]iori- 
 CS8, diversified, and jier- 
 !r population. Tolul)()r, 
 s and perfonned by thn 
 under tho control and 
 1, rclin^ous, and frco in- 
 owes her present char- 
 aong the states of this 
 
 rely for her future weal 
 'onle regard all honest 
 ible, and look upon idle- 
 ir the poor, as the pro- 
 tut labor, to be success- 
 it. Tho well-spring of 
 
 I always must be found, 
 our population, in the 
 
 • • • • 
 
 me, in some degree, the 
 jnceived, usually exists 
 ducated portion of the 
 s of leading men in the 
 B the following editorial 
 table journal published 
 
 e eminent success, and 
 ition of intellectual and 
 e New-England states 
 3st of the states, and on 
 consists in these two 
 lust be educated, and 
 ing while receiving his 
 lonorable occupation is 
 ^he consequence of this 
 
 II men are mentally fit 
 h their genius applies, 
 issly employed. This 
 Le any people rich and 
 IS genius for the intri- 
 e wll not nor can not 
 drive as a fanner, law- 
 nt. By reversing the 
 as they exist in New 
 gling against the Al- 
 :ourse we can not suc- 
 iTong, and the sooner 
 
 is Virginia writer, the 
 land is justly attribu- 
 derived from a system 
 would seem to follow 
 rginia is owing to the 
 wealth having, as as- 
 ed upon ' the reverse 
 stem.' — ' Our policy,' 
 ;er, ' i^ wrong, and the 
 Jtter. We are strug- 
 
 ■■■ 
 
 gling against the Almighty himself, and of 
 course we can not succeed,' " 
 
 These extracts, carefully written by their 
 Judicious outhor, are well worthy of deep and 
 prayerful consideration by men of all classes 
 and jiolitical creeds. Nothing can bo more 
 true than the sentiments therein urged. What 
 arc any jieople, without the advantages of ed- 
 ucation ? Ij;norance, indigence, and pauper- 
 ism, with th-jir usual concomitants and conse- 
 (picnces, will continue to be among their most 
 prominent characteristics. 
 
 lict public opinion therefore at once, through 
 the iiifiuence of the press, the pulpit, and pub- 
 lic l(!Cturcs, be orouscd to the necessity of the 
 education of children ; let the instruction of a 
 child be considered the paramount duty of a 
 g(tod citizen, and then public sentiment will 
 a(!t much more powerfully to produce the re- 
 sults desired than the staff of the police-offi- 
 cer. Public opinion is the best balance-wheel 
 of the machinery of a society constituted aa 
 that is in which we live. 
 
 It must bo by promulgating among the mass 
 the sentiment of the necessity of education— 
 by arousing their attention to its value — by 
 demonstratmg its beneficial results, as not only 
 the best check on the increase of crime and 
 the prevention of pauperism, but also the pro- 
 moter of public order and private happiness 
 — that we can hope to have education gener- 
 ally diffused. So soon as the people ltc con- 
 vinced, we shall secure the brilliant obj«ict 
 which all should desire to be effected. To 
 produce great results, must be the work of 
 time. The past labors of the people are the 
 best evidences of their devotion to the advance- 
 ment of learning, and give great hope that the 
 same system of education vvliich has originated 
 in the New-England states, will become uni- 
 versal, and laid with a broad and deep founda- 
 tion, on which the pyramid of the republic's 
 glory and security may rise, and remain an 
 imperishable mommient of the wisdom of her 
 statesmen. 
 
 carry with them to the mind a powerful im- 
 prossiim of the universal solemnity with which 
 death has been regarded. And why is this, 
 that in every nation over which a sunbeam 
 floats or a moonlieam falls, every nation where 
 man is found, every nation where Death reigns 
 —(and where does he not reign ?)— should be 
 marked by this dread of dissolution ? \VTiat 
 is that feeling which causes man instinctively 
 to shudder as he stonds on the border of tho 
 grave 7 
 
 •" Why shrinkf tho soul 
 
 Back on heracir, and startles at deatruction ?" 
 
 BURIAL-PLACES & FUNERAL RITES. 
 
 "Lefa talk of wornia and greTeg, and epitaph*, 
 Make dust our paper, and witli rainy eyes 
 Write sorrow on the iiosora of this earth ; 
 Let's choose executors, and talk of wills ; — 
 And yet not so— for what can we bequeath, 
 Save our deposgd bodies to tho ground !" 
 
 SaAxspaKi. 
 
 The customs and observances relative to 
 the dead form a most interesting point of do- 
 mestic history ; the distinctive rites which have 
 markad the ceremony of burial frequently fur- 
 nish an index to national manners, and they 
 
 It is a feeling which ranges through all or- 
 ders of intellect and all orders of society, all 
 religions and sects— the pagan and !he Chris- 
 tian, the Mohammedan and the Jew. Phi- 
 losophers have stepjied forward, and, with 
 something like courage, they have spoken of 
 death as the irvL'at vestibule which leads to 
 immortality ; but we have seen them shudder 
 and shrink back aghast, and their philosophy 
 was tinged with gloom. 
 
 Poets — Blair, Young, Gray, the Montgom- 
 ei^ ■ and Bryant — have '>roken the silence of 
 the giuveyard with the wild ond fitful mur- 
 murings of their harps ; but the vrild notes 
 were only as the gusts of mournful wind which 
 sweep round the sepulchre, and breathe a 
 balmy sadness over the peopled solitude.-— 
 Young, Blair, and Porteus, will be quoted aa 
 contradictory of this : it %vill be said tney sung 
 a lofty pa;an of triumph, ond their songs were 
 not the songs of death. Yes, but they did not 
 set their foot upon corruption : they walked 
 round the grave and sang ; their spirits should 
 have entered the grave; they should have 
 flashed the fires of immortality on the very 
 place of worms ; they should have torn down 
 the mystic curtain, and shown that death is 
 actually not dreadful ; that death has actually 
 no power; thot universolly as the spirit of 
 corruption reigns, the spirit of immortolity 
 starts with flashing pinions from the ashes of 
 corruption ; that every sad rite and funereal 
 solemnity, every solemn marble and falling 
 tear, every national funeral ceremony, is the 
 proud and towering evidence of death's defeat ; 
 that annihilation is a thing unknown through 
 all the range of finite and infinite ; that &- 
 struction is innovation, and renovation immor- 
 tality. And this can be shown. It can be 
 seen that all burial-rites are holy solemniries. 
 Ay, holy ! for fantastical and superstitious as 
 they may seem, they all contein one grand 
 assumption : that at the cessation (shall we 
 thus call it ?) of mon's existence, his vitd part 
 returns to its grand and primal origin. K the 
 followers of Thales interred in water, it was 
 because water was believed to be the origin 
 of all things, and the destiny of man. Wny 
 
 
■lfj< 
 
 BURIAL PLACES AND FUNEUAL 1UTE8. 
 
 difl tlm (Iisriplos of Hrrnrlitim huiM tli.> lii,-), 
 funcroQ iiilc, mill why, nmi<l Hnrrifici,,! in- 
 cprisp, (li'l tli.jy l)iim tlieir fricii.h ur»m it » 
 Wns It not l.oonmc- 'hoy lu'linvcd tlw hiiMnn 
 soul to he a thine ' lianic, horn niiil criulli.,! 
 (mi to apeak) in lin / If tho Romnns flun- 
 the rost; upon th<- grnvc, that it jni^ht slicl its 
 frngrnnco rhrr.- j if thi" Greeks hiiil aroun.l it 
 the aniarantli aiul the myrtle ; if they liuili the 
 luner.al pyr.^ of sweet fuel— the ever.'roeii- 
 trees tli.- rvpress, the fir, the larix, ami the 
 ye\y— (li,l they not thus -ive nil evi.lenee of 
 their hope nn.l belief in inimortalitv, nndhliow 
 that they inilul-;e,l the sweet rxpectation of 
 ineetmu' the <Iepiirie.| loved ones over a^ain T 
 Nay, was not eve y rustoin a syinhol, ami ev- 
 ery reremonv a type ,' If, when the pyro was 
 kindled, the faee wa^ .verted from the spec- 
 tacle, was It not to sh, sv the jorief with which 
 they ministered the luelancholv otlice ? Yet 
 as they were cfmimanded in perfoniiin" the 
 ceremony to lift the eye tiinvard toward iho 
 blue heavens, was it not to evidence the ex- 
 peetalion of reunion there? 
 
 The first cemetery of which wo have any 
 notice IS that which existed beyond the lake 
 Acherusin, or Acharejish, in tcypt, which 
 name signified the last state of man. Tliia 
 cemetery and its miHous ceremonies laid the 
 loiimlation of many of the notions connected 
 with hgyptinn and Grecian mytholor-yr .. the 
 lake we have mentioned gave rise to the fable 
 rns,,ecting Acheron. On the borders of the 
 lake Aeherusia, a tribunal composed of forty- 
 tw(, judges was established, to imiuire into the 
 lite and character of the de( .^nsed : without 
 this examination a corpse coulJ uol bo carried 
 
 Bgyptian Fnnfiml Procession. 
 
itlll htlilrl ill," llll;h 
 
 mid siiiTiliciiil Jn. 
 frit'inli ujxm it ? 
 lievcd il>(. hunnn 
 Ixirri mill cradled 
 he Kiiirmns (liiii" 
 It it iniijlitKlicd its 
 cks l(ii<l around it 
 ■; if they built tlie 
 I — the rvfTLTPrii- 
 ho Inrix, niid the 
 p nil fvidcricp of 
 iirtnlity, mid hhow 
 et PX|")fTtttti()n of 
 fines over ncain? 
 a symbol, nmi cv- 
 ■hen the pyre was 
 il from the sjiec- 
 prief with which 
 olyortiee? Yet, 
 1 fici-fdniiinc; tlio 
 wnrd toward llits 
 evidence the ex- 
 
 ich we have nny 
 
 beyond the lake 
 n Egypt, which 
 ■■ of man. Tliia 
 emoiiies laid the 
 otions connected 
 ni^ytholopy : the 
 ■■ rise to the fable 
 ! borders of the 
 mposed of forty- 
 ) in(|uire into the 
 '^nsed: without 
 lu iioJ be carried 
 
 BUaiAL PLACES AND FUNERAL KITES. 
 
 25 
 
 to the C'liiitcrv be^oml the lake. If tho 
 <lefi'u«rd bad (fii'd insolvent, the coriiso wus 
 udjudi^id to till! creditors, in order to oblige 
 his reliitives luid friends to redeem it. If his 
 lifi! hud been wicked, tins privilej»e of burial 
 was refu--ed M it, and it was carried ami thrown 
 into a biii'i! dilch, 'iiUed Tartar, on account 
 of the laiiieiitations this sentence pHnluced 
 ttinon;; ihi' friends and relatives of the de- 
 ceased. Till! (Jreek Tartarus hud its orijyn 
 in this Kj,'y|)tianone. If no accuser appeared, 
 or if file ai'cusutions were found {c;roundless, 
 the jntli;i;s decreed tho regiihir burial, and an 
 eulo'^iuiri on the deceased was pronounced 
 »mid the ii[)|)lausc3 of the bystanders: in this 
 eulogy his vulcnts, virtues, accomplishments, 
 cverylliing, tiiccpt his rank and riches, were 
 praised. 
 
 To carry tho corpse to the cemetery, it was 
 necessary to cross tho lake, and to ]>ay a small 
 sum for the passage. This circumstance has 
 been carefulh/ transplanted into the Oreeiiin 
 mythology. The cemetery was a large plain, 
 surrounded by trees and intersected by canals, 
 to which was given the apjiellation Elisout, or 
 Eli^iicus, meaning rest. Every one recog- 
 nises in this description the Greek Charon, his 
 boat. 111-; ferry-money, and the Elysian fields. 
 The wIkpI'; ceremony of interment seems to 
 hav(; ci insisted in depositing the money in nn 
 cxeavuti.in niad(! in a rock, or under the sand, 
 which covered the whole Elisout; then the 
 relatives of the deceased threw three han<lfuls 
 of sand us a sign to the workman to fill u|) tho 
 cavity, after uttering three loud farewells. 
 
 One of the customs relating to tltS dead 
 which has obtained among all nations, is that 
 of mourning. As a custom it is very ancient : 
 the oldest records bear some notices of the 
 modes of mourning for the dead. Abraham 
 mourned for Sarah, Josejih mourned for his 
 father, and the children of Israel mourned 
 thirty days for Moses. The origin of wear- 
 ing a dillerent dress arose doubtless from the 
 circumstance of the carelessness and indifler- 
 enco which was engendered by death in the 
 family. The colors of monniing are ditr(;reiit 
 in dillerent countries. In Eurojio and Amer- 
 ica, tho ordinary color for mourning is Iilack ; 
 in China, it is white, a color that was the 
 mourning of the ancient Spartan and Roman 
 ladies ; in Turkey, it is blue or vioh.'t ; in 
 Egyi)t, yellow ; in Ethiopia, brown ; and kings 
 and cardinals mourn in purple. Every notion 
 gave a partlenlar reason for the particular col- 
 or they nssumea h. mourning. Black, which 
 is tho ])rivatioii of light, indicotes tho priva- 
 tion of life, and white is an emblem of the 
 ])urit)M)f the sjiirit separated from tho body; 
 yellow, i^ to represent that death is tho end 
 of all o;r earthly hopes, because this is tjie 
 color of leaves when they fall, and flowers 
 
 when they faile ; brown, denotes the rnrth to 
 which tin; deml return; hUw is an emlilem of 
 happiness, whiidi it is hoped the deceased en- 
 joys; and purple or violet expresses a inixturo 
 of sorrow and hope. 
 
 Then! were various ways omong tho an- 
 cients of mourning. The inonnrch laid aside 
 his robe and crown, and various insignia of 
 royalty ; the peojilo rent their clothes, beat 
 upon tlii'ir breasts, wore sackcloth, and sat in 
 ashes. A puiilic mourning was sometimes 
 celebrated by a general fast ; and when such 
 an event took place at llome, all the shops 
 were closed, the senators luid aside their laii- 
 clavian robes, the consuls sat in a lower seat 
 than usual, and the women jnit aside all their 
 ornaments. There was a remarkable practice 
 among the ancient soldiers of mourning for 
 their fellows : tho whole army attended the 
 funeral solemnities with their arms turned up- 
 side down. An Irish funeral is of all funerals 
 oni! of tho most singular. It is the highest 
 point of ambition among the children of tho 
 " Emerald Isle" that thr'y may have an " aisy 
 death and a fine funeral." They ileny them- 
 selves innumerable comforts in life, in order 
 that they may enjoy themselves after d(!atli : 
 their shroud and burial-dress arc fretpiently in 
 readiness for them several years before they 
 are reipiired, and the headstone for the grave 
 fre(iuently may be seen ready in the cottage, 
 and the Irishman gazes upon it with ecstatic 
 rajituro when he remenibers how nice and neat 
 it will look when it marks his burinl-iilace. 
 There arc no pcoiile who seem to look forward 
 to death with so little dread as the Irish ; they 
 look upon the day of their death as a grand 
 gala-day, and it is the great object of their 
 lives to make all possible provision for it. 
 The funoral-proeession in Ireland always bears 
 more resemblance to an electioneering cere- 
 mony. The Irish funeral-howl is notorious ; 
 and although this vehement vociferous exjires- 
 sion is on the decline, tliero are still a race of 
 women, called " Keeners," or mourners by 
 ])rofession. A late traveller has been curious 
 to obtain information relating to them, and de- 
 scribes some of them as very extraordinary 
 characters, having memories exceedingly pow- 
 erful, voices singularly harmonio'is and strong, 
 and an intellect by no means weak. 
 
 In Spain, a widow passed the first year of 
 her mourning in n chamber hung with black, 
 into which (laylight was n(!ver allowed to en- 
 ter. When this lugubrious year was ended, 
 she changed it for one hung with gray, into 
 which she sometimes admitted an intrusive 
 sunlicain ; but in neither chamber did custom 
 allow her a looking-glass, nor anything but 
 actual necessaries. This victim to custom 
 was immediately released if she obtained an- 
 other husband. In some parts of Africa, the 
 
 Nlfe» 
 
BURIAL PLACES AND FUNERAL RITES. 
 
 HammyOaaei and Marble StroophagL 
 
 husband is no sooner dead, than his yrwea, 
 concubines, servants, and iiorses, are strpngled, 
 under the impression that they will render him 
 the same services in a future life which they 
 rendered him in his post. In Daricn, when a 
 widow dies, such of her children as are too 
 young to provide for themselves, are buried 
 with Tier in the same grove. At the cupe of 
 Good Hope, in order that widows may not 
 impose themselves on men as virgins, they are 
 obliged to cut off a finger for every husband 
 that die3. Some of the American Indians lay 
 their dead bodies upon scalTolds, where they 
 erect seats for the mourners, who go every 
 day and sit for a considerable time and howl 
 for them ; but if they can not howl themselves, 
 they hire persons to howl in their stead. He- 
 nxlotus menlions, that among the ancient 
 Cretonians (a peoi/le of Thrace), widows, as- 
 sisted by thair relatives, made interest who 
 should be preferred to the honor of being killed 
 on the grave of their dead husband. Some 
 ancient nations dressed themselves as women 
 when they lost their relatives, in order, it is 
 related, that the ridicule attached to their 
 vestments might make them ashamed of their 
 grief. The Abyssinians mourn for their dead 
 many days, begmning their lamentations with 
 the morning and continuing them till night, 
 when the nearest relatives and fnends of the 
 deceased assembled at the grave, together with 
 
 several hired female mourners, who join the 
 solemnity with shrieks, also clapj)ing theii 
 hands, smiting their breasts, and uttering tha 
 most doleful expressions of grief. \Vlien a 
 person of ordinary rank dies at Guinea, his 
 friends ond neighbors set up a loud cry round 
 the corpse, carrying it into the ojien air, and 
 asking it the cause of its death, and whether 
 it penshed through the want of food or not, 
 or from the effects of necromancy. 
 
 The origin of embalming seems to us to bo 
 mysterious; it undoubtedly originated in a 
 wish to preserve the objects of ottection and 
 love ; and there can be little doubt that the 
 E^ptians were the first who practised the art. 
 It has generally been considered the highest 
 point of internal civilization, and to be met 
 with only among those people on whom the 
 light of science had been poured ; but, strange 
 to say, the custom has been found prevalent 
 in the islands of the Southern ocean, and that 
 too wth many of the attendant circumstances 
 which marked the Egyptian embalmments. 
 The customs prevailing at Tahiti, on the death 
 of a person of distinction, are in the highest 
 degree appalling : the fearful manner in which 
 the natives cut themselves with knives excites 
 horror in the mind ; their superstitious mode 
 of burying the sins of the dead are subjects of 
 deep and fwrful interest alike in the annals 
 of man's extfemal history, and the memorials 
 
 IMM 
 
Qvrnen, who join the 
 , also clapping theii 
 asts, and uttenng tha 
 8 of grief. Wlien a 
 i. dies at Quincu, his 
 t up a loud cry round 
 into the o])en air, and 
 8 death, and whether 
 I want of food or not, 
 icromancy. 
 
 me seems to us to he 
 ;edly originated in a 
 )ject8 of afFection and 
 ) little doubt that the 
 who practised the art. 
 Jiisidered the highest 
 Eition, and to be raei; 
 people on whom the 
 poured ; but, strange 
 leen found prevalent 
 them ocean, and that 
 endant circumstances 
 'ptian embalmments, 
 t Tahiti, on the death 
 1, are in the highest 
 rful manner in which 
 !8 with knives excites 
 ir superstitious mode 
 I dead are eub'ectB of 
 t alike^ in the annals 
 r, and the memorials 
 
 I- 
 
 S, 
 
 f 
 
 r 
 
 
 ai^sMiMMiilli 
 
28 
 
 BURIAL PLACES AND FUNERAL RITB3. 
 
 Embalming.— The Froceaset of Bandaging and Fainting an embalmed Body : designed (rom the ancient 
 
 Egyptian Monaments. 
 
 of his mental imbecility. The Peruvians, it 
 seems, had an effectual method of preserving 
 the bodies of their incas or kings ; their main 
 secret, is supposed to have been the burying 
 them in snow, and afterward applying a cer- 
 tain bitumen, which kept them as entire as if 
 still alive. The Jews (as we are told by Cam- 
 den), the Assyrians, and the Scythians, had 
 all different ways of preserving their dead ; 
 but the most extraordinary method is that 
 adopted in the monastery of St. Bernard. It 
 is the custom of that fraternity to preserve the 
 dead bodies of their monks, and afterward 
 place thorn erect in niches along the walls. 
 This is ( .iected by baking them in a very slow 
 oven contrived for the purpose, and they will 
 remain thus preserved for centuries without 
 changing, or becoming in the least offensive. 
 They are dressed in their hoods and cloaks. 
 
 The word Mamoleum, originates from Mau- 
 solus, a king of Caria, to whom a sumptuous 
 sepulchre was raised by his wife Artemesia. 
 King Mausoius is said to have expired in the 
 year 353 B. C. ; and his wife was so disconso- 
 late 8t the event, that she drank his ashes, and 
 perpetuated his memory by the erection of 
 this monument, which became sa famous as to 
 be esteemed the seventh wonder of the world, 
 and to give a generic name to lill sepulchres. 
 The mausoleum of the Taaje Mahal stands in 
 the neighborhood of the city of Agra, and as a 
 mausoleum it has not its etiual in the world. 
 It is described as the realization of a fairy 
 temple, personifying all the beamy dreamings 
 of Arab 'an enchantment. It stands in the 
 midst of the desert, where rudeness and deso- 
 lation reign : the gate leading to it, is a build- 
 ing which in any other place the traveller 
 
 would stay to gaze on and admire, but scenes 
 beyond attract his notice. The entrance is a 
 palace of deep red stone inlaid with white 
 marble. Oriental architecture has here lav- 
 JiViP.' all its jiowers, especially in the domed 
 room, the circular hall, and the wide-stretch- 
 ing gallery. The place of actual sepulture is 
 of a chaste and matchless beauty around it on 
 three sides are suites of apartments, consisting 
 of three rooms in each, all of white marble, 
 having lattices of perforated marble for the 
 free transmission of air, and opening to the 
 garden; the window-frames are of marble; 
 and altogether this 8uperl> piece of art im- 
 presses the mind of the beholder with an over- 
 whelming feeling of amaze that such a build- 
 ing should be a monument to death. 
 
 • • • • • • « 
 
 Qolconda, near which are the tombs repre- 
 sented in one of our engravings, is a Tv '•^'•ess 
 of Hindostan, formerly the capital of the prov- 
 ince of the same name. It is the residence of 
 the kings. This fortress, for extent, might be 
 called a city, in the middle of which rises a 
 hill like a sugar-loaf. It is esteemed by her 
 natives impregnable, but is extremely hot and 
 unhealthy. It is now the repository of the 
 wealth of the Nizam. The principal mineral 
 production of this country is that most inval- 
 uable of gems, the diamond. It is generally 
 found in the narrow crevices of the rocks, 
 loose, and never adherent to the strong strat- 
 um. The miners, with long iron rods, which 
 have hooks at the end, pick out the contents 
 of the fissures, and wosn them in tubs, in or- 
 der to discover the diamonds. Hindostan is 
 famous for its diamond-mines. In Calour, 
 near Golconda, they dig in « large plain to the 
 
 mmok 
 
 wmm^mitimtmKmmmm 
 
 MBMH 
 
TE8. 
 
 Body : designed from the ancient 
 
 ize on and admire, but scenes 
 lis notice. The entrance i? a 
 red stone inlaid with white 
 al architecture has here lav- 
 veTB, especially in the domed 
 xt hall, and the wido-stretch- 
 le place of actual sepulture is 
 latchless beauty around it on 
 lites of apartments, consisting 
 in each, all of white marble, 
 of perforated marble for the 
 a of air, and opening to the 
 ndow-frames are of marble; 
 this superb piece of art im- 
 of the beholder with an over- 
 ; of amaze that such a build- 
 monument to death. 
 I • • • • 
 
 J which are the tombs repre- 
 our engravings, is a Tv^-'^'-ess 
 rmerly the capital of the prov- 
 narae. It is the residence of 
 i fortress, for extent, might be 
 the middle of which rises a 
 •loaf. It is esteemed by her 
 ible, but is extremely hot and 
 is now the repository of the 
 izam. The principal mineral 
 is country is that most inval- 
 be diamond. It is generally 
 irrow crevices of the rocks, 
 adherent to the strong strat- 
 rs, with long iron rods, which 
 le end, pick out the contents 
 ind wash them in tubs, in or- 
 ;he diamonds. Hindostan is 
 diamond-mines. In Calour, 
 bey dig in « large plain to the 
 
 o 
 B 
 
 a 
 
 t 
 
^0 
 
 BURIAL-PLACES AND FUNERAL RITES. 
 
 depth of ten or fourteen feet : forty thousand 
 persons are employed, the men to dig, and the 
 women and children to carry the earth to the 
 places in which it is to be deposited before the 
 search is made. Diamonds are also found in 
 the gravel or sand of rivers, washed out of 
 iheir beds and carried down with the stream. 
 The river Oonel, near Sumbulpour, is the 
 most noted for them. Many other precious 
 stones are foimd in .lis country. 
 
 Beautiful, indeed, are the environs of Gol- 
 conda, adorned wi.'h the tombs of her former 
 rulers! Magnificent mausoleums of marble 
 and gold — tnarblc wrought with the finest chis- 
 elling — woodwork where the delicate tracery 
 of the carver is covered over with rich gold, 
 so that the whole seems as if wrought in the 
 priceless gold-mines of the world ! The ar- 
 chitecture of these noble monuments of former 
 times, although neither Ionic, Gothic, nor Co- 
 rinthian, is at once impressive and eH'ective. 
 In fact, all the monuments of the Hindoos 
 seem calculated to inspire the beholder with 
 awe and admiration. While the domes of 
 their buildings do not compare in symmetry 
 and geometrical accuracy of measurement with 
 the far-famed dome of St. Peter's, yet the eye 
 of the beholder is dazzled, and, after gazing 
 in mute admiration upon them for hours, he 
 turns away dissatisfied, only to look back 
 again. 
 
 There are many tombs near Golconda ; — 
 twelve of these, however, are lofty and sub- 
 lime in appearance ; and when their domes ore 
 gilded by the rays of the setting sun, and the 
 scene is rendered lifelike by the presence of a 
 caravan of camels, loaded with the rich treas- 
 ures of the eastern world — men dressed in gay 
 costume, or resplendent with the glitter of 
 burnished armor — truly may we say, " Gol- 
 C05DA ! thy diamonds glitter in tlie mines : 
 but even on the surface are gems of priceless 
 value.'" 
 
 When the reader looks upon the tomb of 
 Hyder Ali, the splendid pile of building will 
 remind him of one of the most remarkable 
 men, for such he really was. Its occupant 
 rose from a gituation of the most absolute ob- 
 scurity ; and gradually passing, as by on in- 
 clined plane, to the command of the army, he 
 deposed the rajah Ntinjerej, and was chosen 
 to govern the destinies of tndia. Hyder Ali 
 died at the advanced age of eighty. 
 
 The engraving represents the superb place 
 of sepulture in which both Hyder Ali and his 
 son, Tippoo Saib, are deposited. To attempt 
 a descnption of this illustrious mausoleum, 
 would, indeed, be preposterous. The best de- 
 scription is that afforded by a view of the en- 
 graving; but all, all is faint, save the vasi 
 original. 
 
 Moral is the name given at Otaheite, in the 
 
 South-sea islands, to the large burial-grounds, 
 which were formerly places of public worship. 
 One of their most sacred places consisted of a 
 pile of stone raised pyrumidically upon an ob- 
 long base. On each side was a flight of steps ; 
 those at the sides being broader than those at 
 the ends,, so that it terminated, not in a 8(|uare 
 of the same figure with the base, but in a 
 rid^e, like the roof of a house. There wore 
 eleven of these steps to one of these morais, 
 each of which was four feet high ; so the 
 height of the pile was forty-four feet. Each 
 step was formed of one course of white coral 
 stone, which was neatly si]uared and polished. 
 The rest of the mass — for there was no hollow 
 within — consisted of rounded pebbles, which, 
 from the regularity of their figure, seemed 
 to have been wrought. The foundation was 
 of rock-stones, which were also squared. In 
 the middle of the top stood the figure of a bird 
 carved in wood, and near it lay the broken 
 one of a fish carved in stone. The whole of 
 this pyramid made part of one side of a spa- 
 cious area or s<|uare, three hundred and sixty 
 feet by three hundred and fifty-four, which 
 was walled in with stone, and paved with flat 
 stones its whole extent. About a hundred 
 yards from this building was another paved 
 areo or court, in which were several small 
 stages raised on wooden pillara, about seven 
 feet high, called by the Indians ewattas. 
 
 To stand round an open grave in a country 
 churchyard; to hear the dust rattle on the 
 coffin-hd ; the deep, stifled sob, the roll of the 
 mutHed bell, and the deep voice of the stoled 
 priest — all these rive solemnity to the im- 
 pressive 8»rviee. But a burial by land is not 
 so solemn as a burial by sea. There is some- 
 thing in that event peculiarly impressive : the 
 winds whistling through the flapping shrouds 
 above, and the solemn voice of the waves 
 dashing against the vessel beneath, — these 
 make the music of the service, and ring the 
 dirge and the requiem over the departed. In 
 the former case, the dead one is laid to rest 
 with his fathers, in conformity with the usages 
 of society, beneath the green turf, perhaps in 
 the quiet valley where he first breathed life's 
 breath : at any rate, in the land of his birth— 
 his own country. But in the latter, there is 
 no green mountain swelling in the dist&nce, 
 no sloping valley nor churdi-tnrret ; but all 
 along the horizon swells one vast waste of 
 waters, and as far as the eye can reach it 
 glances over the blue and bounding waves. 
 And no fringed pall is there : the national ban- 
 ner circles his form for a winding-sheet, and 
 his last bed is his cotBn. And who shall stand 
 and gaze on the scene, and say that sailors 
 have not the hearts of other men, when around 
 the simple burial ? You may see the forms 
 of men marked with the tears of honorable 
 
?i the large burial-grounds, 
 f j)laces of public worship, 
 jcred places consisted of a 
 pyrumidically upon an ob- 
 1 side was a flight of steps ; 
 ;ing broader than those at 
 erminated, not in a scjuare 
 with the base, but in a 
 of a house. There wore 
 18 to one of these morals, 
 i four feet high ; so the 
 'as forty-four feet. Each 
 one course of white coral 
 atly s(]uared and polished. 
 i — for there was no hollow 
 f rounded pebbles, which, 
 ' of their figure, ssemed 
 ;ht. The foundation was 
 ;h were also squared. In 
 p stood the figure of a bird 
 J near it Iny the broken 
 in stone. The whole of 
 part of one side of a spa- 
 , three hundred and sixty 
 red and fifty-four, which 
 stone, and paved with flat 
 (tent. About a hundred 
 ilding was another paved 
 hich were several small 
 loden pillara, about seven 
 the Indians ewattas. 
 ™ open grave in a country 
 IT the dust rattle on the 
 stifled sob, the roll of the 
 e deep voice of the stoled 
 ve solemnity to the im- 
 (ut a burial by land is not 
 .1 by sea. There is some- 
 )cculiarly impressive : the 
 )ugh the flapping shrouds 
 emn voice of the waves 
 5 vessel beneath, — thesr; 
 the service, and ring the 
 ta over the departed. In 
 s dead one is laid to rest 
 onformity with the usages 
 the green ttirf, perhaps in 
 sre he first breathed life's 
 in the land of his birth — 
 tut in the latter, there is 
 swelling in the distance, 
 )r church-turret ; but all 
 nvells one vast waste of 
 as the eye can reach it 
 ue and bounding waves. 
 8 there : the national ban- 
 for a winding-sheet, and 
 fin. And who shall stand 
 me, and say that sailors 
 f other men, when around 
 You may see the forms 
 li the Bears of honorable 
 
32 
 
 BLANKET8. 
 
 war, and many a one raising his coat to wipe 
 away the tear that can not be suppressed. 
 And where should be the sailor's grave, but 
 beneath those billows over which he so tri- 
 umphantly rode ? His career was unchained 
 — so let liis grave be ! He goes down to a 
 " drpth which no plummet, save GihI's omni- 
 presence, has ever fathomed ;" and if loath- 
 some things creep over him, will he heed their 
 assaults, secure in his last rci>i)se ? And may 
 we not then echo the (luestion of the poei 
 Howitt — " Will ho rise less joyiuUy when the 
 last irumpet rings over the waters, than those 
 who laid them down in the ornamented cem- 
 etery ?" We trow not. 
 
 But one of the most interestingly solemn 
 scenes in which we can wander is a village 
 churchyard. Indeed, our readers know that 
 the poet's harp rung in solemn strains amid 
 iis simple tombs. Our poets have dwelt in 
 pensive, beautiful melancholy, reflecting on its 
 scenes — the once-busy and agitated hearts 
 which lie beneath the sod, and the balmy 
 trantiuillity — emblem of a deeper repose — 
 which Nature flings over the spot. And e 
 burial-place is, of all others, the most soothing. 
 That is a fine expression in the book of Job — 
 " there the wicked cease from troubling, and 
 the weary are at rest." It is a beautiful 
 thought : their hearts so still, so tranquil, were 
 agiteted as much as ours ; their heads were 
 the seats of thought; their arms and legs were 
 once active ; their eyes could once drink in 
 the bsauties of nature's scenery ; their hearts 
 were susceptible of the same emotions as ours : 
 they stood perhaps in this very churchyard, 
 and felt, as they looked on surrounding graves, 
 the same emotions which we feel ! A few 
 years, and another generation will stand in the 
 churchyard, and we shall be in our graves. 
 And when our minds revert to burials, to mon- 
 uments, and to burial-customs, by what va- 
 riety are we surrounded ! The lonely mound, 
 the stranger's grave, where no daisy blooms, 
 no cypress hangs, no mourner weeps ; the neat 
 sepulchral stane, with the trimmed grass, and 
 perchance a flower showing its mild beauty 
 on the brow of death. Then the monumental 
 pile, the flattering epitaph, the entablature of 
 ancestral birth and daring deefls. Can we go 
 further than this ? Oh, yes : the proud mau- 
 soleum, more like a palace than a place of 
 bones ; where the Parian marble gleams in its 
 whiteness, and the sculptor's noble effigies 
 seem almost to breathe in stone ; but of the 
 alumberers beneath it may be said — 
 
 " The rtorm which wrenk* our wintry Ay 
 No more disturbg their deep repose 
 Than guinmer evening'* lBte»l sigh, 
 When shuu the rose." 
 
 There are some spectacles in the world from 
 •which one shrinks back with horror, while oth- 
 
 er circumstances would only create in our 
 minils a feeling of complacent delight. Such a 
 spectacle is the crow(leil metropolitan church- 
 yard. The feelings it excites are truly inde- 
 scribable. The crowded seat of -H'stilence and 
 death, the torturing memento »i the miseries 
 of life, with no whisper of the repose which is 
 beyond ; oh ! one shrinks from burial in snch 
 a town, more than from death itself. But a 
 village churchyard — and often have we leaned 
 over its gravestones, and sighed to think that 
 we were not as those beneith us — there is 
 nothing so sweet as a country churchyard. By 
 moonlight the beams rest on the neat graves 
 and fall on the tombstones, like faith conquer- 
 ing doubt ; and eier and anon, as some fitful 
 breeze sweeps by, making sad melody, the 
 voices of the dead seem to speak in each hol- 
 low gust : while, round the old gray chirch- 
 tower, standing secure in its hoary solitude, 
 their spirits seem to walk, " breathing fresh 
 beauty amid the gloom of graves." 
 
 BLANKETS. 
 
 How the casements rattle ! and hark, how 
 the bitter, biting blast whistles among the 
 trees ! It's very cold, and wwn it will be cold- 
 er. We could shiver at the thought cf win- 
 tor, when the icicles hang from the water-butt, 
 when the snow lies deep up<m the ground ; 
 and the cold, cold wind seems to freeze the 
 heart as well as the finger-ends. 
 
 Yet, after all, the darkest night, the bitter- 
 est blast, and the rudest storm, confer some 
 benefit, for they make us thankful for the roof 
 that covers us, the fire that warms us, and for 
 the grateful influence of a comfortable bed. 
 Oh, the luxury of a good, thick, warm pair 
 of blankets, when the wintry blast roars in 
 the chimney, while the feathery flakes of snow 
 are flying abroad, and the sharp hail patters 
 against the window-panes ! 
 
 Did you ever travel a hundred miles on the 
 outside of a coach, on a sharp frosty night ; 
 your eyes stiffened, your face smortmg, and 
 your body half petrified ? Kd you ever keep 
 watch in December in the open air, till the 
 more than midnight blast had pinched all your 
 features into sharpness; till your feet were 
 cold as a stone, and the very stars tppeared 
 as if frozen to the sky ? If you have never 
 borne these things, we have; but what are 
 they compared with the trials that some peo- 
 ple have to endure ] 
 
 Who can tell the sufferings of thousands of 
 poor people in winter, from the want of warm 
 bed-clothes ! and who can describe the com- 
 fort that a pair or two of blankets communi- 
 
•)uM only create in our 
 [jplacent delight. Such a 
 ileil m(;tn)[M)litnn church- 
 it excites are truly inde- 
 'ded seat of 'H.'stilence and 
 memento )i the miseries 
 ;)er of the rrj)ose which is 
 rinks from burial in snch 
 om death itself. But a 
 -and often have we Icatied 
 and sighed to think that 
 )se bene'ith us — there is 
 country churchyard. By 
 8 rest on the neat graves 
 stones, like faith conquer- 
 r and anon, as some fitful 
 makinv sad mehxly, the 
 !em to speak in eacn hol- 
 ind the old gray chnrch- 
 ire in its hoary solitude, 
 !> walk, " breathing fresh 
 om of graves." 
 
 iNKETS. 
 
 Its rattle ! and hark, how 
 last whistles among the 
 I, and soon it will be cold- 
 rcr at the thought cf vnn- 
 hang from the water-butt, 
 I deep upon the ground ; 
 wind seems to freeze the 
 finger-ends. 
 
 : darkest night, the bitter- 
 udest storm, confer some 
 le us thankful for the roof 
 ire that warms us, and for 
 ce of a comfortable bed. 
 ' a good, thick, warm pair 
 the wintry blast roars in 
 the feathery flakes of snow 
 md the sharp hail patters 
 panes ! 
 v'fl a hundred miles on the 
 
 on a sharp frosty night ; 
 , your face smarting, and 
 ified ? Wd you ever keep 
 r in the open air, till the 
 
 blast had pinched all your 
 Tiess; till your feet were 
 d the very stars tppeared 
 sky ? If you have never 
 , we have; but what are 
 h the trials that some peo- 
 ? 
 
 ! sufferings of thousands of 
 ter, from the want of warm 
 vho can describe the com- 
 two of blankets communi- 
 
 caaisTMAS m OEaMANV. 
 
 33 
 
 catc to a destitute family ! How often have 
 we seen the wretched cTiildren of a wretched 
 haliitation, huddling together on the floor, be- 
 neath a ragj^d great-coat, or flimsy petticoat, 
 striving •-. derive that warmth from each 
 other wiriich their scanty covering failed to 
 supply. 
 
 In many places, benevolent jiersons give or 
 lend blankets to the poor, and thus confer a 
 benefit, the value of which can hardly be 
 told. May they be abundantly repaid by the 
 grace of that Savior who said, when speak- 
 ing of kindnesses done to his disciples: '• Inas- 
 much as yc have done it unto one of the least 
 of these, my brethren, ye have done iS unto 
 me." 
 
 Think of these things now, for it will be ot' 
 no use to reflect on them in summer. Chari- 
 ty is never so cordial as when she feels the 
 misery she relieves : while you feel the cold, 
 then, do something to protect others from the 
 inclemency of the season. It is enough to be 
 ill-fed, and ill-clothed, and to sit bending over 
 a dying fire without a handful of fuel to revive 
 it ; but after that to pass the night without a 
 blanket for a covering, must indeed be terrible. 
 
 See, in the sharpest night the poor ol<l man, 
 over whose head threescore and ten winters 
 have rolled, climbing with difficulty his nar- 
 row staircase, to creep beneath his thin and 
 ragged coverlet. See the aged widow, once 
 lulled ifi the lap of luxury, but now woni by 
 poverty to the very boaes, stretching her 
 eramfted limbs upon her bundle of straw. 
 Fancy ! — biic why fancy what you know to 
 be true — these poor, aged, miserable beings 
 having to shiver through the livelong night, 
 when a blanket would gird them round with 
 comfort. We could weep at such miseries as 
 these — miseries which so small an eflbrt might 
 relieve. The table-crumbs of the rich would 
 make a ban(|uet for the i>oor, and the spare 
 remnants of their clothing would defend them 
 from the cold. 
 
 Come, come, reader ! you are not without 
 some feeling of pity and affection for your fel- 
 low-creatures. Be not satisfied in wishing 
 them well ; let something be done for their 
 welfare. 
 
 If there be a heart within you, if you have 
 a soul that ever olfated up an expression of 
 thanksgiving for the manifold mercies which 
 your heavenly Father has bestowed upon 
 you, then sympathize with the wretched, and 
 relieve, according to your ability, the wants 
 of the destitute. Let me beseech you to do 
 something this very winter toward enabling 
 some poor, aged, helpless, or friendless person, 
 who is slenderly provided for, to purcnase a 
 blanket. You will not sleep the less com- 
 fortably, when you reflect that some shivering 
 wretch has been, by your assistance, enabled 
 
 to pass the wintry night in comfort. It is not 
 a great thing thot is required ; do what you 
 can, but do something. Let us not plead in 
 vain ; and shame betide us, if we neglect to 
 do, ourselves, the thing that we recommend 
 to you to perform. 
 
 Did you ever lie snug and warm, in bleak 
 December, the bedclothes drawn close round 
 your neck, and your nightcap pulled over your 
 ears, listi.'ning to the midnight blast, and ex- 
 ulting in ihe grateful glow of your delightful 
 snuggery 7 We know you nave, and we 
 trust, too, that the very reading of these re- 
 marks wll alfect your hearts, and dispose you 
 to some gentle deed of charity toward those 
 who are destitute of such an enjoyment. 
 
 Now, then, while the subject is before you, 
 while you look round on your manifold com- 
 forts, while you feel the nipping and frosty 
 air, resolve, ay, and act, in a way that will 
 bless others, and give comfort to your own 
 heart. 
 
 Youth and health may rejoice in frost and 
 snow, and while the warm blood rushes 
 through the exulting frame, we can smile at 
 the wintry blast ; but age, sickness, and in- 
 firmity, can take no exercise sufficient to 
 quicken the sluggish current of their veins. 
 Wrap them round, then, with your charity, 
 help them to obtain a pair of warm blankets, 
 and the blessing of the widow and the father- 
 less, the aged and infirm, the destitute, and 
 those ready to perish, shall rest upon you. 
 
 CHRlSTiMAS IN GERMANY. 
 
 I.f Germany, the custom extensively pre- 
 vails, of placing, at Christmas, a small ever- 
 green tree in every house, and after covering 
 its branches with various presents intended for 
 the children, to suspend numerous little lamps 
 or tapers to all parts of it, and late in the 
 evening, to exhibit it to the assembled family. 
 As the presents are marked with the names 
 of the donors as well as those for whom they 
 are intended, the occasion excites much in- 
 terest ; and it will be found th^t Germans gen- 
 erally cherish the recollection of the annual 
 festival with lively pleasure. It is not un- 
 common to find instances in which this custom 
 has been observed in this country, either by 
 Germans or by their imitators. The tree 
 usually chosen being the silver fir, which is 
 remarkable for the great number and ui»>form- 
 ity of its twigs and branches, the sight is often 
 8 riking and beautiful. The gay and varied 
 co'jrs of the little gifts strongly illuminated 
 by *he blazing lamps, and relieved by the 
 dark *cliage of the evergreen, have quito a 
 
 m 
 
 r- 
 
 mmmtm 
 
 mmm 
 
 mm 
 
 warn 
 
H 
 
 *^' ■:^.v V 
 
 .f.i^'" 
 
 CUSTOMHOUSE, PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 35 
 
 rich anil ikz/.linfj etrcct ; and the feelings (if 
 Ifcnenmity ami gratituite shared by the mem- 
 ijcrs ()(■ a haiipy family circle, are such as 
 must render tlie scene (loubly agreeable. Of 
 the date or origin of the custonn, we are not 
 infonncd : but while we refer it to those pe- 
 riods when religious occasions were first con- 
 nected with observonceg with few or no traces 
 of their Christian associations, we admit that 
 this is one of the most hannk'ss kind. It 
 would iiid(?ed have been better if those who 
 thought it a duty to commemorate Christmas 
 hud adoiitc'd some mode adaj)ted to direct the 
 mind to the character, doctrines, or objects of 
 the Savior: but we can not l(K)k upon the 
 j)icture we have given, and see Luther with 
 his family, with a Christmas-tree blazing be- 
 fore thcMn, without some impressive recollec- 
 tion of him and the peculiar period in which 
 he lived. 
 
 CUSTOMHOUSE, PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 FORMKRLT UNITKD STATES BANK. 
 
 This is one of those chaste and beautiful 
 liuildiiigs which have given the jmblic archi- 
 tecture of Philadelphia a superiority over 
 that of every other city of our country. It 
 needs but that its fair marble should be 
 weather-fretted and stained, to express per- 
 fectly to the eye the model of one of the 
 most graceful temples of antifjuity. The se- 
 vere simplicity of taste which breathes through 
 this Greek model, however, is not adapted to 
 private buildings; and in a certain kind of 
 simplicity, or rather want of ornament, lies 
 the fault found by every eye in the domestic 
 architecture of this city. The chess-board 
 regularity of the streets,' so embarrassing to a 
 stranger, a.s well as tiresome to the gaze, re- 
 ouire a more varied, if not a more ornate style. 
 The hundreds of houses that resemble each 
 other in every distinguishable particular, oc- 
 casion a bewilderment and fatigue to the un- 
 accustomed eye, which a citizen of Philadel- 
 phia can scarcely comprehend. 
 
 The uniformity and plainness which Wil- 
 liam Penn has be(iueathed in such an abiding 
 legacy to Philadelphia, however, is seen but 
 by II faint penumbra in the dress of the in- 
 habitants, or in their equipages, style of liv- 
 ing, and costliness of furniture and entertain- 
 ment. A faint shadow of original simplicity 
 there still certainly exists, visible through all 
 the departures from the spirit of Quakerism; 
 and it is a leaven of taste and elegance in the 
 ferment of luxury which has given Philadel- 
 
 phia em])hatically a character for refinement. 
 A more delightful temper and tone of society, 
 a more enjoyable state of the exercise and 
 mode of hos])itality, or a more comfurtablo 
 metropolis to live in, certainly does not exist 
 this side the water. A European would jire- 
 fer Phila(lel|)hia to every other residence in 
 the United States. 
 
 Evorybodv has heard of the celebrated but 
 unfortunate tjiiitcd States bank, from its con- 
 nexion with the government, as its fonner fis- 
 cal agent. At the time of its dissolution it 
 was operating uuder a charter from the state 
 government, under the title of " The United 
 States Bank of Pennsylvania," with a capital 
 of $30,000,000. Its original capital wus 
 $35,000,000, which was distributed between 
 the parent bank and nineteen branches. 
 
 The comer-stone was laid in April, 1819, 
 and the whole was finished near the close of 
 18l>4. The cost of the ground was #155,628 
 — of the structure itself, $257,4512 — making 
 an aggregate of $413,081 ; an expense which 
 may be regarded as very moderate, when we 
 consider the great mass of materials which it 
 contains ; there being not less than 41,500 
 cubic feet of marble in the porticoes and walls 
 — about three millions of bricks, three thou- 
 sand perches of building-stone, and seventeen 
 nnd a half tons of copjicr on the roof. 
 
 In choosing the situation of such a building, 
 its centrality and its convenience for business 
 were of course more important considerations 
 than pictures<|ue elFect ; and the lot — a parol- 
 lelogram of 152 feet by 225 — is, on that ac- 
 count, more circumscribed than would be de- 
 sirable. This defect was to be obviated by 
 ])lacing the structure as far as possible from 
 the street — by insulating it entirely — by inter- 
 {Miging nothing between the spectator and the 
 building — and by raising the foundation so as 
 to acquire for the whole an artificial elevation, 
 which to the eye would produce the efiect of 
 distance. Accordingly, in the centre of the 
 ground is constructed a terrace, 3 feet high, 
 119 feet in front, and 225 in dejith, serving as 
 tht foundation from which, ot the distance of 
 16 feet from its front and flunk edges, the 
 building rises. It occupies 87 feet in front, 
 and 187 feet in depth, including the steps, or 
 161 feet excluding them. On reaching the 
 terrace, which, in order to preserve its form 
 entire, is done by steps in the rear of the gate- 
 ways, the building is appro' uhed by a flight 
 of steps along the whole front — 13 in number, 
 and occupying 13 feet in depth. These lead 
 to the portico, which has a basement of 10 
 feet 6 inches in width, on which stand eight 
 Grecian Doric columns, 4 feet 6 inches in 
 diameter, 27 feet in height-;-fluted, and with- 
 out bases, and supporting a simjile entablature 
 and a pediment, which, like the roof, has just 
 
 !«S 
 
 ■ji 
 
 ia^f«sfeiS«ss^s^w€f«««*a^*«-5:as^Kg^ir'* 
 
that (Iep"ce of elevation npcrasary to carry off 
 the water — the vertical angle being 153 de- 
 ^roes. Behind the columns, anil at the due 
 distance from them — the width between the 
 two columns at the end of the portico— is the 
 wall of the building. The door opens upon 
 a vestibule of 30 feet by 18 in width, the ceil- 
 innr of which is richly worked, and the pave- 
 ment tesselated with American and Italian 
 marble. 
 
 The structure is copied after that of the 
 Parthenon at Athens — the colonnades on the 
 sides, and certain other merely decorative 
 parts of the original being dispensed with in 
 the copy, on account of the size and structure 
 of the lot upon which it is erected. The ex- 
 terior is of the Doric style, from the richest 
 materials of American and Italian marble. 
 
 The large banking-room is situated in the 
 centre of the building, and extends 48 feet in 
 breadth, and 81 in length. Through the 
 whole of this length, on each side, at the dis- 
 tance of ten feet from the walls, is a range of 
 six fluted Ionic columns, twenty-two inches 
 in diameter, The entire building is justly re- 
 garded as one of the finest specimens of Gre- 
 cian architecture in the country. The inte- 
 rior is vaulted throughout, and arched, so as 
 to be entirely fire-proof, and the roof is cop- 
 pered. 
 
 The rooms are warmed by a furnace below, 
 the heut from which diffuses an equal temper- 
 ature throughout its whole extent, while in 
 summer the massiveness of the structure pre- 
 serves its coolness. 
 
 From this sketch may be gathered the de- 
 gree of its resemblance to the ancient temples, 
 and especially to the Parthenon, from which 
 some of its proportions are taken. In its gen- 
 eral dimensions it is much larger than the 
 Temple of Theseus at Athens, and smaller 
 than the Parthenon. Their respectiva pro- 
 portions are these : — 
 
 Front, LengDi, 
 
 ezclading ttepa. excluding itep*. 
 Temple of Thewai, 45 ft. ii in. 104 It. 3 in. 
 
 Parthenon. 101 ft. 1 io. 827 ft. 7 in. 
 
 U. S. Bank, 67 ft 161 ft., 
 
 making the Parthenon 14 feet 1 inch wider, 
 and 66 feet 7 inches longer than the bank ; 
 but as the Temple of Theseus has only two 
 steps, and the Parthenon only three, while 
 the bank has 13, extending 13 feet on each 
 front, the length of the buildings, respectively, 
 Includitg the steps, would be considerably va- 
 ried, the length of the bank from the outer 
 step being 187 feet, that of the Parthenon, 
 236 feet 9 inches. The comparison may be 
 best illustrated by the fact that the Parthe- 
 non, with its steps, covers an extent of ground 
 nearly, but not quite equal, to the area of the 
 terrace of the bank. 
 
 As, however, the double row of columns in 
 the portico and the flanking colonnade rcijuired 
 so much space, the actual dimensions of the 
 interior of the two buildings are much more 
 nearly equal than these pn)portion8 would in- 
 dicate. Thus : the enclosed part of the Por- 
 thenon was in width 70 feet 6 inches; in 
 length, 158 feet 7 inches ; and the whole area 
 of the enclosure was therefore 11,181 feet; 
 while the enclosure of the bank is in width 
 87 feet; in length, 141 feet; making an area 
 of 12,267 feet, or, 1,806 feet more than that 
 of the Parthenon. 
 
 The interior of the Parthenon, after de- 
 ducting the pronaos and posticum at the two 
 ends, occupying 12 feet each, was divided in- 
 to two rooms, the treasury or opisthodomos, 
 of 62 feet by 42 feet 10 inches, and the great 
 central hall, the scene of all the exhibitions, 
 which wos 98 feet seven inches by 42 feet 10 
 inches, while the banking- room is 48 feet by 
 81, giving an area very nearly equal. 
 
 The principal differences between the two 
 buildings are these. The Parthenon had a 
 cobnnade on the flanks, which here is want- 
 ing. This b<!autiful ornament was omitted for 
 the reason already stated ; and we may recon- 
 cile ourse'ves to the low of it, by the reflec- 
 tion, that ill a building destined to receive its 
 ligiit from the side, it might have too much 
 overshadowed the scene of business. The 
 Parthenon has been regarded as what is 
 technically called hypoethral — that is, having 
 its roof open in the centre, as would be the 
 middle aisle of a modem church. Recent 
 observations by detecting something of the 
 later ages in the columns of the interior, have 
 excited doubts as to this fact, which the pres- 
 ent dilapidation of the building will for ever 
 render inexplicable — but the probability is, 
 that the light of the Parthenon came from the 
 roof, not from the sides — and the flanking col- 
 onnade would, on that account, present no in- 
 convenience. 
 
 The Bank of the United States, previous 
 to the erection of the present edifice, occupied 
 the building which it owned on South Third 
 street, and which was purchased by Stephen 
 Girard, and occupied as his banking-house un- 
 til his death. That building was erected in 
 1795. The portico is of Pennsylvania mar- 
 ble, but the rest of the building is brick. 
 The entrance is capacious and beautifully or- 
 namented with splendid fluted columns, and 
 caps of the Corinthian order. It is at present 
 occupied by the Girard Banking Compuny. 
 
 Is it possible to realize, that, on the site of 
 the refined city of Philadelphia, only one hun- 
 died and fifty years ago, lived a people in such 
 strong contrast to the above (save only in hos- 
 pitality), as are described by William Penn, 
 m the following terms ! — 
 
iWe row of columns in 
 tin^ colonnade required 
 tual dimcnoions of the 
 Idings arc much more 
 ) proportions would in- 
 closed port of the Par- 
 
 70 feet 6 inches; in 
 !8 ; and the whole area 
 therefore 11,181 feet; 
 
 the bank is in width 
 . feet ; makinp an area 
 )6 feet more than that 
 
 Parthenon, after de- 
 id posticum at the two 
 t each, was divided in- 
 isury or opisthodomos, 
 ) inches, and the great 
 of all the exhibitions, 
 ;n inches by 42 feet 10 
 ling- room is 48 feet by 
 ' nearly equal, 
 snces between the two 
 rhe Parthenon had a 
 3, which here is want- 
 nament was omitted for 
 id ; and we may recon- 
 ^ of it, by the reflec- 
 destined to receive its 
 might have too much 
 ne of business. The 
 regarded ns what is 
 Ethral — that is, having 
 ntre, as would be the 
 iem church. Recent 
 :ing something of the 
 IS of the interior, have 
 B fact, which the pres- 
 
 building will for ever 
 ut the probability is, 
 rthenon came from the 
 —and the flanking co/- 
 accoimt, present no in- 
 
 nited States, previous 
 esent edifice, occupied 
 iwned on South Third 
 purchased by Stephen 
 his banking-house un- 
 lilding was erected in 
 of Pennsylvania mar- 
 the buildmg is brick. 
 >U8 and beautifully or- 
 d fluted columns, and 
 jrder. It is at present 
 Banking Compeny. 
 :e, that, on the site of 
 idelphia, only one hum- 
 , lived a people in such 
 •ove (save only in hos- 
 •ed by William Penn, 
 
 S 
 B 
 
 B 
 
 2. 
 •o 
 
 B 
 
 I 
 
 u 
 S 
 r 
 
 !0 
 
 f 
 

 " The natives I shall considfr in their per- 
 »()n«, Iniiirtinse, ninmirrs, nlisrion, anil goycrn- 
 mrnt, with my hciiw; of thoir nri^inal. For 
 their pcrKoriH, thcyun; f;encrally tall, titraight, 
 we]!-l)uilt, and ot' NJUKiilur jiroportion ; tliey 
 trcail Htnmijaniiplcver, and mostly walk with 
 a lofty chin. Of complexion, black, liut by 
 <li'si«fn, as thr >>y|»«ie8 in Kntflund ; they grraso 
 tlicrn-iclvcs with bear's fat, clarified ; niid using 
 no defence a^jainst sun or weather, their skins 
 triiiMt needs be swarthy. Their eye is little 
 and black, not unlikt! a straight-lisiked Jew. 
 Tile thick lip and Hat nose, so frei|uent with 
 the Kast Indians and blacks, are not com- 
 mon to them; many of them have fine Roman 
 noses, 
 
 " Their language is lofty, yet narrow ; but 
 like the Hebrew, in signification full. Like 
 short hand in writing, one word serveth in 
 the pliice of three, and the rem are supplied 
 by the understanding of the hearer; imper- 
 fect in their tenses, wanting in their moiHls, 
 participles, adverbs, conjunctions, and inter- 
 jections. 
 
 "Of their customs and manners there is 
 much to bfl said : I will begin with chiMren. 
 So s(X)n as th(!Y are bom, they wash them in 
 water ; and while very young, and in cold 
 weather, they ])lunge them in the rivers, to 
 harden and embolden them. The children 
 will walk very young — at nine months, com- 
 monly : if boys, they go a fishing till ripe for 
 the w(Mxls, which is about fifteen ; then they 
 huiit, and after having given some prcwfs nf 
 their manhofxl by a goo<l return of skins, they 
 may marry ; else it is a shame to think of a 
 wife. The girls stay with their mothers, and 
 help to hoe the ground, plant com, anti carry 
 burdens : and they do well t» use them to that 
 young, which they must do when they are 
 old ; for the wives ate the true servants of the 
 husbands, otherwise the nnen are very affec- 
 tionate to them. 
 
 " When the young women are fit for mar- 
 riage, they wear something upon their heails 
 for an advertisement, but so as th(!ir faces are 
 hardly to be seen but when they please. The 
 age they marry at, if women, is about thirteen 
 and fourteen ; if men, seventeen and eighteen ; 
 they are rarely older. 
 
 " Their houses are mats, or barks of tread, 
 set on poles, in the fashion of an English bam, 
 but out of the jxiwer of the winds, for they 
 are hardly higher than a man : they lie on 
 reods, or grass. In travel, they lodgd in the 
 woods, about a great fire, with the mantle of 
 dutfils they wear by day wrapped about them, 
 and a few boughs stuck round them. 
 
 " Their diet is maize, or Inilian com, divers 
 ways prepared ; sometimes roasted in the 
 ashes ; sf)metimes beaten and boiled with wa- 
 ter, which they call hommony ; they also make 
 
 cake* not unpleasant to eat. They have like- 
 wise severu wirts of beans and peas that are 
 g(Kid nourishment ; and the woikIs and rivers 
 are their larder." 
 
 THE HEAD AND THE HEAIIT. 
 
 Thk first thing we do with children in, to 
 develop their intellects. Let a boy say a 
 sharp thing, .let him show (piickness', nmf we 
 dream about him, and talk of him es a genius, 
 and parent and teacher are delighted. You 
 hear them say : " How pn)mising — how ad- 
 vanced — that lad will moke a man — wc shall 
 hear of him yet." 
 
 And do jdu hear nf him ? Arc these vrn/ 
 promising children the men of action ? Dii 
 they fulfil, generally, any one promise they 
 excite ? V.'^e think not. And simply because 
 we begin wrong with them, ond so beginning, 
 they end pixdy. For the chihl sensation and 
 emotion are everything ; not reason ; not re- 
 flection ; tusk the intellect, and yon cripple 
 him for life ; cultivate it chiefly or alone, and 
 YOU break him down ere he reaches manhood , 
 hut (luicken his senses, touch his hrarl, as 
 vuu tell him of great men, of giKid deeds, of 
 human endeavors, of starry skies, and the 
 stonns that sweep over them, green fields, and 
 the humblest flower that takes root in them, 
 and you will do more for liim — more to give 
 him character — in an hour's talk, or a day's 
 ramble in the W(x>ds and fields, thon in vears 
 of forced ellbrt, or strained intellectual culti- 
 vation. 
 
 For the first ten years of life, the child 
 wants physical developments ond licart-cM- 
 turc. No metaphysics are needed to explain 
 goodness. The very infant knows thai at 
 sight. No exertion of intellect is re(|uired to 
 explain kindness. The veriest child under- 
 stands that by instinct. By this goodness and 
 kindness, then, we should lead the young on 
 and up, and then prepare the way for harder 
 effort am) serious intellectual exertion. But 
 these should never be anticipated ; no growing 
 child should be forced to reason, to study, to 
 overload the memory wth tough logic, over- 
 task the brain w'th tougher abstractions ; all 
 that we should look, labor, or long for, is o 
 full, fine physical ilevclopment, buoyancy of 
 spirit, and a heart joyous as the sjjring-time, 
 with sensations keenly alive to every gentle 
 or generous appeal, and emotions quick to an- 
 swer the call or command of goodness, as the 
 truest basis of sure future development, and a 
 constant, ever-growing moral and intellectual 
 power. 
 
B«t. 'iTiryhiivo like- 
 
 ans iind jtras that are 
 
 the wtNxIs and rivers 
 
 ' THE HEART. 
 
 with children i.^, to 
 . Let a b(iy snv a 
 )w "riiiicknefis, nn(f wo 
 i\k of him BH n genius, 
 
 are (lplic;htr(l. You 
 ■ pn>niiHiiig — liow ik)- 
 ip.ke a man — wo shall 
 
 lim T Arc fhi'so ivn/ 
 men of action ? Do 
 ny one promiHe tlicy 
 
 And simply becniise 
 nn, and so beginning;, 
 !ie chih! sensation uiid 
 ; not reason ; not re- 
 eot, and yon cripple 
 
 chiefly or alone, nnd 
 he reaches manhood , 
 
 touch his hfarl, as 
 ?n, of gfKKl deeds, of 
 tarry skies, and tlie 
 lem. p-ecn fields, and 
 t takes rfx)t in them, 
 r him — more to pve 
 mr's talk, or a day's 
 
 1 fields, than in years 
 led intellectual culti- 
 
 irs of life, the child 
 nents ond hcart-rv]- 
 irc needed to ex[)lnin 
 ifant knows that at 
 itellect is re(|uired to 
 veriest child under- 
 By this goodness and 
 Id lead the yonnfl; on 
 e the way for harder 
 ctnal exertion. liut 
 icipttted ; no pnvwing ' 
 1 reason, to study, to I 
 th tough logic, over- I 
 her abstractifins ; all 
 jor, or long for, is a 
 ipment, buoyancy of 
 ? as the si)ring-time, 
 dive to every gentle 
 ■motions quick to nn- 
 i of goodness, os the 
 3 development, and a 
 ]oraI and intellectual 
 
 EXTENT or THE UNITED 8TATK8. 
 
 39 
 
 Parents may think wp talk at rnn<lom. If 
 MO, Wf would urge them and teachers to pon- 
 der wrll the following remarks, iximed by one 
 whose life-study has been the eilucation ()f the 
 younii :— 
 
 " The first eight or ten years of life shoulrl 
 be devoted to the education of the heart — to 
 the fiirtiiution of ))rineiples — rnther than the 
 H('(|uircinent of what is usually tenm-d knowl- 
 I'di,"'. Nature herself |K)ints out such a course; 
 fur thi- rmntions are then the liveliest aiul most 
 enxily niMubted, being us yet unalloyed l)y pas- 
 sion. It is from the source that the mass of 
 iticn are hereafter to draw thciir sum of hap- 
 piiii'ss or misery; the actions of the immense 
 itminriiy are, under all cin^umstances, deter- 
 nii 111 much more by feeling than reflection; 
 in truth, life presents an infinity of rMcasions 
 where it is essential to happiness that we 
 slii)uld feel rightly : very few where it is at 
 oil necessary that we should think profound- 
 ly. 
 
 " Up to the seventh yeor of life, very great 
 changes are going on in the structure of the 
 brain, and demand, therefore, the utmost at- 
 tention not to interru[)t them by improper or 
 over-excitement. .Tust that degree of exercise 
 should be given to the brain at this peri(Ml os 
 is neet >ary to its health, and the best is oral 
 instruction, exemplified by objects which strike 
 the senses. 
 
 " It is perhaps unnecessary to oild that, at 
 this period of iife, 8|)ccial attention should be 
 giveii, both by parents and teachers, to the 
 physical development of the child. Pure air 
 and free exercise are indispensable, and when- 
 ever either of 'hem is withheld, the conse- 
 quences will be certain to extend themselves 
 over the whole life. The seeds of protracted 
 and ho|)c1es3 suffering have, in innumerable 
 instonces, been 8t)wn in the constitution of the 
 child sim))Iy through ignorance of this great 
 fundamental physical law ; and the time has 
 come when the united voices of these innocent 
 victims sbouhl ascend, ' trumpet-tongucd,' to 
 tha ears of every parent and every teacher in 
 the land — 'Give us free air, and wholesome 
 exercise ; leave to develop our expanding en- 
 ergies in occordance with the law of our be- 
 ing ; and full scope for the elastic and bound- 
 ing impulses of our young blood !' " 
 
 Amen, say we ! This is the true doctrine : 
 not because it is the man's, or ours, but be- 
 cause all nature tells us it is true. First at- 
 tend to the physical. That must be sound. 
 Then look to the heart. Touch that, by all 
 means. Go out into the fields, over beds of 
 flowers, tell useful stories, and do whatever may 
 impress the senses rightly, or move the heart 
 truly, in the child ; and if he live, in nine 
 cases out of ten, he will be a maw, and a true 
 one to boot ! 
 
 EXTENT OF THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 The present confederacy of the ITnifed 
 States of North America contoins a larger 
 area of cultivated land and hospitable climate 
 than any country that has previously existed. 
 Ancient ond mcslern emiiirts sink I'nto insig- 
 nificonce when - ((niparcd with it. The Uni- 
 ted StatesofAuM rica contain 2„100,n00 square 
 miles, over half a million more than Kurojic, 
 if we except Kussio. Their greatest length is 
 .'5,000 miles, their greatest breadth 1,700 miles. 
 They have a frontier line of 10,000 miles, 
 a seacoast of .'JO.OOO miles, and an inland lake 
 (;oost of 1,".'00 miles. 
 
 The rivers in the United States are the lar- 
 gest in the worid. The Missouri is .3,()00 miles 
 in length, or more thon twice as long as the 
 Danube. The Ohio is GOO miles longer thon 
 the Rhine. The Hudson, entirely within a 
 single state, is navigable 120 miles" above its 
 mouth further than the Thames. 
 
 The state of Virginia has an area of 70,000 
 stpiare miles, and is about u.ie third larger 
 than England ; the state of Ohio 40,000 souare 
 miles, or one fourth more than the whole of 
 Scotlond ; and the state of Maine upward of 
 .30,000 8<|uare miles, or nearly as large as Ire- 
 land, which ho8 about 8,000.000 of [wople. 
 
 The hariior of the city of New York is the 
 Atlantic outlet of a river, canal, and lake nav- 
 igation of about 3,000 miles, or the distance 
 from Euroj)e to America. 
 
 From Augusta, in the state of Maine, to 
 New Orleans, in the state of Louisiana, the 
 distance is 1,800 miles, or 200 more than from 
 London to Constantinople, Togo from Lon- 
 ilon to Constantinojjle, you cross the entire 
 continent of Europe, and through most of its 
 principal kingdoms. 
 
 The great proportion of the whole extent of 
 the territory of the United States is unculti- 
 vated. The population of the country, as rap- 
 idly as it increases, would not occupy all the 
 public domain in a cycle of five hundred years ; 
 and yet, in spite of this startling fact, there are 
 ainong us men claiming to be statesmen, who 
 wish to anticipate the future, and occupy by 
 conquest, at the exnense of bhxxl and treasure, 
 that territory which is as certain to fall into 
 our possession by the natural course of events, 
 as that the sun's rising marks the beginning 
 of (lay. So vast, indeed, is the territory of the 
 United States already, that it takes no ordinary 
 mind to comprehend its extent, and few indeed 
 can calculatQ its resources ; and the most com- 
 prehensive intellect can not, when wanned by 
 a hiph-wrought imagination, give a faint glim- 
 mering of the future wealth and jMJwer to be 
 accorded to the American people — not by the 
 force of arms, bvt simply by the pursuit of the 
 arts of peace. 
 
 :l 
 
 
 i 
 

 . .«'«il 
 
 
 ''lira. 
 
 M 
 
 
 rn 
 
 .■% 
 
 40 
 
 TRAVELS IN TUB HOLY LAND. 
 
 TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND.-NO. 1. 
 
 It was on Sunday, March 28th, that we 
 were to enter the Holy Land. I had been too 
 much engrossed by the objects which interested 
 us at every step in Egypt and Arabia, to think 
 much of this beforehand ; but when 1 came 
 forth from our tent in the dawn of that mom- 
 inj{, there was enough of novelty in the scene 
 around me to make me feel that we were 
 about to enter upon a new country, and a new 
 set of interests ; and I became eager to know 
 at what hour we were to pass the boundary 
 which separated the desert from the Holy 
 Land — the home of the old faith from that of 
 the new. We had followed the track of Mo- 
 ses from the spot where his nwther placed his 
 bulrush cradle to that on which he died ; for 
 to the east we should this morning see the 
 mountains overhanging the Dead Sea ; and 
 among them the summit of Nebo, whence he 
 lookeil abroad over the Land ot Promise; 
 and now we were to enter upon the country 
 of Jesus — certain to walk in his vir^ foot- 
 steps, and see what he s'-.w — perhaps this 
 very day. I never remember feeling such an 
 interest in every wild-lh»wer, in the outlines 
 of all the hills, and the track of all the waicr- 
 courses. 
 
 We had left the stony desert behind us, 
 and were encamped in a nook of the hills 
 where the ground was green, and weeds grew 
 thick. There was grass under my bed in the 
 tent ; and when I came out this morning, the 
 dew was heary on the daisies and buttercups 
 and flowering mallows which grew abundant* 
 
 Oriental Mode of Travellingf. 
 
^_ 
 
 
 "^d^ 
 
 u 
 
 w 
 
 
 ly on the turf. After breakfast, while the 
 camels were loading, I walked in the early 
 sunnhine on a strip of sand overlooking the 
 valley, impressing on my memory evtry fea- 
 ^ture of the landiscape, and impatient of the 
 'rising ground to the north, w' '. prevailed 
 my seemg where we were gouig. it was about 
 ten o'clock when we parsed the boundary. 
 It was impossible to tell the exact moment; 
 but within a mile or two we felt that we were 
 indeed in the native Iniid of Christ, and prob- 
 ably on his venr track. He might have been 
 here. His relati( .s lived at Hebron; and 
 during the first thirty years of his life he had 
 probably visited them, after meeting them at 
 the feasts at Jerusalem. He might have 
 walked ov.r the hills which swelled higher 
 and higher as we advanced, and rested beside 
 some of the wells which yawned beside our 
 track. At any rate, the trees and flowers 
 which we saw must have been familiar to his 
 eyes ; the thorny acacia which began here to 
 rise and spread from the stunted shrub of the 
 desert to the dimensions of a tree ; the scarlet 
 anemone — with us a precious garden flower 
 — which here strewed the ground for acres 
 round ; the cyclamen, which pushed forth it» 
 
 ^ravelling. 
 
 tufts of white arid lilac blossoms from under 
 many a stone a'td bush ; and the pojijiy, mal- 
 low, hemlo'-k, and wild outs, which grew as 
 thickly as in luiy Eii;!;li!<h hedge. I did not 
 know be 'jre that these weeds wn as com- 
 mon hers as with us ; and never before did 
 the sight of them give me so much pleasure. 
 It would have been uleasiiiit anywhere to meet 
 those familiar weeds so far from home ; but 
 the df light to-day was to think that He and 
 his (I .ciples were as much accustomed to 
 them as ourselves, and that a walk in the 
 early spring was, in the pure rnuntry, much 
 the same thing to them as to us. 
 
 But we soon came uinm truces which showed 
 that the exi)an>(; of pure country here was 
 small in those days, compared with what it is 
 now. The towns must have been more thick- 
 ly set here than in any country I ever was in. 
 f*atches and masses of ruins showed them- 
 selves on every hand, so near each other as 
 to indicate thit land must have been peo- 
 pled to a degree now nowhere known. The 
 first ploughing we had seen for many weeks 
 was a striking sight to us ; a mere scratching 
 of the soil at the foot of the hills : but close 
 by lay a heap of building stones, the remains 
 
 'f 
 
 
 1 
 
 ^ 
 
 
■'Tf' 
 
 An Enetnipmeat 
 
 of a town or village. Presently we saw a 
 rude plough, with a single camel at work; 
 and at hand was a long foundation wall, laid 
 in a far-distant century. On a height further 
 "ti, were the remains of a large ancient build- 
 ing, with two broken pillars standing, marking 
 the site of the Aroer of Scripture. Then, 
 though there were water-courses about every 
 hill, wells began to abound ; substantial, deep 
 wells, built with a rim with holes in it, to re- 
 ceive the covering stone ; such wells as tell 
 of a settlement beside them. We stop])ed 
 early this day — partly because it was Sunday, 
 and partly because our Arab guards, who 
 know notning of our Sunday, found a con- 
 venient place among the hills, somewhat shel- 
 tered from the cold wind ; and here, a very 
 few miles from the boundary, the gentlemen 
 of the party discovered that we had sat down 
 in the midst of what was once a large town, 
 though the place appeared a mere stony tract, 
 like many that we had passed. In the morn- 
 ing early, I went out to see for myself, and 
 was astonished at the extent of the ruins 
 which I should not have-obscrveil while mere- 
 ly riding by. I could trace the lines of foun- 
 dation walls for half a mile ; and building 
 fitones, overgrown with grass, lay in hil- 
 locks for a considerable distance round. The 
 many caverns in the limestone rocks, now 
 used as beds for the goats, were found to be 
 the vaults of large buildings now gone to ruin. 
 In a few minutes, we traced three temples, or 
 
 other such buildings, by their overthrown pil- 
 lars. Our eyes being now opened, we this 
 day saw more and more remains, till we were 
 convinced that all the way from the boundary 
 to Hebron, the land was tliick-set witli towns, 
 and swanning with inhabitants in the days of 
 its glory — the days when the Teacher went 
 up an(l down in it, meditating the changes 
 which must make it what I have seen it now. 
 Its hills and streams, its skies and flowers, are 
 to-day what they were before his eyes : but 
 where he saw towns on every height, and vil- 
 lages in every nook, there is now hardly left 
 one stone upon another. A group of black 
 Bedouin tents on a hillside, a camel or two 
 browsing here, and a flock of gouts there, are 
 all that relieve the utter solitude where there 
 was then an innumerable throng of men. 
 
 As we advanced, on the Monday, the soil 
 became ridier, and field was joined to field, so 
 that we began to look for the landmarks which 
 are here used instead of fences, to bound field 
 property. We entered upon thickets and 
 shrubberies, where white roses, the cyclamen, 
 convolvulus, and fragrant herbs, abounded. 
 Soon after noon, a new scene ojiened upon us. 
 On our left hann lay a wide, deeji basin among 
 the hills, full of ^ ineyards and olive-grounds, 
 where the stones from the soil were built up 
 into fences, and in almost every plot rose a 
 garden-house. This was a sure sign that we 
 were near a town ; and tus we rounded the hill 
 on our right, we came in sight of the t\vo emi- 
 
 '^i^Mh!mm„w^:i^^mmh&mMm^M^&^^^^^ 
 
by their overthrowTj pil- 
 g now opened, we this 
 )re remains, till we were 
 ! way from the boundary 
 If 08 thick-set with towns, 
 [habitants in the days of 
 vhen the Teacher went 
 meditating the changes 
 vhat I have seen it now. 
 Its skies and flowers, are 
 re before his eyes : but 
 in every height, and vil- 
 there is now hardly left 
 ler. A group of black 
 lillside. a camel or two 
 flock of gouts there, are 
 ter solitude where there 
 ible throng of men. 
 n the Monday, the soil 
 lid was joined to field, go 
 for the landmarks which 
 of fences, to bound field 
 red upon thickets and 
 lite roses, the cyclamen, 
 grant herbs, ahirarided, 
 V scene ojiened upon us. 
 wide, dee]> l)asin among 
 ^ards and olive-grounds, 
 1 the soil were built up 
 Imost every plot rose a 
 was a sure sign that we 
 d as we rounded the hill 
 in sight of the two emi- 
 
 TRAVEL8 IN THE HOLY LAND. 
 
 43 
 
 Hebron. 
 
 nences on which Hebron is built. There 
 stood the town where Joliii the Baptist was 
 bom ; and here were the sceues which he must 
 mnny a time have talked of with his cousin, 
 in their boyish meetings at Jerusalem for the 
 feasts. Hebron, too, is only twenty miles 
 from Bethlehem ; only twenty-six from Jeru- 
 salem ; and in those days, when a large 
 amount of yearly travelling was a solemn re- 
 ligious duty incumbent upon every family, it 
 is scarcely possible bui. that relatives must 
 have often visited each other, and that Jesus 
 and his parents must have come to Hebron. 
 
 The cave of Machpeluh is there ; and the 
 burial-place of Abraham and his family was 
 a sacred locality, and an object of pilgrimage 
 to Jews of all ages. As we inquired for it, 
 and walked round the enclosure, which the 
 Mohammedans now permit no Christian to en- 
 ter, I could not but think who might have 
 been before us in the same quest. 
 
 As I silt on a tomb in the Turkish cemetery 
 the next moniing, watchin'j the preparations 
 for our departure, I almost dreaded the inter- 
 eat which every day would now bring, after 
 the calm and (juiet weeks Wf! had spent in the 
 desert. Our encampment looked much the 
 same as it had done every morning for a month 
 past ; the Arab servants busy iu taking down 
 
 and packing the tents, and a noisy quarrel go- 
 ing on in the midst— (this niorniug about a 
 pistol having been stolen from one of the 
 tents:) — and the diHerciiers were only that 
 there were spectators standing by, ond that 
 our camels had given place to horses and asses. 
 But instead of the rocks and sands of the 
 desert, Hebron was before my eyes, ond the 
 hills where Abraham si)read his flocks, and 
 the spot where he and his family lay buried. 
 And before night, I should see the j)lace where 
 Da\id wus born, and lived his shepherd life, 
 and where Jesus was born. We had only 
 twenty miles to travel this day to Bethlehem, 
 bu"^ it was quite enough, for we were ea^er 
 about every old tree, and well, and hill-top. 
 The shrubs grew finer, and the wild flowers 
 niorc abundant, the whole way ; though the 
 hills of Judah were wild and stony in jiarts, 
 ond no longer fit for pasturing such flocks as 
 covered them when Abraham lived among 
 them, or wben the Hebrews drove in theit 
 cattle from the desert, or when David in his 
 boyhood amused himself with sliaging smooth 
 stones frotn the brook while his liither's sheep 
 were feeding on the slopes. Wo sat down to 
 rest and eat under the shailo of a rock and a 
 spreading tree; and for the hundrcdlh time 
 smce we left Egypt it occurred to mc how lit- 
 
Bethlehem. 
 
 tie we can enter into the meaning of David 
 when, in his divine songs, he speaks of the 
 shade of rocks, and of the beauty of " a tree 
 planted by rivers of water," and all such cool 
 images. When one has been slowly pacing 
 on, hour after hour, over glaring sands or heat- 
 ed rocks, under a sun which makes every bit 
 of leather or metal, and even one's outer 
 clothing, feel scorching hot, and oppressing 
 one's very breathing, the sight of a patch of 
 dark shade is welcome beyond belief: and 
 when one has dismounted and felt the coolness 
 of the rocky wall am*, of the ground beneath 
 it. and gathered the fresh weeda which cluster 
 in its crevices, phrase after phrase of the 
 Psalms and jirophecies comes over one's mind, 
 with a life and freshness as sweet as the blos- 
 soms in one's lap. 
 
 Our first sight of Bethlehem was beautiftil. 
 We came upon it suddenly, just when the 
 yellow sunset light was richest. Bethlehem 
 was on the rising ground on our right, massive- 
 looking (as all the villages of Palestine are) 
 and shadowy, as the last sun-rays passed over 
 it to gild the western hills, and another village 
 which there lay high up, embosomed in fig 
 and olivo orchards. The valley between, out 
 of which we were rising, lay in shadow. Be- 
 fore us, perched on a lofty ridge, which rose 
 between us and Jerusalem, was the convent of 
 St. Elia<!, which we were to pass to-morrow. 
 I was sorry to turn away from this view : but 
 we hod to take the right-hand road, and ride 
 
 through the narrow streets of the village to 
 the great convent, built over the spot where 
 Jesus is believed by the monks to have been 
 bom. 
 
 It was too late this evening to see any of the 
 sacred localities ; but it was quite enough to 
 have the moonlight streaming in during the 
 whole night through the wiinlow of my loftv 
 convent chamber, and to think that on this hill 
 took [)lace the greatest event in the history of 
 the world ; and that in the fields near, the 
 gentle Ruth went about her gleaning, little 
 dreaming in those days of her poverty, that 
 from her meeting with Boaz among the reap- 
 ers of his harvests, wouM arise such events 
 to the human race ; that the shepherd grand- 
 child, whose divine songs were to soothe her 
 old age, should be the mighty king he was, 
 and the father of a yet mightier, who should 
 build the great temple of the Jjord ; and that 
 a more distant descendant should make these 
 glories appear as childish toys in the presence 
 of his greater sovereignty over the universal 
 human soul. A wise man of a late century 
 has nobly said that " Prosperity is the prom- 
 ise of the Old Tc^amrnt, and Adversity that 
 of the New." On this hill was bom the pros- 
 perity of the old dispensation ; and on this 
 hill was bora the Man of sorrows who knew 
 the secret of true peace, and taught it in the 
 saying that it profits not a man to gain the 
 whole world if ne lose hi^ own soul. 
 
 In the morning we went into the chuic^b of 
 
streeta of the villa<je to 
 luilt over the spot where 
 • the monks to have been 
 
 5 eveninn; to see any of the 
 It it was quite enough to 
 streaming in durinji the 
 the winilow of my loftv 
 id to think that on this hill 
 est event in the history of 
 ,t in the fields near, the 
 ibout her gleaning, little 
 lays of her poverty, that 
 itn Boaz. among the reap- 
 would arise such ev<!nts 
 that the shepherd grand- 
 songs were to soothe her 
 the mighty king he was, 
 yet mightier, who should 
 )le of the Lord ; and that 
 endant should make these 
 ildish toys in the presence 
 reignty over the universal 
 se man of a late century 
 " Pros])erity is the prom- 
 iment, and Adversity that 
 this hill was bom the pros- 
 lispcnsation ; and on this 
 [an of sorrows who knew 
 leace, and taught it in the 
 ta not a man to gain the 
 ose hif own soul, 
 'e went into the chui.?b of 
 
 E. 
 
 o 
 B 
 
 S" 
 
 s 
 
 a 
 
 f 
 
 J 
 
Ifff' 
 
 !'« 
 
 • m'^'f;' 
 
 Convent erected on what tradition allirms to be the Cave of the Nativity. 
 
 .*»•> 
 
 tho convent. I cnrcd little for the ujipcr i)rirt, 
 with its chai)els for Oreek, Latin, and Anne- 
 iiiau worship : and not much more for the 
 caverns underground, where the monks be- 
 lieve that Joseph and Mary remained while 
 there was no room for them in the inn. If 
 the town was too full to receive them while 
 the people were collected for the census, it i.s 
 hardly probable that they would rc])air to an 
 umlerground cave : but in this cave mass was 
 going on this mominc; ; and striking was the 
 elfect, ofter coming down from the sunshine, 
 of the crowded cavern, with its yellow lichts 
 and their smoke, and the echoes of the chant- 
 ing. We returned when the service was over, 
 and saw the star in the marble iloor which 
 marks, as the friars believe, the precise spot 
 where Jesus was born, and the marble slab 
 which is laid in the place of the inangcr. 
 When I saw, throughout the country, how the 
 Arabs now use the caves of the hills to bed 
 their goats and cattle, this belief of the friars 
 apjiearcd less absurd than it would with us ; 
 but still, it is so improbable that the jirecise 
 sjMjt of these transactions (whose im))ortance 
 was not known till afterward) should have 
 been marked and remembered, that I felt little 
 interested in them in comparison with the lantl- 
 scape out.-ide, about whose leading features 
 there could be no mistake. 
 
 From the bottom of the garden, we over- 
 looked the great valley which expanded to the 
 northeast ; am. one enclosure there — a green 
 spot now occupied by olive-trees — was point- 
 ed out to us iU the field where the shepherds 
 were abiding on the. night when Christ was 
 bom. Behind it, to the east, lay range behind 
 range of hills, stretching off to the north ; 
 and among these, we knew, lay the Dead Sea, 
 and the Jordan, where it pours its waters into 
 that lifeless and melancholy lake. As we left 
 tho convent and village, and descended the 
 rocky road, with terraced vineyards and olive 
 
 groves on either hand, wo knew that Jnsejjh 
 atul Mary must have come by this v/ay from 
 Jerusalem when summoned to the census: 
 and this was more to us than all the sights the 
 friars had shown us in their zeal and kindness. 
 We looked in at the tomb of Rachel, and at 
 
 •■yArrf^gt 
 
 A' 
 
 
 Tomb of Ilaobel. 
 
 the convent of Elias; but our eyes and 
 thoughts were bent toward Jerusalem. I re- 
 member, however, that here I first saw the 
 waters of the Dead Sea, lying blue in a little 
 gap between the hills. 
 
 As soon as I had mounted my ass before the 
 convent of Elias I saw from our ridge some 
 buildings on the rising ground which now 
 showed itself before us. I was not immedi- 
 ately certain what they wore : but the news 
 soon spread among us. That rising ground 
 was Zion, and those buildings belonged to Je- 
 rusalem, though they stdod outside the wall 
 
 m 
 
■ ilio Nativity. 
 
 iiul, wo knew that Jns«;i)h 
 i-e coino l)y this v/ny fVdiii 
 iiintiiiined to the census: 
 I) us thiiii ull tho sights tho 
 ill their zeal an<1 kindness, 
 le tomb of Rachel, and at 
 
 ''1 '" lUfiiii. ' 
 
 lb of Racbel. 
 
 Clias; but our eyes and 
 t toward Jerusalem. I re- 
 , that here I first saw the 
 d Sea, lying blue in a little 
 ills. 
 
 mounted my ass before the 
 [ saw from our ridge some 
 rising ground •which tiuw 
 re us. I was not iinmedi- 
 ; they were : but the news 
 g us. That rising ground 
 36 buildings belonged to Je- 
 ley 8t6od outside the wall 
 
 PLAN FOR EMANCIPATION. 
 
 47 
 
 Immediately after, the walled city itself came 
 into vi( w, lying along the hills. Most of the 
 jiurty were disujipointed. I was not — |)artly 
 beeiiiise I kn(!W tli;it we were ai)|)roaLhing it 
 from the least favorable side, and jiurtly be- 
 cause my expectations had much underrated 
 the size and grandeur of the city. What we 
 now saw was a line of white walls on a hill- 
 side, with some s(|uare buildings and small 
 white domes rising within. 
 
 I walked the rest of the way. On our 
 right were hills, the summit of one of whi(;h 
 was Acoldema, l.'ought by the])ricsts with the 
 money whicli the wretched .Indus returned to 
 them when he found too late what he had done 
 in his attcmjit to force his Lord to assert his 
 claim to a temporal sovereignty. On our 
 right was tho plain of Rephaim. When we 
 arrivv'd at the brow of the high ground we 
 were on, wo were taken by surprise liy the 
 graiidenr of the scene. Zion now opjieared 
 worthy of her nainc, and of her placi; in the 
 hymns of David, and in history. We were 
 now overlooking the valley ot Gihon, more 
 commonly kno^\^l i)y the name of Himnom. 
 From its depth, and its precipitous rocks on 
 our side, I slunild call it a ravine. This deep 
 'Udl contains tho Lower Pool, now dry ; and 
 the a(|ueduet from Solomon's Pools is seen 
 crossing it obVuinely. Its opposite side is Zi- 
 on, rising very steeply, still terraced for til- 
 lage in some parts, and crowned by the city 
 wall. To the right, swei^ping away from the 
 rivinc of Gihon, is the deep and grand vall(>y 
 of Jehosliajihat, clustered with rocks, relieved 
 by trees, and heading the eye round to the 
 slope of Olivet, which, however, is best seen 
 from the other side of the city. The black 
 dcnnc of the to.tib of David was the next ob- 
 ject ; and after that, the most consjiicuoiLs 
 roof in the city — the great dome of the 
 3Iosque of Omar, which occupies the site of 
 Solomon's Temple. 
 
 By this time, there was silence among us. 
 I walked behind our cavalcade, as it slowly 
 ascended tho beautiful rocky way — glad of 
 the silence pennitted by each to all ; for it 
 was not possible at the moment — nor will it 
 ever be jiossible — to speak of the impressions 
 of that hour. We entered bj'the Jalfa gate ; 
 and every echo of our horses' feet in the nar- 
 row, stony, picturcs(pie streets, told upon our 
 hearts as we said to ourselvi>s that we were 
 taking up out rest in Jerusalem. 
 
 The liberty of a jieople consists in being 
 governed l>y laws whicli the_y have made them- 
 selves, under whatsoever uinn it be of gov- 
 ernment ; the liberty of a private man in be- 
 ing master of his nvm time and actions, as far 
 as may consist with the laws of God and of liis 
 country. 
 
 PLAN FOR EMANCIPATION. 
 
 TiiKRK has been so much said andptiblislied 
 on the subject of Emancijiation, both at tho 
 north and south, that it hos becouic somewhat 
 dirticult to discuss it without awaking party 
 interests and feelings. The best cause, as is 
 svell known, may be ruined by injudicious ad- 
 vocates. The jieople of the south, however, 
 can not but approve of candor and truth ; and 
 we feel confident that they will be jjleased 
 with the Hon. David Sf:ARs' safe and liberal 
 ))n)positions on the subject of gradual enianci- 
 piilion, advocating, as they most clearly do, 
 not only a full indemnity ior evcrj slave lib- 
 erated, but presenting no imiiossibility or se- 
 rious difficulty of execution. 
 
 Before presenting onr readers with the sub- 
 stance of Mr. Skars' Plan for Emancipation, 
 w(! insert the following petition in its sup|)ort, 
 which, we understand, is now in circulation 
 for signatures in this and several other of the 
 states : — 
 
 " To the Senate and House of Rcprcscn.' 
 talivcs of the United Slates of America : — 
 The ])t;lition of the undersigned, citizens of 
 , res j)ect fully asks, that you will con- 
 
 siller the expediency of endeavoring to etl'ect 
 such a change in the constitution or laws, as 
 shall ajipropriate the public lands of the na- 
 tion in aid of the extinction of slavery through- 
 out the Union. 
 
 " A.lso, the expediency of oppointing com- 
 niissioneis, whose duty it sliull be — under 
 such conditions as congress may determine — 
 to purchase and etnunci])atc slaves — being fe- 
 male children bom prior to 1850. And, also, 
 of making annual ajipropriations by law for 
 the jinrpose, on a pledge of said public lands, 
 with a (h'cluratory act, that from and after 
 Ir^oO, there shall be no hereditary siavery. 
 13ut that on and after that date, everj' child 
 born within the United States of America, 
 their jurisdiction and territories, shall be born 
 free.'' 
 
 In mie of Mr. Sears' late communications 
 on the subject of Emancijiution, \yhen giving 
 statistical facts in relation to it, he says: — 
 
 " The last census of the United States gave 
 420,000 as the nursiber of femah; slaves under 
 ton \ears of aye, and 300,000 as the number 
 of female slaves betwten the ages of ten and 
 twenty years. Tlici plan projiosed contem- 
 plates the purchase of one, or both of these 
 classes, at o price to be agreed on. It is esti- 
 mated that at their present average value, they 
 could be bought and emancii)attil at a cost 
 much less than the ex[)ense of the last war 
 of the nation with Great Britain, and for less 
 than the probable cost of the present war 
 on Mexico." 
 
 In relation to the commissioners to be ap- 
 
 ft 
 
 n 
 
 ■MM 
 
 ■am 
 
 i&yi'"" 
 
48 
 
 PLAN FOR EMANCIPATION, 
 
 A suinmnry nf the plnn is as fellows: — 
 
 1. Connrcss In apprnvriale. the prncrrds of 
 the sales of public Lands to the extinction of 
 slavery. 
 
 2. Commissioners to be appointed by Con- 
 jijrcss to negotiate with the legislatures of the 
 slave states, for the purchase of female slaves 
 uti(l( r ten years of age, ami also, if necessa- 
 ry, female slaves un<ler tweniy years of age, 
 anil with instructions to close a contract ivith 
 any one of said states which majr agree to 
 accept the terms of their commission. The 
 money to be paid to the stales, and to be by 
 them a])portioned. 
 
 3. Female slaves so purchased aro to be 
 free, and their issue are to be free. 
 
 4. In consideration of the above, all chil- 
 dren bom after 1850, are to be free, within 
 the states so contracting, and from that date, 
 hereditary slavery in the United Slates, its 
 territories and dependencies, is to cease. 
 
 In a rc])ly of Mr. Skars' to a committee 
 of citizens of Philadelphia, on the subject, are 
 the following practical remarks, which seem 
 to rid the plan of the only serious objection 
 which can be urged against it : — 
 
 " I am ready to acknowledge a right of 
 ])roperty in slaves — living, tangible, and exist- 
 ent — but not a right to hold the race in bond- 
 age through all future time. And in order to 
 avoid the difficulties and dangers which might 
 arise from an immediate and unc|ualified liber- 
 ation of a debased and ignorant class, I have 
 suggested that children who may be bom after 
 1850, should be apprenticed to their owners, 
 or others, until they are twenty-one years of 
 age, on the proviso that they receive from 
 their masters a suitable education to fit them 
 for their improved condition. And this is to 
 apply to all children bom after that period, 
 whether their mothers have been freed by ap- 
 propriations made by Congress or not. The 
 process once begun, and the impediment to 
 our being a powerful, a united, and a happy 
 people, is for ever removed." 
 
 The spirit of Mr. Sears' plan of emanci- 
 pation is contained in the above summary. In 
 our own judgment, we have arrived at a con- 
 juncture in which the wisdom of our greatest 
 statesmen is required on this subject. The 
 present scheme transfers the burden from the 
 slaveholder to the nation. Thousands at the 
 north will be found to aid in the accom])li8h- 
 ment of a peaceful emancipation, even to the 
 extreme of self-denial and sacrifice. Mr. S.'s 
 plan has not been prepared under the influence 
 of any sectional or party feeling. The wannest 
 advocates of the present state of thing? must 
 be satisfied of this after reading his excellent 
 and judicious letters on the subject, as they 
 show, most conclusively, that the evil can be 
 gradually abolished, without detriment to their 
 
 rights or interests. We invite the nttenfion 
 of the press and our pulilie men to the consid- 
 eration of the i>lan ])rop(>sed. May nothing 
 cloiirl the prospect of the nation's coming to a 
 speedy, united, and htjil'V deeision. 
 
 A late number of the "Norfolk (Va.) Her- 
 ald" contains the following n-marks of its can- 
 did and truth-speaking editor : — 
 
 " Let those who arc lurcil by the prospect 
 of gain, or who really believe that they can 
 better their condition by emigrating to the new 
 states, follow ;hL'r bent — anil take tlieir slaves 
 along with the .. The vacuum may cause a 
 momentary weakness, but it will be only to 
 recruit with twi>fold vigor. The place ot ev- 
 ery slave will in time be filled with hardy, 
 industrious, tax-paying, musket-bearing free- 
 men, of the right stuff to people a free state, 
 which Virginia is destined to be one of these 
 days, and the sooner (consistently with rea- 
 son) the better for her o%on good." 
 
 This is cheering intelligence from snch a 
 quarter. The people of western Virginia — 
 whose prolific mountains and valleys encour- 
 age the growth of the spirit of freedom — have 
 long wished to be rid of slavery. But the 
 peoj)le of southern Virginia, more unfortunate 
 in location and association, have hitherto suc- 
 cessfully repressed this western sentiment. 
 If, as would appear from this paragraph from 
 the " Norfolk Herald," the true character of 
 slavery, as a ruinous absorbent, is beginning 
 to be felt, there is indeed hope of Virginia. 
 
 That it would be " better for her" if slave- 
 ry were abolished in Virginia, there can be no 
 reasonable doubt. Slavery is, and always has 
 been, an incubus upon the prosperity of that 
 state. Her originally rich soil has become 
 barren and fruitless under the exhausting and 
 im provident tillage of slave-labor. The once- 
 prolific plantations are bankrupting their pro- 
 prietors. To thousands, the unpleasant alter- 
 native is presented of abject poverty at home, 
 or emigration to the new soil at the west. 
 Large numbers have chosen the latter; and 
 their places have been filled by farmers from 
 the north. They, schooled in the science of 
 agriculture, and inun.'d to toil, can, with free 
 labor, restore what slavery has exhausted. 
 Under their judicious application of this free 
 labor, Virginia would soon be lifted from her 
 present condition ; and when this truth shall 
 be felt and acted upon, the " Flerald's" pre- 
 diction will become matter of history. 
 
 With these and a mnltitudeof similar facts 
 before them, will not the intelligent and re- 
 flecting people of the slaveholding states take 
 into serious and candid consideration the plan 
 devised and recommended by Mr. Skars for 
 the removal of the originating and operative 
 causes which, as long as they continue to ex- 
 ist, can not, according to the apprehensions of 
 
W«" invitR the nttrntiim 
 ■nihWr. men to the c(insi<I- 
 iroposcil. May nothinj; 
 tlii^ nation's fomiiig to a 
 itpjA" (lorisioit. 
 10 ""Norfolk (Vn.)Hpr- 
 wing ri'inorks of its can- 
 ig editor : — 
 
 re lured by the prospeet 
 y believe that tliey eiin 
 by emi<;rating to the new 
 It — and take their slaves 
 ho vacuum may cause a 
 , but it will be onl^ to 
 ngoT. The place of ev- 
 le be filled with hardy, 
 ijr, muskrt-beoring frec- 
 fT to people a free state, 
 stined to he one of these 
 r (consistently with rea- 
 • own good." 
 titelligence from such a 
 e of western Virginia — 
 Bins and valleys encour- 
 
 spirit of freedom — have 
 id of slavery. But the 
 irginia, more unfortunate 
 ation, have hitherto suc- 
 this western sentiment, 
 rom this paragraph from 
 1," the true character of 
 I absorbent, is beginning 
 leed hope of Virginia. 
 ' better for her" if slave- 
 Virginia, there can be no 
 lavery is, and always hos 
 in the prosperity of that 
 ly rich soil has become 
 mder the exhausting and 
 ■ slave-labor. The once- 
 •e bankrupting their pro- 
 nds, the unpleasant alter- 
 F abject poverty at home, 
 3 new soil at the west. 
 3 chosen the latter ; and 
 ;n filled by farmers from 
 :hooled in the science of 
 ■t;d to toil, can, with free 
 
 slnvery has exhausted. 
 IS ap])lication of this free 
 d soon be lifted from her 
 ind when this truth shall 
 ion, the " Herald's" pre- 
 matter of history, 
 multitude of similar facts 
 It the intelligent and re- 
 R slaveholding states take 
 Jid consideration the plan 
 lended by Mr. Skars for 
 iriginating and operative 
 ig as they continue to ex- 
 ig to the apprehensions of 
 
 the wisest men who have lived in the south- 
 em states, fail of being deeply injurious to 
 their present prosperity and happiness, and of 
 being instrumental in placing invincible im- 
 pediments in the way ot their future advance- 
 ment in science, literature, the arts, in wealth, 
 and in everything else which can justly be 
 deemed promotive of an increased degree of 
 safety, comfort, civilization and refinement ? 
 
 Wc more cheerfully make these reflections, 
 from the well-known fact that such illustri- 
 ous men as Rufus Kino, while United States 
 senator, and more recently the distinguished 
 Henry Clat, have boldly and honestly ex- 
 pressed similar sentiments. 
 
 Thn terms proposed are liberal. Mr. S. 
 remarks : " We would manage it, if possible, 
 so as to gain the approbation of the most inter- 
 ested, and be prepared to meet them on tenns 
 of mutual concession for common ])re8ervation. 
 Compensation must be made for every 
 EMANCIPATED SLAVE, and an obnoxious fea- 
 ture in the constitution removed." Now, if 
 our southern friends would meet the demands 
 of this jiroposal fairly, manfully. In due sea- 
 son, and in as kind a spirit as animates the 
 author of the plan alluded to. the one great 
 trust devolving on the men of the present gen- 
 eration in this country would be accomplished ; 
 and, in ages to come, their posterity would 
 bless them. 
 
 In order to present more iloarly, the views 
 and sentiments of Mr. Sears, in relation to 
 his proposed plan for emancipation, we give 
 the following extracts from his Cfirrespondence 
 on the subject, wia* the late Ex-President, 
 John Qcincy Adams : — 
 
 "We believe that the interest as well as 
 hapiiiness of the whole Union, requires the 
 abolition of slavery. But in this belief we 
 would be careful to let neither prejudice, nor 
 passion, nor wrong, govern us. We desire, 
 therefore, that some proposal may be made 
 to show to the intelligent and thinking part 
 of the south, that in the adjustment of this 
 matter, the rights of property are to be sa- 
 credly respected ; some mode adopted to sat- 
 isfy them that our interttions are honest :— 
 some evidence given, that we act under a con- 
 S'.ientious conviction, that oti it depends the 
 quiet and duration of the Union." 
 
 " To avoid the inevitable result of an open 
 outbreak, it is necessary that there should be 
 a united action in the free states, with the 
 adoption of some great principle which shall 
 unite us all." . . 
 
 " In this view, the enclosed principles are 
 framed. They are independent of party, 
 and leave every one free to act on all minor 
 questions— being united only in MxB—thatjrom 
 and afier 1850, event child horn in the Uni- 
 
 ted States shall be horn free. This greot ob- 
 ject we earnestly seek to otitaia in a reason- 
 able way, and upon principles of right and 
 justice. We would manage it, if possible, 
 so as to gain the aj^jrobation of those most 
 interested, and be prejiared to inec^t them on 
 terms of mutual concession for common pres- 
 ervation. Compensation must be made for 
 every emancipated slave, and an olinoxious 
 feature in the constitution removed. But it 
 is not necessary in attempting this, to touch 
 the argument that a certain interpretation of 
 that instrument would perpetuate slavery to 
 all generations unborn, nor to show that by 
 such an assumption of construction, the state 
 of Virginia, and her southern neighbors- 
 while the traffic is expressly forbidden else- 
 where — are virtually made another Africa for 
 the supply of slaves, and ha^ a monopoly 
 of the trade. Such irritating u.pics may be 
 put at rest. It is best to ajipeal to the inter- 
 est of the slaveholder to convince him. It 
 is projiosed that he should be paid for every 
 slave that is emancijiated, and that he shall 
 have the labor, during their lives, of such as are 
 not purchased. He is in fact dejirived of noth- 
 ing which has existence, or in which he can 
 have property. No pecuniary sacrifice ia 
 exacted— the expense of the infaticy of chil- 
 dren being paid by indenture with their moth- 
 ers, who, being purchased and made free, I 
 may bind them to labor, as we bind our ap- 
 prentices—and an honoroble opjiortunity is 
 thus oflcred to the slaveholder, to test the 
 honesty of his democratic principles, and his 
 regard for human rights, without danger, and 
 without loss. The moral tone of the slave is 
 raised by the brighter future, and parent 
 slaves are induced to behave well, and to 
 work hard, in the knowledge that their chil- 
 dren will be free ; all tending to the benefit 
 of the owner." 
 
 " No projxisition like the present has ever 
 yet been made to the south, nor remuneration 
 in any shape offered. Let us try it, m the 
 spirit of conciliation, to save tluin and our- 
 selves from a great, a common, and an impend- 
 ing calamity." 
 
 " These views I have strongly urged, and 
 I have endeavored to impve^-s on the minds 
 of our friends the necessity of uniting on the 
 subject of compensation, for the sake of umon, 
 happiness, and peace." 
 
 "It certainly appea/s to be a matter of 
 great importance, especially to the three states 
 Moryland, Virginia, and Kentucky, to look 
 closely into the subject, and examine the prop- 
 osition tendered to them. They are border 
 states, and in contact with u spirit of free- 
 dom ; and while they are becoming compar- 
 atively less rich and strong, they can not bui 
 1 see that their neighbors— divided from them, 
 
50 
 
 PLAN FOR EMANCIPATION. 
 
 oiilv 1'V nil iinncinary lino, or a small strnnm 
 
 arc riipiilly uilviiiit'iMji upon them in wealth 
 
 ami Hreimih. Nor enn they deny that these 
 coriseipienees follow, on the one hiind, from 
 the institution of slavery, ond on tlwi other, 
 from the institution of free labor.* The for- 
 mer must ever yield to the latter in the jiro- 
 duotion of wealth, j)rosperity, nnd ])ower. 
 As these elements of Rreutness inerease amon;; 
 the free states, what, in all i)rol)nliility will 
 be the future destiny of these border states?" 
 •> I wish not to excite an angry feelin.2, or 
 to wound the self-love of any one, my object 
 is Vftire ; but if the iieople of these states, 
 would ealmly hear what may be said, nnd 
 C(K)11y jud,ne of what they hear, we should all, 
 in time, come to the saine eonclusion. Sup- 
 pose this conclusion arrived Qt. then Mary- 
 land, Vir^iinia, ond Kentucky, would unite in 
 applying to Congress for the very compro- 
 mise which the jietition oilers. They wotild 
 o„j, ' We have long borne the burden of sla- 
 very, and now wish to get rid of it. We can- 
 not do so without your assistance. We may, 
 it is true, sell a part of our property m South 
 Carolina and other states, where the soil, from 
 its nature, and the climate, from its unheulthi- 
 ness, can only be inhabited by the African, 
 but we have been at a great expense in rear- 
 ing the infant to the child, and in feeding the 
 old man in his age. You must, therefore, 
 gront us something as an equivalent, and wc 
 will meet in the spirit of comproinise, to root 
 from our land an acknowledged evil. Put us, 
 we pray you, in a position to reap the full 
 advantages oH'ered to us by Heaven, in a 
 
 • What a. volume is contained in llio Cillowing con- 
 tstut ; and yet lliia is only a lair Blatemcnt of Uie dif- 
 fcrcucc bctwoou a slave and a free state. 
 
 rBKKSOir.— MASSACIIl'SKTTSSLAVK SOIL— S'TH CABOLINA 
 
 Him tcrritorv... 7,500 «J minas territory.. .25.000 «q m. 
 
 "op inm?.. :. . . . .8IW.0(K) Fop. in 1H45 COO.OW 
 
 Pr.\d.H't« in do .$124,735,304 Product, in do...«J.'3,U(j6,"'lw 
 I'roduQtion to rach 
 
 individusl 688 
 
 Cost of .State Gov- 
 ernment, !fM4 ... .•.147,e.'il 
 
 Members of Congress 7 
 
 t^cliolHrs in Com- 
 mon Scliools 12520 
 
 In Academics 4.32fi 
 
 In (killeges Wtl 
 
 Wliites over 20, who cim 
 can not rcua jr «..ie. -.-.^o not read or write.. . .20,615 
 
 Slaves NONE Slave, not perm ttcd 
 
 to read or write.. . .3.10.000 
 
 Still itiore striking does this contrast become if we 
 comnaro Kontuoky ami Oliio— sister stales, alike m 
 soil and climate, and divided only by a rivor, but as 
 dissimilar in ontorimso and prospority as can lie im- 
 acined. No powers of argument can reason down 
 facts like tlieso, and already is their niflucnce at wot k 
 in Virijinia, Kentucky, Maryland, and perhaps ntlier 
 states. Coniiliation, as well as fimiaess, is now de- 
 manded on the part of tlic north ; lirmness in an op- 
 position to tlie extension of slavery, but a Kcnerous 
 and conciliatory spirit in devising a method ol reliel 
 for the states now involved iu it. 
 
 healthy climate and n rich soil, nnd to this end 
 liurchuse and make free the female infants of 
 our slaves, and we will nhnlish hereditari/sfa- 
 rrry fir ever. Kvery child born after 1950, 
 shall be born free.' " 
 
 "Nor is the supposition '^f such a union 
 of opinion by any means chimerical. It is 
 obviously for the interest of thest? three states 
 to range themselves on the side of freedom, 
 and if they should do so, the result is certain." 
 " As events ripen, it is evident that no time 
 should he lost in devising some conciliatory 
 nieosure of compromise. Tiie great (juestim 
 of slavery, thouah in a modilied form, has 
 already licioii bnnight before Congress, never 
 again to <piit it until slavery ceases. The 
 jiowcr and number of those who seek its ex- 
 tinction nrc daily on the inerease, and the 
 chances of coinjiensation for slaves will year- 
 ly grow less : after 18')0, in my ojiinion none 
 enn be obtained. The matter must then as- 
 sume .'- more serious nsiiect, and the border 
 states will doubly sulTi-r." 
 
 " In a letter to a friend — who, in n series 
 of numbers recently jiuldished in the Hoston 
 Courier, has so fully demonstrated the value 
 of the plan of emancipation I suggested, and 
 who has touched the subject with a master's 
 hand— I frankly stated my fears, and in giv- 
 ing them also to you, I trust they will be re- 
 ceived as they were uttered — 'more in sorrow 
 than in anger.' " 
 
 " It seems to me that we are slowly but 
 steailily advancing to thot dreadful crisis that 
 has been so long predicted. The events of 
 the next ten years will probably decide the 
 question of the continuance of South Caroli- 
 na, and some other of the slave states as a 
 " ■ ■ ■ th 
 
 Producticm to each 
 individual 8151 
 
 Co«t of State Gov. 
 «rnment, 1844 ...8461,097 
 
 Members of Congress 10 
 
 Scholar, in Com- 
 mon Schools Ifl0.2.'>7 
 
 In Academics 16 74G 
 
 la Colleges 700 
 
 I'crson.i <iver20 who 
 can not read jr write. 4443 
 
 part of the confederacy— for by that time tlie 
 north will demonstrate a determined force 
 against slave dictation. The balan(!e of i)ow- 
 er under the comprotnise of the constitution 
 is gone — the constitution itself is invaded and 
 broken — and new elements are introduced in- 
 to it, which are too inllammable in their na- 
 ture not to consume it." 
 
 " The right of slave representation, origin- 
 ally limited, iu fact if not by name, to live 
 out of thirteen states, is soon to be extended 
 over conquered territories and foreign iinlion.'* 
 of more than half n continent. The indolent 
 and ignorant slaveman, without ediicalinn or 
 indusuy, is hereafter, by niemis of a three- 
 fifth vote, to guide the destuiics of this mighty 
 empire." 
 
 "Had a firm resistance been shown to the 
 admission of Texas, while demanding a slave 
 representation— 1 do not say a ,s/air jiopula- 
 tion ; that is another branch of the (|uestion, 
 but a slave representation — there is little 
 doubt that the war with Mexico would have 
 been avoided. What is now to prevent a 
 
irli soil, nml to this end 
 ^ tlio female infmits of 
 ahnlish licredilarji sla- 
 child born nftcr 1850, 
 
 litir.n '.f siirh a union 
 [ins rhiniTirQl. It is 
 St of tlirsf thrf o states 
 1 the side of frcrdom, 
 1, the result is rertnin." 
 is evident that no time 
 (injj some mnciliatory 
 I. The grent <|iiestirn 
 n modilied form, has 
 )cfore (!'on;i;ress, never 
 shivery censes. The 
 :hose who seek its ex- 
 tho inerense, und the 
 m for slaves will yenr- 
 )0, in my opinion none 
 •. matter must then ns- 
 is])ect, ond the border 
 i'r." 
 
 lend — who, in n series 
 uhlishcd in the Hoston 
 lemonstrnted the volue 
 mtion I sncgcsted, and 
 lubject with n master's 
 I my fears, nml in piv- 
 [ trust they will be re- 
 tered — 'more in sorrow 
 
 hat we ore slowly but 
 hat dreadful erisis tlint 
 ieted. The events of 
 ill prolinbly deride the 
 iinnce of South Cnroli- 
 f the slave states as a 
 y — for bv that time the 
 te n determine(l force 
 . The l)alun(!e of i)ow- 
 nise of the eonstitution 
 ion itself is invaded and 
 nents are introduceil in- 
 illammable in their na- 
 
 e representation, orijjin- 
 if not by name, to five 
 , is soon to l)e extended 
 )ries and foreiu^i uiiiion* 
 ontinent. The indolent 
 n, without edueaiinn or 
 r, by nirinis of a three- 
 B destinies of this mightv 
 
 tance been shown to the 
 while demandiniT a slure 
 not sav slarr. jwpula- 
 branoli of the (piestion, 
 LMitation — there is little 
 I'ilh Mexico would have 
 lat is 'now to prevent a 
 
 THE AQE OP rilOGRESS. 
 
 51 
 
 slave representation from being indefinitely 
 exteniled ! Whiit to prevent the farmer ond 
 meeliaiiie of th • north, from being ruled and 
 governed liy the slaves of the south? Noth- 
 ing liut a siern and unbending will, followed 
 out by action, to maintain ihe princi|)le » of 
 the eonsiiiution. Mutual concession and com- 
 promise may do mui'h, but can they be l)rought 
 to bear, exeejit utitler pressure of necessity, 
 and to save the Union." 
 
 " Kvenls are tending to this issue, and soon- 
 er or later tin; struggle will come. It is im- 
 possible that three fourths of the talent, the 
 wealth, and the industry of the country can 
 always ([uietly submit to have their petitions 
 and counsels rejected, and tin ir best interests, 
 and their own" peculiar institutions, continu- 
 ally sucriliced ut the will and ]ilcasure of the 
 feudal bondage jwwer of slavcmen. We had 
 better meet the evil, h(iw(^ver great, or in 
 whatever form it may approach us." 
 
 " I do not fear a dissolution of the Union. 
 The worst that can hoppcii is a temporary 
 secession from the confederation of certain of 
 the slave states, which may perha|is (piit us 
 for u time, and attempt to form an independ- 
 ent goveriunent ! Ijct them try the experi- 
 ment. In live years from their seporation, 
 thev wouM l)e compli'tely at our mercy, and 
 petition for re-annexalion on our own tertns. 
 Tli(;y can not exist without us — yet being 
 with us, and of little comparative value in 
 the statistics of power and the elements ot 
 greatness, they govern us at their own ca- 
 price." 
 
 " We arc, in fact, in a false position. We 
 have yielded uj) the compromise of five slave 
 states to eight free states — the spirit of the | 
 compact of the constitution — and i)ermitted j 
 a gross encroachment of the slavemen upon] 
 the degree of power we originally conceded. 
 But notwithstanding these facts, and the feel- 
 ings they naturally engender, I am anxious 
 still toolTur to them the plan for ctnancipation 
 which you have been kind enough jjublicly to 
 notice. It was conceived in good will and 
 friendship to the south, and oH'ercd in the 
 spirit of mutual concession to avert an im- 
 pending evil, and restore harmony to the 
 Union." 
 
 '• No one understands better than yourself 
 — whose experience extends beyond the era 
 of the constitution — that the present state of 
 hostility between the north and south, has 
 moiuly been brought about by a British poli- 
 cy, and the radical sentiments uttered by the 
 feuilul chiefs of South Carolina, and other 
 slave states, and thrown by them as fiiebrands 
 among us, to light the flames of riot, and spread 
 abroad the embers of disunion. They have 
 been successful, und we have retreated before 
 them." 
 
 " Their hti/.zas for liberty to all, and equality 
 for each, have been taken i>y us literally, and 
 we hapten to sliout them liaek in eurnest. 
 Men north of Washington, I'an not compre- 
 hend why the doctrine should not be good 
 south of it, and what the shivenian has preached 
 the freeman is now determined to practise." 
 
 " Had the educated and intidligent of the 
 south, instead of rushing to their ruin in a 
 voin struggle for personal power, been willing 
 to have remained friends with the same class 
 of the north, and jointly labored with them 
 in the construction anil maintenance of a gov- 
 ernment of laws founded upon reasonable and 
 liberal principles, und unitedly opposed the 
 intrigu(!s and management of viciinis and 
 needy men, who have nothing to lose and ev- 
 erything to gain, how much more huppy would 
 have been our country, and how many bitter 
 feelings wouUl have been spared to her best 
 and bravest. 
 
 " Qucm Dcus vult pcrdcrc, prius dcmcntaL" 
 
 THE AGE OF PROGRESS. 
 
 No man, we think, will deny that the state 
 of society, which belongs to the present era, 
 is distinguished above all others, bv the de- 
 sire and the power to advance. To resist 
 such progress, is not possible ; and, if possi- 
 ble, would not be lawful ; since the resistance 
 would be nothing less than the wilful rejection 
 of benefits which God's providence has scat- 
 tiTcd in our path. Look only to those benefits 
 which the oldest may remember to have seen 
 wrought in his own day ; and the commence- 
 ment of some of which may have been wit- 
 nessed, even by the youngest. Look, for in- 
 stance, to the valuable discoveries made, wn 
 may almost say daily, throughout the vost 
 and various fields of natural science. Look 
 to the new powers with which the telescope 
 and microscope are invested, ond which ena- 
 bles us — in a way more wonderful than any 
 which man's imagination could ever have con- 
 ceived possible — " to see a system in every 
 star, a world in every atom." Look also to 
 the spark of the electric telegraph, darting 
 with lightning speed through hundredsof miles 
 of space, and, as it darts, communicating 
 thought from man to man. Behold the effects 
 which have been produced by the single agen- 
 cy of steam, and see what centuries of im- 
 provejnent, in com|)nrison with the past, the 
 last half century has comprised within itself. 
 But whv need we go through the long cata- 
 logue of wonders? If these be among the 
 marvels of the present day, is there any hu- 
 man being who can say that his own position 
 
 
 mum 
 
08 
 
 BOSTON COMMON. 
 
 
 in tlu" worlil is not nnictcil liy lli'-in ? Not 
 now to ciiuiiKTiitc all lilt' cliiinjii-n wliit h munt 
 ariKP, w(! woulil umK him wlu-thfr tlirri' lie not 
 a jioMiivf u'ldiliiin miu(1(> liiTfliy to tlie jicrio<l 
 of his owr «•\i^I<■llc(; ? \Vr mean not, of 
 coui-c, an uililiiioii to tlu; iloys, ami wi-rks, 
 and month-*, iiiid vciirn, by wliich the courno 
 of life it reckoned, but nn addition to all the 
 " n|i|ilianceH imd means" of usefulness which 
 may, and ou};lit to, be exertt^d within those 
 limits. Life ]n virtmilly jirolonsed, whereso- 
 vcr ihe fueilities of sight, and motion, and 
 thought, and knowleilge, und aetion, aro mul- 
 tiplied. And, if it be so, then is a greater 
 re<|M)n»iliility uttaehed to that stewardship 
 wliieh (jimI lias eoinmitted to the charge of 
 all of us. A higher value is imparted to the 
 trust; and In-uvitT will lie the sin of throwing 
 it awav. or ot employing it unprofitably. 
 
 "Tfie steam-engine and the railroad," says 
 Sir Robert l*e<l, " arc not merely facilitating 
 the transport of iiicrcluindise, they are not mere- 
 ly shorlenliig tiie duration of journeys, for ad- 
 ministering to the sujiply of physical wants. 
 They are speeding the intercourse between 
 mind and mliid — they are creating new de- 
 mands for knowledge — they are fertilizing the 
 intellectual as well as the material waste — 
 they are reni'ning the impediments which ob- 
 scurity, remi iteness or poverty, may have here- 
 tofore opiHised to the energy of real merit." 
 
 These are " words of truth and soberness." 
 they describe accurately the benefits which 
 result from the agency of this mighty instru- 
 ment; and the years which have elojised 
 since they were spoken, have but supplied 
 fresh and diverse testitnony in support of the 
 same truth. What then is the duty of v^ise 
 men. who find themselves placed in the midst 
 of changes so numerous and so vast ? Should 
 not their prayer be to gain for all classes the 
 utmost amount of benefit thus placed within 
 their reach ; and should not their elTbrts be 
 directed to the accomplishment of their pray- 
 er 1 To this great end, let them — to borrow 
 the forcible language of Dugald Stewart — 
 " heave the log into the deep — and measure 
 the rapidity of the current by which the world 
 is borne along." They can not, I repeat it, 
 stop the progress of the current if they would ; 
 and they ought not, if they could. Neither 
 may they stand MJly by, trusting to thestrength 
 of the moorings to which their vewel is made 
 fast; for the stoutest cable may give way, 
 anil the fairest vessel may drift and be lost 
 amid rocks ami shallows. Let them strive, 
 therefore, and turn, in the best directions, the 
 stream which is carrying them forward. Let 
 them open for it a free course into regions 
 where it is most needed ; and rejoice, as they 
 see it " fertilizing the intellectual aa well as 
 the material waste." 
 
 BOSTON COMMON. 
 
 This bcoutiful piece of ground, associated 
 with so many of the pleonures and so much 
 of the historical jiride of the inlmbitonts of 
 Huston, is situated in lire westerly part of the 
 city, infrontofthefctatehouse. It is surround- 
 ed upon three sides by streets, upon which 
 are some of the handsonicst private residences 
 in the city, and ujion the other, it lies ojien 
 to the country, commanding a beautiful view 
 of the hills and villages of Roxbury, Brook- 
 line, Brighton, and Cambridge. 
 
 The space contained in I'le common proper 
 — which exjirrssion we su]i|Mise to be no sole- 
 cism, except ill speaking on grammatical sub- 
 jcrts — is about forty-eight acres, inclusive of 
 the cemiiery within its limits, which is now 
 tastefully laid out with trees and n alks. The 
 land west of Clinrles street, and 'leld by the 
 lifv as a part of the same iiropert/, as joint- 
 sK/i k of the citizens, is now used for a public 
 garden and is ropidly becoming an ornament 
 ond a benefit to Boston. The common, inclu- 
 ding this piece of land, consists of filiout sev- 
 nnty live acres, and to the travel!) ; entering 
 the city from the west, forms a very extensive 
 opening among the otherwise compact masses 
 of brick upon the peninsula. 
 
 The malls about the common are shaded by 
 the most beautiful elms ; ind trees, mostly 
 American elms, old denizen^ of colonial times 
 and young children of city parentage, stand in 
 numbers (to sneak statistically there arc over 
 seven hundred) in every part of the common. 
 Near its centre is o little sheet of fresh water, 
 now the basin of o beautiful Cocliiluate fount- 
 ain, which modern refinement once christened 
 "Crescent Pond," and once "Quincy Lake," 
 bnt which Bostonians will probably ever speak 
 of, since all men are boys once, as the " Fnoo 
 Pond." About this pond have been set some 
 young and thrifty elms, which we hope to see 
 yet rivalling in beauty their older brothers in 
 the malls. South of the |jond stands the most 
 prominent of the eminences with which the 
 surface of the common is varied, which until 
 within a few years has borne the marks of a 
 fortification thrown uji by the British troops 
 
 ?|uartered here in 1775, ond although its sur- 
 ace is now more smooth and rouniled, many 
 Boston boys will regret the destruction of " the 
 fort." 
 
 The common has never been ns has been 
 supposed by some, held as the projierty of an 
 individual or individuals. It appears, from a 
 deposition of several of the then " oldest in- 
 habitants," taken before Governor Bradstreet 
 in 1684, for the ;Mrpose of discovering the true 
 terms and agreement by which the jieninsnla 
 was obtained by the colony under Winthrop, 
 that after the land (with a reservation of about 
 
COMMON. 
 
 I of proiiml, n><«>riatrcl 
 ik'iiHtircs mill >»> iiiuch 
 of lilt) iiilmbitniitH of 
 i»; westerly part <it'the 
 house. It in surroiind- 
 )y strrftH, upiiii which 
 ncMt j)rivntn rcsidpiiccs 
 the othrr, it lies oiicn 
 ruling fi hcautit'ul view 
 '8 of Roxbury, Brook- 
 iihridgc. 
 
 ill t'lft common proper 
 siijipose to be no sole- 
 g on urQinniatiriil snb- 
 sht acres, inclusive of 
 i limits, which is now 
 trees and ivalks. The 
 trect, and 'mid liy the 
 me jiropert/, ns joint- 
 now nsed for a public 
 lucoining an ornament 
 , The common, inclu- 
 consists of nliout sev- 
 the travelli r entering 
 forms a very extensive 
 jrwise compact masses 
 nsula. 
 
 :ommon are shaded by 
 ns ; ind trees, mostly 
 lizcUb of colonial times 
 :ity parentage, stand in 
 istically there arc over 
 y part of the common, 
 le sheet of fresh water, 
 itiful Coclutuate fount- 
 lement once christened 
 once "Quincy Lake," 
 ill probably ever speak 
 ys once, ns the " Fboo 
 ind have been set some 
 , which we hope to see 
 their older brothers in 
 le jK)nd stands the most 
 lences with which the 
 1 is varied, which until 
 J borne the marks of a 
 by the British troops 
 , and although its sur- 
 th and rouniled, many 
 the d^^struction of " the 
 
 ever been as has been 
 \ as the property of an 
 Is. It appears, from a 
 f the then " oldest in- 
 ■e Governor Bradstreet 
 : of discovering the true 
 py which the pcninsnla 
 Sony under Winthrop, 
 h a reservation of about 
 
 S 
 5! 
 
 S. 
 
 er 
 o 
 
 a 
 
 i 
 
 
 '111 
 
 -:'mmm 
 
I'.W'^ 
 
 «#« 
 
 :%i 
 
 
 54 
 
 VIEW OF NIAQAUA FAI.I-P. BELOW TAIW.E ROCK. 
 
 b'ix niTci*) liiiil lirrn sold to tliptn by "Mr. 
 
 of immi'V iiiiiilo iij) by n subHcriiitinn i)f nix 
 sbilliii'-"' I'mm ciicb hnii-rhDMcr ("ntirip," »nys 
 rhc iilllilavit. " (myiiis b'si^i «timin ci-n^idornbly 
 innr''"), " il. ■ iKWii biiil out •) plaro f ir n troin- 
 inj;-ti>'lil, \s\uc\\ ever »iiiro, and now is uspiI 
 for tliiit i)ur|MMf unci for til"' fci'iliiinof cattln." 
 Tlii" wiix lb:' oriKiii of the fOMMON, wbichwo 
 firnt find nlhidfdto in thr. town rrrordii, under 
 iliiff of Oilobcr 10, ICi.'H, when ccrtiiiri corn- 
 inifHiimcr.-t ii|i|ioinli'd to divide and dis|viKf- of 
 the uiiofTn)iipd landx nro iristrurtnd to Icnvp 
 out " "'irb ))oriions ii\ coinnion for the w.w of 
 NfW- nifr.i, and tlin furtbcr bent ll( of tlm 
 fowni-, :H ill tbcir bt-st dincrotions they shall 
 think lit." 
 
 So!ii<> further extract* from the tdwn rec- 
 ords oi, this suliject mny be fouml intcrf^tins. 
 In Miiy, \7'V.), we find nn ndniiriddo instiince 
 of ihr " wb<'n-it-rainH-lct-it-riiin"-j)hilc»so|)hy, 
 an (itlciniit huvinj; been mude to do soincthins 
 with the marsh on the west side of the com- 
 mon. " The selectmen Imvinj: viewed the 
 miirsh at the l)ottom of the common, nnd not 
 findiii',' 111 V material use that can be made of 
 it," fee, ■■ lire of opinion that it is best to lye 
 in the condition it now is." This conilition 
 seem-f to bii%e been, for a piece of land, about 
 09 i)reciirious os that of some modi'm western 
 cities, for we find nn account about thot time 
 (.fanuary, l7t.»S)oftwoyotm5m('n, skatin;; "at 
 the bottom of the common," who were drowned 
 there from the breakinj; of the ice. 
 
 In March, 173.3, it was "voted thot the row 
 of trees olready planted on the common be to- 
 ken core of t)y the selectmen, and that another 
 row of trees i)e planted there at n suitable dis- 
 tance ;" and " that o row of posts, with a rail 
 on the top of them, be set up and continued 
 throu^lh the common, from the buryini;-])lace 
 to Colonel K^tche's fence, leavini; openings at 
 the several xtreets and lonri." In 1739, it 
 was " voted that posts and rails be set up from 
 thd granary in Common street" (the site of 
 the present Park-street church) " to Beacon 
 street." 
 
 We find subscciuently two propositions for 
 disposinj? of parts of the common, one " to sell 
 Fox hill on the common," a low, sandy mound, 
 which h;is been levelled nnd used in filling up 
 the abo\ c-mentioncd marsh; nnd one a peti- 
 tion from a citizen for half an acre of land to 
 be taken out of the common for a house-lot : 
 but neither of them was acceded to. 
 
 The ori2;inal purposes specified in the reser- 
 vation of the common as a place for " a train- 
 ing-field, and ihfc fcccling of cuttle," were long 
 subserved by it. We hope that the planting 
 of so many trees, which has rendered it unfit 
 for the former purpose, virill preserve it from 
 that use in future, as it has done in a great 
 
 (lejpro latolv. Cntflo havfl been kept there 
 within tlie NiHt fifteen or twenty years, nml 
 the city iirdinimce that forbids this licurs diiM' 
 as loteas 1833. Many Hostoniaiis will r<'col- 
 lect nn anecdote in connexion with this case of 
 the common, of an cxiicise of ])rivilege which 
 woiiM hardly be tolerated ot the present time 
 — and some of the older jiortion of thf com- 
 munity may not have forgotten the spirit with 
 which n venerable Indy, now deceased, n-ird 
 to relate how she was unexpectedly called up- 
 on to entertain, as the guests of hrr hilslmnd, 
 whose mansion still overlooks the cojnmon. a 
 large jiarfvof French oIKcers belonging to the 
 cinint d'F.stainir's (leet, nnd how her energies 
 arose with the emergencies of the occasion. 
 " And whatdoyon think," would she say, " I 
 did for the cream nnd milk to serve for n break- 
 fast for such B party ? Wliy, I sent out my 
 people with orders to milk oil the cows on the 
 common, and told them if nnybo<ly n-ked any 
 ipiestions, to tell them to take the bill to (Jov- 
 enior Hancock." 
 
 The COMMON is growing in beauty every 
 day, nnd will ever lie a wmrce of jiride and 
 pleasure to Hostonians. It is a 8[H)t endeared 
 to all the inhabitants of Bo'i m, and a tin ine 
 for those praises of stranu' - with wliirh we 
 oil foster our love ond our vanity of hoin.'. It 
 will remain compnnion of Faneuil hall in the 
 historical associations of the city, nnd will 
 hardly need for its jyreservation the clause in 
 the city charter which forbids the council to 
 sell it. 
 
 VIKW OF NIAGARA FALLS, 
 
 BK.LOW TABLE ROCK. 
 
 Amono the many points that arrest the at- 
 tention of the trnveller at Ningnro, there is 
 none which he beholds with grcoter awe, or 
 which so fully reveals to him the vastnes-; of 
 the mighty cataract, ns the one dejnctcd ip 
 our engraving. The interest of the view is 
 greatly heightened by the impending elifi", 
 which has the appearance of being aliont to 
 fnll nnd crush all beneath it. A few year* 
 since, the most projecting port of it felf, and 
 now a large nnd very deep crack has widened 
 around the remaining area of the [ilatform 
 above; yet, notwithstanding its fearful appear- 
 ance, ladies and gentlemen crowd its broad 
 summit at all hours — walking, drawing, and 
 gazing — in the fullest confidence that rocks 
 have liases. And so it will go on, probably, 
 till the " one (thunder) too many hammers" 
 through its crack of doom ! 
 
CK. 
 
 mve born krpt thrri' 
 or fwoiity yt'iirt, aihI 
 orliHln th'iH l)(Mirs iliifn 
 liiHtiinlnns will ri'cul- 
 •xion wiili this I'lisf 1)1" 
 'isfl of J>rivil(';,'c wliirb 
 5(1 nt llic prfsciir ijinc 
 r ]«irti(in of ihi' rdiii- 
 r)Tf)ttt'n the Hpirit wiili 
 , now (Icrciiscil, ihimI 
 irxiH'ctcdly (■(ilicd iip- 
 ucMts of Jicr hiislimid, 
 rliK)k« the roiniiKiri, q 
 HcfTH l)clonf,'iti;; to ilic 
 utid how her ciht;;!!'* 
 iriPS of tlio occii^ioi). 
 s," would she siiy, *> I 
 Ik to serve for n hrcnk- 
 Why, I B<'nt out my 
 Ik nil the cows on tlin 
 if nnyhody n-kcd any 
 ) tuke tlio bill to (iov- 
 
 iVJDR in bcnuty pvpry 
 !i Noiirce of ))ride and 
 It i» spot endeared 
 ■ Brwi- m, and n ilieine 
 M\fs> •* with wliii'h we 
 ur vnnity of hoiii'', Tt 
 of Fnneuil hull m the 
 of the rity, nnd will 
 ervation the clause in 
 forbids the council to 
 
 GARA FALLS, 
 
 ILE ROCK. 
 
 ints that arrest the nf- 
 • at Niflfjarn, there i** 
 1 with greater nwe, or 
 to him the vastnes-i of 
 s the one depicted in 
 nterest of the view is 
 the impending clitr, 
 ince of beinc aliont to 
 30th it. A few year* 
 ng part of it fell, nnd 
 eep crack has widened 
 area of the jOntform 
 idinj; its fearful nppenr- 
 ["inen crowd its broml 
 wulkinc;, drawing, nnd 
 confidence that rocks 
 : will go on, probably, 
 ) too many hnnnncrs" 
 om! 
 
 I 
 

 
 « '(■r 
 
 56 
 
 VIEW OF NIAGARA, "WITHIN THE VEIL." 
 
 
 The path leading behind the sheet of the 
 " Horse-Shoe Fall," which is on the Canada 
 side, runs close under the clitl'of Table Rock ; 
 and, between the spray and the small rivulets 
 that trickle over the sharp edge, or find their 
 way out oF the numerous crexices on the face 
 of the prcci|iice, it is as wet as the lawn blest 
 with " perpetual rain" by the Witch of Atlas. 
 A small shanty stands at the head of the stair- 
 case, where a reading-room and repistrv are 
 kept, and curious walking-sticks, cut at Niag- 
 ara, niiuerals, spars, and stulled scori)ions, 
 vended ; the i)n)])rietor also otTiciarinn; us guide 
 under the falls. Parties are formed daily to 
 visit this part oi' the falls, and "go behind the 
 sl'eet." The mode of procedure is so inter- 
 esting, that we will give an account of a visit 
 to it : — 
 
 The ladies were taken into a small apart- 
 ment to change their dresses, jireparatorv to 
 their descent ; and the giiide soon metaiiior- 
 phi)se<l his cavaliers into as lirignnd-looking a 
 set of tatterdemalions as could be found in the 
 Abru/zi. Rough duck trowsers, long jackets 
 of green painted cloth, oil-skin hats, and flnn- 
 nel shirts — the whole turn-out very much like 
 the clothes of the drowned, exhibited for ree- 
 o,i;Tiition at the mosipie in Paris — constituted 
 our habiliments. The did'erence of the femah; 
 costume consisted in the substitution of a coarse 
 petticoat for the trowsers, and a string tied 
 over the broan-brimmed hot ; — and thus ar- 
 rayed, few would have known us or been wil- 
 ling to recognise us as their friends. The most 
 ludicrous part of the expedition is passing in 
 review betore the curious persons collected on 
 the way. 
 
 The guide went before, and wc followed 
 close under the clifT. A cold clanuny wind 
 blew strong in our faces from tl.e moment we 
 left the shelter of the staircase ; and a few 
 steps brought us into a pelting, fine rain, that 
 penetrated every opening of our dresses, and 
 made our foothold very slip])ery and difficult. 
 We were not yet near the sheet of water wc 
 were to walk through ; one of our party gave 
 out and returned, declaring it was impossible 
 to breathe ; the rest, imitating the guide, bent 
 nearly daible to keep the beating spray from 
 their nostrils, and pushed on, with enough to 
 do to keep sight of his feet. We arrived near 
 the difficult point of our progress; and in the 
 midst of a confusion of blinding gusts, hdf 
 deafened, and more than half drowned, the 
 guide stopped to give us a little counsel how 
 to proceed the remainder of the way. All 
 that could be heard amid the thunder of the 
 cataract beside us \vas o ^ injunction to push 
 on when it got to the worst, as it was shorter 
 to get beyond the sheet than to go back ; and, 
 with this pleasant statement of our dilemma, 
 we faced about with tL' longest breath we 
 
 could draw, and encountered the enemy. It 
 may be supposed that every person who hns 
 been dragged through the column of water 
 which obstructs the entrance to the cavern 
 brdiind this cataract, has a very tolerable idea 
 of the pains of drowning. What is -R'anriiig 
 in the density of the element is more than 
 ! made up by the force of the contending winds, 
 j which rush into the mouth, eyes, and nostrils, 
 ; as if flying from a water-fiend. The "cour- 
 age of worse behind" alone ])ersuades the 
 gasping sullerer to take one desjjerate step 
 ' more. 
 
 ; It is difficult enough to breathe within ; but 
 \ with a little si If-control and management, the 
 'i nostrils mity be guarded from the watery Jiar- 
 : tides in the atmosphere, and then an iri])res- 
 I sioii is made upon the mind by the cxfraordi- 
 ; r.aiy pavilion above and around, which never 
 ! loses its vixidness. The natural bend of the 
 : falling cataract, and tl.e backward shelve of 
 I the precipice, form an immense area like the 
 ■ interior of a tent, but so pervaded by dis- 
 charges of mist and spray, that it is impossible 
 to see far inward. Outward the light strug- 
 gles brokenly through the crystal wall of the 
 cataract ; and when the sun shines directly on 
 its face, it is a seme of unimaginable glory. 
 The footing is rather unsteadfast, the path be- 
 ing only a narrow shelf composed of loose and 
 slippery stones. A chain has been fastened 
 to the rock jmrt of the way, which somewhat 
 aids the visiter in the most dangerous portion 
 of the passage. The distance from where the 
 falls commence to ' Termination Rock" is 
 two hundred and thirty feet. Beyond this 
 point it is impossible for man to penetra'^e, as 
 the ledge there rises perpendicularly from the 
 water to the top of the falls. On the whole, 
 the undertaking of a passoge under the sheet 
 is rather more pleasant to remember than to 
 achieve. 
 
 _ The following lines, written a few years 
 since by the late Grenville Mellen, after 
 going " within the veil" of Niagara, beauti- 
 fully expresses the emotions produced in the 
 minds of those who have witnessed the majes- 
 tic seen" : — 
 
 O God ! — my prayer is to thee, amid sounds 
 That rock the world ! I've seen thy majesty 
 Within tho veil ! — I've heard the anthem shout 
 Of a great ocean, as it leaped in mist 
 About my thunder-shaken path ! — thy voice 
 As centuries have heard it, in the rush 
 And roar of waters 1 I have bent my brow 
 Within thy rainbow — and have iifted up 
 My shriek 'mid these fast cadences I — I've $een 
 What is the wonder of etirnitt — 
 And what this visioned — Dotbiogness of man I 
 Tablb Rock, AugMtt 22, 1838. 
 
IL." 
 
 countered the enemy. It 
 lat every person who hiis 
 igli the cohimn of water 
 e entrance to the envern 
 , hns n very tolerable iih-a 
 wninc. What is ■s'lmriiifr 
 he element is moio thnii 
 e of the contenilini; winds, 
 mouth, eyes, and nostrils, 
 vater-ficud. The " rour- 
 nd" ulone ])ersuades the 
 take one desperate stej) 
 
 ijrh to breathe within ; but 
 itrol and management, the 
 ded from the watery jiur- 
 lere, and then an iri|)res- 
 le mind by the extroordi- 
 and around, which never 
 The natural bend of the 
 tie backward shelve of 
 an immense area like the 
 but so pervaded by dis- 
 ipray, that it is impossible 
 Outward the light struo;- 
 ;h the crystal wall of the 
 the sun shines directly on 
 e of unimaginable glory. 
 • unsteadfast, the path be- 
 elf composed of loose and 
 chain has been fastened 
 lie way, which somewhat 
 c most dangerous portion 
 e distance from where the 
 ' Termination Rock" is 
 hirty feet. Beyond this 
 i for man to penetrate, as 
 perpendicularly from the 
 he falls. On the whole, 
 passage under the sheet 
 lant to remember than to 
 
 es, written a few years 
 lENViLLE Mellen, after 
 'eil" of Niagara, beauti- 
 smotions produced in the 
 lave witnessed the majes- 
 
 r is to thee, amid sounds 
 I've seen thy majesty 
 ve heard the anthem-shout 
 t leaped in mist 
 ifcen path ! — thy voice 
 trd it, in the rash 
 I have bent my brow 
 - and have iifted up 
 » est cadences ! — I've leen 
 
 if ETIRNITT — 
 
 id — notbingness of man I 
 838. 
 
-••'**^, 
 
 58 
 
 TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 
 
 TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND-NO. 2. 
 
 BT HARRIET MARTI.VKAU. 
 
 iMy room oprncfi upon a littli; terrace — the 
 flnt roof of 11 lower u|)nrtin(.'iit in our inn at 
 Jrrnsaloni, and from lliis little terrace I was 
 never tired of ga/inc;. A considcralile por- 
 tion of the city was s])rc«d out below ine ; 
 not with its streeti* laid o|)en to view, as it 
 would be in one of our cities; but jiresentinn; 
 a collection of (la -lofs, v;ith small white cu- 
 polas rising from them, and the minarets of 
 the mos()ues springing, tall and light as the 
 ])oplar from the long grass of the meadow. 
 Tlie narrow, winding lanes, which are the 
 streets of eastern cities, arc scarcely traceable 
 from a height : btit there was one visible from 
 our terrace — with its rough pavement of large 
 stones, the high housewalls on each side, and 
 the arch thrown over it, which is so fajjiiliar 
 to all who have seen ])ictnres of Jerusalem. 
 This street is called the Via Dolorosa, the 
 Mournful V\'"ay, from its being supposed to 
 be the wav by which Jesus went from the 
 Judgment Hall to Calvary, bearing his cross. 
 Many times in a day my eye followed the 
 windings of this street, in which I rarely saw 
 any one walking : and when it was lost among 
 the buildings near the walls, I looked over to 
 the hill which bounded our prospect ; — and 
 that hill was the Mount of Olives. It was 
 then the time of full moon, and evening after 
 evening I used to lean on the parapet of the 
 terrace, watching for the corning up of the 
 large yellow moon from behind the ridge of 
 Olivet. By day the slopes of the Mount 
 were green with the springing wheat, and 
 dappled with the shade of the olive clumps. 
 By night, those clumps and lines of trees 
 were dark amidst the lights and shadows cast 
 by the moon ; and they guided the eye, in 
 the abscneo of daylight, to the most interest- 
 ing points — the descent to the brook Kedron, 
 the road ;o Bethany, and the place whence 
 Jesus is believed to have looked over upon 
 the noble city when he pronounced its doom. 
 Such was the view from our terrace. 
 
 One of our first walks was along the Via 
 Dolorosa. There is a strange charm in the 
 streets of Jerusalem, from the pictTiresquc 
 character of tho waiU and archways. The 
 old walls of yellow stone are so beautifulh' 
 tufted with wctids, ihn.t one longs to jiaint 
 every ai gle and p-ojecrion, with their mellow 
 coloring, and dangling and trailing weeds. 
 And the shailo-.vy archways, where the vault- 
 ed roofs intersect each other, till they are lost 
 in the dnzzle of the suiishifle beyond, are a 
 perjietnal trr!at to the eye. The pavement 
 IS the worst I ever walked on ; large, slippery 
 
 stones, slanting all manner of ways. Passing 
 such weedy walls and dark archways as I 
 have mentioned, we turned into Via Dolorosa, 
 and followed it as far as the (Governor's House, 
 which stands where Fort Antouia stood when 
 Pilate there tried Him in whom he fnuml, as 
 he declared, no guilt. Here we obtained per- 
 mission to mount to 'he roof. 
 
 Why did we wisn it ? For reasons of such 
 force as I despair of making uiiderstooil by 
 any but those to whomth(^ name of tli" Tem- 
 ple has been sacred from their earliest years. 
 None but Mohammedans may enter the en- 
 closure now • — no Jew nor Christian. The 
 Jew and Christian who repel each othi'r in 
 Christian lands are under the same ban here. 
 They are ahkc excluded from the place where 
 Solomon built and Christ sanctified the tem- 
 ple of Jehovah; and they are alike mocked 
 and insulted, if they draw near the gates. 
 Of course, we were not satislied without see- 
 ing all that we could see of this pluee — now 
 occupied by the mosque of ( )inar — the most 
 sacred spot to the Mohammedans, after Mec- 
 ca. We could sit under the (lolden Gate, 
 outside the walls : we could measure with the 
 eye, from the bed of the brook Kedron, the 
 height of the walls which crowned JNIoriah, 
 and from amidst which once arose the temple 
 courts : we could sit where Jesus sat on the 
 slope of Olivet, and look over to the height 
 whence the glorious Temjjlc once commanded 
 the Valley of Jehoshaphat, which lay between 
 us and it : but this was not enough, if we 
 could see more. We had gone to thi! thresh- 
 old of one of the gates, as far as the Faithful 
 permit the infidel to go : and even there we 
 had insulting waniings not to venture further, 
 and were mocked by little boys. From this 
 threshold we had looked in ; and from the top 
 of the city wall we had looked down upon 
 the enclosure, and seen the external beauty 
 of the buildings, and the pride and prosperity 
 of the Mohammedan usurpers. But we culd 
 see yet more from the roof of the governor's 
 house; and there we went accordingly. 
 
 The enclosure was spread out like a map 
 below us ; and very beautiful was the mostpie, 
 built of variegated marbles, and its vast dome, 
 and its noble marble platform, with its ilights 
 of steps and light arcades ; and the green lawn 
 which sloped away all round, and the row of 
 cypress trees under which a company of wor- 
 shippers were at their prayers. But liow 
 could we, coming from a Christian luid, at- 
 tend much to present things, when the sacred 
 past seemed spread before our eyes ? T was 
 looking, almost all the v.'hilc, to see w here the 
 Sheejjgate was, through which the lainbs for 
 sacrifice were brought : and the Watergate, 
 through which the i)riest went down to the 
 spring of Siloam for water for the ritual pu- 
 
nnor of wnys. Pn«(<inji 
 (1 (liirk uri'liwnys as I 
 iriicd iiiio V'iii Doldrosa, 
 s i1r' (idvcriiui'.'i I Idusc, 
 'orl Aiifdiiin stddil wliL'ii 
 1 in wlioiu ho IdUiiil, ns 
 
 HlTP wu oblaiiHMl piT- 
 ic root'. 
 
 , ? For renstiiis of such 
 mnkinp; iindcrstooil liy 
 1 the iiuine of tli" 'I'ciii- 
 Din llicir onrlicfit yi'iirs. 
 inns iiitiy Piitor tlui i-ii- 
 IV nor Cliriistiiin. The 
 ho rcial each other in 
 (lor tlie siinin ban here, 
 fd from till" pliK'f where 
 irist sunetifit'd the tein- 
 thcy are alike iiioeked 
 
 draw ncsir tin; ii;nte8. 
 )t sutislied without see- 
 see of this ])hice — now 
 we of Omar — the most 
 tiaminedniis, after Mec- 
 uder the (Tolden Gate, 
 could measure with the 
 tlio brook Kedron, the 
 ,'hich crowned Moriah, 
 h once arose the temple 
 wh<.'re Jesus sat on the 
 look over to the )iein;ht 
 'emple once commanded 
 ihat, which lay between 
 vas not enou^:h, if we 
 had jrone to the thresh- 
 8, as far as the Faithful 
 go : and even there we 
 s not to venture further, 
 little boys. From this 
 ed in ; and from the top 
 had looked down ui)on 
 en the external beauty 
 ;he pride and prosperity 
 isurper:^. But we c;uld 
 ! roof of the govenior's 
 went accordingly. 
 
 spread out like a map 
 sautiful was the rnosijue, 
 irblcs, and its vast dome, 
 )latfonn, with its llights 
 des ; and the green lawn 
 1 round, and the row of 
 hich a company of wor- 
 3ir prayers. I'ut how 
 Ti a Christian 1 iiid, at- 
 thiiigs, when the sacred 
 efore our eyes ? T was 
 1 v/hile, to see where the 
 gh which the lambs for 
 It : and the Watergate, 
 riest went down to the 
 water for the ritual pu- 
 
 
 
 z 
 
 c 
 
 I 
 
 n 
 
 z 
 
 H 
 > 
 
 r 
 
 
 
 PI 
 
 (0 
 
 5 
 
 z 
 
 •n 
 
 
 
 
 < 
 
 z 
 
 ■i 
 
 z 
 
 
 
 ■0 
 « 
 
 H 
 
 
 
 
 ■,;i3. 
 
TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 
 
 A Street in Jernsalem. 
 
 rilicalion. I st where the Temple itself 
 must have stood, and planned how far the 
 outer courts extended — the Court of the Gen- 
 tiles, the Court of the Women, the Treasury, 
 wh(!rc the chest stood on the right of the en- 
 trance, and the right hand might give without 
 the left hand knowing : and the place where 
 the scribes sat to teach, and where Christ so 
 taught in their Jealous presence as to make 
 converts of those who were sent to apprehend 
 him. 1 saw whereabouts the altar must have 
 stood, and where arose, night and morning, 
 for long centuries, the smoke of the sacrifices. 
 I saw where the golden vine must have hung 
 its clusters on the front of the Holy Place, 
 and where, again, the innermost chamber must 
 have been — the Holy of Holies, the dwelling- 
 place of Jehovah, where none but the High 
 Priest might enter, and he only once a year. 
 These j)laces have been familiar to my mind's 
 eye from my youth up ; — almost as familiar 
 as my own house ; and now I looked at the 
 very groimd they had occujiied, and the very 
 scenery they had commanded, with an emo- 
 tion that the ignorant or careless reader of the 
 New Testament could hardly conceive of. 
 And the review of time was hardly less in- 
 teresting than that of place. Here, my 
 thoughts were led back to the early days when 
 David and Solomon chose the ground and lev- 
 elled the summit of Mount Moriah, and be- 
 
 gan the Temple of Jehovah. 1 could see the 
 lavishing of Solomon's wealth upon the edi- 
 fice, and the fall of its pomp under invaders 
 who worsliipped the sun; and the rebuilding 
 in the days of Nehemiah, when the citizens 
 worked at the walls with arms in their girdles ; 
 and in the full glory and security (as most of 
 the Jews thought) of their Temple while they 
 paid tribute to the Romans. O ! the proud 
 Mohammedans before my eyes were very like 
 the proud Jews, who mocked at the idea that 
 their temple should be thrown down. I saw 
 now the area where they stood in their pride, 
 and where before a generation had passed 
 away, no stone was left upon another, and the 
 plough was brought to tear up the last re- 
 mains of the foundations. Having witnessed 
 this heart-breaking sight, the Jews were ban- 
 ished from the city, and were not even per- 
 mitted to see their Zion from afar oB". In the 
 age of Constantine, they were allowed to a{>- 
 proach so as to see the city from the sur- 
 rounding hills ; — a mournful liberty, like that 
 of permitting an exile to see his native shores 
 from the sea, but never to land. At length, 
 the Jews were allowed to purchase of the 
 Roman soldiers leave to enter Jerusalem once 
 a year — on the day when the city fell before 
 Titus. 
 
 And what to do ? How did thev spend that 
 one day of the year? I, will tell; for I saw 
 
Fehovah. 1 could see the 
 n's wealth upon the edi- 
 
 its pomp under invaders 
 3 sun; and the rebuilding 
 emiah, when the citizens 
 with arms in their girdles ; 
 
 and security (as most of 
 r their Temple whilo they 
 Romans. O ! the proud 
 re my eyes were very like 
 o mocked at the idea that 
 
 be thrown down. I saw 
 
 they stood in their pride, 
 a generation had passed 
 left upon another, and the 
 t to tear up the last re- 
 tions. Having witnessed 
 sight, the Jews were ban- 
 , and were not even per- 
 (ion from afar oH'. In the 
 
 they were allowed to ap- 
 e the city from the sur- 
 inournful liberty, like that 
 le to see his native shores 
 lever to land. At length, 
 owed to purchase of the 
 /e to enter Jerusalem once 
 
 when the city fell before 
 
 How did they spend that 
 jT I, will tell; for I mw 
 
*4. 
 
 62 
 
 TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 
 
 t 
 
 T linvc saiil how proud and prosperous ]tm. 
 pd the Mos(|ue o*' Omar, with its in.<rl)le 
 Imihliuijs, it« ^■;"vi lawns, and Koyly-drfssed 
 pciiplo — wjine nt orayer under the cypresses, 
 some conversiiiji under the arcades ; — female 
 d(!votces in white sitting on the grass, and 
 merry children running on the slopes : — nil 
 these ready nridcafrer to.vtone to death <<n the 
 instant, any Christian or Jew who should dare 
 to set his foot within the walls. This is vhnt 
 we saw within. Next we wont round the 
 outside till we came, byantnrow crooked 
 passage, to a desolate spot, occupied by ii< so- 
 late people. Under a high, massive, and > try 
 ancient wall was a dusty narrow space, rn- 
 closed on the other side by the backs of moiJ- 
 ern dwellings, if I remember right. This 
 ant ii^nt wall, where the weeds are springi'.;? 
 from the crevices of the stones, is the only 
 purt remaining of the old temple wall ; and 
 here 'he .Tews come every Fridiw to their 
 Placf iif Wailing, as- it is calleil, to mourn 
 ovi ; :hc; fidl of thr'j' t- p^ple, and ;;ray for its 
 restoration, Whi'': i. ■ou'rast did iliese hum- 
 bled peo|)le present ;i; ^'le i,: .ud ^^l)ham'n•■- 
 dans within ! The vn.ia m wf 's ,uat.ed it, I'iio 
 dust — snnie wailing al'iud,: M/nii: r<»pi!adng 
 prayers with moving lips' .;' 1 olhftni ;i;xding 
 them from books on tljeir k( e %i. A. it .v chil- 
 dren were at play on tUc ground; mA somr 
 aged men sat silent, tlicir heads drooped on 
 their breasts. Severn) younger men were 
 leaning against the wall — pressing their fore- 
 heads against the stones, and resting their 
 books on thc'r clasped huiids in the crevices. 
 With sfime this wailing is no forrti : for I saw 
 tears on their cl: -oks. I l.nged to know if 
 any had hope in thoir hearts, that they or their 
 children of anv generation should ;»a8s that 
 wall, find should help to swell the cry, " Lift 
 !i|> your heads, O ye gates, that the King of 
 Glory may come in I" If they have any such 
 hope, it may give some sweetness to this rite 
 of humiliation. We had no such hope for 
 them ; and it was with unspeakable sadness 
 that I, for one, turned away from the thought 
 of ihe jiride and tyranny within those walls, 
 and the der^olRtioi; without, carrying with me 
 a deep-felt lesion on the strength of human 
 faith, and the weakness of the tie of brother- 
 hood. 
 
 Alas ! all sf ?n7. weak alike. Look at the 
 three great places of prayer in the Holy City ! 
 Here are the i^f ohavimedans eager to kill any 
 Jew cr Christian wh(> may enter the Mostjue 
 of Omar. There are the Christians ready to 
 kill any Mohammedan -it Jew who may enter 
 the church of the Holy Se])ulchre. And 
 here are the Jews pleading against their ene- 
 mies : " Remember, O Lord, the children of 
 Edom in the day of Jerusalem, who said, r'lze 
 
 it, raze it, even to the foundation thereof. O, 
 daughter of Babylon that art to be destj-oyed, 
 happy shall he be thatrewardeth thee at tiiou 
 hast served us. Happy shall he be that tnkeih 
 and dashcth thy little ones against the stoni'.s I" 
 Such are the things done and said in the iihme 
 of Religion ! 
 
 In connexion with what h"} wm nl ready 
 related by Miss Martinea; concr-iiiri; the 
 Mo8(iue of Omar, we hero '^it \>Iui;e n more 
 particular description, with an .. .igraving 
 drawn from n. sketch made on 'he 'ipot by F. 
 Cathkrwood, Es<|,, who spent scveru! years 
 in the Holy Land It.r the purpis" of obtain- 
 ing views of the vari(»;n places Uirit have be- 
 come haiioAvi (1 to the Chri-tian world. 
 
 This sijleidi.' building occupies the site of 
 (lie anciei •. temple erected by .SoVimon on 
 " Mount Morisdi, where the Lord oppenr;>d 
 unto David hi i fnthc in tb ' piacc that David 
 Lft.i prepared in liie tlirashitJg-tloor of Oninri," 
 or Araunah, "the J>bu'Lt '." (I Kni;.'s. vi., 
 with 2 Chron., iii. 1) L was ere< :> d by the 
 calif Omar, and by :,5ie .Mi^slems i.j oputed 
 to lie next in sanctity to the temple at Mecca. 
 When Jerusalem was taken by the crusaders, 
 it was converted into a Christian church ; 
 and when they finolly abundoned the city, the 
 victorious sultan Saladin caused the whole 
 building to be washed with rosewater, by way 
 of purification, before he would enter it. 
 
 The Mosque, which is i'ic finest piece of 
 Saracenic architecture in f.iistcnce, is a reg- 
 ular octagon, each side beiii;^ seventy feet in 
 width ; it is entered by four spacious diKirs 
 facing the cardinal points, the Rab el Garb on' 
 the west, Bab nebbe Daoud, or <iate of David, 
 on the east, Bal) el Kebla, or the (Jate of 
 Prayer, on the south, and Bab el Djinna, or 
 the Gate of Heaven, on the north ; each of 
 these entrances has a jwrch of timber-work, 
 of considerable height, excepting Bab el Ke- 
 bla, which has a fiiie |K)rtico, 8U])[)ortpd by 
 eight Corinthian jnlWs of marble ; the lower 
 part of the walls is faced with marble, evi- 
 dently very ancient ; it is white, with a slight 
 tinge of blue, and pieces wholly blue are oc- 
 casionally introduced with go<id cfli;ct ; each 
 face is panelled, the sides of the panels form- 
 ing plain pilasters at the angles; the upjier 
 jinrt is faced vnth small glazed tiles, oliont 
 eight inches square, of various colors. Idue 
 being the prevailing, with passages from the 
 Koran on them, forming a singular and beau- 
 tiful Mosaic ; the four jilain sides have each 
 seven well-proportioned windows of stained 
 glnis ; the four sides of entrance have only 
 six. The roijf gently rises toward the per- 
 pendicular part under the d ■;•: ■ which is also 
 covered with colored tiles, rr ' .r'?d in various 
 elegant devices. The don .; a uouble : it was 
 
 W\ '^^i 
 
foundation thfjrpof. O, 
 hnt art to be 'Jestj-oyi'd, 
 rrwanleth thi'c a'* thou 
 y slvall h(! be that tiikcili 
 ines ogainst the atom's I" 
 •lie and said in the iibme 
 
 whot hfS} brrn ali'ondy 
 TiNEAC <:i)ncr-:iii-!,' tlio 
 
 hero •.i(t:\Klui:e n more 
 1, with an . ii^nvinn; 
 nade on 'he -ijiot by F 
 vho spent scveriii years 
 
 the jiurp'-i'! of obtuin- 
 .;n ploces lUnt have be- 
 Chri'!tian world. 
 ing occupies the site of 
 rected by Sr]')mon on 
 ere the Lord oppenr.'d 
 in th ! yi&cc thnt David 
 rashif ig-tloor of (Srnnri," 
 bu^iti'." (I Koi'js, vi„ 
 Ir was erec:'« (i by the 
 l\e .Mi^sler.r'.s \.i I'puted 
 to the temple at Mecca, 
 taken by the crusaders, 
 7 a Christian church ; 
 
 ab'indoned the city, the 
 idivi caused the whole 
 with rosewater, by way 
 
 he would enter it. 
 h is ViC finest piece of 
 B in luistcnce, is a reij- 
 e being seventy feet in 
 by four spacious d(H)rs 
 ints, the Rab el (tarb on 
 ia(md, or < iate of David, 
 Kebla, or tiie (Jate of 
 
 and Bab el Djinim, or 
 
 on the north ; each of 
 
 ]K)rch of timber-work, 
 t, excepting Uab el Ke- 
 jKirtico, supported by 
 •s of marlde ; the lower 
 iced with marble, evi- 
 t is white, with a slight 
 ces wholly blue are oc- 
 with good elVect ; each 
 ides of the panels fomi- 
 
 the angles ; the upper 
 mil glazed tiles, al)out 
 of various colors, lilue 
 with passages from the 
 [ig a singular and bcau- 
 r plain sides have (-ach 
 ed windows of stained 
 
 of entrance hove only 
 r rises toward the per- 
 the d .:r : which is also 
 iles, .'•' red in various 
 I dor I , •; oouble ; it wos 
 
 TEAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 
 
 63 
 
 built by SohTiian I., of a sjjherical form ; is 
 covered witli lead, and crowned l)y a gilt 
 cresrcnt ; the whole is ninety feet in height, 
 anil has a light ond beautiful elTect : the fan- 
 ciful di'<i)()sition of the soft colors above, con- 
 trasting with the blue and white marble below, 
 is extremely pleasing. 
 
 The interior is paved with gray marble ; 
 iwid the walls, which are quite plain, are cov- 
 ered with the same material, of a fine white 
 color. Twenty-four jnllurs of mttrl)le, of a 
 brownish color, form a concentric nave; the 
 eight opposite the angles arc scjuare. without 
 orniuneiit ; the other sixteen, being two to 
 eiich face of the octagon, are round, well- 
 pro])onioncd, and about twenty feet in height, 
 with cajntals of a composite style, gilt ; above 
 is a plain ])linth, and twenty-four small arches 
 supporting the roof, which is wrought in com- 
 partments, and gilt in exquisite taste. A 
 sec-nd circle of sixteen pillars, four square 
 and twelve round, based on an elevation in the 
 floor, to which there is an ascent of four steps, 
 anil having cajiitals, a i)linth, and arches, as 
 before, 8up|)0rts the dome, the interior of 
 which is finely painted and gilt in arabesfiue ; 
 from the centre are susjjended several antuiue 
 vessels of gold and silver, otFerings of some 
 ])ious Mohanmiedans. Immediately beneath 
 the dome, surrounded by a high iron railing, 
 gilt, with only one gate of entrance, is an im- 
 mense mass of limestone, of an irregular form, 
 probably part of the rock on which the 
 Mos(|ue stands; it is named El Hadjcra el 
 Sahhara Allah, the Locked-up Stone of God, 
 and is held in the highest veneration. The 
 tradition resjjecting it is, that it fell from heav- 
 en when the spirit f)f prophecy commenced ; 
 that all the ancients to whom it was given 
 projAesied from it ; and that on this rock sat 
 the angel of death, who, upon David's incon- 
 siderate numbering of the j)eople, slaughtered 
 until God " commanded liim to put up his 
 sword again into the sheath thereof." (1 
 Chron. xxi. 7.) At the time the prophets fled 
 from .lerusalem, the stone wished to accom- 
 pany them, but was prevented by the angel 
 Gabriel, who forcibly held it (the marks of 
 his fingers still remain) until the arrival of 
 Mohammed, who, by his prayers, fixed it for 
 ever to the spot. Mohammed, in the twelfth 
 year of his mission, made his celebrated night 
 journey from Mecca to Jerusalem on the 
 beast el Borak, accompanied by the angel 
 Gabriel, as described in the 17th chapter of 
 the Koran ; and having paid his devotions, 
 ascended from this stone to heaven ; the rock, 
 sensible of the happiness, became soft, and 
 the print of the prophet's foot remains to this 
 (lay, an object of great veneration to all true 
 believers. Some years back a portion of the 
 rock was stolen by the Christians; but no 
 
 sooner had they got it out of the Mosque than 
 it became invisible to them, and was after- 
 ward discovered by the Mussulmans. The 
 rock is enclosed l)y a low W(M)den railing, and 
 covered by a canopy of green and red satin ; 
 immediately beneath it is a natural chamber, 
 calK'd the " Ennobled Cavern of God," an ir- 
 re ular sipiare chamber, cichteen feet each 
 way, and eight in the highest part, above 
 which is a hole through the rock, called the 
 " Hole of Mohammed." Five small cavities 
 around are inscribed as the places of Solomon, 
 David, Abraham, Gabriel, and St. John. It 
 also contains the Well of Souls, or entrance 
 to the infernal regions. This mosque further 
 contains the praying-place and footstep of our 
 Lordlrlris; the praying-place, sword (four- 
 teen feet long), and standard of Ali, nephew 
 of Mohammed ; the scales for weighing the 
 sotils of men ; the shield of Mohammed ; the 
 birds of Solomon ; the pomegranates of Da- 
 vid ; and the saddle of El Borak ; on a wood- 
 en desk, an original co})y of the Koran, the 
 leiives of which are four feet in length. In 
 the outer circle there is a well, at which 
 believers wash and drink ; and near the west- 
 cm entrance is a slab of green marble, fonning 
 j)art of the floor, which has the marks of hav- 
 ing been pierced by eighteen noils of silver ; 
 three of these ond o jiortion of o fourth only 
 remain, the others having at diflerent times 
 disappeared, in order to mark the completion 
 of certain great epochs. The remainder ore 
 to follow; and when the last takes its depart- 
 ure, the fulness of time will be complete and 
 the world end. It is also soid that the noils 
 were pulled out by the devil, in his attempts 
 to enter /aradise by this door. 
 
 This rilosciue belongs especially to the prin- 
 ci])al and most respected Mussulman sect, 
 that of the Honifites (so called from Hanifoh 
 its founder), and has been kept sacred from 
 the njjproach of Christians until very recently. 
 Here, and in the Mosque at Mecca, the Mus- 
 sulman believes his prayers to be more ac- 
 ceptable to God than anywhere else. It is 
 believed by the Moslems that all the prophets, 
 since the time of Adam, have come here to 
 pray and prophesy ; and that even now they 
 come in invisible troops, accompanied by an- 
 gels, ta pray on the Sahhara. The usual 
 guard of this holy stone is seventy thousand 
 angels, who are relieved every day. One 
 hundred and eighty' lamps are lighted at night 
 in this Mosque. _ 
 
 PoptJLAR Instruction. — To instruct man- 
 kind in things most excellent, and to honor 
 and applaud those learned men who perform 
 this service with industry and care, is a duty, 
 the performance of which must procure the 
 love of all good men. 
 
 ■fi'^*?^ 
 
\Hi 
 
 
 
 ' » 
 
 ^, 
 
 
 ' H 
 
 *'% 
 
 
 1 
 
 u 
 
 
 
 n 
 
 ' 
 
 a ^ 
 
 <*» 
 
 64 
 
 OKNlfS SlJPERIOa TO THE SWORD. 
 
 GENIUS SUPERIOR TO THE SWORD. 
 
 The (li'sigii of the present work is to carry 
 liplit anil I'.iiowlcd^jo into the " highways niid 
 hy-wuv"." "I'll to tlic very licarths of the jx.'o- 
 plo. Aiiil what arc tlic iicoplc, or any nation, 
 witlinut iviKiwh-duo? Tlir()ii;^h tin- iiilliiciifu 
 of good piililications how many are daily 
 snatclit'd from the haunts of vice and iirimor- 
 alitv ? Wf sec them sitting at tlieir firesides, 
 reailinj; or listening to some moral and in- 
 structive article. They wonder they have 
 been asleep so long; they are roused to vir- 
 tuous action; they liegin to feel their respon- 
 sibilities ; the appetite tor knowledge has corn- 
 mcnceil — useful unit inllgious hooks are cheu|) 
 — a trifle saved out of the hard earnings of 
 the industrious fanner or mechanic. furnish(!s 
 suflicient aliment for the intelleclual man ; 
 the way is paved for greater odvances, both 
 in a moral and religious ))oint of view. 
 
 What a change has heiMi wrought in the 
 last half century ! Hut a fi;vv hundred years 
 ago, and the world was sunk in tiarbarism. 
 Oerinany, France, Britain, and other Eurojje- 
 an countries, alionnded in mighty forests, al- 
 most impervious to light ; their surface was 
 covered l)y stagnant p(M)ls of water, and wild 
 and <lreary morasses, injurious to the health 
 of man, and tenanted by animals that proved 
 civilization to be yet in abeyance. 1 he in- 
 habitants were rude ond unlettered ; reading 
 and writing, the absolute foundation of all 
 learning anil civilization, formed no jwrtion of 
 their education ; nor wore they governed in 
 any respect by well-defined laws, though tra- 
 dition and practice had certainly formed the 
 rude outlines of codes that were perhaps suf- 
 ficient for their wants, or congenial to their 
 tastes and habits. The power that has inter- 
 vened to change so dark a picture into one of 
 brilliancy and light is Genius. Even now 
 the world would be involved in ignorance to a 
 greater extent than were the Canadas before 
 the discovery of America by Christopher Co- 
 lumbus, were it not that men of genius applied 
 their intellect for the purpose of advancement 
 in arts and science. It is a mistaken notion 
 that ordinary minds act in any way intellect- 
 ually for the advancement of their kind ; too 
 freciuently they are a mere drag, and impede 
 progress ; in such cases genius has not only to 
 labor to discover the laws of nature, but has 
 likewise to combat the apathy as well as the 
 ignorance of mankind, in order so to overcome 
 prejudice and inertia as to be enabled to apply 
 its inventions to the advantage of its age and 
 of posterity. We do not contend that genius 
 is clogged m its onward progress by all ordi- 
 nary minds : so far from such being the case, 
 it has in all ages derived vital aid from many 
 who, though incapable themselves of throw- 
 
 ing light ui>on innlter hithrrtodi-enied for ever 
 dark, have hail, nulwiihstanding, the inosf; 
 hearty symimthy with men of thought, and 
 have struggled arduously, enduring sarrit'ees 
 with stern determination, octuateil by the love 
 of truth, and filled with anxiety for th'; regen- 
 eration of their feilow-men. 
 
 The most simjile dnniestic utensil has 
 caused intense tlniught in many minds before 
 it could be wro\ight into its ))resent state, in- 
 significant as it may now seem, after all the 
 time and study that have been bestowed niHin 
 it : but when we recollect how slowly im- 
 liriivemcnts take olace, even in the present 
 dav, considering llie amount of intellect ap- 
 l)lieil, one can hardly be a<to;iished. In gen- 
 eral convorsHtion in mixed society, Watt is 
 usually termed the inventor of the steam- 
 engine, and admiration is in conse<iuenco ex- 
 clusively devoted to him. Let all j)raise he 
 given to genius ; but we should carefully 
 avoid giving one invi'Utor more than his due, 
 or we detract from the merits of others. Watt 
 invented the condenser. The steam-engine 
 was at Work in several mines long before 
 steam was condensed by this invention ; and 
 since Watt's time numerous excellent improve- 
 mi.'nts have been made. Thus we observe it 
 took many extraordinary minds a very long 
 tim(; to complete that great work the steam- 
 engine ; and even now, if we judge from the 
 improvements continually being effi'cted, it 
 would appear that it is far from perfection. 
 Now what endless gratitude is due to those 
 noble intellects whose workshops have erected 
 such admirable and enourable trojjhies, and 
 without whose cfibrts the world at the present 
 time would be but a barren waste, with the 
 human species scarcely elevated obove the 
 lower animals. Every step of progress has 
 been gained by the toding of genius — by the 
 reflections of men of superior endowments. 
 The !!iusket of the soldier has been fashioned, 
 not by himself, bat by the application of su- 
 perior intelligence furnished by the philoso- 
 pher; and although the gencA' may gain 
 laurels for destroying his thousands, have 
 monuments erecte J to his memory when dead, 
 and occupy a page in history, yet, be it re- 
 membered, the means which he used — the 
 means employed by his troops — were discov- 
 ered and invented by minds infinitely superior 
 to his own — by nn agCTCgate »( mind each in- 
 dividual portion of which, fashioned a link in 
 the chain of progress. 
 
 It is fashionable in Europe, and also in this 
 country, to erect monuments to celebrated 
 warriors. The class privileges of the world 
 have grown out of war. There is more feu- 
 dalism in this day than men think of: a war- 
 loving people must always be beneath the hoof 
 of military despotism ; a greater curse to a 
 
 • *» «*i|i 
 
1 
 
 liillti rtodcrnicil for ovor 
 iwiihstniidiii!;, tlii' most 
 th iiii'ii of tliimylit, mill 
 itisly, I'liiluriiip; sufrifcc.t 
 idii, nrmiitrd liy fho lovo 
 ith nnxicty lor th'; rcgen- 
 iv-int'ii. 
 
 • (loTiKjstic iitrn«ii! has 
 lit in ninny initiils Ix-fore 
 into its ))resont stnto, in- 
 
 iiow socni, iiftPr all tlio 
 lavf Itroii bestowed iiiion 
 ■collect how slowly im- 
 ire, even in the jireseiit 
 
 amount of intellect np- 
 
 • lie astonished. In gen- 
 mixcd society, Watt is 
 inventor of tbo steam- 
 on is in conspiiuenee ex- 
 
 liim. Let nil praise he 
 lilt we should carefully 
 entor more tlian his due, 
 c merits of others. Watt 
 iser. The steam-cnjrine 
 .'ernl mines loiin; before 
 1 by this invention ; and 
 neroiis excellent iinprove- 
 dc. Thus we observe it 
 inary minds a very long 
 It great work the steam- 
 )w, if we judge from the 
 lually being eflectcd, it 
 it is far from perfection, 
 gratitude is due to those 
 3 workshops have erected 
 
 enuurablc trophies, and 
 3 the World at the present 
 a barren waste, with the 
 pely elevated above the 
 cry step of progress has 
 toiling of genius — by the 
 af superior endowments, 
 ildier has been fashioned, 
 jy the application of su- 
 amished by the jihiloso- 
 i the gene'a^ may gain 
 ng his thousands, hove 
 1 his memory when dead, 
 in history, yet, be it re- 
 ins which he used — the 
 his troops — were discov- 
 ' minds infinitely superior 
 rgregate if mind each in- 
 I'nich, fashioned a link in 
 
 i. 
 
 I Europe, and also in this 
 lonuments to celebrated 
 s privileges of the world 
 var. There is more feu- 
 lan men think of: a war- 
 ways be beneath the hoof 
 n; a greater curse to a 
 
 GENIUS SUPKRIOa TO THE SWORD 
 
 65 
 
 roui try run not bo conrcived — it is natural 
 that it should be so. In a nation whose gen- 
 eral inteliiuciife is its safe«uiinl and protePtioB, 
 iiiteUi;;eiic.- will bo respected ; in a nation 
 whose liiiiliii<; interests are safesuanl and i)rn- 
 teetioii, tnid<- will be respected; in a nation 
 prone to war, feneiiig itself all nrnml with the 
 fort and ill" pike, and relying upon the genius 
 of battle tor proteeiiou, the warrior will lie 
 nio'-t resjwited. Who ninoii;; us equals the 
 warrior in liniior ? Seldom, oh ! how seldom, 
 is the pott or the iihilosophiT neeuiiiarily re- 
 warded, or honored with the title of greatness. 
 Monoiinly of legislation, monopoly of trade, 
 will be touiid to be children of war. If war 
 were abolished and brought into disrepute, and 
 the miliiarv I'l-m were regarded as a kind of 
 " Jack Kri' li" us he is in China, things W(nild 
 soon reium to their natural level. How ar- 
 rived this shameful ineciuality of prooerfy in 
 the Oil! World, to so alarming a height? 
 Whence the appalling poverty ? Whence the 
 the i)au'eaiilry, the magnificence of wealth ? 
 Whem'e that numerous class, who, though 
 ri(di, Ikivc neither brilliant talents nor sublime 
 virtues ? Whence the insolence and the 
 usurpiitiou of the rich, the legislation of 
 wealth a(,'aiiist poverty, and a crowd of disa- 
 bilities and evils beiieoth which man is com- 
 pelled to lal)or ? If we are asked the reason 
 of all tluse, how easy to prove that, while 
 they are the sad fruit of the monster sin, they 
 are' iuinicdiately caused by war ! War wins 
 ccnintries, and war grasps t'hem, and the fruits 
 of the victory are in the pockets of the chil- 
 dren of warriors ; the jilaces of power are 
 awarded to them ; for them the jewelled tiara 
 and the ermine robe. Who docs not perceive 
 in the war system a complicated machinery, 
 set up for the purpose of retaining in idleness 
 the scions of titled warriors, whose names and 
 wealth may thus be transmitted to a remote 
 posterity? 
 
 Now we do not for a moment contend that 
 men who were supposed to have rendered 
 their country essential aid, should be deprived 
 of any honor that a grateful country can be- 
 stow. Officers and soldiers often fight, actu- 
 ated by the purest feelings of patriotism, and 
 only wishing by sacrificing the foe to add to 
 their country's glory, losing sight, at the time, 
 or proliably 'having no idea of their own indi- 
 vidual accountabilitv hereafter, for each soul 
 hurried iiy them, unprepared, into eternity ! 
 Let us, however, waive this strong arinmcnt 
 against war, and see whether upon the old- 
 fashioned notions of national etitpiette and 
 honor, the present one can be justified or not. 
 Possibly it can, but if we do not depart from 
 such notions, "honor" ^vill be a very expen- 
 sive item. Wo can maintain this "honor," 
 if we will pay for it. We always thought 
 
 that at the close of the Revolution, the nation 
 establisiied for itself a new eoile of honor, and 
 rose abr>ve the maxims which indnarehs found 
 so convenient for improper iiurjioses. This 
 was to lie our iilorv. and until the jireseiit war, 
 we were resjieete'd <'verywhere us a ])eo|ile 
 who, intent on the arts of pence, and distin- 
 ijuished by the universality of education, lili- 
 ertv, and competence, would not seek the bat- 
 tle." nor shun it when it came. 
 
 The laboring men, or " produein<r classes," 
 are those who, throughout (Miristeiulom, jmy 
 niiu- tenths of the revenue of their respective 
 "overnments. The national debts of tlu^ va- 
 rious Christian countries eontraetefl for wars, 
 amount in the astjregttte to .S7..')(in,0(>0,000. 
 The interest on nine ti'Uths of this sum at r> 
 per cent., is alxmt $337,000,000. In the next 
 thirty years the workiiiL'-men of CMiristeiidom 
 will have to pav $10,000,000,000 for interest 
 on this debt. Think how many days' work 
 this is at 75 cents a day. 
 
 This is not all that wo pay, for it does not 
 include the " preparations" for war. For 
 these, the workins-men of Christendom have 
 pni.l durins the last 32 years, S',>l,r,00,00(1,00n. 
 This exjiense is annually growing lienvi<'r in 
 the United States, Britain, France, and many 
 other countries. A writer, under the signa- 
 ture of "A Workiug-Man of America," makes 
 the following estimate : — 
 
 » There are at least 2.500,000 able-bodied 
 men in the standing armies of Christendom ; 
 nil able-bodied men these, according to the 
 surgeon's certificate, \^hich is never asked, 
 when men are wanted merely to mow, plough, 
 and sow, and make stone-wall, or for any vul- 
 gar utilitarian purpose. Every common sol- 
 dier is taken from the laboring class ; we fed 
 sure of that. The popidation embracing the 
 laboring classes of any country will not aver- 
 age more than one "able-bodied man," ac- 
 cording to the surgeon's military standard, to 
 every 'ten individuals. Then it woiil.l take 
 out all the able-bodied men from 25,000,000 
 of the yieople to raise the standing army of 
 2,500,000 which has been kept up in Chris- 
 tendom ever since the day of Watcrioo. Now, 
 instead of being drilled into mere machines 
 for murder, suppose these 2,500,000 able- 
 bodied men had been employed in some pro- 
 ductive labor, even at the low rate of less 
 than 25 cents a day, the hard-earned money 
 paid by laboring men since 1815 in preparing 
 for war, amounts, including interest, to ncnriy 
 $39,400,000,000." 
 
 The war appropriations of this country since 
 the present war with Mexico began, are 
 $80,873,062. 
 
 The appropriations for the same obiects at 
 ithe present session of Congress, should the 
 I war continue during the present year, will 
 
::m 
 
 66 
 
 probnMy excrrtl rather than fall short of fifty 
 inillion^ of doUnrs. 
 
 Those cstimntos «ay nothing of the valnf^ 
 of the poor withdrawn frmn useful pursuilM, 
 and the consi-'iucnt loss to tho country, nor 
 state how manv of our peojjle and of the en- 
 emy must yearly by these meai;'; nk to their 
 graves. 
 
 But the pen and not the sword must; soon 
 become the weaicm of prugrc " i !i>i (airk- 
 ers aro naininj; ground ; uiiTe' 'i .'• •»' tho U<\i- 
 of public fo.or toward i i' '■ he 
 
 RWord, is simewhat slar'.i.Ming la ila course ; 
 and we be lieve there wi" soon bo a radical 
 and porracient change in Jie feelings of man- 
 kind, on this and kindred topics. Men of 
 thought —men of gcni' —are now ltK)ked up 
 to with reverence and love. The inventor of 
 the simplest aid in the cause of human prog- 
 ress will soon t)c regarilfd as one of the ben- 
 efactors of niinkind. 
 
 What progress, however, can a people 
 make in the cnnso of peace and humanity, so 
 long as th d:x:trine3 ot Christianity are repre- 
 sented as noliolding, or rather justifying war 
 and revengi' .' The fruits of such teachings 
 can ea'tily I'e conceived. We can not be tin- 
 genuin d^scendents of the pilgrim fathers or 
 
 "I 
 
 la'tiiy 1' 
 
 n ■ d-^sc 
 Willia, a I'cnn, for their spirit and conduct had 
 no share in the formation of these scnthncnts, 
 at least as understood and practised by many 
 at the present day. But let us hope, that 
 with the progress of time, the increasing in- 
 telligence of the oge, and the growing venera- 
 tion for that sublime and heavenly doctrine 
 which teaches us to "forgive our enemicM, 
 persecutors, and slanderers," and v > pray that 
 their "hearts may be tmned ;" in accordance 
 with that religion which was^vento establish 
 " peace on earth, and good-will toward man," 
 these sentiments will soou 1 "3 among the things 
 that arc past ; and that in this country, and 
 throughout the Christian world, at least, the 
 sentiment ( . the heart :iay be mo'e in uni.'-.i n 
 with the language of the lips : " Forf "ve us 
 our trespas^c■^<, as we forgive those who tres- 
 pass against us." When we shall utter this 
 prayer with sincerity of h ' and ftf, up to 
 the principles of Christianity . s well as pn ■ 
 fess them, wars, duels, and other evils, will 1 
 banished from the world, and forgiveness oi 
 injuries be regarded as more diq^iiB< 1 and no- 
 ble than murder and revenge. 
 
 Sklf-love is a principle in human nature 
 of such extensive energy, and the interest of 
 each individual is, in general, 84-) closely con- 
 nected with that of the community, that thfj 
 philosophers were almost excusable, who fai 
 cied that all our concern for the public mig^ 
 be resdlved into a concern for our own happi 
 ness and preservation. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 lit oil the exciting scenes of liff, women is 
 the moHt -^nsitive. If they be joyous, she is 
 the firni I. mile; if they be sorrowful, she is 
 the first to %veep. Wficn a company hove 
 assembled, when all is unbroken silence, and 
 the ni'-n seem not '» know what to say, nor 
 how to say it, her animated tongue is the first 
 to relieve the embinrassiiii'iii, enliven the 
 scene, and f-i all other tongues in motion. 
 Whatever may be the ceremony, she is the 
 first to enter into the spirit of tlio occasion. 
 In the moment of danger she is the most con- 
 scious, vet the most self-possessed, while she 
 most skilfully parries the impending blow. In 
 love, she is tno most ardent, yet the most 
 mmlest. 
 
 .*■'■' . njostic trials of her household, 
 ' ; iS arc the hf -t and '^:epept pangs ; yet she 
 is the most patient under them. In the afllic- 
 tions of others, her warmer heart is the first 
 to sympathize, while her kinder hand is first 
 extended to bless, to solace, and to save. 
 However evil association may sonii'times per- 
 vert her nature, these traits arc her instinctive, 
 primeval virtues, which, while t! v elicit the 
 profound respect of man, claim for her his 
 sympathy ond prompt assistance, uiider all 
 the trying circumstances of life, whether he 
 happen to be a brother, a neighbor, or a stran- 
 ger. The Americans are noted for their 
 civility to the ladies, obove the jii'ojile of all 
 other nations; yet more kindness would be 
 stil better, and more just as well u s more 
 natural. 
 
 Woman is the first to befrici i uuil the last 
 to desert. Like Mory, "she is last at the 
 cross and first at the grave." The greater n 
 man' sfortunes, the deeper lis disgrace, t' 
 more ue is forsaken by the world, the closer 
 she clings to him, even mf)re eager to shf re 
 his sorrows than 1 'oys. Though his path 
 lead through flower y j lains of ple;.^ure, or 
 the shadowy vale of sorrow, yet to the very 
 brink of the grave is she found close by his 
 si(' and though barren and dreary be their 
 ji neyof life, she gathers af the goes the 
 f w isolated fln vers that grow by the wn-. 
 with which she tries to comfort him, a> 
 
 THUUOU HER HEART BE BREAKING, CHEKIH 
 
 HIM WITH HER SMILES. As the meteor 
 shi? i brighter wi r the increasing darkness, 
 so linr benign spirit sheds its brightest li. tre 
 upon his darkest hours. 
 
 Wlstn luan's path in life is hcset v h 
 troij s on over\ hand — when his spint is 
 bori: wn to the earth — when n, o else wi'l 
 lee' ■> cries, and he is ' rat to taint by the 
 wo vhen life is a bur ien, and relief can 
 no ' be found but in "ath — ^thei we.uiin 
 
 flies to f s rescue, and witb ''at sweetest balm 
 
IMAN. 
 
 scenes of life, womp.n is 
 If they be joyoua, she is 
 tlicy be sorrowful, she ig 
 When a company hove 
 is unbroken eilcncts und 
 ) know what to say, nor 
 ! mated tongne is the first 
 lurassiiirnl, cnlivm the 
 ither tongues in motion. 
 ;ht' ceremony, she is the 
 e spirit of tiio occasion, 
 .nger she is the most con- 
 self-possessed, while she 
 I till) impending Mow, In 
 )st ardent, yet the most 
 
 c trials of her household, 
 \ ''cepest pangs ; yet she 
 ndcr tnem. In the afflic- 
 warmer heart is the first 
 3 her kinder liiind is first 
 to solace, and to save, 
 ution may 8t)nit'tinie8 per- 
 3 traits ore her instinctive, 
 lich, while tlMV flicit the 
 man, claim for her his 
 npt assistoncc, u:ider all 
 mces of life, whether he 
 ,er, a neighbor, or a stron • 
 ins ore notoil for their 
 , above the people of oil 
 more kindness would be 
 ire just as well us more 
 
 St to befrici i u.tA the last 
 ary, " she is last at the 
 ! grave." The greater n 
 le deeper lisdisp-ocp, t' 
 by til ' world, the closer 
 ven mi>re eager to shrre 
 
 'oys. Though his puth 
 ■> j Inirn of jilci ,ure, or 
 t sorrow, yet to the very 
 is she found close by his 
 jTen and dreary be their 
 
 gathers of ihe goes the 
 I thot grow by the wn<-. 
 ies to comfort him, a>- 
 
 T BE BRF.AKINO, CHEKK s 
 
 MILES. As the meteor 
 the increasing darkness, 
 sheds its brightest li *re 
 urs. 
 
 th in life is beset >" h 
 hand — when iiis spin; -^ 
 irth — when ni d else w 
 lie is ■ n\t to taint by tl. ■ 
 a bui en, and relief run 
 ut in ath — thi i w i.r- 
 id will. 'It sweetest balm 
 
 8TEUBKNVILLE, OHIO. 
 
 eTi 
 
 for a wounded spirit-with her words of con 
 solotion, she r.vivcs the courage that is nl'n., 
 to falter, scmuIics the heart that is reody m 
 break, and, as o blessed convoy, bv her smile 
 and sonK. l«ads him gently andsaf.-ly thronth 
 oil the bleak deserts of life. 
 
 When man lo-'ka back unon the troubled 
 sea of life— wlien He beholds its mountain 
 surges ubcmt to overwhelm hini-and when, 
 as he starts forward, he sees the Jordan of 
 Death lying before him— when he is obout to 
 sink down in despair and die, woman comes 
 OS his <leliverer, and by her tears ond prayers, 
 opens 11 way f'>r his es-cape ! 
 
 As th« I'ly is borne down beneath the wa- 
 ters bv tlic rapid current, and yet rises again 
 to adorr: the surface of the stream— as the 
 rose is crushed to the eorth. and yet rises 
 Btroin with an clastic spring, to gladden with 
 its bea-:ty the .^e of him who had humbled 
 it— *J woman, like the lily, is submerged be- 
 neath the waves of the troubled waters ot 
 life, vet her buoyant spirit rises again obove 
 them-so woman, like the rose, is crnshed 
 beneath the iron heel of the tyrant man (made 
 a tyrant by the intoxicatiiij' draught), yet 
 •he rises again to resume the uuticM f her 
 houstiiold. as if nothing had happ, -to 
 feed and clothe the man who hud robbed both 
 her on.l h- -• helpless offspriii? of their own 
 food and . .ent-daily to for;;ive his daily 
 ci 168 and 10 kiss the hps that cursed her, 
 anil press the hand that smote her ! 
 
 Though she rise at early 'awn, and tml on 
 till her midnight lamp goes > i, only for want 
 of means to replenish it, slowly to cam what 
 he so quickly spends, for that which n vards 
 jjer i,^,,.. _not, as she had hoiied, wii a the 
 coml> life, but with its worst miseries. 
 
 Thou uh a broken heart, ond weeiiing 
 
 /eg, at. i f<eble hands, she cams money to 
 - V bread, which he expends for thot which 
 u ws if v-n viol- nee upon her own head, ond 
 1 thoue' 'erth' afluence of " liquid poison," 
 I he du ^es : r, v ^ in the forgiving spint 
 
 I of her ^. or > tt> cross, she exclaims, 
 " He knows i- vat he docs ! he is not him- 
 ' self'" ^VTiile sli patiently drinks the cup 
 of mh< he presents to her ii-^ very dregs, 
 and thou-h he robs her of everything dear to 
 life, she can not or will not believe him her 
 enemy! If, >y dissipation, h' duce her to 
 poverty and ubject want— wlu. r children 
 are crying for bread, she forbears partake 
 of the scanty repast, though sli > irve^her- 
 •5elf, till she has appeased the h ni ,er of her 
 famishing family. liowevr heart endin?hcr 
 troubles, she patiently bea the a. wh her 
 noble spirit forbears to cali ior iissisu^ 
 
 Sh. not only binds up the wounds uer 
 owu hi'useholi!, but wanders for into llie 
 world to eeek other objects ot chanty. 
 
 "ho foregoes her own comfort to promote the 
 -ifort of others, and perils her own life to 
 ue others— as did the Mexican woman, 
 ,t dead on the battle-field in Mexico, as she 
 irricd water between the two contending ar- 
 mies, with which she moistened the parched 
 lips of the wounded ond dying, not only of 
 the Mexicans, but of the Americans also. 
 Thus did the mercy of woman cope witli the 
 cruelty of men. by striving to sooth the 
 wounds of both portfes, while fresher wounds 
 were yet being inflicted by both ! Woman- 
 like, with the imparrial rympothv of true bc- 
 nevolence— (}o<l-like, in the nolilc and divme 
 spirit of her Savior, she stayed not her hnd 
 in her work of mercy till she hod blesset .t h 
 friends and enemicF, and oflcred up her lite in 
 the cause of sntlering humanity ! „ , . 
 
 \Vhere womon is, there is home. Hard is 
 the fflte of that man who hath not the sweet 
 counsels of woman to eosc his varied triols, 
 ond soften the asperities of life— nor her 
 cheering smiles, as omental sunshine, to chose 
 away the clouds of despondency thot rest 
 upon his soul. And how hard is the deoth 
 of that mon who hath not woman by his side 
 in the chorocter of a sister, wife, or rnother, 
 08 a ^'isible guardian angel, to smootli his dy- 
 ing pillow— to wipe the deoth-domp from hia 
 brow— to clasp his pole hand— to bedew with 
 his tears his burning cheek— to kiss his quiv- 
 ering lips, ond to whisper on otiectionate 
 odieu to his sinking spirit as it recedes from 
 the worid, into the dark unfathomable and 
 unknown abyss of death ! 
 
 STEUBENVILLE, OHIO. 
 
 This lively place, which has wholly grrown 
 up with the present century, does all in its 
 power, which is not inconsiderable, to ac- 
 quire the size and bulkiness of other and 
 older cities. It took to itself the west bank 
 of the Ohio, together with eceneiy of the 
 fairest kind upon this fairest of nvers. It 
 commenced with great order and regularity 
 to build itself up in a proper and convenient 
 city-^ike manner, and thence has continued 
 steadily and rapidly to advance. It hos, like 
 all o;hcr Amenr.m ws however smoll, its 
 churches, ocodemies, pri irs-ofhces, and 
 monufactories, each and fficient for the 
 
 needs ond enterprise o? '> ;. - nng population. 
 In 1830 its population was 2,937 ; in 1840, 
 
 ' The name of this place is one of the few 
 names of foreign origin which we recognise 
 with feel. :s of grateful pleosure. Itwosso 
 named in \ mor of Boron Steuben, a most gal 
 
 :jj 
 
WASHINaTON'iJ ftHaiDENCB IN NKW YOBK. 
 
 09 
 
 iiiiit uii.l ttlkifiit olHi-or (»f til r.'voliitumury 
 iirmv. 
 
 I'Vr.l.'rif Williiiiii, iir, OH 111! v,in m'nrrully 
 ciiII.mI. Huniu Sti-ulicii. wiiH a ilisiliiKui^licil 
 l'ru-*-*iuii, of hirtli iiml I'liiiiifiu'f llniliiiiKlit 
 ciitillf liiin to till' lii;ilii"»t liouorH in liit <>« ii 
 ciifiiitiy, wliicli lie aliuiidoiM'l, ii^ 'li'l Lulnv- 
 <'lli', loll;;lit in lfn' riiiikt oltn iloin in Aim-r- 
 i a. Ilr hull Ihmii all iiiil to ilif ^ri'iit l-'riil- 
 , ri-'. whiTi' he <"oulil iioi but Icnrii tin immt 
 (Aiirt miiitiirv ilisciplin'-, thu most iircnui- 
 |ili~liiM| tiiodirof Imtti-ring down wiiUi* of ilenli 
 unci l>lood. 
 
 Tlif ^kill and ImrdilioiHl tlms ai-i|uircd wcrn 
 of iMi'sliiiiiildf vului; to tiir Aini'rirua iinnv. 
 SiimiIh'm, who liiid niodritly olli'ri'd liinisflf 
 UM ri'iidv HI laki! uny |iositii)ii wIuti; lie could 
 bi'st sfi VI! the ureiit cuiiMe of liuinun tVeedorn, 
 was (It once upiioinleil ins|)iTtor-ji;enpral, with 
 the rank of inajor-gcticral ; and i)it1iu|)« ho 
 did riiori^ tliun any other man, duiinu the 
 wholr of the eventful jieriod from 1777 to the 
 elose of llu! war, to introduce a nyttem ot 
 uniform military tuelics amoii;; the lirave and 
 di^voted, but most raw and unilisr,i|^irnied men 
 com|irisiug the army of the Revolution. Steu- 
 ben fought at the 'battle of Monmouth, and 
 comrnnmled the trenches at Yorktowii. lie 
 was almost adored by the soldiery, such was 
 his goiKluess of heart combined with his cour- 
 teous and 8oldler-like manners. At the close 
 of the war, a veteran wdio hud fou>;lit under 
 him, went the distance of some leagues to 
 aci|uainl the general of his recent state of im- 
 ternity, and that he had named the child after 
 his old commander. " And what do you cull 
 the boy?" asked Steuben. " Wliy, Buron, 
 to bo sure, \i)UT honor." 
 
 Steuben found himself poor, as did all other 
 jiatriots, ut the close of the war. Eventually, 
 the state of New York granted him an exten- 
 sive tract of land, and congress voted him a 
 nsward of some thousands. Ho died upon a 
 fann in the vicinity of New York, and was 
 buried, according to his own orders, in his 
 military cloak, in a nameless grave. 
 
 WASHINGTON'S RESIDENCE IN NEW 
 YORK. 
 
 From the Recollections and Privote Me- 
 moirs of the Life and Character of Wash- 
 INOTON, by his adopted son, G. \V. P. Cus- 
 TI3, Esq., we extract the following account 
 of Washington's residence in Nt w York : — 
 
 On the 30th of April, 1789, the constitu- 
 tional govcrnm^t of the United iitate began, 
 by the inauguration in the city of Ni York, 
 
 of (leorge Wushingion as president of thu 
 United State*. 
 
 In theiheii limited extent and improvement 
 of the eily, iheri' wiH some diHienlty in se- 
 lectin^ a 'mansion lor the residi nee of llm 
 chief nmuistralc, and a lionsehidd suitable to 
 his rank and station. Osgood's house, ii man- 
 sion of very miMlerat.i extent, silnuled in 
 Clierry strec't, vas at length tixed u|ioii. 
 There the president lieeame domieiled. His 
 (lomesiii; family consisted of Mrs. Washing- 
 ton, the two a'dopted children, Mr. Leiir us 
 priucipul seeretary. Colonel Humphreys, with 
 Slessrs. Ijewis and Nelson, secretaries, and 
 Major Wm. Jackson, aid-de-cump. 
 
 Persons visiting the house in Cherry street 
 at this dnv will wonder how a luiildiiiL' »o 
 smidl conl'd contain the many and mii;lity 
 spirits that thronged its halls in olden (lays. 
 Congress, enlniiet, all ])ublic functionaries, in 
 the commencement of the government, were 
 sideeted from the vefy elite of the niilion. 
 Pure patriotism, commanding talent, eminent 
 services, wi^re I he proud and inilisjiensable 
 requisites for otHcial station in ihe lirst days 
 of the republic. The first congress wus a 
 most enlightened and dignitied body. In the 
 senate were several of the members of the 
 congress of 177(! and signers of the Declara- 
 tion of Iridependcnci — Richard Henry Lee, 
 who moved the Declaration, John Aduras, 
 who seconded it, with Sherman, Morris, Cor- 
 roll, Sec. 
 
 The levees of the first president Vvcre at- 
 tended by these illustrious patriots and states- 
 men, and by many other of the patriots, 
 statesmen, and soldiers, who could say of the 
 Revolution, "magna pars fui ;" while tiiim- 
 bers of foreigners and strangers of disthiction 
 crowded to the scat of the general government, 
 all anxious to witness the granil experiment 
 that was to determine how much rational lib- 
 erty mankind is cajjuble of enjoying, without 
 said liberty degenerating into licentiousness. 
 Mrs. Washhigton's drawing-rooms, on Fri- 
 day nights, were attended by liie grace and 
 beanty of New York. On one of these oc- 
 casions an incident occurred which might have 
 been attended by serious consequences. Ow- 
 ing to the lowness of the ceiling in the draw- 
 ing-room, he ostrich feathers in the head- 
 dress of Miss M'lver, a belle of New York, 
 took fire from the chandelier, to the no small 
 alarm of the company. Major Jackson, oid- 
 de-camp to the president, with great presence 
 of mind and equal gallantry, flew to the res- 
 cue, and by clappinjc; the burning plumes be- 
 tween his hands extinguished the llaraes, and 
 the drawing-room wrent on as usual. 
 
 Washington ])reserved flic habit, as well in 
 public as "in private life, of rising at four 
 o'clock and retiring to bed at nine. On Sat- 
 
 J 
 
70 
 
 WASHINGTON'S RESIDENCE IN NEW YOEK. 
 
 urdaj-s he rested sotnewlmt from his Inbors, 
 by cither riding into the country, attended by 
 a groom, or ipiJihis family in his coach drawn 
 by sis hortics. 
 
 Fond of Iiorses, the stables of the president 
 were always in the finest order, and his 
 e(|uipage excellent both in taste and (juulity. 
 Indeed, so long ago as the days of the vice- 
 regal jourt of Lord Botetourt, at Williams- 
 burg, in Virginia, wc find that there existed 
 a rivalry between the equipages of Colonel 
 Boyd, tt magistrate of the old regime, and 
 Colonel Washington — the grays against the 
 bays. Bishop, the celebrated body-servant 
 of Braddouk, was the master of Washington's 
 stables. And there were what was termed 
 muslin horses in those old days. At cock- 
 crow the stable-boys were at work ; at sun- 
 rise Bishop stalked into the stables, a muslin 
 handkerchief in his hand which he apjilied to 
 the coats of the animals, and if the slightest 
 stain was perceptible uj)on the muslin, up 
 went the luckless wights of the stable-boys, 
 and punishment was administered instanter; 
 for to the veteran Bishop, bred amid the iron 
 discipline of European armies, mercy for any- 
 thing like a breach of duty was altogether 
 out of the question. 
 
 The president's stables in Philadelphia 
 were under the directior of German John, 
 and the grooming of the white chargers will 
 rather surprise the modems. The night be- 
 fore the horses were expected to be rode, tliev 
 were covered entirely over with a paste of" 
 which whiting was a component part ; then 
 the animals were swathsd in body-cloths, and 
 left to sleep on clean straw. In the morning 
 the composition had become hard, it was well 
 rubbed m, and carried and brushed, which 
 process gave to the coats a beautiful, glossy, 
 and satin-like appearance. The hoofs were 
 then blacked and polished, the mouths washed, 
 teeth i)ricked and cleaned ; and the leopard- 
 skin housings being properly adjusted, the 
 white chargers were led out for service. Such 
 was the grooming of ancient times. 
 
 There was but one theatre in New York 
 in 1798 (in John street), and so small were its 
 dimensions that the whole fabric might easily 
 be placed on the stage of one of our modern 
 theatres. Yet humble as was the edifice, it 
 possessed an excellent company of actors and 
 actiesses, including old Morris, who was the 
 associate of Garrick, in the very outset of that 
 great actor's career at Goodmanfields. The 
 stage-boxes were api)i-opriated to the presi- 
 dent and vice-president, and were each of 
 them decorated with emblems, trophies, &c. 
 On the play-bills were the words, " Vivat Re- 
 puUfica.'' Washington often visited this the- 
 atre, being much gratified by Wignell's per- 
 formance of Daibtf ill the Poor Soldier. 
 
 It was in the theatre 'n John street that the 
 now national air of " Hail Columbia," then 
 called the " President's March," was first 
 jilayed. It was composed by a German mu- 
 sician, named Fyles, the lca(W of the orches- 
 tra, in compliment to the president. The na- 
 tional air will ]u«t as long as the nation lasts, 
 •while the meritorious composer has been long 
 since forgotten. 
 
 It was while residing in Cherry street that 
 the president was attacked with a severe ill- 
 ness, that requirerl a surgical operation. He 
 was attended iiy the elder and the younger 
 Drs. Bard. Tlie elder being somewhat doubt- 
 ful of his nerves, gave the knife to his son, 
 telling him to cut away — " deeper, deeper 
 still ; don't be afraid ; you see how well he 
 bears it." Great anxiety was felt in New 
 York at this time, as the jiresident's case was 
 considered extremely dangerous. Hajipily, 
 the operation provetl successful, nnd the pa- 
 tient's recovery removed all cause of alarm. 
 During the illness a chain was stretched 
 across the street, and the sidewalks laid with 
 straw. Soon after his recovci-y, the president 
 set out on a tour through the New England 
 states. 
 
 The president's mansion was so limited in 
 accommodation that three of the secretaries 
 were compelled to occupy one room — Hum- 
 phreys, Lewis, and Nelson. Hum])hreys, 
 au'-(fc-camp to the commander-in-chief at 
 Yorktown, -vt^as a most estimable man, and at 
 the same time a jioet. About this period ho 
 was composing his " Widow of Malabar.'' 
 Lewis and Nelson, both young men, were 
 content, after the labors of the day, to enjoy 
 a good night's repose. But this was often 
 denied them; for Humphreys when in the 
 vein, would rise from his bed at any hour, 
 ond with stentorian voices, recite his verses. 
 The young men, roused from their slumbers, 
 anil rubbing their eyes, beheld a great burly 
 figure " en chemise," striding across the floor, 
 reciting with emphasis jiartiailar passages of 
 his poem, and calling on his room-mafes for 
 their approbation. Having in this way for a 
 considerable time " murdered the sleep" of 
 his associates, Hi iphreys, at length wearied 
 by his exertions, would sink upon his pillow 
 in a kind of dreamjr languor. So sadly were 
 the young secretanes annoyed by the frequent 
 outbursts of the poet's imagination, that it 
 was remarked of them by their friends, that 
 from 1789 to the end of tlieir lives, neither 
 Robert Lewis nor Thomas Nelson were ever 
 known to evince the slightest taste for poetry. 
 The mansion in CIiciTy street proving so 
 very incon^snient, induced the French am- 
 bassador to give up his establishment — M'- 
 Comb's new bouse m Br.iaiway — for the tc- 
 comraodation of the piesident.' Ic wnj from 
 
 ^U^ 
 
K. 
 
 ?■ :n John street that the 
 ' Hail Columbia," then 
 nt's March," was fiist 
 wsei] bv a Geiiunn mu- 
 thc leailer of the orches- 
 the |)resi(lent. Tiie na- 
 long as the nation lasts, 
 composer has been long 
 
 1,5; in Cherry street that 
 uked with a severe ill- 
 iirn;icnl ojieration. He 
 elder and the yonnger 
 • being somewhat doubt- 
 •e the knife to his son, 
 way — " deeper, deejier 
 ; you see how well he 
 dety was felt in New 
 the i>resident's case was 
 dangerous. Hajipily, 
 successful, and the pa- 
 .•ed all cause of alarm, 
 chain was stretched 
 the sidewalks laid with 
 recovei-y, the president 
 :iugh the New England 
 
 nsion was so limited in 
 hree of the secretaries 
 :upy one room — Hum- 
 Nelson. Humphreys, 
 commander-in-chief at 
 ; estimable man, and at 
 About this period ho 
 Widow of Malabar.'' 
 loth young men, were 
 rs of the day, to enjoy 
 . But this was often 
 mphreys when in the 
 his bed at any hour, 
 lices, recite his verses, 
 •d from their slumbers, 
 3, beheld a great burly 
 ;riding across the floor, 
 1 particular passages of 
 on his room-mafes for 
 aving in this way for a 
 urdered the sleep" of 
 reys, at length wearied 
 J sink upon his pillow 
 [ignor. So sadly were 
 nnoyed by the frequent 
 3 imagination, that it 
 1 by their friends, that 
 of tlieir lives, neither 
 m'lS Nelson were ever 
 glitest taste for poetry. 
 leiTy street proving so 
 iuced the French am- 
 is establishment — M'- 
 Br.iaiway — for the tc- 
 iesident.^ It vvaj from 
 
 tf^* 
 
 this house that Washington in 1790 took his 
 final departure from New York. It was al- 
 ways his habit to endeavor, as much as possi- 
 ble, to avoid the manifestations of affection 
 and gratitude that met him everywhere. He 
 strove in vain ; he was closely watched and 
 the people would have their way. He wished 
 to have slijjped off' unobserved from New 
 York, and thus steal a march upon his old 
 companions in arms. But there were too 
 many of the deoi glorious old veterans of the 
 Revolution at that time of day in and near 
 New York to render such au escape even 
 possible. 
 
 The baggage had all been packed up ; the 
 horses, carriages, and ser\ants ordered to be 
 over the ferry in Paulus Hook by daybreak, 
 and nothing was wanting for dejjarture but 
 the dawn. The lights were yet burning, 
 when the president came into the room where 
 his family were assembled, evidently much 
 pleased in the belief that all was right, when, 
 immediately under the windows, the band of 
 tlie artillery struck up Washington's March. 
 " There," he exclaimed, " its all over ; we are 
 found out. Well, well, they must have their 
 own way." New York soon after appeared 
 as if taken by stonn ; troops and persons of 
 all descriptions, hurrying down Broadway 
 toward the place of embarkation, all anxious 
 to take a last look on him whom so many 
 could never expect to see again. 
 
 The embarkation was delayed until all com- 
 plimentary arrangements were completed. 
 The president, after taking leave of many 
 dear and cherished friends, and many an f)ld 
 companion in nnns, stepped into the barge 
 that was to convey him from New Y'ork for 
 ever. The coxswain gave the word, " Let 
 fall ;'| the sjiray from I'uo oars sparkled in the 
 morning sunbeam ; the bowsman shoved off" 
 from the pier, and the barge swun;' round to 
 the tide; Washington rose, "ncoveiod in the 
 stern, to bid adieu to the masses assembled on 
 the shore : he waved his hat, and in a voice 
 tremulous from emotion, pronounced farewell. 
 It may be supposed that Major Beuman, who 
 commanded the artillery on the interesting oc- 
 casion, who was first captain of Lamb's regi- 
 ment, and a favorite officer of the war of the 
 Revolution, would, when about to poy his 
 last resi)ccts to his beloved commander, load 
 his i)ieces with something more than mere 
 blank cartridges. But all ! the thunders of 
 tlie caimon were completely hushed when Che 
 mighty shout of the peoi)le arose that respond- 
 ed to the farewell of Washington. Pure 
 from the heart it came ; right up to heaven it 
 went, to call down blessings upon the Father 
 of his country. 
 
 The barge had scarcely gained the middle 
 of the Hudson when the trumpets were heart! 
 
 at Paulus Hook, where the govemjr and tho 
 chivalry of New Jersey were in waiting, to 
 welcome the chief to those well- remembered 
 shores. Escorts of cavalry relieved each 
 other throughout the whole route, up to the 
 Pennsylvania line; every village and every 
 hamlet turned out its population to greet with 
 cordial welcome the man ujjon whom all eyes 
 were fixed, and in whom all hearts rejoiced. 
 
 What must have been the recollections that 
 crowded on the mind of Washington during 
 that triumphant progress? Newark, New 
 Brunswick, Princeton, Trenton ! What a con- 
 trast between the glorious burst of sunshine 
 that now illuminated and made glad every- 
 thing around these memorable spots, with the 
 gloomy and desolate remembrance of 1776 ! 
 Then his country's champion, with the wreck 
 of a shattered host, he was flying before a 
 victorious and well-appointed foe, while all 
 around him was shrouded in the darkness of 
 desjiair ; now in his glorious progress over 
 the self-same route, his firm footste]) presses 
 upon the soil of an infant empire, reposing in 
 the joys of peace, independence, and happi- 
 nes.s. Among the many who swelled his tri- 
 umph, the most endeared to the heart of the 
 chief were the old associates of his toils, his 
 fortunes, and his fame. Many of the revolu- 
 tionary veterans were living "in 1790, and by 
 their presence gave a dignified tone and char- 
 acter to all public assemblages : and when 
 you saw a peculiarly fine-looking soldier in 
 those old days, and would ask, "To what 
 corps of the American anny did you belong ?" 
 drawing himself up to his "full height, with a 
 martial air, and back of the hand thrown up 
 to his forehead, the veteran would reply: 
 " Life-Guard, your honor." 
 
 And proud and hai)py were these veterans 
 in again beholding their own gcMxl Lady 
 Washington. Greatly was she beloved in the 
 amy. Her many intercessions with the 
 chiefs, for the (lardon of ortenders; her kind- 
 ness to the sick and wounded ; all of which 
 caused her usual arrival in camp to be hailed 
 as an evei:t that would serve to dissipate the 
 gloom of the winter-tjuarters. 
 
 Arrived at the line, tlie New Jersey escort 
 was relieved by the cavalry of Pennsylvania, 
 and when near to Philadelphia the president 
 was met by Governor MilHin and a brilliant 
 cortege of officprs, and escorted by a sipiad- 
 ron of horse to the city. C .isjiicuous among 
 the governor's suite, as well for his niartia! 
 bearing as for the manly beauty of his jier- 
 son, was General Walter Stewart, a son of 
 Erin, and a gallant and distinguished otlicer 
 of the Peiinsylvania line. To Stewart as to 
 Cadwallader, Washington was most warmly 
 attached ; indeed, those officers wee among 
 the very choicest of the contributions of 
 
 
 i' ''' 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 ^'mb 
 
 
 h 
 
Pennsylvania to the anny anil cause of inde- 
 jjcmlence. MilHin, small in stature, was ac- 
 tive, alert, "every inell a soldier." He was 
 a ])atriot of frreat influence in Pennsylvania in 
 the "times tliat tried men's souls," and nobly 
 did he exert that inlluiMice in raisini; troops, 
 with which to reinforce the wreck of the 
 griuid anny at the close of the campaign of 
 177R. 
 
 Arrived within the city, the crow<l became I 
 immense ; the jiresident left his carriujie and I 
 mounted the white charjjer ; and, with the j 
 governor on his rii^lit, proceeded to the city- 
 tavern in Third street, where quarters were I 
 j)repared for him, the light-infantry, after ; 
 some time, having openeil a passage for the j 
 carriages. At the city-taveni the president j 
 was received by the authorities of Philadel- j 
 l)hia, who welcomed the chief-magistrate to : 
 their city as to his home for the remainder of j 
 his presidential term. A group of old^andj 
 long-tried friends were also in waiting. Fore- 
 most among these, and first to grasp the haxd 
 of Washington, was one who was ahvivs 
 nearest to his heart, a patriot and a public 
 benefactor, R<jbert Morris. 
 
 After remaining a short time in Philadel- 
 phia, the president speeded on his journey to 
 that home where he ever found rest from his 
 mighty labors, and enjoyed the sweets of ru- 
 ral and domestic happiness amid his farms and 
 at the fireside of Mount Venion. 
 
 Onward, still onwani, whirls the tide of 
 time. The few who yet survive that remem- 
 ber the Father of his Country are fast fading 
 away. A little while and their gray heads 
 will all have dropped into the grave. 
 
 VIEW OF NIAGARA FALLS, 
 
 FROM CLIFTON HOUSE. 
 
 The most comprehensive view of Niagara 
 is, no doubt, that from the galleries of the 
 Clifton House, on the Canada side of the 
 falls ; but it is, at the same time, for a first 
 view, one of the most unfavorable. This 
 house stands nearly opposite the « cntre of the 
 irregular crescent formed by the falls ; but it 
 is so far back from the line of the arc, that 
 the height and grandeur of the two cataracts, 
 to an eye unacfpiainted with the scene are 
 deceptively diminished. After once making 
 the tour of the (K)ints of view, however, the 
 distance and elevation of the hotel are allowed 
 for by the eye, and the situation seems most 
 advantageous. In crossing the river, b(;low 
 the falls, however, the height, extent, and 
 volums of the grand panorama can be more 
 distinctly realized. 
 
 LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY.-No. 1. 
 
 BT PROFESSOB O. M. MITCHELl,. 
 
 [We propose to giv« in pjme of the suc- 
 ceeding (larts of our work, the most interest- 
 ing and valuable portions of the lectures on As- 
 tronomy, delivered in New 5fovk, by Prof. 
 MiTCHELi., and ably rciiorted for the New 
 York Tribune. These lectures embrace an 
 exjxwition of the great problem of the uni- 
 verse, the mechanism of the solar system, 
 and the constitution of the starry heavens, 
 with an account of the great modem discov- 
 eries, and the infhience of theories. Prof. 
 Mitchell has been engaged several years 
 in establishing an observatory at Cincinnati, 
 for the cultivation and dilTusion of astronomi- 
 cal science, and has erected one which will vie 
 in excellence with the best in the Old World.] 
 
 When we look upon the heavens — when we 
 watch the movements of those silent orbs — 
 when we wing our flight upward, and take in 
 the immense range by which we are sur- 
 roimded, even extending beyond the narrow 
 limits of human vision — can we contemplate 
 the scene without being filled with wonder 
 and astonishment ? This same scene opened 
 upon the first eye that was permitted to see 
 the light : and from that hour, down through 
 long-succeeding ages, this wondrous scene 
 above us has ever fastened the attention and 
 directed the gaze of the best and most won- 
 derful minds that have adorned this earth. 
 The science to which I would direct your at- 
 tention is one which has fumishetl the theme 
 for the investigation of the most exalted in- 
 tellects in every age ; and from the earliest 
 obser.'ation down to tl.e present moment, we 
 find tbe human mind occupied in its ellbrts to 
 solve these mysteries — grasping the most dif- 
 ficult problems, and sternly pushing its inves- 
 tigations onward and onward, until darkness 
 disappears and light — even a flood of light — 
 breaks in from the heavens upon the victorious 
 soul. And thus it must ever be. God has 
 given these works for our examination, and 
 has given to us intellect by which we are ena- 
 bled to comprehend their structure ; and it is 
 by this that we are enabled to rise — to climb 
 — to ascend — to soar, by our own effl)rts and 
 by His aid, till we stand nj)()n u lofty simimit, 
 whence we look out u]ion the wonders 1)V 
 which we are surrounded, and behold the evi- 
 dences of His wisdom, jwwer, and glory, who 
 has created all things in beauty and perfection. 
 
 Allow me now to direct your attention to 
 the scale upon which the universe is built, 
 and to the grand problem involved in solving 
 the mysteries by which it is surrounded. 
 
 First, let ma in(|uire if there be laws gov- 
 erning the movements of all these bodies, and 
 
TaONOMY. 
 
 RONOMY— NO. 1. 
 
 M. MITCIlEIiL. 
 
 in p jne of the suc- 
 k, the most iiitcre.<t- 
 nf the lectures ftii As- 
 Jew ifovk, by Prof, 
 iiorted lor the New 
 lectures embrnce an 
 problem of the iini- 
 (f the solar system, 
 the starry heavens, 
 Treat modem discov- 
 
 of theories. Prof, 
 gaged several years 
 vatory at Cinciimati, 
 ffusion of astronomi- 
 ed one which will vie 
 St in the Old World.] 
 e heavens — when we 
 f those silent orlis — 
 upward, and take in 
 which we are siir- 
 
 beyond the narrow 
 -can we contemplate 
 ; filled with wonder 
 s same scene ojiened 
 was permitted to see 
 
 hour, down through 
 his wondrous scene 
 led the attention and 
 
 I best and most won- 
 adomed this earth. 
 
 would direct your at- 
 fumishetl the theme 
 the most exalted in- 
 nd from the earliest 
 present moment, we 
 upied in its ettbrts to 
 [rasping the most dif- 
 ily pushing its inves- 
 iward, until darknesi 
 en a flood of light — 
 IS upon the victorious 
 ; ever be. God has 
 >ur examination, and 
 by which we are ena- 
 r stru(;ture ; and it is 
 3led to rise — to climb 
 ' our own etlbrts and 
 upon a lofty simimit, 
 pon the wonders by 
 I, and behold the ovi- 
 ower, and glory, who 
 •eauty and pcrteetion. 
 Oct your attention to 
 he universe is b\iilt, 
 
 II involved in solving 
 it is surrounded. 
 
 if there be laws gov- 
 r all these bodies, and 
 
 jB^^'iPj. 
 
 '*'mij ' 
 
74 
 
 ASTRONOMY. 
 
 \ 
 
 if it is possible to ascertain the nature of these 
 laws ? Are they to be comprehended by the 
 human mind ? or are they beyond the reach 
 of the intellect which has been given us ? I 
 answer, they are not : they are within our 
 reach, and we are permitted to understand 
 them ; and in understanding them we are per- 
 mitted to extend onward and onward in our 
 caieerof examination and discovery. 
 
 The first law to which I direct your atten- 
 tion is the law of motion. If a body be lo- 
 cated in space, and receive a sinjjle impulse, 
 it will move on for ever in a right line, and 
 always maintain its onward career, never 
 turning to the right nor left, and never relax- 
 ing its speed. Now, is this a necessary law 
 of matter 7 I answer, it is. There is no 
 necessity why this law, in preference to any 
 other, shoulil have been adopted. It is the 
 wisdom of God which has assigned this law 
 to motion. But why should not this motion 
 be retarded and relax, and decline, and gradu- 
 ally die away ? Such laws govern other mo- 
 tions, and why not in this case ? — Again, we 
 have the law of gravity ; and what is this ? 
 It is a law which tells us that every particle 
 of matter in the universe attracts every other 
 particle with a force which varies in propor- 
 tion to the mass, and decreasing in a certain 
 ratio with the distance. Tliis is o second 
 law. — Another law is this : Every revolving 
 body, in sweeping about from its centre, has a 
 tendency to fly from that centre with a cer- 
 tain force called centrifugal force. Now, 
 combining these three toi^'ther, we have all 
 the laws which govern the movements and 
 guide the motions of the heavenly bodies. 
 These are simple and easily understood. 
 
 Then, with these laws at our command, let 
 us examine the structure of our own system — 
 for this shall be our type and model — and, 
 passing on, let us essay to reach, if pos.5ible, 
 the limits of the imiverse. Now, then, to 
 view our system, let us move to the sun and 
 locate ourselves on that immense orb Wliat 
 do we find ? A vast globe, 880,000 . .iles in 
 diameter. He.'e we tix our point of observa- 
 tion. At the distance of 95,000,000 miles, far 
 as the eye can reach, there is a ball reflecting 
 back the light thrown upon it froTn its great 
 centre. That ball receives an \n<"> ' se under 
 the action of that force by w. '• . .'t would 
 move fr)r ever in a right line, bi.t tiie attractive 
 power of the sun seizes it, and lo I a planet, 
 bathed in the light of its controlling luminary, 
 is sweeping in its orbit, onward and onward 
 in its swift career, until it comes back to the 
 point whence it started. Has its velocity 
 been diminished ? has it lost any of its mo- 
 tion 1 No. "With the same velocity with 
 which it set out it reaches its starting-point, 
 end onward moves again. 
 
 Now, suppose we were, if it were possible, 
 to fix golden rings in the path of this moving 
 body, of such diameter that it might pass 
 through with not a solitary hair's-brcadtn to 
 spare. Such is the beauty and perfection of 
 its motion that from century to century, and 
 from age to age, this solitary planet would 
 swing in its orbit around the sun, passing uni- 
 formly and invariably through these golden 
 rings with no shadow of variation from its 
 first motion. But stay : while this planet is 
 revolving in the distance, we find another 
 small globe, with dim and diminishetl light, 
 commencing its movement, subordinate and 
 controlled by the movement of its central 
 body — the planet. There is a satellite — the 
 moon — added to the first body, the two sweep- 
 int; onward, but alas! the accuracy of the 
 original motion of the planet is destroyed for 
 ever. It no longer sweeps through these 
 golden rings. As the moon passes in between 
 it and the sun, it adds its force of attraction 
 to that of the sun, and the earth is drawn in- 
 ward, no longer j)asbing through the points it 
 once so unerringly visited. As the moon 
 swings round on the opposite side, it draws 
 the earth farther from its orI)it ; and thus we 
 find oscillations backward and forwarl —per- 
 turbations and disturbances — which it would 
 seem no human intellect can grasp or u?iravel. 
 
 But this has been done. Go back 3,000 
 years — stand upon that mighty watch-tower, 
 the temple of Belus in old Babylon — and look 
 out. The sun is sinking in eclipse, and great 
 is the dismay of the terror-stric'ien inhabit- 
 ants. We have the fact and circumstances 
 recorded. But how shall we prove that the 
 record is correct ? The astronomer unravels 
 the devious movements of the sun, the earth, 
 and the mot)n, through the whole pcniod of 
 3,000 years — with the powjr of intellect he 
 goes backward through the cycles of thirty 
 king centuries — and announces that at such an 
 hi ur on such a day — as the Chaldean has 
 written — that eclipse did take place. 
 
 Such is the character of the knowledge we 
 have attained with reference to the movements 
 of these bodies. But we must go still farther. 
 I announced to you that the law of gravita- 
 tion declaies that every particle of matter in 
 the universe attracts every other particle. 
 Now then, add to the system we have im- 
 agined, two interior primary ])lanets. Mercury 
 and Venus — the planet Mars on the outside — 
 and the seven asteroids now revolving be- 
 tween the planets Marj and Jupiter : add to 
 these Jupiter with his four moons. Saturn 
 with his n 'ghty orb of 79,000 miles diameter 
 — add his moons and rings also : go still far- 
 ther till you reach Uranus — add his moons : 
 step out still farther to the utjnost boundaries 
 now known of our ftolar system, and bring in 
 
■e, if it were possible, 
 I path of this moving 
 
 that it might pass 
 ary hoir's-brcndtn to 
 ity and perfection of 
 itury to century, and 
 olitary planet would 
 
 the sun, passing uni- 
 hrough these golden 
 jf variation from its 
 : while this planet is 
 ce. we find another 
 and diminished liglit, 
 snt, subordinate and 
 ;ment of its central 
 ;re is a satellite — the 
 body, the two swecp- 
 the accuracy of the 
 lanet is destroyed for 
 veeps through these 
 wn passes in between 
 ts force of attraction 
 he earth is drawn in- 
 through the points it 
 ited. As the moon 
 posite side, it draws 
 8 orbit ; and thus we 
 •d and forivarl — per- 
 ices — which it would 
 
 can grasp or uriravel. 
 me. Go back 3,000 
 mighty watch-tower, 
 Id Babylon — and look 
 ; in eclipse, and great 
 rror-stric\en inhabit- 
 ct and circumstances 
 ill we prove that the 
 I astronomer unravels 
 of the sun, the earth, 
 the whole period of 
 powjr of intellect he 
 
 the cycles of thirty 
 Dunces that at such an 
 IS the Chaldean has 
 i take jilace. 
 
 of the knowledge we 
 ence to the movements 
 e must go still farther. 
 Lt the law of gravita- 
 
 particle of matter in 
 every other particle. 
 
 system we have im- 
 lary ])lanets. Mercury 
 Mars on the outside — 
 
 i now revolving be- 
 i and Jupiter : add to 
 
 four moons. Saturn 
 79,000 miles diameter 
 ings also : go still far- 
 inus — add his moons : 
 the utmost boundaries 
 r system, and bring in 
 
 ASTRONOMY. 
 
 75 
 
 that wonderful, mysierious body known as 
 the planet Neptune, whose history is as yet 
 more wonderl'ul and strange than any other 
 belonging to our system : adil all these together 
 — let each one of these bodies act upon every 
 other, and then, is it possiljle for the human 
 mind to grasp the laws which hold all these 
 bodies in their orbits ? Can it roll back the 
 tide of Time, and tell you that a thousand 
 years ago, such and such were the configura- 
 tions of all these planets and satellites ? and 
 not only thut, but draw aside the veil from 
 the future and show a tliousand years hence, 
 that such and such shall be tlirir configura- 
 tions ? With all their disturbing influences, 
 can such truth be eliminated, and the whole 
 rendered clear, perfect, harmonious, and 
 beautiful ? Yes : even this has been accom- 
 plished. 
 
 But we have not exhausted the problem of 
 our system oven yet. I have only taken into 
 account the planets and satellites belonging ro 
 our own system. There are other mystericms 
 bodies, wliich seem not to obey the laws that 
 govern these muveiuenls. While the planets 
 are circular hi their orbits and the satellites 
 nearly the same, we find dim, mysterious 
 bodies, wandering through the uttermost re- 
 gions of space — we see them C(;ming closer 
 and closer, and as they approach our system, 
 they fling out their mighty banners, wing 
 their lightning flight around the sun and speed 
 away to the remotest limits of vacuity. 
 These eccentric bodies — these comets — belong 
 to our solar system, and fonn a part and jiar- 
 cel of the whole : each and every one of these 
 must be taken into account in resolving the 
 mighty problem of the universe. And they 
 are not to be counted by tens, nor hundreds, 
 nor thousands : their number is not less than 
 millions. Neither do they revolve in the 
 same plane on which the planets roll, nor in 
 the same direction. While all the planets 
 sweep around the great centre regularly and 
 harmoniously, we find the comets pouring in 
 from every possible point, forming everj' pos- 
 sible angle, and passing out in every possible 
 direction. And yet the perturbations occa- 
 sioned by these wandering bodies in their long 
 journeys of thousands of years have to be 
 made out. 
 
 At this very time, the whole astronomical 
 world is intensely interested in watching the 
 return of one of these wonderful bodies. 
 Two hundred and ninety years ago, it visited 
 our system for a short space. The ;■'•'< hun- 
 dred and ninety years — its co\rn>rL"ei.' period — 
 are now nearly expired, and i.t ti^i ) ti .iie every 
 telescope on our globe is dirftec' <.vii,hthe ut- 
 most intensity of anxiety t>' tc.tn particular 
 region in space wher'; it is believed the stran- 
 ger will first make his appearance. Think, 
 
 6 
 
 that we should be able to trace the invisible, 
 unknown movement of these almost s))iritual 
 bodies, and be able to announce their return 
 with a degree of accuracy thot astonishes 
 every intellect ! And yet tliis is the fact. 
 
 But to what distances do these bodies pen- 
 e'rate into space ? When we remrniber that 
 the periodic time of the most distunr of our 
 planets (Xeptune, 2,700.000,000 mil.-s from 
 the sun) is but 1G7 years, aiul that the p.'riod 
 of some of these comets is not short of three 
 or four thousand years, how iinmense must lie 
 the distance to which they recede from our 
 sun ! 
 
 Now, retaining in your minds the fact I 
 have stated — that every particle of matter ot- 
 tracts every other jiartiele — and that if these 
 comets, in sweeping out to this immen^^e dis- 
 tance, fall under the influence of other suns, 
 they are gone from us, never to revisit our 
 system again: is it possible, then, that there 
 are other systems which do not interfere with 
 ours ond with each other ? Is it passible that 
 these forever-wandering bodies do not come 
 under the influence of other suns ? Is space 
 so boundh'ss — is the universe so limited — that 
 there is room for more than one of these 
 mighty systems ? To this point I would ask 
 your attention. You see thus a partial de- 
 velopment of the scale upon which the solar 
 system was created, and you can begin to ap- 
 preciate the nature of the problem of the uni- 
 verse which has been so far solved, that man 
 might attain a knowledge of the system with 
 which he is, in his physical nature, so inti- 
 mately associate!!. 
 
 But there are other objects than planets and 
 comets filling the heavens. Look out upon 
 the millions of stars in beautiful constellations. 
 Behold these magnificent groups in every point 
 of the heavens. Trace out that mysterious 
 and curiously-wrought band, stretching from 
 one end of t'ho sky to the other — the Milky 
 Way. Give aid to the delighted eye, and 
 through the space-annihilating tehiscope see 
 millions and millions of suns flashing upon the 
 dazzled sight at once. Surely these bodies 
 are clustered near together ? They are not 
 separated from each other by the same amount 
 of space as we appear to be separated from 
 them? 
 
 Let us examine this for a moment", the 
 astronomer, in order to find his distance from 
 any heavenly body, ascertains precisely the 
 point in the lieavcns where that body is lo- 
 cated. For instance : should we desire to 
 ascertain the distance of the moon from the 
 earth, we should locate one astronomer at a 
 given point on the earth with his telescope 
 directed to the moon : another astronomer we 
 station at a place far distant from the first, 
 with bis line of sight also on the moon at tke 
 
 ISfi'' ^ 
 
76 
 
 ASTRONOMY. 
 
 |i 
 
 same instant of time. The angle of the ] 
 visual ray with a pcriK'nclicular tn the earth's J 
 centre is" caroinlly noti-d by each observer; 
 and when this angle is found (the liase of i 
 their triangle being their distance apart) it ; 
 is easy to tell at what distance, from the ' 
 earth the protracted sides would meet — and i 
 that point of junction will be the centre of ; 
 the trioon. 
 
 Now let us try the same with regard to the 
 fixed stars and see whether any results are 
 ascertained. We locate two observers 8,000 
 miles njiart (one on each side of the earih) ; 
 and from these two points they direct their 
 visual rays to yonder distant orb: l)ut a'as! 
 the lines "arc ab"solutely parallel. The fstion- 
 omer is foiled — he gains no point wdiosc dis- 
 tance he can estimate. AVhat now is to he 
 done ? He makes the earth itself a grand 
 travelling observatory, and at the extremity 
 of the diameter of the earth's orbit, at the 
 end of six long months, when the earth shall 
 have swung itself halfway round the sun, at 
 the immense distance of 200,000,000 miles he 
 again Sf.ids up his visual ray. And now he 
 has a base of 200,000,000 rniles— surely the 
 angle at the vertex of this immense triangle 
 will reveal the distance ! But, alas ! again 
 it is almost insensible ; and if it be sensible at 
 all, it can not be so ^reat as to bring the near- 
 est of the stars nearer than sixtv billions ' 
 (60,000,000,000,000) of miles! With this 
 immense space intervening is there danger 
 that the comets shall rush against our neigh- 
 boring suns, even in their long journeys of 
 thousands of years ? I think not. — And this 
 is another illustration of the immense scale 
 upon which the universe is built. Now, hav- 
 ing reached outward to the nearest of these 
 objects, let us stand and contemplate the 
 scene by which we are surrounded. Yonder 
 shines Orion, with his broad and beautiful 
 belt, and yonder is the Northern Bear. These 
 groups — so familiar to us — are always delight- 
 ful to the eye. Go with me until we reach 
 that beautiful ir in vhe northern heavens — 
 Lyra. From it point look out, and what 
 do you behold? Is there ony change ? Surely 
 there is a new heavens ! Yonder is old Ori- 
 on's belt, gleaming with the same beautiful 
 stars and arranged in precisely the same order 
 as when we left our native earth. All the 
 change is no more than would be made by a 
 change of position wth your neighbor upon 
 your own planet. 
 
 And having gaineil this unit of measure, 
 we are enabled to go on to the next, till finally 
 in' one unbroken succession we fmd them ex- 
 tending outward, and outward, and outward, 
 till a long-extended series reaches in some di- 
 rections even to five hundred successive ob- 
 jects. Then sweep round with this immense 
 
 line as a radius. All the vast limits in the 
 entire circuit of its range are tilled with suns 
 and svstems that bum, and roll, »nd shine, as 
 do our own. 
 
 Having gone thus far, it would seem that 
 we are on the uttenriost limits of s])ace ; nnil 
 that the human mind, after attaining to thut 
 point, must there rest its weary wings. Not 
 so. We are barely at the outskirts of one 
 littl(! island of the universe — a small compass, 
 condensed and united so that if we were even 
 in tlie extreme limits which we can reach 
 with our aide<l vision, we should grasj) the 
 whole — all its sims and systems, as it were, 
 in our very hand itself." When we have 
 reached these (Uiler limits, and applied the 
 powers of the telescope, exploring space be- 
 vond, we find objects coming up from the 
 (Icep distance and bursting Tipon the sight, 
 which fill the mind with wonder and astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 I have gazed through the mighty telescope 
 ui)on these sublime objects in the dead hour 
 of the night, when earth's thousaiuls of 
 beating, throl)bing hearts were quieted in 
 slumber — when the rapid furious pulse of bu- 
 siness was stilled in the aims of sleep. There 
 was a time when my own mind could nfit take 
 in these objects: it seemed iTr> possible : I 
 could not stretch my imagination to their ut- 
 most limits. But now jiut your eye to this 
 instrument, and tidl me what breaks in upon 
 your vision 1 Ah ! I see a most beautiful 
 sight — millions of diamond points sjirinklinn; 
 the blue vauli of the heavens. How strange 
 is that other object ! Shall I tell you what 
 object it is ? Go with me throng' \e regions 
 of space — onward — onward. I seti it expand- 
 ing, increasing — 1 see diamond points in it 
 lighting up with brilliancy and splendor. As 
 we near the object we find it expanding till it 
 fills the whole visible universe itself, for 
 it is nothing less than a universe of stars. 
 Where are we now ? Look backward, and 
 what is behind ? Is our own sun visible in 
 the mighty galaxy? Yes. I see nothing 
 but a dim stain — a nebulous haze. Yet that 
 is the mighty system we have left behind. 
 This is but one, and it is the nearest of all of 
 them. Go ofT in another direction and you 
 will bring up not only tens and hundreds, but 
 thousands of these bright and beautiful star- 
 islands of the universe, strewed throughout 
 the vast regions of space. 
 
 It is the business of the astronomer to study 
 not only his own system, but to contemplate 
 the millions of stars, and to go still farther out 
 to those mysterious nebulous objects with 
 which the heavens are filled, and tell if, in 
 the long lapse of ages, some mighty change 
 may not be working in these curious end 
 wonderful objects. 
 
All the vast limits in tlio 
 
 riiiigo arfi lillcil with suns 
 
 um, anil roll, »nd shine, as 
 
 us far, it would soem that 
 itnost limits of spare ; oncl 
 ind. after attainini; ro that 
 f'st its weary wines. Not 
 ly at the outskirts of one 
 uiiverse — a small compass, 
 ed so that if wc were even 
 nits whieh we can reach 
 sion, we should ffrasp the 
 ( and systems, ns it were, 
 itself.' When we have 
 pr limits, and applied the 
 scope, exiiloring space be- 
 jects comini; up from the 
 burstinjr upon the sipht, 
 \vitli wonder and astonish- 
 
 •fm<;h the mighty telescope 
 e objects in tin- dead hour 
 len earth's th(»usanils of 
 ; hearts were quieted in 
 e rapid furious pulse of bu- 
 tt the arms of sleep. There 
 ny own mind could nf)t take 
 
 it seemed irrpossible : I 
 my imagination to their ut- 
 
 now ])ut your eye to this 
 dl me what breaks in upon 
 1 ! I see a most beautiful 
 
 diamond points sprinklinp; 
 he heavens. How strange 
 3t ! Shall I tell you what 
 svithme throug' 'he regions 
 —onward. I sec it expand- 
 
 see diamond points in it 
 rilliancy and splendor. As 
 ; we find it expanding till it 
 visible universe itself, for 
 
 than a universe of stars. 
 iw ? Look backward, and 
 
 Is our own sun visible in 
 :y? Yes. I see nothing 
 I nebulous haze. Yet that 
 stem we have left behind, 
 nd it is the nearest of all of 
 
 another direction and you 
 anly tens and hundreds, but 
 e bright and beautiful star- 
 i verse, strewed throughout 
 f space. 
 
 ;s of the astronomer to study 
 system, but to contemplate 
 rs, and to go still farther out 
 ous nebulous objects with 
 ns are filled, and tell if, in 
 
 ages, some mighty change 
 king in these curious end 
 
 THE DEAP SEA. 
 
 77 
 
 The Dead Sea. 
 
 THE DEAD SEA. 
 
 The result of the exploration of this an- 
 cient locality, by the United States navy offi- 
 cers who have just sailed for the Mediterra- 
 nean, will be looked for with deep interest by 
 the civilized world. The federal govenimenf. 
 have authorized this reconnoissance for the 
 purpose of solving geographical problems and 
 to elucidate ancient story. 
 
 The Dead sea is to be t. ;\'i "t^ i y Ameri- 
 can sailors — that sea of marvt'< \T\ich, after 
 engulfing the giiilty "cities of I'ue plain" — 
 has been ever since invested, to the imagina- 
 tion, with awful and supernatural character. 
 " A pestilential vapor, it has been said, rises 
 continually from its waters ; fish can not live 
 in, nor birds fly over them; iron will not sink 
 in them, nor have they ever been navigated 
 by ship cr bark." 
 
 Such slight examination as occasional trav- 
 ellers of more recent days have given to this 
 bitter sea, has dispijlled many of these fables ; 
 but still these deep dark waters are a mystery 
 to the world. They have been found to con- 
 tain — as accounting for their extraordinary 
 specific gravity, which led to the tale that 
 iron would not sink in them — 41 parts in a 
 hundred of salt; a much greatt^r proportion 
 than that of the sea, and deiived from entire 
 rocks of this mineral continually dissolving on 
 the southern shore. Bitumen also rises in 
 abundance from the bottom and floats on the 
 surface — and hence these waters acquire a 
 consistency which enables them to bear up 
 bodies that would sink m other waters. 
 
 The Rev. Doctor Durbin, late president of 
 Dickinson College, Carlisle, Pennsylvania, 
 gives the following illustration of the density 
 of these waters : — 
 
 '• I waded in carefully, to test the oft- 
 repeated statements of the great specific grav- 
 ity of the fluid, and repeated the experiment 
 several times : the uniform result was, that 
 when the waters rose above my armpits but 
 not over my shoulders, my body was balanced, 
 and I could not touch the bottom, but my feet 
 tended strongly to rise and my head to de- 
 sc id. When I turned on my back and drew 
 U|. my knees, so as to balance the body on the 
 surface. ^ Hy as still as a knot of wood my 
 head, knees, ant' half of my feet out o.' ihe 
 wft-^r; and so loicg as I was perfectly still, I 
 fl Kite.' ^n this ; osition. These experiments 
 satlsr- '1 .'le of its great specific gravity." 
 
 Du ■:\ ^ DuiMn adds that his hair was mat- 
 ted wltV th..^ bitumen, which, on being pressed 
 by the fingers, covered them with a sticky 
 sub.stance. 
 
 Josephus, in his fourth book of the wars of 
 the Jews, relates that the waters of the Dead 
 sea support on the surface whatever is thrown 
 into the lake, and confirms the relation by the 
 fact that Vespasian, 'to convince himself of 
 the truth of 'his assertion, ordered several 
 persons with their hands and legs tied, to be 
 thrown into the lake, and that not one of them 
 sunk. 
 
 But it is less to verify or refute problems 
 such as these that :.n exploration of the Dead 
 sea by competent and scientific observers is 
 desired, than to ascertain its actual relation to 
 
 1 > 
 
 **.j|, 
 
 m 
 
 '^'•^ 
 
78 
 
 BOOKS, THKia PUBLICATION AND CIRCULATION. 
 
 the wntors of the Moditen-nnean, frnin which 
 it is (listiint not more than between 30 and 40 
 miles ; yet the level of the Dead scu is snid 
 to l)e some hundreds of feet below that of the 
 Mediterranean. 
 
 Into the Dead sea the river Jordan dis- 
 charges and loses itself. Descending iVom 
 the sea of Tiberius, which is in fact a shallow 
 outspreading in the fashion of a lake, of the 
 river — some CO miles in a winding cotirse, the 
 Jordiin disai)i)ears in this deep and bitter os- 
 phaltic sea, which is about 24 miles in length 
 from north to south, and not more, accordiii": 
 to modern travellers, than six or seven in 
 breadth. 
 
 It is comparatively shallow at its southern 
 extremity, but its general depth is reputed to 
 be unfatliinnable. Its western shore, on the side 
 of Arabia, or Moab, is one prodigious black 
 perpendiculor wall, in which there is not a 
 summit or the smallest peak ; its eastern or 
 Indian shore is of limestone and sandy dill's 
 of varied and fantastic fonns. 
 
 All, however, but the mere external ap- 
 pearances of this dismal sea and its dreary 
 shores, is matter of conjecture and uncertainty; 
 and hence the greater stimulus to investigation. 
 
 The United States store ship Supply, being 
 bound to the Mediterranean with stores, is to 
 be employed under Lieut. Lynch, as her com- 
 mander, with Lieut. Dale, who will be mure 
 specially charged with the scientific recon- 
 noissances. 
 
 To effect the exploration of the Dead sea, 
 they will land at Acre, and thence direct their 
 operations across the ancient plains of .Tericho, 
 and the point of research, carefully levelling 
 the intermediate route, in order to determine, 
 first of all the relative altitude between the 
 two seas. Amply provided with instruments 
 — having metal boats of light construction, 
 and all the means and appliances for survey- 
 ing and sounding— we may justly anticipate 
 from this expedition accurate infommtion on 
 points heretofore wholly conjectural, yet in- 
 vested with deep interest. 
 
 It is one of the peculiarities of the watiT 
 of the Dead sea, that, although so dense and 
 bituminous, it is exceedingly translucent. 
 
 It is somewhat singular that a goveniment 
 of the now world should be the first to explore 
 and verify the facts, concerning a region so 
 intimately connected with the common faith 
 of Christendom and the witness of one of the 
 most awful i)enaltie9 of transgression under 
 the Mosaic dispensation ; and we can not but 
 hope from this expedition what will gratify 
 natural and intelligent curiosity, while confii-m- 
 ing the original record of the Bible. The 
 evil propensities of the wand,;ring hordes who 
 travers* the deserts in that vicinity furnish the 
 greatest obstacles to complete success. 
 
 BOOKS: 
 
 THEIR PUBLICATI0.> AND CIRCULATION. 
 
 It is a very common thing to hear of the 
 evils of pernicious reading, of how it enervates 
 the rmnd, or how it depraves the prinriplis. ] 
 The complaints are doubtless just. These ' 
 books could not be read, and these evils would 
 be sjiared the world, if one did not write, niid 
 another did not jjrint, and onotherdid not sell, 
 and another did not eirculute them. Are 
 those, then, without whoso agency the mis- } 
 chief could not ensue, to b.i held nnioeent in 
 aHi)r<ling this agency ? Yet, hnidly as we ] 
 complain of the evil, and carefully as we j 
 warn our children to avoid it, how seldom do 
 we hear ptd)lic reprobation of the writers I ' 
 As to printers, and booksellers, and library- 
 keepers, we scarcely hear their olVences men- [ 
 tioned at all. We speak not of those aban- 
 doned publications which all respectable mim 
 condenni. but of those which, jjernicious as 
 they are confessed to be, furnish reading- 
 rooms and librories, and are habitually sold in 
 almost every bookseller's store. He thut 
 lends a man money to use for an improper 
 iiurpose, or a weapon for his revenge, makes 
 himself a partner of his crime. He, too, 
 who writes or sells a book which will, in all 
 probability, injure the reader, is accessory to 
 the mischief whitth may be done : with this 
 aggravation, that while the money would 
 probably do mischief but to one or two per- 
 sons, the book may injure a hundred or a 
 thousand. Of the writers of injurious books 
 we neeil say no m.orc. If the inferior agents 
 are censurable, the primary agent must be 
 more censurable. A printer or a bookseller 
 should, however, reflect, that to be not so bad 
 as another is a very different thing from being 
 innocent. When we see that the owner of a 
 press will print any work that is offered to 
 liim, with no othci' (concern about its tendency 
 than wliether it will subject hira to penalries 
 from the law, we surely must perceive that 
 he exercises but a very imperfect virtue. Is 
 it objigatfiry upon us not to promote ill princi- 
 ples in othirr men? He does not fulfil the 
 obligation. Is it obligatory upon us to pro 
 mote n.'ctitude by unimpecchable example? 
 Ho does not c\hil)it that example. If it were 
 rii^ht for my neighbor to furnish me with the 
 means of moral injury, it would n<jt be wrong 
 for me to accept and to emi)loy them. 
 
 Let ns stand in a bookseller's store, and 
 observe his customers successively coming in. 
 One orders a lexicon, and one a woik of scur- 
 rilous infidelity ; one Captain Cook's voyages, 
 and one a new licentious romance. If the 
 bookseller takes and executes all these orders 
 with the same willingness, we can not but 
 
 
ATION. 
 
 OOKSs 
 
 lOM AND CIRCULATION. 
 
 imon thins '" hear "f llie 
 cudiiig, ot" how it enervated 
 t (Icpiuvcs tlie priiici|)l(s. 
 re (louhtless just. Tlioc 
 roiul, and these evils would 
 1, if one did not write, and 
 lit, nnil miother did not sell, 
 lot eirculute them. Are 
 ut whose nijency the nii^- 
 iue, to b.T held nuiocent in 
 icv ? Yet, londly as wc; 
 vil, and curef'ully ns v« 
 :o avoid it, how seldom dn 
 probation of the writers 1 
 I booksellers, and library- 
 ly hear tVieir olli?nces nien- 
 ! speak not of those abun- 
 which oil respectable men 
 liose which, pernicions as 
 i to he, funiish reading- 
 , and arc habitually sold in 
 kseller's store. He that 
 y to use for an improper 
 )on for his revenge, makes 
 
 of his crime. He, too. 
 1 a book which will, in all 
 the reader, is accessory to 
 1 may be done : with this 
 
 while the money would 
 ief but to one or two pcr- 
 ly injure a hundred or a 
 
 writers of injurious books 
 ire. If the inferior agents 
 e primary agent must be 
 
 A printer or a bookseller 
 eflect, that to be not so bad 
 y different thing from being 
 we see that the owner of a 
 iiy work that is offered to 
 
 concern about its tendency 
 ill subject him to penalties 
 
 surely must perceive that 
 
 very imperfect virtue. Is 
 us not to promote ill princi- 
 1 ? He does not fulfil the 
 obligatory upon us to prr 
 
 unimpeachable example? 
 it that example. If it were 
 bor to furnish me with the 
 ury, it would not be wrong 
 ud to employ them. 
 -i a bookseller's store, and 
 lers successively iroming in. 
 on, and one a woik of scur- 
 nc Captain Cook's voyages, 
 icentious romance. If the 
 nd executes all these orders 
 illingness, we can not but 
 
 ■I ■> .»»■ ■. _ 
 
 BOOKS, THEIR I'UBLICATION AND CIRCULATION. 
 
 79 
 
 perceive that there is an inconsistency, on in- 
 cnmpleteness, in his moral princijiles of action. 
 Perhaps this jierson is so conscious of th<' mis- 
 : chievous ellt'cts of such books, ihiit In^ would 
 not allow them iu tlu; hands of his cliildrcn, 
 nor snller them to be seen on liis i)arlor-table. 
 But if he thus knows the evils which they in- 
 ihi-t, can it be right for him to be the »■— ut in 
 (litlusing thein ? Such a jicrson dot i l.-'- ex- 
 hiliit that consistency, that conipletetn ss of 
 virtuous conduct, without which the Christian 
 cliurucler can not be fully exhibited. Step 
 into the store of this bookseller's neighbor, 
 « druggist, and there, if a ])€rson asks for 
 some arsenic, the ajmthecary begins to be 
 anxious. He considers whether it is probable 
 the buyer wants it for a ])roi)er ])arpose. If 
 he does sell it, he cautions the buyer to keep 
 it where others can not have access to it ; and 
 before he delivers the packet legibly inscribes 
 upon it — Poison. One of these men sells 
 poison to the body, and the other poison to the 
 mind. If the anxiety and caution of the 
 druggist are right, the indilierence of the book- 
 seller must be wrong. Add to which, that 
 the druggist woulil not sell ars<;nic at all if it 
 were not sometimes useful; but t« what 
 readers can a vicious book be useful ? 
 
 Suppose for a moment that no printer would 
 commit such a book to his press, and that no 
 bookseller would sidl it, the eonse(|uence 
 would be that uine tciiths of these manuscripts 
 would be thrown into the fire, or rather that 
 they would never have been written. The 
 inference is obvious ; and surely it is not need- 
 ful again to enforce the consideration that al- 
 though your refusal might not prevent \ici(nis 
 books from being published, you are not 
 therefore exempted from the obligation to re- 
 fuse. A man must do his dutjs whether the 
 elFects of his fidelity be such as he would (!(■- 
 sire or not. Such purity of conduct might 
 no doubt circumtcribe a man's business, and 
 so does jiurity of conduct in some oth(>r pro- 
 fessions: but if this be a sufficient excuse for 
 assisting to demoralize the world, if profit be 
 a justification of a departure from rectitude, 
 it will be easy to defend the business of a 
 jiickpcKket. 
 
 We know that the principles of conduct 
 which these remarks recommend lead to gra\'e 
 practical consequences: we know that they 
 lead to the conclusion that the business of a 
 jirinter or bookseller, as it is ordinarily con- 
 ducted, is not consistent with Christian up- 
 rightness. A man may carry on a business in 
 select works; and this, by some conscientious 
 persfms, is really done. In the present state 
 of the jiress, the uifficulty of obtaining a con- 
 siderable business as a bookseller without cir- 
 culating injurious works may frequently be 
 great, and it is in consequence of this diffi- 
 
 culty that we see so few booksellers among 
 the (pjakers. The few wlio do conduct the 
 business generally reside in large towns, where 
 the demand for all books is so great that a per- 
 son can procure a competent income though 
 ho excludes the bad. 
 
 He who is more studious to justify his con- 
 duct than to act aright may say that if a per- 
 son may sell no book that can injure another, 
 he can scarcely sell any book. The answer 
 is, that although there must be some difficulty 
 in discrimination, thougli a bookseller can not 
 always inform himself what the jirccise tv.n- 
 deuey of a book is — yet there can be no diffi- 
 culty in judging, respecting numberless books, 
 that their tendency is butl. If we can not 
 define the ])recise distinction between the 
 goiKl and the evil, we can nevertheless per- 
 ceive the evil when it has attained to a certain 
 extent. He who can not distinguish day from 
 twiliirht can distinguish it from night. 
 
 The ease of tlio proprietors of common 
 circulating libraries is yet more palpable ; 
 because tlio majority of the books which they 
 contain inflict injury upon their readers. How 
 it huj)pens that persons of resjiectable charac- 
 ter, and who join with others m lamenting th« 
 frivolity, and worse than frivolity, of the age, 
 nevertheless daily and hourly contribute to the 
 mischief, without any apparent consciousness 
 of inconsistency, it is ditlicult to explain. A 
 person estaldishes, perhaps, one of these li- 
 braries for the first time in a country town. 
 He sup|)lies the younger and less busy part 
 of its inhabitants w'th a source of moral in- 
 jury from which h...ierto they had been ex- 
 empt. The girl who till now possessed sober 
 views of life, he teaches to dream of the ex- 
 travagances cf love ; he familiarizes her ideas 
 with intrigue and licentiousness ; destroys her 
 disposition for rational j)ursuits; and prepares 
 her, it may be, for a victim of debauchery. 
 These evils, or such as these, he inflicts, not 
 upon one or two, but upon as many as he can ; 
 and yet this person lays his head ujion his pil- 
 low, as if, in all this, he was not offending 
 against virtue or against man ! 
 
 The Biblk. — There is no other volume in 
 the world which grows in interest Ijv repeated 
 reading. We may study Bacon, feutler, or 
 Boyle, but so soon as the argument is appre- 
 ciated and the truth appropriated, the mind 
 labors through another reading. But every 
 passage in the New Testament is fruitful of 
 varied suggestions, and the more spiritual the 
 mind of the reader, the more fruitful of good 
 is the passage read. Because one passage 
 suggests others, and thus, like the links of' a 
 chain, attains some new or some impressive 
 views of God's character and of human 
 duty. 
 
 f^ll-r' 
 
80 
 
 BO PEEP.— CUHIOai .1E8 Olf 8CI1C .CE. 
 
 BO-PEEP. 
 
 Oun cniuriivinK rrprcsents nne •)f thosf 
 
 scctifs in (iiiinc^itic life which cosl sm littlo, 
 but iro go * ir "> innki> iii) tho sum nj u wo- 
 n-.nnV hai>|)ine-s. The iiicturiminfi iiiriui!.'fi- 
 niiiil of lij;ht and shndu is '*i" miHt strikins 
 artistic f'-uture of tho rroiip- As tlio "free 
 knitter iu the sun" swiftly inn-rlacps tho glis- 
 tPiii'ng ])ins, like liii''^ ot light, her thmights 
 as s])ectlily weave niingletl drciiins of the tu- 
 tiirn, ns the chiliUsh i^lee of the childri'ii comes 
 to her ear. On one side the low sun shoots 
 his hcnmsover sweet gardens and fresh fields, 
 and ut last restsujwn the 5;rcen grape elusters, 
 peeping between the leaves around the cot- 
 tajio-dixir, and upon her clean olive cheek, 
 transparent as the lucid skin of the berry. 
 On the one hand it is the glow of outward na- 
 ture that warms her heart ; on th*; other, the 
 joy of maternal love, as she watcnes her chil- 
 dren at play. 
 
 CURIOSITIES OF SCIENCE. 
 
 The followng interesting facts ore from an 
 a<ldres9 delivered by Professor Mopes, before 
 the Mechanics' Institute of New York : — 
 
 The feathers of birds, and each particular 
 part of them, ore arranged at such an angle as 
 to be most cBicient in assisting ilight. The 
 human eye has a mirror on which objects are 
 reflected, and a nerve 1.- which these reflec- 
 tions are conveyed T > 'i'."- i:rain, and thus we 
 are enabled to take no -.fiMuest in tht objects 
 which pass before ^ n ; oye. Now, when the 
 eye is too convf. .Vf vin one kir.ii of glosses 
 to correct the fault, atui >.f it be not convex 
 enough, or if we wisl; '■> l(K)k at objects at 
 diffiirent distonces, we use glasses of entirely 
 anr)ther description. 
 
 But as birds can not get spectacles. Provi- 
 dence has given them a method of supplying 
 the deficiency. They have the power of 
 contracting the eye, of making it more convex, 
 so as to sec the specks which float in the at- 
 mosphere, and catch them for food ; and also 
 of flattening the eye. to see a great distance, 
 and observe whenever any vulture or other 
 enemy is threatening to destroy them. In 
 addition to this they have a film, or coating, 
 which can be suddenly thrown down over the 
 eye to protect it; because at the velocity 
 with which they fly, and with the delicate 
 texture of their eye, the least speck of dust 
 would act upon it as a penknife thrust into the 
 human eye. This film is to protect the eye, 
 and the same thing exists to some extent in 
 the eye of the horse. The horse has a very 
 
 largo eye, very liable to take du'-' Tin i 
 coating in the horse' eye is called thfl hn" 
 or thir<l eyelid, and it you will woteh cliwe ly, 
 you may see it deseeiiil and return with cler 
 trie velocity. It clears away th'' dii«t. and 
 jirotects the eye from injiiiv. If llir e\r 
 shouhl catch co'd, the haw ' ird.iis and pro- 
 jei-ts, and ignnr^int persons i i itc'V, a^^d ihm 
 ilestroy this sutepiord. 
 
 You all know, it you iaKi; a jxi if irm 
 pnd make of it a hollow rod u HmH 1. ^', what 
 weight it will support ; n weight miiay times I 
 greater than before. Nature m-eni- to have I 
 taken advantage of this nlwi, lout; before 
 mathematician'^ had disco vi- red it, and all the : 
 bones of animals are hollow. The (jh t 
 birds are large, because they must be ^ jng 
 to move their large wings with sntticient ve- 
 locity; but they must also be lidit, in order 
 to float easily upon the oir. Bi'. also illns- 
 trate another fact in natural philoxfih- If 
 you take a bag, make it air-tighl, ami jmt it 
 under woter, it w i! support a large weight, 
 say a hundred pounds. But twist it, or di- 
 minish the air in it, and it will 8U|>"ortnn ^nch 
 weight. Now, a bird has such m ai. i!,'. 
 "When he wishes to descend, he compresses it 
 at will, and falls rapidly ; when he would ri sp, 
 he increases it, and flouts with ease. He also 
 has the power of forcing air into the hollow 
 parts of the hcwly, and thus to assist his flight. 
 The same thing may be observed in fishes. 
 They also have an air-bag to enable them ' 
 rise or sink in the water, till they find their 
 temperature. 
 
 If they wsh to rise, they increase it ; if 
 they wisli to sink they compress it, and down 
 they go. Sometimes the fish, in sinking, 
 makes too strong an elTort to compress it ; then 
 down he goes to the bottom, and there re- 
 mains for the rest of his life. Flounders, and 
 some other fish, have no air-bag; and so they 
 ore never found floating on the surface, but 
 must always be caught at the bottom. 
 
 In this "woy are the principles of science 
 applied to almost everything. Yon wish to 
 know how to pack the greatest amount of bulk 
 in the smallest space. The form of cylinders 
 leaves large spaces between them. Mathe- 
 maticians labored hard for a long time to find 
 what figure could be used so as to lose no 
 s])eck ; and at last found that it was the six- 
 sided figure, and also that a three-plane end- 
 ing in a point, fo'ined the strongest roof or 
 door. The honey-bee discovered the same 
 things a good wiiile ago. The honey-comb is 
 made up of six-sided figures, and the roof is 
 built with three-plane surfaces coming to a 
 point. 
 
 If a flexible vessel be emptied of air, its 
 sides will be almost crushed together by the 
 pressure of the surrounding atmosphere. And 
 
 manHtf ^ - HJ t t^M t tmw ^ittMtKl 
 
le to take dtiM. Tin. 
 i-vn \n callrd th*! hnw 
 yim will wntrh clt»el_v, 
 1(1 mill rf'turn with c]vf 
 irs uwHV thi' <l^•^^, iiml 
 m iiijurv. It' tin- im- 
 ■} how ' irilfiis ami pio- 
 rsons. t it (■'''. a*"!! thnii 
 I. 
 
 on laki; n jx)\ i>f irm 
 )W roil a foot li. ?, wliiii 
 t ; M wripht mitiiy timci 
 Naturr tfoms to hovn 
 this alwi, UiDsi before 
 lidcovcretl it, aii'l all th' 
 
 hollow. 'i'hfi M.I, 
 
 use ihi'V must be ^ ,11" 
 vings w-ith sutHeifiit ve- 
 *t also be li'jht, in onler 
 he air. Bi'ii also ilhs- 
 nntnral philo>-< ph If 
 3 it air-tighl, "Mil jmi it 
 support a large weight, 
 Is. But twist it, or di- 
 iri ii will sTipiiort nr) <«nch 
 rd has sxich nn aii ig. 
 osceiK?, he compresses it 
 Uy ; when he woiiM rr*-?, 
 outs with ease. Hi' also 
 rcing air into the hollow 
 d thus to assist his flight, 
 y l)(! observed in fishop. 
 ir-bag to enable then, 
 rater, till they find thci. 
 
 ise, they increase it ; if 
 !y compress it, and down 
 is the fish, in sinkin";, 
 ffort to compress it ; then 
 B bottom, and there re- 
 hislife. Flounders, and 
 5 no air-bag; and so they 
 ting on the surface, but 
 ;ht at the bottom. 
 :he principles of science 
 ■erything. Yon wish lo 
 e greatest amount of bulk 
 . The form of cylinders 
 between them. Mathe- 
 rd for a long time to find 
 e used so as to lose no 
 Dund that it was the six- 
 J that a three- plane end- 
 led the strongest nx)f or 
 lee discovered the same 
 igo. The honey-comb is 
 i figures, and the roof is 
 ne surfaces coming to a 
 
 si be emptied of air, its 
 crushed together by the 
 nnding atmosphere. And 
 
 ij 
 
 r 
 
 ! *• 
 
 Bo-Peep. 
 
83 
 
 WUITEFIKLD AND WESLEY 
 
 if a tube piirtly tilled with fluid hv. cmntipil of 
 air, the lliiiil will rim to the lop. Tlui lic^o 
 umlcr«liin(U tirw, and whi'n ho eomeH m tho 
 cu|) of till! tall li()iioy-8uokle, nii<l Kiuls tliiit ho 
 CUD not rt'iich llu; sweets at itn liottoiri, he 
 thrusts in liii body, ahuU up the (lower, and 
 then exliaiisis the air, and so pos^iesMi's him- 
 self of th(! ilust and hotiey of the llower. 
 The feet of Hies aitl lizards an; eohrttructed 
 on tt similar principle, and they tluH walk 
 with easi! on glass or ceilinf{. Their fei ( are 
 80 made as to create a vacuum l)eneatli thern, 
 and BO they have tho pressun! of the atmo- 
 sphere, fifteen jKiunds to the sipiare inch, to 
 enable them to hold on. Tho cat has tho 
 Bame power to a less extent. 
 
 Plants reiiuirc tho sunlij^ht, and some flow- 
 ers turn tliemselves toward the sun, as it trav- 
 els round from east to west. The sunllowcr 
 does this, and so does a field of clover. The 
 facts, tlumj;h we have not yet got at the rea- 
 son of thern, are still extremely interesting. 
 
 The Virf^inia creeper throws out tendrils in 
 the form of a foot with five toes ; each toe 
 has a large number of hairs or spines, which 
 entering the small openin" of brick or lime, 
 swell and hold on ; but when dccnyins they 
 shrink and the plant falls otf. The vnniihi 
 plant of tho West Indies exhibits a similar 
 construction, except that it winds itself around 
 other objects. 
 
 WHITEFIELD AND WESLEY. 
 
 Whitefif.ld and Wesley accomplished 
 greot moral eifects by their |)prsuasive elo- 
 (|uencc. England had rarely, ir'ever, been in 
 a lowei moral ami s])iritunl condition than it 
 was in tlie early part of rhe last century. 
 The funiitici.smot several religious sectsduriiig 
 the period of the Cromwellian commonwealth, 
 was followed by the wide-spread libertinism 
 which luul gone out everywhere from the 
 court of Churles II. To this, there was but 
 little check. For the clergy of that period, 
 appointed to their livings chiefly by secular, 
 if not bad men, for the most part resembled, 
 in character, those who gave them their liv- 
 ings. In this state of things, six or eight 
 young men, students at Oxford, became ti uly 
 pious ; and being more sober than their fellow 
 collegians, and more zealous Godwanl, iluy 
 were treated with great derision by (li<;ir 
 equals, and with marked contempt and re- 
 proach by their oflicials. 
 
 Their persecution, however, did them good. 
 It increased their zeal. It gave finnncss to 
 tbeir faith, and resoluteness to their purpose 
 
 Although Whitefield and Wesley received 
 orders, yet as they were shut out from tho 
 pulpits of most of the establishrMl churches, 
 they went everywhere, preaching the wonl. 
 In fields — on wide moors — and sometimes in 
 theiiutskirlsof lurgt! cities — thesi! men of («()<1, 
 with a freediim, a manliness, anil pathos of 
 utterance, almost peiiteeostal, warned sinners 
 to (leo from the wrath to come, and made 
 known tlie exceedii".T riches of tlie grace of 
 (lod in Christ Jesus. 'I'he efVect on multitudes 
 was electrical. More and better than this ; 
 it was enlightening, sanctifying — saving. The 
 lower classes received iin intellectual impulse 
 and elevation of character, sucdi ns they never 
 before exj)criene;ed. They were trained to 
 think ond imiuire ; and were lifted uj> to tho 
 knowledge of tho true (jod, and of Jesus 
 Christ, whom lie had •♦ent. The drunkard 
 left his cups ; the licentious his haunts ; and 
 the profane ceased his ooths. Many, who 
 had been like the Corinthians, were, like 
 them, " washed, and sanctified, and justified, 
 in the narnc of tho Lord Jesus, and by tho 
 Spirit of our God." 
 
 " I.intii am) benHti of navRgn name, 
 Val on the iiuturo uf tliu Lamb." 
 
 The cl(M|uence of George Whitefield and 
 of John Wesley was of a very dillerent char- 
 acter each from the other. But each was 
 suited to win attention, to secure confidence, 
 and to accomplish tho grand jiuriioses of 
 preaching — by rescuing men from the jjaths 
 of sin, and rest(jring them to the obedience of 
 the truth. 
 
 Whitefield, overflowing with the strong and 
 tender sensiuilities of his nature, exhibited his 
 whole soul in his features and in every niovc- 
 ment of his '. ixly. His very tones, even 
 with )ut words, assisted by his ctnintennnee, 
 would touch the chords of fimr, and terror, 
 and h()])e, and sensibility, in the vast crowds 
 that always assembled to liear him. And 
 when these tones conveyed the awakening, 
 peace-giving, ami hojie-inspiring truths of the 
 gospel, with God's blessing they produced 
 their appropriate effects. 
 
 Wesley was un ehxiuent man, but of a very 
 dilferent order. His undoubted jiiety, his pu- 
 rity, his absti.'niionsness, and his observance 
 of clerical propriety in his costume and de- 
 portment, inspired his hearers with confidence 
 and reverence. No one heord from him 
 the bursts of eloquence which distinguished 
 Whitefield's jircaching. There were no sud- 
 den thunderings and lightnings from Mount 
 Sinai, taking his hearers by surprise, and 
 making them quake with fear and terror. 
 But there was an even, a gentle flow of truth, 
 like a clear and refreshing, but almost noise- 
 less stream — varied with facts and narratives 
 
 - -Timam m 
 
':m 
 
 nnd W«"«lny received 
 .'tiro shut out frmn the 
 
 CHtnlilislir'd (,'liurcho!i, 
 ■o, priMii-liini; thi; wonl. 
 iiiirs — mill MiiiK'tiincs in 
 itirn — ihrsc men i)t'(f(Hl, 
 luiilinesH, nnd piithim of 
 tecn«t»l, wnnit'd ninticr« 
 ith to ciirnn, nnd iniidn 
 
 riches i)t' the ftruee of 
 Tlio ellt'ct on inulritudos 
 (• und bfttiT tliiin this; 
 inctifyiiii; — suvinj;. The 
 
 1 an intellectual impulse 
 u^tiT, Huch ntj they never 
 
 They were tramed to 
 id were lifted up to the 
 ue (Jod, nnd of Jesus 
 1 1 f^nt. The drunkard 
 eiitious hia hauiita ; und 
 lis oQths. Many, who 
 Corinthians, were, like 
 snnctilied, and justified, 
 Lord Jesus, and by the 
 
 :iof Havnge name, 
 Lie uf tliu Lamb." 
 
 George Wliitefield and 
 of u very dill'eient cliar- 
 
 ollier. But each was 
 in, to secure contidence, 
 the grand purposes of 
 ng men from the paths 
 ;liem to the obedience of 
 
 iwing with the strong and 
 his nature, exhibited his 
 ures and in every move- 
 His very tones, even 
 ted by his countenance, 
 irds of f(mr, and tc'rror, 
 ility, in the vast crowds 
 led to hear him. And 
 inveyed the awukenin;;, 
 :ie-inspiring truths of the 
 blessing they produced 
 lets. 
 
 Kjuenl man, but ot a very 
 undoubted jiiety, his pu- 
 less, and his observance 
 in his costume and de- 
 s hearers with confidence 
 I one heard from him 
 nee which distinguished 
 ig. There were no sud- 
 I lightnings from Mount 
 carers by surprise, and 
 ! with fear and terror, 
 n, a gentle flow of truth, 
 sshing, but almost noise- 
 .vith facts and narratives 
 
r 
 
 1 
 
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WINDOW-GARDENING. 
 
 83 
 
 
 suiteil to fix attt'iition, and to illustrate tlic 
 subjects of his discourse. His hearers were 
 overuvvi'd and yet caj)tivoted by the sanctity 
 of his appearaiico us though he were a gentle 
 and yet authoritative visiter from another 
 world, whose messages, though calmly and 
 mellilluously uttered, were not to be doubted. 
 The elo(|uence of Whitcfield was like the 
 dri)|)s of riiiu couiing down copiously and with 
 audible noise. Tlie eloquence of Wesley 
 was like the falling of the dew upon the ten- 
 der heri), known more by its elTects than by 
 its fall. And then, if Wesley was inferior in 
 direct power of speech to Whitcfield, he was 
 far superior as to the power of his pen. With 
 the liiner instrument, Whitcfield could do 
 nothing. His whole strength was in his ora- 
 tory. JJut wliih; he was unsurpassed in the 
 pulpit, Wesley Tar transcended him in eccle- 
 siastical government. One was a child as to 
 his capacity to organize into a well-arranged 
 religious body, the converts he had made. 
 The other was a giant, or rather an able states- 
 man, in reiluciug his converts to fellowship 
 and durable organization. Hence, perhaps, 
 there is scarcely a church in Christendom that 
 can trace its origin to Whitcfield ; but there 
 are a thousand churches in Europe and Amer- 
 ica that delight to trace their existence to 
 Wesley. We need not add that both these 
 nieii were great blessings to the world, and 
 the more so, that they were laboring and 
 preaching in the same districts of country, in 
 alternate succession, or at the same time. As 
 neither the sun nor the moon can take each 
 other's ])lace, soii, was with these men of God. 
 Each had his appropriate messages to deliver, 
 and his own mamu^r of delivery, and his own 
 special work to perform. Infinite Wisdom 
 knew this, and wrought, now by the son of 
 thunder — and now by the ■son of consolation. 
 Their eloquent advocacy of the great truths 
 of the gospel, became the power of God unto 
 salvation, to multitudes who, through tlieir 
 word, believed. Their • ratory, under God, 
 was full of benignity ano gooil to their fellow- 
 beings, both in Great Britain and her then 
 American colonies. 
 
 WINDOW GARDENING. 
 
 In crowded cities, where ground is so val- 
 uable that large houses have only a small 
 yard behind them, window gardening becomes 
 an important branch of floriculture, as it af- 
 fords the inhabitants almost their only chance 
 of enjoying the luxury of flowers. That the 
 cultivatioii of flowers, even in a window, is, 
 indeed, an enjoyment to the inhabitants of 
 
 cities, is evident by the pleasure with which 
 we see many of those who live by their labors 
 with the jujcdle or the loom, spending the 
 greater |)«t of their few leisure hours in tend- 
 ing a few geraniums or other flowering |)lai;ts 
 arranged on a window sill ; and there is some- 
 thing atlectin;^ in the sight, when we recollect 
 that many oi these jiersons jirobably came 
 originally from the country, and that these 
 few leaves and flowers arc "all that remain to 
 remind them of their native fields. The 
 plants of persons of this class are, howe\er, 
 generally much more healthy than those of 
 richer cultivators, probably because they are 
 more cared for, and more diligently watched; 
 for no living objects more amply repay the at- 
 tention bestowed upon them than flowering 
 plants. 
 
 All plants grown in pots, and kept in a room, 
 re(|uire more attention than they would do in 
 any other situation, as they are in a most un- 
 natural state, and they need the greatest care 
 that can be bestowed upon them to counteract 
 the bad elfects of their peculiar position. To 
 understand thoroughly how disadvantageous 
 that position is to their growth, we must 
 recollect that plants derive their nourishment 
 partly through their roots, and partly through 
 their leaves, by means of pores so extremely 
 fine, that they can only be seen by the aid of 
 a very powerful microscope. When a plant 
 is kept constantly in an inhabited room, the 
 pores of the leaves become choked up with 
 dust; and as the air of every room inhabited 
 by human beings must necessarily be very 
 dry, the delicate points of the roots, which 
 are of a soft spongy nature, to enable them to 
 imbibe woter, become withered or dried up, 
 and lose that power of alternate dilation and 
 contraction, which is absolutely necessary to 
 enable them first to absorb moisture from ^he 
 soil, and afterward to force it up through the 
 stem and leaves. In addition to these evils, 
 which it is extremely diflicult to guard against, 
 may be added another of almost equal im- 
 portance, arising from the use of saucers to 
 the flower-pots. These it is diflicult to dis- 
 pense with in a living room, as, without them, 
 there would be danger of injuring the carpet, 
 and other articles of furniture, every time the 
 plant is watered ; for water is of scarcely any 
 use, unless it be given in sufficient quantity to 
 saturate the whole mass of earth in the pot, 
 and this can not be done without some esca- 
 ping by the hole at the bottom. If, however, 
 water be suffered to stand in the saucer, unless 
 there be abundance of drainage in the bottom 
 of the pot, the water will sodden the earth, 
 and if it does, the spongioles of the roots will 
 inevitably become rotten. Wlicrever, there- 
 fore, plants are kept in pots, it should be a 
 paramount object with the cultivator to set 
 
 
 
 
84 
 
 WINDOW QAHDENING. 
 
 them out in the open air ns oftiMi as possiljle, 
 und then, while the ))i)ts are stunding without 
 their saucers, to uive tliein niiundunee of wa- 
 t( r, eillii.'r syringing their leaves, or washing 
 tiicni tlioiDughly by holding a watering-pf)t, 
 wiiii II tine rose, uliove them, and letting the 
 wiiter descend on their leaves like a shower. 
 In summer, jilants may be watered in this 
 manner twice a day, and in spring and autumn 
 once a day, without receiving the slightest in- 
 jury from over-watering. In winter, how- 
 ever, the case is ditFerent ; and as soon as the 
 air becomes frosty, the plants should not bo 
 exposed to it, and they should be watered as 
 little as possible, so as to keep them alive, un- 
 less they should be plants which (lower in the 
 winter, ill which ease they shoidd be watered 
 daily, as all plants when in flower recjuire 
 more water than at any other season. As 
 these winter-flowering ])lants must, of course, 
 be jilaced in saucers, for the sake of cleanli- 
 ness, it will be necessary to take care, when 
 the plants are watered, that the saucers are 
 em])tied out, as soon as the water has run 
 through into them, so that no stagnant water 
 may be allowed to remain to chill the roots. 
 Another point which sh>)uld l)e attended to, 
 when plants are kf'[)t in living rooms, is to re- 
 move all the dead leaves as soon as they ap- 
 pear, as the decomposition of vegetable mat- 
 ter is extremely injurious to the health of hu- 
 man beings. Even ihe plants themselves ap- 
 pear to grow better when all the decaying 
 vegetable matter they produce is n^gularly 
 removed from them; and not only do they 
 grow more vigorously, but the perfume and 
 beauty of their flowers is said to be increased. 
 
 In attending to the cultivation of plants 
 which are to be kept in rooms, it must never 
 be forgotten that they mpiiic I'.-r as well as 
 water to n(nirish them. It hua been long 
 known that ])lants will not thrive unless the 
 air has free access to their leaves ; but it has 
 only lately been ascertained that the leaves 
 not only act in elaborating the sap, but that 
 they also tak(; in nourishment from the atmo- 
 sjdiere. Aii should likewise be permitted to 
 have access to the roots moderately, so as not 
 to dry them ; as the roots can derive nourish- 
 ment from it, as well as the leaves, provided 
 they are kept in a sufficiently moist state by 
 the earth with which they are surrounded, to 
 be capable of taking nourishment from any- 
 thing. The important fact that plants derive 
 a great portion of their nourishment from the 
 atmoajiheric air, was little known before the 
 time of Liebig ; and even now, it is so contrary 
 to all our ancient prejudices, that even where 
 it is acknowledged, it is rarely remembered 
 when the rules derived from it are to be acted 
 upon. 
 
 Light is as essential as air or water to the 
 
 growth of plants; and os jilants in pots rarely 
 obtain a sufficient (|uantity whi'n thcv are 
 kept in living rooms, their stems are fici|Ufntly 
 drawn up till they become wciik .iiid slcndir, 
 and neither their leaves nor thrir (lower,-- are 
 so dark as they would be if thv jiliiiits w( re 
 grown in the open air. When plants are 
 grown in grcenliouses, they are generally 
 placed upon a stage raised on steps one above 
 another, and in this manner the leaves receive 
 the full odvantage of light, while the sides of 
 the pots are not dried by exjiosure to tin? sun ; 
 but the reverse of this generally takes place 
 when plants are ke])t on a wiiulow-siil, as the 
 leaves of the plants are fieciueiitly shaded by 
 some projecting jiart of the i;onse or window ; 
 while the pots are exposed to the full influ- 
 ence of the sun, and thus the jxiints of the 
 roots of the plants contained in them are very 
 apt to become dry and withered. 
 
 It may |)ossibly be thought by some persons, 
 that it is scarcely necessary to enlarge on the 
 importance of light, air, and water, to the 
 health of plants, as every one must be aware 
 of that fact ; this, howtner, is far from being 
 the case. The generality of amateurs who 
 cultivate plants in pots, think that the j)rinei- 
 pul care re(|uisite for their ]ilunts is to keep 
 thein wann ; and if they do not grow freely, 
 to give them niaimre ; but nothing can be 
 more ernnieous than this mode of treatment. 
 Too much heat is as injurious as too much 
 cold ; and if jjlants are brought suddenly out 
 of a cool greenhouse into a very warm room, 
 they will become sickly ; their ilower-bmis 
 will fall otr without ex))anding, and ])robably 
 they will lose the greater \mn of their leaves. 
 
 Over-manuring is still more injurious. The 
 roots of i)lants in jjots are so cramped by the 
 confined space in which they are kept, that 
 they have seldom strength to digest strong 
 manure ; and there is no doubt that great num- 
 bers of greenhouse plants were killed by over- 
 doses of guano, when it was first introduced. 
 Giving strong manure to a sickly plant is as 
 injurious as giving strong food to an invalid ; 
 and in both cases, does harm rather than good. 
 If to over-manuring be added abundant wa- 
 tering, and want of drainage, the earth in the 
 pot becomes what is called sour, and is not 
 only totally incapable of aflijrding nourish- 
 ment, but it actually rots the roots of the 
 plants growing in it. 
 
 Excellence is never granted to man, but 
 as the reward of labor. It argues, indeed, no 
 small strength of mind to persevere in the habits 
 of industry without the pleasure of perceiving 
 those advantages, which, like the hand of a 
 clock, while they make hourly approaches to 
 their point, yet proceed so slowly as to escape 
 observation. 
 
1 OS plants ill pots rarely 
 |unntity when llicv are 
 heir sieins ure l'ie(|iii.|itl y 
 coiiu' weiik <iiiil sleuiler, 
 ,H'S iinr llii'Jr (Idwery nre 
 111 l)e if the ])liiiits wi re 
 air. When plants are 
 PS, they nre ;,'eiierally 
 uiseil on stcjis one aliovo 
 innner the leaves reeeive 
 light, while the sides of 
 hy exposure to thi; sun ; 
 lis generally takes place 
 on a window-sill, as the 
 irefie(pieiitly shaded hy 
 )f the house or window ; 
 tposed to the. full influ- 
 tluis the points of the 
 iitnined in them are very 
 d withercid. 
 
 honijht by some jiersons, 
 essaiy to enlarge on the 
 air, and water, to the 
 very one mnut bo aware 
 wfiver, is far from being 
 rality of nniateurs who 
 ts, think that ilie jirinei- 
 their ])lants is to keep 
 hey do not prow freely, 
 e; but nothina; can be 
 this mode of treatment, 
 i injurious as too much 
 re brought suddenly out 
 into a very wann room, 
 "kly; their flower-buds 
 expanding, and jirobably 
 ateriiart of their leaves. 
 :ill more injurious. The 
 s are so cramped hy the 
 dch they are kept, that 
 ;rcngth to digest strong 
 10 doubt that great num- 
 ints were killed by over- 
 it was first introduced. 
 I to a sickly plant is as 
 rong food to an invalid ; 
 s harm rather than good, 
 be adiled abundant wa- 
 •ainage, the earth in the 
 called sour, and is not 
 e of alUirding nourish- 
 r rots the roots of the 
 
 ver granted to man, but 
 '. It argues, indeed, no 
 to persevere in thehabiti 
 e pleasure of perceiving 
 icn, like the hand of a 
 te hourly approaches to 
 d so slowly OS to escape 
 
 THE BOUNTIES OF NATURE. 
 
 85 
 
 TIIK UOUNTIKS OF NATURE. | 
 
 I.VNUMKRABLK are mail's relations with the j 
 (lull 1 world. Think not iiieiciy of the links! 
 wliicli liinil to it your aniinu! life. True, our : 
 lilr dejiends every inoiiieiit oil the air in tli(! [ 
 miiisl of wlii<'h we live. 15ut we bear other ; 
 relatiipiis to the visibb' woricL Tiie skies are \ 
 yours, for voii behold tlieiu with wonder and ! 
 (leiiLilit. 'I'he variegated earth is yours, and 
 the rich uplands of the swelling hills: the! 
 music of tlie rustlini; trees and of the rippling | 
 brook; the changeful anlliem of the ocean is j 
 yours; for things properly belong to those; 
 who can enjoy them, and tin; man of a culti- 1 
 vated mind lias inlets of pleasure for every 
 department and almost every object in the I 
 World. How rajiidly incn;ase our relations j 
 with the universe in proportion as we gain i 
 knowledge and become refined in taste. The | 
 infant sees in life nothing imt smiling eyes and ; 
 happy faces; and ])leasnralile is the sight.! 
 The boy views every object in relation to his . 
 amusement'. The ignorant ascend not lieyond . 
 the associations connecteil with animal grati- 
 licutions. Hills to the shepherd are made for 
 grazing sliee|). Rivers in the eyes of the 
 coiniiii^rcial man are means of inland iiaviga- 
 ticu . '.ml the ocean rises to no higher charac- 
 ter iliun the great higliway of nations. How 
 dilferent the views of him whose mind is well- 
 disciplined and well-tilled; whose heart is 
 pure and lofty ; how dissimilar his views, and 
 how much more true, varied, rich, and eleva- 
 ted. There can not be a greut(;r mistake than 
 to suppose that the obvious are the sole (luali- 
 tics of bodies — f' the lower are the only real 
 r(dation3 that between them and us. 
 
 If it is found ^uj^ '* se relations multiply 
 with every step man takes in advance, then 
 mav we infjr that there is much more yet to 
 be "known — many links to discover— fither 
 s|)lieres of beauty, of use, rif gratification. 
 
 Indeed, we are as yet only in the alphabet 
 of our knowledge of nature ; we stand only 
 on the threshold of her temple. Not on the 
 most tiny and inconsiderable object can we 
 look, but wonder mingles with our pleasure : 
 the little that we know of it tells us there are 
 greater secrets to bo explored ; a richer mine 
 in nature to be discovered and worked. That 
 leaf pleases by its contour, and gratifies by its 
 texture and its hue : ])lace it under the micro- 
 scope, how eclijised is its sujierficial beauty. 
 That rivulet has caught your eye, you listen 
 pleasurably to its soothing melody : then mark 
 how the daisy and the buttercup enarncl its 
 banks ; how the mild violet peeps smilingly 
 up from under its tangled shrubs; but carry 
 forward your thoughts ; see how a thousand 
 streamlets trickling down from their gravelly 
 beds unite to form a rivulet ; and a hundred 
 
 rivulets running ovi.t riclily-co\ ered plains 
 meet together in a stream ; and how several 
 streams, after watering and refreshing many a 
 hnmestead and many a village. How into a 
 river : how aft"r liuving lel't their beneliietioiis 
 iu'liiiid for men and cattle, rivers unite, and ii, 
 oni' grand volume go like a monarch, forwar.i 
 to the ocean, there to blend with other sn( ams 
 from opposite (|uarlers of the glolie, and form 
 the great reservoir of waters wliicli binds to- 
 gether remote! nations, supplies the clouds 
 with moisture, makes our atmosphere lit for 
 sustaining animal life, and semis dews and 
 showers to enrich th(! earth and feed every 
 living thing. 
 
 It is chiefly when the moral and the re- 
 liuioiis feelings intervene, that iiiun's relalions 
 to the world become most inipressi\e and 
 most gratifviiig. Abundance and privation 
 seen as (Joil's ordinations for man's jjood — in- 
 struct while they move and fill the mind with 
 sentiments of the holiest kind. I low great, 
 how ennobling, is the contemjiIatiiMi of the 
 universe, when all is seen in God; and God 
 is seen in all. 
 
 'I'lien is there excited in the mind a feeling 
 which, more than any other, combines %vhat is 
 |)leasiirable with what is elevating; namely, 
 gratitude. This is the emotion which an 
 abundant harvest spontaneously awakens. 
 In every ]ilain, on every hillside, along the 
 winding" banks of every stream, we behold 
 gifts of the divine bounty, trace our relations 
 with inanimate nature, and hear claims on (uir 
 grateful adoration. The birds and llu' cattle, 
 in partaking of these jirovisions, ami uiteriiig 
 the glad tones which abundance prompts, join 
 in inviting man to praise thccommtai benefac- 
 tor. The joy excited by the bright promise of 
 an amiilc harvest is enhanced when we re- 
 vert to the privations and sufVerings that in 
 times of scarcity thousands have to endure. 
 The time will come when there will no longer 
 be the possibilityof a widely-extended famine. 
 Dearth of food docs by no means depend ex- 
 clusivelv on the abundance of one harvest, or 
 the ample returns reaped by the agriculture 
 of one country. Moral causes here, as in 
 every human interest, have very much to do 
 with our condition. In the earliest jieriods of 
 history, famine freiiuently devastated large 
 (lortions of the earth. Yet the population was 
 thin and scattered, land was not wuniiiig, har- 
 vests in general were copious. Dearth of 
 food aiosj from men's improvidence. They 
 lived for the passing hour. Plenteous aiiU 
 unlimited in her gifts is our mother earth. 
 But if men will not ask her for more than 
 they at the moment need ; or, if they squan- 
 der what they have ; or, if they will not take 
 and enjoy in one part what she pioduces in 
 another — what but famine and distress can be 
 
 
 
 J>£> 
 
86 
 
 VIADUCT OVER THE PATUXENT. 
 
 pxppctnil ? We are very far from having 
 rcni'hod the limit of the earth's productive- 
 ness. Ildw larfjo a portion of its surt'uce is 
 yet iirieuitivated ! how imperfect much of our 
 actual cultivation! In seienee, the progress 
 of 8oci<!ty has been most rapid ond most ex- 
 tensive. Have its resource's no now jiower to 
 unfold, in regard to the pr'oiiiitiion of food for 
 man ? Amid its multitudinous combinations, 
 is there not one which will directly minister 
 to the su[)pr)rt of human life ? We can send 
 our words with the rapidity of lightning over 
 the earth's surface. We dart through the 
 air more swiftly than the birds. Shall we 
 despair of yet discovering means for multi- 
 plying the supplies of human food ? Such o 
 secret will, we doubt not, be discovered. 
 
 But were it actually in our possession, and 
 were we in consecpience able to increase the 
 common stock a hundred-fold, still should we 
 possess no absolute guaranty against want 
 ond dearth. Tlu; lands that are most prolific 
 are not the most free from famine. It is not 
 abundance so much as thrift that secures man 
 from indigence. Those who have most at 
 their command are generally most in need. 
 The rich man's estate comes to the hammer, 
 while the cottage of the industrious lal)orer 
 passes down through successive generations. 
 Where nature or providence is most bountiful 
 man is most wasteful. The barbarian con- 
 sumes as fast as he gains. What is termed 
 civilized society bears some resemblance to 
 savage life. Hitherto, each country has first 
 kept its own produce to itself, then refused to 
 receive the produce of other lands, and lastly, 
 consumed every year what the year has 
 brought forth. It is partly to the folly of gov- 
 ernments, partly to the improvidence of indi- 
 viduals, that we owe dearth, famine, and pes- 
 tilence. When we think of the amazing com- 
 mand overextemal nature that man has gained, 
 and think also of the resources of moral wis- 
 dom, we feel no less amn/ed than grieved that 
 such a calamity as the luio dearth in Ireland is 
 possible. Three millions of men, women, and 
 children, in the nineteenth century reduced for 
 their daily subsistence to the dole of charity ! 
 and in a most prolific land, with abundance on 
 foreign shores waiting to be purchased and 
 consumed ! An entire people living from hand 
 to mouth ! the British islands with no provis- 
 ion 0:i;ainst the dayof need ! their bams empty, 
 their storehouses exhausted! and that too, 
 when thousands and tens of thousands &, 
 hands were ready and willing to labor in pro- 
 ducing or sending them food ! 
 
 The true wealth of a people is what; they 
 save from the present. Men must save if 
 they would be safe. Accumulation renders 
 want impossible. Accumulation promotes ac- 
 cumulation. Every individual ought to lay 
 
 by for the future a portion of his present gains. 
 Tliese exertions of our moral nature must be- 
 come, and they only can become, the guardi- 
 ans of our physical life. He is not jioor, he 
 never will be pmir, who consumes less than 
 he obtains. Where there is a spare lonf, fiirn- 
 ine never comes. Individual thrift is national 
 prosperity. Abundance vonishes before waste- 
 fulness. An impoverished must be a sufli'ring 
 people. Whether, in general, the relation 
 which the outer world bears to us individuully 
 and collectively shall be one of happiness or 
 of sufitTing, depends mainly on our character. 
 Mental culture, wise forethought, ganerous 
 affections, a healthy frame — these are the 
 great sources of happiness ; and were these 
 universal, pain would be rare, and famine 
 unknown. 
 
 VIADUCT OVER THE PATUXENT. 
 
 The arches of the viaduct, in the engraving 
 which we present to our readers, sjjan the 
 Patuxent, a stream which at some points is of 
 very consideraide depth and breadth, but 
 which, in addition to its own loveliness becomes 
 an object of interest for its being the scene of 
 actions which ti raispired during our country's 
 last war with Great Bri; lin. The view will 
 be recognised for its faithfulness in every par- 
 ticular ; and, that it may be more forcibly im- 
 pressed ujjon the memory, we annex some of 
 the historical passages connected with it, 
 drawn from the most respected authorities. 
 
 In May, 1814, while the British were at- 
 tempting to blockade the coast, in the com- 
 mand of a flotilla, comprising a cutter, two 
 gun-boats, a galley, and nine large barges, 
 Commodore Barney sailed from Baltimore for 
 the protection of the bay. At the mouth of 
 the Patuxent, on the first of June, he discov- 
 ered and chased two schooners, one of which 
 carried eighteen guns. The schooners were 
 soon joined by a seventy-four-gun ship, which 
 sent a number of barges to their assistance;, 
 and the commodore, to avoid being cut off 
 from the Potomac, sailed up the Patuxent. 
 The schooners and barges having followed him, 
 he engaged and drove them back, and anchon-d 
 within three miles of the seventy-four. After 
 a few days, the British were reinforceil by a 
 sloop-of-war and a razee, and joining the bar- 
 ges, they moved into St. Leonard's creek, 
 Nvhere Commodore Barney had placed the flo- 
 tilla across in line of battle. An engagement 
 was the consequence. The enemy retreated, 
 the flotilla followed, and in tl\e aftenioon the 
 former made a second attack with twenty 
 
tion of his present gains. 
 r moral nature must bf- 
 Qn brnotne, the giinnli- 
 *e. He is not jmor, lie 
 ho consumes Icsm tlmn 
 lero is a spare lonf, fnni- 
 ividual thrift is national 
 2 vanishes before wusto- 
 sheil must be a suHi'rin;!,' 
 1 general, the relation 
 bears to us individually 
 be one of happiness or 
 ininlyon our character, 
 forethoupht, gsnerous 
 frame — these are the 
 iness; and were these 
 1 be rare, and famine 
 
 THE PATUXENT. 
 
 aduct, in the engraving 
 mr readers, sjian the 
 ich at some points is of 
 |)th and breadth, but 
 own loveliness hecomes 
 r its being the scene of 
 d during our country's 
 rii,iin. The view will 
 ithfulncss in every par- 
 i}' be more forcibly im- 
 3ry, we annex some of 
 IS connected with it, 
 inspected authorities. 
 R the British were at- 
 :he coast, in the com- 
 nprising a cutter, two 
 md nine large barges, 
 led from Baltimore for 
 ay. At the mouth of 
 rst of June, he discov- 
 hooners, one of which 
 The schooners were 
 (T-four-gun ship, which 
 es to their assistance, 
 
 avoid being cut ofF 
 lied up the Patuxent. 
 ;s havmg followed him, 
 em back, and anclion-d 
 e seventy-four. After 
 
 1 were reinforced by a 
 le, and joining the bar- 
 
 St. Leonard's creek, 
 nev had placed the flo- 
 ittie. An engagement 
 
 The enemy retreated, 
 id in the afternoon the 
 1 attack with twenty 
 
88 
 
 NOAH WORCESTER, THE AMERICAN APOSTLE OK PEACE. 
 
 barges nnil two Bchooners. The action was 
 seven!, mid the eijjhtecn fiun schooner was 
 run a;,'n)iiii(i ninl nl)nn(loneil. A cor|ia of artil- 
 lery iirrivini; from WaHliinjiton on the twenty- 
 sixth, the eoinmoilore attueked the whole 
 si|iia(lron, and after an action of two hours, 
 drove the enemy's shi])» down the river. 
 
 TIk! Uritish n;i)verninent, hostilities in Eu- 
 ro|)e luivinijceivsed, sentout reinforcements to 
 llieir lleet in America. Sir Alexander Coch- 
 rune arrived with thirty sail, and several 
 lliousand men, under JVIajor-tieneral Ross. 
 This power eMtere(l the Chesaiieake, and a 
 lilun (if ultiick was formed asainst Wasliin-;- 
 ton, Alexandria, and Haltimore, the secretary 
 of state having heen honorahly inforoKMl liy 
 the admiral, that his orders were to lay waste 
 ! all the accessihle towns on the cciast. In two 
 divisions, the Meet a|i|)r()a>'hicl the capital by 
 the Potomac and I'atnxent. 
 
 Comm.idore Harney, obedient to orders, 
 blew ui)tlie llolilla in "the I'atnxent, and, with 
 his mill, joined (Jeneral Winder, (ieneral 
 Ross landed six thousand inen at the head of 
 frigate navigation. IIc! was met by (ieneral 
 Winder, and his force of live thousand men, 
 at Rladenslmr,«h. The action conmieiiced at 
 nixHi. In the main roa<l l)y which the British 
 advanced, was Commodore Barney's battery. 
 After several vain attempts were made to 
 pass him, the main column was thrown into 
 disorder. His right was then Hanked. In 
 all other points, the British gained, ami Com- 
 modore Barney, with a slight force, stood 
 alone. 
 
 The commodore was wounded in the thigh, 
 and had but a single round of cartridge left; 
 General Ross had nearly the control of the 
 field. Thus situated, the commodore reluc- 
 tantly retreated, and so(4i fell, exhausted by 
 the loss of blood. Taken prisoner, he was 
 borne to the enemy's hospital, kin(Uy treated, 
 and on his recovery, released on his parole. 
 
 General Ross marched to the capital, and 
 humed the public buildings, an act \yhich was 
 immediately condemned by the British gov- 
 ernment. 
 
 The division of the enemy's fleet which 
 wetit up the Potomac, consisted of eight sail, 
 and was commanded by Captain Gordon, It 
 was directed toattack Alexandria. The town 
 surrendered, and stipulated that the houses 
 should be neither entered nor destroyed. 
 
 Captain Gordon, afterward, with a fleet 
 of prizes taken from Alexandria, sailed to join 
 the rest of the s(|uadion in the Chesapeake, 
 receiving some damage from the batteries near 
 the mouth of the river as he descended, and 
 united in the less formidable actions against 
 Baltimore. 
 
 The following lines beautifully describe the 
 past and present appearance of the Patuxent, 
 
 and give ailditional testimony in favor of the 
 triumphs of peace onti industry : — 
 
 WhHt n chnnge liiu olil I'lmo, In Ilia courKo hero crcutod, 
 I'utuxriit I 8Wi!i't riviT, uliu'u wh(Mi u iriirf lioy. 
 
 Fsrawny IVoin ii:y lioim', wiih bwitI I'Iurhu'') cuinntcil, 
 On thy linnkn wc iliM'OVtriul the fuiiiitiiinK of J(iy. 
 
 1 rcninnlinr tlie day wlicn thn CHniiuirH ^luil rattlu, 
 .Sliuok tliu bouniU ul tliy bod like tliu tliiinJor's dread 
 ronr, 
 
 And the emokc thnt nroac from the icone of thn bnttic, 
 Sprnid iibovo ttiec in clouds, B'ld unnhrondcd thy sliore. 
 
 At n iliwtance I stood nnd be^hrld witli deep wonder, 
 Tlir(m)!li tlio I'Hrlenijthened line, aa each lightning-flush 
 broke, 
 
 While the scene wns confused by Ibu echoln}; thunder, 
 Tlie dend and the d; ing tout fell in the nnioke. 
 
 Oh, bow pcftcelul nnd (juiet is now k)I around thco, 
 Thy banks are distiirlied liy nc» din that destroys. 
 
 For twinned Commerce and Wisdom have hiiiipily found 
 thee. 
 Ami their zenl for mankind now thy service employs. 
 
 Tbou art spanned by triumjihant and useful high arches, 
 ^V'lli(■h unite thy rich banks, as a clasp firm and strong, 
 
 Ami Knterprise there with a mairic o'ermnrches. 
 While her votaries follow, and fear not to throng. 
 
 What a cliange has old Time, in his course here created, 
 Patuxent I sweet river, since when a mere boy, 
 
 Far away from my home, with swci t Pleasure co-mated, 
 On thy banlu wo discovered the fountains of Joy. 
 
 NO.\H WORCESTER, 
 
 THE AlrtERICAN APOSTLE OF PEACE. 
 
 Noah Worcester, the subject of the fol- 
 lowing sketch, was bom at HoUis, New 
 Hampshire, on the 25th day of November, 
 1758. Hollis was then, like many New 
 England towns which are now flourishing, an 
 obscure place, .md the roads which passed 
 through it were marked by the axe of the 
 woodman. A few years serve to clear away 
 the trunks and roots of trees in these thriving 
 villages, and substitute in their place neat 
 squara houses, with at least one church v.-ith 
 its spire pointing upward. Noah was lineally 
 descended from the Rev. William Worcester, 
 who came from Salisbury, in England, and 
 became minister of a church in Salisbury, in 
 Massachusetts Bay, instituted in 16.38, ])roba- 
 bly s(X)n after his arrival from the mother- 
 country. Noah, with the beautiful simplicity 
 and truth that marked his character, speaks 
 of his religious impressions as of the earliest 
 date that he could remember anything, ex- 
 cept, he adds, "a bum which I received in 
 my bosom when I was two years old." His 
 opportunities of education were few and im- 
 perfect, and his services as a laborer, as he 
 grew strong and robust, he<;ame important ; a 
 few weeks in the winter season were all that 
 
)K I'KACK. 
 
 pstimony in favor of the 
 ui industry : — 
 
 inp, In hill eoumo horo crcuteJ, 
 itlii'c when u irn re lioy. 
 with nwi'ft IMeHMU"»J oo-inated, 
 ernl tho fuuiituind uf Joy, 
 
 thi! mnnuirH 'mid rnttlu, 
 y bed Ukc tlic tlnindcr'ii dread 
 
 from the iconc of thn bnttlc, 
 luja, H'ld uuithroudvd thy eliure, 
 
 ii'lit'ld Willi deep wonder, 
 
 iicd line, an cnch lightning Siiah 
 
 ised liy Iho nrliolnR thunder, 
 tiuit fell in the niiioltc. 
 
 ■t ia now itll nround thee, 
 
 I by no din thiit destroys, 
 
 nd Wisdom havo hiippily found 
 
 ind now thy »ervice emjiloya. 
 
 iilihiint nnd useful hiiih arches, 
 lilies, ns a einsp firm and utrung, 
 I a inngic o'ermnrehes, 
 w, and tear not to throng, 
 
 nie, in hie course here created, 
 "inco when a mere boy, 
 with 8wc<:t I'leasuro co-mated, 
 ered the fountains of Joy. 
 
 WORCESTER, 
 
 APOSTLE OF PEACE. 
 
 R, the subject of the fol- 
 bom at HoUis, New 
 25th day of November, 
 then, like many New 
 li are now flourishing, an 
 the roads which passed 
 rked by the axe of the 
 ears serve to clear away 
 of trees in these thriving 
 ute in their place neat 
 at least one church -".'ith 
 r'ard. Noah \»as lineally 
 Elev. William Worcester, 
 lisbury, in England, and 
 I church in Salisbury, in 
 instituted in 1638, proba- 
 irrival from the mother- 
 h the beautiful simplicity 
 cd his character, speaks 
 essions as of the earliest 
 remember anything, ex- 
 um which I received in 
 as two years old." His 
 cation were few and im- 
 'ices as a laborer, as he 
 ist, be(;ame important ; a 
 nter season were all that 
 
 NOAH W0UCK8TEH, THE AMERICAN APOSTLE OK PEACE. 
 
 89 
 
 could be allowed him for school education, 
 wliii'h was (if ilie HJinplcst kind, and deticifiit 
 in the priii'liciil stinlics of grammar and geog- 
 ruphy. Wlicii ln' was sixteen, his school ed- 
 ucntiiiti wholly ceased. 
 
 It is not surprising that, possessed of an ar- 
 dent and ailivn iniinl, ho should have em- 
 braced the lirsl ('limige that ollered ; anil on 
 the ciimiiiciiceiiiciit of the American Rcvolu- 
 tiou, the ensuing s|iriiig, he joined the uritiy as 
 a lifer, and continued eleven moiillis in the 
 service. He wiis at the bill tie of Hunker's 
 Hill — inenioralile iiiilh for I!riti>li and Aineri- 
 cuiis, who iiiiiv to this diiv view the grimiui, 
 enrielieil liy the lil 1 of their cherished sons. 
 
 IJis reciillei^tidus of this period were vivid ; 
 once h(^ narrowly eseii|ied lieiiig mnile prisoner. 
 He was afterwiirdiu the buttle of Heiiiiingtoii, 
 and expressed the ucuteness of his feelings in 
 going over the Imtlle-ground the day after the 
 conK'st. When llii' tcnn of his enlistment 
 expirt'd, lie was snlieited to remain, with olli'rs 
 of iniTcased eniiliiment; hut he was heart- 
 sick of ihi l)usiuess, and jiersistcd in ([uitting 
 the camp. 
 
 This was, in truth, the scIkkiI in which 
 Providence liiid liestiiied him to be educated ; 
 it was here he was to learu the means of being 
 most useful to his fellow-ereatures ; to learn 
 the nature of war, its vampire horrors, futten- 
 inn on the blood of fellow-men, and rioting on 
 the bed of carnage. He expressed devout 
 gratitude fo Pioviilence, who had led him un- 
 harmed through moral dangers, but he was 
 shocked to Hml how greatly the generous and 
 tender syin[)ulhies of his nature hadbecomc! 
 weakened by the sight of human carnage. 
 There was still, however, a living spring of 
 symjiathy in his heart; he had found a being 
 congenial to himself, with a mind gentle and 
 courageous as his own — a voung girl, v.-ho at 
 the age of sixteen was w' v^ to pledge her 
 faith to him, then eighteen, ; 1 hand in hand 
 meet poverty and war. 
 
 Another source of education was now opened 
 to him : he was reipiestcd to become the 
 teacher of the villu're school. He felt his 
 deficiencies for such im office, but was resolute 
 and determined to remove them. He devoted 
 the intervals of the school — it must be re- 
 membered that this occupied only the winter 
 months — in actpiiring stich learning as was 
 . most useful and necessary ; and finding it dif- 
 ficult to procure pa|)er during the war, he 
 selected pieces of white birch bark, and imi- 
 tated the liest copies of handwriting he could 
 find. He was fortunate enough at the age of 
 eighteen to procure a dictionary, the first he 
 ever possessed. That he was continued in the 
 office of a teacher nine successive winters, is 
 a proof how faithfully he tilled it. He was 
 itariied with no other prospects in life but 
 
 farming in the summi -, and keeping schtxil in 
 the winter; yet peace and cotitentmeni made 
 their home in his dwelling. At this time ho 
 was twenty-one years of age, and hud never 
 written any comjKisitions on abstract subjects. 
 He mentions writing letters for liimself and 
 others who had friends in the army, and also 
 when teaching, com|)osing copies for his schol- 
 ars, and (piestions in arithmetic, instead of 
 taking them from books. His huiiils of reflec- 
 tion and iiKiuiry were formed, and led him to 
 fret! discussions, and even arguments, on vari- 
 ous sulijecls. 
 
 About this period a convention of delegates 
 had formed aeunsiiiution tiir New Hampshire, 
 his native state, which they caused to be 
 printed and sent to the diirerent towns, with a 
 reipiest tliiit "such objeelions as should occur 
 might Ije stated in writing, with reasons for 
 theiisupport, and forwarded to the convention 
 at their next meeting." 
 
 It was now that the treosnres of his mind, 
 which hud been gradually acciimuhuing, burst 
 forth into siiontuneous fruit. He coinposetl an 
 article on the subject, perfectly satisfactory to 
 till.' committee and the town, and began to feel 
 that by |iractice he might wite to advantage. 
 He fonned the habit of examining religious 
 subji'cts, by writing short dissertations on dif- 
 ferent questions. He was jirompted to these 
 exercises by the (|uickness and activity of his 
 mind, ui.'d for his own satisfaction. The 
 strength of these impulses maybe better com- 
 lireheiided by a. knowledge of his situation. 
 He had an incn^asing family, and no means 
 of subsistence but the labor of his own hands. 
 This was incessant. When not working on 
 the farm, he applied himself to making shoes, 
 which became in fact his recreation. The 
 man who was to efl'ect a revolution in public 
 ojiinion in after-life, sat at work upon his 
 bench, ajiparently wholly engaged with his 
 awl and his la.st; but at the end of the bench 
 lay his lapboard, with jien, ink, and paper, 
 upon it ; and when his thoughts were ripe for 
 expression, the shoe gave place to the lap- 
 board, and placing it on his knees, he poured 
 forth the eloquent thoughts that demanded 
 utterance. 
 
 We have no intention of entering into the 
 process of Mr. Worcester's theological opin- 
 ions, deeply interesting t ■ they are, and guided 
 and developed by the faithful study of Scrip- 
 ture. This has been done liy the ablest of 
 pens ; and though the hand that once guided 
 it is still and consigned to the dust, the mind 
 tliat impelled it still lives, and will continue 
 to influence thousands of human beings.* 
 
 The power of self-education is much better 
 understood in the present day than it was at 
 that period of Noah Worcester's life. Those 
 • The Rev. Henry Ware, Jan., D.l). 
 
 ":f;f"«4»i,. -1 
 
 ■'*1 
 
 <t.i .SI 
 
 ^,*..44t1 
 
 i^^itiil 
 
wlir) had seen tlip strifiliiiR grow up to »niin- 
 IkmkI ntnonu; tlicin, wiihout nny nxtcriml ad- 
 Vftiitnijca, yet now stiiiidins forld with n (l(')irt(' 
 of miiriil ))()u-('r nml diunity, wtTf nstonislicd; 
 they t'ldt that he wiisciillrd to do the work of 
 his fathiT, and many of liis clerical frirtids 
 iiriii'il him to hcconu! n iniiiistor. After dct'|i 
 rcdcction, ho rosoKcd to present hiiiwelf for 
 exiiiniiiation, nnd was readily a|i|)rove<l. 
 
 "I have never," lie says, "donhted the 
 friendship or siijcerity of those ministers who 
 advised and eiieonrajied me to lieeomn a 
 ))reaelier; yet I have often doulited whether I 
 could have given similar advice under similar 
 circuinsianc.'s. My want of edueafiou was 
 great ; I hail a wife and three chililren who 
 depended for sn[)port on the fr, lit of my lahors ; 
 I was emliarrassed l)y d(d)t, hy having pnr- 
 chasod a farm at an nnfavorahle time during 
 the war; I had found no lei-inrn for regular 
 study ; and when or whi're I should obtain 
 regular employment as a i)reaelier seemed 
 wholly nnci-rtuin. When m later years I 
 iittve reflecied on thesi' several facts, it has 
 seemed to me wonderful that wise men shoidd 
 have advised me to make the attem|)t to he- 1 
 come a minister, nnd also wonderfid that I was 
 induced to eomjily with their advice. But, I 
 donhtless, God had some wise design in so 
 ordering the event.'' 
 
 His preaching was immediately acceptable, 
 and in a few months he was settled at Tliom- 
 ton ; " and here," says his biographer, " he 
 fulfilled a useful and "hannonious ministry of 
 tweniy-three years' duration." 
 
 It must not he supposed that he was en- 
 dowed with any rich benefice ; the town was 
 small and humble ; he ])reached in a dwelling- 
 house or schoolhouse ; and his salary was two 
 hundred dollars a year. On this small stipend, 
 aided by the labor of his hands, partly on the 
 farm, and partly in making shoes, he more 
 than supported his growing family — he found 
 the art of being beneficent. Many of his 
 parishioners could ill afTord to pay their pro- 
 portion of the small sum ; and when the time 
 for collecting it drew near, to the poorer ones 
 he gave a receipt in full, relinquishing all 
 claims upon them. When a hard season came, 
 and there was no provision for a winter school, 
 he threw open the door of his house, invited 
 the children to his study, and gave them reg- 
 ular and daily instruciion. With all these 
 •wearing occupations, the activity of his mind 
 was constant; he entered with interest into 
 the subjects which engaged jjublic ottention, 
 studied with pen in hand, writing down his 
 thoughts, and publishing in the public journals. 
 His publications early attracted attention ; 
 and the obicuro minister of an obscure place 
 begun to be heard of in the circles of the 
 learned and uinuent. In the midst of this 1 
 
 scene of prosperity— for such in truth it might 
 be termed, their few and siinide want- having 
 made their means a coni|)eleiiey, domestic love 
 and hannony sheilding its Inippy indmnco 
 within their humble dwcdling. and the i;entle 
 misire-is of the house, like our first molher, 
 amid fruits arid flowers making u parailise of 
 lumie — amid all this, (here came a sad reverse. 
 Mr. Worcester had eiigageil to preach for 
 a brother minister, an<l with the primitive 
 sim|dieify of the times, took his wifi a pil- 
 lion beliind him logo to the appointed place. 
 'I'he horse became iniruly. nnd .'Mrs. Worces- 
 ter was thrown from her seat. At the time 
 j she (lid not appear uuu-h injured, but her sit- 
 uation made the accident aliirming. .fusf one 
 month after, tin? New England thanksgiving 
 arrived — an anniversary iiistimtrd by the 
 found<'rs of the colony," an<l scupidously ob- 
 served to this day by tlieir descemlaiiis. As 
 it is an observance peculiar to New Kte^land, 
 it may not be amiss to say a wonl on the stdj- 
 ject. It was originally" designed to he ob- 
 served rather os a day 'of prayer than feost- 
 ing; but, as is natural, 'friends collected around 
 the board after the morning public service, 
 and the dinner sfHm became an im|)ortaiit fea- 
 ture in thanksgiving-day. At this period of 
 Mr. Worcester's ministry it had become one 
 of recreation as well as puldic devotion ; and 
 many joyful hearts were saddened as ihey 
 heard on their way to churcdi that the wife o"f 
 their ministerwas ill, and not expected to live 
 an hour. "It was a blustering Novend)er 
 day," said his daughter, " and I never hear 
 the wind blowing and whi-tling without re- 
 memb(*ring it." She was only six years old, 
 but her recollections an; vivid tm the subject. 
 " The minister," sheodded, "who jjerfofmed 
 the funeral services held my two elder brothers 
 and myselfuptolookon our molher, nnd said, 
 ' She IS not dead, but sleepelh.' I wondered 
 what he meant." This little unconscifms child 
 was destined in latei years to be the nurse and 
 sole companion of her father. Left with the 
 charge of eight children, it became imperative 
 to provide for their well-being. An excellent 
 successor to his wife was f.nmd, who became 
 a mother to them. It was a happy union, and 
 her life was prolonged till v.itliin" five years 
 of his own death. 
 
 We have thus far endeavored to follow, in 
 a summary manner, the life of Noah Worces- 
 ter, but our limits do not allow us to continue 
 this sketch, slight as it is ; wc hasten to the 
 great object of this memoir. 
 
 In 1813, he removed to Brighton, in the 
 vicinity of Boston, at the solicitation of four 
 clergyinen of the highest respectability, to 
 edit a periodical called The Christian Dis'iiple. 
 The character of this work was one of gen- 
 tleness, candor, and charity. " The Disciple," 
 
 •wMoranRMMMnMaAMi 
 
OK PEACE, 
 
 — for Kiirli ill triitli it riiinlit 
 w 1111(1 simpir wiitui li.iviiig 
 (■oiii|iricMi('y. iliitiioticldvt! 
 Iiliii« its Imppy iiifliii'iiro 
 If! (Iwclliii;;. niii'l llic i;iMitl(« 
 iisc, like iiiir lirst iiiiiilirr, 
 vvurs iiiiikiM;; a piirinlisi' iif 
 •*, lIuTc ciiriic 11 siiil r«'\ rrso, 
 liuil i'!ii.'ii^c() ro prcMcli for 
 . ami with tlic priiiiitivo 
 nes, took liis wifi' uij a pil- 
 go tf) tin- appoiiiftil place, 
 unruly, niid >trs. W'nrccs- 
 111 her scat. At rlic time 
 inui'li injured, liut licr sit- 
 'iilciit aluriiiin^', Jiisf one 
 I'W Kiiu'lanil lluinks',Mvin<r 
 •rsary in-<tiiiit<'d by fho 
 oiiy, ami sciipiili)M>ly ob- 
 liy tlicir (Icscciidanis. As 
 peculiar to New Kimlatid, 
 to say n word on the sub- 
 naljy designed lo bo ob- 
 duy of jirayer tlian fcnst- 
 ul, friends collected avoiind 
 ! rnorniiii; public service, 
 became an important fen- 
 K-day. At tliis jieriod of 
 iiiistry it bad iiccome one 
 II as public devotion ; and 
 wen; saddiMied as they 
 to cliundi lluit ibe wife of 
 !l, and not expected to live 
 i a blusterinj; November 
 lliter, " and I never hear 
 ind whistlinji without re- 
 le was only six years old, 
 i arc vivid on th(! subject, 
 e added, "who jierformed 
 held my two elder brothers 
 kon our inotlu r, and said, 
 lit slocpeth.' I wondered 
 his little iiiicoiiscious child 
 ; years to be the nurse and 
 ler father. Left with the 
 Iren, it became imperative 
 well-bciTifj. An excellent 
 3 was found, wlio became 
 It was n happy union, and 
 ;ed till witliin five years 
 
 ■ endeavored to follow, in 
 the life of Noah Worces- 
 3 not allow us to continue 
 8 it is ; wc liasten to the 
 nemoir. 
 
 3ved to Bri^'hton, in the 
 at the solicitation of four 
 li^hest respectability, to 
 !d The Christian Dis"';iple. 
 lis work was one of gen- 
 iharity. " The Disciple," 
 
 
 NOAH W0UCE8TER, THE AMERICAN APOSTLE OF PEACE. 
 
 91 
 
 says Dr. Ware, " ns it came forth with its 
 monthly burden to the church, might remind 
 one of tlie aged disciple, John, who is said 
 from sabbath to sabbath to have risen before 
 the congregation to reiieat this allectionate ex- 
 hortation, ' Little chiklren, love one another.' " 
 His mind had long been revolving the great 
 subject of war. "At first," he snys, "my 
 views were perplexed, dark, nnd confused ;" 
 but tlio war of 1812, between (ireat Hritain 
 and tlie United States, operated with liim on 
 entire conviction; and in 1814 he wrote "A 
 Soh^nm Review of the Custom of War." 
 This, says his biographer, was the most suc- 
 cessful and etFicient pamphlet of any period. 
 It has been translated into many languages, 
 and circulated extensively through the world, 
 and has been one of the chief instruments by 
 which tlie ojiinions of society have been af- 
 fected in the present century. It found a rc- 
 8j)onse in every heart ; the world was wearied 
 with buttles; and enough were found in every 
 country to repeat cud enforce its doctrines. 
 The Massachusetts Peace Society was f )rmed, 
 and the publication of " The Friend of Peace" 
 began in 1819, ond was continued iiujuarterly 
 numbers for ten years. Noah Worcester de- 
 voted his talents lo this work. The revolu- 
 tion it created in society sutliciently jiroves 
 its power and richness ; it was full oF varii-ty 
 and argument, and enlivened with u quaint 
 shrewdness of remark, and a gentle humor, 
 which "just opened upon the reader, like the 
 quiet heat of a summer-day's twilight, and 
 then disappeared." 
 
 It is on th's ground, as the apostle of peace, 
 that we consider him one of the most remark- 
 able men of the age, and one worthy to be 
 known to our readers. He carried the world 
 perceptibly forward — he opened a new era in 
 Its history — he made the abolition of war 
 practicabfe by reasoning and demonstration. 
 To circulate pacific opinions in his own coun- 
 try, he considered but a small part of his 
 work. He wrote to the emjioror Alexander 
 of Russia, and received an answer dated St. 
 Petersburg, July 4, 1807, assuring him of his 
 " cordial approbation." We con only quote 
 the concluding sentence : " Considering the 
 object of your society, the promotion of peace 
 among mankind, as one so eminently congenial 
 to the spirit of the gospel of Jesus Christ, I 
 have judged it proper to express these my 
 sentiments respecting your labors, in answer 
 to your communications to me on this subject." 
 In a letter from Prince Alexander Galitziny, 
 we find the concluding sentence : " Most ear- 
 nestly praying for every blessing to accompany 
 yor.r labor in promoting peace on earth, and 
 good will among men, I shall esteem it a pe- 
 culiar honor to be among the members of such 
 a humane society." 
 
 Mr. Worcester received letters from dis- 
 tinguixhed men, and from foreign Roeiclies. 
 Among the collection of letti'rs aililressed to 
 him, it may not be uninteresting to mention 
 one from Jeaiie Pierre Hoyer, president of tho 
 reimblic of Hayti. It is dated, " Port-au- 
 Prince, le 9 June, 1818, An' l.j de I'liidejien- 
 dance," and breathes tlirougliout a spirit of 
 peace. 
 
 All these tokens of respect and approbation 
 were encouraging to the Friend oj Peaci; ; 
 and it is justly observed that " by commencing 
 a systematic enterprise against war, he set in 
 motion an agency which unites itself with tho 
 other agencies now carrying forwanl the prog- 
 ress of man, and which are so knit together, 
 and so reciprocally strengthen each other, that 
 they make sure the final comniest of tho 
 wori '." That the work is still incomplete 
 we see too many proofs ; but hove we not 
 reason to believe that n wonderful change of 
 opinion has taken place. The great jirinciples 
 of pi'ace are well understood. The world can 
 only be changed through its oiiinions. Noah 
 Worcester set in motion that direct action 
 which goes at once to the bottom of the sub- 
 ject. The active combination of peace so- 
 cieties throughout the Christian we -Id, by 
 ai^ents and books, bear witness to tho value 
 of his labors ; it was owing to his pamphlet 
 called " A Solemn Review of the Custom of 
 War," which appeared without a namo or 
 any recommendation, that the " Peace Society 
 of Massachusetts" was formed. " He began 
 his efforts," said the late Dr. Channing, " in 
 the darkest day, when the whole civilized 
 world was shaken by conflict, and threatened 
 by military despotism. He lived to see more 
 than twenty years of general iieace, and to 
 see through these years a multiplication of 
 national ties, an extension of commercial com- 
 munications, an establishment of new connex- 
 ions between Christians and learned men 
 through tho world, and a growing reciprocity 
 of friendly and beneficent influence among 
 different states — all giving aid to the principles 
 of peace, and encouraging hopes which a cen- 
 tury ago would have been deemed insane." 
 Noah Worcester believed that no mightier 
 man than William Penn ever trod the soil of 
 America, when entering the wilderness un- 
 arnied, and stretching out to the savage a hand 
 which refused all earthly weapons, in token 
 of brotherhood and peace. He believed in 
 the power of Christian love to subdue and 
 control the angry passions, and his whole de- 
 meanor expressed this feeling. There was an 
 unusual gentleness in his manner, and at the 
 same time a dignity which at once commanded 
 respect. He was tall and athletic in his form ; 
 as he advanced in life his silver locks fell to 
 his shoulders ; though he gave the beholder 
 
 ^i 
 
 Siiiit-' I 
 
92 
 
 THK PHILOSOPHY OF A TEAK. 
 
 an idea of rnoeknono, it wa« jii«tly inid. thrrc 
 was n niujrsty in hin im;t'kiir?t«). Wn wt-ll 
 ri'tncnjlicr tlii'* vcncralilc iniin war the cIukc 
 of his lite — liis lliiwiiig l(i<:k<t, hix l«'iiirFimnt 
 smile — liii tiitnil UHiially wiion hi' H(K)ki' phiciMl 
 upnti his hi'iirt — Cor hn wiih tiiitli'rini; frmn 
 Niimf iliiciisi! in ilmt rr^iini. We nl'trn nift 
 him in iiis ijuii-t wulks in u iH'ijihliorinK w(«h1, 
 ln'loUL:in2 Id his trni.' iinil crnHiiint t'rirnd the 
 Intc (tiirhuin Piirm)ns. His mind wns itn- 
 |)ri'ssi'd liy tho hiMintifnl (ilijoct* of niitnrf, 
 ond cultivated Ity poetry and mnsic; his resi- 
 dence wus ns piitrinrchul ns his life, mid wt? 
 rejoice) to soy thiit this rrsicienro has pnssed 
 into the hntids of tho iluiiehter before nliniled 
 to. His second wife, who seems to Iiavo 
 been all he could wfsh, died five years before 
 him, and lio wns left nlonn with his only un- 
 murried (hiUKhter. Siie wnteheil ovi-r liim 
 day and nii^ht, inheritim^ his own i>oculinr 
 sweetness nnd gentleness, and sootlnm; and 
 comfortini; him under the infirmities of nge. 
 By hercnre ami economy she made )i»s means 
 sutfieicnt for all liis wants, and (;ttv(! an nir of 
 neatness und tnste to tin* little tenenjent which 
 ho rented from Mr. Parsons at u low rato. 
 He spoke of his old age as tlie hap|>iesr jjart 
 of his life. "WVien I have visited him," 
 says Dr. Channing, " in his last years, and 
 looked on his sen-ne conntenance, nnd heard 
 his cheerful voice, nnd soon the youthful ear- 
 n«srness with which he was reudina a variety 
 of books, nnd studying the great interests of 
 humanity, I have tV-lt how little of this out- 
 ward world is needed to our haijpiness ; I 
 have felt the greatness of the human spirit, 
 which could create to itself such joy from its 
 o%vn resources." He closctl his mortal life 
 October 31, 1837, aged 79 years. A monu- 
 ment has been erected to his memory at Mount 
 Auburn, by numerous friends. On one side 
 is this inscription : '• Blessed are the i)eace- 
 raakcrs, for they shall be called the children 
 of God." 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF A TEAR. 
 
 Beautiful Tear ! whether lingering upon 
 the brink of the eyelid, or darting down the 
 furrows of the care-worn cheek — thou art 
 beautiful in thy simplicity — great because of 
 thy modesty — strong from thy very weakness. 
 Onspring of sorrow ' who will not own thy 
 claim to sympathy ? who can resist thy elo- 
 quence ? who can deny mercy when thou 
 pleadest ? Beautiful Tear ! 
 
 Let us trace a tear to its sonrce. The eye 
 is the most attractive ergon of nnimal bodies. 
 It is placed in a bony socket, by which it is 
 
 protpctol, nn<l wherein it fin<ls riKim to i>rr- 
 form tho motions reipiisite to its nses. The 
 r..ys of light which transmit the images of ex- 
 teniol objects enter thi^ i>npil through the 
 cryntullini! lens, and fall upon the retina, 
 upon which, within the space represented by 
 a dime, is foniH'd, in all beauty and perfec- 
 tion, nn exact image of many miles of lanii- 
 scnpe, every object displaying its pniper color 
 and true proixirtions — trees and lakes, hills 
 and valleys, insects and flowers, nil in truB 
 keeping, are there shown nt once, nnd the 
 impression jiriKlnccd thereby upim the fila- 
 ments of tho oj)tin nerve causes n sensation 
 •.vliich communicates to tho mind tho apparent 
 <|Ualities of the, varied objects we behold. 
 
 That this wonderful faculty of vision may 
 be uninterru]iti'd,it is necessary that tho trant*- 
 [Mirent membrane which forms the external 
 covering of the eye shall be kept r»«)ist and 
 free from the ctintact of opnipio substances. 
 To supply the fluid which shall moisten nnd 
 cleanse the rye, there is placed at tho outer 
 and u])f>er part of the ball a small gland, which 
 secretes the lachrymal fluid, nnd jiours it ont 
 nt the corner of tm; eye, whence, by the mo- 
 tion of the lids, it in eipiully spread over the 
 surface, and thus moisture and clearness ore 
 nt once secured. 
 
 When we incline to sleep, tho eyes become 
 comparatively bloodless nnd dull. The eye- 
 lids dnip to shut out everything which might 
 tend to arouse the slumbering senses. The 
 secretion by the lachrymal glands is probalily 
 nil but suspended, nrolthe organs of sight par- 
 ticipate in the general rest. When, after a 
 long night's sleep, the eyelids first open, there 
 is, therefore, a (tulness of vision, arising prob- 
 ably from the dryness of tho coniea : then 
 or(;ur the rajiid nw'itions of tho eyelids, famil- 
 iarly termed " winking" — sometimes instinct- 
 ively aided by rubbing with the hands — and 
 after n few m^iments the *' windows" of the 
 b(Hly have been properly cleansed ami set in 
 order, the eye adjusted to the quantity of light 
 it must receive, and we are " awake" for the 
 day, and mnv go forth to renew our acquaint- 
 ance with the beauties of nature. 
 
 It is from the glands which supjily this 
 moisture that tears flow. Among physiologists 
 it is well known that emotions — imjjressions 
 upon the nervous system—exercise a powerful 
 nnd immediate influence npon the secretions. 
 As, for instance, the mere thought of some 
 savory dish, or delicious fruit, or something 
 acid — as the juice of the lemon — will excite 
 an instant flow of the salivary fluid into the 
 mouth. An emotion of the mind influonccs 
 the lachrymal glands, which copiously secrete 
 and jxiur forth the crystal drops, ami these, 
 as they api>ear upon tap surface of the eye, 
 we denominate tears. 
 
fxTfin it fitiiU room t(i jw- 
 ri'i|ui«iti! to its noi'ii. Tho 
 h tiiirisinit tlicininjfPHof rx- 
 Irr the I ii|iil tliri(ii;;h tliH 
 iinil Cull ii|«in t!iu retina, 
 III till' s|inc(' ri'|ir«'scntcil liy 
 t, iri 111! In'mity iind |n'rlrc- 
 li'ii' of iiinuy (nilt'r* of Inmi- 
 ■I ili-'plnyiiii; its pnipcr color 
 ii'in -trci's mid InkcH, hilli 
 ■I -I anil fldwcru, all in triiB 
 •«! nhowri ot once, nnil f?i« 
 [■I'd tliiTijby u|>on tl>t' fila- 
 <; ncrvfi ruiisi h a Hrnsotion 
 itesto the iiiiiulthi! apfiarcnt 
 iricfl obji'fts we tichcilil. 
 'crful faculty of vision may 
 it iMncrcsHnrythiitthe traiMt- 
 whicli forms thi; extcninl 
 yc Hhnll hi: kept moist ami 
 ifnct of opnijiio sulistatires. 
 liil which slinll moisten oikI 
 :hf'rii is placed at tlin outer 
 the hull a small ,t(lund, which 
 yinnl fluid, nnil jiours it nnt 
 fi(! cyo, whence, by the mo- 
 ir, einiuUy spread over the 
 moisture ajid clearness are 
 
 le to sleep, the eyes become 
 K)dk'ss Olid dull. The eyc- 
 I'lt everything which mii;ht 
 e slumbering senses. The 
 ichrymal glands is probably 
 , am! the organs of sight par- 
 ■neral rest. When, after a 
 the eyelids first open, there 
 liiess of vision, arising prob- 
 yness of tho cornea : then 
 otiiins of the eyelids, famil- 
 nking" — sometimes instinct- 
 bbing with the hands — and 
 ■nts the *' windows" of the 
 iroperly cleansed and set in 
 listed to the quantity of light 
 ind we are " awake" for the 
 forth to renew our acquaint- 
 intics of nature. 
 
 glands which supply this 
 ■) flow. Among physiologists 
 
 that emotions — imj^essions 
 system — exercise a powerful 
 flucnce upon the secretions, 
 the mere thought of some 
 elicious fruit, or something 
 3 of the lemon — will excite 
 r the salivary fluid into the 
 '.ion of the mind influences 
 nds, which copiously secrete 
 le crystal drops, ami these, 
 pen toe surface of the eye, 
 ars. 
 
 MUTUAL INaTHUCTION CLASStt. 
 
 03 
 
 A similar actum, called forth by another ' iiidiHsolublo union. Kverythinir proctiraMn 
 kind ol .•xcit.-meiit, .K'cuis when dust or otiier should lie d,m.! to rendtT the m.etinan of tli,. 
 irntiituiy suliNtumre comes iii coiitiu't with tli.. class not merely useful liiit entertaiiiintf The 
 eye : ilie giaiuls it.stuntly secrete al)uii.la,iily. j dull bending over books is fur i.iferi.ir lo other 
 and pouring llie .-rystal fluid o-it upon the i and more social m.Hles of acouiriugknowlidL-e 
 
 mirluce, the eye is protected from injury, and ; A plan which works well is, to pr se to file 
 
 !','," ';H';"''"'fi «;il"^taiice is washed away. ; class that some work of recognised ,.ve,-l!ei„e 
 Ihe feelings which excite excessive laughter; lie read and conversed upon. Take for iii- 
 or joy iiUo Ntimulat.! this secretion— the ..'yes stance, Combe's work on the I'liysiolo-y „f 
 are said to "water.'' It is only when "tlie j H.alth. Let A. read aloud to tli... ela« ,,i 
 crystal drop comet forth under the impulse one night. J{. on onother, an.l so on in rotation 
 ol sorrow— thus speaking the anguish of the | One half-hour (or more) to !»• si.ent in re.idiu!.'' 
 iiHiid— that It can properly t e called a tear. I a subsequent half-hour (or mor.') in conver^u- 
 1 f ■lire its sacred character, anrl the sympathy t ion upon the subject read. Li t the reader 
 
 which it si'lilom fails to create. 
 
 Kvery tear repn I'lits some indwelling sor 
 row pn;ying u|)on ilie mind oiid eating out its 
 
 stand up, uncovered, and reail aloud, as to a 
 larger audience. At the close, C. requests 
 that the passage relating to exercise' before and 
 
 )»eiiee. Tile tear comes forth to declare the | rest after meals, be reread, because of its ii.i- 
 l".^^.'!*' . '*"'.",W''v,'""' '" l'''"',"' " ,f"L-i' against portance. U. wishes the reader ogaia to state 
 
 the components of atmosidierie air. In coii- 
 
 I 111 I her St rile. How meet that the eye should 
 be tlic seat of tears — where they can not oc- 
 cur unobserved, but blending with the speak- 
 ing liiauty of the eye itself nmst command 
 atli'iiliun and sympathy. 
 
 Whenever we behold a tear, let our kindli- 
 est sympathies awuke— let it have u sacF i how evenings mav be spent in o way at once 
 claim upon all that we can do to succor auj . instructive and entertaining. * 
 
 le components of atmospheric air. In 
 nexion with this latter subject, K. suirgests a 
 siitqile method for the ventilation of work- 
 shops; and F. enlarges upon its importance, 
 as u means for the preservation of lualtli. 
 These outlines will be sullicient to show 
 
 comfort under ttlUiction. What rivers of tears 
 have flown, excited by the cruel and perverse 
 ways of man ! War has sjiread its carnage 
 and desolation, and the eyes of widows and 
 orjiliuiis have been sullused with tears ! In- 
 t(!inperaiice has lilighted the homes of millions, 
 and weeping and wailing have beim incessant ! 
 A thousand other evils which we may con(|uer 
 have given birth to tears enough to constitute 
 u flood — a great tide of grief. Sujipose we 
 (irize this little philosophy, and each one de- 
 terniine never lo exrile a tear in another — how 
 ))leasantly wi!l i'iire mankind ! Watching the 
 eye as tho telegraph of the mind within, let 
 us observe it with anxious regarrl ; and whether 
 we are moved to complaint by tho existence 
 of supposed or real wrongs, let the idication 
 of the coming tear bo held as a sacred truce 
 to unkindly feeling, and all our ell(>rts bo de- 
 voted to the substitution of smiles for tears ! 
 
 MUTUAL INSTRUCTION CLASSES. 
 
 To make a mutual instruction class suc- 
 cessful, it should be so coudu jted as to sustain 
 the character it Bc-nimes. It should be em- 
 ])hatically an instruction class, and every 
 member should feel himself at the close of 
 each meeting in the possession of some fact 
 he had not known before. This constitutes 
 the reward of membership, and sujiplies a tie 
 strong enough to bind a group of inquirers in 
 
 A. IS exercisei, 
 in reading — H. C. tVc, are improved in their 
 conversational abilities — and all ore iieiielited 
 by the nccjuiri'ment of knowledge, while the 
 jiart each takes in the jiroceedings sharjiens 
 the faculties and shakes olF drowsiness. 
 
 OccasionoMy, subjects may be set apart for 
 debat". But it must always be remembered 
 that discussion involves the jionsession of 
 knowledge, rather than tho acijuirement of 
 it. But matters will constantly arise out of 
 these readings u])on which the members may 
 dillcr. Thus Combe recommends the use of 
 alcoholic stimulants under certain circumstan- 
 ces. P., however, sees reason to djssent from 
 Combe's opinion ; and is strengthened by the 
 experience of six years, during which, in ill- 
 ness and in health, he has lived in entire dis- 
 use of them. He believes, moreover, that the 
 use of intoxicants, whether medicinal or other- 
 wise, is fraught with dangerous conseqi ences, 
 and should be altogether avoided — he, there- 
 fore, proposes to the class to discuss the (pies- 
 tion : Are olcoholic drinks essential under any 
 and what <■ ■'cumstances ? This subject dis- 
 cussed, var. ., • opinions arc elicited, and H. 
 proposes to u_ the subject in another sense — 
 Do the social and i)hysical evils, arising from 
 the use of alcoholic drinks, outweigh thie sup- 
 posed benefits from them, and demand their 
 entire disuse ? 
 
 In this way, question will multiply upon 
 <)uestion — and the perusal of one woik will 
 sujiply various matters for discussion, at the 
 same time that tho members of the class are 
 fitting themselves to analyze the matter in 
 
 iJ 
 
 •r{ 
 
 
94 
 
 GOLD AND SILVER MINES OF MEXICO. 
 
 (lisimte. Subjects chosen for dobntc sTioiil.1 
 ahvays have some practical bearing uj^on the 
 ■welfare of the world. „ , , ,. 
 
 A "ooJ plan is occasionally to have a public 
 meotinK, unJ the friends of the members in- 
 vited to attend. At these meetings each 
 member should say something upon a subject 
 in which he is most skilled and interested. A. 
 is appointed chairman ; and being a mechanic, 
 opens by a description of the steam-engine, 
 and oHers a few remarks upon the revolution 
 produced by its mighty powers. B., a pnntcr, 
 describes the process of printing, and adverts 
 to the great influence of the press. C. has 
 looked into the almanac and seen the an- 
 nouncement of a partial lunar eclipse : he in- 
 vites his fellow-members to watch the interest- 
 ing ])henomena, and briefly describes the laws 
 by which it is produced. D. has brought a 
 curious specimen of natural history, which he 
 has borrowed to show to the class, and ex- 
 i.lains its peculiarities. E. describes the elec- 
 tric telegraph, and displays a few diagrams ot 
 his owi preparation. F. communicates a lew 
 thoughts upon natural theology, and the 
 chairman having taken notes of the proceed- 
 ings, concludes by a summary of the subjects, 
 remarks upon the pleasures of the night, and 
 encourages the members to persevere in their 
 good co°urso. In these jjroceedings, every 
 speaker should stand uncovered. The chair- 
 man should occupy an elevated seat, and ev- 
 ery regard should be bestowed upon order and 
 mutual respect. The interest and profit ot 
 these meetings are greatly enhanced by due 
 regard to such regulations ; while those who 
 participate in them are fitted for such impor- 
 tant stations in life as they may be called 
 upon to fill hereafter. 
 
 That which has been suggested here to 
 classes, may also be carried out in families 
 with great profit. Why should not every 
 family constitute a class, where parents and 
 children, uncles, aunts, and nenhews, and a 
 circle of cousins and acquaintances, now and 
 then meet alternately at each other's homes, 
 to carry on these sweet pursuits, and thus add 
 to the charms, the poetry of life, and multiply 
 its ])loasures 1 
 
 GOLD & SILVER JUNES OF MEXICO. 
 
 WEIGHTS AND MEASURES. 
 
 Wheat flour, 1 pound is 1 quart. 
 
 Indian meal, 1 pound 2 ounces is 1 quart. 
 
 Butter, when soft, 1 pound 1 onnce is 1 quart. 
 
 Loaf-sugar, broken, 1 pound is 1 quart. 
 
 White B.igar, powdered, X pound 1 ounce is 1 quart 
 
 Be-it brown sugar, 1 pound 2 ounces is 1 quart. 
 
 ERgs, average size, 10 ejrgs are 1 pound. 
 
 Sixteen large tablespoonfuls are half a pint 
 
 Eight tablespoonfuls are 1 gill. 
 
 Fimr large tablespoonfuls are half a grilt 
 
 A oommonsized tumbler holds half a pmt- 
 
 A commousizBd wine-glass holds half a gdl. 
 
 The gold and silver mines of Mexico have 
 not been overrated. From the discovery of 
 this continent in 1490, to the year ipn.3, the 
 "old and silver obtained from the American 
 mines amounted to the enormous sum of 
 $5,700,700,000. Of this sum an average of 
 $:5,5,000,000 was jjroduced after the year 
 1750. Although a large amount of the \ne- 
 cious melals arc annually jjroduced in South 
 America, Mexico is constantly increasing the 
 number of her mines, so that her facilities for 
 furnishing gold and silver are second to none 
 on the comment. The (lunntity of silver pro- 
 ductid by the American mines as compared 
 with the gold, is as forty-six to n:ie. 
 
 The silver ore obtained in Mexico is not as 
 valuable as that obtained in Europe; yielding 
 but one ounce of pure siher to four hundred 
 ounces of ore; while the average yield of 
 the Euroi>can ore is very near three times as 
 great. The mines of Europe have been 
 worked for centuries, and the heavy expense 
 reiiuired to obtain the ore from the bowels of 
 the earth, greatly increases the cost of silver. 
 The abundance of ore, and the facilities for 
 procuring it in Mcxicc, more thon compensate 
 for its comparative barrenness. But few large 
 mines have been opened and continually 
 worked in Mexico. It has been the common 
 practice, when the water or nther causes ren- 
 der the mining operations dilicult, to quit the 
 spot and commence at some new place. 
 
 Semi-barbarous as Mexico has iK-en, there 
 is no country on the globe where the labor of 
 jirocuring the precious metals is so well re- 
 warded as in that country. At Potosi, in 
 South America, the mines are worked entirely 
 by Indians, six thousand of whomare sent 
 every eighteen months from the neighboring 
 provinces, the jiay of each being about thirty 
 cents a day. InEuropc, most of the mines 
 are worked by criminals. In Mexico, the la- 
 borer who works in the mines cams five dol- 
 lars per week, and those employed to carry 
 the ore from the mine to the fumacC; receive 
 nearly two dollars per day's work of six hours, 
 while the common laborer of the country does 
 not earn more than a dollar and a half per 
 week. 
 
 Specimens of virgin gold have sometimes 
 been discovered in Mexico, but this metal is 
 commonly found combined with quartz, mica, 
 slate, and the various members of the green- 
 stone family. 
 
 The annual quantity of quicksilver which 
 is used in Mexico for separating the silver from 
 the ore, exceeds 200,000 pounds. This is 
 obtained from Spain, Austria, Italy, and Ger- 
 many. A failure of the rtgular supply of 
 quicksilver would materially retard the pro- 
 
[NES OF MEXICO. 
 
 nines of Mexico hiive 
 rom the discovery of 
 to the year 1803, the 
 (1 from the American 
 e enorinona sum of 
 lis sum nn average of 
 need after tlie year 
 ;e nuKHnit of the prc- 
 lly ])rod need in South 
 isfnntly increasing the 
 ) that ner facilities for 
 er arc second to none 
 quantity of silver jiro- 
 n mines qs compared 
 y-six to c'/io. 
 ed in Mexico is not as 
 id in Europe; viclding 
 silver to four hundred 1 
 the average yield of 
 ry near three times as 
 r Europe have been 
 ind the heavy expense 
 )re from the ho^vels of 
 ;ases the cost of silver. 
 ;, and the ricilities for 
 more than compensate 
 enness. But few large 
 ened ond continually 
 ; has been the common 
 ter or Dther causes ren- 
 ins dilicult, to quit the 
 some new jdace. 
 Mexico has iK-cn, there 
 obe where the labor of 
 s metals is so well re- 
 entry. At Potosi, in 
 ines are worked entirely 
 and of whom are sent 
 s from the neighboring 
 each being about thirty 
 >pe, most of the mines 
 lis. In Mexico, the la- 
 ic mines earns five dol- 
 lose employed to carry 
 to the furnace, receive 
 day's work of six hours, 
 orer of the country does 
 a dollar and a half per 
 
 in gold have sometimes 
 
 FexTco, iTUt this metal is 
 
 lined ^^^th quartz, mica, 
 
 members of the green- 
 
 ty of quicksilver which 
 ,e]iarating the silver from 
 0,000 pounds. This is 
 Austria, Italy, and Qer- 
 the I'egular supply of 
 ateiially retard the pro- 
 
 EEMEDIES AGAINST MOTHS. 
 
 96 
 
 duction of silver from the Mexican mines. 
 The Rothschilds are aware of this fact, and 
 have sometimes operate<l extensively in quick- 
 silver, by ])urchasing all that was in the mar- 
 ket, and raising its value before the amount 
 reipiircd for the regular coiisum[)tion could lie 
 procured from the min'-s. Without the aid 
 of (]uicksilver, the cost of separating the sil- 
 ver from the ore would nearly equal the value 
 of the silver j)rocured. 
 
 The ()uicksilver mines of Idria, in Austria, 
 ne»r the gulf of Venice, are the most exten- 
 sive of any in the world. These mines were 
 discovered' in ] 497, by a cooper, who, having 
 ](laced a new tub under a drojiping sp'ing at 
 night, discovered in the morning a shining fluid 
 at the bottom of the tub, which was so heavy 
 that he could hardly move it. He carried the 
 article to nn apothecary in a neighboring town, 
 who gave hiiii a small sura for it, and requested 
 him '— bring more. 
 
 !■ ithstaiidiiig the large quantities of 
 gold imbedded in the eaith in Mexico, the 
 ixpense of preparing it for use from its rough 
 state as found in the mine, is an item of con- 
 siderable importance. It is easy to imagine 
 that the mines of JNIcxico abound in lumps of 
 solid gold, but the truth is far dillerent ; nor 
 would it at nil benefit America if gold could 
 be produced at one half its jiresent cost. The 
 most favored nation in this respect (.Spaing has 
 ilwindled from a powerful people to an indo- 
 lent and powerless race ; while the inhabitants 
 of Iceland, who have few luxuries provided 
 by nature, being compelled to dejiend ujion 
 their own exertions for a livelihiwd, present nn 
 example for morality and intelligence which 
 might be copied by nations whose lots are 
 cast in countries abounding, as it were in milk 
 and honey. 
 
 REMEDIES AGAINST MOTHS. 
 
 These very troublesome and destructive 
 little depredators may, with a little trouble, 
 be elTectually removed, and rooms, drawers, 
 &c., be kept free from them for yeors. The 
 hints given in the following remarks from the 
 Limd<m Magazine will be valuable to those 
 good housewives who have not, hitherto, 
 availed themselves of similar means for the 
 extermination of this insect. The writer says : 
 It is an old custom with some housewives to 
 throw into their drawers every year a number 
 of fir cones, under the idea that their strong 
 resinous smell might keep away the moth. 
 Now, as the odor of these cones is due to tur- 
 pentine, it occurred to Reaumur to try the ef- 
 fect of this volatile liquid. He rubbed one 
 
 side of a piece of cloth with turpentine, and 
 put some grubs on the other ; the next morn- 
 ing they were all dead, and strange to say, 
 had voluntarily abandoned their sheaths. On 
 smearing some paper slightly with oil, and 
 ])uttiiig this into a bottle with some of the 
 grui)s, the weakest v/ere immediately killed ; 
 the iiK.st vigorous struggled violently for two 
 or thr(;e hours, quitted their sheaths, and died 
 in convulsions. It was soon abundantly evi- 
 d(,'nt that the vapor of oil or sjiirits of turpen- 
 tine acts as a terrible jxiisou to the grubs. 
 Perhaps it may be said that even this remedy 
 is worse than the disease, but as Reaumur 
 justly observes, we keep away from a newly- 
 puintcd room, or leave ofl' for a few days a 
 coat from which stains have been removed by 
 turpentine ; why, therefore, can we not once 
 a year keej) away for a <]ay or two from 
 rooms that have been fumigated with turpen- 
 tine ? 
 
 It is, however, surjirising, how small a 
 (juantity of turpentine is reijuired ; a small 
 ytu'cc of pa[)er or linen just moistened there- 
 with, and jiut into the wardrobe or drawers a 
 single day, two or three times a year, is a suf- 
 ficient preservation against moths. A small 
 quantity of turjientine dissolved in a little 
 spirits of wine (the vapor of which is also 
 fatal to the moth) will entirely remove the 
 ort'ensive odor, and yet be a sufficient pre- 
 servative. "J'he fumes of burning paper, 
 wool, linen, leathers, and of leather, are also 
 clleetual, for the insoct* jierish in any thick 
 smoke ; but the most efTectual smoke is taat 
 of toljacco. A coat smelling but slightly of 
 tobacco is sufficient to preserve a whole draw- 
 er. The vopor of tiirpentine and the smoke 
 of tobacco are also ellectual in driving away 
 flies, spiders, ants, earwigs, bugs, and fleas. 
 
 "The Laborer is worthy of his Hire." 
 
 — Man does not deal with his brother as God 
 deals with him. He causes the sun to shine, 
 and his showers to descend with equal profu- 
 sion upon all — both upon the high and the 
 low, the rich and the jioor. But in adjusting 
 the rewards of labor, we adopt no such equi- 
 table rule. We pay largely for labor of the 
 head, and little for the labor of the hands. 
 We graduate the scale of the prices, not ac- 
 cording to the utility or the actuol severity of 
 the labor — not in proportion to the outlay of 
 physical strength, or the time occupied — but 
 to the demand and supply. Hence that class 
 of mankind — ^laborers, being the most numer- 
 ous class — are the worst-paid people in society. 
 We can not control the laws of nature, yet this 
 we may do : pay as liberally as we can afTord 
 for labor, common labor, the labor of the poor. 
 
 •4»N'«. .... 
 
 
 1 
 
 'Vt I 
 
 "*lf I 
 
 
r 
 
 96 
 
 CONSOLATIONS-HOW TO MAKE STEEL. 
 
 
 CONSOLATIONS. 
 
 Mr father, onr work is fatiguiii!; to-dnv; 
 the spiidR relxmiiils uixm tlin i>unhi'il piirth ; 
 the sun (larts ravs of tiro ; the ilust raist-il l)y 
 tin- south wind "blows in whirlwinds over the 
 iilair). . 
 
 My son, Hr whi) sends Imniin;.' sales seiiils 
 nlso l.edewin;; cloudlets. To each dny belongs 
 its puin and its hojx', and ulttr labor comes 
 retJosi-. 
 
 My father, do yon fee those ]M^n plants, 
 how'thcy laii^mish, and how their yellow 
 leaves droop down their exhan>riMl sialk ? 
 
 Thiy will rise up nirain, my son ; no blade 
 of {irass is for<,'otte:i : fruituil rains and I'n-sli 
 di nvs are always provided lor it amidst the 
 celestial tri>asure',. 
 
 My father, ihebirrls are silent in the folinue ; 
 the (jnuii, iiiiiiioveable in tli>' I'ltrrow does not 
 even recal itseompainon ; the licitcr seeks tlie 
 shade ; and the ox, with irw limbs tolited be- 
 neath his heavy body, his ncek stretelied ont, 
 dilates his lan.'C nostrils, in order to respire 
 th<- air which he is in need of. 
 
 (lod, my son, will reston^ the birds their 
 voi(res, and the oxen their stren<,'th, (exhausted 
 t)y the extreme heat. The breiv.e which will 
 reanimate them already glides over the sea. 
 
 Let us seat ourselves, my father, \\\mn the 
 feni that borders the pond, near that old oak { 
 whose haiifjing branches s<i gently touch the 
 surface of the water. How calm and trans- 
 parent it is! How gayly the fishes i>lay 
 there! Some pursue their winged prey, jHior 
 gnats just entered into bcinu; ; others, raising 
 their 'hea<l8, with their mouths half open, 
 appear to be softly kissing the uir. 
 
 lie who has made all things, my son, has 
 everywhere bestowed his inexliaustible gifts, 
 life, ami the joy of life. What appears to us 
 evil is but the similitude of g<M)d— its shadow. 
 And yet, my father, yon suffer. What la- 
 bor, what fatigue, you endure, in order to 
 provide for our wants ! Are you not i>oor ? 
 Is not my mother pixir ? It is the sweat of 
 your brow which has given me fo(xl ; have 
 you ever, for one single day, had the morrow 
 provided for ? 
 
 What signifies the mnrmw to us, my son? 
 The morrow belongs to God ; let us confiile 
 in him. Whoso rises in the moniwig knows 
 not whether he shuil see the evt^ning. Why, 
 th(!n, trouble and diMiuiet one's self about a 
 time which will perhaps never arrive? We 
 live here below like theswallow, seeking from 
 day to day, the bread of coeh day, nnd like 
 her, when the winter ai)prottche8, a mysterious 
 jKiwer draws us to milder climes. 
 
 Wliat is this, my father ? It resembles a 
 corpse wrapped in its shroud, or an infant 
 rolled in swaddling-clothes. 
 
 My son, it was a crawling -voni), it will « on 
 be a fixing flower, nn aerial form, which, 
 decked in its brightest colors, will rise toward 
 heaven. 
 
 HOW TO MAKE STEEL. 
 
 Steki. is made of the purest ninllenlde iron, 
 by a process called eeinentation. In this 
 operation, layers of malleable iron and layers 
 of charcool ore iihieed one iijion aiidllicr, in a 
 jiroper furnace, the air is excluded, the fire 
 raiseil to a considerable degree of intensity, 
 ami kept up for eight or ten days. If tipon 
 trial of a l)ar, the whole substance is converted 
 hito steel, the fire is extinguished, and the 
 whole is left to cool for six or eight days 
 Itmger. Iron thus prei)ared is eulleil blistered 
 steel, from the blisters which ajipear (m its 
 surface. In England, charcoal alor.e is uscii 
 for this purjxjso : but Dnamel found iin ad- 
 vantage in using one fourth to oi\e third of 
 w(xk1 ashes, especially when the iron was not 
 of so good a (piality os to otlord steel [xissca- 
 siiig tenacity of body as well ns hardness. 
 These ashes prevent the steel-making jiroerss 
 from being effected so rapidly as it wmild 
 otherwise be, and give the steel pliability 
 without diminishing its hardness. The blis- 
 ters on the surface of the steel, under this 
 management, ore smaller and more numerous. 
 He also found that if the i>ars, when they are 
 put into the fumaee, he sprinkled with sea- 
 salt, this ingredient ctmtributes to give body 
 to the steel. If the cementation be continued 
 t(X) long, the steel becomes porous, brittle, or 
 a darker fracture, more fusible, and capable 
 of being welded. On the contrary, steel ce- 
 mented with earthly infusible jiowdersis grad- 
 ually reduced to the state of ftirged iron 
 again. Excessive or repeating heat in the 
 forge is attendeil with the same effect. 
 
 The properties of iron are renmrkaMy 
 changed by cementation, atid it acquires a 
 small addition to its weight, wi.i>-h consists of 
 the cariurn it has ahsori>ed from the <-hareonl, 
 and amount.s to about the hundri^l and fiftieth 
 or two hundredth i)art. It is much m. ire brit- 
 tle and fusible than before ; and it may still be 
 welded like bar-iron, if it has not be.- « fused 
 or over-cemented ; but by far the most im- 
 portant alteration in its |)ropenies is, that it 
 can be hardened or softened at pleasure. If 
 it be made red hot, and instantlv e(X>ls. it at- 
 tains a degree of hardness which is sutlicient 
 to cut almost any other substance; but if 
 heated and e(x)l"ed gradually, it becomes 
 nearly as pure as iron, ajid niay, with much 
 the same facility, be manufactured into any 
 determined form. 
 
 I 
 
rr-1 
 
 KL. 
 
 fftwling -voni), it will « on 
 mi ncrial t'i>nii. wliirh, 
 st colms, •will rise tiiwiinl 
 
 MAKE STEEL. 
 
 fhr jiTirest mallriililc imn, 
 il ccinontntiou. In this 
 iimllenhle iron ninl layi-rs 
 1(1 oni! iijn)n aiKilIirr, i?» n 
 air is excluiltMi, the tire 
 al)le dci»rre of intensitj', 
 ht or ten days. If m>im 
 olu substance is converted 
 is extinsuisliod, and the 
 ol for six or cijiht days 
 repared is called Ijlisiercd 
 tors which a|)iK'ar on its 
 id, charcoal alone is used 
 lit Dtiamcl fotind an nd- 
 ic fourth to one third of 
 lly when the iron was not 
 r OS to Qtltjrd steel jHisses- 
 idy Bs well ns hardness, 
 tthe steel-inakinj; process 
 I so rapidly as it would 
 give the steel pliahilify 
 ; its hardness. The blis- 
 I of the steel, under this 
 nailer and more numerous, 
 if the liars, when they are 
 :e, be sprinkled with sea- 
 t contributes to give body 
 ', cementation be continued 
 becomes porous, brittle, or 
 more fusible, and capable 
 Ol the contrarv, steel cc- 
 f infusible jiowders is prad- 
 the state of forijed iron 
 or re]M-atini: heat in the 
 ith the same etVect. 
 of inin are nnmrkably 
 itation, mid it neipiires a 
 s weight, wi.i"'h consists of 
 ibsorbed from the charcoal, 
 )ut the hundred and fiftieth 
 art. Il is much mure brit- 
 I before ; ami it may still be 
 m, if it has not betii fused 
 ; but 1)V far the most im- 
 in its properties is, that it 
 >r softened at pleasure. If 
 , and instantlv cwls, it at- 
 lardness wliicli is suflicient 
 ! other substance ; but if 
 ■d gradually, it becomes 
 iron, ajid may, with much 
 be manufactured into any 
 
 H H'lM' 
 
 ^ 
 
 fifc.*. 
 
 <..t . 
 
 Sfe-. It" 
 
 •■ »■ . « 
 
 \.%m 
 
 ♦ti*i.j- 
 
 M%1' I 
 
98 
 
 TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 
 
 -tf^r^-^^ 
 
 Fool of Siloam. 
 
 % 
 
 TE4VZLS IN THE HOLY LAND— N». 3. 
 
 BY HARRIET MARTINEA0. 
 
 There is little pleasure in visiting the 
 places within the walls of Jerusalem which 
 are reported by the monks to be the scenes of 
 the acts and sufferings of Christ. There is 
 no certainty about these ; and the e]K)ts re- 
 garding which there can be no mistake are so 
 interesting, that the mind and heart of the 
 traveller turn away from such as may be fab- 
 ulous. About the site of the temple there is 
 no doubt ; and beyond the walls one meets at 
 every turn assurance of being where Christ 
 walked and taught, and where the great events 
 of Jewish history took place. Let us go over 
 what J found in one ramble; and then my 
 readers will see what it must be to take walks 
 in the neighborhood of Jerusalem. 
 
 Leaving the city by the Bethlehem gate, 
 we descended into the valley of Hinnom or 
 Gehenna. Here there are many tombs cut 
 in the rock, with entrances like door-ways. 
 When I speak of Bethany, I shall have oc- 
 casion to describe the tombs of the Jews. 
 It was in this valley, and close by the foun- 
 tain of Siloam, that in the days of Jewish 
 idolatry, children passed through the fire, in 
 honor of Moloch. This is the place called 
 Tophet in scripture — fit to be spoken of as it 
 was, as an image of hell. Here, in this place 
 of corruption and cruelty, where fires hovered 
 about living bodies, and worms preyed on the 
 dead — ^here was the imagery of terror — "the 
 worm that dieth not, and the fire that is not 
 quenched." The scene is very ditTercnt now. 
 The slopes are terraced, tlif t the winter rains 
 may not wash away the soil ; and these ter- 
 races were to-day green with springing wheat ; 
 

 by the Bethlehem gate, 
 the valley of Hinnom or 
 lere are many tombs cut 
 >ntrances like door-ways. 
 Jethany, I shall have oc- 
 the tombs of the Jews, 
 y, and close by the foun- 
 it in the days' of Jewish 
 assed through the fire, in 
 This is the place called 
 — fit to be spoken of as it 
 hell. Here, in this place 
 lelty, where fires hovered 
 and worms preyed on the 
 
 imagery of terror — " the 
 ;, and the fire that is not 
 ;ene is very different now. 
 iced, tli^t the winter rains 
 y the soil ; and these ter- 
 een with springing wheat ; 
 
 4~-j,2 t, ■ ' 
 
 -'t' '^1 
 
 
 ■.*!!('«• 
 
 
I 
 
 100 
 
 TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 
 
 ::; - " w. ¥^^ 
 
 Garden of OetbsemaQO. 
 
 and the spreading olives and fig trees cast 
 flu'ir shadows on the rich though stony soil. 
 Streams wore led from the pool of Siloam 
 among the fields and gardens ; and oil looked 
 cool and fresh in the once hellish spot. On 
 the top of the opposite hill was the Field of 
 Blood — the field bought as a burial-place for 
 strangers, by the priests to whom Judas re- 
 turned his bVibe. For the burial of strangers, 
 it was used in subsequent ages ; for pilgrims 
 who died at the Holy City were laid there. 
 It is now no longer enclosed ; but a charnel- 
 house marks the spot. 
 
 The ])ools all round Jerusolemore beautiful ; 
 the cool arching rock-roof of some, the weed- 
 tuftcd sides and clear waters of all, are de- 
 licious. The pool of Siloam is still pretty- — 
 though less so, no doubt, than when tne blind 
 man, sent to wash there, opened his eyes on 
 its sacred stream. The fountain of Siloam is 
 more beautiful than the pool. It lies deep in 
 a cave, and must be reached by broad steps 
 which wind down in the shadow. A woman 
 sat to-day in the dim light of reflected sun- 
 shine — washing line.i in the pool. Here it 
 was, that in days of old the priest came down 
 with his golden pitcher, to draw water for the 
 temple service; aud hither it was that the 
 thought of Milton came when he sang of — 
 
 Biloa's brooH that flowed . . " ' 
 Fast by the oracle of Ood. 
 
 We were now in the valley of Jehoshaphat ; 
 and we crossed the bottom of it, where the 
 brook Kedron must run when it runs at ail ; 
 but it seems to be now merely a winter tor- 
 rent, and never to have been a constant 
 stream. When we had ascended the opposite 
 side of the valley, we were on the Mount of 
 Olives. The ascent was steep — now among 
 tombs, and now past fields of waving barley, 
 flecked with the shade of olive-trees. As we 
 ascended, the opposite hill seemed to rise, and 
 the city to spread. Two horsemen in the val- 
 ley below, and a woman with a burden on her 
 head, mounting to the city by a path up Mo- 
 riah, looked so surprisingly small as to prove 
 the grandeur of the scenery. Hereabouts it 
 was, as it is said, and may- reasonably be 
 believed, that Jesus raoumed over Jerusalem, 
 and told his followers what would become of 
 the noble city which here rose upon their -s-iew, 
 crowning the sacred mount, and shining clear 
 against the cloudless sky. Dwellcrsin our 
 climate can not conceive of such a sight as 
 Jerusalem seen from the summit of the Mount 
 of Olives. The Moab mountains, over toward 
 the Dead sea, are dressed in the softest hues 
 of purple, lilac, and gray. The hill-country 
 to the north is almost gaudy with its contrasts 
 of color ; its white or gray stones, red_ soil, 
 and crops of vivid green. JJut the city is the 
 glory— aloft on the steep— its long Imes of 
 
■ «.«•' 
 
 ,e valley of Jehoshaphat ; 
 bottom of it, where the 
 run when it runs at ail ; 
 DW merely a winter tor- 
 have been a constant 
 lad ascended the opposite 
 '6 were on the Mount of 
 was steep — now among 
 fields of waving barley, 
 le of olive-trees. As we 
 ;e hill seemed to rise, and 
 Fwo horsemen in the val- 
 nan with a burden on her 
 le city by a path up Mo- 
 isingly small as to prove 
 scenery. Hereabouts it 
 and may reasonably be 
 mourned over Jerusalem, 
 s what would become of 
 here rose upon their ^^ew, 
 mount, and shining clear 
 s sky. Dwellers in our 
 :eive of such a sight as 
 the summit of the Mount 
 lb mountains, over toward 
 ressed in the softest hues 
 gray. The hill-country 
 t gaudy with its contrasts 
 or gray stones, red soil, 
 ■een. Jjut the city is the 
 steep — its long lines of 
 
 TllAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 
 
 101 
 
 wall clearly defining it to tlie sight, and every 
 miimret and cupola, and alnmst every stone 
 nmrked out by the brilliant sunshine against 
 the deep blue sky. In the spaces unbuilt on 
 within the walls, are tuft;j of verdure; and 
 oypressos spring here and there from some 
 convent garden. The green lawns of the 
 Mos(|ue of Omar, are spread out small before 
 the eye, with their groups of tiny gay moving 
 people. If it is now so glorious a place t(J the 
 eye, what must it have been in the days of 
 its j)nde ! Yet in that day, when every one 
 looked for the exulting blessing " Peace be 
 within thy walls, and prosiffcrity within thy 
 jiahices !" there came instead the lamentation 
 over the Jerusalem that killed the proph- 
 ets and stoned the messengers of Jehovah, 
 and wlioso h(3use must be therefore left 
 desolate. 
 
 The disciples looking hence upon the 
 strength of the walls, the massiveness of the 
 t(nnple buildings, then springing 480 feet from 
 the bed of the brook below, and the depth 
 and niggedness of the ravines surrounding the 
 city on three sides, might well ask when those 
 things should be, and how they should be ac- 
 complished. On the foi:-;h side, the north, 
 where there is no ravine, the Roman army 
 was encamped. We could now see that 
 rising-ground, once covered with the Roman 
 tents, but to-day with corn-fields and olive- 
 grounds. The Romans encamj)ed one legion 
 on the Mount of Olives ; but it coidd not do 
 any harm to the city, and the only available 
 pomt of attack — the north side — was guarded 
 by a moat and three walls. The oiege was 
 long ; so long that men's hearts failed them 
 for fear, and at least one famished woman ate 
 her own child : and at last the city w(.s taken 
 and nearly destroyed ; and of the temjjle, not 
 one stone was led upon another. How we 
 were in the midst of these scenes to-day ! 
 We stood where the doom was pronounced ; 
 below us was the camp of the single legion I 
 have mentioned ; opposite was the humbled 
 city, with the site of the temple courts ; and 
 over to the north was the cam)) of the enemy. 
 Here was the whole scene of that " great trib- 
 ulation, such as was not known from the be- 
 ginning of the world." 
 
 From the summit of Olivet, we went down 
 to the scene of that other tribulation — that 
 ai'guish of mind which had perhaps never 
 been surpassed from the beginning of the 
 world. "When Jesus had spoken these 
 words" (his words of cheer after the last sup- 
 per), " he went forth," we are told. " with his 
 disciples over the brook Kedron, where was a 
 garden." Tliis garden we entered to-day, 
 from the other direction, and left it by crossing 
 the bed of the brook. It is a dreary place 
 now, very unlike what it must have been 
 
 when "Jesus oftimes resorted thither with his 
 disciples." It is a ])lot of ground on a slope 
 above the brook, enclosed with fences of loose 
 stones, and occupied by eight ctremely old 
 olive-trees — the oldest, I should think, that 
 we saw in all our travels. I do not mean that 
 they could have been growing in the days of 
 Christ. That is su])posed to be impossible ; 
 though I never C(ndd leani what is the great- 
 est age known to be attained by the olive- 
 ti'ee. The roots of these were su|)])orted by 
 little terraces of stones, that neither trees nor 
 soil might be washed down the slo])e by the 
 winter torrents. But little remains of these 
 once fine trees but hollow trunks and a few 
 straggling branches. It is with the mind's 
 eye that we must see the filling up of this 
 garden enclosure where Jesus " oftimes resori ■ 
 ed thither" — its orchard of fig, pomegranate, 
 and olive-trees, and the grass or young spring, 
 ing corn under foot. From every part of it 
 the approach of Judas and his party must 
 have been visible. By their "lanterns and 
 torches and weapons," gleaming in the light, 
 they must have been seen descending the hill 
 from the city gate. The sleeping disciples 
 may not hove heeded the lights and footsteps 
 of the multitude ; but step by step as it wound 
 down the steep, and then crossed the brook, 
 and turned up to the garden, the victim knew 
 that the hour of his fate drew on. 
 
 By the way the crowd came down, we now 
 ascended toward the city, turning aside, how- 
 ever, to skirt the north wall, instead of re- 
 turning home through the streets. Not to 
 mention now other things that we saw, we 
 noted much connected with the siege: — the 
 nature of the ground — favorable for the en- 
 camjiment of an army, and the shallow moat 
 under the walls, where the Romans brought 
 two great wooden towers on wheels, that the 
 men in the towers might fight on a level with 
 those on the walls, and throw missiles into the 
 town. This scene of conflict is very quiet 
 now. A crop of barley was ripening under 
 the very walls : and an Arab, with a soft, 
 mild countenance, was filling his water-skins 
 at the pool, called the sheep-])ool, near the 
 Damascus gate. The proud Roman and de- 
 spairing Jew were not more unlike each other 
 than this Arab, with his pathetic face was 
 unlike them both. As he stooped under the 
 dim arches of the rock, and his red caj) came 
 into contrast with the dark gray of the still 
 water below, and the green of the dangling 
 weeds over his head, our thoughts were re- 
 called to our own day, and to a sense of the 
 beauty we meet in every nook and comer of 
 the Holy Land. 
 
 From this ramble, my readers may see 
 something of what it is to take walks m the 
 neighborhood of Jerusalem. 
 
 i'^: 
 
 '■*•*"-..... 
 
 
 
 •S.;*,, i, 
 
 
 
 
 h 
 
i 
 
 10& 
 
 DUTIES OP SISTEaS TO BR0THEU3, 
 
 DUTIES OF SISTERS TO BROTHERS. 
 
 The im|inrtant relation which sisters bear 
 to l)roih(T.s can not lie fully nppreciutotl with- 
 out II rrreater knowledge of the world and its 
 teni|itiitions to young men, than girls in their 
 teens Clin l)o su[)i)osed to possess ; Imt they 
 niny l)e assured that their companionship and 
 iailuence may be jxiwerful agents in iireserv- 
 ing tliiir brothers from dissipation, in saving 
 them from dangerous intimacies, and main- 
 taining in their minds n high standard of 
 female excellence. 
 
 If your brothers arc younger than von, en- 
 courage them to be perfretly confidential wiili 
 you ; win their friendship by your symjiathv 
 ni all their concerns, and let them see that 
 their interests and their )ileasures are liberally 
 ))rovi(led for in the family arrangements. 
 Never disclose their little secrets, however 
 unimportant they may seem to you; never 
 liniii theniby any ill-timed joke, never repress 
 their feelings by ridicule ; but be their ten- 
 derest friend, and then you may become their 
 ablest adviser. If separated lirom them by 
 tiie course of school or college education, 
 make a point of keeping up your intimacy by 
 full, free, and aH'ectionate corresimndence'; 
 and when they return to the jiaternal roof, at 
 that awkward age between youth and man- 
 hood, when leserveereejjs over tlie mind, like 
 an imjwiietrablo veil, suflcr it not to interpose 
 between you and your brothers. Cultivate 
 their friendship nn(f intimacy with all the ad- 
 dress and tendeniess you possess; for it is of 
 unspeakable im])ortance to them that their sis- 
 ters should be their confidential friends. Con- 
 sider the loss of a ball or party, f(jr the sake 
 of making the evening pass pleasantly to 
 your brothers at home, as a small sacrifice ; 
 cue you should unhesitatingly make. If they 
 go into company with you, see that they are 
 introtluced to the most desirable nc(|uaintanccs, 
 and show them that you ore interested in 
 their acquitting themselves well. 
 
 If you are so happy as to have elder broth- 
 ers, you should be equally assiduous in culti- 
 vating their friendship, though the advances 
 must of course be diflTerently made. As they 
 have long been accustomed to treat you as a 
 child, you may meet with some repulses when 
 you aspire to become a companion and a 
 friend ; but do not be discouraged by this. 
 The earlier maturity of giris, will soon ren- 
 der you their equal in sentiment, if not in 
 knowledge, and your ready sympathy will 
 soon convince them of it. I'hey will be 
 agreeably surprised when they find their for- 
 mer plaything and messenger become their 
 quick-sij;hted and intelligent companion, un- 
 derstanding at a glance what is passing in 
 their hearts ; and love and confidence on your 
 
 part will soon be repaid in kind. Young men 
 often feel the want of a confidential friend of 
 the softer sex, to sympathi/.c with them in 
 their little allliirs of sentiment, and happy are 
 those who (ind one in a sister. 
 
 Once ])ossessed of an elder brother's con- 
 fidence, spare no pains to preserve it ; convince 
 him by the little sacrifices of personal con- 
 venience and pleasure which you are willing 
 to make for him, that when you do op|)ose his 
 wishes, it is on jirinciidi^ and for conscience 
 soke ; then will you be a blessing to him, and, 
 even when dillering from you, he will love 
 and respect you* the more for your adherence 
 to a high standard. 
 
 .*<o many temptations beset young men, of 
 which young women know nothing, that it is 
 of the utmost importance that your brothers' 
 evenings should be happily passed at home, 
 that their friends should be your friends, that 
 their engagements should 'l)e the same ns 
 yours, and that various innocent amusements 
 should be provided for them in the fmiiily 
 circle. Music is an accomplishment, cliiefly 
 valuable as a home enjoyment, ns raliving 
 round the ])inno the various members of the 
 family, and hiirmorii/ing their hearts ns well 
 as voices, particularly in devotional strains. 
 We know no more agreei.ble and interesting 
 spectacle, than that of brothers and sisters 
 playing and singing together those elevated 
 compositions in music and jioetry which grati- 
 fy tlie taste and jiuritv of the heart, while 
 thi'ir fond parents sit delighted by. We have 
 seen ond heard an elder sister" thus lending 
 the family choir, who was the soul of hannony 
 to the whole household, and whose life was a 
 perfect example of those virtues which we 
 are here endeavoring to inculcate. Let no 
 one say that we require too much of sisters, 
 that no one can be expected to lead such a 
 self-sncrificing life ; for the sainted one to 
 \yhoin'Ave refer, was all that we could ask any 
 
 ■r lived. 
 
 sister to be, nnd a happier person neve. 
 
 " To do good and make others hapjiy," was 
 her rule of life, and in this she found"^ the art 
 of making herself so. 
 
 Sisters should l)e always willing to walk, 
 ride, and visit, with their brothers, and esteem 
 it a jirivilege to be their companions. It is 
 worth while to learn innocent games for the 
 sake of furnishing brothers with amusement 
 and making home the most agreeable place to 
 them. 
 
 If your brothers take an interest in your 
 personal appearance and dress, you should 
 encourage the feeling by consulting their taste, 
 and sacrificing any little fancy of your own 
 to a decided dislike of theirs. Brothers will 
 generally be found strongly .opposed to the 
 slightest indecorum in sisters ; even those who 
 are ready enough to take advantage of free- 
 
niil in kind. Ynung idpii 
 if a coiitidentiiil friiml df 
 yin|infhi/c witli flicni in 
 <ontiinrnt, and linpijy arc 
 1 asistpr. 
 
 " an elder l)rnllier's enn- 
 is fo preserve it ; rnnvince 
 crifices of iiersonni ron- 
 •e which you are willinn 
 r when you do ojipost- liin 
 t'ipli' and for cnnscicnfo 
 )f a blessing to liini, and, 
 from you, he will love 
 more for your adherence 
 
 nns beset ynnnn[ men, of 
 know nothinij, thnt it is 
 once tliut yonr brothers' 
 ui])pily passed at home, 
 uid be your friends, that 
 ■<hon]d be the same as 
 us innocent amnscnients 
 for them in the finnily 
 accomplishment, pliicdV 
 enjoyment, as rallviiif; 
 various members of tin; 
 '.'m<i their hearts as well 
 y in devotional strnins. 
 greeuble and intcrcstinn; 
 of brothers and sisters 
 together those elevated 
 and ])oetiy wliich grati- 
 ity of the heart, while 
 lelightcd by. AVe have 
 Ider sister thus leading 
 was the soul of liannon}' 
 111, and whose life was a 
 hose virtues which we 
 : to inculcote. Let no 
 re too much of sisters, 
 spected to lead such a 
 or the. sainted one to 
 .11 that we could ask any 
 ipier person never lived, 
 ike others hapj)y," was 
 :i this she found the art 
 
 Iways willing to walk, 
 eir brothers, and esteem 
 leir companions. It is 
 innocent games for the 
 ithers with amusement 
 most agreeable place to 
 
 ke an interest in your 
 and dress, you should 
 y consulting their taste, 
 tie fancy of your own 
 theirs. Brothers will 
 rongly opposed to the 
 sisters ; even those who 
 ake advantage of free- 
 
 DUTIK8 OF SISTERS TO BROTHEttS. 
 
 103 
 
 dom of manners in othiT girls, have very 
 strict notions with regard to their own sisters. 
 Their intercourse with nil sorts of men ena- 
 bles them to judge of the construction put 
 upon certain actions and mo<ies of dress and 
 speech, much better than women cun; and 
 you will do well to take their advice on all 
 such points. 
 
 JJrothers and .sisters may greatly aid each 
 other in judging of their friends of the oj)|)o- 
 sitc s(!x. Brothers can throw important light 
 upon the character and merits of young men, 
 because they see them when acting out tlieir 
 tiaturcs before their comrades, and relieved 
 from the restraints of the drawing-riMim ; and 
 you can in return, greatly assist your brothers 
 111 coming to wise and just conclusions con- 
 cerning their female friends. Your brothers 
 may bo very much indebted to the quicker 
 penetration of women into each other's char- 
 acter, and saved by your discernment from 
 being fascinated by (pialitics thut are not of 
 sterling value ; but, in order to have the in- 
 fluence necessary to such iin])ortant ends, you 
 must be habitually free from a spirit of de- 
 traction, candid in all your judgments, oiid 
 ever ready to admire whatever is lovely and 
 good in your own sex. If, when you dissent 
 from your brother's too favorable opinion of a 
 lady, ho can with any justice charge you with 
 a prejudice against her family, or a capricious 
 tlisliiic of her, your judgment, however cor- 
 rect, will have no weight, and he will be very 
 likely to become, not only the lady's champion, 
 but her lover. 
 
 If your brothers have received a classical 
 education and you are studiously inclined, 
 you may derive great assistance from them in 
 the cultivation of your own mind, and bind 
 them still closer to yoi4 in the delightful com- 
 panionship of literary jmrsuits. 
 
 Many men who have passed unharmed 
 through the temptations of youth, owed their 
 escape from many dangers to the intimate 
 companionshipofatTectionateond pure-minded 
 sisters. They have been saved from hazard- 
 ous meeting with idle company by some home 
 engagement, of which their sisters were the 
 charm ; they have refrained from mixing writh 
 the imjiure, because they would not brine 
 home thoughts and feelings which they coulS 
 n()t share with those trusting and loving 
 friends ; they have put aside the wine-cup 
 and abstained from stronger potations, because 
 they would not jirofane with their fumes the 
 holy kiss with which they were accustomed 
 to bid their sisters good night. 
 
 The duties of sisters to each other are so 
 obvious and well understood, that it will be 
 needless to enter fully upon them here. If 
 your heart is right toward God, and you feel 
 that the great business of life is the education 
 
 of your immortal spirit for eternity, you will 
 easily bear with the iiitinnities of others, be- 
 cause you will be fully imjtressed with a sense 
 of your own ; and when you eon amicably 
 bear and forbear, love will come in, to soften 
 every asperity, heol every little wound, ami 
 make a band of sisters "heljiers of each 
 other's joy." 
 
 A few cases may arise, in the most harmo- 
 nious fomilies, wherein sisters may not fully 
 understand each other's rights, and mny there- 
 fore ignorantly trespa.ss ujion them ; such, for 
 instance, as where one of the family is very 
 fond ()f reading, and wishes to have a certain 
 portion of her time uninterruptedly given to 
 that em))loymcnt, and a sister keeps interrupt- 
 ing her by conversation, or ojipeals to her for 
 aid in some lesscm or piece of work. Some- 
 times a great reader is made the butt of the 
 rest of the family for that very valuable pro- 
 pensity, and halt her ])leosure in it destroyed 
 liy its being made a standing joke among her 
 brothers and sisters. 
 
 Sisters should as scrujiulously regard each 
 other's rights of property, as they would 
 those of a guest staying in the house: never 
 helping themselves without leave to the work- 
 ing materials, writing implements, drawin" 
 apparatus, books, or clothing of each other" 
 It is a mistake to sujipose that the nearness of 
 the rclationshij) makes it allowable ; the more 
 intimate our connexion with any one, the 
 more necessary it is to guard ourselves against 
 taking unwarrantable liberties. For the very 
 reason that you are obliged to be so much to- 
 gether, you should take care to do nothing 
 disagreeable to each other. 
 
 Love is a plant of delicate growth, and, 
 though it sometimes springs up spontaneously, 
 it will never flourish long and well without 
 careful culture ; and when we see how it is 
 cultivated in some families, the wonder is, 
 not that it does not spread so as to overshadow 
 the whole circle, but that any sprig of it 
 should survive the rude treatment it meets 
 with. 
 
 Genuine politeness is a great fosterer of 
 family love ; it allays accidental irritation, by 
 preventing harsh retorts and rude contradic- 
 tions ; it softens the boisterous, stimulates the 
 indolent, suppresses selfishness, and, by form- 
 ing a habit of consideration for others, har- 
 monizes the whole. Politeness begets jwlite- 
 ness, and brothers may be easily won by it to 
 leave off" the rude woys they bnng home from 
 school or college. Never receive any little 
 attention without thanking them for it ; never 
 ask a favor of them but in cautious terms, 
 never reply to their questions in monysyll ables ; 
 and they vrill soon be ashamed to do such 
 things themselves. You should labor, by pre- 
 cept and example, to convince them, that no 
 
 4 
 
 I" ' - 
 ■ ii > 1 
 
104 
 
 DUTIE8 OF 9I8TEH8 TO BaOTHEaS. 
 
 I 
 
 9 
 
 one cnn have rcoUy ernMl monncrs abrrjad, who 
 i« not hiililttmlly polite at lirjtnc 
 
 Killer sisters rxrrt a vpry great influence 
 over tlie voHngci chililren of a family, either 
 for good or for evil. If y<iu nrc iini)nticnt, 
 unfiiir in your judgments, or n.sHumc tmt much 
 ttiitliority, you injure the tempers of tiieso lit- 
 tle (iiies, mnke them Jealous of their rights, 
 and render your own position a very unplens- 
 nni one ; whereas, if you are patient and kind, 
 and found your jiretensions to dictate, not on 
 your age, l)Ut on truth and justice, the younger 
 children will readily allow your claims. 
 
 Young children ore excellent judges of the 
 motives and feelings of those who attempt to 
 control them; and, if you would win their 
 love, and dispose them to com|)ly with your 
 rcasonaiilc requests, you must treat them with 
 jicrfect candor ami uprightness. Never at- 
 tempt to cheat, even the youngest, into a . ^m- 
 plianc<! with your wishes; frjr, though you 
 succeed at the time, you lessen your inHuence 
 l>y the lo»8 of contidcnco which follows detec- 
 tion. 
 
 With every disposition to treat the younger 
 ones kindly, elder sisters are often discouroged 
 and discomforted Ity what they consider the 
 over-indulgence of their parents toward the 
 younger memliers of the family ; hut where 
 this comidaint is well founded, much is still in 
 their power. They can, by judicious conduct, 
 do a great deal to counteract the bad etlects 
 of this parentol fondness, ami make the little 
 ones ashamed to take a mean a<lvantage of it. 
 The very indulgent are seldom just; now 
 children value justice and strict odherenco to 
 promises more than indulgence, and you may 
 mould them to your will by the exercise of 
 those higher qualities. 
 
 It is the duty of elder sisters to take a lively 
 interest in the education of the younger chil- 
 dren, and to use all the advantages which they 
 have received, for the benefit of those that are 
 coming forward in the same line. They 
 should aid their parents in the choice of 
 schools, and ascertain what is actually learned 
 at tliem. Where circumstances render it 
 necessary that the elder children should assist 
 in teaching the younger ones, it should be 
 done cheerfully ; not as a auty merely, but as 
 a useful discipline. Some writers upon edu- 
 cation consider teaching others as the best and 
 most eflectual way of learning one's self. 
 When Madame de Gcnlis described what she 
 considered as a perfect svstem of education, 
 she represented her models as takinw ycjungei 
 children to teach as a part of their own 
 instruction. It has been said that we are 
 never sure that we know a thing thoroughly, 
 until we have taught it to another. 
 
 If the duty of teaching has its advantages, 
 it also has its dangers : it is a very fatiguing 
 
 occupation, and ought not to occupy too tnuch 
 of n yoinig person's time. WIhtc this is n-- 
 (juircd of a daughter, other home -duties 
 should be remitted, nnd her dny should be so 
 Bp|)ortionfd «» to leave her nmi)1e time for ex- 
 ercise and recreation, or the hiltor may jirovo 
 injurious to her health. It is very si-ldom 
 that one who has never atteni]iled to tcaeh 
 others, can duly appreciate tlur labor of it ; 
 I ond a father so circumstanced, will sometimes 
 ' think that as many hours may be given to it 
 j as he gives to his business ; but this is a great 
 ! mistake ; nothing is so hcovy a tax on min(i 
 j ond bcnly os the act of communicating knowl- 
 i edge to other minds ; and the more intelli- 
 I gently and lovingly it is done, the greater is 
 j the fatigue. 
 
 'I'liis duty should not be allowed to interfere 
 j wiih th(! further progress of the young teacher, 
 I for though it may be useful to go over ohl 
 ground, with those who ore learning, she 
 should still be careful not to narrow her mind 
 down to the standard of their habits ; but re- 
 fresh and invigorate it, at the same time, by 
 exploring new fields of literature. 
 
 Those M'ho ore not called upon to teach 
 younger brothers ond sisters, may yet do them 
 great good by exercising their muids in con- 
 versation, and by communicating useful in- 
 formation to them in their daily intercourse. 
 The reverse of this we hove sometimes ob- 
 served with sorrow, W^e have seen amiable 
 and well-informed girls act toward these little 
 ones as if thty were not at oil responsible for 
 the impressions they mode on their tender 
 minds. They would mislead a young inquirer 
 by false information, and consider it a good 
 joke ; or they would harrow up young and 
 susceptilb minds by frightful stones, which, 
 though amusing at the time, could not fail to 
 send the little clears trembling to bed, afraid 
 of the dark, and unable to sleep for terror. 
 Where, however, the elder children have 
 been properly trained by the porents, such 
 mistakes can not occur, and where they have 
 not, it would require a volume to do justice to 
 the subject. 
 
 It is as necessary for those who are much 
 with children, to have right notions about the 
 manner of treating them, as for the parents 
 themselves ; it is therefore very desirable that 
 elder sisters should read some of the excellent 
 works which have been written on education. 
 Among these, we would particularly recom- 
 mend Edgeworth's " Practical Education," 
 Mrs. Hamilton's " Letters on the Elementary 
 Principles of Education," " Hints on Nursery 
 Discipline,'' a valuable book, republished in 
 Salem a few years ago, and a late French 
 work of great merit, entitled " L'Educotion 
 Progreasive," by Madame Necker de Saus- 
 sure. These works are as entertaining as 
 
 I 
 
 ■KBRiml X I Wmp 
 
 ai^m 
 
; not to occupy too tniirli 
 i»nc. Wlirrn this in rc- 
 irr, other hotnc-dutips 
 nd her i\uy should In- no 
 (" her nmplf tiiiif fur ox- 
 or th(! liilior limy provo 
 Ith. It iH vrryw.'Idorn 
 \vr ottfiiiptcd to tciu!h 
 rceitttc the lulxir of it ; 
 iHtnncrd, will Hoinctimcs 
 ours may ho j;ivt'n lo it 
 iipss ; but this is n great 
 !0 heavy a tax on mitul 
 " coniniunicdting kiiowl- 
 ; and tho niont iiitcili- 
 ; is done, the greater is 
 
 )t be alh)wcd to interfi're 
 CS3 of the young teacher, 
 3 useful to go over old 
 who are learning, she 
 not to narrow her mind 
 of their habits ; but rc- 
 it, at the some time, by 
 f literature, 
 t called upon to teach 
 iislrrs, may yet do them 
 ing their muids in con- 
 rnmunicating useful in- 
 their daily intercourse, 
 re have sometimes ob- 
 
 We have seen amial)le 
 8 act toward these little 
 lot at all responsible for 
 
 maile on tneir tender 
 Mislead a young inijuirer 
 and consider it a good 
 
 harrow up young and 
 frightful stones, wnich, 
 s time, could not fail to 
 rembling to bed, afraid 
 ble to sleep for terror, 
 e elder children have 
 I by the parents, such 
 r, and where they have 
 I volume to do justice to 
 
 or those who are much 
 I right notions about the 
 lem, as for the jiarcnts 
 jfore very desirable that 
 ad some of the excellent 
 ?n written on education, 
 uld particularly rccom- 
 ' Practical Education," 
 itters on the Elementary 
 m," " Hints on Nursery 
 le book, republished in 
 igo, and a late French 
 entitled " L'Education 
 dame Necker de Saus- 
 ure as entertaining aa 
 
 they arc Instnictive, and great pleasure might 
 be found in testing some ctf the theorii's and 
 inuxiiiH which thev contain, by the living ex- 
 perience of a family circle. By studying the 
 subject of cclucation, elder sisters would learn 
 to rcganl tin- ehildren around tliein, not merely 
 as necessary intcrrui)tions and occasional ])lay- 
 things, but us nioralunil intellectual |)roblems, 
 which tbcy may litid i)roHt in solving. 
 
 AVINTER NOT MONOTONOUS. 
 
 Thk winter landscape has been accused of 
 monotony ; and certainly all nature has at 
 this season a less animateil and varied as- 
 pect than at any other. Unless when it is 
 sprinkled over with hoar-frost, or covered 
 with a cold mantle of stiow, tho surface of 
 the earth ii arrayed in a bleak and faded hue. 
 The woods have now lost tho variegated foli- 
 age that hud already ceased to be their orna- 
 ment ; and the brunches of the trees, with 
 their "naked shoots, tiarren as lances," Imvii 
 one unil'iirm uppcurancc of dt^ath and decay. 
 The howUng of the long-continued storm, and 
 the fe\v t'liint liird-iiDtcs still heard at intervals 
 in the tliickels or hedges, are monotonously 
 mournful. The devastation of the earth, and 
 th(! sounds that seem to bewail it, arc general 
 and unvaried. Such, at a cursory glance, 
 appear to be; the aspect and tone of our winter 
 scenery. But the keenly-observant eye dis- 
 covers, even at this desolate season, and in 
 the midst of seeming monotimy, that endless 
 variety which characteri:;es every province 
 of creation. On close inspection, indeed, all 
 wo behold is varied. Whatever bo the sea- 
 son, and wherever lie the scene of our obser- 
 vation, though many things arc apparently 
 similar, yet none are exactly or really so. At 
 certain times and places, tne mutual resem- 
 blances between all the common objects of 
 sense, all that solicits the eye or the car in the 
 landscajie, may be so numerous and striking, 
 that a feeling of monotony ensues ; groups of 
 mournful sights and sounds may, in the dead 
 of the year, successively impress us with a 
 sense of melancholy, and incline us to set a 
 limit to the usual prodigality of nature ; but 
 yet true wisdom, aided by quick and active 
 observation, easily draws the dull veil of uni- 
 formity aside, and reveals to the admiring eye 
 boundless diversity, even in the ravaged and 
 gloomy scenery o*'^ winter. 
 
 Are the woods so uniformly dead as, on a 
 first sui;vey, they appear ? The oak, the ash, 
 the beech, and most of our forest-trees, have 
 lost their varied foliage ; bnt the numerous 
 varieties of the fir and the pine retain their 
 
 leaves, and varicffate the disrobed grove with 
 their unfailing verdure. In the WckmII«ii(I 
 copse or lonely dell tlie rvergreen still glad- 
 ilens the eye with its shining and dark green 
 leaves. Nor are our shrubberies without 
 their living green. Befori! the severity of 
 winter is over, the snowdrop emerges from the 
 reviving turf, tlie lovely mid venturous herald 
 of a coming host. Thus, in the periinl of 
 frost, and snow, and vegetable death, tho 
 beauty of flowers is not unknown ; Imt rntlier 
 what survives or braves the desolating stonn 
 is (l(nibly enhanced to our eyes by tho sur- 
 roumling dreariness and decay. 
 
 And ore the atmospherical [ihenomena of 
 this seasiui monotonous or uninteresting? 
 Independently of the striking contrast they 
 present to those of summer rind autumn, tlniy 
 are of themselves grnndly diversified. Tho 
 dark and rainy storm careers over the face of 
 the earth till the fliKxled rivers overflow their 
 banks, and tho forest roars like a tempestuous 
 sea. The hoar-frost spangles the ground with 
 a white and brilliant incrustation ; or the snow, 
 fulling softly, covers tho wide expanse of 
 mountain, and W(K)d, oiid ])laiii, with a mantle 
 of dazzling purity. Then the dark brunches 
 of tho trees, bcniling under a loud of white 
 and feathery flakes, have a picture8(|ue aspect, 
 and seem to rejoice in the substitute of their 
 last foliage. And how fantastically beautiful 
 are the cHects of frost ! Water is transmuted 
 into solid forms, of a thousand dillerent 
 shapes. The lake, and even tho river itself, 
 becomes a crystal floor, and th« drojis of the 
 house-eaves collect into rows of icicles, of 
 varying dimensions, dillcrcntly reflecting and 
 refracting tho rays of the mitlday sun. The 
 earth is bound in magical fetters, and rings 
 beneath the tread. The air is jmrc and keen, 
 yet not insufTerably cold. Calm and clenr 
 frosty days, succeeded by nights that unveil 
 tho full glory of the starry firmament, are in- 
 termingled with magnificent tempests, that 
 sweep over the land and sea, and make tho 
 grandest music to the car that is ottuncd to the 
 harmonies of nature. 
 
 Variety seems to be a universal attribute 
 of creati(m. It is stamped upon the heavens, 
 the earth, and the sea. The stars are all glo- 
 rious, but " one star difTereth from another 
 stor in glory." Tho sun eclipses them all, 
 and the moon reigns among them like their 
 queen. The earth is covered wth numberless 
 mountains and hills, thick as waves on the 
 ocean, and more wonderfully diversified. 
 From the tiny hillock to the cloud-piercing 
 peak, no two eminences are wholly alike in 
 shape, or size, or in any single quality. What 
 volley or plain, what tree or flower, or leaf, 
 or blade of grass, is, in all points, similar to 
 another 1 Search the whole world, and you 
 
 ■ ^**ti..ti 
 
 I 
 
 f§^' 
 
 fm 
 
 1 " 
 J- 
 
 ...-'' 
 
 Srvf'^' 
 
 
 
 tiite, 
 
 !M..,,„, j 
 

 106 
 
 NKAPOLITANS ON THE SEASHORE. 
 
 will fiml no pnir of nriy of thc«o ('rented things 
 exiict count(T|ii\rt« to each otlirr, in rcf^nrcl to 
 ■■'"ight, color, Ntruriiirc, f\miTr, or niiy other 
 • ttwerittal ororeiilentnl property. Thennininl 
 Wtwli ,« nsondh'HxIy divernilieil. Not onlj' is 
 th« /hstiii<"tion hetwern tho vnriouH ((rfieru 
 and mieeic* wido and iiripaMHalilc, hut hct'vvcn 
 tho indiviihiolM of eneh upeeiei no prrfect 
 «imih»rity exists. Twins nro commonly most 
 UKo ench other ; hut yrt wo ore ut no loss to 
 (!*'"tinjfiiish hetwi-en them. Even when we 
 tuko two nnrts, however n!)pnrcntly alike, of 
 two individuals of tho sumo snecies, we find 
 the game diversity. The variety oliservulilo 
 in tho human countonnnco has lonj^ heen a 
 matter of remark and admiration. Tho 
 general features arc tho stnrio in all ; hut 
 their color, their nlativo size, and numerous 
 other peculiarities, ure ;rie,eonei!al)ly dilVercnt. 
 Ilenee we eaii at once recognise an individual 
 among a thousand, even when th-y are of thu 
 samo stature and complexion with himself. 
 
 The diversity of Cfdor is truly astonishing, 
 and is the source of much beauty and enjoy- 
 ment. Thougli tho primary colors art; only 
 seven, yet these are so mixed and blended 
 over all nature, as to delight the eye with 
 millions of diflerent hues, of all degrees of 
 depth and brilliancy. Let us look at a bed of 
 blowing summer flowers, and behold the rav- 
 ishing wonders of color. Tho unstained sil- 
 very whiteness of tho lily, the deep crimson 
 of the rose, the dark and velvety blue of tho 
 violet, the bright yellow of the wallflower and 
 the marigold, are but specimens of the rich 
 and gorgeous hues that delight us with a sense 
 of beouty and varii ty. Tho fields and lawns, 
 with their bright green, spotted with white 
 clover and crimson-tipped daisies ; tho mead- 
 ows, with their butter-cups, and all their pe- 
 culiar flowers; tho woo(ls, with their fresh 
 spring verdure, and their flaming autumnal 
 robes ; and the mountains, at one time bathed 
 in a deep azure, at another shining with golden 
 sunlight, all exhibit the marvellously varied 
 touches of thot pencil which none but an om- 
 nipotent arm can wield. 
 
 This universal variety is not merely a dis- 
 play of infinite skill, but it is equally beauti- 
 ful, pleasing, and useful. !■. Qi' Is immensely 
 to our enjoyment of natvire, r,*! t^n ntly "n- 
 hancea our idea of God's ("Mt.kb , ' ibutes. 
 It furnishes us with thi fni'HP" jf (lis :rimina- 
 tion, without which the earth would be to us 
 a scene of confusion. Were there only one 
 color, and were every mountain, for example, 
 of the same shape, or every shrub and tree 
 of the same size, how dull and monotonous 
 would be every landscape! And if every 
 human face were exactly alike, how should 
 we be able to distinguish a friend from an 
 enemy, a neighbor from a stranger, a country- 
 
 man from a foreigner. Or, to tukn an <'xaui- 
 pln still more impressive, wi.'re the jxiwors 
 and |)asHions of every individual mind in every 
 resju'ct similar, that diversity of charocter 
 and pursuit, which constitutes the mainspring 
 of HOI iety and civilization, would not be fouml, 
 In all 'Jiis, there is an adaptation and wis« 
 d(!sign. Amid apparent uniformity, thi' neces- 
 sary variety everywhere obtains. And sel- 
 dom does variety run to an excess. Uttt r 
 dissimilarity is as rare as complete resem- 
 blance. All things nri; beautifully and usefully 
 vnrii'd; but they also all wear the distinguish- 
 ing mark of the same grout Artist, andean all 
 lie arranged into cIhsk'M), the individuals of 
 whi(di bear to ono another the most curious 
 and intiina'" resemblaniK "i. There is in na- 
 ture a unifoiiiiity that is as beneficial as vari- 
 ety itself. I'he V ives, flowers, and fruits, 
 ot a tree or shnib, though infinitely varied in 
 their |! 'lire anil appearance, are yet all so 
 mucli ulike, that they can easily be referred 
 to their parent «peci(!8. All the animals of a 
 kind have each theii- peculiarities ; but every 
 individual can at onco be recognised by tho 
 naturalist's practised eye. Thus has the Au- 
 thor of all tilings so blended variety and uni- 
 formity together, as to delight, yet iiot bewil- 
 der us, with exhaustless variety; to enable 
 us to class his works into great groups of gen- 
 era and snecies, and thereby to exercise oar 
 powers of reason and observation in tracing 
 tho delicate resemblances and disagreements 
 that meet us in all c ir inquiries. O, Lord, 
 every (|uality of thy works is the result of in- 
 finite wisdom ! Tne grand diversities of the 
 seasons, v'ith all their distinguishing charac- 
 teristics, the beautiful harmony and unlimited 
 variety of nature, alike eviilence thy g(K»d- 
 ness, and demand the cheerful gratitude of 
 man. 
 
 NEAPOLITANS ON THE SEASHORE. 
 
 We scarcely know how in words to do jus- 
 tice to the beautiful drawing from which our 
 engraving is made. Reidel, the painter, 
 th" igh a Gerniaii, has caught the spirit of the 
 sc ' ', and given us a genuine Neopolitan pic- 
 ture. How can we wonder thot such mighty 
 schools of painters sprung up in Italy, when 
 its women presented such enchanting models 
 of grace and dignity? Nothing tan exceed 
 tho felicity of the grouping of the mother and 
 children. Look at the young girl lying at full 
 length along the ground ! How, to the life, 
 we see the indolent voluptuousness of her 
 race develojiing in her form. A true chi'd of 
 the south, she cares not for the bronzing sun, 
 
 J 
 
r. Or, to tiikt! nn cxain- 
 'Msivc, were till' [iDwerii 
 I itiillviilual iniml iti rvfry 
 t ilivfTHiiy of chiirm'ttT 
 (mHlitutcH tilt! muiiispririf; 
 uion, wiiulil not lie fouiiil, 
 
 (III n(ln|itutiiiii ami wiiM 
 riit uniformity, the necps- 
 h'licrc olitaiiis. And hvU 
 nn to an I'xcpus. Utttr 
 am as compjcto ri'scm- 
 t; licniilifully and imrfully 
 • nil wi'nr tin! distiiifiuish- 
 3 ^rcut Artist, amlcnn all 
 i«n''H, tlif! inilividuaU of 
 inorher tlio most curious 
 InijiM ^. Thcrn is in na- 
 it is 08 licneficittl as vnri- 
 ve«, (lowers, ami fruits, 
 lough infinitely varifd in 
 [H'ttrancc, are ypt all so 
 ■y can easily be referred 
 !8. All the animals of a 
 ' peculiarities ; but every 
 ,ce be recognisiul by the 
 
 eye. Thus has the Au- 
 blcnded variety and uni- 
 te delight, yet iiot bewil- 
 Jtlcss variety; to enable 
 into great groups of gen- 
 
 thereby to exercise our 
 d observation in tracing 
 ancea and disagreements 
 
 ir inquiries. O, Lord, 
 works is the result of in- 
 ! grand diversities of the 
 ir distinguishing charac- 
 1 harmony and unlimited 
 like evidence thy good- 
 ie cheerful gratitude of 
 
 N THE SEASHORE. 
 
 r how in words t" do jus- 
 [Irowing from which our 
 Reidel, the painter, 
 iS caught the spirit of the 
 genume Neopolitan pic- 
 vor.der that such mighty 
 iprung up in Italy, when 
 such enchanting models 
 '? Nothing tan exceed 
 )uping of the mother and 
 le young girl lying at full 
 und ! How, to the life, 
 t voluptuousness of her 
 ;r form. A true chiM of 
 lot for the bronzing sun, 
 
 f M l ff njf f lju^ it f ■* J 
 
 II: 
 
 
 4 * *'*> " 
 
 li u ill • 
 
 JLaJ-^' 
 
108 
 
 THE BOUNDLESSNESS OF THE MATERIAL UNIVERSE. 
 
 but pazcs fnr out into the lustrous ocean, and 
 watcliPs the wliito-s-iiled feluccas, sninil as 
 the curved wiii<;s of seahirds; or still farther 
 stretches her idle paze to where the shadows 
 of the clouds th'.vart with long lines of most 
 delicate gray the silver shining sea. The 
 mother bends her head down over her young- 
 er child, whil(; she clasps her beads and utters 
 a jirayer for the l)ark which is far away. The 
 sad and gentle music of the sea, spreading its 
 thin tide upon the sand, then singing in its re- 
 treat amid shells and agate pebbles, murmurs 
 a fitting undertone to her thoughts. 
 
 THE BOUNDLESSNESS OF 
 
 THE MATERIAL UNIVERSE. 
 
 It will be immediately suggested by the 
 intelligent reader that that which is material 
 can not be boundless, and that therefore the 
 title of the article conveys to the mind an evi- 
 dent anomaly ; but the fact in plain and sim- 
 ple language is that not only the universe, but 
 every oljject in nature, as we shall presently 
 show, is boundless in its ramifications. Bound- 
 lessness may be considered as synonymous 
 with infinity, and there is perhaps no"^ word 
 suggesting ideas so inct.mprehensible and sub- 
 lime as the word infinity ; it is a word the 
 meaning of which we can not conceive, and 
 yet our minds crowd on through a vast and 
 airy field of thought, descrying in the very 
 darkness by which we are surrounded, the 
 scintillations and coruscations of v/hich we 
 are led to dream. And it is because to be im- 
 mortal is to be infinite that the mind thus 
 walks upon ihe wind, and visits fields which 
 lie beyond its ken, for it is to give but a cir- 
 cumscribed notion of infinity to suppose that 
 it can belong to Deity alone, or to the eternity 
 in which Deity dwells. It is not sufficiently 
 realized that eternity is one, and infinity is 
 one ; the infinite is that of which we can not 
 conceive, the point at which the imagination 
 can never arrive; and yet the infinite may be 
 created ; there may have been a time when 
 all with it was darkness, and it may be able 
 to date the moment of its birth, although it 
 never can that of its consummation. "We 
 may see a world first launch forth through the 
 fields of space ; and if it were given us to 
 know that planet was destined to run an im- 
 mortal career, to know that after passing 
 through a series of revolutions, each in it- 
 self boimdlesi? to our eye, it should become 
 Ltherealized — why, because we saw it drink 
 its first beam of glory, because we saw it dart 
 its first fires over the concave of creation, and 
 
 pourits first fragrance through the atmosphere 
 — we should not the less regard it as an infinite 
 in the germ, as an immortal in the bud. 
 
 And it is when viewed in this light that the 
 universe presents an aspect of tinboundeil and 
 unlimited creation ; as far as the eye of intel- 
 ligence can glance, it sees matter, and that 
 matter in a state of motion ; and if it casts its 
 eye upward it loses itself in a wilderness of 
 worlds, nnd if it casts its eye downvvurd it 
 loses itself in a wilderness of ages ; f it ana- 
 
 lyze a drop of water it beholds it jieopled with 
 
 I ■ 
 
 forms of life so infinitesimal, that nil jiower 
 
 of calculation drops the wing and (lags in the 
 august attempt to convey tlie iilea of number. 
 But it will be said that iirojierly speaking this 
 does not convey the idea of boundlessness, 
 " Although," it may be said, " iin])erceptible 
 to us, creation doubtless has a termination ; 
 and if our apprehension were greater we 
 might calculate the animnlcuhe which swarm 
 in the drop of water, and the stars which 
 wander through the nebidre ;" yet even this 
 is doubtful, it is ground for more than hypoth- 
 esis ; we certainly dare not say that nature is 
 not boundless in its extent. We must meas- 
 ure objects by their ends ; and if, after tracing 
 them accurately through a long series of pro- 
 cessions and circumstances, we at last lose 
 sight of them in a vast void, which no plum- 
 met can fathom, no comjiass describe, no tel- 
 escope scan, no chronology date, what is that 
 but infinity? An instance is at hand : let us 
 throw a glance over our gl.ibe's unwritten his- 
 tory, lei us trace it through all its gradations 
 up to the present time, and what are the con- 
 clusions we derive from the facts ? We are 
 conducted to a period of wild and fearful gran- 
 deur, the reign of darkness and chaos, when 
 the atoms were first congregating which were 
 to form our planet, and attaired a state of fix- 
 edness, the grosser separated from the more 
 aerial, and thus the earth gained the first stage 
 of its existence ; now from that period, when 
 the thunder and clash of contending atoms, 
 struggling with their own graviries, broke the 
 stillness of our system, there has been a con- 
 stant progressive development of order, and a 
 progressive development of life on our globe : 
 first, when our world was a vast ocean, with 
 no land to margin its streams, we find the tril- 
 obite and mollusc moving through the watery 
 depths, and dwelling securely there ; the 
 nantilutae then by thousands nxle the waves, 
 and hoisted their sails, ay, perhaps, more 
 proudly than in our time. 
 
 The waters again subsided — our world be- 
 came then in a more strict sense of the word 
 than now, a terraqueous globe ; then the sau- 
 rian tribe, those giants of *y " fell and flood, 
 came forth to run their career-, iJiey finished 
 it ; and then rose matchless forests, composed 
 
 mi. 
 
 anan* 
 
 mm 
 
 ■MM 
 
jmVERSK. 
 
 ncc throDRh thf ntmosjihorfi 
 10 loss rrgunl it ns nii infinite 
 
 iirimortiil in tlio l)ii(1. 
 viewed in this liijlit tlmt the 
 an asneet of iinbdunded nrid 
 
 ; as far as the eye of intel- 
 e, it sees mutter, and t^int 
 f motion : and if it casts its 
 f>s itself in a wilderness of 
 easts its eye downvvurd it 
 ilderni'ss of an;es ; f it ann- 
 erit beholds it jienpled Avilh 
 ifinitesimal, that nil ])ower 
 |)s the win^ and Hags in the 
 ennvev the idea of nnmher, 
 
 that ])roj)erly speakini^ this 
 the idea of boundlessness, 
 ay bo said, "impereeptibic 
 )ul)tless has a termination ; 
 shetision were !;reater we 
 c nnimalenhp which swarm 
 'atcr, and the stars whieh 
 he nebulie ;" yet even this 
 'ound for more limn hypoth- 
 ' dare not say that nature is 
 ts extent. We must meas- 
 ir ends ; and if, after tracinn; 
 hrough n long series of pro- 
 imstances. wo at last lose 
 , vast void, which no phim- 
 10 compass describe, no tel- 
 ironology ilnte, what is that 
 
 instance is at hand : let lis 
 ir our globe's unwritten his- 
 it through all its gradations 
 time, and what are the con- 
 ; from the facts ? We are 
 iod of wild and fearful gran- 
 darkness and chaos, when 
 •St congregating which were 
 , and attained a state of fix- 
 ■r separated from the more 
 3 earth gained the first stage 
 now from that period, when 
 clash of contending atoms, 
 eirown gravities, broke the 
 stem, there has been a con- 
 levelopment of order, am! a 
 )pment of life on our globe : 
 irld was a Vast ocean, with 
 its streams, we find the tril- 
 moving through the watery 
 lling securely there ; the 
 
 thousands rode the waves, 
 sails, ay, perhaps, more 
 ir time. 
 
 in subsided— our world be- 
 ire strict sense of the word 
 |ueous globe ; then the san- 
 riants of «■> " fell and flood, 
 
 their carrer-, ihey finished 
 natehless forests, composed 
 
 r" 
 
 THK lJdUNDLESSNK.SS OF THE MATEIIIAL UNIVERSE. 
 
 109 
 
 of the lepidodeiidron and coriiifcrciP, where 
 tlic r.egatlu'riiim and iliiiniiicriutn roiiined; to 
 these succeeded our iircseiit fair green earlli, 
 Willi ils streams iiilcrsecting vidlivs cldtheil 
 widiTcorn. and its ciiscudcs (lushing down from 
 innuntaiiH crowned with snow. And here 
 man exists with a soul : never have a similar 
 race of beings ln'fore graced the garden of our 
 wiirid ; the world is now in the greenness of 
 its u'lory, the freshness of its spring, and these 
 fdcts bear out the notion that its career will 
 be linmidless. Destined for liual condiigration 
 it may be, but neverf(M-a funereal pile; those 
 llami's will only pur<j:e it from corruption, 
 mid make it a brighter and better world. 
 Ten thousand pent-up volcanoes may belch 
 firlli, and pour their li(piid lava over every 
 portion of our i;reeu nlobe ; they will but 
 elhereali/e it. they will impart to it an im- 
 iiij)rridity which it Ikm-i.' not before, and iniike 
 it a fit residence for b"iii!;s ethereali/ed, and 
 as immortal as itself. Thus in destiny, the 
 miUerial world, if not theniiilerinl iiiiivc'rse, is 
 iioiliidless. But li't us disassociate this view 
 of the case from the reader's mind — let the 
 universe stand as it .still stands, and it is 
 boundless — boundless, else show us the walls 
 which mark the limits of creation ! boundless, 
 else show us the window whence we may 
 look forth into the de|)lhs of nop.-existence ! 
 boundless, else classify the illimitable ocean- 
 tribes, and count the" " stars which wander 
 through the ujiper depths." Boundless ! why 
 every step we take in science tells us of im- 
 mensity undreamed of before. Let us lay 
 our hand on any one brnneh of physical sci- 
 ence, or natural history, and bounilless is the 
 termination to all our iiupiiries. The venera- 
 l)le sires of philosophy in every age have felt 
 themselves bewildered by a glance at nature; 
 and our higher degree of knowledge has given 
 to us a thicker .shade of darkness. Chymistry, 
 while it ilescribes to us fifty-four sim])lc sub- 
 stances, does not forget to tell us that it went 
 no farther, simply because it could go no far- 
 ther. Olid not because there appeared to be an 
 erid of its doctrine. In geology we arc darker 
 still, we wander on through o million of ages, 
 and seem to gain no point. Nay, what is all 
 science but a subterranean tempic by torch- 
 light ; the brightest coruscations it reflects 
 serve but to reveal a deeper darkness than we 
 thought existed before ; the ray of light trem- 
 bles on some ruined jiillar. 'We copy the 
 hieroglyphic, but we can not decijiher it ; and 
 as we wander on through the long temple, col- 
 umn after column attracts our notice, full of 
 meaning, but darkness invests them all. 
 
 But we must not conceal fr>>rn ourselves 
 that discovery and knowledge are light, al- 
 though they leave many additional doubts and 
 perplexities upon the mind. The joy which 
 
 rushes o\ or the spirit of the discoverer afler 
 his long years of patient study is too irnut for 
 him to mark : the darkness frein his discovery 
 only stands out as it were in liold outline. 
 Plii!osoph|.rs have' in all ages been ascrnding 
 as ir were all inclined plane, niid every suc- 
 ceeding age has left those of the precedinu far 
 behind. It we may (\nyir a noble illiisinilioii 
 from the splendid work of Professor N/llols 
 on "The Aichil.'clnre of ihe Ileavi'nsr we 
 miKht sii|)pose a N(n-lli Americun Indian who 
 had been liiiried the whole of his existence in 
 one wild wood, and hail never dreamed of ibe 
 existence of other woods, far less of other 
 ■lands; yet one day he arrives in the chase at 
 the foot()f a lofty mounlaiii, he ascends it, 
 and he finds fresh scenes of green i;lory iiisli- 
 ! iiig on his eye; he sees forests stretching nil 
 j around hiin. and wild streams (laiicin<; iTiiiid 
 : valleys of which he had never drenmcd 
 before; and he stares, and starts with wonder 
 ! and ama/e. Yet we know that he has seen 
 I nothing, and that whn' '-is eyethou;;lit so vast 
 j was but a mere sp- .-'• in "the circle of the 
 I worid. And are wt /loi rcali/inir the wonder 
 j of the Indian every ilay? What are our 
 proud oliservntioiis Imt rising knolls (ar<> they 
 so much ill the universe ?) whence we can 
 descry here a stream and there a stream ; l;«;re 
 a forest ami there a forest, while tlie vast and 
 sounding ocean, and the mountain (diain, and 
 nature's more attractive glories are hid from 
 our eye ? We said they were hid from our 
 ey^e; but sujipose that we were able to per- 
 ceiyn all, would not the very vastitude by 
 which we were surncmded when made .so 
 manifest become painful ? If our eyes were 
 so opened that wc could see the atmosphere 
 which w(! inhaled or exhaled, crowded with 
 animal existences; the wot^er we drank teem- 
 ing with life ; if wc saw that at every step 
 we took we crushed millions of insects, would 
 mit our position be horrible? should wc not 
 loathe (uirselves and loathe the worid ? Phi- 
 losophers would not then see the wisdom in 
 the economy of crei^. ion which they now .see ; 
 an awful blindness would settle on the eyes- 
 and only would they wake to create a shud- 
 der at the horrible forms by which they saw 
 them.selves surrounded. An idea somelhin'r 
 like this seemed to have flitted across the mas- 
 culine mind of that prince of novelists, Bul- 
 wer. Ill his ArasmaiK s, an allegorical tale, 
 in the second volume of the Student, he rep- 
 resents his hero as having his eyes thus 
 opened : first to beauty, and second to deform- 
 ity. The baronet stated that it originated not 
 altogether in fiction, but from a melancholy 
 case of hypochondriasis which came under his 
 own observation in Italy. The [latient, a mini 
 of genius and a philosopher, expired under ihe 
 impression that he was surrounded l)y lif^ in 
 
 k'UnliKi' t 
 
 JiffiilgBTflWit. 
 
110 
 
 THE BOUNDLESSNESS OF THE MATERIAL UNIVERSE. 
 
 its most horrible forms, entrrini; into the at- 
 mos|)]icrc he inhaled, and mingling with every 
 cirrntnstnnce of his life. 
 
 Hut what is the universe? Is it suffidrnt 
 to dt'srribe it as the area of creation — the 
 theatre where God works his manifest marvels 
 in the eyes of all intelligences ? The universe 
 is an invisible world; it is haunted through all 
 its extent with thinijs of life; and ('ouhtless 
 there are eyes which see ihem better than 
 onrs. What are the views which 0|)en to the 
 inhnbitants of the planets? these moons and 
 satellites, what a boundless theme for con- 
 jpfturt, the varied characters, fcelinjis, and 
 eniiitions, of the dwellers on those immense 
 bodies which roll so far beyond us; but the 
 scene from the smallest, namely, the moon, 
 must be most inferestino; to ourselves. The 
 earth, to the inhnbitinits of that body, must 
 seem the most splendid orl) in the vast fichl 
 of creation, with a surface thirteen times 
 larger than she appears to us. They can 
 plainly distingixish our seas, ajiparcntly un- 
 ruffled by stonns. They can behold our im- 
 mense mountains and caverns, and glory in 
 the splendor reflected from our ])lanet, as wo 
 joy in the pple rays emitted from theirs. 
 
 The universe is boundless. There are 
 many, doubtless, who will think we have laid 
 d(;wn an axiom, but by no means logically or 
 mathematically i)roved it; and perhaps this 
 arises greatly ftom the fact that there seems 
 no necessity to do so. Wliy labor out an 
 elaborate essay to prove what every school- 
 boy believed, that boundlessly wo are sur- 
 rounded by evidences of mind. Let the moon 
 be no larger than the shields of our sires, the 
 stars but insignificant somethings which ap- 
 pear to gem the vault of night, and even then 
 the universe to us is boundless ; but tell lis 
 of laws which rule those stars ; tell us that 
 the sun is one million of times larger than the 
 earth, and that the nearest of those twinkling 
 stars, which seem so small, is thirty-two mil- 
 lions of millions of miles distant, and the 
 frame is paraly/ed at its own insignificancy. 
 The ga/er tunis from the mighty orbs, wheel- 
 ing their ponderous forms through space, and 
 shudders and shrinks within himself, horrified 
 at his own puerility in the eves of the mighty 
 Architect. Nay, O man ! shrink nor shudder 
 not ; thou art second only to those august and 
 majestic fires, whieh flash in majesty and roll 
 in might through nature's gloom. Nay, O 
 man ! thou art more. Oi thy brow is the 
 stamp of eternity, for thou art the image of 
 thy maker, God ; and though the stars per- 
 form in gi'andeur their motions, and sweetly 
 sing as they wheel onward ii. their spheres, 
 thou art more curiously wrought than thej', 
 and thy life more curiously sustained than 
 theirs. The hand which first launched them 
 
 away ; the finger which first gave to them 
 their unalterable law, has never touched them 
 Jiince ; they have but one principle to govern 
 them, but one law to guide. fJut thou, O 
 man ! art thy Maker's master-piece. Every 
 gland, every bone, every muscle, attests a 
 special design worthy of a (lod ; nor canst 
 thou breathe unless sixty billions of separate 
 intentions )iut forth their energies. Th(m art 
 greater than a star, () man ! 
 
 Boundless immensity ! whither am T car- 
 ried 1 where is the mighty goal, the destina- 
 tion of these awful travellings? Stars can 
 not tell ; onward they sweep in matchless 
 myriads, and the gleams reflected on thoir 
 surface tell of stars beyond them. They are 
 not the goal of bouinllessness. Waves can 
 not t<'ll ; they roll, and dash, and roar, they 
 ripple at our feet, or thunder on our vessel — 
 images of eteniity — they can not tell ; we see 
 neither their beginning nor their end. — They 
 are aot the goal of boundlessness. Winds ! 
 micb'^v winds! harpers of the mount, and 
 the forest, and the glen, ye shall tell ; for often 
 are yc silent, and ye wake no response around 
 ye. No, the winds can not tell ; some leaf is 
 always monng, some breeze is always sigh- 
 ing, some tempest is always swelling, to indi- 
 cate their restless activity, to spcnk the prcs- 
 encetjf their power. Winds can not tell; — 
 they are not the goal of boundlessness ; and 
 naught in nature can tell, for all is action, all 
 is boundless. No eye hath ever been blinded 
 by the darkness of that part of space where 
 God is not in his works. A void in the uni- 
 verse ! it would be ot once to say that Deity 
 had expended his machinery, that there wos 
 a void in the Divine Mind. Let us allow 
 that there are parts of space unpeopled with 
 the creations of intelligence, and by a very 
 slow process of reasoning, we may reduce the 
 jilenipotency which arms the Eternal, to the 
 weakness and imperfection which mark the 
 creature. We can form no conception of De- 
 ity, but we know that the majesty of his 
 power has crowded all space with the mighty 
 configurations of his glory. A boundless uni- 
 verse ! then there is no such being as an athe- 
 ist ; and here we take up the beautiful idea 
 of that first of modem classical essayists, 
 John Foster, in his important essay on iho 
 dearth of Christianity among men of genin* 
 He reasons thus : How can men deny the ct 
 istence of a Deity unless they have travwlle* 
 through all space to discover whether he might 
 not have revealed himself ? Every record of 
 all time, of every land, must be laid open be- 
 fore the atheist ; every planet and star must 
 unfold its history; and if there be other 
 bodies far ofTin space, governed not by plane- 
 tary law, and neither planets nor stars, but in- 
 habited by intelligences, their history must be 
 
 I 
 
UNIVERSE. 
 
 ^r which first gavn to tlicm 
 law, lias never touclied thciii 
 3 but one principle to govern 
 aw to guide. fJiit thou, O 
 iiker's niustcr-piece. Every 
 tic, every muscle, attests a 
 'orthy of a (iod ; nor canst 
 ess sixty billions of separate 
 'til their energies. Thou art 
 ar, () mail ! 
 
 nensity ! whither am I car- 
 he mighty goal, the destinn- 
 I'ful travellings? Stars can 
 il they sweep in matchless 
 c gleams reflected on their 
 [irs beyond them. They are 
 bounillessness. Waves can 
 11, and clash, and roar, they 
 :, or thunder on our vessel — 
 y — they can not tell ; we see 
 inning nor their end. — They 
 
 of boundlessness. Winds I 
 harpers of the mount, and 
 e glen, ye shall tell ; for often 
 I ye wake no response around 
 nds can not tell ; some leaf is 
 some breeze is always sigh- 
 it is always swelling, to indi- 
 s activity, to spenk the prcs- 
 wi'T, Winds can not tell ; — 
 3 goal of boundlessness ; and 
 
 can tell, for all is action, all 
 
 eye hath ever been blinded 
 of that part of space where 
 
 1 works. A void in the uni- 
 bc at once to say that Deity 
 s machinery, that there was 
 )ivine Mind. Let us allow 
 irts of space unpeopled with 
 
 intelligence, and by a very 
 easoning, we may reduce the 
 ich arms the Eternal, to the 
 nperfection which mark the 
 :an form no conception of De- 
 ■>\v that the majesty of his 
 led all space with the mighty 
 his glory. A boundless um- 
 5 is no such being as an athe- 
 e take up the beautiful idea 
 
 modem classical essayists, 
 
 his important essay on iho 
 ianity among men of genin* 
 : How can men deny the et 
 ty unless they have trav>"lte« 
 : to discover whether he mi-jht 
 d himself ? Every record of 
 y land, must be laid open bc- 
 
 every planet and star must 
 ry; and if there be other 
 space, governed not by plare- 
 itlier planets nor stars, but in- 
 igences, their history must be 
 
 COD-FISHING. 
 
 Ill 
 
 known too ; and until he knows this, and has 
 iupiired at nil these places, whether Deity has 
 never been known to reveal himself, he is not 
 at liberty to suy there is no (Jod. This idea 
 has been ijcirrowf d and curried out by Doctor 
 Chahners, in his Bridgewater Treatise. But 
 oh ! why should we travel so fur when liound- 
 lessiiess breathes all around, and that bound- 
 lessness loused by (toil. Boundlessness is 
 written in letters of lightning on the black 
 thunder-cloud — we know not whence it eoin- 
 eth nor whither it goeth ; boundlessness on 
 the petals of tlu^ flower bowing on its ealvx ; 
 mvriud veins defy the mi;st intense in rroscopic 
 ken ; boundlessness in the colors ("f the rain- 
 bow, the fires of the aurora, the insect and 
 the animal trilie, with all their train. The 
 universf! in all tlu; extent of its creation, teems 
 with boundlessness, and that because God 
 himself is boundless. 
 
 COD-FISHING. 
 
 Although I had seen, as I thought, abun- 
 dance offish along the coasts of the F'loridas, 
 the numbers whi<'h I found in Labrador (piite 
 astonished me. Shonlil your sur|)rise, while 
 reading the following statements be as gnmt 
 as mine was, while observing the facts related, 
 you will conclude, as I have often dime, that 
 Nature's means for providing small animals 
 for the use of larger ones, and vice versa, are 
 as am[)le as is the grandeur of that world 
 which he has so curiously constructed. 
 
 The coast of Labrador is visited by Eu- 
 ropean as well as American fishermen, all of 
 whom are, I believe, entitled to claim portions 
 of fishing-ground, assigned to each nation by 
 mutual understanding. For the present, how- 
 ever, I shall confine my observations to those 
 of our own country, who, after all, are )>roba- 
 bly the most numerous. The citizens of Bos- 
 ton, and many other of our eastern seaports, 
 are those who chiefly engage in this depart- 
 ment of our commerce. Eastport, in Maine, 
 sends out every year a goodly fleet of schoon- 
 ers and " pickaxes" to Labrador, to procure 
 cod, mackerel, halibut, and sometimes her- 
 ring, the latter being caught in the interme- 
 diate space. The vessels from that port, and 
 others in Maine and Massachusetts, sail as 
 soon as the warmth of spring has freed the 
 gulf of ice, that is, from the beginning of 
 May to that of June. 
 
 A vessel of one hundred tons or so, is pro- 
 vided with a crew of twelve men, who are 
 equally expert as sailors and fishers, and for 
 every cou])le of these hardy tars, a Hampton 
 
 boat is provided, which is lashed rn the deck, 
 or hung ill stays. Their jirovision is simple, 
 hut of good ipialitv. and it is very seldom that 
 any sjiirits are alfowed ; beef, pork, and bis- 
 cuit, with water, being all they take with 
 them. The men are sujiplied with warm 
 clothing, water-proof oiled jackets and trou- 
 s<'rs, large boots, broad-bri«imed hats with a 
 round crown, and stout mittens, with a few 
 shirts. The owner or captain furnishes them 
 with lines, hooks, and nets, and also provides 
 till' bnit best adapted to insure success. The 
 hold of the vessel is filled with ^ asks of va- 
 rious dimensions, some containing salt, and 
 otlii'rs for the oil that may be procured. 
 
 The bait generally sed at the beginning of 
 the season, consists of mupclcs salted f )r the 
 purpose; but as soon as the capclings reach 
 the cousi, they are substituted to save exjiense ; 
 anil in many instances, the flesh of gannets 
 and other sea-fowls is emj)loyed. The wages 
 of fishermen vary from sixteen to thirty (lol- 
 Inrs per month, according to the qualifications 
 of the individual. 
 
 The labor of these men is excessively hard, 
 for, unless on Sunday, their allowance of rest 
 in the twenty-four hours, seldom exceeds 
 three. The cook is the only person who fares 
 better in this respect, but he must also assist 
 in curing the fish. Hebe 'eakfast, consist- 
 ing of coflee. bread, and at, ready liir the 
 cajitain and the whole ' 
 every morning, excep' 
 ))er^;on carries with I 
 
 cooked, which is commonly eaten on the fish' 
 ing-grounds. 
 
 Thus, at three in the morning, the crew 
 are jirepared for their day's labor, and ready 
 to betake themselves to their boats, each of 
 which has two oars and lugsails. They all de- 
 part at once, and either by rowing or sailing, 
 reach the banks to %vhich the fishes are known 
 to resort. The little 8(iuadron drop their 
 anchors at short distances from each other, in 
 a depth of from ten to twenty feet, and the 
 business is immediately commenced. Each 
 man has two lines, and each stands in one end 
 of the boat, the middle of which is boarded 
 off to hold the fish. The baited lines have 
 been dropped into the water, one on each side 
 of the boat ; their leads have reached the 
 bottom, a fish has token the hook, and after 
 giving the line a slight jeik, the fisherman 
 hauls up his prize with a continued pull, 
 throws the fish athwart a small round bar of 
 iron ]ilaced near his back, which forces open 
 the mouth, while the weight of the body, 
 however small the fish may be, tears out the 
 hook. The bait is still goo<l, and over the 
 sifle the line again goes, to catch another fish, 
 while that on the left is now drawn up, and 
 the same course pursued. In this manner, a 
 
 by three o'clock 
 
 Sunday. Each 
 
 his dinner ready 
 
 N(>' 
 
 ^■*i.;ti 
 
 '%W'' 
 
 s— «-in 11,.,. I 
 
112 
 
 CODFISIIINO. 
 
 fislicr busily plyino; nt each ond, thn onrration 
 is cmtimu'.l uiitilllif txmt is so Ind.n, lluit 
 licr gunwale is luouglit williiu a fi>w inches 
 of tiio surface, when they rntuni to th.- ves- 
 sel ill luirlior, si^Moni distant more than eight 
 miles tVoiii the hunks. 
 
 DuriiiL: the greater jinrt of the day, the 
 fislienrieii have kept up a constant conversa- 
 tion, of which the topics nre the pleasure of 
 tiniliiig a good supply of cod, their di>inestic 
 alVairs" the jiolitical jirospects of the nation, 
 anil other matters similarly connected. Now 
 the repartee of one elicits a laugh from the 
 other; this passes from man to man, and the 
 whole jlolilla enjoy the joke. The men of 
 one boat strive io outdo those of the others m 
 hauling up the greatest (luautity of fish in a 
 given time, and 'this forms another source of 
 merriment. The bouts arc generally filled 
 about the same time, and all return together. 
 Arrived at the vessel, each man employs a 
 pole anned with a bent iron, resembling the 
 prong of a hay-fork, with which he pierces 
 the fish, ami throws it with a jerk on deck, 
 counting the number thus discharged, with a 
 loud voice. Each cargo is thus safely depos- 
 ited, and the boats instantly return to the fish- 
 ing-ground, when, after anchoring, the men 
 ea't 'their dinner and begin anew. There, 
 good reader, with your leave, I \yill let them 
 pursue their avocations for awhile, as I am 
 anxious that you should witness what is doing 
 on board the vessel. 
 
 The captain, four men, and the cook, have, 
 in the course of the morning, erected long 
 tables fore and aft the main hatchway, tbcy 
 have taken to the shore most of the salt-bar- 
 ri'ls, and have placed in a row their large 
 empty casks, to receive the livers. The hold 
 of the vessel is quite clear, except a comer 
 where there is a large heap of salt. And now 
 the men, having dined precisely at twelve, 
 are ready with their large knives. One be- 
 gins with breaking off the head of the fish, a 
 slight pull of the hand and a gash with the 
 knife eflecting this in a moment. He slits up 
 its belly, with one hand pushes it aside to his 
 neighbor, then throws overboard the head, and 
 begins to prepare another. The next man 
 tears out the entrails, separates the liver, 
 which he throws into a cask, and casts the 
 rest overboard. A third perwin dexterpusly 
 passes his knife beneath the vertebras of the 
 fish, separates them from the flesh, heaves 
 the latter through the hatchway, and the for- 
 mer into the water. 
 
 Now, if vou will peep into the hold, you 
 will see the'loist stage of the process, the salt- 
 ing and packing. Six experienced men gen- 
 erally manage to head, gut, bone, salt, and 
 pack", all the fish caught in the morning, by 
 the return of the boats with fresh cargoes, 
 
 I when oil hands set to work, and clear the deck 
 
 ' of the lisli. Tims their labors rouliiiue until 
 
 ' twelve o'clock, when they wash their faces 
 
 I and hands, jnit on dean chithes, hang their 
 
 fishing-apparel on the shronds, and. betaking 
 
 thems(lves to the foreco-stle, arc soon in a 
 
 sound sleep. 
 
 At three, next morning, comes the captain 
 from his berth, rul)bing his eves, anil in a loud 
 voice calling : " All hinds, ahoy !" Stitli'ned 
 in limb, and but half awake, the crew ipiickly 
 appear on the deck. Their fingers and Ininils 
 are so cramped and swollen by pulling the 
 lines, that it is ditlicult for them to straighten 
 even a thumb ; but this matters little at pres- 
 ent ; for th(! coelv, who had a good nap yes- 
 terday, has risen an hour before them, and 
 l)repared tlieir coffee ond eatables. Breakfast 
 desjiatched. they exchange their clean clothes 
 for the fishing-apparel, and leap into their 
 boots, which had been ^. ■'shed the previous 
 night, and again the flotilta bounds to the 
 fishing-ground. 
 
 As there may be not less than a hundred 
 scliooners or pickaxes in the harbor, three 
 hundred boats resort to the banks each 
 day; and, as each boat may procure two 
 thousand cods per diem, when Saturday night 
 comes, about six hundred thousand fishes have 
 been brought to the harbor. This having 
 caused some scarcity on the fishing-grounds, 
 and Sunday being somewhat of an idle day, 
 the captain collects the salt ashore, and sets 
 sail for some other convenient harbor, which 
 he expects to reach long before sunset. If the 
 weather he favorable, the men get a good deal 
 of rest during the voyage, and on Monday 
 things go on as before. 
 
 I must not omit to tell yon, reader, that 
 while proceeding from one harbor to another, 
 the vessel has passed near a rock, which is 
 the breeding-place of myriads of puffins, j 
 She hos laid to for an hour or so, while i)ort 
 of the crew have landed, and collected a store 
 of eggs, excellent as a substitute for croom, 
 and not less so when hard boiled, as food for 
 the fishing-grounds. I may as well inform 
 you, also, how these ad/enturous fellows dis- 
 tinguish the fresh eggs from the others. They 
 fill up some large tubs \vith water, throw in a 
 (luantity of eggs, a/id allow them to remain a 
 minute or so, when those which come to the 
 surface are tossed overboard, ond even those 
 that manifest any upward tendency, share 
 the same treatment. All that remrin at bot- 
 tom, you may dejiend upon it, g(K)d reader, 
 are perfectly sound, and not less palatable than 
 any that you have ever eaten, or that your 
 best guinea-fowl has just dropped in your 
 barn-yard. But let us return to the cod-fish. 
 The fish olready procured and salted, is 
 1 t»ken ashore at the new harbor, by part of 
 
 ::^c 
 
 «i\M,*BiSW.-J.Tn;, ji«5a(SS.»B3SSE!S&T!«BOS iCls 
 
 .v&it 
 
 ifVo^ViV^ 
 
""^^•tlf^"*. \ 
 
 work, nnd dear tlie dcrk 
 heir lulinrs rdiitiiiiic until 
 ri tlit'v wiisli tlicir fnces 
 •lean rldthes, hnri!; thiir 
 10 sliroiiils, nr.d, lictakiii!; 
 breciustle, arc soon in a 
 
 rnin?, comes the captain 
 iii{ liis fvfs, nnd in a loud 
 111 nils, ulioy !" .Stilli'ncil 
 ' uwnkp, tin- cri.'w (|ui(,-kly 
 Tlipir RnjioR nnd hands 
 I swollen by pullinj; tlic 
 ult for thcni to straiijhtcn 
 this matters little at prcs- 
 who h.nd a gooil nap yes- 
 n hour before them, nnd 
 nnd eatables. Breakfast 
 change their clean clothes 
 arel, and leap into their 
 pen ^.-'shed the previous 
 he JlolUla bounds to the 
 
 not less than n hundred 
 xes in the harbor, three 
 sort to the banks each 
 I boat may procure two 
 iem, when Saturday night 
 ndred thousand fishes have 
 lie harbor. This having 
 ty on the fishing-gniunds, 
 somewhat of an idle day, 
 ! the salt ashore, and sets 
 convenient harbor, which 
 long before sunset. If the 
 le, the men get a good deal 
 voyage, and on Monday 
 ire. 
 
 ; to tell yon, reader, that 
 •om one harbor to another, 
 sed near a rock, which is 
 3 of myriads of puffins. 
 
 an hour or so, while part 
 inded, and collected a store 
 as a substitute for cream, 
 en hard boiled, as food for 
 s. I may as well inform 
 se adventurous fellows dis- 
 ggs from the others. They 
 :ubs with water, throw in a 
 i/id allow them to remain a 
 1 those which come to the 
 
 overboard, nnd even those 
 ' upward tendency, share 
 It. All that remrin at bot- 
 lend upon it, good reader, 
 1, anil not less palatable than 
 e ever eaten, or that your 
 has just dropped in your 
 et us retnm to the cod-fish, 
 dy procured nnd salted, is 
 :he new harbor, by part of 
 
 KINDNESS AND CENS0III0USNES8. 
 
 113 
 
 the crew, whom the captain has marked as 
 the worKt hands at fishing. There, on the 
 bare rocks, or on elevated scallblds of con- 
 siderable extend, the salted cods are laid side 
 by side to dry in the stm. They are turned 
 several tinies a ihiy, and in the intervals the 
 men bear a hand on board at clearing and 
 stowing away the dnilv produce of the fishing- 
 banks," Toward eveniiig, they return to the 
 drying-grounds, and put up the fish in piles, 
 resein"bliiig so many haystacks, disposing 
 those toward the top in such a manner that 
 the rain can not injure them, nnd jilacing a 
 heavy stone on the summit to prevent their 
 being thrown down should it blow hard during 
 the night. V^ou see, reader, that the life of a 
 Lnbrud(jr fisherman is not one of idleness. 
 
 The cnpelings have approached the shores, 
 and in myriads enter every basin and stream, 
 to deposite theii spawn, for now July is ar- 
 rived. The cods follow them, as the blood- 
 hound follows his prey, and their compact 
 masses literally line the shores. The fisher- 
 men now adopt another method : they have 
 brought with them long and deep seines, one 
 end of which is, by means of a line, fastened 
 to the shore, while the other is, in the usuol 
 manner, drawn out in a broad sweep, to en- 
 close as great a space as possible, and hauled 
 on shore by means of a capstan. Some of 
 the men in boats su])[iort the corked part of 
 the net, and beat the water, to frighten the 
 fishes within toward the land, while others, 
 anned with poles, enter the water, hook the 
 fishes, and fling them on the beach, the net 
 being gradually drawn closer as the number 
 of fishes diminishes. What do you think, 
 reader, as to the number of cods secured in 
 this manner at a single haul ?•— thirty, or 
 thirty thousand ? You may form some notion 
 of (lie matter when I tell you that the young 
 gentlomeu of my (lorty while going along the 
 shores, caught codfish alive, with their hands, 
 and trouts, of many pounds weight, with a 
 piece of twine and a mackerel-hook hung to 
 their gun-rods; and that, if two of them 
 walked knee-deep along the rocks, holding a 
 handkerchief by the corners, they swept it 
 full of capelings. Should you not trust me 
 in this, I refer you to the fishermen them- 
 selves, or recommend you to go to Labrador, 
 where you will {^ive credit to the testimony 
 of your eyes. 
 
 The " seining" of the codfish, I believe, is 
 not quite, lawful, for a great projwrtion of the 
 codlings which are dragged ashore at last, are 
 so small as to be considered useless ; and, in- 
 stead of be'ng returned to the water, as they 
 ought to be, are left on the shore, where they 
 are ultimately eaten by bears, wolves, and ra- 
 vens. The 'fishes taken along the coast, or 
 on fishing-stations only a few miles off, are of 
 
 small dimension ; and I believe 1 am correct 
 in saying that ''jw of them weigh more than 
 two pounds, when perfectly cured, or exceed 
 six, when taken out of the water. Tlie fish 
 arc liable to several diseases, and at times are 
 annoyed by parasitic niiimals, which in a short 
 time render them lean nnd unfit for usi'. 
 
 Some individuals, from laziness, or other 
 causes, fish with naked hooks, and thus fre- 
 quently wound the cod without securing them, 
 in consetiuence of which, the shoals are driven 
 away, to the detriment of the other fishers. 
 Some carry their cargoes to other parts before 
 drying them, while others dispose t)f them to 
 agents from distant shores. Some have only 
 a pickaxe of fifty tons, while others are own- 
 ers of seven or eight vessels of c(|nnl or larger 
 burden ; but whatever be their means, should 
 the season prove favorable, they are generally 
 well repaid for their labor. I have known 
 instances of men, who, on their first voyage, 
 ranked as "boys," and in ten years after were 
 in independent circumstances, although they 
 still contintied to resort to the fishing-grounds; 
 " For," said they to me, " how could we be 
 content to spend our time in idleness at 
 home ?" 1 know a person of this class, who 
 has carried on the traffic for many years, and 
 who has quite a little fleet of schooners, one 
 of which, the largest and most beautifully 
 built, has a cabin as neat and comfortable 
 as any that I have ever seen in a vessel of 
 the same size. This vessel took fish on board 
 only when perfectly cured, or acted as jiilot 
 to the rest, and now and then wouhl return 
 home with an ample supply of halibut, or 
 a cargo of prime mackerel. Auduboa. 
 
 KINDNESS AND CENSORIOUSNESS. 
 
 Observation shows that those persons 
 who indulge most in a fault-finding, bitter 
 spirit, always have the most faults of charac- 
 ter themselves, and are the most deficient in 
 excellent virtues. A censorious, bitter per- 
 son, is apt to be one of a narrow and |)reju- 
 diced mind, not liberalized by extensive ac- 
 quaintance with men or things, and generally 
 self-conceited, contemptuous, and positive, just 
 in proportion to his own littleness of irind and 
 personal unworthiness. 
 
 A truly great mind, or a great heart, is never 
 contemptuous or scornful, or bitter against 
 others, but has always too much knowledge 
 or too much goodness for that, or both, and 
 too intimate an acquaintance with self and 
 personal frailties, to allow of the tongue s 
 dwelling censoriously upon the faults of others. 
 When Goethe was already an old man, he 
 
 
 kb. 
 
 **•>. .. 
 
 f*""l)H!' 
 
114 
 
 THE HAMMER. 
 
 said : " As I prow old, I becomo more Iniicnt 
 to the sins of frail liurnniiity. The man wlin 
 loudly di'iiouncos, I alwiiya suspect. 1I<- 
 knows too much of crime, who dciiouncos ii 
 fellow-crciiturc unhciird— n knowlcdjjc which 
 cnn only bo obtained by criminality itsclt. 
 The hyjiocrite olway.s strives to divert atten- 
 tion from his own w'lckedness, by denonnciiij; 
 uns|)«rin<:ly that of others. He thinks he 
 shall seem pood, in exact ratio as he itinkes 
 others s.ciu bad." We may treasure up such 
 remarks of the follies or vices of our neighbors 
 as may be a constant guard against our jirac- 
 tice of the same, without exposing the reputa- 
 tion of our neighbor on that accotmt. 
 
 Those who are truly kind and noble by na- 
 ture, like the tndv modest and pure, are most 
 likely to think others so likewise ; whereas, 
 the naturally mean, vulgar, and immodest, are 
 apt to charge others with being so, just in ])ro- 
 portioii as all that they have of nobility or 
 mndestv is counterfeit. They seem to forget 
 that while to the pure all things are i)ure, the 
 calling of attention to an immodest thing or 
 speech is far more immodest than the thing 
 itself, and that commenting upoti an indelicacy 
 and so innking it noticeable, is itself the most 
 highly indelicate. 
 
 It is an old ))roverb, that whom you injure 
 vou hate, and it is indeed true that a man is 
 far more likely to become an enemy to one 
 who'm he has injured, than to one that has in- 
 jured him. So, to be seen by another in a 
 humiliating position, or in a fit of ill tenifier 
 or sensuality, will ever after make thot j)erson 
 an enemv to the one that is so unfortunate as 
 to have'l)cen a witness to his weakness or 
 misconduct, such is the vice of human nature, 
 as exhibited in some characters. 
 
 On this principle it is that Borrow says of 
 Portugal, in his book entitled " The Bible in 
 Spain," that " the English, who were never 
 at war with Porttigal, who have fought for 
 its independence on land and sea. and 8(iuan- 
 dered bl(X)d and treasure in its defence, and 
 always with success ; who have forced them- 
 selves, by a treaty of commerce, to drink its 
 coarse and filthy wines, which no other nation 
 cares to taste, are the most unj)0)iular peo])le 
 thot visit Portugal. The French have rav- 
 aged the country with fire and sword, and 
 shed the blood of its sons like water; the 
 French will not buy its fruits, and they loathe 
 its wines, yet there" is no bad spirit in Portugal 
 toward the French. The reason of this is 
 no mystery ; it is the nature, not of the Por- 
 tuguese only, but of corrupt and unregenerate 
 man, to dislike his benefoctors, who, by con- 
 ferring benefits u|)on him, mortify in the most 
 generous maiirier his miserable vanity. There 
 18 no country in which the English ore so pop- 
 ular as in France; but though the French 
 
 have been freiiueiitly roughly handled by the 
 English, anil h.ive seen their cajHtal occupied 
 by an English army, they have never been 
 subjected to the ignominy of receiving assist- 
 ance from them." There is both pmlosoiihy 
 and truth to nature in this, as api)licable to 
 the relations of nations as of individuals. 
 
 THE HAMMER. 
 
 TiiK hammer is the universal emblem of 
 mechanics. With it are alike forged the 
 sword of contention, and the ploughshare of 
 peaceful agriculture, the press of the free, 
 and the shackle of the slave. The eloiptence 
 of the forum has moved the armies of Greece 
 and Rome to a thousand battle-fields, but the 
 eloijuence of the hummer has covered those 
 fields with victory or defeat. The insinration 
 of song has kindled n\i high hopes and noble 
 aspirations in the Ixisoms of brave knights 
 and gentle dames, but the inspiration of the 
 hammer has strewn thv. field with tattered 
 helm and shield, decided not only the fate of 
 chivalric combat, but the fate t)f thrones, 
 crowns, and kingdoms. The forging of thun- 
 derbolts was ascribed by the Greeks as the 
 highest act of Jove's omnipotence, and their 
 mythology beautifully ascrilies to one of tlieir 
 go"ds the task of presiding at the labors of the 
 forge. In ancient warfare, the hammer was 
 a powerful weapon, independent of the blade 
 which it formed. Many a stout scull was 
 broken through the cap and helm by a blow 
 of Vulcan's weapon. The aniiies of the 
 Crescent would have subdued Europe to the 
 sway of Mohammed, but on the jihiins of 
 France their progress was arrested, and the 
 brave and simjilc warrior who saved Christen- 
 dom from the sway of the Mussulman was 
 named Martel — " the hammer." How sim- 
 ple, how oppropriate, how grand — " the ham- 
 mer." The hammer is the savior and bul- 
 wark of Christendom. The hammer is the 
 wealth of nations. By it are forged the pon- 
 derous engine and the tiny needle. It is on 
 instrument of the savage 'and the civilized. 
 Its merry clink points out the abode of indus- 
 try — it is a domestic ditty, presiding over the 
 grandeur of the most wealthy and ambitious, 
 as well as the humble and impoverished. 
 Not a stick is shaped, not a house is raised, a 
 ship floats, or carriage rolls, a wheel spins, an 
 engine moves, a press speaks, a viol sings, a 
 spade delves or a flag waves, without the ham- 
 mer. Without the hammer civilization would 
 be unknown, and the human species only as 
 defenceless brutes, but in skilful hands, di- 
 rected by wisdom, it is an instrument of 
 power, of greatness, and true glory. 
 
 IIWMWllWllllf . 
 
 fmmms^^ 
 
Iv roughly hnndletl by tlir- 
 ipcn thoir" capital occupieil 
 ly, they have never lieen 
 lominy'of receiving assist- 
 There is both puilosophy 
 c in this, OS applicable to 
 lions OS of individuals. 
 
 HAMMER. 
 
 the universal emblem of 
 I it are alike forced the 
 n, and the ploughshare of 
 re, the jircss of the free, 
 the slave. The ehMpicnce 
 loved the armies of Greece 
 usand battle-fields, but the 
 hammer has covered those 
 or defeat. The iiisjiiration 
 :d U)) high hojjcs and noble 
 
 lx)soms of brave knights 
 , but the inspiration of tlie 
 vn the field with tattered 
 ecided not otdy the fate of 
 
 but the fate of thrones, 
 oms. The for£;:inir of thun- 
 ibed by the Greeks as the 
 'e's om'ni))oteiice, and their 
 "ully ascribes to one of tlnir 
 iresiding at the labors of the 
 ; warfare, the hammer was 
 n, independent of ihe blade 
 
 Many a stout scull was 
 ie cap and helm by a blov j 
 ])on. The annies of the i 
 lave subdued E>irope to the 
 Tied, but on the jdains of 
 ;res8 was arrested, and the 
 .varrior who saved Christen- 
 ■uv of the Mussulman was 
 ■ the hammer." How sim- 
 luto, how grand — " the ham- 
 iTiier is the savior and bul- 
 dorn. The hammer is the 
 . By it are forged the pon- 
 d the tiny neeille. It is an 
 B savage "and the civilized. 
 nints out the abode of indus- 
 »tie ditty, presiding over the 
 iiost wealthy and ambitious, 
 humble and impoverished, 
 iped, not a house is raised, a 
 riage rolls, a wheel spins, an 
 press speaks, a viol sings, a 
 flag waves, without the ham- 
 le hommer civilization would 
 
 the human sjiecies only as 
 38. but in skilful hands, di- 
 m, it 18 an instrument of 
 ess, and true glory. 
 
 USE OF ELEPHANTS IN WAE. 
 
 
 USE OF ELEPHANTS IN WAR. 
 
 The military history of elephants com- 
 metices with the invasion of India by Alex- 
 ander the Great ; the battle fought by Poms 
 is the first well-authenticated account of their 
 use in war. Thenceforward we find thern 
 used by the successors of Alexander, partic- 
 ularly the Ptolemies and the SeleucidiE. An- 
 tipater introduced them into Greece, and 
 Pyrrhus transported them into Italy. The 
 elej)hants used by these princes were of the 
 Asiatic race {Eleplias Indicus of Cuvier), but 
 the Carthagenians and Numidians about the 
 commencement of the Punic wars, began to 
 make a similar use of the African elephant 
 (Elephas Capensh of Cuvier), which differs 
 from the o.her, by having less size, weight, 
 and strength, but longer ears and tusks. 
 
 What may be called the military qualifica- 
 tions of the elephant, are his size, his strength, 
 his docility, his jKiv/er of swimming, and the 
 toughness of his skin, which in most places 
 was impenetrable to the weapons of ancient 
 warfare. It must, however, be observed, that 
 the strength of the elephant, though great, is 
 not at all projiortionato to his magnitude. 
 The ordinary pictures of ancient battles, in 
 
 which elephants are represented bearing huge 
 towers, crowded with armed men, are ludi- 
 crous exaggerations ; the most that the animal 
 could carry is a houdah with from four to six 
 persons, . and even this weight could not be 
 sustained on a long march ; the houdah was 
 expressed by a Greek word which literally 
 signifies "a little cuiras," but is sometimes 
 used by military writers for the hurdles or 
 wicker work employed in the constniction of 
 field-works. The passage of Silius Italicus, 
 which has led to the exaggerated notion of 
 these towers is merely descriptive of the ex- 
 
 
116 
 
 U8K OF ELEPHANTS IN WAR. 
 
 cessivo alarm wliicli would bo excited in an 
 iiriuy scuiiig such a spectacle for the first 
 tiini' : — 
 
 '' HIkIi nil liU liiK'li till! mililii'm hrw, amazed, 
 
 Kiiilialtli'il towi'i'H mill lliri^iili'iiiiiK fiirtii u|irai(i«il; 
 Till' |iiiiiiii'li"<, a'^i'i'ijiliiii,' C(i llie t'loniU. 
 SliakuHHliu iiiiivuHaiiil tliiuat to crush the rrowila." 
 
 I'unica, ix. 
 
 This is just, such nn exajijjpration as wn 
 liiiil ill the IliiKiiio piH'in troiislatcd iiy Wil- 
 kiiis ill till- Asiatii; roscarches: " Hisch'phants 
 miivfil iiitc walitins luoniitiiiiis, ami the earth, 
 oppressed by their weight, crumbled into 
 dust." 
 
 M. Arinandi, in his work on " The Military 
 History of Klephnnls," to which we are in- 
 debted for iinudi of the infonnation contained 
 in this article, justly remarits that elephants 
 anil war-chariots were used in ancient warfare 
 for jmrposes analogous to parks of artillery in 
 modern times. In tiie battle of the Hydas- 
 pes, I'onis employed his ele|)haiits to cover 
 his centre and left win";, believing that his 
 rii;ht was sullicieiitly jiroteeted by the river. 
 According: to I'olyciius he committed the fatal 
 error of phicin;^ his elephants so close together, 
 that they prevented him from making any 
 change in his lines ; consequently, when Ge- 
 nus charged through his right wing, and at- 
 tacked his centre in flank and rear, the In- 
 dians, kept liaek by the 'dcphants in front, and 
 pressed hard by Genus in the rear, became a 
 helpless mass of confusion. Porus tried to 
 remedy this disaster by ordering his elejihants 
 to charge the phalanx which fonned the Ma- 
 cedonian centre ; init the Greeks having room 
 to mnninuvre, attacked each elephant with a 
 separate detachment of light troops, Alexander 
 having selected picked men, armed with sharp 
 axes and crookeil swords for the purpose, who 
 were taught to aim at the trunks and throats 
 of the elephants. The animals were finally 
 driven back, and thus any new formation of 
 the Indian lines was effectually prevented. 
 In this instance, then, it may be said that these 
 cumiirous animals caused the defeat of the In- 
 dian army, iiy rendering its lines immoveable, 
 after they hud been once formed. 
 
 Elephants being used as a covering force, 
 were usually stationed in the front of the 
 lines, the intervals between them being occu- 
 jiied by divisions of light troops, who had to 
 prevent the enemy from ttirningthe elephants 
 back upon their own ranks. Some leaders 
 were so much afraid of the elephants being 
 turned that they kept these animals in reserve, 
 and only brought them up to turn the doubtful 
 scale of victory. It was thus that Pyrrhus 
 won the battle of Heraclea. The Roman cav- 
 alry were cutting lanes through his columns 
 when he brought up the elephants ; the Latin 
 horses were more frightened than their riders 
 
 ; at the unusual sight, the squadrons fell back 
 
 on' the legions, and threw tlii'tn into disorder, 
 
 j Pyrrhtis seized ihedccisivt-momcnt to cliuri;e 
 
 j at the heiid of liis Tbessaliun cavalry, "and 
 
 the rod field was won." 
 
 A curious circiiinstatice corroborates ilio 
 assertion of Florns, that (dcpbanls were j 'e- 
 viously unknown to the Ronii'iis; they calir.l 
 the animals " Lucaniaii oxen," the battle hav- 
 ing been fought in Lucania, and this was the 
 name usually given to the clcplmiii Iiy Liiiin 
 writers, down to the Augustan age. The biit- 
 j tie of Asculum was rcmarkalile for two cir- 
 I cumstances, which have been omitteii by 
 I nearly all the modern writers of I{(iniun his- 
 i tory : the legionaries liad so fur ricoMrcd 
 , from their fear of elephiints, iliat a ceiiliirion, 
 named Minucius, attacked one of these lii^a- fs 
 single-handed, and cut ofl" a large portion of 
 his trunk. The second incident is that the 
 ' Romans borrowed war-chariots fnmi the (Jiuils 
 as a counterpoise to the elephants of J^vnlius, 
 but never used them exccjit in this battle. 
 
 Minucius was not the only hero who ven- 
 tured singly against nn t Icphant ; a more no- 
 ble instance of devoted lieroisni is recorded in 
 the history of the Maccabees, at the baffle of 
 Beth/.acharias : " Eleazar. siirnamed Savaran, 
 ])(;rceiving that one of the beasts, armed with 
 royal harness, was higher than the rest, and 
 supposing that the king was upon him, jiut 
 himself in jeopardy, to the end he might de- 
 liver his people, and get him a jierpetual 
 name ; wherefore he ran u])on him courage- 
 ously through the midst of the battle, slay- 
 ing on the right hand and on the left, so that 
 they were dividcul from him on both sides, 
 which done he crept under the elejihant, and 
 thnist him under, andslewhim, whereujion the 
 elephant fell down u])on hiin, and there he 
 died." — 1 Mac. vi., 43-4G. On this narrative 
 it may be remarked, that the words rendered 
 " roya'. harness," properly signifies " a royal 
 houdah ;" and that the thirty-two men saiil in 
 a preceding verse to be united with the mahout 
 in the charge of each elephant, include not 
 only the warriors in the tower, but also the 
 soldiers who had the charge of protecting the 
 unwieldy animals from the skirmishers and 
 light troops of the enemy. 
 
 Pyrrhus was indebted to his elephants for 
 his victory at Heraclea, but these same ani- 
 mals caused his utter ruin in the battle of 
 Beneventum. Curius Denfatus had trained 
 a body of archers to shower burning nrniws 
 on these animals, which sticking in their 
 flesh, burned through their thick skins, and 
 drove them mad with pain. No animal is 
 more ferociously destructive than an infuriated 
 elephant ; even in the domesticated state, they 
 are known to be gratified with carnage, and 
 hence they have been frequently employed as 
 
 -5=qr- 
 
, the Rciuuilron!* W] Imck 
 lirt'w tlii'in into (lisiirilcr, 
 I'cisivmnomriit lo cIiuijjr 
 Micssiirmii cavulry, " and 
 11." 
 
 istiiiicf! corrobiirnfrM tho 
 flint ('lr|)Iiaiits were j 'C- 
 the Roni'ilis ; llwy <'alh ,| 
 inn oxen," tlic Imlllc liiiv- 
 jiiciiiiiii, (Mill lliis wri-* tlio 
 to the clcliliiiiit 1)V Liitiii 
 (\ii;;iisliiii iij.'c. Tlic liiit- 
 
 rcirmrkalili' fur twn cir- 
 
 luivc l)C(!ii (iiiiilli'd liy 
 n writers of Hoiimn liis- 
 s Imd so (ur ncDVcrcd 
 
 plmiits, llmt a cciitiirion, 
 ickcil one ot llicsc hcn'ts 
 ut oil" a Iar;;c |)(iilioii of 
 •Olid incidi'iit is tliitt tlio 
 ir-clmriot-*IVoiii ilic (Jnuls 
 he ('lcf)liaiits of Pyrihns, 
 exccjit in tliis hiittlp. 
 
 thr only hero who vcn- 
 111 tlrphant ; q more no- 
 (m1 hcmisin is rccordrd in 
 icnalifos, nt thf linttle of 
 ■nzar, siirriamod Siivuinn, 
 if tlif hensts, nmicd with 
 iif,'licr than the rest, and 
 [ing was ii|)oii him, jiiit 
 
 to the end ho mijjlit dc- 
 id pet him a jierpetual 
 
 ran u])ori liim courafje- 
 lidst of the battle, slny- 
 1 and on the left, so that 
 Vnni him on both sides, 
 
 under the elejihant, nnd 
 slew him, whereujion the 
 ijion him, nnd there he 
 ti-iC). On this narrative 
 that the words rendered 
 nperly signifies " a royal 
 10 thirty-two men saiti in 
 le united with the mahout 
 ;h elephant, include not 
 
 the tower, but also the 
 charge of protecting the 
 om the skirmishers and 
 lemy. 
 
 bted to his elephants for 
 lea, but those same ani- 
 er ruin in the battle of 
 IS .Dcntattis had trained 
 I shower burning anows 
 i\-hich sticking in their 
 h their thick skins, and 
 th pain. No animal is 
 ructive than an infuriated 
 : domesticated state, they 
 tified with carnage, and 
 1 frequently employed as 
 
 "far 'i''^i''i"i' ". i ' . l.ii 
 
 USK OK ELEPHANTS IN WAft. 
 
 117 
 
 Elephants destroying Captives taken in War, 
 
 executioners by the despots of the East. 
 One of the Epirote elephants, furious from 
 pain, shook oil' his driver, and rushing back 
 upon the phalanx which Pyrrhus hail fonned 
 with closer ranks than usual, crushed and de- 
 stroyed a great number of soldiers before any 
 remedy cimld be found for such u disaster. 
 Oil a ])revious occasion the delight of the ele- 
 "jihaiit in carnage had been fearfully (U:noii 
 strated ; before the body of Alexander was 
 laid in the tomb, three hundred of his bravesl 
 comjianions were crushed to death by ele- 
 phants, ill the presence of the entire army, by 
 command of the regent Perdiccas. Arrian 
 says that this sickening massacre was ren- 
 dered the more revolting by the' trumpeting, 
 roaring, and other signs of savage delight, 
 whicli the animals exhibited while engaged in 
 the work of slaughter. 
 
 The military value of elephants was best 
 tested ill the second Punic war. Hannibal 
 attached more importance to these animals 
 than any cotemporary general, and he cer- 
 tainly made a more skilful use of them than 
 any great captain of anti(|uity. At the battle 
 near tho river Trebia, Hannibal charged and 
 routed the Roman cavalry with his elephants ; 
 
 but the infantry stood firm against these a >i- 
 mals, ond even drov them back on the Ci' • 
 thttgenian lines. We are told that the k\ 
 aries were encimraged to this resistance by th' 
 example of Fiiirenus. The incident is well 
 told by .Silius Italicus; and as this most pro- 
 saic of historical poets is ranly «ead by 
 English students, we shall venture to translate 
 tile passage : — 
 
 " Fresh horrors now are added to the fight, 
 The fcarlul elephants appear in siglit ; 
 They gain the bunk, they rush into the stream, 
 HiKli o'er the wave (heir spear feuped turiets gloam ; 
 The Trebia trembles at the sudden shock, 
 As if invaded by some mnnHtroii ' rock, 
 Which, torn by lempoiit from si-me mountain's head, 
 Cliukcd up the streuiii, and droM: it tVum its bed. 
 But vnlor rises iimler adverse futc. 
 And dangers still excite the tijiily irreat s 
 FibienuH, only anxious that his name 
 Sin., live recorded in tho rolls ol' I'ume, 
 Sliouts ' Tlmuk thee, fortune ! — undfnieulh tho wave, 
 Tliou dlilst not give me un unhoiiored f,'i'ave; 
 My di-eds are seen, and here on land I fry 
 What force the Human falchion can defy. 
 Or what the monster is that must not fear 
 The Latin javelin and Tuscan spear' 
 Ho spoke, and eager sought some temlor part, 
 ! Then at the monster hurled his rapid dart ; 
 I Right to the eye tho weapon held its way 
 I Tore through the ball, and quenched tliu v "lal ray ( 
 
 . .^ I i 
 
 |f4f'!-l 
 
118 
 
 U8E OF ELEPHANTS IN WAE 
 
 ■^ .Mnrnea, ..™ 
 
 Army on a Murcli, wllh Eleplianti, 
 
 The horrid heant wnt forth n frnrful ronr, 
 Which echoeil wildly round tho hloiid utainfit ^'ml■e, 
 Then, blind with rage, niid inuddenod by Uin /.aiu, 
 llti ihruw Ilia driver helplexa on the (ilain, 
 And Hod amain. Tlie Romnnii at the High'. 
 Rereivc fresh courage, and renew the light ; 
 They prt'Hi the monster with hice«iant blows, 
 From gn|iliiK wound* hia blood in torrents flowi; 
 Arrows and dartHaro quivering in his hide, 
 Till one wide gush extoiida along his side ; 
 A bustling forest on his bnrk appears. 
 Of waving javelina and of deep-driven spears ; 
 Worn out at last, the dreadful monster reels, 
 And soeliM <hc river as his death he feels : 
 Ho fnlla— the mighty ruin cholies tlie llnod, 
 And tlic clear stream rui> i c/insson with his blood." 
 
 I'unka, iv. 
 
 According t.o Polybius, whose authority is 
 incidentnlly confirmed by Juvenal, Hunnibal 
 lo.st all his elephants but one in this battle, and 
 did not receive a fresh supply until after his 
 victory at Cannae. Hanno joined hitn nt 
 CopuB with forty elephants and four thousund 
 Numidian cavalry, but this reinforcetnent die' 
 not enable Hannibal to pursue his career of 
 contiuest. He was defeated at Nola by Mar- 
 cellu.>«, with a loss of four elephants killed, 
 and two taken ; he met a similar loss at Gru- 
 menlum ; two of his ele])hant8 were killed in 
 the unsuccessful attempt to relieve Capua, 
 and five more were slain at the battle of Cam- 
 isiuni. At the battle of the Metaurus the 
 elepliuats were repulsed by the pikemen of 
 the eleventh legion, four being slain on the 
 spot, and the rest driven biefc on the Cartha- 
 genian lines. 
 
 But the most remarkable example which 
 can be cited of the use of elephants during 
 this ]ieriod was presented at the battle of Za- 
 ina, wViere Hannibal covered his line with no 
 less than eighty of those animals. Scipio im- 
 mediately changed the usual order of Roman 
 lilies ; he left wide spaces like lanes between 
 
 the manipuli of the legions, masking this or- 
 rongcnient by throwing for*vurd a cloud of 
 skirmishers and light tnwps, principally Nti- 
 inidian cavalry furnished to them l)y Mas- 
 sinissu. !'I«nnibol, unnoyed by the hkinnisli- 
 ers, ordered his elephants to charge the Ko- 
 innn lines in a body, and the skirmishers re- 
 treated through tfle bines or I)assnge3 left 
 open by the formation of the legionaries. The 
 elephants pursued, atid the moment one of 
 those animals was engaged in one of the jios- 
 snges his doom was sealed ; on either side 
 were the pike-men, whose serried weapons 
 could not be beaten down, whiletlw lighttroops 
 attackeil the animals with spears, javelins, 
 crooked swords, and battle-axes. The chief 
 danger arose from the cavalry ; the Italian 
 horses could not be got to face the elephants. 
 Seipio, however, promptly set the example 
 of dismounting, and after a fierce strug^de the 
 elephants were all hors de combat. Eleven 
 of these animals were taken alive by the Ro- 
 mans; all the rest fell in action. 
 
 This battle taught the Romans the advan- 
 tage of an open formation of the lines in a 
 contest with elephants, and in some degree 
 proved the inutility of these animals when 
 sent against disciplined troops. Thencefor- 
 ward the use of these animals in war de- 
 clined, and they are mentioned for the last 
 time in the military history of Rome at the 
 battle of Thapsus, where Julius Caesar over- 
 threw the last army of the republic and its 
 African auxiliaries. All the accounts of this 
 battle which we possess are so imperfect, 
 that it is not easy to determine how Juba em- 
 ployed his elephants; but that the victory 
 over them was deemed very important is man- 
 ifest from the frequent appearance of the ele- 
 phant on the coins and medala of the Julian 
 family. 
 
 I 
 
 -sam 
 
•^ 
 
 Ippong, mnskinp tlii« nr- 
 iiig fonvuril a clcuiil of 
 troops, principally Nii- 
 ishcil to tlicin liy Miis- 
 nnoyod by llif> Kkinnixli- 
 hnnt« to charfje tin; Ko- 
 aiul the skinnislicrs re- 
 lanP8 or passages left 
 1 of the legionaries. The 
 mil the moment one of 
 gaged in one of the pns- 
 isenlci) ; on either side 
 whose serried wcnjjons 
 wn, while t ho light troojis 
 I with spears, javelins, 
 battle-axes. The chief 
 10 cavalry; the Italian 
 ot to face the elephants. 
 )mptly set the cxam|)Ie 
 iter o fierce struggle the 
 ors de combat. Eleven 
 e taken alive by the Ro- 
 ll in action. 
 
 the Romans the ndvon- 
 nation of the lines in a 
 Its, and in some degree 
 of these animals when 
 led troops. Thencefor- 
 Bse animals in war de- 
 mentioned for the last 
 history of Rome at the 
 here Julius Cfcsar over- 
 of the republic and its 
 All the accounts of this 
 issess are so imperfect, 
 letermine how Juba em- 
 i; but thot the victory 
 d very important is man- 
 it appearance of the ele- 
 id medala of the Julian 
 
 i 
 
 asthonomy. 
 
 119 
 
 Tlie neglect of elephniit* in the western 
 wiirM iifler the battle of 'Pliapiiii bi'ciime an 
 esfiilili ;hed principle; both Ijivy aiid Arriiin 
 speiik iif ihern as utterly cmiteinplilple fur the 
 piirpiiHcs of war; but in the east tlic u-n' df 
 them was revived by the prince* of the lioUMe 
 of Sassiiii, 1111(1 tliev were eriiploved in the 
 wars (if Imliii so lute as 177!l; Ilvdcr Ali 
 having sent his elepluints to elmr','e the dis- 
 ordere(| lines of the iinfiirtiniate Hiiiliie. Tn 
 the ensfcrii wars, nut less tliiiri in those of the 
 west, cb pliuntshiive proved iin micertiiiti and 
 dangermis siippnrt ; thus when the Portuguese 
 were attacked at roldinlio in loJO, the ele- 
 phants sent ngaiii«t tlicin bv tin- Cingiilese, 
 daunted by the lire of the lmri|ii( busses and 
 maddened bv wnuuds, tunieil Imels upon their 
 own lines, mul erusbcd to deiitli whole troops 
 of unl'iirtiiiiMte isluiwbrs. Sonie of the em- 
 i)er(irs of Delhi niountiMl Ij^lit <z\\\\v. im the 
 backs of elephiiiits, but the slow niovenieiits 
 of the anirniils jirevented this kind of urtillirv 
 from being genenilly ad(iptc(l. In our dav, 
 elepliMits are cliiedy usimI for the tr'nisport of 
 ordnance and heavy stores; ainl many are of 
 o|)iiiioii that even for this purpose they arc in- 
 ferior in value to horses. 
 
 very first nstro- 
 iiion any nio\ jnij 
 the mix in. Thin 
 
 LECTURE.S ON ASTRONOMY.-NO. 2. 
 
 BT IMIOFKSSOR O. M. MITCIIKI.L. 
 
 I have stoted in the preceding lecture the fact 
 
 that the science of astronornv has furnished 
 to the liiinian infidlect the wildest and noblest 
 field for its elTIirts. I propose to direct your 
 nttcMition, in this lecture, to siiecilic objcts. 
 Follow nic, then, if you please, through the 
 history of the developments of discoveries 
 made with referrnco to our nearest neighbor — 
 tlie nioiin. 
 
 The {>arly history of science we know is 
 lost. Wo 'nay trace back the record of its 
 movements untd we see that there was a sci- 
 ence of astronomy anterior to the earliest date 
 wdiieh history can reach. We may then take 
 up tradition — stepping still further back — and 
 there again we stop and ponder upon the fact 
 that there was a science of astronomy anterior 
 even to tradition. Thus we are lost in the 
 obscurity of ])ast time, and, having nothing 
 more t;) iruide us up )n which we can rely, we 
 must resort tn speculation. But let it be re- 
 membered that this spectdatiim is of such a 
 character that it is absolute certainty, and if 
 it be properly conducted, it will lead us to re- 
 sults entirely reliable. I shall be obliged, 
 then, to begin with speculation. 
 
 In turning the eye to the heavens, the 
 
 strong prol ; ty is that 
 
 noinicul iili^. r\ itions tniul 
 
 body were tho»i" nmde ii|i«)n 
 
 iittriicted the wiinili ritm 'i/e of everv eve — 
 
 its curious and extrinirdiii;iry (dm?ii;es, anil the 
 
 riipidily id' its movements, were so dillirent 
 
 from those of any other heavenly body. 
 
 ; Willie the sun was ever bright an I round— 
 
 I while the other planets alwavs shone with n 
 
 I serene and slendy light — while the (i\cd stars 
 
 shed forth the same unviiryingdeLricedf -plen- 
 
 I dor year after year, it was found iliut the 
 
 moon was constantly chiiiigini;. On diie v\c. 
 
 ning it was observed to be the slend( r silver 
 
 cresci-iit. cliise beside (he sun : it wiis v\ (itched 
 
 from niiilit to nii^lit, receding from a line with 
 
 the sun. and increasing; in biilliiiiiev, till, 
 
 finally, it was foinul to rise in the east,' in full 
 
 Orb, while the sun was sinking' in the west. 
 
 Tlien. ns (be ni'jhts rolled on, tlie liulit was 
 
 discovered to decrease, until, when it U'.'ain 
 
 came round in coniunction with the sun, it 
 
 hail entirely disa))peare(|. These eluini'es 
 
 were i|(iiilitle-i>i!y the first ob>*erved. 
 
 Hut there was iiiiolher point w!n(di early 
 attnicte(l the attention of man. When the 
 !;roiiping of the stars in the heavens bud first 
 been made — when it was seen tbiit tliev Indd 
 invarialile re!iiti\(' positions toeiedi other, the 
 next point was to wat(di and see if the moon 
 held its ])lace among the stars. Here arose a 
 most wonderful discovery. The moon did 
 not hold its place among them. W'lnit did it 
 do? It was found, in the next place, to bo 
 movlnj contrary to the mo'ion of all tin; 
 heaveidy bodies, wlii< h ap|)enred to make 
 regular diuniid rotations. The moon was 
 heaving upward, while at the same time it 
 had a general dinmni motion. Here was the 
 first disco-/<-ry ever made with regard to the 
 movenu'iits of the ln^avenlv bodies. 
 
 For a long time it must have been a matter 
 of jierplexity whether this niotifiti of the 
 moon was real, or was occasioned bv the fact 
 that the whole sidereal heavens were swee|)- 
 ing past the moon. Hi)w is it p;)ssil)le to de- 
 termine thisipiestion ? If they had only this 
 object to examine and no other moving bodies 
 were found, then would it have been i:npos- 
 aiblc to have settled thetpiestion whether this 
 motion actuady belonged to this object alone, 
 or whether the whole sjdiere of stars wdieeled 
 round more rapidiy than the moon. 
 
 But after a little while they found that the 
 sun in like monner jiartook of a similar motion. 
 They watched the s.'tting Kun. How ninny 
 of us have done the same thing, for the like 
 purpose ? They saw certain bright stars first 
 making their appearance, n])parently near the 
 sun, as it sunk to rest. Night after night they 
 watched, and found to their astonishment that 
 these broad groups of stats ware coming down- 
 
 liii! 
 
 1 ■. '■! ; 
 
 ■ * » 
 re - M 
 
'*♦■ 
 
 ii 
 
 120 
 
 ASTUONOMY. 
 
 wiird rotnopt tho «un, and ot every »UPfe»iii«ive 
 •Iftv llicv were ricnrcr nnil iirmrr tlinf Inmin- 
 nry, 'Pin- huh \h hcnviiip tipwiinl, Nuiil tlicy, 
 ro iM'Tt itii' Htiir«, n* tiny iiri' Kiiikiinj dnwn 
 uimIit till' liitri/iin ; nnil iiMiiinnrli tm tluH |ilii'- 
 iKirmviDii dill imf diUrr t'niin ihiit ofllic iiniini, 
 it sc €i'd till' lpl(•^^tillIl lit orici' mid for ever, 
 tlint iTf '4 iniitiiiti of llic iiiHiiti niid tin- kiiii wiim 
 rciillyiiino Hi'iiMc liclonyiim; to tln' lii'iivcMly 
 iMidicH (ittiiiiii; wliicll tlicy n|i|i(iirrd to lie Iti- 
 ctltC'I. Ili'rr, then, \V(»m n Hrcnnd i;riiiid dis- 
 co* rrv — iln' iiinvi incut of tlic sun. 
 
 Rill lis tlicy ciintiiiui'd tlii'si' exniniimtiiHis 
 tlicv Imd iiccii>ii(m to ndVr tlii' sun to n vcrv 
 briliiniit lii'iiiitifiil stiir, tlmt wns foimd to lie 
 visililr to tlii'hi itftrr the sun's sfttin^. This 
 wns rcanrdril iis ii (i\ril star 111110111; the rest ; 
 lint, hy continuous cxniiiiniitiori. it was foiind 
 this slur wii^ inov ins; downward to inrct the 
 sun. It did not hold its pliict' ainiiii'^ tlic rest. 
 What could III' the iiii'iiniii!.' of this ,' lie 
 who (irsf li\cd hiscyn ciiiiiprrliiMdiiii;lv upon 
 this oliji'ct, how intt'tisc must have liccn his 
 finotions I What is this, hitherto reiianled as 
 n fixed star? IFe watches it till tiiiully it is 
 lost ill the spleiiilor of till' sun. Wiiat now? 
 It has Ix'en fniiiid that all the bright stars 
 ninoiii; which the sun appears, move upward 
 in the east in the mornin;; just lufoie the sun 
 rises. Mifjlit it not he that this star will pass 
 hy the sun and make its appearance in like 
 manner? M'e can imagine this inilividual. 
 tnomiiiLj after morning, with iiis gaze ttxcd on 
 the eastern sky, watching the roappi'arance 
 of his If\st star. At length it is found: there 
 it is, on the other side of the sun ! 
 
 Here, then, is the first discovery ever made 
 of n jilaiiet by the human eye. Who dis- 
 covered it ? Alas ! his name — his country, is 
 for ever lost. But we know this to have heen 
 the process. Having found one of these 
 moving bodies, it was not difficult to find 
 others. But it is unnecessary to go into an 
 explanation of the manner in wliicdi other 
 ])lanets were discovered, and I will revert to 
 the moon. Up to this time no explanations 
 of the clianges of the moon were divined — it 
 was impossible to divine them. 
 
 Another phenomenon, more wonderful, more 
 terrific than all, now came to impress itself 
 upon the mind and awake its eoergies : it was 
 the exhibition of a solar ccli])se. No eye, 
 even at this day, has ever gazed upon this 
 startling scene without experiencing a sense 
 of owe or fenr. The idea that the great 
 source of light is waning — is dying — is passing 
 away from the heavens, always chills the 
 blood and fills the mind with terror. What, 
 then, must have been the effect produced upon 
 the minds of the early inhabitants of the 
 earth by this ])hpnomeiion — while the causes 
 which produced it were unknown, and it was 
 
 i?n|Kwsiblc to predict its cominR — when, at 
 tlie noon of a mormons and siiiiiiv das . ii pre- 
 Heiited itself (i) their lisliiiii-.bed gil/e .' Siindv, 
 we iniiy iiiiiiniiie ihiit, atiir sueh a startling 
 plleniillleliiin, the iiiosf jKiwerfiil ilitelli etK 
 Were cnnsecriilcd to the iii\f»tiglitioii of thin 
 mystery. 
 
 Now, T shall venture to iittcmpt an e\| iin- 
 tion U> go fur enough tn show to ymi liow i; 
 was that the first lelipse was piidirted, so 
 that Villi yoiirsidves can, with the eyi alone. 
 Illlike (he reipiisile observations ami iitlaili siif- 
 fliieiit knowledge to be able yourxdves fo 
 predict the coming of su<di an event, TJiis 
 may seem very ditlleidt — and it i" iniirvelloiis, 
 e\eii now, with all the aid of tistroiioiiiiial 
 tallies, and all the knowIeilL'e we have derived 
 from the storied )m«t. How it could have 
 
 I II done thousands of years a;;o, when the 
 
 true kno\vleili;i' of our svsti III dill not exist, is 
 most remarkable and eniirily itiexplicublo. 
 Let us exaiiiine into this niatter. 
 
 Ill the first place, the attentive eve marked 
 the fact that when an eclipse of the sun oc- 
 curred, no niooii was visible. This was a 
 very iiiiportant point; and, aroused by the 
 discovery of this fact, they walchi'd the 
 niiivemeiits of the moon and marked its posi- 
 tion bcllire the coming eidipse. 'J'lio next 
 night after the eidijise they found the moon 
 (dose to ih(! sun — a silver crescent, actuolly 
 located in such o manner that if it pursued its 
 wonted nrb't it must have passed very near 
 the sun at the very time the eclipse took 
 place. The moon was last seen on this side 
 — immediately after the obscuration it occu- 
 pied the other side. They joined these two 
 points, and by the rate of motion of the moon 
 calculated how long it took for the moon to 
 come up ti/ a junction with the sun, and it 
 was found to be just such as to allow the moon 
 to come in conjunction with the sun at the 
 very time of the eclipse. Hence they reached 
 the conclusion that the moon was [mssing be- 
 tween the eye of the observer and the sun, 
 and in that manner the light of the sun had 
 been intercepted. Here was an explanation 
 of the extraordinary phenomenon of a solar 
 eclipse. 
 
 But how was it possible for them to calcu- 
 late the return of on eclipse? This will re- 
 (|uii-e more attention. I beg you to remember 
 that Tve have no history going back sufTiciently 
 far tT record this wonderful discovery — even 
 tradition knows nothing of it. We must then 
 go back in imagination, and speculate con- 
 cerning it. 
 
 First, then, it was remarked that the track 
 pursued by the sun and the moon among the 
 fixed stars was circular. ■ Now if it were 
 possible for mo to mark out the traok-of the 
 sun in the heavens — if it would, for our ac- 
 
ct iu pfitning — when, «t 
 1111 mill oiiiiiiy (lii_\ , it jtrr- 
 ii-.Iiiiii-.l)iil liw/v 1 Siirt'ly, 
 uit, iil'tiT Hiii-li (I stiirtlinR 
 iiiiHf |ii)vv('rriil iiitclli itn 
 till- iiivisti;iiiliiiii of thi« 
 
 iiri' t(iiitt(rii|it iiri i'\\ na- 
 il til mIiiiw to vmi liow i! 
 rrii|)N(' was pn ilii tril, no 
 
 run, Willi till' I'Vi iiloiic, 
 Ihitviii'idiis iiikI nitiiiti Mil- 
 II lie nlili- yoursclvr'' to 
 of Murli nil r\('iit. 'riiis 
 riilt — n(i<l it i" tiiiirvflloim, 
 I till' iiiil of iisirotioinii'iil 
 lowlrili/c \\v Iiiivi' iIiTivi'il 
 ist. How it coiilil liiiv« 
 s of vciirH (1^11, wliiii tlin 
 iir MVtrlii iliii not exist, is 
 ml riitirt'ly iiicxiilicublo. 
 I tliin timttcr. 
 
 till' nttiiitivo I'vo innrkod 
 in ('('liiisc! of tile sun oc- 
 as vlsililc. Tlii« was a 
 It ; uiiil, arou.si'il hy tlm 
 I'adt, llii'y waiclii'il tlin 
 loon anil niaikcil its jiosi- 
 iiiii^' crlipsc. 'J'lic iif'xt 
 isr tlif'v found till' moon 
 
 silvor crcspcnt, ni-tually 
 iiniT tlmt if it jmrsiicil its 
 it linvo passed very near 
 V time the eclipse took 
 was Inst seen on this side 
 
 the obscnrntion it occu- 
 
 Tlii'v joined these two 
 
 itG of motion of the moon 
 
 it took for the moon to 
 on with the sun, and it 
 such ns to nllow the mixm 
 ion with the sun at the 
 )se. Hence they reached 
 he moon was passing be- 
 lie observer and the snn, 
 tin; lifrht of the sun had 
 Here was an explanation 
 ' phenomenon of a solar 
 
 ossible for them to ralcu- 
 i eclipse 7 This will re- 
 , I bcpyou to remember 
 iry goini; back sufficiently 
 mderful discovery — even 
 inj; of it. We must then 
 tion, and speculate con- 
 
 3 remarked that the track 
 and the moon among the 
 culnr. - Now If it were 
 nark out the trnokof the 
 —if it would, for our ac- 
 
 J?*^* 
 
 ASTRONOMY. 
 
 121 
 
 .(rniinoilation, leave a bmad belt enual in 
 
 liri'iidtli to its diiiiiii't<-r — if the moon iii like 
 muiiner kIihuIiI leave the mark of its track, 
 these two liolls would not coincide, but would 
 rriwd euili other in two opposite points, — - 
 These are what nre enlleil the ; rulin. Vou 
 will understuiid what follows without ditli- 
 ciilty. Now, in order that it hIiouIiI be possi- I 
 liU- that the ei lipse should take place, you 
 will reiidily perceive tliut it was ner«'ssary, 
 not only that the m.ioti should be in conjunc- , 
 tion with the sun, but it must actually cross 
 the truck of the sun when in conjunction, in 
 order to tiiiike an eclipse. The inixjn must 
 be in one of these nodes or on eclipse can not [ 
 take place. { 
 
 But ajjain. it has been already observed that 
 on eclipse can not ocinir except at new moon. 
 Coiiiliine these two facts. If it should so bap- i 
 ])eii that the new moon should come in just at 
 the instant it was ('ros»iii!» under the disk of , 
 the sun, then would the moon interpose itself 
 between the eye (iiid the sun and on eclipse : 
 would necessariiv occur. I 
 
 Now then, to tind out that period: let us 
 go, in iiiiayinatioii it you please, to the top of 
 some mountain peak, where the first ustron- , 
 oilier — iiiiiiuired tVoni the world — carries on I 
 his iii!,'litlv ol)S( rvalion. Hi" hat? reached to, 
 the kiii'\vleil;;e iit the fact that there will lie i 
 nn eclipse of the sun if the new moon occur 
 at the liiiii.' she is in her node. He uliiady! 
 knows the liiiie for llie new moon to come in, ' 
 whicii is llxed and certain. He belitives he '. 
 can coiii(iuie the tinic when the next node i 
 will conic roiiiiil, and to do it he sei/ea the aid ; 
 of the moon to-night. He runs onward till ! 
 he tinds when the new moon will appear, and 
 ilist'oveis that when it comes round it is not ' 
 in the net of crossing the sun's path. He , 
 runs round unmlier cycle and finds again that 
 it is not oil the sun's track. He extends his | 
 investi'iatioiis still farther from one lunation 
 to aiiotber — he liiids that the new tnoon ap- j 
 jmmching neuriT and nearer to the desired i 
 jilnce, till liimily it comes exactly to this 
 point. The computation is marked. "There,"! 
 he says, "when that day arrives, I announce 
 to the inliabitants of the world that the sun , 
 shall lose its light." i 
 
 With what anxiety he must have watched , 
 the eoiiiiiii; of that day ! How slowly did 
 the revoKiug moons pass by! At last the 
 day arrives — he retinas to his rocky summit, 
 there to await the test of his triumph or his 
 deleat. The sun rises, bright and beautiful 
 — it mounts the heavens, and scatters glory 
 ill its ]iaih. While the mortal world below 
 are enaaged in the avocations of business and 
 the p . suiis of pleasure, he is watching with 
 inii'nsjLjrtixiety to know what the result will 
 b.-. But ill the very noon of the day his tri- 
 
 umph orrivni. The sun heglnt to fade — it 
 
 wanes — it dies! The terror-stiicKiii iiiiHiuns 
 below cry with ayoiiy ; while this lone man, 
 on his bleak and barren waiili-tower, with 
 out-stretched arm olli-rs his thanks totlieCiod 
 of till! universe who has crowned liis tllbrts 
 with succi'ss. 
 
 Hut, ulas, for human fume ! .Surely t/iiit 
 individual might have hoped to believe that 
 he who had first pnilicted the cuining of an 
 eclipse, who had removed the causes of ter- 
 ror which this |ilieiionienon hud spreinl among 
 the inhaliilaiits of earth, should Imve bis name 
 engraved upon the tablet of Fame " with n 
 lieu of iron and the point of a diaiiioiid." Vet 
 ills name, his naliou, is lost forever! No his- 
 tory reaches so far back — no tiielilion can ex- 
 tend M the point ol time when he lived, or 
 wdiere. 
 
 Now, by a most remarkable and wonderful 
 arrangement of the lunatiiais, on the return 
 of the new moon it is found that, at"ter we 
 have predicted one eclijise, if we go on and 
 record each successive eclipse for tlie jieriod 
 of between 18 and ]!» years, at the end of the 
 I'scle of 1>'J3 yciirs they will have run round 
 what might be called at: orbit, and again oc- 
 cur on the same days. Hence, after they had 
 recorded eclipses for one such cycle, there 
 was no dilTiculty in (jreiliciini; an colijise at 
 any future time. The coincidence, however, 
 is not exact. For, if an eclipse occurred (»i 
 the l!»th I'l .March, .3,000 years ago, the suc- 
 cession of the cycle may in the course of time 
 wear gradually arouiui and ilisii|)|)ear ; but 
 many years mu.st roll away before, on the re- 
 currence of the cycle, an r. lipse will not take 
 pi 'ice. 
 
 As soon as it was possiide to understand 
 the cause of the cidipse of the sum. the human 
 mind was directed to tlii? iuMsti'intion of the 
 cause producing un eclip^,e(!r the moon. This 
 was far more ditlicult, and for this reason : — 
 In the ecli])se of the .sun they had watched 
 the c( ming up of the moon to the sun, its 
 ])nssage across the sun's disk, bidieviiig with- 
 out question that the eclipse was caused by 
 its interposition between them and the sun, 
 and that it occurred only at new moon. But 
 what was to interpose itself lutween the be- 
 holder onil the full moon ? There seemed to 
 be nothing in the heavens. Upon reflection, 
 the human mind bethought itself that i.'very 
 liody which revolves in the li^Iit of another 
 luminous body, will cast a shiidow beyond in 
 a right lino with the light itself. Now if the 
 earth is opaque, it might intercept the light 
 thrown upon it from the sun, casting a shadow 
 toward the hori/on, and might it not be pro- 
 jected far enough to reach the moon itself, so 
 that the moon in passing into the shadow, 
 having no light of its own, would be obscured ? 
 
 '■.:!■] 
 
 I 
 
 hi i 
 
 tK.p -.1- :, i 
 
 (iS^ 
 
12« 
 
 ASTRONOMY. 
 
 Here is an explanation of the cause of the 
 lunar eclipse, revealing to the early astron- 
 omers the fact that the moon was not self- 
 luminious. 
 
 Tlie explanation of the phases of the moon 
 is easy. If it be o globe, or sjjhere, and only 
 brilliant in C(mse(|uence of the reflection of the 
 light from the sun, it became necessory that [ 
 the illumination should always be at the time 
 when the moon and the sun wen; in contrary 
 positions relative to the earth. When the 
 sun was setting and the moon was compara- 
 tively near the sun, ond, of course, between 
 the observer aiiu the sun, it w^as im])ossible 
 to see the whole illuminated surface of the 
 moon, and hideed sometimes almost none at 
 all. But as the moon gradually receded from 
 the sun, night after night, after a time it cimie 
 to occupy an easterly position, when the light 
 of the sun falling upon its surface was thrown 
 back at a very acute angle upon the eye of 
 the observer," and the full moon was present- 
 ed. These changes were going on from luna- 
 tion to lunation, and, once observed, were 
 easily comprehended. 
 
 Willie the moon thus revealed to them the 
 causes of the eclipse of the sun, and the reason 
 of its own phases, it also revealed to the early 
 astronomers the figure of our earth. How did 
 this occur? It was found, when the moon 
 passed into the shadow of the earth, that the 
 line cut out on the disk of the moon by the 
 shadow was an arc of a circle, and as it jiass- 
 cd further and further on, even to the entire 
 obscuration of the moon, it still apjjeared in 
 a form nearer a comjilete circle. Now it was 
 impossible that any other than a globular figure 
 should cast such a shadow upon the surface of 
 the moon. The moon, then, first revealed the 
 figure of the earth upon which we live ; and, 
 strange to tell, that same moon, in our ovm 
 day, has given us a more perfect knowledge 
 of the figure of the earth than can be derived 
 from any measurements with the most ac- 
 mrate nistruments we yet possess. — This 
 matter I shall undertake to explain hereafter. 
 
 We find, on running back to past history, 
 that observations were made upon the moon, 
 at Babylon, 2,250 years before the Christian 
 era. And these observations, upon the taking 
 of that city by Alexander, were said to have 
 been presenled to Aristotle. The truth of 
 this we can not know ; but one thing we do 
 know— that on the 19th of jNIarch, 2,567 years 
 ago, there was an eclipse of the sun observed 
 and recorded in the tower erected in that 
 mighty city : on the 8th of March in the fol- 
 lowing year there was another ; and on the 
 4th of September in the next year there was 
 another. And we know and understand the 
 peculiarities belonging to these anti(iue obser- 
 vations. 
 
 These are, perhaps, among the earliest ob- 
 servations — and of such imjiortance are they 
 in linking the past with the ]u-escnt, that but 
 for them we would at this time be compara- 
 tively ignorant of the movements of that 
 wondrous orb which does more for the civil- 
 ization of the world than any other oni; thing 
 of wliich we have a knowledge. I pronounce 
 this to be true without hesitation. If it were 
 possible, now, to trace with perfect |)r('( ision 
 the exact position of the moon, we slionld ac- 
 complish more for commerce, for science, for 
 civilization, than could be done in any other 
 way. Why? Because then the temjiest- 
 tossed mariner ujion any ocean — over whom 
 days and weeks had passed without his se(!- 
 ing the sun or stars — the moment this silver 
 orb made its appearance again in the heavens, 
 woidd be able with perfect confidenci! to ex- 
 claim : "I know exactly in what part of the 
 globe I am situated ; the smallest observation 
 gives me my latitude, and the jxisition of the 
 moon my longitude." Hence, I say, it is of 
 the utmost conseijuence that we shoulil have 
 these old observations; for by linking them 
 with those now rr.nking, we are al)le to ap- 
 proximate to the accomplishment of this grand 
 design more fully. 
 
 But as we come down through the tide of 
 time, we find a particular theory adojited with 
 regard to the whole system with which we 
 are united — the old Greek theory, to which I 
 will just advert. It located the earth in the 
 centre, and made the moon the neart st object, 
 and the sim next. Now it happened, curious- 
 ly enough, that there was oin; truth in the 
 theory: the moon did revolve about the earth. 
 
 \Vlicn Copernicus presenteil his theory, and 
 transferre^l the fixed centie to the sun, causing 
 the planets to take proper position-, rescuing 
 the earth from its false position and ^ending it 
 revolving round the sun, the question was, 
 what is to be done with the mcwn ? There 
 seemed to be a difficulty here. The (juery 
 was : is the moon a planet like the rest ? 
 Perhaps many of my audience have not 
 thought of this. How many of us have ask- 
 ed ther[uestion — "How do we know that the 
 moon revolves ?" Because the books tell us 
 so? We are generally in the habit of re- 
 ceiving facts in that way. I do not retnem- 
 ber ever to have seen an e\planaiion of this 
 in any book. But Coiiernicus reasoned in 
 this way. Said he : I do not believe the 
 moon revolves in an orbit interior to the earth's, 
 because I find that evinces a miracle ; the moon 
 in that case should never kiave the sun but to 
 a limited distance. Now the moon does leave 
 the sun, and moves ofT till it is directly oppo- 
 site, and th.en comes around again up to the 
 Sim. I therefore say it docs v^t revolve in- 
 terior to the earth's orbit. In the next place, 
 
ps, nmoiifi the rarlicst ob- 
 such imjiortnnce art they 
 kvith the |)iTscut, that l)ut 
 nt this lime ho t'(>in|iiua- 
 tho inovcijK'nts ol' ihnt 
 ii (lues inorc! for the eivil- 
 1 thuii any other one thing 
 kiiDwk^ilge. I jironoiincc! 
 out hnsitutiim. If it were 
 ace with ])erfect ])re( ision 
 f the moon, we should ac- 
 •omnierce, for science, for 
 luld be (lone in any other 
 cause then the temiiest- 
 n any ocean — over whom 
 I inisseil without his see- 
 
 the moment this silver 
 
 ranee again in the heavens, 
 I perfect confulenc(! to ex- 
 xaclly in what part of the 
 ; the smallest observation 
 le, and the position of the 
 ." H('nee, I say, it is of 
 cnco that we should have 
 ions; for by linking them 
 'king, we are able to ap- 
 complishment of this grand 
 
 down through the tide of 
 icular theory adojjted with 
 c system with which we 
 (rreek theory, to which I 
 It located the earth in the 
 le moon the nenn st object, 
 Now it happened, curious- 
 ere was one truth in the 
 id revolve about tho earth. 
 IS presented his theory, and 
 1 ccntie to the sun, causing 
 proper position-, r(!scuing 
 alse posit ion and sending it 
 le pun, the question was, 
 ! with the moon ? There 
 fficulty here. The (juery 
 
 a planet like the rest ? 
 
 my audience ha\e not 
 iow many of us have ask- 
 How do \vc know that the 
 Because the books tell us 
 erally in the habit of re- 
 it way. 1 do not reniem- 
 leen an e>.i)lanation of this 
 t Copernicus reasoned in 
 le : I do not believe the 
 orbit interior to the earth's, 
 ivinces a miracle ; the moon 
 never leave the sun but to 
 
 Now the moon docs leave 
 i off till it is directly oppo- 
 59 around again up to the 
 lay it docs vitt n^volve in- 
 3 orbit. In the next place, 
 
 mm 
 
 ASTRONOMY. 
 
 123 
 
 it does not revolve exterior to the earth's orbit; 
 fori find the motion of all the plonets exterior 
 to the earth, at certain points of their career 
 becomes slow — it ia arrested — they stop — 
 retrograde — they stop again, and tnen take 
 up their onward rnoti(jn. Now I understand 
 why it is that we, being on the surface of a 
 circular globe must have these changes ex- 
 hibited to us. But the moon never stops 
 and retrogrades — it is ever moving onward, 
 and therefore ia not exterior to the orbit of the 
 earth. 
 
 Here was a further absolute demonstration. 
 It could not be either interior or exterior — 
 therefore it was no planet at all. Now the 
 phenomena exhibited W the moon were per- 
 fectly accounted for. K— upon the hypothe- 
 sis that you make the earth its centre — it re- 
 volves about the earth, it is our satellite, ever 
 accompanying us in all our movements. 
 
 But we come down still further in the his- 
 tory of our neighbor. When Kepler discov- 
 ered the two laws of planetary movements — 
 that they revolved in orbits not exactly cir- 
 cular, but a little elongated — elliptical as they 
 are called; when, in like manner, he had 
 discovered, by tracing them up, that a line 
 drawn from the sun to any of the planets al- 
 ways swept over equal areas of space in equal 
 times — and when, at the end of seventeen long 
 years of toil, he had also discovered his last 
 great law, which linked all these isolated 
 planets into one grand unit, making the sun 
 always the centre, it seemed that nothing more 
 remained to be done. But immediately the 
 question arose: what holds these mighty 
 ffllobea steady ? What power reaches out to 
 them and prevents them from breaking from 
 their orbits and wandering away into the 
 blackness of darkness? The resolution of 
 this problem was reserved for the imraortd 
 Newton. Kepler himself gathered some faint 
 glimmerings of the great cause — that there 
 was a power of attraction existing in bodies, 
 mutually o{)erating upon each other ; but he 
 did not attain to the demonstration of this fact. 
 This was reserved for that great man to whom 
 we owe our knowledge of the laws of attrac- 
 tion. 
 
 Here, if you will allow me, I will attempt 
 to explain the manner in which Newton con- 
 ducted the argument which led him to the 
 grand result. I am confident that although 
 there are many hero who have given com- 
 pararively little attention to astronomical sci- 
 ence, they will be able to follow me readily 
 in this explanation. Newton began where 
 Kepler left off. The latter announced that 
 bodies were attracted to each other, and by a 
 force which he believed decreased according 
 to a certain fixed law : and it was to prove 
 this that Newton made his investigations. 
 
 In the first place, he announced this as a law, 
 according to his belief: that everybody at- 
 tracts every other body by a force which 
 varies inversely as the square of the distance. 
 If a body be locoted at a distance one, the 
 force of its attraction we will pall one. Now 
 remove this body as far again to a distance 
 two, and the attractive power will be one 
 fourth — at a distance three, one ninth, and at 
 a distance four, one sixteenth ; and you can 
 carry out the law to any distance. 
 
 Now, to prove the truth of this law was the 
 question. In the first ]ilace, it is manifest 
 that, whatever be the law of attraction, it will 
 be clearly and positively determined by the 
 amount of velocity it is capable of impressing 
 upon a falling body. This is intelligible to 
 all. If from this point I let fall any object 
 toward the earth's surface, under the influ- 
 ence of the force of attraction suppose it fell 
 sixteen feet in the first second of time — this 
 sixteen feet will measure the force of attrac- 
 tion at the earth's surface. If it were possi- 
 ble to go 4,000 miles high, and from that 
 point, as remote from the surface of the earth 
 as ray first station at the surface was distant 
 from the centre, and then drop a body, meas- 
 ure the sjjace through which it falls, and find 
 it to be one fourth of sixteen feet in a second, 
 this would be j)roof that the law was true. 
 But suppose I rise still higher, 12,000 miles 
 above the centre of the earth, and there find 
 the space through which this body falls ia a 
 ninth part of sixteen feet in a second — here is 
 another confirmation of the law, An(l if, as 
 I increase my distance every time by the 
 radius of the earth's circumference, I fin^ the 
 same law holds true, I pronounce, without 
 hesitarion, that this is the law of attraction. 
 
 But I can not rise in this way, to a distance 
 of twelve, eight, or four thousand miles. Yet 
 may I not carry my observations to a certain 
 height ? Yes ; but to such a comparatively 
 small distance that the diflference wll be in- 
 appreciable. A las, for the person who under- 
 takes the experiment! such is the minute 
 difllerence, even when he has attained the 
 greatest height ever attained by man, it can 
 not be appreciated. 
 
 What then was to be done ? No one could 
 ascend above the earth to perform these ex- 
 periments. But the mighty intellect of New- 
 ton stretched still further, and our old friend, 
 the moon, was brought in to play the part of 
 this falling body! What! do you ask — is 
 the moon falling toward the earth, and does 
 Newton seize it and stop it, and then com- 
 pute with what velocity it should come tow- 
 ard its central planet ? No : This is not pos- 
 sible. But, let me explain. Here is the 
 moon : — now let us start with the moon when 
 it was first projected in its orbit. Under the 
 
 9 
 
 ■•ft*^M 
 
 ^1; 
 
 
 
 
 •tufi 
 
124 
 
 THE OUAEDIAN ANGEL. 
 
 action of the impulsive force it would have 
 moved off in n straight line, with a certain 
 determined velocity, which we can measure. 
 If this iniiiulse had not been ^iven to it, ond 
 it had been left free in space, it would have 
 dropped toward the centre of the earth with 
 a certain velocity, which we can also measure. 
 Now, under the action of these two forces, it 
 does not obey either of them, but takes a di- 
 rection intermediate between the two, and 
 swings in a curve about the earth. And here 
 is the stated point : if, under the action of an 
 impulsive force, it would in a second of time 
 reach that point in a straight line, under the 
 attraction of the earth it is drawn down, and 
 the amount by which it is drawn dovyn is the 
 amount through which it falls during that 
 second of time. _ _ 
 
 One more grand point is to be accomplish- 
 ed, and wo are through. First : inasmuch as 
 the moon is falling, it is necessary to note how 
 much it falls. That is easily measured : all 
 we have to do is to remark the amount of 
 declension from a straight line which it would 
 have pursued in a second of time. A straight 
 line is easily measured, and gives the value 
 of the distance through which a body located 
 at the moon will fall toward the earth in one 
 second. 
 
 Now the grand point is whether that 
 distance is what it ought to fall, under the 
 hypothesis of the law of gravitation. When 
 Newton undertook this investigation he was 
 not provided wth accurate data. It \yas easy 
 to compute how far a body should fall in r ^ 
 second of time — every person can do that 
 Only«follow this law, beginning with 16 feet 
 a second at a surface of the earth, or at the 
 length of the earth's radius. .lust sf|uare the 
 distance, which wll be successively 2, 4, 9, 
 16, and so on, till at the distance of the moon, 
 or 60 times the length of the earth's radius, 
 it ^vill be 3,600. Since this computation was 
 so easy, all that was necessary was to measure 
 the space through which the moon did fall, 
 and if they Avcre equal, then of course the 
 demonstration jvos made. 
 
 Yet, alas for the toil of the philosopher ! 
 His data were incorrect, ond for seventeen 
 years did he goad his mind to the subject, 
 toiling day and night to make this coincidence 
 perfect, but it would not rgree ; so he threw 
 his laborious computations away in despair. 
 
 But, in attending a meeting of the Roj'al 
 society in London, he happened to catch the 
 sound of the voice of an individual who was 
 talking about a recent measurement of the cir- 
 cumference of the earth. That was the prin- 
 cipal element entering into the computation. 
 The new measurement differed from the old. 
 Here, thought ho, may be the source of my 
 error. He takes down his old computations, 
 
 and substitutes the new measurement of the 
 diameter of our globe, which makes a differ- 
 ence in the pro|X)rfional distance to the moon. 
 The result he anticipates is coming out. But 
 his nervous system sinks beneath the intense 
 excitement— he yielded up the comj)utation 
 to a friend, for he could not make it himself. 
 The coincidence was perfect — the grand dem- 
 onstration was made — the law of gravitation 
 was proved. At last he had grasped the key 
 to the mysteries of the universe, and held it 
 with a giant hand. 
 
 THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. 
 
 "Take heed that ye despise not one of these littie ones ; 
 for I say unto you, that in hoavcn their nnpels do always 
 behold the face of my Father which ia in heaven," 
 
 8t. Matthew, xvili. 10. 
 
 The engraving opposite shows the Guardi- 
 an Angel guiding the footsteps of the trustful 
 child. Grimeaux, the painter, has taken for 
 his subject the two beautiful passages in the 
 ninety-first psalm : — 
 
 " For he shall give his angelo charge over thee, to 
 keep thee in all thy ways ; , , 1 
 
 " Tbey shall bear thee up in their bands lest thou 
 dash thy foot against a stone." 
 
 The old masters, who, like the German ar- 
 tists cf the present day, drew their best in- 
 spirations from the Scriptures, never perhaps, 
 embodied a more beautiful idea than that ot 
 the Guardian Angel. A little Gennancsque 
 it might be, but what really great efibrt is un- 
 tinged by nationality ? The picture, taken 
 as a whole, is a fine moral poem, and full of 
 mcanins; in every line. The dangers of life 
 are typified by the dark sea which lies on 
 each side of the rarrow neck of land down 
 which the child is being guided by the Angel. 
 The brink of the precipice on either hand is 
 hidden by flowers, which represent the delu- 
 sive pleasures of the world. The angel, from 
 behind, like a mother waiting upon the trem- 
 bling feet of an infant, with careful palms, 
 watches, lest he should swerve from the nar- 
 row path. She does not touch him— to his 
 own free will his footsteps are left, until his 
 inherent helplessness calls forth the gentle 
 guidance of her hands. Her white wings 
 curve around as though doubly to assure the 
 child, for does it not say in the psalm — 
 
 " He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under 
 his wings shalt thou trust" 7 
 
 The face of the angel is very fine. Anni- 
 bal Caracci, whose ijngels, " with hair blowji 
 back," reach the highest point of spiritual 
 
 f^' 
 
 ~!g.^ -, -n»p^s*j«s!fe-*;*':v;?s^SfeS^%^^*ftt^»i 
 
the tiew tncQsnrcmpnt of the 
 globe, which makes a iliffcr- 
 ortionnl distance to the moon, 
 iticipates is coming out. But 
 cm sinks beneath the intense 
 yielded up the comi)utation 
 le could not make it himself, 
 i was perfect — the grand dcm- 
 nadc — the law of gravitation 
 tt last he had grasped the key 
 i of the Tiniverse, and held it 
 ad. 
 
 3UARDIAN ANGEL. 
 
 ye despise not one of these little ones ; 
 that in lieavon tlieir nnpels do alwuys 
 my Father which is in heaven." 
 
 St. Matthew, xvlii. 10. 
 
 ng opposite shows the Guardi- 
 ig the footsteps of the trustful 
 .ux, the painter, has taken for 
 two beautiful passages in the 
 Im:— 
 
 give hi« angelB charge over thee, to 
 liy ways ; J 
 
 car thee up in their bonds lest thou 
 iiist a Btone." 
 
 Iters, who, like the German ar- 
 escnt day, drew their best in- 
 1 the Scriptures, never perhaps, 
 )re beautiful idea than that ot 
 Angel. A little Gennanesque 
 It what really great eflbrt is un- 
 ionality ? The picture, taken 
 a fine moral poem, and full of 
 ery line. Vhe dangers of life 
 ly the dark sea which lies on 
 ;he parrow neck of land down 
 d is being guided by the Angel, 
 the precipice on either hand is 
 /ers, which represent the delu- 
 of the world. The angel, from 
 mother waiting upon the trem- 
 an infant, with careful palms, 
 he should swerve from the nar- 
 he does not touch him — to his 
 his footsteps are left, until his 
 lessness calls forth the gentle 
 her hands. Her white wings 
 as though doubly to assure the 
 i it not say in the psalm — 
 
 ircr thee with his feathers, and under 
 tliou tru»t" 1 
 
 F the angel is very fine. Anni- 
 vhose ^ngels, "with hair blown 
 . the highest point of spiritual 
 
 I 
 
 The Guardian Angel. 
 
 urn 
 
 i- i 
 
 
 
 l^ftt'l' 
 
 
 ^^i^^^^-dSi^B 
 
126 
 
 DIAMONDS. 
 
 fet'ling, never painlcil a more bcuutiful oiip. 
 IJut (Icscriiiliou is dull when employctl upon 
 such a picture ; we hiivebcer vainly otrninj)!- 
 ing to paint with the pc tvnat the rciider 
 can understand at one glance by looking at 
 the engraving. Both in idea and in execu- 
 tion it is a work of high ait — of on artwhic^h 
 addresses itself to the breadth and depth of 
 human feeling rather than to the narrow edge 
 of conventioualiBin, however refined. 
 
 DIAMONDS. 
 
 The diamond is a mineral body of great 
 value and hardness, first discovered in Asia. 
 The primitive fonn of this precious stone is 
 the regular octoedron, each triangular facet 
 of which is sometimes replaced by six secon- 
 dary triangles, boimded by curved lines ; so 
 that the crystal becomes spheroidal, and then 
 presents forty-eight small facets. These two 
 peculiar characteristics of the diamond are 
 exhibited in the subjoined figures. 
 
 Many stones when rubbed exhibit very 
 distinct electrical clFects.and they will attract 
 or repel light bodies which are brought mto 
 their neighborhood. The diamond, when ex- 
 cited, exhibits positive electricity ; wliereas, 
 the other precious stones, if rough, uflord 
 ncative electricity. In general, however, it 
 does not retain this electricity for any consid- 
 erable length of time. 
 
 Diamonds become phosphorescent, when 
 exposed to the rays of the sun. Many of 
 them, however, do not possess this property, 
 although agreeing, in color, form, and trans- 
 parency, with those which readily become 
 luminous. The continuance of the phospho- 
 rescence varies from five or six seconds to a 
 full hour, and this even when the stone has 
 not been exirosed more than a few seconds to 
 the rays of^ the sun. It is i)hosphorescent 
 under water, as well as in the air. The dia- 
 mond, v/hen exposed to the blue rays of the 
 prism, becomes phosjAinresccnt ; but when 
 exiMjsed to the red ra; s is noc so. The spark 
 from a charged jar produces the same effect as 
 
 I exposure to the sun's rays. Exposure tn the 
 ' light of a WDX-candle also produces i)hospho- 
 rescencc. 
 
 Diamonds are found chieflv in the king- 
 doms of Oolcondii, Visa]H)ur, Bengal, the isl- 
 and of Borneo, and Brazil. The mines are 
 generally adjticeiit to nicky hills and mount- 
 ains, and sometimes the diamonds are fonnd 
 scattered in the earth, within two or three 
 fathoms of the surface. In other jilaces, the 
 miners dig through rocks to the depth of for- 
 ty or fifty fathoms, till they come to a sort of 
 mineral earth in which they find the diamonds 
 enclosed. This earth is sometimes of a yel- 
 lowish, and sometimes of a reddish color, and 
 adheres to the stone so strongly, that it is dif- 
 ficult to get it oH". A sufficfent (luantity of 
 this earth being dug out of the mine, it is 
 thrown into a cistern of water, where, having 
 soaked for some time, it is stirred about till 
 the clods are broken, ond the gravelly mat- 
 ter sinks to the bottom. After this a vent is 
 opened, and the cistern snpjilied with clean 
 water, till all the earthy substance is washed 
 awav, and nothing but gravel remains. What 
 thus' settles at the bottom is spread to dry in 
 the sun, then sifted, and afterward carefully 
 searched with the hands to find out the dia- 
 monds, at which the workmen are so expert, 
 that the most minute bit of a stone can hardly 
 escape them. It sometimes happens, how- 
 ever, that the earth is so fixed about the dia- 
 monds, that, before thev are rubbed on a 
 rough stone with sand, their transparency can 
 not be discovereiJ. 
 
 In the kingdom of Golconda, or in that of 
 Visapour according to some maps, are the 
 miney of Raolconda, which have been discov- 
 ered above two hundred years. The earth 
 here is sandy, and full of rocks ; and in these 
 rocks are fonnd several little veins, half an 
 inch or an inch broad, out of which the mi- 
 ners, with hooked irons, draw the sand or 
 earth that contair.s the diamonds, breaking 
 the rock when the vein terminates, thot the 
 track may be easily found again and continu- 
 ed. To separate the diamonds from tlii^ 
 earth, it undergoes several washings and oth- 
 er operations, as we have already observed. 
 Tlie miners are obliged to work almost naked, 
 and have likewise inspectors to prevent their 
 concealing the diamonds ; which yet, notwith- 
 standing all this care, they sometimes find 
 opportunities of doing. Tavemicr says, he 
 saw one detected who had put a small stone 
 into the comer of his eye ; but swallowing a 
 diamond is a surer and more usual method 
 among them. If the miners meet with a 
 stone of fifteen or sixteen carats, they are al- 
 lowed a reward, besides their usual pay, 
 which is very little. Tlic king has two per 
 cent, for all the diamonds that are sold ; and 
 
DIAMONDS. 
 
 127 
 
 I's rnvs. Exposure to the 
 lie also produces i)hortpho- 
 
 ounil chi(>fl^' in tTie king- 
 Visa])()nr, iBciignl, the isl- 
 d Brazil. The mines are 
 to roeky hills ond monnt- 
 ps the dioinonds arc fonnd 
 nrth, within two or three 
 face. In other places, the 
 I rocks to the depth of for- 
 , till they come to a sort of 
 hioh they find the dinmonrls 
 irth is sometimes of a yel- 
 mes of a reddish color, and 
 le so stronjilv, that it is dif- 
 r. A sutficfent <iuantity of 
 lug ont of the mine, it is 
 •rn of water, where, having 
 ime, it is stirred about till 
 ten, and the gravelly mat- 
 rttom. After this a vent is 
 cistern supplied with clean 
 earthy substance is washed 
 but gravel remains. What 
 f; bottom is spread to dry in 
 'd, and afterward carefully 
 hands to find ont the dia- 
 the workmen are so expert, 
 lite bit of a stone can hardly 
 sometimes happens, how- 
 th is so fixed about the dia- 
 ire thev are rubbed on a 
 sand, their transparency can 
 
 of Golconda, or in that of 
 ng to some maps, are the 
 da, which have been discov- 
 lundrcd years. The earth 
 1 full of rocks ; and in these 
 several little veins, half an 
 Odd, out of which the mi- 
 ni irons, draw the sand or 
 ii-.3 the diamonds, breaking 
 le vein terminates, that the 
 ily found again and continu- 
 te the diamonds from thh 
 !s several washings and oth- 
 we have already observed, 
 bliged to work almost naked, 
 B inspectors to prevent their 
 imonds ; which yet, notwith- 
 
 care, they sometimes find 
 doing, llivemier says, he 
 
 who had put a small stone 
 ' his eye ; but swallowing a 
 rer and more usual method 
 f the miners meet with a 
 ir sixteen carats, they are al- 
 I, besides their usual pay, 
 tie. Tlie king has two per 
 liamorids that are sold ; and 
 
 also a duty from the merchants, according to 
 the nuinl)er of hands employed in digging. 
 
 Tlu-re ore other mines at Gani, or CouTour, 
 in the kingdom of Golconda, where they find 
 diamonds from ten to forty carets and upward ; 
 l>ut those are not very clear, their water be- 
 ing usually tinged with the color of the soil, 
 which in some places is yellowish, in others 
 b'nck and moist, and in others reddish. An- 
 other defect of some conse(iuence, is a kind of 
 greasiness appearing on the diamond when 
 cut, which takes oH' part of its lustre. Here 
 the miners usually dig to the <l(']ith of twelve 
 feet, or till they find water, which prevents 
 their going further. The earth is carried 
 from the mine by women and children into u 
 neighboring enclosure, where it is washed, 
 and then dried and sifted. According to Ta- 
 veniier, there are generally sixty thousand 
 jjersons (men, women, and children) employ- 
 ed in the mines of Coulour ; they work al- 
 most naked like the miners of Raolconda, 
 mill arc watched in the same manner by in- 
 spectors. 
 
 A great number of diamonds are found 
 near Soumelpour, a large town in Bengal, sit- 
 uated on the river Goual. From this river, 
 all our fine diamond-points, or s])arks, called 
 natural sparks, are brought, where they 
 search for them after the great rains are over 
 — that is, after the month of Decemoer. At 
 that season, when the water is clear, eight or 
 ten thousand persons, of all ages, come out 
 of Soumelpour and the neighboring \nllages, 
 and examine the sand of the river, going up 
 it to the very mountain whence it springs. 
 After this examination, they proceed to take 
 up the sand wherein they judge diamonds are 
 likely to be found ; and this is performed in 
 the h)llowing manner : Hoving made a dam 
 round the place with earth, stones, fascines, 
 &c., the river being then very low, they lade 
 out the water, and dig about two foi.'t deep, 
 carrying the sand into a place walled round 
 on the bank of the river, where the ))roccss 
 is much the same as at the mines almvemen- 
 tioned, and the workmen are watched with 
 equal strictness. As to ihe diamonds of the 
 island of Borneo, they are foiin<l in the sand 
 of the river Succadan, or Succadano, and 
 perhaps in some other parts of the island, 
 with which we are little acffuainted. 
 
 The provinces in Brazil, knowni to possess 
 diamonds, arc Minas Geraes, Minas Novas, 
 Goyaz, and iNIatto Grosso ; but it is supposed 
 that several of the other provinces are fur- 
 nished \vith these highly-prized gems. The 
 ditnnonds found in Minas Geraes are general- 
 ly the largest, but they are not of the purest 
 water. The most celebrated diamond mines 
 iuBrazil are those of Serrado Frio, which are 
 also known by the name of the Arrayal Dia- 
 
 mantino, or diamond district, properly so cull- 
 ed. These mines were not actually discijv- 
 ered tintil the gnvrrntnent of Dom. Lorinco 
 d'Almeida, although the diamondswere known 
 to have been in the jiossession of the negroes, 
 who met with them accidentally while em- 
 ployed in gold-washing, and other j)ersons ig- 
 norant of their value, long before tnat period. 
 Thoy were first taken from Brazil to Lisbon 
 in 17128, by Bernardo da Silva Lobo. He 
 siiowed them to the Dutch rersident consul, 
 who recognised them as diamonds, and in- 
 formed him of his important discovery. This 
 district is surrounded by almost inaccessible 
 rocks, and v formerly guarded with so 
 much \igilance that not even the governor of 
 the province had the liberty of entering it 
 without the special permission of the director 
 of the mines. 
 
 The mines are wrought by accumulating 
 the cascalhao, a kind of ferruginous earth (in 
 which the diamonds are found mixed with 
 flints), and washing it. The former opera- 
 tion is performed iluring the hot season, at a 
 time wlien the beds of the rivers and torrents 
 are dry, and the diamond-sand can be easily 
 extracted. When the wet season arrives, the 
 ojicration of washing commences. It is per- 
 formed in the open air, and frequently under 
 sheds, where the action of the sun is least 
 likely to injure the health of the negroes. At 
 the bottom of the shed glides a small stream, 
 which occupies one of its sides. Seats, rais- 
 ed, and without Isicks, are arranged along the 
 shed, in such a manner that the subaltern of- 
 ficers (feltors) are enaljlcd to watch thenegiocs 
 at work. One feltor superintends eight ne- 
 groes. Each negro works in a conii)artmcnt 
 of the shed, separated or walled oil', as it 
 were, from the others. The cascalhao to be 
 cxomined is jilaced in troughs close to the 
 stream, and the negroes are introduced entire- 
 ly naked, excepting in time of extreme cold, 
 when they arc allowed a kind of waistcoat, 
 but without either pockets or lining. They 
 are furnished with an alavanca, a kind of 
 handspike, by means of which they separate 
 the earth from the flint, and then, taking the 
 largest stones in their hands, they proceed to 
 search for the diamonds. Notwithstanding 
 the jirecaution of making the negroes work 
 naked, robberies of diamonds are of fre(]ucnt 
 occurrence. When a negro discovers a dia- 
 mond, having first shown it to the feltor, he 
 depositcs it in a large wooden vessel suspend- 
 ed in the middle of the shed. If any negro 
 is fortunate enough to discover a diamond 
 weighing seventeen carats, he is purchased by 
 the government, and receives his liberty. 
 The discovery of a stone of less weight also 
 confprs liberty up<jn the finder, but with some 
 restrictions. Various premiums are distribu- 
 
 
 
 m 
 
 '■%M'> 
 
 mim 
 
ii 
 
 tnd. npconliiiij tf> tliR vnlue of iJie stone, even 
 toil pinch of tolmcco. Notwitlistniidiii!.' <'V- 
 erv imuirinntilp precaution, negroes tinrl nieinirt 
 to niirloin dirimonils, which they ili.-«|M)S(! of to 
 sinn(j!:li-rH (coiitralmmlistiix) ni a very low 
 ()rico. The liittor (lis|M)se of them chielly at 
 Tiinrn and Villo do Princi[>(.>. They obtain 
 a higher price ot tlie hitter, l)ecause their 
 ri^ks are jreater in transportiuD: them thither. 
 The neirroes frei|neiitly (contrive to im[)o.se 
 upon the contrabandistus, as they have the 
 ir.euns, by some simple process, of (living 
 crystals the npi)earance of rou^h diamonds, 
 so ns etVecually to d<M-eive them. Fonnerly 
 there were as many as thirty thousand ne- 
 1,-i'ops employed in the mines, but the number 
 employed at a later day did not exceed twen- 
 ty thonsand. 
 
 Tile diamonds dilTer greatly in size. There 
 are some so small that twer.tv would scarcely 
 make n carnt. It is mrely that, in the course 
 of a year, more than two or three ore found 
 weighing from sevcTitccn to twenty carats ; 
 and two years may pass without discovering 
 one of the wejghtof thirty carats. 
 
 Tlie administration of the diamond mines 
 is regulated by a law iif 1771. Down to the 
 ilate of this law, the right of working the 
 iliamnnd mines was farmed out ; but, from 
 that period, the government has taken it into 
 its owr. hands, and they are all under the su- 
 ])erintcndenco of a Iward. The crown re- 
 ceives ojie fifth of the total value. 
 
 To bring diamonds to that p|.5rfection in 
 whiih their beauty consists, the diamond-cut- 
 ters begin by nibbing two rough diamonds 
 against each other, after having well cement- 
 ed them to the ends of two blocks, called 
 cutting-sticks, thick enough to be held in the 
 hand. By this means they rub otF the dull 
 outer cnist, and reduce them to form, in order 
 to their being jxilished ; and this powder, thus 
 nibbe<l oir, and received in a little box, serves 
 to polish the stones. Diamonds are polished 
 })y means of a mill, which turns a wheel of 
 cast inin, smeared with diamond-dust, mixed 
 with oil of olives. This wheel moves hori- 
 zontallv ; and l)efore the diamonds are applied 
 to it, they are solilered into pieces of metal 
 prejiared for that purpose. But diamonds 
 are more ex|>pdirioi)sly divided, by finding 
 tV.e grain of the stone, as it is called ; that is, 
 the disiwsition of the laminas or plates of 
 which it iscomjjosed, and intnxlucinir between 
 ihem the point of a tine chisel. When this 
 is properly done, a stone will split as evenly 
 as a piece of tnlc, and give two diamonds or 
 more, if the thickness will allow it, of the 
 same breadth or surface with the original one. 
 The sj)litting of a diamond sometimes answers 
 another enil, whe.i the stone has a flaw or 
 blemish in it, which greatly debases its value ; 
 
 proper 
 
 for, by separating tlip plates ot a 
 depth, tilt' lliiw miiy In- rcnifivcd. 
 
 'JMie diumonils cliosoti for cutting gluss nn 
 al! crvstulli/ed. The fuccs arc curved, and 
 hence the meeting of any two of them pri'- 
 scnts a curvilinear ediie. If the diainoiid 1h> 
 so placid that the lini; of the intended cut i< 
 a tangent to this edge near its extremity, and 
 if the two surfaces of the diamond laieriillv 
 adjacent, be etpiallv inclined to the surfoce of 
 the glass, then the conditions necessary for 
 etVecting the cut are complied with. In adili- 
 tion to the cutting and engraving of glass, the 
 diamond has l>een very advantageously em- 
 ployed in drawing minute lines on the surface 
 of steel, by which nil of the beautifully- 
 variegated tints of the roinlMiw may be pro- 
 duced- 
 
 As on article of commerce, the value of 
 diamonds is measured by various circumstan- 
 ces, among which ore their size, form, weight, 
 color, purity, and cutting. In the diamon<l» 
 which have been polished, the mast valuable 
 arc the limpid, which command a price twice 
 as great as those that are tainted with blue, 
 gray, black, yellow, or vitrous 8]K)t3. The 
 (juality of diamonds, in reference to their pu- 
 rity and transparency, is described by the 
 terms the first, second, and third water. The 
 first are those which are of the utmost clear- 
 ness, ond free from any fault ; the secontl ore 
 marretl by dark spots or flaws ; and the third 
 are of the least value, being tinged with yel- 
 low, brown, green, blue, or blackish flaws. 
 Nor is the cutting of the diamon<l of less im- 
 portance than its qualhy, for this is regulated 
 by its form. The proportion of the height to 
 tfie circumference of the diamond, and the 
 regular order of the sides, tending to increase 
 its brilliancy, governs, in some measure, its 
 value. Hence the brilliant is of greater val- 
 ue than the rose-diamond, and the rose-dia- 
 mond than the table-stone. Although the 
 value of the diflferent species ot the diamond 
 is regulated by certain fixed rules known to 
 jewellers, still it is depending so much on va- 
 rying circumstances, tnot no permonent valu- 
 ation can be established for the ditlerent sorts. 
 It appears, however, that they advance in a 
 geometrical ratio according to their form. 
 
 The dilTorent forms in which diamonds are 
 cut by the Dutcli and English, and thus va- 
 rying in value according to their size and 
 quolity, are familiar to all who are conversavit 
 with our jewellers' shops. The form most 
 calculated for lustre is the brilliant. 
 
 The rose-diamond that is usually cut from 
 the gem which is too thin to be cut into o 
 brilliant without much loss, has only a crown, 
 and is formed of e([uilateTal triangles. It is 
 composed of two rows of three-sided facets. 
 Fragments of rose-diamonds which are very 
 
 S3U 
 
the |)lnte9 at a proper 
 ,' \)v rcmiivfil. 
 Dson for cuitiii;; glass nrc I 
 lio I'lK't's ore (Mirvrd, riml 
 i(f' oiiy two of them |>vf- 
 i^ilue. If th« fiiiuiiotut l>»> 
 Jii! of the iiitPiiiliMi cut is 
 re near its extremity, nnij 
 of tho dintnoiid hiterjiliy 
 inclined to the snrfnee of 
 cimditions necessary for 
 I complied with. In addi- 
 nd enn^aving f)f gliiss. the i 
 very ndvantagconsly em- 
 ninnte lines on the surface 
 I ftU of the benutifully- 
 the rainlwiw may be pro- 
 commerce, the value of 
 pd hy various circumstan- | 
 re thoir size, fonn, weight, I 
 uttiuc;. In the diamonds ; 
 )lishe<l, the mast vnlnable j 
 ch command a price twice j 
 lat ore tainted with blue, ' 
 ', or vitrous 8]X)ts. The j 
 i, in reference to their pu- | 
 iicy, is described by the 
 ind, and third water.' The 
 h are of the utmost clear- 
 any fault ; the second ore ' 
 Its or flaws ; and the third i 
 ue, being tinged with yel- 
 , blue, or blackish flaws. 
 A the diamond of less im- 
 lalhy, for this is regulated 
 proportion of the height to 
 of the diamond, and the 
 s sides, tending to increase 
 irns, in some measure, its 
 brilliant is of greater val- 
 iamond, and the rose-dia- 
 ble-stone. Although the 
 •nt species of the diamond 
 tain fixed rules known to 
 depending so much on va- 
 9, that no pennnnent vulu- 
 shed for the dirt'ercnt sorts. 
 •r, that they advance in a 
 jeording to their form, 
 ms ia which diamonds are 
 and English, and thus va- 
 cording to their size and 
 r to all who ere conversant 
 ' shops. The fonn most 
 8 is the brilliant, 
 id that is usually cut from 
 too thin to be cut into o 
 uch lo3s, has only a crown, 
 ([uilateral triangles. It is 
 ows of three-sided facets, 
 ■diamonds which are very 
 
 DIAMONDS. 
 
 129 
 
 small are sometimes seen, and also small roses 
 fur ear-ikops. 
 
 The table-diamond is a flat gem, without 
 much depth or lustre. It is usuolly cut into 
 a table, with four jilanes and eight facets. 
 
 Peculiar care is nvpiired in tho cutting of 
 gems depending upon their fonn and color, in 
 order to exhibit their beauty with the greotest 
 eirect. 
 
 The step, or pavilion cut, is especially 
 adajited to colored gems, as the light is re- 
 flected by this form in the highest degree. 
 
 The mixed facet-cut is compounded of the 
 brilliant and pavilion cuts, the first of which 
 is on the crown, and it contributes greatly to 
 increase the lustre. 
 
 The elongated brilliant facet-cut is some- 
 times used in the cutting of stones. 
 
 The table-cut, appropriate for sealsfones, is 
 mmjiosod of an uneven and conchoi<lal table, 
 surrounded by one or two circular rows of 
 facets. 
 
 The df)ub1e facet-cut has a crown compo- 
 sed of two rows of facets, with a collet of a 
 pavilion fonn, and is well adapted to conceal 
 any fla^\'S or fissures in the stone. 
 
 The cabochon-cut is cither flat, convex, or 
 double-convex, that is, arched ; it may be on 
 both sides, or only on one. This cut is par- 
 ticularly ap])li(;able for semi-transparent gems, 
 or those which disj)lay their peculiar colors, 
 such as the ojial, moonstone, &c., or collect 
 the light in a small space, on one or several 
 jiarts, according to the convexity they have 
 received. The cabochon-cut may have one, 
 two, or more rows of facets, and opaque 
 stones receive with advantage the facets over 
 the whole surface. Ganiets, for instance, 
 which are generally of a dark color, are cut 
 en cabocJwn, the lower plane excavated in a 
 circular form, and the u|)per plane all around 
 with facets. Other gems, the interior faults 
 of, which can not be concealed, may be im- 
 proved by this cut, giving them more trans- 
 I)arencv, vividness of color, and a greater de- 
 gree of fire. 
 
 As allusion has been made to the great 
 value of diamonds, it may be mentioned that 
 at a very extensive sale of gems made in 
 London, during the year 1837, there were 
 sold an amount to the value of nearly two 
 hundred and thirty thousand dollars. Among 
 these there were a pair of ear-rings, formerly 
 the property of Queen Charlotte, which pro- 
 duced fifty-five thousand dollars ; a sapphire, 
 set with brilliants, two thousand, four hundred 
 and sixty-five dollars ; brilliant drops, which 
 were stated to have formerly belonged to 
 Marie Antoinette, eight thousand, eight hun- 
 dred and seventy-five; a Turkish dagger, 
 mouuted with brilliants and rubies, oold for 
 four thousand dollars ; and the celebrated 
 
 Nassauck diamond was purchased at thirty- 
 six thousand. 
 
 It may be jiroper here to notice the princi- 
 ])al diamonds which arc now knowni to exist 
 in Europe. A diamond in the jx^session of 
 the grand-mogul, is in form and si, like half 
 a hen's egg. Its weight is two Inuidrod and 
 ninety-seven and three sixteenths carets. It 
 is cut in a rose form, is perfectly limpid, and 
 it is valued at eight hundred thousand dollars. 
 A diamond found upon the island of Borneo, 
 was formerly in the possession of tho rajah of 
 Mattan. I'his is of an egg form, and of the 
 first water. It weighs three hundred and 
 sixty-seven carats. A diamond, formerly be- 
 longing to the sultan of Persia, about the 
 size of a pigeon's egg, was purchased by the 
 empercss Catharine for about four hundred 
 and fifty thousand dollars, and an annuity of 
 twenty thousand. One weighing a hundred 
 and thirty-eight and a half carats is in the 
 treasury of Rio Janeiro; and a single gem is 
 jiossessed by the Austrian crown, which is 
 valued at half a million of dollars. The fa- 
 mous regent or Pitt diamond, which was pur- 
 chased by Mr. Pitt, when govemor of Ben- 
 coolen, in Sumatra, and by him sold to the 
 regent duke of Orleans, who placed it among 
 the crown-jewels of France, was valued by a 
 commission of jewellers, in 1791, at over two 
 millions of dollars. Another diamond, be- 
 longing to the crown of Franco, is in tho 
 form of a pear. It is cut as a double rose- 
 diamond, and was purchased for a hundred 
 thousand dollars. Among the crown-jewels 
 of France there is one diamond of a sky-blue, 
 and valued at five hundred and fifty thousand 
 dollars. A rough one in the possession of the 
 prince-regent of Portugal, is said to weigh an 
 ounce troy. 
 
 Two large diamonds belong to the Turkish 
 crown, one of which is valued at about one 
 hundred and eighty thousand dollars; and 
 one was discovered in Brazil, in 1780, which 
 is now at Rio Janeiro, weighing seventy-two 
 carats and three fourths grains. Another 
 was found at the same place, weighing sev- 
 enty carats. It is said that the largest dia- 
 mond known in the world, is now in the pos- 
 session of the king of Portugal. It is in its 
 rough state, being the size of a pigeon's egg, 
 and has been valued at the enormous sum of 
 two hundred and eighty millions of dollars, 
 although it is the opinion of many jewellers 
 that it is a white topaz. 
 
 A brief description of the crown-jewels of 
 Victoria, the reigning queen of England, may 
 perhaps here be interebting. The croviTi it- 
 self weighs about three pounds, and is com- 
 posed of hoops of silver, enclosing a cap of 
 blue velvet. These hoops are studded with 
 precious stones ; and upon the crown is a ball. 
 
 '■I ■':, * . .; 
 
 
 m 
 
 
 -S&H 
 
^•' 
 
 130 
 
 NIGHT.— THE SOLAR SYSTEM. 
 
 set also with precious stones, and surmounted 
 with brilliunts in the form of a Mahese cross. 
 The rim is flowered witii 3Ialtcse crosses and 
 the ficurs-de-Us. In the centre of the lur^^e 
 Maltese cri).ss is a s|ilenilid sap)>hire, and m 
 front is the immense ruby once worn by Ed- 
 ward the black prince. Numt^rous otlier 
 precious stones, rubies, pearls, and emeralds, 
 arc intenninglfd with these gems down to the 
 rim, which is formed of ermine. The follow- 
 ing is the estimated value : — 
 
 Twenty diamonds roand the circle, t7,S00 
 
 each $150,000 
 
 Two largo centre diuuiond^i, $10,000 each SO,OOU 
 Fifty-fuar ernullcr diamonds, placed at the 
 
 angles of the former .... 500 
 
 Four crosaoK, eaoh composed of twenty-tive 
 
 diamonds 60,000 
 
 Four diamonds on the tops of the crosses 800,000 
 Eigliteun dinniuiids contained in the lleurs- 
 
 dells 50,000 
 
 Eighteen smaller diamonds, in the same 10,000 
 
 Pearls, diamonds, &c., ou the arclies and 
 
 crosses 50,000 
 
 Oao liundrud and forty-one diamonds on the 
 
 mound 3,500 
 
 Twent^'il:r diamonds on the apper cross 15.000 
 
 Two circles of pearls about ibe rim ■ 4.000 
 
 $563,000 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 'Tis night — solemn nicht ; the broad eye 
 of day has closed, and all its joyous sights and 
 sounds have departed ; a majestic gloom broods 
 over all things; night has wrapped in her ob- 
 livious mantle, the golden glories of day's 
 bright ruler, and naught breaks the fearful 
 contrast, save the twinkling of some far-oir 
 star, whose feeble rays remind us that light 
 has been. 
 
 And yet the ni^ht is not wholly unlovely, 
 or unloved ; for when the day is past, meili- 
 tation delights to pursue her task 'ncath her 
 shadowing wine. When are the woijds more 
 solemn, than when darkness broods over the 
 green foliage, or the night winds in fitful gusts 
 sway the outspreading branches of the fores'; 
 trees ? It is such a time as this that suits the 
 spirit that has drunk deeply of the cup of suf- 
 fering, and these gloomy sights and solemn 
 sounds are sweeter than music to the ear 
 which has been satiated with the fulsome and 
 unmeaning adulation of a false world, and the 
 mind finds even in the forest's gloom, and the 
 wailing sound of the hoarse night wind, some- 
 thing in unison with the sombre thoughts that 
 are dwelling within. 
 
 The thoughts, too, at such a season, are 
 not drawn aside by the multitude of objects 
 which bright day presents, but the mind is 
 turned in upon itself — its own acts are the 
 
 objects of scrutiny, the cn.;)ti 's which lurk 
 deep in the recesses of the « il are brought 
 under strict view, passion is cooled, reason 
 triumphs, and thought, foi the moment, is 
 supreme. 
 
 Night is the season for examination; the 
 acts of the ilay then present themselves be- 
 fore tlie mind for judgment ; ranscience stamps 
 its a])proval or condemnation on every action, 
 and by its impartial voice we are taught to 
 imi)rove the future by the follies and errors 
 of the past. 
 
 Night is the time for devotion ; the solemn 
 sky, with its gleaming fires, and the awful 
 silence which prevails, j)ress holy feelings on 
 the soul — feelings which bid man bow and 
 humbly worship; for at such seasons the 
 world is shut cnit, and man, cut oil from the 
 thron|» of his fellows, stands alone with God. 
 How important then that sin should be con- 
 fessed, jiardon sought, and the conscience 
 cleansed ere sleep be invited. 
 
 Night is the time for music's soft strain ; 
 its notes breaking on the stillness which reigns 
 around, seem like the voices of far-olF angels, 
 and every pulsation of the heart is in unison 
 with the song. The mind, too, is then better 
 suited to the reception of holy impressions, 
 and oft at such seasons we seem borne away 
 from earth, and stand with the heavenly 
 harpers near the eternal throne. 
 
 Let us, then, ever improve its pensive 
 gloom, and its solemn .silence — let music swell, 
 let nrayer arise, let thought bo free to range 
 in the extended empire which God has given 
 it, and we shall have abundant reason to bless 
 Qod for the night. 
 
 THE SOLAR SYSTEM. 
 
 If the younger portion of our readers will 
 commit to memory the following lines, they 
 will ever after have a correct idea of the ar- 
 rangement of our solar system. It will fix it 
 in the memory like the length of the months 
 by tho old "thirty days hath Sej)tember,"&c. 
 
 " Poised in the centre hangs the glorious Sun, 
 Hound which the rapid Mercury doth ran ; 
 Next, in due order, Vcnwi wheels her tlishl. 
 And then the Earth, and Moon, her satellite; 
 Next fiery Mart pursues his ronnd career ; 
 Beyond, the circling AiCeroids appear ; 
 The beUjMl Jupiter remoter flies, 
 With his four moons attendant thro' the skies ; 
 Tho belt-ringed Saturn roams more distant still. 
 With seven sw:fl; moons he dolh his circuit fill j 
 While with six satellites, that round him roll, 
 Uranut slowly circumvolvea the whole. 
 But far beyond, nnscanned by mortal eye, 
 In widening spheres, bright suns and systems lie, 
 Circling in measureless infinity I 
 Pause o'er the mighty scents, O man ! and raise 
 Your feeble voice to the Ckbatok's praise t" 
 
 M: 
 
the en.nt: ^8 which lark 
 i of the m il arc brought 
 passion is cooled, reason 
 ight, fu< tho inuinent, is 
 
 son for examination ; the 
 n present tlieinselves bo- 
 lament; ranscience stamps 
 einnation on every action, 
 il voice wc are taught to 
 by the follies and errors 
 
 for devotion ; the soicmn 
 ling fires, and the awful 
 ils, press holy fef lings on 
 ivliicli bid man bow nnd 
 fur at such seasons the 
 md man, cut oti from the 
 3, stands alone with God. 
 n that sin should be con- 
 ght, and the conscience 
 e invited. 
 ) for music's soft strain; 
 
 I the stillness which reigns 
 ic voices of far-i)ir angels, 
 of the heart is in unison 
 B mind, too, is then better 
 ition of holy impressions, 
 )ns wc seem borne away 
 and with the heovenly 
 rnal throne. 
 
 k-cr improve its pensive 
 
 II silence — let music swell, 
 thought bo free to range 
 
 )ire which God has given 
 : abundant rcoisou tu bless 
 
 -AR SYSTEM. 
 
 •rtion of our readers will 
 the following lines, they 
 a correct idea of the ar- 
 lar system. It will fix it 
 the length of the months 
 ays hath September," dec. 
 
 Iianffa the glorious Sun, 
 ipid Mercury doth ran j 
 
 Venun wheels her flight, 
 1, and Moon, her satellite ; 
 rsaes hia roond career ; 
 5 Aiieroids appear j 
 remoter flies, 
 
 8 attendant thro' the skie* ; 
 turn roams innre distant still, 
 lonns he doth his circuit fill ; 
 sllitcs, that ronod him roll, 
 amvolvea the whole, 
 icanned hy mortal eye, 
 «, bright suns and systems lie, 
 less infinity ! 
 
 ity scen«s, O man f and ruise 
 > the Ckiatoh's praise I" 
 
 ANCIBNT WINEPaESS. 
 
 131 
 
 In Syria, the vintage begins about 
 tho miifdlc of September, and contin- 
 ues for about two months. It is earlier 
 in Palestine, where the grapes are 
 sometimes ripe even in June or July ; 
 this arises probably from a triple pru- 
 ning, in which case there is also a third 
 vintage. The first is in August, the 
 second in September, and the third in 
 October. 
 
 Joyous, indeed, was the season when 
 the grapes were plucked off, and car- 
 ried to the wine-press, which was built 
 in the vineyard, whose site was care- 
 fully chosen in fields of u Wse, crum- 
 bling soil, on a rich plain, a sloping hill, 
 rising with a gentle ascent, or, where 
 the acclivity was very steep, in terra- 
 ces turned as much as possible from the 
 setting sun. The wine-presses were 
 either built of stone, or hewm out of a 
 large rock. The grapes were thrown 
 into the upper part, to be trodden by 
 men, and tht; juice flowed out into re- 
 ceptacles beiinath, as appears from the 
 engraving. The treading of the wine- 
 press was laborious, but it was per- 
 formed with singing, and sometimes ac- 
 companied with musical instruments. 
 
 Oil of olives was expressed in the 
 same way, before the invention of milk. 
 The existence of this practice in Pales- 
 tine, is evident, from the language of 
 
 m 
 
 ifMflJUsfli 
 
 i • \ I 
 1 r 
 
 '^ 4 ■ f 
 
 I 
 
 
 '^»«^:t 
 
 i^hi^M^ 
 
 ^%m i 
 
138 
 
 8HAKKU8 OF NEW LEBANON. 
 
 Moses : " I^et Ashcr dip his foot in oil ;" and 
 from the threatening, " Thou shalt sow, but 
 thou shalt not reap ; tliou shall tread the ol- 
 ives, but thou shalt not anoint thee with oil ; 
 and sweet wine, but shalt not drink wine," 
 Micoh vi. 15. 
 
 To the custom of treading grapes and olives, 
 reference is frecjuently made by the inspired 
 writers. Thus the glorious conqueror, who 
 appeared in vision to Isaiah, said, "I have 
 trodden the wine-press alone ; and of the peo- 
 ple there was none with me: fori will tread 
 them in mine anger, and trample them in my 
 fury; and their blaxl shall be sprinkled on 
 my garments, and I will stain all my raiment," 
 Isiiiuh Ixiii. 3. As the clothes of the treaders 
 were sprinkled with the juice of the grapes, 
 so were the garments of the Redeemer with 
 the bl(K)d of his enemies, who were as easily 
 and completely crushed bv his almighty pow- 
 er, as are the full ripe clusters of the vine, 
 beneath the feet of men. The same figure is 
 employed in the book of Revelation, xiv. 
 1 8-20, to express the fearful destruction which 
 awaits the adversaries of God and of man. 
 
 SHAKERS OF NEW LEBANON. 
 
 ■*!? 
 
 m 
 
 Perhaps there is no sect whose principles 
 
 ond forms have been so misrepresented, and 
 
 so little understood by the worid, as the 
 
 people called shakers. "We have no doubt 
 
 our readers will be interested in reading a 
 
 description of a Sunday passed, in the green 
 
 Inp of New Lebanon, at the oldest and richest 
 
 establishment of that most singular ppople, in 
 
 this country. There, in the midst of that 
 
 sweet circle of picturesque and verdant hills, 
 
 two extremesof modem life have nestled down; 
 
 fashionable society around the "springs," 
 
 which suggest at least, if they do not exactly 
 
 afford, physical health and comfort, and a 
 
 couple of miles off, that sober company of 
 
 separatists around what they deem " springs 
 
 of living water, welling up to everlasting life." 
 
 They are associationists m their way, which 
 
 truly is a most negative and inverse way to 
 
 one who is a believer in the passions, as the 
 
 essential springs of all good energy in man, 
 
 fed from the fountain of Divine love; but, 
 
 they illustrate some of the advantages of 
 
 combination, and we were moved to seek a 
 
 lesson from them. 
 
 Their industry we could not see, it being 
 Sunday, but tliere was a chance for us to 
 spell out something of their life-ideal from the 
 strange symbols of their worship. Passing 
 their highly-cultivated gardens, and their 
 neat, plain dwellings, we came to the meeting- 
 
 house, a spicious and (jnaint structure, which 
 had yet a Certain architectural beauty of its 
 own. I>y its lead-colored, semi-cylindrical 
 long roof, and its starched air of neatness, it 
 resembled a meek quoker bonnet, while the 
 details of doors and windows and green blinds 
 were groceful and appropriate. Yet use and 
 plainness evidently were the only presiding 
 canons of their art. The side on which we 
 entered, was filled from end to end with curi- 
 ous spectators like ourselves, though few of 
 them W8 fancy, regarded the matter in so 
 serious a mcxHi as wo did. Upon the other 
 side, across the 8j> icious, smooth floor, gleam- 
 ing like a sheet oi etter paper, and so clean 
 that not a speck was visible upon it, we caught 
 the full ensemble of the worshipiiers, ranged 
 on benches running hblf across the room- 
 benches without backs — sitting demure, their 
 hands upon their knees, rows of men opposite 
 to rows of women, llie first glimpse of the 
 latter startled us like a scene in the tombs ; — 
 they looked so much like white and sheeted 
 ghosts, in their death-like linen caps and 
 facial bandages and robes that hung so straight 
 and close to the gaunt figures; old and yoiing 
 alike reduced to the sKmo pattern, of which 
 the ideal seemed the extinction of any most 
 remote suggestion of beauty. The men and 
 boys in their old-mannish uniform looked 
 generally hale and cheerful, vith a shrewd 
 twinkle 'in the eye, despite a placid and sub- 
 missive manner. Most of them were gentle 
 and mechonical looking persons ; but here and 
 there was one more imposing and ambitious 
 looking figure, who seemed as if he should 
 have passions, and whose existence amid that 
 monotonous, tame life we could not so readily 
 account for. But the women were a sad 
 sight ; on them falls the heaviest penalty of 
 this dear-bought and unnatural peace. The 
 gravity of the ficene was certainly impressive. 
 Assuming that a life which satisfies so many 
 and so long, and which has so succeeded in 
 an outward way, could not have nothins at 
 the core of it, and that the inner sense of their 
 peculiarities must form a consistent whole of 
 some sort, we gave respectful and studious at- 
 tention to the exercises which rnw opened. 
 
 An aged voice, proceeding somewhere from 
 the centre of the worshippers (we could not 
 see the person), congrotulated them upon the 
 return of their sweet privilege of worshipping 
 God after their own monner and understand- 
 ing. This was simply ond briefly said, and 
 in a tone not cold nor formal, but quite hu- 
 man. Then by a simultaneous movement 
 (whence communicated we could not tell), 
 they were all on their feet at once, and began 
 to j)ile away the benches in their respective 
 comers, male and female, to make on open 
 area for what was to follow, and stood waiting 
 
8HAKKH9 OK NKW LEBANON. 
 
 133 
 
 n<\ nnaint stninturp, which 
 irchitpcturol bcnuty of its 
 l-colorcil, somi-cyhwlricnl 
 itarched air of ncafness, it 
 quaker bonnet, whilo the 
 
 winilows and crcen blinds 
 appropriate. Yet use and 
 ' were the only presiding 
 . The side on which wo 
 from end to end with curi- 
 • ouwelvcs, though few of 
 ogarded the matter in so 
 
 wo did. Upon the other 
 (•ious, wnooth floor, gleain- 
 
 etter paper, and bo clean 
 3 visible upon it, we caught 
 f the worshippers, ranged 
 ig half across the room — 
 icks — sitting demure, their 
 necs, rows of men opposite 
 ITie first glimpse of the 
 ke a scene in the tombs ; — 
 ch like white and sheeted 
 ieath-like linen caps and 
 1 robes that hung so straight 
 ,unt figures ; old and young 
 iie ^Mime pattern, of which 
 he extinction of any most 
 
 of beauty. The men and 
 l-mannish uniform looked 
 d cheerful, vith a shrewd 
 :, despite a placid and sub- 
 Most of them were gentle 
 )king persons ; but here and 
 ire imposing and ambitious 
 10 seemed as if ho should 
 I whose existence amid that 
 life we could not so readily 
 it the women were a sad 
 lis the heaviest penalty of 
 md unnatural pence. The 
 le was certainly impressive, 
 ife which satisfies so many 
 which has so succeeded in 
 
 could not have nothina at 
 that the inner sense of their 
 t form a consistent whole of 
 e respectful and studious at- 
 rcises which riow opened, 
 proceeding somewhere from 
 worihippers (we could not 
 ongratulated them upon the 
 eet privjlogo of worshipping 
 vn manner and understand- 
 imply and briefly said, and 
 1 nor formal, but quite hu- 
 
 a simultaneous movement 
 nicated we could not tell), 
 their feet at once, and began 
 
 benches in their respective 
 1 female, to make an open 
 s to follow, and stood waiting 
 
 ia thoir cross rows ufjnin. Aiidilertlien stop, 
 pcd forward ami adclrisM-d the mMiiulc.r-i, 
 rfs|)ccirully ri'questing tlii'in to alutuin from 
 talkiim, luughinj:, und ollu'r inlcrruptionH, and 
 eHpcciuliy settiiij; forth tliiir law of licnnruifss 
 which iiii<l bciii grossly outrnged on the pre- 
 viou.i Sunday, by some low, loliaceo-gpitting 
 visiters, who"had come to siii'crniid tie amused. 
 The lesson was tiiiuly niid ini|ircssivc, and 
 judginj; from the entiri' cthec it took u|>oii the 
 crowd we should say thut soiiie of tin in could 
 not have attended chuii^ii to better jmrpose. 
 Wo should not wonder if wmie careless hearts 
 had the idea of outward imrilieation seriously 
 engraved upon them there, for the first time 
 perhai)s in their lives. The speaker said ho 
 was aware that their customs were singular, 
 naturuUv causing astonishment and even ridi- 
 cule in Those who could not understand them 
 as they did ; but he gently reminded them of 
 the respect due to their peculiarities, to which 
 they had a perfect right. Indeed, they all 
 evinced a perfect sane consciousness of their 
 relative position to the rest of the world, which 
 they did not sufler to disturb them. The 
 most singular thing about their singularities, 
 was the absence of oil fanatical into:dcotion. 
 In the songs and dances which ensued, wo 
 sawnothingof that violence and phrensy which 
 have been reported of them; all was mod- 
 erate, deliberate, and self-possessed ; no dis- 
 tortions, whiriings round on tijitoe, groans, or 
 frantic shouts. The spirit did not seem to 
 wrestle with then, but to descend upon them 
 8oothin"ly ; and we were convinced that the 
 spirit of their system is subdued and (luiot and 
 that if such thmgs ever occur as above hinted 
 they are only exceptional. 
 
 First came a spiritual hymn or chant, sung 
 standing, to a very homely", humdrum, secular 
 I sort of a tune, with a brisk, jig-like motion, 
 ' It was sung in unison, all the voices on one 
 l)art, from grulFest base to shrillest treble; 
 "the very pluiiujst, baldest thing that could be 
 called music having a rhythm and a melody, 
 but rigorously rejecting all unnecessary wealth 
 and coloring of harmony. The close of every 
 song was marked by unisonous, sepulchral 
 lengthening out of the last note. There 
 rei<Tiied the same neatness and correctness in 
 this performance, as in their costume and their 
 clean floor ; no false notes or slips of time. 
 It was music emptied of the sentiment of 
 beauty, of which all their ways betray a hor- 
 ror: it was music as an exercise, a ceremony, 
 and not as a fine art ; the ghost, or skeleton 
 of music, enough to show that they do believe 
 in measure, rhythm, order, but not in charm 
 and beauty. I'hey seem to recognise the in- 
 herent presence of music in the very law of 
 life, to accept the symbol of pervwling har- 
 mony, but they reject the ultimate expression 
 
 und result thereof in forms of art. in lieimlv ; 
 they study to possess the law without the 
 eonerctioM und embodiment of it in nature; it 
 seems the very essence of their creed towage 
 exterminating war with nature, to soak out 
 the bliMKl and coloring nulistances from life's 
 fleshy tissue, and simjily keep the pale and 
 lifeless fonn; and so if they accept the visits 
 of the angel, St. Cecilia, it is only when she 
 comes in a mop-eap and strait gown of a 
 ghostly white, and promises to leave behind 
 lier every tempting charm, and everything 
 that can fend worth to earth. For the shaker 
 wants the spiritual u/''jf>u/ the materiol ; not 
 the spiritual in the material. Life without 
 passion, unity without variety, use without 
 beauty, law without attraction, and purity by 
 sheer simplistic abstinence, arc his fancied 
 solution, but in reality evasion, of the grand 
 life-problem. 
 
 Next came the dance. Two by two the 
 men, and two by two the women, getting 
 time and impulse from the jig-like hymn o* 
 their own chanting, both hands dangling loose 
 and fin-like before the breast, went journey- 
 ing round the room in circles, with strange 
 limping step, stout old men and starch old 
 maidens, spite of solemn faces, stepiiing otF 
 as briskly as the youngest, and forgetting the 
 apparent loss of dignity in the profound obe- 
 dience of all this. Some of the older and in- 
 finn members only stood still and liKiked on, 
 but kept up the same dangling of the hands, 
 as if to fan the flame. Occasionally they 
 would pause in the middle of these " divine- 
 circles," as one of the speakers called them, 
 and the silence would be broken by some fe- 
 male voice, 8U])posed to be under the moving 
 of the spirit, declaring " her uiisi)enkable sat- 
 isfaction in this life, that she felt that she had 
 found G(k1," and a few more sentences to this 
 elFeet, which was answered in like (|uiet man- 
 ner, passionless, and mechnnieal, by some 
 other sister, or by some old man, or yimng 
 convert warmly giving his experience. Then 
 they would tourney on again, with steady 
 eanicst pertinacity," as if by way of symbol- 
 iziuK tlie dull journey of life. 
 
 Reason. — Reason is used by those most 
 acute in distinguishing, to signify that power 
 of the mind by which we draw inferences, or 
 by which we are convinced, that a relation 
 belongs to two ideas, on account of our having 
 found" that these ideas bear certain relations 
 to other ideas. It is that faculty which en- 
 ables us, from relations and ideas that are 
 known, to investigate such as are unknown, 
 and without which we never coulil proceeil 
 in the discovery of truth a single step beyond 
 I first principles. 
 
 «= iiij 1 
 
 -«ui4^'^ 
 
 i i 
 
 WpIi^i*,, 
 
 %im 
 
 "tirj 
 
 -mimmm^sms^^ff», 
 
134 
 
 SOCIAL INFLUENCE. 
 
 SOCIAL INFLUENCE. 
 
 'r i« n moHt iiit(;re«titiff, ai wi'll a» iolrmn 
 fort, tlint every iiidiviiliiiil jneniber of society 
 i.H r(>^|Miii^ilile, to some ilegree, forthcrntninon 
 Coixl. We limy way toriifh oiif.tho Aliiii;;hty 
 liii-i |ilii<'r(l tlie moral ehnriu'Ur, the soriul coii- 
 ilitioji, the M|iirituul jjrowth of mmiy others, to 
 B coiisiilenililc extent, under your eare. He 
 hi).« liiikeil to;.'ether all men with a ihouHand 
 iiitiTsec(iii2 eliaint ; mimy of wliieh, no to 
 •|K.>ak, eiiniieet with eneh one of ii^i ; and by 
 iiu'iiiis of tl^ese, our inlluenco in contiiinully 
 flowing; out in every direction. Thus we nre 
 reri|ir()callv inHueiiciiig each other's coiuluct, 
 niid moulding; each other's character. 
 
 It is astonishing how much intlueiicc a single 
 pi'rson sometimes has oV('r n whole communi- 
 ty. He imi)re9ses his mark upon all around 
 him, and it is visible to nil. IJut the iiilluence 
 of n jxTsoii is not to be measured by its visible 
 oH'wis. Tliose cases which ore the most 
 strikiiip, generally attract attention because 
 they bear somewhat of an eccentric type, and 
 huvp respect to things out of the Vonimon 
 course — When the inlluenco is to onytliing 
 lieculiur, it is instantly seen. iJut in p'rojior- 
 lion as it falls in with u <!urrent, or is expan- 
 sive and well balanced, it los<!s its individual- 
 ity. Th(! most obvious case which meets our 
 eye, is only nn example of that fonnulivo 
 power which wc all have over each other; 
 though it is generally more secret in its ef- 
 fects. 
 
 Let us not underrate this influence, nor 
 take t(K) limited views of its extent. There 
 is no one who does not i>oss(!S8 and exercise 
 it, and there is no one who is not alfected i)y 
 it in others. And, if desirable, its amount 
 may always be increased l)y cultivutin;; those 
 ([ualities, and expanding those Oiculties of ours 
 Ufion which it is based. 
 
 There are various tistinct spheres of life 
 where this influence is peculiarly exerted, 
 and wherein Pnnidence seems to have de- 
 signed to atli)rd us an ojiportunity for benefit- 
 ing each other. 
 
 One of the^e spheres is the family. By 
 ordaining the ties of kindred, and collecting 
 us together in family grouns, n foundation 
 has been laid for much delightful and im- 
 proving influence. The relations into which 
 we arc thus brought to each other, give us a 
 reciprocal power which, if rightly improved, 
 Mcuresthe most beneficial results; but which, 
 if perverted, is to an e(iual extent disastrous. 
 The influence of a parent over a child, proba- 
 bly exceeds every other. By it, the child's 
 character will receive a bias which nothing 
 can afterward fully remove. Hence the un- 
 told importance ol'^ giving it early a right di- 
 rection. "Take this child and nurse it for 
 
 me," is the address of Ood to every parent, 
 and a solemn responxiliillty attends tin; ebarye. 
 The child will b(( very much what the piirent 
 attempts to make it. Kvervhoiir inipres-ions 
 will be mode upon it wliieli nothing can ef. 
 face. Nor is the influrnco of oilii.T mciniiers 
 of the family upon each other, very mnch 
 below that of tilt! pareii^. 
 
 Next We will mention the social circle of 
 friends. Tlie iiilluence here exerted nualit, 
 p<rlin]is, to be estimated next to that in the 
 iamily. In such a circle, drawn together by 
 the attractive power of coincident tiistes anil 
 feelings, where heart mingles with heuit, and 
 thoughts uni)idden flow freely forth, then! is 
 such u l)lendiiig of spirits, and su<'li a trust- 
 ful obandonmeiit of self to the guidance of 
 others, as always results in a mental ussinii- 
 lutioii of character. 
 
 Kven the local circumstance of neighbor- 
 hiHid provides another s]ihere of iiilluence, by 
 no means of little acc^ount. For it is impossi- 
 ble, even lor the most dissimilar persons to be 
 near each other, lo bi; daily seen, and bniugbt 
 into contact in the business of life, wiiliuiit 
 insensibly pnMlucing deep impressions, ond 
 working changes of feeling and character. 
 
 The civil lionds of society, also, by uniting 
 men in national ties, and awakening comnion 
 feedings of mental dependence, oneness of in- 
 terest, and ]mtriotic ilesire, is another founda- 
 tion for personal influence of coiisideriible ex- 
 tent, lluise who are united together for the 
 supjiort of a good government, to muiiitaiii 
 common rights, to resist oiijiression, establish 
 justice, and foster those institutions which are 
 necessary for the well-being of society and 
 progress ()f the race, have, from this interest- 
 ing relation to each other, a mutual sympathy 
 awakened, which gives them an important iii 
 fluence over each other's hearts. 
 
 The last sphere of social influence which 
 we shall mention in this brief article, is the 
 chur(di. As religion is one of the (b epcst 
 |irinci|)les of our nature, the influence arising 
 from this source is of wonderful powt r. Each 
 of the other relations we have mciiioned af- 
 fords a means f)f jiromoting mental and spirit- 
 ual improvement ; but this, being founded 
 upon spiritual alliuities, alii irds the most de- 
 lightful o|)i)ortunities for operating upon other 
 minds — So tender and sacred is this relation, 
 that it invests the humblest member with a 
 degree of consideration, and secures a defer- 
 ence to his oi)iiiions and wishes, which he 
 could not otherwise attain : while every one 
 finds ample room here, and open hearts, to 
 receive the g(xid impressions he may have the 
 ability and the will to make. 
 
 But we will enlarge upon these various 
 sjiheres of social innuence; They nre all in- 
 teresting; they are all important; they are all 
 
( of 0(1(1 to rvpry parnit, 
 miliillty nttiiuU tin; clmrni', 
 fry muchwhiit tin; imrcut 
 . Kvrrv liDiir iiii|ir(*»i(>im 
 I it wliicli tioiliiii^ ciiri (•('. 
 illiiriicc of oiIk.t inciiilicrx 
 
 I cnrh other, very iiiiicli 
 uri'ii^. 
 
 •iilidii tlin Sdc'uil i'irrl(.' of 
 iclK^c here (■xcrlcil (iii;;lit, 
 iintcil next til that in tin; 
 circle. (Iruwii toKcilii-r hy 
 T of coincident tiistcit and 
 rt inin£jl(!s wiili licait, uml 
 (low freely forili, there u 
 ' npiritu, and ninh a tni»t- 
 if self to th(! ;;iiiiliinr(5 of 
 'csults in a mental u^sinii- 
 
 I'ircunistanco of nei^jhlior- 
 H'r H|ilier(' of inlluence, hy 
 ccoinit. For it is ini|i(issi- 
 ist (li8»iinilftr |((.'rs(Mis to ho 
 lie (Inily seen, nnd hron^ht 
 • husincss of life, without 
 ic deep iinpriNsions, and 
 ' feeling and elmriirtcr. 
 )f society, als(j, hy uniting 
 1, and owilkenili!; coiniiiou 
 lependeiice, oiu'nesx of iii- 
 de^-iru, is another fouiida- 
 [luenc(? of Considerable ex- 
 irc united togetln^r fur the 
 government, to maintain 
 resist oppression, establish 
 lose institutions which are 
 well-heiniT of society nnd 
 •, have, from this interest- 
 other, a mutual sympathy 
 ivcsthem nn important in- 
 ther'« hearts. 
 of social influence which 
 
 II this lirief article, is the 
 in is one of the ih^epest 
 ilure, the influence urisinjr 
 if wonderful j)ow! r. Kach 
 lis w(5 have Hi'!!iluned af- 
 :)inotiug mental and spirit- 
 hut thi" being founded 
 
 lities, allords the most de- 
 '3 for ojierating upon other 
 and sacred is this relation, 
 humblest member with a 
 tion, and secures a defei- 
 is and wishes, which lie 
 a attain : while every one 
 here, and open hearts, to 
 |iressions he may have the 
 to make. 
 
 arge upon these various 
 luence; They are all in- 
 all imjioirtant. ; they are all 
 
 THE LONDON QIN-PALACE. 
 
 ISA 
 
 \ ..... 
 
 utteridnd with very wcinhty rpspon«ihiIitie«. 
 In th" family, the sociiil circle, the neiKhbor- 
 h.Mid, the state, the church, Uod has nsslKiied 
 t( r,» ilie nvwt imjMirtant trusts, and i^ven u^ 
 the inean«, ay, even no appointeil our condi- 
 tion that we can not tvoid being in-fumentul 
 to the uccumplUhmLnt of mucli, either ginxl 
 or evil. 
 
 THE LONDON GIN-PALACE. 
 
 TiiK gin-palace i« generally at the comer of 
 two inters(;cting streets in a gin-drinkiligneigh- 
 iMirhixxl : it towers, in all the majesty of stuc- 
 co pilasters, in genuine cockney splendor, over 
 the dingy mansions thot support it, like a ra- 
 paei(nis tyrant over his impoverished sulyects. 
 
 The (Uiors are large, swinging easily upon 
 patent hinges, and ever half-and-half — half- 
 open and half-slmt, so that the most undecided 
 toucli of the dram-drinker adiriits him. The 
 windows arc of jilate-glass, set in lirass sashes, 
 and are tilled with flaming announcements in 
 large letters, " The Cheapest House in Lon- 
 dim" — "Cream o( the Valley" — "Creaming 
 Stout"— "Brilliant Ales"— "Old Tom, four- 
 nence a quartern" — " Ilinlge's Best for mix- 
 ing"— and a variety of other entertainments 
 for the men and beasts who make the gin- 
 |)alace their home. At night s])lendid lights 
 irradiate the surrounding gloom, and an illu- 
 minated clock serves to remind the toper of 
 the time he throws away in throwing away 
 his reason. 
 
 Within, ihe splendor is in keeping with the 
 splendo without; rounters fitted ^> th zinc, 
 and a loig array of brass tups ; fittings of the 
 finest Spanish tiiahogany. beautifully polished ; 
 bottles, containing conlials, and other drugs, 
 gilded and labelled, as in the apothecaries' 
 shop«. At one siclc is tlie bar-parlor, an 
 apari iicnt fitted up with congenial taste, ond 
 usually occupied by the family of the publi- 
 can ; in the distance are vistas, and sometimes 
 galleries, formed altogether i it huge vats of 
 the various sorts of liquor dispensed in the es- 
 tablishment. Behind the counter, which is 
 usually raised to a level with the breasts of 
 the topers, stand mm in their shirt-sleeves, 
 well-dressed ferrn' m, or both, dispensers of 
 the "short" and "heavy;" the under-sized 
 tipplers, raisii.g themselves on tiptoe, deposit© 
 the three halfpen"e for the " drop" of gin, or 
 whatever else they require, and receive their 
 quantum of the poison in return ; ragged wo- 
 men, with starveling . 'lildren, match and bal- 
 lad vendets, fill up the foreground of the pic- 
 ture. There are no seats, nor any accommo- 
 dation for the oust iraers in the regular gin- 
 
 m 
 
 palace; every exertion is used to make the 
 place as uneomfortablt; to the consumers as 
 {M)ssii)le, so that they shall only step 'n to 
 drink, and pay ; step out, nnd return to drink 
 and [lay again. No f(H)d of any kind is pro- 
 vided at the gin-palace, save u f(!W biscuits, 
 which are exliibited in a wire cage for protec- 
 tion against the furtive hand; drink, ttrrnal, 
 j)oisonous drink, is the sole provision of tliia 
 whited sepulchre. 
 
 There is not in nil London a more melan- 
 choly and spirit-de|)ressing sight than tilt! area 
 of one of the larger gin-pulaces on a vet 
 night. There thi; homeless, hous(.'lcss, mis- 
 erubles of both sexes, whether they havf 
 money or not, resort in numbers for a tern 
 ])orary shelter; aged women selling ballads 
 and nintches, cripples, little beggar-boys and 
 girls, slavering idiots, jiic-men, sandwich-men, 
 apple and orange women, shell-fishinongers, 
 hii'ldled p(!ll-mell, in dragglotailed confusion. 
 Never can human nature, one would imagine, 
 take a more abject posture than is exhiliited 
 hero; there is a character, an individuality, a 
 fomily likeni!8s, common to the whole race of 
 sots ; the pole, clayey, flaccid, clammy face, 
 jiinchcd inevery feature : the weeping, fern^t- 
 like, lack-lustre eye, the unkempt hair, the 
 slattern shawl, the untidy dress, the slijishod 
 gait, too well betray the confinmM' dninkard. 
 
 The noises, t(X), of the asst'inbled topers are 
 hideous; appalling even when heard in an 
 atmosphere of gin. Imprecations, execrations, 
 oil irgtttions, a])plications, until at length the 
 patience of the publican, and the last copper 
 of his customers are exhausted, when, rush- 
 ing from behind his counter, assisted by his 
 shopmen, he expels, vi et armis, the dilatory 
 mob, dragging out by the heels or collars the 
 dead drunkards, to nestle, as best they may, 
 outside t'ne inhospitable door. 
 
 Here, unobserved, may you contemplate 
 the infinite varieties of men self-mctaphorsed 
 into beasts; soaker, tippler, toper, muddler, 
 dram-drinker, beer-swillcr, cordial-tinpler, sot. 
 
 Here you may behold the barefiiot child, 
 hungry, naked, clay-faced, handing up on tip- 
 toe that infernal bottle, which made it nnd 
 keeps it what it is, and with which, when 
 filled, it creeps home to its brutal father or 
 infamous mother, the messenger of its own 
 misery. 
 
 Here the steady respectahle sot, the good 
 customer, slides in, andjlings down his throat 
 the frequent dram : then, with an emphatic 
 "hah!" of gratification, drops his money, 
 nods to his friend, the landlord, and for a short 
 interval disappears. 
 
 Here you may behold with pity and regret, 
 and as much superadded virtuous indignation 
 as the inward contemplation of your own con- 
 tinence may inspire, the flaunting Cyprian, in 
 
 ■ 1 5 
 
 ' - f' > 
 
 (, "llfl^J 
 
 
 StlliTl 
 
 ■*'l»(l> I 
 i 
 

 130 
 
 AMERICA. 
 
 ovc*-drePsed tawflritics?, calling, in shnmelcss 
 voice, for a (luarterii of " ijlcasant-driiiking" 
 gin, which she liberally shares with two or 
 three gentlptnen, wlio are being educated for 
 the bar of the criminal court. You may con- 
 trast her short-lived hey-day of j)ros|)erou3 
 sin with that row of miserablcs seated by the 
 wall, whose charms arc lied, and whose voices 
 arc husky, while they implore you to treat 
 thcin with a glass of ale, or supplicate for the 
 coppers they see you receive in change from 
 the barman; and "who arc only i)ermitted that 
 wretched ])lace of rest that they may beg for 
 the benefit of the i)ublican, and f r his profit 
 poison themselves with the alms of others. 
 
 AMERICA. 
 
 Our eastern borders behold the sun in nil 
 its sjjlendor rising from the Atlantic, while 
 the western shores are embraced in darkness 
 by the billows of the Pacific. Our c.nmtry 
 hiis indeed a vast extent of ieiTitJ>ry, with the 
 diversified climates of the globe. On the one 
 hand, is the ever-smiling verdure of the beau- 
 tiful and balmy south, and on the f)ther, the 
 sterile hills and sombre pine forests of the 
 dreary north; and intermediate, the out- 
 stretched region where the chilling blasts of 
 winter are succeeded by the zephyrs and the 
 (lowers of summer. 
 
 The snow-clud summits of her mountains 
 look down upon the elemental war of the 
 stonn-clouds floating above the shrubless 
 prairie, that realik^es the obsolete notion of 
 the earth being an immense plain ; and, tow- 
 ard the ocean on the east and the west, upon 
 the broad rich valleys where the father of 
 waters, the " endless river," and the majestic 
 Columbia with its hundred branches gently 
 winds along, or rapidly rush on to mingle thefr 
 waters with the waves of the Pacific, the gulf 
 of Mexico, or the magnificent expanse of our 
 northwestern Caspian seas. 
 
 Could the pow 3r of vislcm at once extend 
 over our whole w idc domain, wliat a grand, 
 euiiobling scene would be presented to a 
 spectator standing upon one of the lofty peaks 
 of the Rocky tr.ountuins, or, as Washington 
 Irving aptly dei'ominates it, " the crest of the 
 world." And then to take, upon a summer 
 day, a bird's-eye view of all our roads, canals> 
 railroads, lakes and rivers — the innumerable 
 jKisteonches v/hirling along over our one hun- 
 dred and thirty thousand miles of jioslroad ; 
 or steamers gliding magically along our wa- 
 ters ; our locomotives shootmg oft' like the 
 comet upon its track; our ra))id intercourse 
 between tfie seabijard and the inland mari- 
 
 time cities; and our 8hi))s apjiroaching and 
 
 departing with the commerce of the world ; 
 
 with all the various, comjilicated movements 
 
 of the country, town and city ; and then, like 
 
 I Prior on Gronger hill, to hear all tiie ditieriiit 
 
 musical and iliscmilant sounds coming u\) to 
 
 ' this " crest of the world," if they could coni- 
 
 I prehend the entire scene, from tlie bellowing 
 
 of the bufralo, leading his shaggy hundreds 
 
 over the prairie, to the roar of the cataract as 
 
 it shidtes the earth with its stupendous plunge, 
 
 with all this !)eiu'uth the eye and upon the 
 
 ! car well might tht; enraptured spectator ex- 
 
 ! claim, what a sublime panorama ! 
 
 For variety, Iteauty, grandeur, and sublim- 
 ity of scenery, what country can surpass our 
 own ; what country can eipial the life-sustain- 
 ing power that slumbers in her soil! With 
 nil lier wealth, imjiro'cments and intelligence, 
 and with our twenty millions of inhabitants, 
 I still we have but jusr, commenced the scttle- 
 I ments of our country, and are only on the 
 borders of the mighty wilderness. Her uii- 
 , develoi)cd resources are (?apable of sustaining 
 J a free population of more than one hundred 
 : millions. A century hence, if permitted to 
 j enjoy the blessings ot peace, the United States 
 j of America, with fifty stars upon her banner, 
 may welcome, at the dawning of that New- 
 Year's morn, no less than one hundred and 
 twenty millions of happy freemen. How 
 exalted may then be the intelligence and vir- 
 tue of the people. The success of our efforts 
 in the im|)r(weinent of our schools, and the 
 1 general difl'usion of knowledge, enables us to 
 ! make an estimate of what our ])08terity of 
 I the third generation are likely to become. 
 
 Active must be the ardent imagination that 
 can picture the scene at a glance. The ideal 
 I laiidsca))e can not c([ual the reality, however 
 j liv(dy may be the fancy. The idea of such 
 I a view as we have fancied to be beheld from 
 i the mountain toj> a hundred years frixn this 
 day, can never be c(jnveyed by words, the 
 j)icture must be painted by the wonder-work- 
 nig power of the i)(!ncil ot ideality. 
 .Our country ! Such is thy physical great- 
 ness, and such the intellectual and moral 
 ])Ower that now gives i)romisc of a glorious 
 destiny, fur beyond all parallel in the annals 
 of the world. For such a destiny may thy 
 institutions be well sustained ; and may a 
 halo of glory play around the name of every 
 man who hiincstly kl)ors in behalf of his fel- 
 lows and posterity, to uphold, purify, per- 
 jHitnate and extend them. 
 
 Ue.n'evolknck. — Benevolence is always a 
 virtuous principle. Its operations always se- 
 cure to others their natural rights; and it lib- 
 erally superadds more than they are entitled 
 to claim. 
 
ir ships ap])ronchiii}r nml 
 commerce of tlie wurlil ; 
 , coin|)linate() inovcrnr'iits 
 1 ami city; mid tlicn. like 
 11, to lieur all tlit; dilU'rciit 
 laiit sounds coniiri;; u]) to 
 iorld," if tlicy could cojii- 
 ccue, from tlie bcllowiiii,' 
 ling his shuiijiy hundreds 
 the roar of the caturnct as 
 rith its stupendous plunpe, 
 ith the eye and up(jn the 
 ! enraptured spectator cx- 
 iic panorama ! 
 ity, grandeur, and sublim- 
 t country can surpass our 
 can C(pial the life-sustain- 
 iibers in her soil! With 
 o'cments and intelligence, 
 y millions of inhabitants, 
 ISC eonnnenced the settle- 
 :ry, and are only on the 
 :'Cy wilderness. Ilcr un- 
 i are capable of sustaining 
 f moio than one hundred 
 ■y hence, if permitted to 
 t peace, the United States 
 fty stars upon her banner, 
 he dawning of that New- 
 ss than one hundred and 
 ha))py freemen. How 
 e the intelligence and vir- 
 Tlic success of our etForts 
 It of our schools, and the 
 knowledge, enables us to 
 of what our jiosterity of 
 
 I are likely to become. 
 
 lie ardent imagination that 
 
 10 at a glance. The ideal 
 
 ((uqI the reality, however 
 
 "ancy. The idea of such 
 
 fancied to be beheld from 
 
 hmidreil years {rum this 
 
 conveyed by words, the 
 
 nted by the wonder- work- 
 
 ■ncil of ideality. 
 
 inch is thy physical grcat- 
 
 le intellectual and moral 
 
 /es jmimisc of a glorious 
 
 all ])arullel in the annals 
 
 r such a destiny may thy 
 
 II sustained ; and may a 
 around the name of every 
 labors in behalf of his fcl- 
 , to uphold, purify, per- 
 them. 
 
 -Benevolence is always a 
 Its operations always se- 
 natural rights; and it lib- 
 ore than tney are entitled 
 
 :'\ I 
 
 i-S.li.l I 
 
 *"'f^«n 
 
 
 a^'*p. i- >-mBje_iiitm ,mivj--«i 
 
138 
 
 EXPULSION OF THE ACADIANS. 
 
 THE WESTERN EMIGRANT. 
 
 BT URS. L. H. 8I00URNET. 
 
 Amid tliosc forest ahndea that proudly reared 
 Tlieir nnsliorn beauty toward tlie favoring okiea, 
 An axe rang sharply. There, with rigorous arm, 
 Wrought a bold emigrant, while by his side 
 His little son with question and response 
 Beguiled the toil. 
 
 " Boy, then hast never leeii 
 Such glorious trees, and when their giant tmnka 
 Fall, how the firm earth groans ! Rememberest thoa 
 The mighty river on whose breast we sailed 
 So many days on toward the setting son T 
 Compared to that, our own Connecticut 
 Is but a creeping stream." 
 
 " Father, the brook 
 That by onr door went singing, where I launched 
 My liny boat with all the sportive boys. 
 When school was o'or, is dearer far to me 
 Than all these deep, broad waters. To my eye 
 They are as strangers. And those little trees 
 My mother planted in the garden bound 
 Of our first home, from which the fragrant peach 
 Fell in its ripeniag gold, were fairer sure 
 Than this dark forest shutting out the day." 
 
 " What ho I my little girl,"— and with light step, 
 A fairy creature hasted toward her sire, 
 And setting down the basket that contained 
 The noon's repast, looked upward to hij face 
 With sweet, confiding smile. 
 
 " See, dearest, see 
 Yon bright-winged parroquet, and hear the song 
 Of that gay red-bird echoing through the trees, 
 Making rich music. Didst thou ever hear 
 In fabr New England such a mellow tone T" 
 
 " I had a robin that did take the cmmba 
 Each night and morning, and his chirping voice 
 Did make me joyful, as I went to tend 
 My snow-drops. I was always laughing there. 
 In that first home. I should be happier now, 
 Methinks, if I could find among these dells 
 The same fresh violets." 
 
 Slow night drew on. 
 And round the rude hot of the emigrant. 
 The wrathful spirit of the autumn storm 
 Spake bitter things. His wearied children slept, 
 And he, with head declined, sat listening long. 
 To tffe swollen waters of the Illinois, 
 Dashing against tlieir shores. Starting, he spake : 
 
 " Wife ! did I see thee brush a-vay '» tear ? 
 Say, was it so ? Thy heart was with the balls 
 Of thy nativity. Then- sparkling lights. 
 Carpets and sofas, and admiring guests. 
 Befit thee better than these rugged walla 
 Of shapeless logs, and this lone bormit-bome." 
 
 " No— no I All was so still around, methought, 
 
 Upon my ear that echoed hymn did steal. 
 
 Which 'mid the church where erst we paid our vows 
 
 So tuneful pealed. But tenderly thy voice 
 
 Dissolved the illusion :" and the gentle smile 
 
 Lighting her brow, the fond caress that soothed 
 Her waking infant, reassured his soul, 
 That wheresoe'er the pure affecMLnH dwell 
 And strike a healthful root, is happiness. 
 
 Placid and grateful to his rest he sank ; 
 
 But dreams, those wild magicians, which do play 
 Such pranks when Reason slumbers, tireless wrought 
 Their will with him. Up rose the busy mart 
 Of bis own native city, roof and spire, 
 All glittering bright, in Fancy's frostwork ray. 
 Forth came remembered forms ; with curving neck, 
 '''be steed his boyhood nurtured proudly neighed — 
 i'he favorite dog. exulting round his feet. 
 Frisked, with shrill, joyous bark i familiar doors 
 Flew open— greeting hands witli his were linked 
 In friendship's grasp— he heard the keen debate 
 From congregated haunts, where mind with mind 
 Doth blend and brighten— and till morning roved 
 'Mid thj loved scenery of his fiitberland. 
 
 EXPULSION OF TFv ^CiBIANS. 
 
 Some dispute existing between the English 
 and the French, respecting the territorial lim- 
 its of both parties, the region about Hudson's 
 bay, and the province of Acadie, since called 
 Nova Scotia, to settle the matter, were ceded 
 to Great Britain in 1713. 
 
 Acadie was inhabited by an excellent French 
 population. WHien these good peoide found 
 their country yielded to England, and tl'.em- 
 selves no longer subjects of the French king, 
 they were grieved to be forced to acknowledge 
 another master. They knew that the French 
 and English were hostile to each other, and 
 they dreaded to be compelled, some time or 
 other, to take up arms against Frenchmen ; 
 they, therefore, entreated the Engli.sh that 
 they might never be forced to so painful a ser- 
 vice, and might be excused from taking the 
 oath of allegiance. 
 
 This request received no special attention, 
 but, for a time, a kind forbearance was exer- 
 cised toward them. After a period of forty 
 years, the English goveniment cnine to the 
 conclusion that these neutral French, as they 
 were called, might become dangerou.s to their 
 interests by taking part with the Canadian 
 French, their active enemies. On account of 
 this presumed danger, without the least al- 
 leged provocation, or the least show of justice, 
 they took upon themselves to drive out of 
 their possessions this peaceable, prosperous, 
 and unoffending people. 
 
 W.^.^ 
 
 %fe,#S'W.J^a. iS-S^m0^^^^m^&mm ^^J^4 imi !S^^4 
 
was so still around, niethoagbt, 
 hoed hymn did stcnl, 
 ch where erst we paid oor vows 
 But tenderly thy voice 
 
 1 :" and the gentle smile 
 
 hn fond caress that soothed 
 
 caasured his soul, 
 
 3 pure afFectitnH dwell 
 
 il root, is happiness. 
 
 ateful to his rest he sank ; 
 
 ild magicians, which do play 
 
 eason slambers, tireless wrought 
 
 Up rose the busy mart 
 ty, roof and spire, 
 In Fancy's frostwork ray. 
 Bred forms ; with curving neck, 
 >d nurtured proudly neighed — 
 illing round his feet, 
 oyous bark j familiar doora 
 
 hands with his were linked 
 -he heard the keen debate 
 lonts, where miud wiili mind 
 iten — and till morning roved 
 J of bis ihtherland. 
 
 OF TF 
 
 iDIANS. 
 
 dstin^ between tlie English 
 specting the territorial lim- 
 
 the region about Hudson's 
 nee of Acadie, since called 
 ttle the matter, were ceded 
 
 1713. 
 
 jited by an excellent French 
 a these good peojile found 
 ed to England, and them- 
 ibjects of the French king, 
 » be forced to acknowledge 
 ^hey knew that the French 
 
 hostile to each other, and 
 e compelled, some time or 
 arms against Frenchmen ; 
 itreated the English that 
 3 forced to so painful a ser- 
 3 excused from taking the 
 
 sived no special attention, 
 ind forbearance wns exor- 
 After a period of forty 
 government cnme to the 
 se neutral French, as they 
 become dangerous to their 
 ; part with the Canadian 
 B enemies. On account of 
 ger, without tlie least al- 
 >r the least show of justice, 
 emselves to drive out of 
 lis pea,ceable, prosperous, 
 )ple. 
 
 EXPULSION OF THE ACADUN8. 
 
 139 
 
 The Acndians had no warning of their fate. 
 At harvest-time they were ordered to assem- 
 ble in a certain district, and being collected, 
 were informed they were prisoners — that their 
 lands, cattle, and moveables, were no longer 
 their own, but were confiscated by govern- 
 ment — that they might take wliat tliey could 
 convey away, but must immediately ijuit the 
 province. 
 
 In one single district, twohundredand fifty- 
 five housi.'s, as many barns, eleven mills, and 
 one church, were destroyed. Shijjs were in 
 rcaiiincss to convey the persecuted Acadinns 
 to ditrurcnt parts of the continent — to Lcniis- 
 iana, to French Guiana in South America, 
 and to distant places in the then British prov- 
 inces on tlie Atlantic. 
 
 These pcofile Lad been remarkable for their 
 industry, their sliilful husbandry, their (Hire 
 morals," and their exemplary ])iety. Their 
 lands produced wheat and corn, potatoes and 
 llax, abundantly. Their houses were con- 
 venient, and furnished witli all things neces- 
 sary to comfort. Their numerous flocks 
 allbrded the wool which was manufactured 
 in the family for their clothing. They had 
 no paper-money, anil little silver or gold; 
 and lived by simple exchange of commodities. 
 So little contention arose among them, that 
 courts and lawyers were needless ; the wise 
 and experienced decided their small diirereii- 
 ces. They were catholics ; the priests drew 
 up their public acts, wrote their wills, and 
 kept pf)ssessi< i *" he documents, until death 
 called for t.- : e^ ..-v ion of them. To re([uite 
 these serviceb, the inhabitants allowed thein 
 one twenty-seventh of the harvest for their 
 subsistence. 
 
 At the time of the dispersion, the Acadians 
 were 18,000 in number. No want existed 
 among them; the poor were few, and the 
 prosperous cheerfully supported those. These 
 unfortunate people were the victims of their 
 own integrity. Had they taken the oath 
 which demanded of them to violate the best 
 aftections, they might have retained their 
 houses, th(;ir fields, and their flocks._ Their 
 good feelings demanded only the innocent 
 liberty of neutrality. 
 
 In September, 175.5, Colonel Winslow, an 
 officer, usually resident at Marshfield, Ply- 
 mouth county, Massachusetts, was sent with 
 the king's commission, to demolish the prop- 
 erty of the neutrals, and to expel them, with- 
 out exception, from the province. Colonel 
 Winslow deeply regretted that he should be 
 employed in this cruel service. He knew, 
 80 he said, that they were of "the same 
 , species" with himself, and " it was disagree- 
 able to his make and temper" to inflict pain. 
 His first measure, on landing at St. Pre, was 
 to moke prisoners of several hundreds of the 
 
 10 
 
 most considerable of the men of the settle- 
 ment. " In consequence of their earnest en- 
 treaties, the prisoners were permitted, ten at 
 once, to return to visit their wretched families, 
 and to look, for the last time, upon their 
 beautiful fields, and their loved and lost 
 homes." 
 
 These unhappy men bore their misfortune 
 with firmness, until they were ordered on 
 board the transixirt-slii]), to be dispersed 
 among ])eo|)le whose customs, htnguau'e, and 
 religion, were opposed to all they held dear 
 and soered. 
 
 On the lOth of September, the prisoners 
 were drown up six deep; and the young men, 
 one hundred and sixty in number, were order- 
 ed to go on board the vessels. They refused 
 to do this, unless iheir families might be per- 
 mitted to accompany them. This was denied, 
 and the soldiers were ordered to do their duty. 
 The wretched Acadians no longer resisted, 
 but inarched from their chapel of St. Pre to 
 the ships. 
 
 The road from the chapel to the shore, just 
 (/lie mile in length, was crowded with women 
 and children, who, on their knees, an<l with 
 eyes and hands raised to Heaven, entreated 
 blessings on their young friends, so unmerci- 
 fully torn from them. Some of the latter 
 broke out into bitter lamentations ; others 
 prayed aloud ; and another portion sang 
 mournful hviniis, as they took their way to 
 the ships. The seniors formed another detach- 
 ment, and their departure occasioned a similar 
 scene of distress. Other vessels arrived, and 
 their wives and children followed. Their 
 dwellings were burnt before their eyes, and 
 the workof ilestruction was complete. Eigh- 
 teen thousand soids were cast forth upon the 
 pitiless world. Desolate and depopulated 
 was the beautiful tract they had occupied : 
 their homes lay smoking in ruins ; the cattle, 
 abandoni'd by their protectors, assembled 
 about the forsaken dwelhng-places, anxious- 
 ly seeking their wonted masters; and all night 
 long the faithful watch-flogs howled for the 
 hands that had fed, and the roofs that had 
 sheltered them. 
 
 The distress of one family will serve to ex- 
 hibit the sutFerings of these refugees. There 
 was among them a notary-public, named Rene 
 Le Blanc. He loved the Eiiglisli. On one 
 occasion, the Indians would have jiersuaded 
 him to assist them, in an attempt upon the 
 English. He refused, and the Indians, in 
 resentment, made him prisoner, and detained 
 him four years. 
 
 At the time of the expulsion, Le Blanc 
 was living at an advanced age. His fidelity 
 to the English, and his suflTerings on that ac-. 
 count, deserved favor, but he found none. 
 Le Blanc had twenty children, and about one 
 
 
 . ... ..i 
 
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 li 
 
 «.i^ 
 
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 1 .♦ 
 
 
 '""lilKW'* 
 
 •*^\'i. 
 
 !>.». .V. 
 
 
140 
 
 AGRICULTURAL SCIENCE. 
 
 humlred anrl fifty p;rand-cliil<lren. These 
 were eml)nrked in did'erent vessels, and scat- 
 tered in (litT'erent provinces. The unfortunate 
 old iniin was set ashore in New York, with 
 his wife, and the two youngest of their chil- 
 dren. Love for those that were scattered, 
 led him from one strange city to another. He 
 reached Philadelphia. There he found three 
 of his children, and there, despairing to re- 
 cover the rest, in penury and sorrow, he sank 
 into his grave. It may be questioned, if the 
 history of the world exhibits a more hcart- 
 reniling incident than the exile of this amiable 
 and unhappy people. When the traveller 
 contemplates the noble dikes reared by their 
 industry — while he walks beneath the shade 
 of their abundant orchards, and stands over 
 the ruins of their cottoges, or muses among 
 their graves, his imagination goes back to a 
 scene of rural felicity and purity seldom seen 
 in the world, and his heart melts at the sud- 
 den and dreadful fate of the Acadians. 
 
 AGRICULTURAL SCIENCE. 
 
 The great mountain chains which ridge 
 and furrow the earth's surface, consist of one 
 and the same material, viz., granite. It is of 
 the oldest or primary formation ; it is also one 
 of the hardest and most durable rocks ; yet 
 a very great portion of all soils have been 
 derived from the disintegration of granite. 
 Rocks, originally of many tons' weight, have 
 been reduced to pebbles — pebbles to sand — 
 sand to impalpable powder. 
 
 Granite is composed of three minerals, viz., 
 quartz, felspar, and mica. Quartz is the very 
 hard llinty part of granite, it is often found 
 alone and pure, and is frequently called rock 
 crystal, white flint rock, &c. It is, howev- 
 er, of diflTcrcnt colors — white, rose, and smoky. 
 In its chymical qualities it is considered of an 
 acid nature. It composes much the larger 
 portion of most soils, and is found nearly pure 
 in the form of beautiful white sand upon the 
 shores of seas, lakes, and many ponds. In 
 agricultural chyrnistry, it is termed silex, or 
 silica. 
 
 Silex (quartz) enters into the composition 
 of all plants ; were it not for this mineral sub- 
 stance, to give strength or stamina to trees 
 and upright plants, they would, if they could 
 grow without it, all be trailing plants, unable 
 to rear themselves from the ground, and hava 
 as little substance in them, as the potato-plant 
 has, that vegetates and grows in the darkened 
 cellar. The ashes of land-plants yield silex in 
 large quantity, and it is evidently essential to 
 the growth of plants, as it forms the skeleton 
 
 for the sap-vessels, and it also forms the entire 
 skin (glaze) of th^ corn-stalk, the stems of 
 grapes, the straw of wheat and other grains, 
 and on some of the ratans and bamboos, there 
 is such a hard coating os to emit sparks when 
 struck by a flint. 
 
 Silex is not fusible alone in the hottest 
 fire, nor soluble in pure woler, and but slight- 
 ly soIul)le in strong acids; but if mixed in 
 certai'. proportions with potash or soda, and 
 subjected to a strong heat, it readily melts and 
 forms the well-known substance, glass. If 
 mixed in the proportion of one part silex and 
 two parts potash, it can be easily melted, ond 
 fornix a soluble glass, that is, it cun be readily 
 di-ssolved in boiling water like sufjar or suit; 
 in this way silex is artificially rendered solu- 
 ble. 
 
 Nature, also, has a way of her own, in dis- 
 solving the "white flint rock" so ns to ])re- 
 paro it to be taken up by the rofjts of plants, 
 for the purpose of forming the skeleton, for 
 the support of the sap-vessels, and for making 
 the glaze uj)on the' straw of wheat, &c., which 
 is affected by the laws of crystallization, 
 and in \m\nt of fact is a perfect coating of 
 glass ; the object of this coating is to jmjtcct 
 the plant against the attacks of insects, ond 
 to give strength to the stem. 
 
 It has been observed, glass is only a com- 
 position of silex or sand and soda or potash, 
 fused in the hot fire of a glass manufactory. 
 That, coating the stems of grain, grass, dec, 
 is produced in the soil, simply by a chymical 
 union of silica and potash or soda. The ])ot- 
 ash and soda are derived from felspar. Felspar 
 is one of the constituents of granite. It is not 
 so hard, although it very much resembles 
 quartz, but it dilFers widely from it in its 
 chymical qualities, being a comjMinnd of 
 silex, alumina (clay), and potash; there is 
 from twelve to fifteen per cent, of potosh in 
 felspar, that is, a chymist, by analyzing 
 100 lbs. of felspar, can obtain 12 or 15 lbs. 
 of potash, or soda, as some kinds yield jKitash, 
 others soda. The potash of commerce is de- 
 rived from wood-oshcs — soda from the asa of 
 sea-plants ; potash and grease make soft soap 
 — soda and grease hard soap ; they have many 
 qualities in common: both will unite with 
 oils or fat — both will neutralize acids — both 
 will dissolve silex — and both are alkalies. 
 Mica, the other constitutent of granite, con- 
 tains six or seven per cent, of potash. These 
 three minerals, as mixed up in our granite 
 rocks, yield about seven per cent, of potash 
 when analyzed. 
 
 Acids and alkalies react uixm each other; 
 the decomposition or rotting of vegetable mat- 
 ters always produces carbonic and vegeta- 
 ble acids; in our forests this process is always 
 going on from the rotting of the fallen leaves, 
 
I, and it also forms the entire 
 \fi oom-stalk, the stems of 
 of wheat and other grains, 
 
 • ratans and bamboos, there 
 ting as to emit sparks when 
 
 isible alone in the hottest 
 pure water, mid but slij^ht. 
 ng acids; but if mixed in 
 ^ with potash or sodu, and 
 ng heat, it readily melts and 
 lown substance, glass. If 
 !)rtion of one part silex and 
 it can be easily melted, and 
 jss, that is, it cun be readily 
 ig water like sugar or salt ; 
 s artificially rendered solu- 
 
 is a way of her own, in dis- 
 te flint rock" so ns to ])ro- 
 n u]) by the roots of jdants, 
 f forming the skeleton, for 
 sap-vessels, and for making 
 •straw of wheat, &c., wliicli 
 e laws of crystallization, 
 let is a perfect coating of 
 )f this coating is to protect 
 tlie attacks of insects, and 
 
 • the stem. 
 
 served, glass is only a com- 
 ir sand and soda or potash, 
 ire of a glass manufactory, 
 stems of grain, grass, <!cc., 
 soil, simply by a chymical 
 1 potash or soda. Tlie pot- 
 rived from felspar. Felspar 
 ituents of granite. It is not 
 1 it very much resembles 
 fers widely from it in its 
 s, being a comjionnd of 
 ay), and potash; there is 
 :een per cent, of potash in 
 a chymist, by analyzing 
 , can obtain 12 or 15 lbs. 
 as some kinds yield potash, 
 ' jiotash of commerce is de- 
 shcs — soda from the asli of 
 I and grease make soft soap 
 hard soap ; they have many 
 ion: both will unite witn 
 will neutralize acids — both 
 X — and both are alkalies, 
 onstitutent of granite, con- 
 percent, of potash. These 
 I mixed up in our granite 
 seven per cent, of potash 
 
 iea react upon each other; 
 or rotting of vegetable mat- 
 ices carbonic and vegeta- 
 (rests this process is always 
 rotting of the fallen leaves, 
 
 RESEAHCHE3 ON FOOD. 
 
 Ml 
 
 twigs, branches, and trunks of trees. The 
 water of the soil holding these acids in solu- 
 tion, they act ujion and dissolve the potash 
 in the felspar and irica porti(jn of the soil ; 
 and as m.ich the larger portion of our soils are 
 derived from the disititcgrated and finely- 
 pulverized granite, it contains a large amount 
 of potash in the stones, [)ebbles, and finer parts 
 of the soil. The potash lieing thus lilierated 
 or dissolved by the acids, in turn acts upon 
 and dissolves a portion of the silex ; and in 
 solution they are taken up by the rootlets of 
 l)lunts, and, as has lieen already ol)serveii, 
 by the laws of segn^galion and crystallization, 
 till' silex is deposited u|)on the surface of nnuiy 
 plants, in a hard coating or glaze, and <;v('ry 
 tube or sap-vessel, in the trunks ond branches 
 of trees and plants, is lined with a coating of 
 the .sani(! material. 
 
 It is in this way, the potash, and the sandy 
 or gritty portion we find left after burning 
 wood, are derived from the soil. 
 
 One of the most indispensable inorganic 
 constituents of all land-plants, is potash. 
 There is not a single ])lant in the field or t!ie 
 wood, the ashes of which does not contain it 
 in one state of combination or another, and 
 often in very large ([uantity — so much so, that 
 the belief was once entertained that ])lants 
 I.ud the power of generating it within them- 
 selves; but more modern researches have 
 most clearly pointed out the source whence 
 it is derived, and the manner in which plants 
 obtain it. 
 
 The following are a few familiar illustra- 
 tions of the solvent properties of potash. Vats 
 and tubs, that have long been used for leach- 
 ing ashes, have the silica that lined every sap- 
 vessel of the wood, and gave strength and 
 solidity to it, dissolved out by the action 
 of the potash. The woody fibre being insolu- 
 ble by the alkali is left behind, and very 
 much resembles flax, and it is nearly identical 
 with the fibre of flax and cotton. Chymists 
 have given to this woody fibre, the name of 
 lignin. Paper-makers, in manufacturing pa- 
 pet from straw and coarse grasses, &c., take 
 advantage of the solvent powersof the alkalies, 
 potash, soda, or lime, to decompose the silica 
 or hard coating upon the straw. Sec. Thread 
 and yarn spun from flax, are boiled in lye to 
 dissolve the gritty matter and soften the 
 threads. 
 
 Goodness does not more certainly make 
 men happy, than happiness makes them good. 
 We must distinguish between felicity and 
 prosperity ; for prosperity leads often to am- 
 bition, and ambition to disappointment; the 
 course is then over, the wheel turns round but 
 once ; while the reaction of goodness and hap- 
 piness is perpetual. 
 
 UKSEARCHliS ON FOOD. 
 
 Nothing but accurate scientific investiga- 
 tion can ever t^ ach the proper treatment of 
 the human system either in heullh or iu 
 disease. No length of ex[)erience of vague 
 sen.iations, following up the taking of certain 
 kinds of food, exercise, or drugs, is enough to 
 detemiine the precise virtues of these a))pli- 
 ances. There is only one sure way of (ind- 
 ing out the exact uses and functions of what 
 we eat, or what acts on our boiiics ; and iliut 
 is, to determine precisely on tin; one hand the 
 substances used by nature in ihi- vital pro- 
 cesses, and on the other, the composition of 
 the materials that we supjily to the system. 
 If we delcniiinc! first tin; wants of tin; body, 
 anil next the resources of the world, uud select 
 the latter exactly to meet the former, we will 
 learn on truly rational grounds tin; way of 
 kee])ing up the vigor of our physical frame- 
 work. 
 
 Baron Liebig is at present conducting a 
 series of researches on the nutrition of animals, 
 on exactly the same jirinciple that he and oth- 
 ers have proceeded with respect toihe nourish- 
 mentof ])lants. Aplunt is analyzed, and fouml 
 to contain certain constant elements ; some 
 of these derived fnmi air and v/ater. others 
 I of an earthy kind derived from the solid soil. 
 The requirements of the plant being thus laid 
 open, it can be seen by a similar investiga- 
 tion if a soil contains in projjcr form these 
 precise elements. If it contain some of them, 
 and not others, then what is wanting is com- 
 municated, and no more. This is true insight 
 and rational ])ractice. All other schemes, 
 founded on what is called "farming experi- 
 ence," can be at best mere probabilities. 
 
 Liebig has just presented to the world his 
 researches on the chymistry of food, which 
 is a most valuable contribution to the accurate 
 knowledge of the action of food on the sys- 
 tem. It is wholly devoted to the constitution 
 of the flesh or muscles of the body, which 
 form one of the largest and most iuiixirtant 
 constituents of the system. The flesliy mas- 
 ses, which make the soft parts between the 
 skin and the deep-lying bones of the skeleton, 
 are the prime forces of the moving organs — 
 the source of strength, energy, and every form 
 of bodily activity. The first consequence of 
 derangement in the constitution of the flesh 
 is a loss of working vigor: and this is 
 apt to be followed up with disorders in the 
 other parts of the system — the stomach, lungs, 
 brain, Sec. It is of prime importance, there- 
 fore, that we should know in a rigorous sci- 
 entific way (which means in the one perfect 
 way) what is necessary for preserving or 
 restoring the elements which enter into healthy 
 flesh. 
 
 il! 
 
 mi « 
 
142 
 
 IIESEAIICHKS ON FOOD. 
 
 .^'■ 
 
 LinbiiT, accordingly, lias set to work, by 
 chymicnl analysis, to find what arn the sub- 
 Hta"nct;a that are combineil together in animal 
 muscle. Some of the substances that he has 
 found are entirely new; and he confesses that 
 there vet remam one or two constituents 
 which lie has not sufficiently investigated, so 
 as to b(> al ie ^o say what they are. 
 
 Flesh is "'r>lc up of solid fibres, cells, mem- 
 l)runes— all of an organized structure— with 
 fat ; it also contains a very large (lunntity of 
 liiiuid matter, called the juice of the flesh. 
 Tliis juice is a solution of a great many ele- 
 ments or substances in water ; the weight of 
 tlie water itself being many times that of all 
 the dissolved substances put togethir. Lie- 
 bin's investigations have been directed to the 
 analysis of these substances. He takes a 
 muss of ten jxmnds of newly-kilhd flesh, re- 
 duces it to a fine mince, mixes it with water, 
 and sijuee/.es the whole moss through a linen 
 bus, wiit'l lie 1'"" < xtracted as much of the 
 li(lTiid contents as possible, and left only the 
 s<iliil portions behind. When the fluid thus 
 obtoincd is heated up to a certain tem])era- 
 ture, the alhumrn, which is one constituent, 
 coagulates, and can be separated. At a still 
 higher temperature, the coloring matter, which ^ 
 makes the redness of raw flesh, also coagu- 
 lates, ond is reiiioved. The separation of 
 these simjjlifies the compound. The remain- 
 inir fluid is always of an acid character, show- 
 ing that it contiifns, with its other ingredients, 
 one or more acid substances, in a free or un- 
 ncutralized state. A part of the inquiry is to 
 find what these acids arc : accor.lingly, an 
 alkali (barvta) is poured in to combine with 
 and precipitate them. The precipitate is 
 withdrawn ar.d examined, and found to con- 
 sist oi phosphatci, which jihosjihates have the 
 double base of baryta and magnesia, which 
 last, therefore, must have been jiresent in the 
 juice. It is thus shown that j'hoaplioric add 
 is an essential constituent of the juice of 
 muscle. 
 
 The li(piid that is freed from filtration from 
 these precipitated phosphates is slowly evaj)- 
 orated, until at last crystals, in the form of 
 colorless needles, apjiear at the bottom. These 
 crystals, when examined by chymical tests, 
 arc found to be an entirely new substance, 
 with distinct and specific properties, which 
 Liebig has fully investigated ; and it has re- 
 ceived the name of Jcreatine, from the Greek 
 word for flesh. This kreatine, therefore, is 
 an invariable constituent of the muscular 
 fluid. Its amount in any animal is greatest 
 when tter» is least fat; as fat accumulates, 
 it dimmishes. 
 
 The physical properties of a substance are 
 its specific gravity, texture, color, and ap- 
 [♦earancc. The ctiymical properties are its 
 
 composition, ot the proportions of its element- 
 ary constituents, anil its chymical action n|«)n 
 other bodies, such as acids, alkalies, and tests 
 of all sorts. These |>roperties Liebig has de- 
 tailed in reference to the new substance, and 
 by them a key will be found to its uses in the 
 living body. 
 
 The action of a strong acid on kreatine 
 creates a second substance hitherto unknown 
 •to chymists, which is alkaline in its nature, 
 called by Liebig A-rM//«//ir. This sui>staii(:c. 
 liowever, may not only be i)rodnecd from 
 kreatine, but it is founif in tin system of an- 
 other jiennanent constituent, and as such its 
 ])roperties deserve and have received a dis- 
 tinct investigation. 
 
 The original kreatine, resolved by an ocid 
 into kreotiiiine, is next resolved by l)oryta 
 into two oth(;r eU'ment^^ one of them urta, 
 already well known; but the other is a com- 
 pletely new siilistance of the alkaline chnriic- 
 ter, named sarcosinr, and aiipiirently worthy 
 of being stu<lied. Here, therefore, from one 
 crystralline deposite there arises three orsiniic 
 compounds, tliot have all siunething toilo with 
 human vitality. _ _ _ ♦ 
 
 We are not yet done with the original 
 li(pii(l. After the crystals of kreatine are de- 
 ])osiri'd, there is a liipior still remaining. By 
 odding alcohol to it, it is made to give a now 
 de|iosite in white foliated crystals. These 
 are separated by filtration, and examined, and 
 yield a fourth new substance of an acid char- 
 acter, called by Liebig inosinic orid. This 
 is a very remarkable element. The flavor 
 of the meat seems to reside in it : when it is 
 acted on by a high heat, it gives olF the very 
 smell of roasting meat. 
 
 Recurring again to the unexhausted mollicr 
 li(piid, and adding more alcohol, a new sep- 
 aration tokes place ; a thick sirupy substiince 
 falls to the bottom, and a lighter \v\mA flouts 
 above. The separate examination of these 
 brings out additional elements. Here is found 
 the kreatinine natural to the muscle. There 
 is also now found lactate of potash ; and it 
 turns out that lactic acid, or the acid of sour 
 milk, is a constant element of muscular juice, 
 as well as the jihosphoric acid that came out 
 at an earlier stage. Tl e lactates of flesh re- 
 ceive from Liebig a sejjirate investigation. 
 
 After settling the characters of these great 
 organic constituents — kreatine, kreatinine, 
 sarcosine, inosinic acid — and the compounds 
 of lactic acid, he now tunis to what are call- 
 ed the inorganic elements, such as phosphoric 
 acid, potash, ond other alkalies, and founds a 
 curious speculation upon the presence and 
 mutual actions of the lactic and phosphoric 
 acids. The great idea of the speculation is, 
 that lactic acid is the substance the^ directly 
 supports respiration, or whose consutniition 
 
 "m 
 
jirnportions of its elctnrnt- 
 1(1 its chyniicol action npon 
 as acids, nlkalics, and tests , 
 c ])ro]M'rtics Licbi;; has dc- 
 
 tii the new siibstuncc, mid 
 1 be found to its uses in the 
 
 a strong acid on krentino 
 ibstance hitherto unknown 
 h is alkaline in its nature, 
 rrntininr. This snbstnnce. 
 It only be jiroduccd from 
 founif in th< system of iin- 
 constitiicnt, nml as such its 
 ) and have received a dis- 
 
 eatine, resolved by an acid 
 =1 next r<'solved by baryta 
 I'lnerits, one of tlieni urra, 
 vn ; but the other is a coin- 
 [incc of the nlkalino chanie- 
 inr, and aiipiircntly worthy 
 Ifere, therefore, from one 
 te there arises three orisiniie 
 ittve all something to do wiiii 
 
 ■et done with the original 
 crystals of krentine are lie- 
 li(|U()r still remaining. By 
 it, it is made to give a new 
 1 foliated crystals. These 
 nitration, and examined, and 
 V substance of an acid clinr- 
 Liiebig inosinic vhl. This 
 Lablc element. The flavor 
 s to reside in it : when it is 
 h hi-at, it gives olF the very 
 ineat. 
 
 n to the unexhausted mother 
 g more alcohol, u new xep- 
 ;e ; a thick sirupy substinice 
 n. and a lighter liquid flouts 
 lunite examination of these 
 aal elements. Here is found 
 tural to the muscle. There 
 id lactate of potash. ; and it 
 :lic acid, or the acid of sour 
 It element of muscular juice, 
 osphoric acid that came out 
 e. T> e lactates of flesh rc- 
 g a sejjirate investigation, 
 the characters of these groat 
 ents — krcatine, kroatinine, 
 ic acid — and the compounds 
 R now turns to what are cnll- 
 elements, such as phosphoric 
 I other alkalies, and founds a 
 :ion upon the presence and 
 jf the lactic and phosphoric 
 It idea of the speciJation is, 
 s the substance ths^ directly 
 ition, or whose consutniition 
 
 RESEAHCHES ON FOOD. 
 
 143 
 
 gives the animrd heat; and that the sugar and 
 starch taken in our food are changed into lac- 
 tic acid, in order to become respiratory ele- 
 ments. In tact, the use of sugar is to supply 
 the laeti<; aci 1 constituent, which has to serve 
 I his and other purposes in the body. Another 
 verv refined sjieculation is olVcred by the 
 nulfinr, founded on the fact, that the alkali 
 contiiinod in the llesh is |)otush, and the alkali 
 crintiiined in the blood is soda. Me shows 
 how the chymical properties of jihosphoric 
 acid and soda, which go together in the blood, 
 would expliiin the process whereliy nature 
 makes the exehunge of carbonic acid for jiure 
 oxyg<Mi, in the ihiul act of ihe resjiiratory 
 jirocess. 
 
 These elements do not exhaust the con- 
 stituents of muscle, and it will take much ad- 
 ditioual study to follow out all tlit'ir functions 
 ill the luimiin body. INIoreover, muscle, al- 
 though a very iiiijiortaiit tissue, is only one 
 out of many ; and it will be necessary to go 
 through a similar examination of nerve aii<l 
 other tissues before the chvmical actions in- 
 volved in the animal system are fully known. 
 But in the meantime, tjiebig draws snine very 
 important )>ra(-tical inferences from the dis- 
 coveries already made. 
 
 In the first )iTace, he shows how the boiling 
 of meat acts upon the various constituents of 
 the jui('e. We reiptire, for the support of our 
 ninscle, not merely the fibrous matter of ani- 
 mal ilesh, but all the array of the albumen, 
 lactates, phosphates, kreatine, &c., already 
 mentioned : if any of these arc allowed to 
 escape, we are deprived of some needful cle- 
 ment, and our system sutlers. Now, cold 
 water can dissolve the great mass of these 
 important ingredients, so that if meat is ])ut 
 into cold water, and slowly boiled up, the 
 wnter will have carried oil all the albumen 
 and sev(;ral other substances, and the remain- 
 ing beef will be u kind of husk, iiisullicient 
 to- nourish the system, unless the water it 
 has been boiled in is taken at the same time 
 in the form of soup. To boil beef without 
 losing the nutritious and savory elements, 
 Lit" big gives the following directions : the 
 water is, in the first place, to be put into a 
 brisk boiling state ; iiito this boiling water 
 the meat should be plunged, and allowed to 
 lie for a few minutes; it is then taken out, 
 and cold water is to be poured into the boiler 
 fill the heot lie reiluced far below boiling, or 
 to about 1(50 degrees; the meat is then ]nit in 
 again, and kept in the water at this tempera- 
 ture for two or three hours. Everything i ■ 
 in this way effected that can render the flesh 
 jileasant and wholesome as food. The con- 
 tuct with the boiling water at the outset co- 
 agulates the albumen of the flesh all round 
 the surface of the meat, and closes up its pores 
 
 with a solid wall, that none of the internal 
 juices can pass through, and the meat is 
 preserved in all its integrity while undergoing 
 the action of the heat. 
 
 On the other hand, when we wish to hav(i 
 a rich soiij), we must take means for thorough- 
 Iv extracting the various elements of the 
 fleshy juice, for these elements are the essen- 
 tial portion of a soup. A perfect soup would 
 be a mixture of all the soliiide consliiueiits 
 of the muscle — in fact, Liebi^'s original 
 mother licpifir, which he wrought ujuin to 
 bring out all the variims substances already 
 enumerated. Accordingly, the plan of ma- 
 king soup is as follows : — 
 
 '• When one ])ouiid of lean beef, free of 
 fat, and separated from the bones, in the fine- 
 ly-ehoi)])ed state in which it is used for becf- 
 sausnges or mince-meat, is unifonnly mixed 
 with its own weight of cold water, slowly 
 heated to lioiling, and the liquid, after boiling 
 briskly for a minute or two, is strained through 
 u clotfi from the coagulated albumen and the 
 lil)rine, now become hard and homy, we ob- 
 tain an erpial weight of the most aromatic 
 soup, of such strength as can be obtained even 
 by boiling for hours from a ])iecc of flesh. 
 When mixed with salt, and the other usual 
 adilirions by which soup is usually seasoned, 
 and tinged somewhat darker by means of 
 roast(Ml onions or burnt sugar, it forms llic 
 very best soup that can be prejiared from one 
 pound of flesh." 
 
 An extract of meat thus prepared :s found 
 to be an invaluable provision for un army in 
 active service. Administered along with a 
 little wine to wounded soldiers, it immediate- 
 ly restores their strength, exhausted by loss 
 of lilood, and enables them to sustain the 
 fatigue of removal to the nearest hospital. 
 Of course what is so useful in this extreme 
 case must be nijaful in thousands of minor 
 occasions of bodily j'Tostration. The loss of 
 strength means the los of the substances that 
 support vitality, such as these very ingredients 
 of fleshy juice. The fleshy fibre itself is 
 wasted more slo.vly than the substances that 
 float in the liquid that invests it; so that, in 
 fact, a supjily of these mutters has a more 
 instantaniMius ac".I^>i. than any other refresh- ^ 
 ment. We can thus exp'-in the effect of | 
 sonjis upon convalescent potients. No doubt 
 the jicrfect soup of Liebig's description would 
 be found to have a far greater strengthening 
 ])ower than the generality of those in com- 
 mnn use. 
 
 There is one other principle of very great 
 consequence stated. It is, tliat the gastric 
 juice of the stomach, which dissolves the 
 solid food into a liquid jnilp, has nearly the 
 same ingredients as the juice of flesh ; so that 
 the power of digestion will be very much 
 
 
 m f 
 
 
 km.1 
 
 'W ! 
 
 . 'iS=:~'phi.^Vii^WStH!iefM^fEimiifi^' 
 

 144 
 
 THK HINDOO SCHOLAR.— LYCUH0U8. 
 
 iti a 
 
 scholar : the sight of a girl witii u book in her 
 Iminl, however common ninong n», was tCli 
 lately very unusual in India, In her left hand 
 she liolds one of the work-bags sent out by 
 the ladie* of England as rewords for the best 
 behoved girls. 
 
 The couteinjilation of this subject, will sug- 
 gest to every one some of the achantoges to 
 be derived from Chri8tiani7.ing Indio ; and we 
 hope the time is not far distant, when schools 
 in India will be as common as they are among 
 us. Such a state of things would gloddrn 
 the heart of every philanthropist, and wotild 
 elevate and ennoble a people who only wants 
 proper education and mstruction to bo great 
 and good. 
 
 alFected by the supply of the constituents of | thrown over the head and shouhlers. The 
 juice to the system" Hence a gixA flesh- i book in her right liund shows that she 
 extract soup, besides giving matrriuls to the 
 muscle, provides the solvent liijuiil of the 
 stoMiiich, and facilitotes digestion. To jwoplc 
 sullering from indigestion in the sense ot de- 
 Hciency in the gastric juice, the supply of this 
 materiol is the natural remedy. Another 
 useful hint is also suggested by this connexion 
 of stomach and muscle. The digestion of 
 the fo(Ml, and the exertion of the muscles, 
 consume the same ingredients, so that both 
 operations can not well be sustained together 
 beyond a certain limit. Moreover, it natural- 
 ly' follows that rest durinjj; one operation will 
 cause increase of energy m the other. Dur- 
 ing the height of the digestive action, muscu- 
 lar exertion can not well be afforded, unless 
 there is a great overplus of the common ali- 
 ment. It is well known that when digestion 
 is V "ak, rest after meals is necessary, and 
 that excessive exercise unfits the stomach for 
 its work. The explanation now afforded may 
 supply practical wisdom on this head to all 
 men. 
 
 Liebig has also pointed out the effect that 
 the salting of meat has on the precious con- 
 stituents of its juice. The 8al|; withdraws a 
 great portion of these dissolved matters, which 
 are thrown away with the brine. The in- 
 jatiousness of a long course of salt provisions 
 19 thus distinctly accounted for. 
 
 In these investigations, Liebig has made use 
 of flesh derived from a great range of animaU, 
 and has determined the comparative richness 
 of each in the various substances in question. 
 He has tried the flesh of ox, roedeer, horse, 
 hare, fox, fowls, fishes, (Sec. In this way he 
 is likely to furnish, what has been sought for 
 in vain by other methods, a eomporiaon of 
 the nutritive qualities of the different kinds 
 of foo<l. No man that understands the real 
 difficulty of settling such a point, can put the 
 slightest faith in any of the tables of the com- 
 parative digestibility or nutritiveness of sub- 
 stances that have hitherto been put forth in 
 books of medicine or dietetics. 
 
 L 
 
 THE HINDOO SCHOLAR. 
 
 Our engraving represents one of those little 
 girls in India who are receiving Christian ed- 
 ucation in the female schools which have been 
 established in that country. The engraving 
 is taken from a portrait of one of the scholars 
 attending the schools in Calcutta : she is rep- 
 resented in the native female dress, which is 
 called a ■' sarrie." The sarrie is a long piece 
 of white muslin, folded round the body and 
 
 LYCURGUS. 
 
 No man ever more truly deserved th» title 
 of reformer, than did Lycurgns, the Spartan 
 lawgiver; and there have lived few men 
 whose lives and actions were of a more inter- 
 esting character. 
 
 Lycurgus flourished obout 900 years before 
 the "Christian era, or about 2.700 years ago. 
 As may be supposed, the incidents of his life 
 are neither so numerous nor so well authen- 
 ticated as would be desirable : but if there be 
 doubts in regard to his personal history, there 
 can be none in regard to the reforms he 
 brought about, and the institutions he estab- 
 lished. 
 
 Lycurgns is commonly believed to have 
 been a son of Eunomus, of the royal house of 
 Laccdsmon, but not in the line of direct suc- 
 cession. The death of his brother appeared 
 to give him a title to the crown; but his 
 widow giving promise of an heir to the throne, 
 Lycurgus assumed the government as regent. 
 The brother's widow preferring the queen- 
 ly dignity to that of queen-mother proposed 
 to destroy tho yet unborn heir to the throne 
 of Sparta, and share the crown with Lycur- 
 gus. Stifling his indignation at 8uch_ an in- 
 famous proposal, he yielded a seeming as- 
 sent; but as procuring an abortion, though 
 sometimes practised, was attended with se- 
 rious danger to the health of the mother, Ly- 
 curgus persuaded her to do no violence to the 
 course of nature — since, if bom, tho infant 
 might be easily disposed of. 
 
 As the time for the birth of the child drew 
 nigh, Lycurgus placed trusty attendants 
 around the person of the queen, with orders 
 to bring him the child, if it proved a son, as 
 soon as bom. This happened while he was 
 
 "%% 
 
 ^l^igl 
 
 mmmm 
 
 mm 
 
pari anil Bhoultlers. The 
 liuiid hIiowm that nhn in a 
 if li j;irl witii n hook in her 
 iiinon ninong ns, was till 
 in India. In her luft hand 
 )c work-bojis sent out by 
 nd as rewards for the best 
 
 on of this Bubjcrt, will snj;- 
 ome of the advantages to 
 ristianizing India ; and we 
 it far distant, when 8ch(K)l8 
 lommon as they are anK)ng 
 of things would glodden 
 philanthropist, and would 
 a a people who only wants 
 nd instruction to be great 
 
 XURGUS. 
 
 ire trnly deserved th» title 
 lid LycurgBs, the Spartan 
 lere have lived few men 
 tions were of a more inter- 
 shed about 900 yeors before 
 or about 2,700 years ago. 
 ed, the incidents of his life 
 erous nor so well anthen- 
 e desirable : but if there be 
 » his personal history, there 
 regard to the reforms he 
 J the institutions he estab- 
 
 mmonly believed to have 
 omus, of the royal house of 
 lot in the line of direct suc- 
 th of his brother appeared 
 tie to the crown; but his 
 nisc of on heir to the throne, 
 1 the government as regent, 
 fidow preferring the qnoen- 
 
 of ()ueen-mother proj)osed 
 t unborn heir to tlie throne 
 lare the crown with Lycur- 
 
 indignation at such an in- 
 
 he yielded a seeming as- 
 curing an abortion, though 
 led, wos attended with se- 
 e heolth of the mother, Ly- 
 her to do no violence to the 
 —since, if bom, the infant 
 isposed of. 
 
 the birth of the child drew 
 
 ploced trusty ottendants 
 
 n of the (juecn, with orders 
 
 child, if It proved a son, as 
 
 lis happened while he was 
 
 i 
 
 thvi 
 
 I 
 
 •^iri 
 
 :^.,^^i^'S-.-^it^m^.,affiivv^amii^afmm>!^9^-^- •i-t.^-j.t 
 
 ■fcit?-;..' 
 
146 
 
 LYcuaaus. 
 
 sittinR nt tnblc, with the mogistrntrs r.f Spnrtn. | diil not number more than two or three hun- 
 
 Thc lu•\^^M)^l i)riiirc wns brought to hiui. mid , tired tliousoiid. 
 
 takiiip llic ii.funt in his arms, Ik; inim.diuti'ly | Rctuniiiig from the frrt of the Brnnuns 
 
 iiaincd ii (Jliiirilttus, mid procluimfd liim kiiia 
 of Spuria — ufur which, os njirnt, he provided 
 for his proper cure and ('(hication. 
 
 Tlicru was tlius thrown u|Min this noble 
 prime two great cares — the govcnimciit of 
 the reahii us resent, nnd the protcrlioii of the 
 
 and the teinpli s of Kgypt, Lycurnus set him- 
 (lelf tsteadily at the great woA of reform. 
 First he visited the Delphio oracle, nnd the 
 Spartans heard with veneration, n sentence 
 they were Blrea<ly well disposed to believe — 
 that Lyeurgus, m wisdom, transcended the 
 
 lawful sovereign. With these cares tamo ' conutiuii level of humanity. He thin «c 
 
 also a danger from which the p( nsitive soul 
 of Lyeurgus Bhrunk w.lli dread. The life 
 of this inl.mt olone sKhhI between him ond 
 the Bupremc power. If the child should die, 
 he would doubtless be accused of its mur- 
 der, from motives of ambition. 
 
 Lyeurgus resolved to avod this donger, 
 and do his country a great servce ut the same 
 time. During the minority of the king, leav- 
 ing the administration of the state in the himds 
 of proper ollicers, he became a voluntary 
 exile, travelling in various parts of Greece, 
 in Kgv|i , and, if we believe m f'li; historians, 
 in India — for P-gypt and India were, in the 
 early uses of Greece, considered as the fount- 
 ains of science ar.d wis<lom. 
 
 During this exile, and these travels, Lyeur- 
 gus perfected o plan for the refonnation of the 
 institutions of his ccmntry, which, when Chn- 
 rilaus, his ward, had arrived at maturity, he 
 returned to put in practice. And reforms 
 were greatly needed. Sparta had fallen into 
 a depioruble situation. 
 
 The soil had become gradufilly monopolized 
 by the rich landlords who lived in luxury, 
 while the great mass of the jieoplc. being 
 without land, were ixKir, oppressed, and de- 
 graded ; and were often in danger of storva- 
 tion. Such an unnatural stote of things ener- 
 vated the rich, crushed down and dispirited 
 the poor, provoked discontent, outrages, and 
 rebellions, which produced despitism ond tyr- 
 anny, and threatened the entire ruin of the 
 country. 
 
 Writers have uniformly cxjiressed astonish- 
 ment that Lyeurgus should have had suffi- 
 cient ])ower and inlluence to correct these greot 
 abuses in the state. But when it is. consider- 
 ed that he wax the uncle of the king; that he 
 
 cured a consideralile party of thi; best citizens 
 of Sparta, and though ]w met with on oppo- 
 sition so violent as nt tijncs to threaten his 
 life, his firmness and courage at length tri- 
 umphed over every obstacle, and he esiob- 
 lished laws ami institutions for Sparta, which 
 remained for many centuries, and which gave 
 her great renown in all succeeding times. 
 
 The tirst object was to reform the great nnd 
 fundomental evil, the monopoly of wealth by 
 a few, which necessarily reduced the great 
 b(Kly of tht people to extreme poverty. At 
 a single blow, aided by the king, a senate 
 which he had established, consisting of the 
 most jiopular men in the state, ond tlie voire 
 of the people, Lyeurgus destroyi d the exist- 
 ing titles to lorge tracts of land, vested in 
 a few individuals, and the soil of Lacedjemon, 
 as the property of the state, wos divided 
 among the people, and their rights in tlie soil 
 were guarded by such provisions that no fam- 
 ily could be deprived of the uienns of su|)- 
 port. We are not particularly informed of 
 the difficulties which attende(l this reform, 
 but it made the way easy for every other. 
 
 In the government, the o'^ho of king wn 
 retained. It was one of dignity and respect 
 — but that was paid to the office, rather thnn 
 the mon. The monarch assumed none of the 
 trappings or state of royalty — he dressed like 
 the common people, and dined with them at 
 the common public table. As commander-in- 
 chief of the army he exercised the greatest 
 authority. 
 
 Thirty senators were chosen by a free 
 election, which was curiously managed. Sev- 
 eral judges were placed in a room where ihey 
 could hear but not see the whole assembly 
 of the people. The candidates then pre-ent- 
 
 had governed the countrv us regent; that he 1 ed themselves successively before the people, 
 was entitled to the gratitude of the sovereign I and he who got the greatest opplausc, the 
 and of the people, on account of the conduct juilges declared to be elected. 
 we have narrated ; and that, bv his foreign The grand reform of a fair division of the 
 
 soil among the people having been carried 
 out, the artificial distinction of wealth was 
 at once abolished, and poverty was unknown. 
 The whole country looked, as Lyeurgus him- 
 self of ''rved, ! ke a heritage newly shared 
 among many brethren. The removal of pov- 
 erty and riches, in real estate, was made the 
 more complete by banishing useless arts and 
 luxuries, and even money — for Lyeurgus 
 
 we 
 
 travels and study, he had required tln> re- 
 spect due to 8Ui)erior wisdom : and when, to 
 these consli, rations, we add the fact that in 
 common with all the reformers and legislators 
 of pa^t ages, he invoked the authority of re- 
 ligion, we shall not be astoni.shed at the re- 
 sult of his efforts in remodeling the institu- 
 tions of his country. We must consider, 
 also, that the free citizens of Lacedsemon 
 
 ^ 
 
re than two or three hun- 
 
 the frpt of the Brnnn"* 
 Kgypt, Lyciirgus »pt him 
 le HTvat wortt of reform. 
 •' Drlphii"; oruclf, mid the 
 th vriifrntioii, n Hciitrnce 
 well (liH|M)8C(l to hclirvc — 
 
 wii'dotii, transccndiM.! the 
 humanity. He tlirn nv 
 V pnrty of the best citizens 
 ugh lu- inet with an o\}])U' 
 i Ht tiiiics to fhrenten his 
 ind courage at h'njjth tri- 
 •y olistaclc, and he estab- 
 fiiutioim for Spurta, which 
 centuries, and which gave 
 II all succeediiia: times, 
 vas to reform the great and 
 he monopoly of wealth by 
 '.ssarily fduced the greot 
 
 to extreme i)overty. At 
 ed by the kmp, a senate 
 ablished, ccmsiHting of the 
 in the state, and the voire 
 ;urgU8 destroy! d the exist- 
 
 tracts of land, vested in 
 Hid the soil of Laccdicmon, 
 >i the state, was divided 
 and their rights in the soil 
 ach provisions that nofim- 
 veil of the irienns of sup- 
 l iiarticularly informed of 
 lich attendeil this r<?fonn, 
 ly easy for c\'cry other, 
 nt, the ()*^i-e oT king wo<' 
 nne of dignity and res|)ect 
 d to the otTice, rather than 
 march assumed none of the 
 Df royalty — he dressed like 
 le, and dmed with them at 
 : table. As commaiider-in- 
 
 he exercised the greatest 
 
 I were chosen by a free 
 8 curiously managed. Sev- 
 laced in a room whetL' I hey 
 )t see the whole assembly 
 he candidates then pre-^int- 
 cessively before the pei 'plc, 
 the greatest applanse, the 
 » be elected. 
 
 rm of a fair division of the 
 icople having been carried 
 distinction of wealth was 
 and jjoverty was unknown. 
 ■y looked, as Lycurgus him- 
 e a heritage newly shared 
 liren. The removal of pov- 
 ri real estate, was made the 
 r banishing useless arts and 
 ren money — for Lycurgus 
 
 LYCUllOUS. 
 
 147 
 
 established a currency of iron, which, while 
 it serM (I in no »inull u state the common pur- 
 |Ki»«'s of u circulating iiiediuin, or measurt; of 
 exclmiige, presented no temptation to hoard 
 or uci'iuiiulutc. 
 
 Lei us look now at the custoinii and insti- 
 tutions which lliisextruordinary man foundcrd. 
 The S|i(irtim iastitntioiis were iiervmled by 
 one principle. The citizen in born, live*, and 
 is ready to die, for the state. His substance, 
 time, Mrengtli, luculties, and alTections, art; 
 dedicated to its service. Its welfare; is his 
 hupi/niesH, its glorv, his honor. Patriotism 
 was iln! Spiirtioi's hailing virtue. 
 
 When u child was l)oni, he was not alhiw- 
 ed to live if so weakly or deformed as not 
 likely to be capiiliic of ]ierforiiiing all thi; 
 duties of li citizen, and transmitting the full 
 vigor of niiinluHid to his posterity; and as 
 much puins Mere taken to insure a gixnl breed 
 of men, as are now employed in improving 
 the races of inferior animals. 
 
 'Pile infant, until the age of seven, was left 
 to the ciiri- of its parents, under certoin estab- 
 lished rules of trenlmeiit, calculated to [irotect 
 them from the mischievous indulgence of 
 parental tendcniess. 
 
 At seven, they were scut to the public 
 schools, which were nniler the superintenrl- 
 ence of the elders, who were assisted y the 
 picked young men of the nation. The edu- 
 cation i.f the boys consisted of various gym- 
 nastic and militury exercises; they were nls-i 
 taught music andduucing. The songs of the 
 Spartans contained the greater part of their 
 literature, their history, and p.-rhaps their re- 
 Hgion. Their exercises were conducted with 
 all the rigor of militury discipline, and were 
 such as to give them strength, energy, and 
 the greatest powers of endurance. They 
 were taught habitually to de.s|)'se danger, to 
 exercise caution, to endure fatigue, and to 
 brave torture and death with unflinching 
 fortitude. There has never been seen a finer 
 race of men, gifted with more vigor, grace, 
 and ogility, than the Spartans ; and they were 
 coiise(|uently invincible as soldiers. 
 
 From ''le time the young Spartan left the 
 lap of hi-, mother for "the public schools, his 
 lite was a continued exercise tor the develop- 
 ment of Sjjartan qualities. He lived on 
 coarse and scanty fare, and this was often 
 withheld ; he wore a thin dress in the depth 
 of winter ; slept on a bed of reeds, gathered 
 by h mself from the Eurotas ; fought with 
 hts comrades; received stripes from his jjov- 
 emors, as an exercise rather than a punish- 
 ment ; foraged for himself, in spite of the 
 vigilance used to prevent or detect him, and 
 was known to die rather than discover hii 
 plunder, or submit to a publi( tlogging at the 
 shrine of Diana. 
 
 The cultivation of music, poetry, and a 
 sharp and ready wit ; and extn-mc m<Mlestv, 
 obedience, and reverence for ii;:e, were the 
 intellectual and moral characteristics of this 
 nation. 
 
 All the Spartans dineil at public fables, to 
 wliich each n.un s«nt his contribution of jiro- 
 visions. Men were udinilted to these daily 
 jiiiMic feasts by ballot, recpiiring unanimous 
 con- lit, and no one elected, not even the king, 
 could dine at iiomc without incurring a fine. 
 These feasts were enlivened by pleasantry 
 and mirth, but never profaned by impure con- 
 Mrsation. At tins age of sixty, the military 
 life closed ; and the aged men either employ- 
 ed themselves in superintending the ull'airs 
 of education, or passed their time pleasantly 
 in social ciuiversation. 
 
 " Victory or death" was the Spartan's 
 watch-word. The Spartan nioiher sent her 
 son to battle, with th<; injunction to bring his 
 shield home, or be borne home U|)on it. No 
 matter what th(! cKldsof numbers, the Sportun 
 never tunicd his bock to an enemy. lie who 
 did so was publicly disgraceil — excludeil from 
 all society, and forced to wear in public a 
 ridiculous costume, and be o mark forsconi and 
 insult — a disgrace worse thiin death. 
 
 Sparta wos at all times like a camp — all 
 her men were soldiers. War was the element 
 in which the Spartan breathed most freely, 
 and enjoyed the fullest consciousness of his 
 existence. He dressed for battle as for a 
 feast — he went into action singing martial 
 songs, ond with every appearance of gay en- 
 thusiasm, as if joining in a jiublic festival. 
 
 The Spartan women were held in peculiar 
 esteem, and enjoyed a degree of freedom and 
 social consideration contrasting strongly with 
 the general condition of the sex in the eastern 
 world. Their education was intended to pro- 
 mote the highest physical development, and 
 to fit them to be mothers to heiics. The 
 Sjiartan women were celebrated for chastity, 
 and their matrons appi J seldom in public, 
 but yet exercised a » mg influence in all 
 public affairs. 
 
 The Spartans were very religious, and the 
 luxuries they denied themselves, they lavished 
 on the temples of the gotls, and displayed in 
 processions in their honor ; for in no part of 
 Greece were religious ceremonies more splen- 
 did, or temples more magnificent. 
 
 Such were the institutions and manners 
 formed by Lj.curgu8. When he had seen 
 them in fair and successful operation, in his 
 Id age, he told his assembled countrymen 
 that there was yet one thing upon which he 
 wished to consult the sacred and infallible 
 oracle at Delphos ; and he made them take 
 a solemn oath to keep u.i laws until he re- 
 turned to Sparta. Arrived at Delphos, ho 
 
 ■It II 
 
 ttte: 
 
 Tiwi 
 
 ^••IV s 
 
■■^1' 
 
 148 
 
 THK NKdTH OV VISIIES. 
 
 Mnt buck wnnl that the nraclo hn<1 «alil that 
 S|)orta dliDiiliI III- |)r(W|)iT(iu» n» loiin un lirr 
 l)c(i|)le obscrvi'd Inn liiw». Then, thnt iIib 
 oQth, taken ut hi'< (l<|mrtiire, mijilit liiiid thtrii 
 for ever, ho ilcffrtnitioil ru'ver to return. 
 
 Lycuffjiis <li«<l in I'xilo ; when iinil whore 
 in nut known; though it ia sai<l that he ended 
 his life by voluntary utarvotion. 
 
 "«i»w 
 
 THR NKSTS OF FISHES. 
 
 Almost all the higher rlosses of niiimnU, 
 assiduously prrf<iriii thcMluties of |>nrent9 to 
 their young. They nurse, and feed, and pro- 
 tect tiienn till they arc oble to provide for 
 themselves. But many of the inferior ani- 
 mals, on the other hand, never know or care 
 for their ollspriug. Not a few of them indeed, 
 as the insect tribe, bestow great poins in con- 
 structing nests for the pj{g« of their future 
 young, an<l even provide and store up the fiKxl 
 necessary for them : but hnre all their solici- 
 tude ends ; and in mnn\ astances the parents 
 are dead, before their V'ung come into exist- 
 ence. Aquttlic animals exhibit, what on n 
 casual view, would njipear great carelessness 
 in this respect. Fish deposite their spawn al- 
 most ut random, and leave th(!ir ova to be 
 hatcheii by the i 'I'ments, ond their yoimg to 
 provide for thcmselvet. They form no nest, 
 or a very rudeom — the sand of the seashore, 
 the small nebblcs of the river or lake, or 
 leaves of plllnt^<, or sea-weeds, receive their 
 minute eggs. These are hurriedly and rude- 
 ly covered up, if deposited in furrows of the 
 sand, or they adhere to stones or weeds, by 
 means of a gtuey muinlage by which they are 
 enveloped. When the young fry are devel- 
 oped, they associate together in shoals, an<l 
 roam al)out amid the shallow waters untendcd 
 and unprotected by the larger fish, nay, some- 
 limes even preyed upon by their own progen- 
 itors. This we might be apt to think extreme 
 indilference, and an outrage on the great low 
 of paternal endearment ; but a little reflection 
 will show that it is a wise adjustment of na- 
 ture. In such an unstable element as water, 
 continually agitated by currents and incessant- 
 ly changing its place, it would have been im- 
 possible for a parent fish, to have kept its 
 young family around it, or even if it could, to 
 nave afforded them any protection. Think 
 too, of a codfish surrounded by several mil- 
 lions of its young — the offspring of one single 
 season ! Or of nn immense shoal of herrings, 
 with each parent taking charge of its two or 
 three millions of young, and distinguishing 
 each among the surrounding myriads ! The 
 salmon comes into fresh-water nvers to depos- 
 
 ite its spawn high nn the ntreamt but Ht na- 
 ture reipiires that itsnould retiim to the ocean 
 again long before itsyoiinn are able to travel : 
 and the sanio reinork opplies to many migra- 
 tory fishes, whiidi leave the deep waters — 
 their usuid haunt — and come for a short mmro 
 to the shallow water to spawn. 
 
 Yet fishes, obedient to the great law of na- 
 ture, show much solieitudo about selecting 
 the pro|H'r place for lb' ir spawn and future 
 young. Kvery year the herring in countless 
 shoals mokes a long journey, it is suppof.ed, 
 from the deep sens, to the shallow buys and 
 itdets; onil the salmon leaves the sea, toils up 
 the current of the river with incredil)le perse- 
 veronce ond force, overleaping the fuils and 
 rapids, till it gains the smrMith ond shallow 
 ource where, oniid the sand, the spawn is de- 
 [Mwiteil, ond where the future young may 
 sport in safety amid the sunny rills, till they 
 giiin sufficient strength to swim down th« 
 stream. Some fishes, however, really make 
 a kind of nest in the water, and assiduously 
 tend their ova till they are hatched This is 
 the case with the stickleback, which con- 
 structs a nest made of pieces of grass, and 
 straw, fixed among the pebbles of the stream 
 whit h they inhobit. M. Coste j)rocured some 
 of these hshes, and i)Utting them int,) basins 
 filled with water, ond the proper materials c.f 
 their nejts, watched their progress, a min- 
 ute and very curious detail of which he lately 
 submitted to the Academy of Sciences at 
 I'aris. The sticklebacks having selected a 
 proper spot, set about constnicting their nests. 
 "I saw," says he, "each of the males that 
 were engaged in this work, heap up in the 
 place, the selected pieces of grass t>f ewry 
 kind, which he often brought from o great dis- 
 tance, seizing them with his mouth ; and of 
 these he began to form a kind of carpet. But 
 ns the materiols which form the first part of 
 his edifice might be carried away by the move- 
 ments, or oscillation of the water, he hod the 
 precaution to bring some sand, with which he 
 filled his mouth, and deposited it on the nest, 
 in order to keep it in its ploce. Then, in or- 
 der to moke all the substances thus brought 
 together adhere to each other, he pressed his 
 b<Kly against them, sliding slowly, as if by a 
 kind of vibratory creeping, and in this way 
 glued them together by meons of the mucus 
 which exudes from his skin. By this opera- 
 tion, the first collected materials form a kind 
 of foundation or solid floor, on which the rest 
 of the edifice is to be reared. The execution 
 of this, he continues with a feverish perseve- 
 rance and agitation. In order to satisfy him- 
 self that all the parts are sufficiently united, 
 he agitates his pectoral fins with great rapid- 
 ity, in such a manner as to produce currents 
 directed against the nest; and if he notices 
 
 •SD, 
 
m t1>e Htrrnni ; but \tn na- 
 Uioulil return t" vlif m-fon 
 youiii' nrc oIiIp to Iravrl : 
 k a|)|)lifN to rrinny ini^ra- 
 cavo tlm <lrp|) wtilf-rs — 
 111(1 ninif for a ihort »])are 
 r to Hpnwn. 
 
 lit to the fir^'ftt law of na- 
 olicitiiiln u))otit Rclrrting 
 • llirir sjmvvii anil fiitiiro 
 r the ht'rrinj{ in countlcus 
 [ jonrncy, it i» siiiiiionnJ, 
 , to th(! fhnllow i)uy« nnil 
 on Irnvi -• tlin Hra, toils up 
 vnr with inirriMlililr prrno- 
 innrli'iipini.' the fiilb and 
 
 th<' sdKMith ami shallow 
 the Kiiiid. th(! Kpawn is do- 
 I thf futurf! yonnj; may 
 
 the ttuiiny rills, till they 
 npth to swim down the 
 P8, however, really make 
 le water, mid iissiduoiisly 
 hey arc haiehed This is 
 
 Mticklebaek, which eon- 
 e of pieces of jirass, and 
 thn pelibles of the stream 
 M. Coste jiroeureil lome 
 I piittin/i; them into basins 
 n(i the proper rnateriaU <;f 
 >d their progress, a min- 
 s detail of which he lately 
 Academy of Sciences at 
 ebai^ks iiaving selected a 
 lut constructing their nests. 
 
 " each of the males that 
 lis work, heap up in the 
 
 pieces of uraea of every 
 1 brought from a great dis- 
 i with his mouth ; and of 
 )rm a kind of carpet. But 
 lich form the first part of 
 carried away by the move- 
 1 of the water, he had the 
 some sand, with which he 
 d deposited it on the nest, 
 in its place. Then, in or- 
 tie substances thus brought 
 each other, he pressed his 
 I sliding slowly, as if by a 
 creeping, and in this way 
 ;r by means of the mucus 
 
 his skin. By this opera- 
 ;ted materials form a kind 
 lid floor, on which the rest 
 be reared. The execution 
 •8 with a feverish perseve- 
 . In order to satisfy hira- 
 irts are sufficiently united, 
 toral fins with great rapid- 
 iner as to produce currents 
 le nest; and if he noticet 
 
 TliK LAMA. 
 
 149 
 
 that the pieces of grans ore moved, h« prnsse* 
 
 liieiii diiwii with hi'* Hiiout, hi'upH «ntid noon 
 theni. (Iritt.Ti'* thim, mid uiue-. tlinn tiejether 
 ii^iiiii. When ihr' priH-es^ Iiiim piiched this 
 point, he eliiHWH iimre Milid niiiteiialH— he 
 Hci/eH iinall ])iei'es of woimI .if slruwMiii his 
 moiilti, Hill presses them into the !hi<:k places, 
 or on lite surface of the lirsl c m-itriieiimi. It 
 he tiii'ls, whi-n attempiiii;.' to iritroduee thitn, 
 ihiit the position doi's not 4ii»Vi(ieiitly answer 
 the piirpnse. he draw* tliem "Ut numii, seizes 
 thrill lit another part, aiiiiiii 'inerls them, and 
 imijies them forward, luilii he ascertain that 
 he hi-i made the best possilile use of them. 
 OccaMOtially, however, in spite of all his cure, 
 there are portions whiidi owinic to their slnipe, 
 will not ccmlbrin to tlu- u.neral plan. These 
 he draws out, carries to a di-tiiiiee, and aban- 
 dons anil jirocee.ls to select others. When 
 he has succeeded in buildini; the (loort and 
 side- walls, he then underiakestlie rocd", which 
 is constructed of the same ni iterials, carefully 
 glued and compacted togetlier, by the same 
 viliratory pressure of his body. Meanwhile 
 he takes care to secure an opening in the ceii- 
 , tre of the nest, by reiieatedly thrusting in his 
 I) head, and the greater part of liis biidy." The 
 ' nt!st being thus finished, tlie male, which is 
 I distinguished by his vivid coloring, darts out 
 I and invites a female todcposite her eggs in the 
 I place wii' -h lie has just prepare. I tor tlieir re- 
 { i.eption. The female enters, ami having ile- 
 ! posited her ova in the cavity, darts out at the 
 opposite side at which she entered, and thus 
 I makes an open passage through both sides ol 
 I the iiest. Several females in succession are 
 I thus invited todcposite their spawn ; and thus 
 the nest becomes a rich magazine of ova. 
 I The male now becomes the sole guardian of 
 this deposito ; for not only do the females take 
 no care of it, but they become its formidalile 
 ,.,„,inios — forming part of those numerous co- 
 alitions which attempt to jdundrr it, and satis- 
 fy their voracious appetite, by devouring the 
 1 ova. In his defensive exertions, no obstacle 
 can divert him, or daunt his courage, during 
 the whole month requisite for the develop- 
 ment of the ova. In order to strengthen the 
 nest, he now covers it with stones, the size of 
 which is sometimes eipiul to half his body, 
 and which he raovs along with great labor. 
 In this process he alw iys reserves one or 
 more openings, through which he ot>en drives 
 currents of water, by the rapid motions of his 
 fins — these currents seem to be necessary in 
 clearing away objects from the eggs, for if not 
 thus cfeaiised. they are found all to perish. 
 It is wonderful to see with what courage he 
 beats away successive numbers of his foes, 
 striking them with his snout, and erecting his 
 i long sharp spines. Sometimes, when about 
 I to be overpowered with numbers, he resorts 
 
 tn »tr»tagem, and ilurts suddenly ont of his 
 nest, as if in iiursu't of some |>rey. This fre 
 ipiently deceives tlie atfaekiiig stiekli liiu ks, 
 and ili'ey nis-h after him, in hopes of sharing 
 tli> prey ; »■"' tbustlle^ are decoyed rnun tlie 
 nest. \s the |»<riod of hatching draws to a 
 close, his assiduity increases; lie reiiiov, s the 
 stone*, to give more v-ity access to ilie water, 
 enlarges I'le openings, increases the freipieney 
 of the .Mirrents, and moves the eggs nearer the 
 Murfii e. or carries them deeper, aeeordiiig as 
 circiiiiistiiiiees reiiuire. Finally, ul m the 
 eggs are hatched, tie still continues to watch 
 over the vouiig in his nest, and does not allow 
 them to go at liberty, till they have become 
 siiniciently active to provide the means of 
 their owii'prcservation. 
 
 THE LAMA. 
 
 TiiK lama is the Mily animal associated 
 with man, and nndi based by the contact. 
 The lama will bear neither beating nor ill- 
 treatment. The ' go in troojis, an Indian go- 
 ing a long disi"-.^e ahead as a guide. If 
 tired, they stop, a-id the Indian stops also. If 
 the diday is great, the Indian, becoming un- 
 easy toward sunset, resolves on Hup[>lieating 
 the beasts to resume their jcmrney. If thn 
 lamas are disjiosed to continue their course, 
 they follow the Indian in good order, at a 
 regular pace, and very fast, for their legs lire 
 exUemely long; but when they are in ill- 
 humor, thev do not even turn their heads 
 toward th(!'s[ieaker, but remain motionless, 
 standing or lying down, and gazing on heaven 
 witli looks 80 tender, so melancholy, that we 
 might imagine these singular animals had the 
 consciousness of another life, of a hiipjiier ex- 
 istence. The straight neck, and its gentle 
 majesty of bearing, the long down of their 
 always clean and glossy skin, their supjile 
 and 'timed motions, all give them an air, 
 at once timid and sensitive. It must be so 
 in fact, for the lama is the only creature 
 employed by man, that he dares no-^ atnke. 
 If it happens (which is very seldom), that an 
 Indian wishes to obtain, either by force or 
 threats, what the lama wll not willingly per- 
 form, the instant the animal finds himself 
 affronted by words or gesture, he raises his 
 head with dignity, or without attempting to 
 escape ill-treatment by flight, he lies down, 
 turning his looks toward Heaven, large tears 
 flow fTeely from his beautiful eyes, and m 
 half or three quarters of an hour, he expires. 
 Happy creatures, who appear to have accept- 
 ed lite on condition of its being happy. 
 
 •tij 
 
 
 v.m I 
 
 A 
 

 ^^K 
 
 TIIAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND.-NO. 4. 
 
 BY HARRIET MARTINEAU. 
 
 Wf. mnde an excursion from Jerusalem, to 
 the Jonlim and the Dead sea ; poing by way 
 of ]J(."thuiiy and Jericho, and retuniinj; l)y the 
 convent ot St. Saba. There is at this day, 
 so mucli danger of falling among thieves, m 
 going d(jK'n from Jerusalem to Jericho, that 
 travellers join parties when they can, and 
 unite their guards into a corps of armed men. 
 Our own party of four, joined the ten with 
 whom we had travelled in the desert : and 
 four stnmgcrs — European gentlei.''en — re- 
 ([uested permission to ride with us. Thus we 
 were eighteen : and the dragomen, cooks, 
 horsekeeiicrs, and mule-drivers, who took 
 charge of our tents and baggage, and ten armed 
 guar.is, swelled our number to that of a cara- 
 van which no robljcrs were likely to attack. 
 Indeed we scarcely saw anybody the whole 
 way. The dangerous part of the road ap- 
 peared deserted, and the plain of Jericho, once 
 studded with towns, and filled with fertility, 
 lay before us almost as lifeless as the basin of 
 the Dead sea. I 
 
 We left Jerusalem bj' St. Stephen's gate, ! 
 — my three friends, myself, and our servants j 
 and baggage, and met the rest of the travel- 
 ling party at the bridge, in the valley of Je- I 
 hoshaphat, at 9 > . M. We proceeded by the | 
 camel road to Bethany, which winds up the | 
 side of Olivet, and crosses its ridge to the east. 
 As soon as we had passed the ridge, Bethany 
 came in view, lying on the eastern slope of 
 the mount of Olives, and, as we all know, 
 " fifteen furlongs" distance from Jerusalem. 
 It is now a village inhabited by about twenty 
 families ; a very poor place ; but looking less 
 squalid than might be expected, from its 
 houses being built, as everywhere in that 
 country, of stone — square, substantial, and 
 large, compaied with cottages in England. 
 Its position on the side of the hill is very fine, 
 seen from below. 
 
 Fyfore descending the hill, however, we 
 alighted from our horses to visit an old tomb, 
 which is called the tomb of Lazarus. No en- 
 lightened traveller believes this to be really 
 the place where Lazarus was buried : but to 
 see any ancient tomb on that spot, was an 
 opportunity not to be missed ; and we gladly 
 went down the dark rock-hewn steps, to the 
 little chamber, where some, corpse had once 
 been laid. I have often wished thot the old 
 painters had enjoyed such opportunities ; and 
 then we should have had representations of 
 Lazarus coming forth from chambers in the 
 rock, anil not rising from such a grave as is 
 dug in fluropean churchyards. The lime- 
 stone rocks of Judea, are full of holes and cav- 
 
 erns ; and we know from the Scriptures how 
 abundantly these were used by the old inhab- 
 itants, as dwellings for themselves and tlu'ir 
 cattle, as a shelter to the wayfarer, a refuge 
 to the fugitive, a hiding-jilace for robbers, and 
 a jjlo'^e of deposite for the dead. Where a 
 cavern was found with holes or recesses in its 
 sides, a little labor, would make it an exten- 
 sive place of burial. By squaring the entrance, 
 and giving some regularity to the arch of the 
 roof, a handsome vestibule was obtained ; and 
 then the recesses were hewn into form for the 
 reception of bodies. Sometimes these reces- 
 ses had j)its ; sometimes niches in their walls, 
 so that each recess would contain several bod- 
 ies : and sometimes they were small, so as to 
 contain only one each. Sometimes the vesti- 
 bule opened out into passages, which had re- 
 cesses on each hand ; so that a large comj)any 
 of the dead might lie hidden in the heart of 
 the mountain. The whole was secured from 
 wild beasts and other intrusion, by a stone 
 door fitted to the entrance, or a large block 
 rolled up against it. Those who have seen 
 these Eastern tombs can never again be puz- 
 zled, as I was in my childhood, when reading 
 of " the chambers of the grave," and of the 
 dead calling to one another in the house of 
 death, and of the stone being rolled away from 
 the mouth of the sepulchre. Many a child 
 wonders, as I did, how the way was made 
 clear for La/.arus to come forth, merely by 
 the removal of a stone : but, once having stood 
 looking in at tlie door of n se])ulchre, how viv- 
 id becomes the jncture of Jesus standing there, 
 and calling to Lazarus with " a loud voice," to 
 come forth ! How one hears that voice echo- 
 ing through the chambers of the tomb, and 
 sees the dead man in his ceremcn aijpenr- 
 ing from the ste])s of the vault, or the shadow 
 of the recess ! 
 
 In the toinb which we explored at Bethany, 
 the vaults went down a considerable way, in- 
 to the rock. One flight of deep, narrow steps 
 led us into a small vaulted chamber ; and two 
 or three or more steps, narrower still, into the 
 lowest tomb, which had little more than room 
 for one body. The monks, when taken as 
 guides, show in the village, what they call 
 the house of Martha and Mary, and that of 
 Simon the Leper : but we did not incjuire for 
 these, having no wish to mix up anything fab- 
 ulous, with our observations of a place so in- 
 teresting as Bethany, 
 
 We looked back upon the village again and 
 again, as we descended into the valley ; and 
 it was painful to lose sight of the place where 
 Jesus was wont to go to solace himself with 
 the friendship of Lazarus and his sisters, and 
 rest from the conflicts which beset him in the 
 great city over yonder ridgd. But we are now 
 on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho, and 
 
from the Scriptures how 
 re used by the old inhab- 
 for themselves and their 
 o the wayfarer, a refu^(! 
 ing-))lace for robbers, and 
 for the dead. Where a 
 ith holes or recesses in its 
 would make it an exten- 
 By squaring the entranre, 
 alarity to the arch of the 
 stibulo was obtained ; and 
 re hewn into form for the 
 
 Sometimes these reces- 
 nies niches in their walls, 
 'ould contain several bod- 
 they were small, so as to 
 h. Sometimes the vesti- 
 jiassoges, which had re- 
 ; so that a large company 
 e hidden in the heart of 
 whole was secured from 
 ler intrusion, by a stone 
 itrance, or a large block 
 
 Those who have seen 
 can never again be puz- 
 ehildhood, when reading 
 f the grave," and of the 
 another in the house of 
 lie being rolled away from 
 jpulchre. Many a child 
 low the way was made 
 o come forth, merely by 
 le : but, once having stood 
 r of a sepulchre, how viv- 
 ■e of Jesus standing there, 
 is with " a loud voice," to 
 me hears that voice echo- 
 imbcrs of the tomb, and 
 n his cereme.i'i a))pear- 
 " the vault, or the shadow 
 
 we explored at Bethany, 
 n a considerable way, in- 
 ght of deep, narrow steps 
 aulted chamber ; and two 
 )s, narrower still, into the 
 liad little more than room 
 monks, when taken as 
 village, what they call 
 . and iVIary, and that of 
 lut we did not in(iuire for 
 li to mix up anything fab- 
 rvations of a place so in- 
 
 ipon the village again and 
 led into the valley ; and 
 : sight of the place vi'hcre 
 ■) to solace himself with 
 zarus and his sisters, and 
 8 which beset him in the 
 r ridgd. But we are now 
 ;rusalem to Jericho, and 
 
 Defile between Jerasalem aod Jericbiv 
 
 J. 
 
 .:,.) 
 
 I«''ib 
 
 ii 
 
 
 I 
 
 ■ ■,iiff:iiSV:rKiif^?^- '■:---' 
 
Ruins of Jericho. 
 
 alinut to pass amonj; tlie fastnesses of the 
 thieves, who seem to iiavc infested this region 
 ill nil times. After ridinp; along the valley, 
 sometimes on the one hill ami sometimes on 
 the other, for three or four miles, we left be- 
 liiud us the scanty tillage spread along the bot- 
 tom of the valley, and began to ascend to the 
 hollow way which is considered the most dan- 
 gerous spot of all. Here Sir Frederick Hen- 
 niker was stripped and left for dead, by rob- 
 bers in 1820. His servants fled and hid them- 
 selves on the first alarm. When they return- 
 ed, he was lying naked and bleeding in the 
 sultry road. They put him on a horse, and 
 carried him to .lericho, where he found suc- 
 cor. Perhaps he was thinking of the parable 
 of the Samaritan when this accident befell him. 
 I was thinking of it most of the way. 
 
 Another story was presently after "full in my 
 mind ; — a beautiful catholic legend which was 
 told me by a Gennan friend in America, when 
 I little dreamed of ever travelling over this 
 spot. Our road now gradually ascended the 
 high ridge from which we were soon to over- 
 look the plain of Jericho. The track was so 
 stony and difficult, as to make our progress 
 very slow : and the white rocks under the 
 mid-day sun gave out such heat and glare as 
 made me enter more thoroughly into the story 
 of Peter and the cherries, than rny readers 
 can perhaps do. And yet the many to whom 
 I have told the legend in conversation have all 
 felt its beauty. It is this. 
 
 Jesus and two or three of his disciples went 
 dowTi, one summer-day, from ,'erusalera to 
 Jericho. Peter — the ardent and ea^er Peter 
 — was, OS usual, by the Teacher's side. On 
 
 the road on Olivet lay a horseshoe, which the 
 Teacher desired Peter to pick up : but which 
 Peter let lie, as he did not think it worth iIk 
 trouble of stooping for. The Teacher stoo])t'd 
 for it, and exchanged it in the village for a 
 measure of cherries. These cherries he car- 
 ried (as eastern men now carry such things) 
 in the bosom-folds of his dress.* When they 
 iiad to ascend the ridge, and the road lay be- 
 tween heated rocks, and over nigged stones, 
 and among glaring white dust, Peter became 
 tormented with heat and thirst, and fell behind. 
 Then the Teacher dropped a ripe cherry at 
 every few steps ; and Peter eagerly stooped 
 for them. When all were done, Jesus turned 
 to him, and said with a smile, " He who is 
 above stooping to a small thing, will have to 
 bend his back to many lesser things." 
 
 From the ridge we had a splendid view of 
 the plain of the Jordan — apparently as flat as 
 a table to the very foot of the Moab mount- 
 ains, while the Dead sea lay, a blue and mo- 
 tionless expanse, to the right — (the south) — 
 and barren mountains enclosed the whole. 
 The nearer mountains were rocky, brown, and 
 desolate, with here and there the remains of 
 an aqueduct, or other ancient buildings mark- 
 ing the sites cf settlements which have passed 
 away. The distant mountains were clothed 
 in the soft and lovely hues which can be seen 
 only through a southern atmosphere. The 
 plain was once as delicious a region as ever 
 men lived in. Josephus calls it a " divine re- 
 
 • " Give and it shall be given nnto jron ; good 
 measare, pressed down, and shaken together, and 
 running over, shall men gi»e into your bosom."— 
 Luke VI. 38. 
 
 "%.. 
 

 lay a horseshoe, which tlio 
 iter to pick up : but whicli 
 
 (lid not think it worth lh>. 
 for. The Teacher stoo])ed 
 ;ed it in the village for a 
 3. These cherries he car- 
 !n now curry such things) 
 :)f his dress.* When they 
 idge, and the road lay be- 
 ;, and over nigged stones, 
 white dust, Peter became 
 t and thirst, and fell behind. 
 
 dropped a ripe cherry at 
 ind Peter eagerly stooped 
 ill were done, Jesus turned 
 vith a smile, " He who is 
 
 small thing, will have to 
 any lesser things." 
 ve had a splendid view of 
 ■dan — apparently as flat as 
 ■ foot of the Moab mount- 
 ad sea lay, a blue and mo- 
 [1 the right — (the south) — 
 ains enclosed the whole, 
 ins were rocky, brown, and 
 ! and there the remains of 
 ler ancient buildings mark- 
 lements which have passed 
 It mountains were clothed 
 dy hues which can be seen 
 uthem atmosphere. The 
 delicious a region as ever 
 ephus calls it a " divine re- 
 
 tiall be given nnto yon ; good 
 ^rn, and shaken together, and 
 en give into yoar bosom."— 
 
154 
 
 TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 
 
 
 The River Jordan. 
 
 gion ;" and tells of its miles of gardens and 
 palm-{!Toves : and here grew the balsam 
 which was worth more than its weight in sil- 
 ver, and was a treasure for which tlie kings 
 of the Ea.st made war. Jericho is called in 
 the Scriptures the city of palm-trees ; and 
 Jericho was bnt one of a hundred to\vns 
 which peoj)led the plain. Now, all near was 
 barren ; an<l ecpially bare was the distant tract 
 at th(> foot of the mountains ; but in the midst 
 was a strip of verdure, broad, sinuous, and 
 thickly wooded, where we knew that the Jor- 
 dan flowed. The palms are gone ; and the 
 sycamores, and the honey which the wild bees 
 made in the hollows of their stems. The 
 balsam which Queen Cleopatra so coveted as 
 to send messengers from Egypt for plants to 
 grow at Ileliopolis, has disappeared from the 
 face of I he earth: and, instead of these, and the 
 fruits and sugar-canes which were renowned 
 in far countries, we find now little but tall 
 reeds, thorny acacias, and trees barren of blos- 
 som or fruit. Tfie verdant strip, however, 
 looks beautiful from afar, and shows that the 
 fertility of the plain has not departed. There 
 is enough for the su]iport and luxury of man, 
 were man but there to wish for (>nd enjoy 
 them. 
 
 We descended by a road, like an irregular 
 staircase, the steepest hill I ever rode down. 
 The gentlemen dismounted ; but the heat was 
 so excessive that I ventured to keep my seat. 
 When I glanced up from the bottom, and saw 
 
 the last of the party beginning the descent, it 
 looked so fearful that I was jzliid to tiini away. 
 AVe were now at the foot of the mountain 
 called Quaruntania, supposed by the monks 
 to be the scene of the TiMnptati<in. A few 
 pilgrims come from afar, every year, to sjieiid 
 forty days on this mountain, barely siippuitin!; 
 life during the time by the licrhs they tind 
 there. I need hardly say tliat. tiicre can be 
 no good reason for fixing on this tnoinituiii as 
 the place, and that the choice of it is proba- 
 bly owing to its commanding the pluiu of tlie 
 Jordan and its cities — once no uiifair speci- 
 men of the " kingdoms of tlie enrlh, and tlie 
 glory of thejn." The caverns in the face of 
 this mountain, once used as dwcllin';* or tombs, 
 arc now the abodes of robbers. Wlien som« 
 of our party showed a desire to reach ilie low- 
 er ones, the Arab sheikh who wa-i rcs|)onsi. 
 ble for the safety of our I'arty, drew his sword 
 across his throat, to show the danger, and 
 barred the way. 
 
 It may be remembered, that the men of 
 Jericho complained to Elisha the pro{)het, that 
 the water of their spring was not gixnl, either 
 to drink, or to water their land for tillage 
 (2 Kings: ii. 19), and that though their city 
 was pleasant, they could not enjoj' it for this 
 reason : and that Elisha purified the spring, 
 " so that the waters were healed unto this 
 day." Beside this spring, now called Ain 
 Sultan, we encamped in the afternoon, and 
 found its waters truly delicious. Nothing 
 

 tm 
 
 1 •■.■- ■' )- jv 
 
 J§^.y';>-;r^; 
 
 
 
 y hejn;innin2; the descent, it 
 It I was i^liid to turn away, 
 the fodt oF tlio moimtain 
 ., supposed by the iMouks 
 the Teinptutii)ii. A few 
 afar, every year, to spend 
 lountaiu, barely siipporliiii; 
 ic by the hi>rbs they tiiid 
 rdlv sav tliat there cati be 
 fixinc on this mounlaiii as 
 the choice of it is jiroba- 
 mmanding the |i!aiii of tlte 
 es — onre no niifair speei- 
 loms of tlie earlli, and the 
 rhe caverns in the face of 
 used as dweliiii'i* or tombs, 
 I of robbers. When some 
 :1 a desire to reaili the low- 
 iheikh who was responsi- 
 ' our ])arty, drew lils sword 
 to show the dagger, and 
 
 !mbered, that the men of 
 to Elisha the pro[)hef , that 
 ;prin!i was not goml, either 
 Iter their land for tillage 
 ind that though their city 
 could not eni')y it for tbi8 
 Slisha purified the sprinja;, 
 irs were healed unto this 
 5 spring, now called Ain 
 ped in the afternoon, and 
 truly delicious. Nothing 
 
 l-Pl 
 
 TKAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 
 
 155 
 
 could be prettier than this encampment, m a 
 spot so forest-like us to contrast strongly with 
 all we had seen for many weeks past. Our 
 tent was cl(«e upon the brink of the clear 
 rushing brook : but the heat was so excessive 
 •hat we could not endure the tent, and had 
 our dirmer table placed under a tree, whose 
 roots wer<^ wash* 1 by the stream. Broad 
 lights glanced upon the rippling waters, and 
 deep green shadows lay upon its pools. Our 
 horses were feeding in the thicket beyond : 
 and the Arabs sot in groups near the tents. 
 Other parties of our compony were dining or 
 lying on the brink of the stream. Every en- 
 campment of travellers in these places is beau- 
 tiful ; but I never but once saw one so beau- 
 tiful as this. After a walk to the remains of 
 an a(iueduct, and other traces (mere traces) of 
 former habitation in the days when Jericho 
 was a great city, I went, with one companion, 
 to see the spring, which was but a short way 
 from our tents. The water bubbled up from 
 under some bushes, and spread itself clear and 
 shallow, among some squared stones, which 
 seemed to show that the source had once been 
 enclosed. By this time it was dusk : the even- 
 ing star hung obove the nearest hill. All was 
 silent about us, except the rustle and dip of 
 the boughs which hung above the water. My 
 companion and I found the temptation to bathe 
 quite irresistible. Under the shadow of a 
 large overhanging tree there was a pool deep 
 enough for the purpose, and there we bathed, 
 rejoicing with the people of Jericho in the 
 sweetuf-ss of the water. . 
 
 The eastern traveller feels a strong incli- 
 nation to bathe in every sucred sea, river, and 
 spring. How great the interest is, and how 
 like that of a new baptism, those at home may 
 not be able to imagine ; and such may de_spi8e 
 the superstition which leads hundreds of pil- 
 grims every year to rush into the Jordan. 
 But, among all the trovellers who visit the 
 Jordan, is there one, however far removed 
 from superstition, who is willing to turn away 
 without having bowed his head in its sacred 
 waters] 
 
 There was no moon to-night : but the stars 
 were glorious when I came out of our tent to 
 take one more look before retiring to rest. 
 Here and there the watch-fires cast yellow 
 gleams on the trees and waters: but there 
 were reaches of the brook, still and cool, 
 where the stars glittered like fragments of 
 moonlight. This day stands in my journal 
 as one of the most delicious of our travels. 
 
 In the early morning, about five o'clch L 
 ascended a steep mound near our encampir ' r t, 
 and saw a view as ditferent from that of \m 
 preceding day, as a change of lights could 
 make it. The sun had not risen ; but there 
 was a hint of its approach, in a gush of pale 
 
 light behind the Moab mountains. The strip 
 of woodland in the middle of the plain looked 
 block in contrast with the brightening yellow 
 precipices of Quarantaniaon the west. South- 
 ward, the Dead sea stretched into the land, 
 gray and clear. Below me, our tents and 
 horses, and the moving figures of the Arabs, 
 enlivened the shadowy banks of the stream. 
 
 We were ofl' sinm after six, and were to 
 reach the banks of the Jordan in about two 
 and a half hours. Our way lay through the 
 same sort of forest-land as we had encamped 
 in. It was very wild ; and almost the only 
 tokens of habita'tion that we met with, were 
 about Ribhah— by some supposed to be the 
 exact site of the ancient Jericho. This is now 
 as miserable a village as any in Palestine ; and 
 its inhabitants are as low in character as in 
 wealth. No stranger thinks of going near it 
 who is not well aiTned. Yet there is need to 
 resort to no means but honest and veir mod- 
 erate industry, to obtain a comfortable sub- 
 sistence here— if only honesty were encour- 
 aged, and industry protected by a good social 
 state. The fine fig-trees that ore scattered 
 around, and the abundant promise of the few 
 crops that are sown, show that the soil and 
 climate are not to blame. At this place there 
 is a 8(piare tower, conspicuous afar above the 
 trees, which some suppose to be the sole rem- 
 nant of the great city : but it can hardly be 
 ancient enough to have belonged to the old 
 Jericho. - , , , , 
 
 On a hillock in the midst of the brushwood, 
 we saw a few birds of such size, that one of 
 the party in a moment of forgetfulness, cried 
 out " ostriches !" There are no ostriches in 
 this country; but these cranes looked very 
 like them, while on their feet. One by one 
 they rose, stretching out their long legs behind 
 them— certainly the largest birds I ever saw 
 fly — or probably shall ever see. 
 
 Though we had been told, and had read, 
 that the river could not be seen till the travel- 
 ler reached its very banks, we could not help 
 looking for it. Three broad terraces have to 
 be traversed ; and then it is sunk in a deep 
 bed, where it rushes hidden among the wood- 
 land. Its depth of water varies much at dif- 
 ferent seasons ; though less now than former- 
 ly. The Scriptures speak so much ot the 
 overflow of Jordan ; and of the lion coming 
 up at the swelling of Jordan, that it is sup- 
 posed that fomieriy the river was subject 
 to inundations which may hove formed the 
 three terraces abovementioned, ana oauB.^d the 
 extraordinary fertility of the plain ii - .i vlmes: 
 and that the virild beasts which theu r.arbored 
 in the bral >"'■■ come up to terrify the dwellers 
 in the fields. However this may have been 
 it is ». „ so now. The cbanv-.i la no doubt 
 deepened; and the river ncv; in the fullert 
 
 IB- 
 
 fi 
 
 it (1' 
 
 if 
 
 It' 
 
 J* 
 
 Mi 
 
 ii 
 
sil 
 
 »Jia 
 
 156 
 
 TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 
 
 season, only brims over its banks into the 
 brakes, so as to stand among the canes, antl 
 never reaches the terraces. 
 
 Though we were all on the Ifwkout, and 
 thonirh we reached the river at the spot which 
 is cleared for the approach o( I he Easter oil- 
 primi, we could not see the wat^'T till wo "o.-M 
 almost touch it. The Unit n< 'i.ie to me of 
 where it was, was from soan! oi' the party dis- 
 mounting on the Pilgrim, i' beui'h — Whf-n I 
 came rp — O! how beaii.if'n! it '/as!- iiow 
 much more bentJtiful than all piciares ai.d all 
 descriptions had led me to r -nect ! The only 
 drawback was thi.t the stream was turbid ; — 
 not only whitish, from n sulphuroiis admixture 
 but .'nu(!oy. But it swept nobly along, with 
 a strcJiy; >ind rapid current, and many eddies, 
 gushing through the thicli woodland ard flow- 
 ing in amt !ig tl^i tall reed-i, now smiting the 
 white rocks of ihe o;>posicc shor^, imd now 
 winding away out of sight, behind the pop- 
 lars and acacitis an 1 lall reeii- which crowd 
 its banks. It is i.v t a iiroad rive ;■ , but it is full 
 of majesty from its force and loveliness. The 
 vigorous, up-springing character of the wrwd 
 along its margin, struck me much; and w 
 saw it now in its viv-d Spring green. 
 
 The pilgrims rush into the sacred river in 
 such numbers, and wi)l\ so little precaution as 
 to the strength of the. current, that no year 
 passes without some h; s of life ; and usually 
 several perish. Th.s year only one was 
 drowned. "Whatever superstition there might 
 have been among our company, it was not of 
 this wild sort ; and we batiied m safety. The 
 ladies went north ; the ;;entlemen south. I 
 made a way through the thicket with difficul- 
 ty, till I found a little cove which the current 
 (Ed not enter, and over which hung a syca- 
 more, whose lower branches were washed hy 
 the ripple, which the current sent in as it 
 passed. On these branches the bather might 
 stand or sit, without touching the mud, which 
 lay soft and deep below. The limestone pre- 
 cipice ond wooded promontory opposite, made 
 the river particularly beautiful here ; and sor- 
 ry I was to leave it at last. 
 
 It is useless to attempt to make out where 
 the baptism of Jesus took place, or where his 
 disciples and John administered the rite. And 
 on the s[)ot one has no pressing wish to know. 
 The whole of this river is so sacred and so 
 sweet that it is enough to have saluted it in 
 any part of its course. 
 
 The belt of woodland soon turned away 
 eastward, and we found ourselves exposed to 
 extreme heat, on a desolate plain crusted with 
 salt and cracked w'u irought. There had 
 been a closeness anc "^-'Wness in the air all 
 the momfr.^, whic'^; v* as very oppressive ; and 
 now it was V orr • ual slow pace almost in- 
 1 tolerable. T t .' tiy horse to a fast canter. 
 
 and crossed the plain as quickly as possible, 
 finding this pace o relief to my horse as well 
 as myself. The drift on the beach of the sea 
 looked dreary enough ; ridges of broken canes 
 and willow twigs, washed up, and lying among 
 the salt and the little unwholesome swumps of 
 thf. shore ; but the water looked bright and 
 clcrir, and so tempting, that our horses put 
 'he'f noses down repeatedly, always turning 
 ,-' \'. iiy in disgust. I tasted the water — about 
 t '-ii "drops — and I almost thought I should nev- 
 er ;..jt the taste out of my mouth again. And 
 thir'. is the water that ixxjr Costigan's cofl"ee 
 was made of ! 
 
 Costigan was a young Irishman, whose 
 mind was possessed with the idea of exjjlo- 
 ring the Dead sea, and giving the world the 
 benefit of his discoveries. It would have been 
 a useful service ; and he had zeal and devo- 
 teiiness enough JFor it. But he wanted either 
 knowledge or prudence ; and he lost his life 
 in the adventure, without having left us any 
 additional information whatever. He had a 
 small boat carried overland by camels ; and 
 in this he set forth (in an open boat in the 
 month of July ! ) with only one attendant, a 
 Maltese servant. They reached the south- 
 em end of the lake — not without hardship and 
 difficulty ; but the fatal struggle was in get- 
 ting back again. The wind did not favor them, 
 and once blew such a squall that they had to 
 lighten the boat, when the servant stupidly 
 threw overboord the only cask of fresh water 
 that they had. They were now compelled 
 to row for their lives, to reach the Jordan be- 
 fore they perished with thirst ; but the snn 
 scorche(f them from a cloudless skjr, and the 
 air was like a furnace. When Costigan could 
 row no longer, his servant made some cofl'ee 
 from the water of the loke, and then they lay 
 down in the boat to die. But the man once 
 more roused himself, and by many efforts 
 brought the boat to the head of the lake. 
 They lay helpless for » whole day on the 
 burning shore, unable to do more than throw 
 the salt water over each other from time to 
 time. The next morning, the servant crawled 
 away, in hopes of reaching Ribhah, which he 
 did with extreme difficulty. He sent Costi- 
 gan's horse down to the shore, with a supply 
 of water. He was alive, and was carried to 
 Jerusalem in the coolness of the night. He 
 was taken care of in the Latin convent there ; 
 but he died in two days. Not a note rela- 
 ting to his enterprise was ever found ; and du- 
 ring his illness he never spoke on the subject. 
 Any knowledge that he might have gaineil, 
 has perished with him ; and no reliable infor- 
 mation could be obtained from his servant. 
 Costigan's grave is in the American burying- 
 ground ; and there I saw the stone which tells 
 his melancholy story. He died in 1835. 
 
plain OS quickly as possible, 
 relief to my horse as well 
 drift on the beach of the sea 
 ough ; ridges of broken canes 
 . washed up, and lying among 
 ittle unwholesome swamps of 
 ;he water looked bright and 
 mpting, that our horses j)ut 
 n repeatedly, always turning 
 I tasted the water — about 
 [ almost thought I should nev- 
 )Ut of my mouth again. And 
 r that poor Costigan's cofl(;e 
 
 a young Irishman, whose 
 ssed with the idea of explo- 
 ea, and giving the world the 
 Mveries. It would have been 
 ; and he had zeal and devo- 
 for it. But he wanted either 
 ■udence ; and he lost his life 
 !, without having left us any 
 nation whatever. He had a 
 ed overland by camels ; and 
 irth (in an open boat in the 
 ) with only one attendant, a 
 . They reached the south- 
 ke — ^not without hardship and 
 the fatal struggle was in get- 
 
 The wind did not favor them, 
 uch a 8(iuall that they had to 
 t, when the servant stupidly 
 I the only cask of fresh water 
 
 They were now compelled 
 lives, "to reach the Jordan be- 
 hed with thirst ; but the sun 
 'rom a cloudless sky, and the 
 mace. When Costigan could 
 lis servant made some coflee 
 of the lake, and then they lay 
 It to die. But the man once 
 imself, and by many efforts 
 at to the head of the lake, 
 less for » whole day on the 
 mable to do more than throw 
 ver each other from time to 
 t morning, the servant crowled 
 of reaching Ribhah, which he 
 le difficulty. He sent Costi- 
 Ti to the shore, with a supply 
 was alive, and was carried to 
 le coolness of the night. He 
 of in the Latin convent there ; 
 two days. Not a note rela- 
 prise was ever found ; and du- 
 he never spoke on the subject, 
 i that he might have gained, 
 ith him ; and no reliable infor- 
 1)6 obtained from his servant, 
 e is in the American burying- 
 ere I saw the stone which tells 
 story. He died in 1835. 
 
 There appears to be no satisfactory evi- 
 di'nce, as to wliether uny lish are to be found 
 ill the Dfad sea. Our guides said, that some 
 sniall bliick-tish have i)ci'n seen there ; but 
 others deny this. A dead fish has been found 
 ' 1 the shore, near the spot where the Jordan 
 enters the lake ; but this might have been cast 
 up by the overllow of the river. It is said, 
 lliat sinull birds do not lly over this lake, on 
 account of the deleterious nature of its atmo- 
 sphere. About small birds I can not speak ; 
 but I saw two or three vultures winging their 
 way down it obli(piely. The curious lights 
 which hung over the surface, struck me as 
 showing an unusual state of the atmosphere 
 —the purple musky light resting on one part, 
 and the line of silvery refrui-tion in another. 
 Though the sky was clear after the morning 
 clouds had jiassed away, the sunshine appeared 
 dim ; and the heat was very opnressive. The 
 gentlemen of the party who stayed behind to 
 DUthe declared, on rejoining us at lunch- time, 
 that they had found the common report of the 
 buoyancy of the water of this sea, not at all 
 exaggerated, and that it was indeed an easy 
 matter to float in it, and very difficult to sink. 
 They also found their hair and skin powdered 
 with salt when dry. But they coiild not ad- 
 mit the greasiness or stickiness which is said 
 to adhere to the skin after bathing in the Dead 
 sea. They were very positive about this; 
 am' they certainly did observe the fact verj, 
 carefully. Yet I have seen since my return, 
 a clergyman who bathed there, and who de- 
 clared" to me that his skin was so sticky for 
 some "ays after, that he could not get rid of 
 it, even from his hands. And the trustworthy 
 Dr. Robinson, a late traveller there, says : 
 " After coming out, I perceived nothing of the 
 salt crust upon the body, of which so many 
 speak. There was a slight pricking sensa- 
 tion, especially where the skin had been cha- 
 fed ; and a sort of greasy feeling, as of oil, 
 upon the skin which lasted for several hours." 
 The contrast of these testimonies, and the di- 
 versity which exists among the analyses of 
 the waters which have been made by chym- 
 ists, seem to show that the quality of the wa- 
 ters of the Dead sea varies. And it appears 
 reasonable that it should ; for it must make a 
 great difference, whether fresh waters have 
 been pouring into the basin of the lake, after 
 the winter rains, or a great evaporation has 
 been going on, under the summer's sun. In 
 following the margin of the sea, we had to 
 cross a creek, where my skirt was splashed. 
 These splashes turned presently to thin crusts 
 of salt ; and the moisture and stickiness were 
 as great a week afterward as at the moment. 
 We wound among salt marshes and brakes, 
 in and out on the desolate shore of this sea— 
 this sea which is not the le*s dead and dreary 
 
 for being as clear and blue as a fresh mount- 
 ain tarn. As we ascended the ranges of hills 
 which lay between us and the convent where 
 we were to rest, the Jordan valley opened 
 northward, and the Dead sea soutliward, till 
 the extent traversed by the eye, was really 
 vast. How beautiful must it have been once, 
 wl: .n the Jordan valley, whose verdure was 
 now shrunk into a black line amid the sunds, 
 was like an intenninuble garden ; and when 
 the " cities of the plain," stood bright and 
 busy, where the Dead sea now lay blank and 
 gray ! As I took my last look back, from a 
 great elevation, I thought that so mournful a 
 landscape, for one havmg real beauty, I had 
 never seen. 
 
 CULTIVATION OF THE MIND. 
 
 It has sometimes been thought that the 
 cultivation of the mind would be an injury to 
 those who obtain their livelihood by manual 
 labor ; that supposing every man, be his oc- 
 cupation what it may, were to have his mind 
 highly cultivated, it would render him uneasy 
 in his lot. Nothing can be wider from the 
 truth. A single word will exjjlain it— and 
 that is, that as vou raise men toward equality 
 in intellect anif education, you bring them 
 nearer actual ecjuality — and the distinctions 
 of ])roperty and occupation will sink away to 
 nothing. Was Washington any less respect- 
 ed when he became a practical farmer, than 
 when at the head of the nation 1 No culti- 
 vated, intellectual man, can be degraded by 
 his employment. It is the mind that makes 
 the man, and that makes one man e(|ual to 
 another ; and if we were to solve the problem 
 how to make a whole community contented, 
 we would raise them as near to an eijuality 
 in education as possible. The two best-edu- 
 cated nations on the face of the earth, are, it 
 is supposed, Denmark and the United States. 
 The government of the one is despotism, and 
 that of the other, its opposite, republicanism. 
 And yet the inhabitantsof these two countries 
 are probably the best contented of any in the 
 world. 
 
 An educated mind has so many resources 
 within itself, that it has not to depend upon 
 outward circumstances for happiness. A 
 man with a cultivated intellect would feel 
 neither disgrace nor uneasiness to have^ you 
 find him at" the anvil; nor would you, if you 
 had a mind rightly educated, respect him any 
 the less. "I well recollect," says a celebra- 
 ted statesman, " calling in my college-days, 
 to deliver a letter of introduction, to a gentle- 
 man whom I found cleaning out hi« bam- 
 
 f'i 1 
 
 M 
 
 "■it..». « 
 
sJis 
 
 168 
 
 CULTIVATION OP THB MIND. 
 
 yard, with his leather apron girded round 
 him and his team his only helpers. I knew 
 that ho had led men in bottle in other days, 
 and that then ho was the honored governor 
 of one of the New England states: and I 
 received a lesson from him by the call, which 
 I trust I shall never forget. The interview 
 made a deep impression on my heart." What 
 must be the contentment of a community who 
 needed so little of government that their chief 
 magistrate might till his own little farm, and 
 gain his bread by the sweat of his brow ! 
 
 A very great number of our most valuable 
 inventions and improvements ore to be traced 
 to intelligent men in the common walks of 
 life. And there can bo no doubt that in pro- 
 portion to the intelligence of the mass of com- 
 munity will be the advancement of the world 
 toward its final glory. 
 
 An intelligent man was a soap-maker. He 
 noticed that after all the alkali had been ex- 
 hausted, the ley would rapidly corrode his 
 copper kettles. Unable to explain tho phe- 
 nomenon, he took some of it to an eminent 
 chymist. On analyzing it, the chyniist dis- 
 covered a new substance, hitherto unknown, 
 viz. : the metal called iodine. Further in- 
 vestigation traced thu^ to the ashes, then to 
 the sea-weed from whici\ the ashes had been 
 made — then to the ocean, to salt springs and 
 to all marine substances. A physician in 
 Germany reads the account, and recollects 
 that he had heard ihat burned sponge had 
 been known to cure the horrible, and till then 
 incurable, disease called the goi/re— which 
 afflicts whole districts in the south of Europe. 
 He conjectures that it is the iodine in the 
 sponge which effects the cure, and he accord- 
 ingly applies the iodine to the goitre, and it is 
 foiind that it is almost on infallible cure. 
 Thus a world of misery is prevented by the 
 shrewdness of the soap-boiler. 
 
 A few years since, the s. nrvy was the ter- 
 ror of the seas. Whole cf ows were cut do^vn, 
 and more than once the case has been known, 
 in which the bodies of the dead sewed up in 
 sail-cloth, have laid rolling on the deck, day 
 after day, because the crew were too much 
 withered to raise them over the nettings and 
 commit them to the deep. Admiral Hosier, 
 who sailed for the West Indies with seven 
 ships-of-the-linc, during the last century, lost 
 all his men twice over, during the single 
 voyage, and himself died of a broken heart 
 before he reached home. What a blessing 
 did that man bestow, who informed the world 
 that the simple acid of the lemon taken daily 
 would banish this fearful disease ! It is now 
 almost unknown even in the most crowded 
 ships. , 
 
 The discovery of Franklin, a mon at taat 
 time in common life, by which the lightnings 
 
 of Heaven are brought under the control of 
 man, is on example m jioint. In Franco and 
 Germany, where the lightnings ore far more 
 destructive than with us, this discovery is 
 valued as it ought to be. 
 
 We might l(H)k at the lighthouse as it was, 
 ond as it now is, to see the immense imjirove- 
 ments which have been made, and in conse- 
 quence of which life is saved in multitudes 
 of instances. We might point to the Hfe- 
 boot, which will now shoot out in the howl- 
 ing storm, and which will ride over any raging 
 of the deep, and show that it is to the iiittl- 
 ligence of every-dny-loboring mechanics, that 
 we owe this valuable machine for saving hu- 
 man life. We might mention the sections 
 of Europe where the at.nosphere is poisoned 
 by malarious exhalations, and show what an 
 amount of sickness and death has been pre- 
 vented by quinine — a simple discovery, but 
 one of immense value. 
 
 It was found that the steel dust which was 
 created by grinding needles, and which is in- 
 expressibly minute, filled the atmosphere, 
 and the eyes and the lungs, and invariobly 
 caused consumption. Gauze veils of the 
 finest texture were tried, but oil to no pur- 
 pose. No veil could prevent it from entering 
 the eyes and the lungs. At last a workman 
 notices a child playing with a magnet— draw- 
 ing the needles and steel dust after it — as we 
 have all done in childhood. The discovery is 
 now mode. A veil of fine mo^etic wire is 
 drawn over the face — and the air is strained 
 pure — all the dust of the steel being attracted 
 and held by the wire, and the labor of grind- 
 ing needles is now hardly more dangerous than 
 any other business. 
 
 These examples have been adduced (and 
 they might be greatly extended)— and won- 
 ders, like those achieved by the cotton-gin 
 and by vaccination, might be dwelt upon al- 
 most indefinitely— not because they are of 
 course new, but because they show that mind 
 and intelhgence in the workshop are as valu- 
 able, and of as much use to the human family, 
 as if they were employed in writing folios. 
 One single fact brought into notice — one 
 single phenomenon brought into view, and its 
 explanation obtained, may be unmeasured in 
 its results upon the world. Usefulness and 
 respectability come from the union of a good 
 heart and an intelligent mind,, and are to be 
 monopolized by no station or occupation. 
 
 While Scotland sends more of her sons to 
 college, in proportion to her population, than 
 any other country ; two of the New England 
 states, Massachusetts and Connecticut, are 
 next to her in this respect, and all New Eng- 
 land, and also New York, far before her, in 
 giving their children the blessings of free 
 schools. We feel that these schools, far in 
 
 :=yB 
 
 "«&- 
 
 M»L . 
 
)ucht under the control of 
 e in point. In France onj 
 the hghtnincs are far more 
 with U8, this Ji«covery i» 
 
 to be. 
 
 at the lighthouse as it was, 
 } see the immense improve- 
 s been made, and in conse- 
 life is saved in multitudes 
 e might point to the life- 
 low shoot out ill the howl- 
 ich will ride over any ruging 
 show that it is to the iiitol- 
 ay-luboring mechanics, that 
 ible machine for saving hu- 
 night mention the sections 
 the at.nospherc is poisoned 
 alations, and show what an 
 f)3 and death has been pre- 
 ;c — a simple discovery, but 
 alue. 
 
 lat the steel dust which was 
 ng needles, and which is in- 
 ite, filled the atmosphere, 
 [1 the lungs, and invariably 
 ion. Gauze veils of the 
 ire tried, but all to no pur- 
 nild prevent it from entering 
 lungs. At last a workman 
 ayingvnth a magnet — draw- 
 nil steel dust after it — as we 
 :hildho<jd. The discovery is 
 'eil of fine ma^etic wire is 
 ice — and the air is strained 
 It of the steel being attracted 
 (vire, and the labor of grind- 
 V hardly more dangerous than 
 ss. 
 
 les have been adduced (and 
 ;reatly extended) — and won- 
 
 achievcd by the cotton-gin 
 on, might be dwelt upon al- 
 f — not because they are of 
 because they show that mind 
 in the workshop are as valu- 
 luch use to the human family, 
 
 employed in writing folios. 
 t brought into notice — one 
 ion brought into view, and its 
 lined, may be unmeasured in 
 
 the world. Usefulness and 
 ime from the union of a good 
 lelligent mind,, and are to be 
 no station or occupation, 
 nd sends more of ner sons to 
 ortion to her population, than 
 ry ; two of the New England 
 lusetts and Connecticut, are 
 lis respect, and all New Eng- 
 New York, far before her, in 
 lildren the blessings of free 
 eel that these schools, far in 
 
 idiB 
 
 I 
 
 advance of anythinj? of the kind on the face 
 of the earth, arc the glory and the safety <)f 
 our institutions. We feel that we may safely 
 commit the dear interests of liberty to an e(f- 
 ncftted community : and that next to the re- 
 ligion of the b(K)k of 0(h1, there is no such 
 safeguard to these institutions. Every in- 
 crease of intelligence in our land, gives an 
 increase of r<infidcnce in the stability and 
 p-rmnnence of our institutions. 
 
 The objects to be obtained by cultivating 
 the mind, and for the sake of which we have 
 referred to various examples to encourage 
 others in the cultivation of their minds, arc 
 these ; — 
 
 1. To possess the power of fixing the miml 
 on any subject wished, and holding the atten- 
 tion upon it as long a time as is desired. This 
 is a very important thing, and he who has ac- 
 (|niro<l this power, has done a great work for 
 himself. It can not be acquired without many 
 and long ellorts, 
 
 2. To fix in the mind the elementary 
 jirinciples of all that pertains to life : such as. 
 the principles of science, of business, of poli- 
 tics, government, laws, and religion. 
 
 3. To give the mind precision of thought. 
 
 4. To give the power of using language, 
 and defining what is meant by such terms as 
 we commonly use when we sneak or think. 
 
 5. To fill "the mind with the materials of 
 thought, such as facts which we read, observe, 
 and hear. 
 
 6. To teach the mind where to go for in- 
 formation — that is, from whot sourcLS it may 
 draw. 
 
 7. To teach the mind how to take up a 
 subject, investigate it, and draw conclusions 
 on which it may rely. 
 
 8. To cultivate the judgment as to what 
 facts are worth preserving, and what are ap- 
 plicable in proving or illustrating a particular 
 subject. 
 
 9. To cultivate the memory so that the 
 materials which are gathered, may not be dis- 
 sipated and lost as fast as gathered. 
 
 It may be thought that we have laid out 
 the work of a life here, and so we have in- 
 tended to do; but if the objects to be accom- 
 plished are considered, it will he found that 
 no one of these can be omitted in cultivating 
 the mind in a proper manner. We cim not, 
 of course, have all these objects specially be- 
 fore the mind whenever we exercise it ; but 
 they are to be the points to which we should 
 bring the mind in all its wanderings, and in 
 a cultivated mind these several points will 
 unconsciously receive attention. 
 
 All this discipline of the mind only looks 
 to a high and noble object — which is to pre- 
 pare the mind to be the receptacle of light 
 and knowhidge, the image of God, and the 
 
 unseen glories of an eternal state. In all our 
 contemplations of the mind, we liK)k upon it 
 as an immortal existenci-, and that it is for 
 that state of immortolity it is now to be pre- 
 pared. Educotion docs not mean going to 
 scluxil during our boyhood, or going U) college 
 in youth, but it means the power to take our 
 mind and make it an instrument of conveying 
 knowledge and good impressions upon other 
 minds, as well as being itself made happy. 
 To cultivate the mind, then, does not mean 
 to reod much or little, to converse and to ob- 
 serve, but to discipline it in all ways in our 
 j)owcr. We do not expect that every one 
 will discipline his mind so that he can observe 
 and think as well as Franklin — but what then? 
 Is this a reason why we should not do what 
 we can? Neither could BVanklin reason like 
 Isaac Newton, and bring the universe at his 
 feet. What then ? Was this a reason why 
 he should not do all he could ? 
 
 BEAUTY OF A BENEVOLENT LIFE. 
 
 Without an enlarged consideration of the 
 nature of things, it might be supposed that 
 every man should devote himself to his own 
 welfare, and never feel obliged to rendi-r as- 
 sistance to others. Can not every one attend 
 to his own interests better than a second per- 
 son can ottend to thrm ? And does not evil 
 rather than good ensue, when each man neg- 
 lects his own individual concerns and devotes 
 himself to the afTairs of his neighbor? But 
 the Author of our constitution has not proceed- 
 ed on the principle of concentrating the ac- 
 tivities of every individual upon himself. He 
 has chosen to diffuse them from each person 
 as a centre, through the area of a large circle. 
 He has not made the human eor so that it 
 shall be turned inward for hearkening to the 
 circulation of the blood, and to the sound of 
 every movement of a muscle or a nerve ; but 
 he has made it so that it shall turn its atten- 
 tion outward, and shall take in the music that 
 floats along the air, and open itself to the 
 whispering zephyrs and the roar of the water- 
 falls. Gotl has not made the human eye so 
 that it shall introvert its gaze and look behind 
 itself at the curious play of the nerves and 
 tendons, and the network of veins and arte- 
 ries ; but he has so made the eye that it shall 
 look outward, and extend its range over long 
 drawn valleys and the winding course of rivers, 
 and along the sweep of thefieavens. Neither 
 has he made the human heart so that it shall 
 find its true repose in clustering its afTections 
 around itself; but the mother will cling to 
 her child, and the child will reach out its arms 
 
 III 
 
 ifc' t 
 
IbO 
 
 THK WASP KAMILY, 
 
 tn hid mothrr ; th*- iinrent difruses chrorfiil- 
 ness tlir iiifih iIk- I'liinily circle, tiiiil one tiiniily 
 iinpiiiN >f'n» iilciisuros to thr tnni:lil>i>rlnx)'l. 
 anil till' iiciuhborhoiKl lufl iiii intercut in llie 
 town, nnil the town in the nation, nntl the 
 nuii'ii in other ■ oniitrips of the world. I)>'- 
 praveil us is the hcnrt ot mnn, it wa« yet mude 
 for hcnovoh'iit Bcl m, nod will never be in 
 its due 111 .'ill iind vijjor unless it «xerci*o 
 its(df for I he welfiire of the worlil. As the 
 iuminnrv of duy wiis not crented so that all its 
 rays will converge to one ])oint, but riUher 
 m that they will diverge throus;hout the whole 
 system of jdanets; mid as it R.ves liKht to the 
 moon, but the moon instantly imnorts the 
 bright gift to the earili, nnd the ciirtli redects 
 it ^» thr. ,me of man; so the human constuii- 
 lio.i %v . .1 ver designed for contracting its 
 agencies within the sphere of its own ginnl, but 
 for ditTusing its radiance throughout the whole 
 family to which it belonois. 
 
 Benevolence is a fundomental law of our 
 moral being; and the man who labors for his 
 fellow-men secures thereby the gratification 
 of his most commanding pniirii.les of action; 
 but he who lalwrs for himselt alone, stirs up 
 against his own peace some of the most ope- 
 rative elements of his nature. The Deity 
 knew well that a disposition to labor for sel- 
 fish ends is destructive of man's true interests ; 
 and that a disposition to labor for the common 
 good, is the only sure way of securing g(Kxl 
 for self; thereiore has he devolved on us 
 many acts of beneficence which be might him- 
 self have performed as e; ,y as omitted. 
 He miaht speak a single word to the Hindixi 
 widuw as she ascends the funeral pile of Iwr 
 hi'' ind, and she would p. down again in r 
 ri . riiind ; but he chooses to set the sp 
 cle before our own eye.-, and to U t us hear the 
 ohrieks of the si ""immi luting woman, s. that 
 our compassion imy be moved ni ' om- ener- 
 gJBS enlisted in her service. He alls us to 
 the bank« of the Oonges, and bids us look 
 pon the mother forcing from her breasts the 
 hild that w-^eps and 8truggk.M to remain with 
 ..■r, and thi wing it into tiie stream where 
 the eager alligators are gamboling for ''RJr 
 prey. He could easily rebuke the fr ,tic 
 mother, and she woukl pr^ss her loved one 
 'loser to her \> .- im; but he chooses to touch 
 our i>iry, and uppeal to our benevolerv^e, and 
 to command us to send bi^ gospel into '1 the 
 wo 1.1. that it may ca.^t out the dem s of 
 jiiKerstitinn and may let iht bond-sl 
 he'e'heuism go tree. He bid:- i-; walk i 
 nations over thi- dolorou , way tra' 
 (le oar of .Tuggern. t, and walled on t 
 nith the bones ot rushed victim 
 set Hefore our eyes I dreds and thousands 
 of living men, hanging n transverse beams 
 upon hooks that have y> > jraied their n-us- 
 
 ' rles, ntid swinging round ond rotmtl in torture ; 
 I He jiiiices all these Imrliarous scenes brfnrp 
 j our visioi\, so that the eye may utiiiet the 
 I heart, atid the heart may be roused to a r.oly 
 •purjMwe. For un to do, the work is left ; for 
 our g(K)d it is, that we address oursflves to 
 the w(trk in earnest; for the higln -it good of 
 our whol' character, the good of benevolence 
 encourage, I, of philanthropy developed, of 
 a spiritual temper cherished and strengthen- 
 ed; a giKxl purchased at threat f.ipmM, even 
 til miseries of our own fellow-men — they 
 811 ring 80 that we may be made more com- 
 poasiunaie. 
 
 ^ of 
 our 
 lied 
 
 iher 
 He 
 
 THE WASP FAMILY. 
 
 Poets and essnyists are in the habit of 
 likening the wasp to fops of another genus, and 
 vice versa. Thi.s (juestionablc sort of reputa- 
 tion these insects must ascribe to tlicir sjden- 
 did caparis. n, and to their apparently useless 
 position in the world. The simile is more 
 true in a more curious respect ; for there are 
 onnual reunions of these elittering creatures, 
 ju.st as in the fashionobli v-nHd — a fashiona- 
 ble season of a few moulli and then all dis- 
 perse again. Tl economy of the wasp fami- 
 ly possesses considerable interest, and deserves 
 far more attention than, in our hostile state f 
 fceliii' toward the race, we are readily (I - 
 posed io believe. Tt is only necessary that 
 the real ;;haractf r of the tribe should be known, 
 to remove at least l' bl of laziness from it. 
 That thev are a set Id, insolent, daring 
 
 robbers, lio one can il ^ t give them their 
 
 due, and we il admit Imi there is much in 
 their habit -vingouradmir itioii, and that 
 
 even their .. ..iaciOUBth "shave theirrcdeem- 
 ing points. 
 
 The genera' aspt 'ho i tsy dtt, or 
 
 wasps, is sutSciently Ju < ir obviate the 
 necessity <it' description, 'i . black ond 
 gold-painted idies, their powerful .nandibles, 
 formide''le snugs, and sr surface destitute 
 of hairs, are present to the eye at the very 
 mention of the word. The si .ciety consists of 
 mules, fe!' ales, ond tieuters, < ich having th'^ir 
 appropriate functions ; but i be males, on the 
 whole, leading the quietest and least arduous 
 lives. The females ere the hurd-working 
 foundr ses of the colony, and the neuters are 
 wasps all-work— robbing, fighting, defend- 
 ing, nurning, and building, indifferently and ly 
 turns. Their histor commences most cotive- 
 j nient iy for our purpo-cs in the spnng. At the 
 conclusion of the preced-ng summer, the mules, 
 ter pairins:, all died, and the mained i it 
 la f' V fen, ''s behind of a" the busy ranks 
 
rouml mill ntnnd in tortiirp ; 
 
 so liiirli;irnijn srciicM hrl'ure 
 It the (-y<! niny iilllii't tUo 
 irt limy \»' rmiNiMl tn it v.oly ] 
 to do, the w'lrk is left ; tiir 
 ut we orlilrc-o' nursi'lvc* to j 
 lit; tiir the hisln -t 'fi«n\ of I 
 cr, tile goiHl III" l)C]icv(»l)'iic(! 
 hiluiitludpy (1ov('1(»|)(mI. of 
 r chfirinhfil and strciiKtln'ii- 
 aned at grenl f.xprnsr., cvtm 
 )ur own I'pllow-nicii — they 
 ve may be made more com- 
 
 ^ASP FAMILY. 
 
 inyists are in the habit of 
 to fops of another genus, and 
 (puwtionable sort of reputa- 
 mijst ascribe to their splen 
 1 to thiir apparently useles'* 
 irorld. The simile is more 
 ridim respect: for there ore 
 )f these elittcring creatures, 
 ihionablf ^vorld — a fashiomi 
 \v inoiitli and then all dis- 
 economy of the wasp fami- 
 b^rable interest, and deserves 
 1 than, in our hostile state f 
 he race, we are readily d 
 
 It is only necessary that 
 of the tribe should be known, 
 t \}'- bi of laziness from it. 
 set id, insolent, daring 
 
 m di • vft cive them their 
 1 admit ;hn' there is much in 
 ving our admirUion, and that 
 loustb ''shavt •heirrcdeera- 
 
 aspt . the /'iv 7<«, or 
 
 ;iitly lain lar * obviate the 
 icription. '1 , black and 
 les, tlii'i' powerful fnandibles, 
 I, and ir surface destitute 
 ssent to the eye at the very 
 ord. Th(! snciety consists of 
 ml neuters, i ich having th-'ir 
 tions; but ilie males, on the 
 de quietest and least anluous 
 nales ere the hard-working 
 »e colonv, and the neuters are 
 ik— robbing, fighting, defend- 
 
 building, indifferently and )y 
 istor commences most conve- 
 urpoes in the spnng. At the 
 
 preceding sumrnf-r, the nuile-*. 
 I died, and thi -mained lut 
 behind of a'^ tlie busy ranks 
 
 T-^ 
 
 I 
 
 THB WASP FAMILY. 
 
 161 
 
 »hich crowded the vespiary. These are awa- 
 .^eiied liy the return ot spring. The solitary 
 wasj) finds herself immediately snintnoned to 
 active duties. She has to construct the car- 
 coss, and to excavate the earthwork, for her 
 future pi'oplo and city- Serious us is the task, 
 »he has to elli-ct it all alone ; not a single com- 
 panion to cheer her hours of incessant toil, or 
 to lighten her labor by a single loud ! Her 
 energies are equal to tlie undertaking : she is 
 to be seen bu//inj^ about in the sunny morn- 
 ings, liKiking out tor a site. It is sinm found : 
 it is some dry, warm bank ; ond here sb sets 
 to her work. She perforates it, and f ins a 
 long circuitous tunnel, at the extremity of 
 which she digs out a vault of considerable di- 
 mensions. This task is pi;rformed in no care- 
 less or slovenly manner ; although every par- 
 ticle of rubbish which the little excovator teors 
 from the walls of her cavern niu-.t be carried 
 in her jaws, she dot'S not leave it at the en- 
 trance, but voluntarily entails upon herself the 
 vast additional labor of casting it away to some 
 distance. Her di sign in so doing appears to 
 be principally to ovoid the risk of her cell be- 
 ing discovered by a heap of rubbish at the fixit 
 of the bunk. After the labor of excavation is 
 ended, the walls are to be jiliistered, and to 
 this fresh duty she at once addresses herself. 
 Surely every person has seen the nest of the 
 wasp, and wondered at its exquisite and deli- 
 cate architecture of celled paper ? Behold the 
 architect ! The nest is really made of paper : 
 it was for some time a puzzle to our philoso- 
 phers. Reaumur appears first to have de- 
 tected the wasp in the very act of this manu- 
 facture. He beheld her alight on a deal win- 
 dow-frame ; and watching, saw her tear a bun- 
 dle of delicate, hair-like fibres, about an inch 
 in length, from it, bruising the woody fibre 
 with her mandibles until it became like a fine 
 lint. This is the material from which the 
 papyraceous plaster is to be prepared. Fly- 
 ing away with it to her abode, it is there made 
 into a proper consistence by the addition of her 
 tenacious saliva ; and when this part of the 
 process is complete, it forms a fine, smooth, 
 adhesive paste, precisely analogous to the 
 product of our cumbrous and costly mechan- 
 ism papier marhe. Rolling it into a sort of 
 pellet, she conwy I.' the summit of the 
 dome, plasters it on the ^ •■'•'' and spreads it 
 out, by means of her k(; iws, into a very 
 
 thin lamina, which is vt ;.iii ;)le paper. Leaf 
 after U iif must be added, until the whole cav- 
 ity is thus papered or plastered over, and not 
 with one coat alone ; generally the insect lays 
 down fif( en or sixteen, leaving spaces be- 
 tween eu layer, for the advantages of inward 
 lightness nd strength to her ceiling. Her la- 
 UofK do n< I'nd here. She has built the walls 
 01 city : it remains for her to commence the 
 
 edifices, and supply the population. She builds 
 a terrace of hexagonal cells, of marvellous ex- 
 actness, and suspends it bv papff pulars from 
 the r(K)f of her texture. These terraces emu- 
 late in elegance and artistic skill, and far sur- 
 pass in utility, the famous hanging gardens 
 and terraces of the renowned city of old. A 
 f>>w hundred cells are thus constructed, and at 
 
 ;th an interval of comparative repose awaits 
 tl.r laborer, while she priMX'cds to fulfil her 
 more proper duties as a parent. Single-liaiid- 
 ed, she has laid the foundation of the vtsp- 
 polis, and has marked out the general design 
 if its future buildings ; but she must have fur- 
 ther -Histuiice before the city will beiimipletc. 
 Till walls, ot present bare and desolate, the 
 palace empty and still, are soon to resound 
 with the hum of life, and with the busy labors 
 of a new generation. In the cells the insect 
 deposites her ova, gluing them to the walls by 
 an adhesive substance; these are soon hutched, 
 they become Inrvic, and are for -iome time en- 
 tirely dependent upon their pai nt's exertions 
 for their supply of food. Shi is to forage 
 for this numerous u>»\ voracio- ■ oro: , and 
 runs about from cell to cell ^^ itn thi utmost 
 solicitude, while the grubs put forth their 
 mouths, and are fed by her just as the " < ol- 
 low brood" of a bird is fed. Most pleasing is 
 it to ibserve the anxious mother keeping watch 
 ovei lier otrspring. ond apparently many a 
 neeiile."- time popjiing her head into their snug 
 cots, as if to see how they do, and to give a 
 mouthful of food now and then to some render 
 young larva not yet big enough to ))ut its head 
 out to be fed ! A few weeks slip by — a great 
 change has come over the vespiary : it is re- 
 plete with life ; hundreds of workers hove been 
 bom in the interim, and ore now laboring might 
 and main, with the cmperess at their head, to 
 extend the buildings, and enlarge the city. 
 When complete, a vespiary has been calcu- 
 lated to contain obout fifteen or sixteen thou- 
 sand cells, each of which is thrice a cradle ; 
 and therefore, in a single season, each iiest 
 will probably be the birthplace of full thirty 
 thousand wasps ! 
 
 Such is the birth and development of this 
 insect colony — a lesson to states, and nations, 
 and individuals, of the certain results of in- 
 domitable perseverance. Let us trace out its 
 government and destinies. The enqieress — 
 the protoplast of this interesting microcosm, 
 the foundress of this bustling republic — is an 
 exaggerated type of the duties of its female 
 members. These are produced in compara- 
 tively small numbers ; they perform the prop- 
 er duties of wives and mothers ; they stay at 
 'uime, feed the children, and attend to the 
 . . urseries ; they mostly perish before >vinter ; 
 but a few, more hardy than their fellows, en- 
 dure its cold, and become the perpetuators of 
 
 • ill 
 
 
 i * 
 
 .4. . 
 
 

 the rocc in the eniuing Bpring. The innlri, 
 according to iho youngiT Hubcr, are far more 
 imluntriou* thon th« inalf? t>co«t, or drones, but 
 ttro h»» active iv tar than the nfutrrn, or 
 working-wa»pM. Thoy have the peace lul <i( ■ 
 cupuiion of scavenBirinn the utrects : they 
 »wi;ei> tho floors of the tcrnices and avenues, 
 and Jilijjfntly carry off cviry ^article of rub- 
 bish. They also undertake tno funerals of 
 ony deceased componions, and spet^dily cast 
 the deod b(Kli( < out of the vespiarj^. On the 
 wbilo, they ore useful members of the com- 
 munity i and they probably owe their permis- 
 •ion to livi! U) their diliKence. The " work- 
 era" are the most interesting class : they arc 
 •mailer in size than either male or female 
 wasps, but are wonderfully energetic, and in- 
 defati jiitbly lal" )riou8. Some arc builders and 
 repairers of tin breach ; they receive a com- 
 mission to make excursions for building-mate- 
 rials; and returning home with their bundles 
 of lint, set themselves to the repairs and ex- 
 tension of the city. Others are the commis- 
 sariats : the issues of life at home are intimate- 
 ly connected with their expeditions. They 
 roam over fields and meadow*, frequently 
 catching flics nnd weaker insects, and carry- 
 ing the gurno home often with no inconsidera- 
 ble dilficulty. Dr. Darwin says he once be- 
 held a curious act of a wasp : it had caught a 
 large fly, und in rising with it into the iiir, the 
 breeze caught its wings, and nearly wrenched 
 it from the wasp's clutches. The insect im- 
 medidtely alighted, and deliberately sawed off 
 the wings of its victim, when it was able to 
 carry it in safety away. There was a some- 
 tiling nobler than instinct in this action, nor is 
 it by any means on isolated example of insect 
 sagacity". Others seek our orchard , select the 
 ripest, sweetest fruits, suck their juices, ond 
 convey home the luscious treasure, of which 
 but small portion is for themselves. These 
 foragers will even enter and rob beehives. 
 Those that tarry at home, in every instance 
 share the spoil. Our grocery-stores and butch - 
 era' stalls are equally attractive to the forager- 
 wasps. Surely it is some palliation of the rob- 
 bery to remember the claims of hungry kins- 
 folks, friends, and acquaintance, and httle ones 
 at home ! There is no sciuabbling at their or- 
 derly meal-times ; no fighting for the '* lion's 
 shore ;" each expectant insert receives its due 
 portion, and is content therewith. " I have 
 seen," writes the fascinating obt.. rvrr Reau- 
 mur, "a worker, after returning home with 
 spoil, on entering the ni^t, quietly \- reh at 
 the top, and protrude o clear drop of fluid from 
 its mouth. Several wasps drank together from 
 this crystal drop until it wos all swallowed ; 
 then the worker would cause o second, and 
 sometimes a third drop, to exude, the conter.8 
 of which were distributed in peace to other 
 
 waips." Here in a lesson for our young read- 
 ers to observe ond practise ! 
 
 The minle of covernment is reimblicon . 
 then; is no recognised head, as with the bees; 
 vet on amount of even military discipline, and 
 the utmost order, ore to be found among the 
 subjects. The ijood of the commonwealth 
 seems to be the prevailing (jbject of each in- 
 sect. If the workers ore building, eoc h hos its 
 own f>\"'i, obout on inch 8()uorc, assigned to it, 
 OS the . tiount of work it is exjwcted to exe- 
 cute. It WOS on interesting discovery of Mr. 
 Knight, that wosps olso hove sentinels : these 
 are placed at the entronre of the vespiary ; 
 they run gently in ond out of it, and give im- 
 mediate notice of the opprooch of danger. To 
 their rr)mmimications olone does the commu- 
 nity give heed ; ond on their giving the alarm, 
 will issue in an^'ry hosts to avenge the injury, 
 ond defend their home to the lienth. Some- 
 times, however, but rorely, intestine combats 
 toke place ; and there ore terrific duels be- 
 tween the workers, or between o worker and 
 a mole. This is a bad offoir for the latter, os 
 ' !■ hos no sting : his fote is generolly to die. 
 
 One of the most striking focts in the notu- 
 ral history of the Vespidte is the occurrence 
 of an annual ma.ssacre in October. Then the 
 vespiory is indeed o scene of horrible atroci- 
 ties ond profuse carnage. The wosjis, whose 
 offection for their young is generally remark- 
 ably strong, seem then to be possessed with 
 phrensied rage against them. They cease to 
 feed their larvae: "they do worse," angrily 
 writes Reaumur ; " the mothers become im- 
 placable murderesses ; they drag the helpless 
 lorvsB out of their cells, slay them, and scotter 
 them outside the nest, strewing the very earth 
 with their dead corcosses.- There is no com- 
 punction : the massacre is universol." A wise 
 purpose is fultilled by this opporer.t cruelty. 
 The coming winter would ropidly destroy, by 
 a for more miserable deoth, oil that are killed 
 on tin rM'usion ; and it is o stroke of mercy to 
 temii ite th<ir sufferings by a blow. The 
 early frosts destroy the murderers themselves. 
 The scene is now, in truth, oltered ; " the pop- 
 ulous city has become waste, and without in- 
 habitant," soving some one or two femoles, 
 which spend the winter in the depths of the 
 vespiary. The complicated galleries, cells, 
 and hanging terraces, ond the entire frame- 
 work of the nest, are for ever vocoted when 
 the female leaves them in the spring ; and this 
 exquisite specimen of insect orchitecture is 
 abandoned to the destroying influences of time 
 and Occident. These mteresting feotures of 
 the history of the Vespidae ore full of subject- 
 matter for our meditation ond admirotion, in- 
 dicating, so clearly as they do, that the " Hand 
 that mode them is divine ;" yet all these mar- 
 vellous sagacities, contrivances, and governing 
 
 ^ 
 
Iciwn for our young rcnd- 
 practiM ! 
 
 nvi-mnipnt is reimblicnn . 
 C(l hrnd, M will) the l)ee«; 
 von military discipHne, an<l 
 re to br found among the 
 [m] of the commoriwpalth 
 nvailinjz objnct of mrh in- 
 jH are building, each hit^i it* 
 inch wjuare, assigned to it, 
 rork it is pxpected to pxe- 
 itornsting discovery of Mr. 
 1 nliio have scntincln : thesp 
 entrance of the vcspiory j 
 ond out of it, and give im- 
 10 approach of danger. T(» 
 ms alone does the commu- 
 1 on their giving the alarm, 
 hosts to avenge the injury, 
 ionic to the denth. Some- 
 it rarely, intestine combats 
 here are terrific duels be- 
 , or between a worker and 
 had affair for the latter, as 
 is fote is generolly to die. 
 t striking facts in the natu- 
 VespidiB is the occurrence 
 tcre in October. Then the 
 a scene of horrible atroci- 
 imoge. The wosps, whose 
 young is generally remark- 
 then to be possessed with 
 linst them. They cease to 
 " they do worse," angrily 
 " the mothers become im- 
 ses ; they drag the helpless 
 cells, slay them, and scotfer 
 est, strewing the very eorth 
 ircasses.- There is no com- 
 sacre is universal." A wise 
 J by this ajjparcnt cruelty, 
 sr would rapidly destroy, by 
 jle death, all that are killed 
 md it is a stroke of mercy to 
 uHerings by a blow. The 
 y the murderers themselves, 
 in truth, altered ; " the pop- 
 ome waste, nnd without in- 
 some one or two females, 
 ivinter in the depths of the 
 ;omplicated galleries, cells, 
 aces, and the entire frame- 
 , ore for ever vacated when 
 them in the spring ; and this 
 ;n of insect architecture is 
 destroying influences of time 
 'hese interesting features of 
 VespidsB are full of subject- 
 iditation and odmiration, in- 
 Y as they do, that the " Hand 
 9 divine ;" yet all these mar- 
 , contrivances, and governing 
 
 
 I 
 
 NBV ZEALAND. 
 
 16;j 
 
 principles, present us with but dim and broken 
 rerti'ctions of the far-seeing Wisdom that ere- 
 atid nil things, "ond for whose pleasure they 
 ore and were created." 
 
 A few more parli'ulori will make the histfv 
 ry of this fomily a little more complete. The 
 preceding sketch has dealt only with the com- 
 mon wasp, Feapa viUfiarii. The moson-waHp 
 is o solitary insect, ond builds its nest in Hond 
 and lirick— being oble, by meons of its strong 
 mandibles, to break oir pieces of brick with 
 ease, iifid to burrow tr) a considerable depth in 
 its substonce. It has the ()eculittrity of storing 
 up ten or twelve green lurvic, as iihhI for its 
 own, and resorts to a curious contrivance to 
 prevent them from moving out of its reach. 
 The hornet, Fespa craho, selects for its habi- 
 tation commonly some decoyed, hollow trunk, 
 or the eaves of old buildings, where, construct- 
 ing its nest, it forms a tortuous giiU'-ry of en- 
 trance. Our farmers sometimes make use of 
 these nesta to destroy domestic flies, hanging 
 them up in their rtxims, where they do not 
 molest the family, but full entirely upon the 
 flies. Another species, the Vcspa Britannica, 
 forms a curious oval nest, sometimes to be seen 
 hanging from the bronches of trees. Others 
 form elegant nests, like half-open flowers, with 
 a plotform of cells ot the bottom. A foreign 
 species constructs a beautiful nest, of o sub- 
 stance identical with the very finest cord- 
 board, suspending it, like a watch from o 
 guard-chain, by a ring at the extremity of the 
 bough, out of the reach of monkeys. Some- 
 times these nests grow to an enormous size : 
 the London Zoological Society has one six 
 feet long. A South- American species of wasp 
 imitates the bee, and is a collector of honey. 
 
 Bold as are the Vespidse, great as is their 
 fecundity, they are mercifully kept in check. 
 The ichneumon is their ferocious foe ; in the 
 West-Indian islands they are the victims of a 
 parasitic plant, which vegetoti-s in their inte- 
 rior ; man leagues his forces against them ; and 
 nature ittelf, in a deluging season or severe 
 winter, destroys thousonds, ond prevents the 
 plague becoming greater than we are able to 
 bear. 
 
 NEW ZEALAND. 
 
 \i I '! I South-Pacific ocean. 
 i, I" i)i/n OS New /calami, 
 I Dy Tosman. In the veor 
 
 Reasoi*. — It is the pilot of human life, and 
 •teers it steadily through wild and tempestu- 
 ous seas, amid the rocks and shelves of for- 
 tune and folly, ignorance and error, and the 
 thousand snares of the world. It is this alone 
 that enables man to despise imaginary evils, 
 and vamiuish real ones. It orms the mind 
 with true and lasting magnanimity, furnishes 
 it with solid comforts, ainl teaches it to extract 
 life ond health, virtue and wisdom, out of the 
 madness ond mutability of men and fortune ; 
 like antidotes and cordials, out of things poi- 
 sonous and baneful in their nature. 
 
 Tiir. two islan 
 constituting whi- 
 
 were first disco' tcw by Tosman. In tlit , . .. 
 1642, he traverfx i ^he eastern coast from lati- 
 tude thirty-fimr ti- fortv-three degrees, and en- 
 tered the strait, called C(K)k'8 strait. It was 
 •upjKised, from the periml of iu first discovery 
 to the time of the enterprising captain CiMik, 
 thot the strait entered by Tosmon seporoted 
 on island from stime vast southern continent ; 
 but the British novigotor, who sail(!d round 
 both islands in the years 1769 ond 1770, com- 
 pletely removed this error. The two islands 
 that go by the name of New Zeoland are sit- 
 uated between thirty-four degrees twenty-two 
 minutes and forty-seven degrees twenty-five 
 minutes south lotUude, and between one hun- 
 dred and sixly-six and one hundred ond eighty 
 legrces cost longitude. The northernmost of 
 these isloiids is colled by the natives Eahcino- 
 mouwc, and the southenimost Tuvai, or Tovy 
 Poenonimoo. Upon referring to the mop of 
 this country, it will be seen tlmt Enbeinomau- 
 we, or the northern islond, running from the 
 North cape, which is in latitude thirty-four 
 degrees twenty minutes south, to Cope Poliser, 
 iu forty-one degrees thirty-six minutes south, 
 contoins four hundred omf thirty-six miles in 
 length ; ond taking the medium brcndth, which 
 vories from five miles at Sandy bay to one 
 hundred ond eighty ot the East cope, at about 
 sixty miles, this extent will include twenty-six 
 thousand one hundred and sixty sijuore miles; 
 while Tovoi Poenammoo, the southern island, 
 extending from forty-one degrees thirty min- 
 utes to forty-seven degrees twenty-five min- 
 utes south, str. tches three hundred and sixty 
 miles in length, and estimating its medium 
 breadth at one hundred miles, contoins not lesa 
 than thirty-six thousond square miles. 
 
 Several missionary stations have been es- 
 tablished here, for the double purpose of civ- 
 ilizing the natives, and instr icting them in the 
 truths of the Chrisrion religion ; ond the mis- 
 sionaries continue struggling against '^'e seri- 
 ous obstacles opposed to their progr ., from 
 the ferocious hobits and superstitions of the 
 norives. It was in the yeor 1814 thot the first 
 missionary settlers were established among the 
 New-Zealanders, on the bay of Islands, by the 
 Rev. Samuel Marsden. 
 
 Several New-Zealanders, who were brought 
 to New Hollond, and had there an opportunity 
 of witnessing the arts and improvements of civ- 
 ilized life, hove been of greot service to the 
 missions. The features of these islanders are 
 better known to us thon those of any others in 
 that distant region, in consefjuence of the prac- 
 tice which exist* of partially embalming their 
 dead ; and the head of a New-Zealand chief 
 
 *i.l 
 
 ..m 
 
^ 
 
 **.,!, 
 
 ^i:^ 
 
 ■■■.'.-sti; - 
 
 ^^. 
 
3 
 
 1 
 
 .3 
 
 ba 
 
 a 
 
 a 
 
 o 
 
 
 ASTRONOMV. 
 
 165 
 
 71 
 
 is as frequently seen in our museums as any 
 coiiiiaon specimen of stuH'ml uniiiials. 
 
 Our engraving represents a i)ariy ol devo- 
 ted missionaries, accompanied by natives, pas- 
 sin- through a swam))— an occurrence not un- 
 trnnuait in travelling in New Zealand. Ihe 
 Kciue here represented took place in the jour- 
 ney of the missionaries to iMatamata, one of 
 the southern stations. The European (o the 
 left is intended for the Rev. Henry Williarns : 
 the one on the right, for Mr. Morgan, who. 
 having slipped into a hole, is being helped out 
 bv the natives ; the two in the centre, for the 
 liev. A. N. Brown and Mr. Fairbum. Diffi- 
 culties like these, however, are fur less serious 
 than many others which the missionaries have 
 to encounter in New Zealand. The baggage 
 required by the missionaries in these journeys 
 is carried by the natives on their backs, as 
 shown in the engraving. 
 
 LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY.-No. 3. 
 
 BY PROrESSOft O. M. MITCHELL. 
 
 In the examination of the structure of the 
 universe, we are very apt to adopt the idea 
 that it is impossible that any other system, 
 than the system which we now know, does or 
 could exist. We go even farther, and con- 
 ceive the idea, that the great laws which now 
 govern, are the only laws that could govern- 
 that the law of motion, for example, is a ne- 
 cessary law of matter, and that the law of 
 gravitation is a principle inherent in matter, 
 which can not be severed from it. These are 
 views which are too generally entertained ; 
 and, in the outset of what I am about to say, 
 I beg to be understood as to my own concep- 
 tions, with regard to these important points. 
 
 I believe that " In the beginning, God cre- 
 ated the heavens and the earth ;" that he se- 
 lectee the laws by which he would govern the 
 universe, and that these laws are the nerpet- 
 ual and unchangeable expression of his al- 
 mi'^hry will. But, do you ask the question : 
 Could this system of ours, upon which we 
 look with so deep an interest, have been dif- 
 ferently arranged, and yet have accomplished 
 the grand objec ; which it seems designed to 
 accoini)lish ? That depends entirely upon 
 what wc conceive to have been the grand ob- 
 ject. I contend it could not have been dif- 
 ferently arranged with the objects in view, 
 which we have reason to believe were had at 
 the time of ita contemplated organization. 
 But do we, on the way through our examina- 
 tion, conceive fully and entirely— or even ap- 
 proximately—the grand object of this scheme 
 
 1' 
 
 by which we are surrounded ] I know it is 
 difficult to touch this subject : it is hard to 
 make myself understood : but a very few mo- 
 ments of explanation, I trust, will be sulli- 
 cient— and then I will pr()ceed to the appli- 
 cation of the laws of gravitation. 
 
 In the first place, the great design in con- 
 stituting the system by which we are ^u - 
 rounded, and with which we are associated, 
 was to give to it perpetuity, so that it may 
 not have the elements of its o^vn dissolution, 
 and decay within itself. 
 
 Let us stop here for a moment, and see 
 whether this object could have been attained 
 in any other way. I believe that it could 
 have been attained in a much simpler way 
 than it now is. Do not misunderstand mc, 
 for I use the expression with all reverence. 
 If the law of gravitation had been a httle dif- 
 ferent ; if instead of every particle of matter 
 attracting every other particle in the universe, 
 this law had been announced thus : The sun 
 shall attract the planets, but they shall not in- 
 fluence each other— the planets shall attract 
 their satellites, but these revolving satellites, 
 shall have no attractive influence upon each 
 other— the sun shall draw the comets from the 
 depths of space, and shall bring them to itself, 
 and throw them of!' again, without their being 
 influenced in any degree by approximation to 
 the planets among which they move— then we 
 should have had a stable system— one that 
 would have endured throughout the ceaseless 
 aaes of eternity itself. And how simple this 
 system would have been in companson to the 
 one which now exists. In the one by which 
 we are surrounded, we find perturbation upor 
 perturbation, disturbance upon disturbance, 
 causing reaction throughout the whole, till ev- 
 ery movement becomes so complicated and in- 
 volved that it seems almost impossible to un- 
 derstanf^" n' fo bw their devious operations. 
 
 On the contrary, had the other system been 
 adopted, so soon as we should have attained 
 to the true position occupied by one of these 
 beautiful orbs in its revolution above us— its 
 uniform movement being fully understood— 
 from centurv to century, from age to age, as 
 far as the imagination can stretch in jioint of 
 time, no change, not a solitary deviation, ev- 
 er would have been made from the route 
 which it first pursued. , 
 
 But there was a higher obiect to be attained 
 in the structure of the universe, than inere 
 stability. We have shown how that might 
 have been done. But this complicated sys- 
 tem was given for our instruction, as a grand 
 problem which would lead us in our investi- 
 gations onward and upward to Him whobmlt 
 the universe in wisdom and with power. And 
 hence we find the complicati(^n by which we 
 are surrounded- -and in this complication wo 
 
 11^ 
 
 m 
 
 kMBS 
 
 i^ 
 

 166 
 
 ASTRONOMY. 
 
 find that which stimulates and excites the hu- 
 man intellect to its h'^he'.i, possible attain- 
 ments. 
 
 With this explanation, allow me to refer, 
 to the concluding part of my last lecture. I 
 attempted to exhibit the process of reasoning 
 by which Newton accomplished the demon- 
 stration of the law of Gravitation — to show 
 how, by the examination of the movements 
 of the moon in its orbit, and the amount of 
 space through which it fell toward the earth, 
 under the influence of some attractive force 
 there located, he found that force varied ac- 
 cording to a certain law, to wit : The inverse 
 ratio of the Square of the Distance. 
 
 The next pomt made — after he had attained 
 this first one — by which he became convinced 
 that this law was true, was to extend his ex- 
 aminations onward to see whether, in all oth- 
 er instances, this might be applied with suc- 
 cess, and if the movements of the other heav- 
 enly bodies could be accounted for, on this 
 hypothesis. He therefore, commenced the 
 examination of the great problem, of which 
 this was to be merely ?v corollary. He pro- 
 pounded to himself this vast nuestion : Sup- 
 pose a body to exist in space, located in such 
 a manner as in a sense to be isolated. Now, 
 as this body is endued with this power of at- 
 traction which shall follow in the inverse ra- 
 tio of the square of the distance : What 
 would be the nature of the curve, described 
 by the body revolving about this centre, when 
 under the influence of force varying as did 
 the force of gravity ? 
 
 As I have already related, Kepler had found 
 that the planets described elliptical orbits, hav- 
 ing one axis passing through the centre, long- 
 er than all the others, and another axis per- 
 pendicular to this, shorter than all the others. 
 Inasmuch as they did thus revolve, Newton 
 hoped and believed that v/hen he should have 
 arrived at the truth in the investigation of this 
 problem, as to the curve described, that it 
 would prove to be an ellipse, inasmuch as they 
 were known to revolve in these curves. He 
 takes the analysis which he had conjured up 
 for his aid, brings all his intellectual jiower to 
 bear ufion the problem, and subjects it to an 
 irresistible analytical reasoning, of which all 
 the data, were perfectly within his grasp. 
 The result comes out — in a kind of cabalistic 
 algebraic characters which I can not explain 
 at this time. But it is sufficient to say, that 
 there was an additional meaning; and the 
 query woa, Wliat was that meaning ? Was 
 it an expression exhibiting the curve of the 
 eclipse ? It was strange, even to Newton, 
 what that expression was ; it did not look 
 familiar ; it did not exhibit the proportions of 
 this elliptical curve — and what could it be ? 
 With much labor he unravelled + 3 mystery, 
 
 and t« his astonishment he found that instead 
 of being the equation of the ellipse, as it ia 
 called, it was the enuation — the general ex- 
 pression—of no less man four curves : the cir- 
 de, the ellipse, the parabola, and the hyper- 
 bola, were all in like manner involved ; each 
 and every one of these curves being the ex- 
 pression to which he arrived as the result of 
 his examination. But what could be the 
 meaning of all this ? He looks out upon the 
 system for an answer ; and lo ! a comet, com- 
 ing in from the distance, sweeps round the 
 sun in a curve, called the parabola ; another 
 describes the hyperbola ; the planets revolve 
 in ellipses, and their satellites describe cir- 
 cles. 
 
 Here you perceive was a very unlooked-for 
 result, and it became evident that either one 
 of these four curves might be described about 
 a body revolving about a centre, under the in- 
 fluence of the law of gravity. 
 
 When this result was reached, the next in- 
 quiry was this : Is it true now that every par- 
 ticle of matter attracts every other particle, 
 according to this law ? The examination of 
 this question presented many difficulties. 
 How was it to be resolved ? How could he 
 tell whether the force of attraction in the 
 earth for example, was located in the central 
 point of the globe, or distributed throughout 
 the whole mass, existing equ'.lly in every par- 
 ticle of that mass. He commences by exam- 
 ining the figure of the earth — applies the law 
 upon the hypothesis, that every particle did 
 attract every other particle — he finds the 
 earth revolving upon an axis, and perceives 
 what is produced by the operarion of this law 
 upon the earth. If, in the outset, the earth 
 were created perfectly spherical, he finds, un- 
 der "he influence of' the swift rotation upon 
 the axis', it can not maintain that figure ; its 
 form must be changed, and another given it in 
 process of time ; and he even predicted before 
 the measurement had been made, what it must 
 be, and determined what should be the ratio 
 of fhe polar and the equatorial dinmeters of 
 the earth. 
 
 But if the figure of the sphere were changed 
 from the acrion of these laws, might not the 
 process go on, and the globe at length become 
 so entirely changed, that the particles of mat- 
 ter at the equator should fly off*, a..d thus 'he 
 whole mass be disintegrated and diffused in 
 space ? 
 
 Let us look at this for a mompr.'i,. You are 
 all aware of the fact that the er,;th is depressed 
 at the poles, and protuberant at the e(|uator — 
 that the mass of matter composing the body 
 of orr planet, is heaped up, as it were, at the 
 equator, and at the radius of the earth at that 
 point, is thirteen miles lon^r than at the jwles. 
 How was this figure obtained, and how comes 
 
ent he found that instead 
 in of the ellipse, as it i« 
 luation — the general ex- 
 man four curves : the cir- 
 mraoola, and the hyper- 
 e manner involved ; each 
 ese curves being the ex- 
 3 arrived as the result of 
 But what could be the 
 He looks out upon the 
 r ; and lo ! a comet, com- 
 tance, sweeps round the 
 ;d the parabola ; another 
 )ola ; the planets revolve 
 ir satellites describe cir- 
 
 B was a very unlooked-for 
 3 evident that either one 
 might be described about 
 jut a centre, under the in- 
 f gravity. 
 
 was reached, the next in- 
 t true now that every par- 
 cts every other particle, 
 V ? The essmination of 
 inted many diflRculties. 
 jsolved ? How could he 
 irce of attraction in the 
 i^as located in the central 
 w distributed throughout 
 ting eqn'.lly in every par- 
 He commences by exam- 
 be earth — applies the law 
 J, that every particle did 
 r particle — he finds the 
 )n an axis, and perceives 
 ' the operation of this law 
 ', in the outset, the earth 
 :ly spherical, he finds, un- 
 fthe swift rotation upon 
 maintain that figure ; its 
 ed, and another given it in 
 d he even predicted before 
 [1 been made, what it must 
 what should be the ratio 
 5 equatoriul dinmeters of 
 
 if the sphere were changed 
 hese laws, might not the 
 he globe at length become 
 that the particles of mat- 
 lould fly off, a..d thus 'he 
 ntcgrated and diffused in 
 
 Is for a momenl. You are 
 that the er.r^h is depressed 
 jtuberant at the e(|uator — 
 itter composing the body 
 iped up, as it were, at the 
 radius of the earth at that 
 es lon^r than at the jwles . 
 3 obtained, and how comes 
 
 ASTRONOMY. 
 
 167 
 
 it that it is not destroyed T I will attempt an 
 exi>lanation. 
 
 By the rotation of every revolving body, 
 there is a force created, called centrifugal 
 force. This you see verified every day : not 
 a carriage rolls along the streets, but you see 
 particles of dust flying off the revolving 
 wheels. The same force is produced in the 
 mass of the earth itself. Now suppose we 
 pass from the equator toward the poles. 
 When we reach the poles we find there is no 
 tendency to fly off from that point, in conse- 
 quence of centrifugal force, because there is 
 no velocity of rotation. But as we recede 
 from the axis of rotation, and as the radius be- 
 comes greater, the centrifugal force is increas- 
 ed in consequence of the velocity of rotation 
 being accelerated. 
 
 Now let us take the fluid particles upon 
 the earth's surface. What will be the conse- 
 quence if it remain stationary, or if it move 
 upward toward the equator and downward to- 
 ward the poles ? — for the solution of this ques- 
 tion will determine the figure of the earth, 
 under certain limits of calculation. These 
 particles, under the influence of the centrifu- 
 gal force, have a tendency to fly off in a per- 
 pendicular direction, and the force of gravity 
 has a tendency to draw them to the centre of 
 the earth. Under the action of these two 
 forces, we find the particle does not remain 
 stationary, but is moving upward, along a cen- 
 tral line upon the surface of the earth, toward 
 the equator, and thus particle after particle is 
 impelled upward. But how is it possible that 
 this operation should ever cease ? I will ex- 
 plain the reason. 
 
 When a body rests upon an inclined plane, 
 the action of gravity tends to bring it down 
 that plane, anc it requires a certain amount of 
 force to heave it upward against the action of 
 gravity. Now, when the particle of matter, 
 under the influence of the combined forces al- 
 ready described, is heaved up and locates it- 
 self at the equator, still other particles are 
 heave il up, till the whole figure of the earth 
 is swelled out ; and the next particles to be 
 thrown up, will ascend in some sense an in- 
 clined plane. Recollect there is here a heap- 
 ing up of matter — a swelling out — and the 
 great level of the earth is changed, and the 
 time finally comes when the gravity due to the 
 inclined plane, upon which the particle rests, 
 is precisely balanced by the force which tends 
 to throw it up ; and, this equilibrium once ob- 
 tained, any further change m the figure of the 
 earth for etrer ceases. 
 
 We now take up the telescope, and with an 
 inquiring gaze, examine the other planets. 
 They, too, are moving upon their axes : But 
 with the same velocity with which the earth 
 moves 1 No ; they all have different veloci- 
 
 ties. Are their figures in like manner chan- 
 ging by this rotation ? I answer : they are ali 
 changing ; or, if not, they still possess a fig- 
 ure of equilibrium heretofore obtained. And 
 we find, moreover, that there are certain nar- 
 row limits within which a figure of this char- 
 acter must be circumscribed — that if the velo- 
 city of rotation given to any body shi/uld ex- 
 ceed a certain amount, this equilibrium is de- 
 stroyed, the figure is changed, and even its 
 solid substance disintegrated and broken up. 
 But in all the examinations we have been able 
 to make, we find these narrow limits nicely 
 resolved, and no one of these falling bodies 
 has exceeded the limits of stability and per- 
 petuity. 
 
 Having examined the effect of gravitation, 
 I propose to trace out, for a short time, some 
 of the effects produced by this extraordinary 
 change of figure, if I may call it a change. 
 (I do not know if it ever were different.) It 
 is found that a globe will attract precisely as 
 if the matter belonging to it were compacted 
 at its centre ; and were all the planets precise 
 spheres, then the problem of the solar system 
 would have been merely to ascertain what 
 shall be the relative influence of one of these 
 bodies uport the other, pll being regarded as 
 simple material points. But this is not the 
 fact : they are spheroids, flattened at the poles; 
 in consequence of which we find a train of 
 results of a curious and complicated character. 
 
 When you look out upon the north star, 
 you find that object apparently fixed and per- 
 manent — and if the idea of fixity has ever 
 entered your minds, you can get no stronger 
 conception of it than that which results from 
 the fixity of this star. " As unchangeable as 
 the north star," has grown into a proverb. 
 But if you could reviiit this earth twelve thou- 
 sand years hence, and look for your favorite 
 bright and beautiful star — lo ! it has changed 
 its position — it has wandered to a distant re- 
 gion of the heavens — it is no longer in that 
 point to which the earth's axis is directed, or 
 near it ; but some other has taken its place. 
 What can be the meaning of this ? I answer 
 it depends upon the figure of the earth, and 
 upon the action of the sun and moon, upon 
 the protuberant matter girdling the earth's 
 equator. Now for the explanation of this 
 curious phenomenon. 
 
 If it were po^ible for us to extend the equa- 
 tor of the earth, till it met the sphere of the 
 heavens, then t.i describe around the heavens 
 a circle of fire that we could discern, running 
 all the way around among the fixed stars, we 
 should liave the curve called the equinoctial 
 in the heavens. Now, if we could trace out 
 the track of the sun among the fixed stars, <ve 
 should find another circle, but one not coinci- 
 ding with the one we have already locateo — 
 
 
 ii'f 
 
 
 w 
 
 w 
 
 m 
 
 
 
 ^i3!' I 
 
^^ 
 
 '*mi 
 
 "i^t 
 
 they would form a certain bhrIc, crossing caoli 
 other at opposite points. The first of these 
 is the equator, the second the ecliptic ; and 
 their intersections at their opposite ])oints are 
 called the ecpiinoctial points. These points 
 have been and will be examined with the ut- 
 tnost scrutiny. The attention of the earliest 
 astronomer was directed to their position in 
 the heavens ; and upon the day in which the 
 sun, sweeping arouml in its orbit, crossed this 
 other circle, called the equinoctial — on that 
 day, if was found that the length of the day 
 anil the wight was precisely etpial. Upon no 
 oth(!r day did this occur, except on the two 
 occasions, when the sun was in the act of pas- 
 sing through one or the other of these points. 
 It became, then a matter of the deepest inter- 
 est to locate this point among the fixed stars. 
 I shall not attempt to point out the manner in 
 which it was accomplished. It was simply 
 with the brazen circles they had made for that 
 purpose, that they accomplished this most de- 
 sirable object. In Egypt, great attention was 
 given to this point, in conse(piencs of the fact 
 that they marked some great events, such as 
 the overflowing of the Nile, by the heliacal 
 rising of a certain bright star. In centuries 
 after, by referring this star to the etjuinoctial 
 ])oint8, the overflowing of the Nile came, bui 
 the star which always announced it, did not 
 come do\vn in the horizon. 
 
 What could be the meaning of this ? Ei- 
 ther one of two conclusions must follow. The 
 star itself had moved, or the equinoctial point 
 to which it was referred was moving ; and it 
 was found, by referring all the stars to this 
 point, that it was actually moving in the heav- 
 ens, going backward, as it were, to meet the 
 sun ; and in consequence of this movement, 
 the sun reached the etjuinoctialpoint before it 
 otherwise would. Thus the difference of time 
 in the sun's orrival at the equinoctial point, 
 exceeded their compulations, obliging them to 
 carry forward the equinoctial points : and 
 hence the lenn — Precession of the Equinoxes. 
 You may ask what has this to do \n ith the 
 movement of the north star, or the pole of the 
 earth. T will explain : The point calied the 
 north pole is that through which the earth's 
 avis would pa8s if it were protracted so far 
 8-5 to meet the celestial sphere. This imagi- 
 nary axis of the earth, is as fixed and perma- 
 nent, as if it were a bar of iron driven liter- 
 ally tbrough the earth, and extending out to 
 the heavens in such a manner, that its extrsm- 
 ities -bould rest in sockets, and upon it the 
 earth should revolve. Now follow me : takvj 
 holil of this iron axle and heave it up, so as 
 to change ts position. What is the effect ? 
 The equator l;i always perpendicular to this 
 axle, and if we, shift the latter in the slii^htest 
 degree we will in like degree shift the plane 
 
 of the equator; and this first circle of liuhf, 
 which we have su|)posed across the hrave.is 
 — the equinoctial — is ever changed as you 
 change the earth's axis. And whiitever 
 change is exhibited in the position of the eipii- 
 noctial, in like manner, will be exhibited in 
 the movements of that point called the pole 
 of the heavens. But, in the process of time, 
 we find that the point which the circle of the 
 sun describes through space, intersecting the 
 ecli))tic, revolves entirely around ; and it'tliut 
 be the case, then must the earth, in like man- 
 ner, be governed and guided by this move- 
 ment and revolve entirely around the ecliptic. 
 And such is the fact. "No less than %,8(iO 
 years are necessary to accomplish this niiyhty 
 revolution! But it is moving on; and, ijum 
 the earliest period down to the present time, 
 we find this motion has been subjected abso- 
 lutely to the law of gravitation, and that oil this 
 complicated result is a consequence of the ob- 
 late figure of the earth. Had our globe been 
 an exact sphere, no precession of the e(iuinox- 
 es would have been known — no change of jio- 
 sition of the pole ever would have been mark- 
 ed ; but from century to century, it would 
 have held its ])lace — permanent — unchangea- 
 ble — fixed as the seal of fate. 
 
 But for the explanation of the causes of 
 these changes : The sun and the m(X)n exert 
 a constant force of attraction upon the earth, 
 according to their masses and their distance. 
 Were the earth a perfect sphere, the etfect 
 of these forces would be equable and produ- 
 cing no perfirbation in the earth's move- 
 ments; but the prepondering matter heaped 
 up at the earth's equator, and standing in a 
 position which brings it at an oblique angle to 
 the forces of the sun and the moon produces a 
 disturbance of the rotation and a tendency to 
 draw down the equatorial ring to a coincidence 
 with the plane of the ecliptic. But this fores 
 is counterbalanced by the rotary motion of the 
 earth, and while the equatorial ring endeavors 
 to revolve about an axis in its plane, it is also 
 forced toward a revolution around an axis per- 
 pendicular to that plane. The result is, it re- 
 volves around neither of these axes, but on 
 one which divides the angle between the two ; 
 and by this revolution the pole of the earth is 
 as it were vibrated, and describes a sniall cir- 
 cle in the heavens. This nutation or vibration 
 of the earth has the effect of retarding it in 
 its orbit, 80 that at the end of the year it has 
 not completed its journey arouncl the sun. nri^. 
 therefore, does not cross the ecliptic in ; f.«:.- 
 ly the same place it did before. The eraise- 
 quence is, the neavens and all the hos'- iif -rii; i 
 appear to us to be rolling slowly forv.t.rd— 
 that the efjuinox goes forward to meet he sun 
 — and hence the term precession of" lite equi- 
 noxet. The fact is, the earth falis short of 
 
ASTRONOMY. 
 
 169 
 
 I this first circle of licht, 
 iposecJ across the hravf.is 
 is ever changed q.s you 
 s axis. Aiul whiitcver 
 in tho position of tVie e(iui- 
 iiicr, will 1)0 exhibitfil in 
 hat i)oint called the pole 
 lit, in the process ot" time, 
 nt which the circle of the 
 gh space, iiitcrsccting the 
 itirely arounil ; and if that 
 list the earth, in like iiuin- 
 nd guided by this rnove- 
 itirely around the ecliptic, 
 let. No less than 'i'j.PHO 
 to accomplish this miiihty 
 ; is moving on; and, from 
 lown to the presoiit time, 
 has been subjected abso- 
 rravitation, and that nil this 
 s a consequence of the ob- 
 ;rth. Had our globe been 
 precession of the ecjuinox- 
 known — no change of po- 
 er would have been mark- 
 ury to century, it would 
 — permanent — unchangea- 
 al of fate. 
 
 lanation of the causes of 
 e sun and the moon exert 
 attraction upon the earth, 
 masses and their distance, 
 perfect sphere, the effect 
 lid be etiuable and produ- 
 on in the earth's move- 
 ■epondering matter heaped 
 ;quator, and standing in a 
 gs it at an oblifjue angle to 
 n and the moon produces a 
 rotation and a tendency to 
 tttorial ring to a coincidence 
 ae ecliptic. But this force 
 by the rotary motion of the 
 le equatorial ring endeavors 
 i axis in its plane, it is also 
 rolution around an axis per- 
 jlane. The result is, it re- 
 tlier of these axes, but on 
 the angle between the two ; 
 ion the pole of the earth is 
 , and describes a sniall cir- 
 This nutation or -vibration 
 he effect of retarding it in 
 the end of the year it has 
 )umey around the su*. nnfl. 
 cross the ecliptic in s S-ac- 
 it did before. Tho- ccnse- 
 ens and all the hos*. of -» ;; • 
 e rolling slowly fo.'..;. re — 
 )eB forward to meet he sun 
 crm precession of Ike equi- 
 is, the earth falis uhort of 
 
 her full revolution fifty-two and one tenth sec- | 
 onds in a year ; and as there are 3.000 seconds ' 
 in a (U'.'ree, and 300 degrees in the great cir- 
 cle of the ecliptic, it follows that 25,808 years 
 must roll round, before the ecpnnox will make 
 u complete revolution of ecliptic, producing 
 within tliat i)eriod the longest and shortest day 
 in the year, on every day from the 1st ot Jan- 
 uary to the 31st of December. This surpri- 
 sing ellect is all produced by the comparaiive- 
 Iv nisignilicant superabundance of mutter ag- 
 greirated ujion the earth's eipiator. 
 
 But let us look at another point. We find 
 that the earth is not entirely solid, its surface 
 is covered by a fluid, within certiiin limits— 
 and the inquiry arises whether this lluid is 
 stable !— whether there are fixed bounds be- 
 yond which the ocean can not pass, or wheth- 
 er it may not occur that under the influence 
 of the coml)ined action of the planets, tides 
 may arise wliich shall sweep over and sub- 
 merge the entire surfuce of the habitable 
 globe ? I answer ogain, there are here provis- 
 ions which mark tlie wisdom of Him who 
 built the heavens. If it were possible to take 
 up our ocan and to empty it into the cavity 
 of the pla.iet Saturn, no stability would ensue 
 —the ocean would ove'leap the bounds to 
 which we would attempt to confine it, and 
 ni^li from one (juarter to the other, carrying 
 destruction in its jinth ; but, owing to the re- 
 liitinns existing between the specific gravity 
 of the earth and ocean, we find the stability 
 here complete ; and although the action is go- 
 ing on constantly— although the waves are 
 caused to leap u|) in some sense, toward the 
 moon and the sun, yet there is a limit beyond 
 which they can not pass. 
 
 There are many who find it exceeding dif- 
 ficult to understand the nature of tides, and 
 how it is that the moon and sun should pro- 
 duce them. The heaving up of the water on 
 the side next to the sun and moon, is a matter 
 easily comprehended ; yet how they shotild 
 produce a tide on the opposite side, is quite 
 mysterious. But let us examine this questio. ■ 
 and see whether on -explanation can not be 
 had. The cause of tides is the attraction of 
 the moon upon the mass of water on the 
 earth's surface, drawing it upward toward it- 
 self. If every particle were equidistant from 
 the moon, then would the ac'.um be the same 
 on every one, and there would be no change 
 of figure ; but the truth is, the earth's diam- 
 eter is a very sensible quantity, compared to 
 the moon's distance ; the distance of the moon 
 is but thirty times the diameter of the earth : 
 hence the water on the side next to the moon 
 is closer than that on the opposite side, and 
 hence there is a stronger attraction ejierted 
 upon that side nearest the moon. 
 
 But to render the explanation more perfect, 
 
 let us go back to the position we took some 
 time »incr, with regnrd to the fact that the 
 moon was ev(!r falling toward the earth. 
 This I have attempted to ex])lain, and I hojie 
 it was cornpreheniied. You will understand 
 also, that the earth is always falling toward 
 the moon, under the action of precisely the 
 same ]iowcr. Now if we could see a mass 
 of fluid in the act of falling toward a body, 
 we would observe the attracting body ojierate 
 more strongly upon the particles next to itself, 
 and draw them o.wuy from the rest, leaving 
 them behind in their race to the centre ; hence 
 we see why it is that the waves next to the 
 infxm should be protuberant. But how is it 
 that those on the opposite side are swelled 
 out? Because the .:'\rth being nearer the 
 moon than the ocean oi; the opposite side, is 
 drawn away toward the moon, and leaves the 
 ocean behind ; hence it is protuberant in both 
 directions. But I do not int(-nd to go into a 
 full exposition of the tides ; I must pass on to 
 other matters. This has been a most difficult 
 problem for the mathematician. The com- 
 bined action of the moon and sun, and their 
 corning in opimsite directions, producing ex- 
 traordinary changes — then the fact that tliese 
 are not revolving in the 5ame plane and not 
 at all in the plane of the earth's etiuator, 
 causes them to sink on one side, and bear up 
 upon the other side. In all the computations 
 of these varying influences, the results have 
 nearly coincided with the actual facts. 
 
 I propose, in the next place, to examine ef- 
 fects prodr rod upon the moon's orbit, by the 
 disturbing action of the earth. And here I 
 shall have occasion to reveal some extraordi- 
 nary movements that belong to the wliole sys- 
 tem by which we are surrounded. There ore 
 j certoin elements, as they ore called, which fix 
 ' and detennine the nature of the orbit of any 
 licavenly body, in order to understond which 
 it becomes necessary to explain what these 
 elements are. 
 
 In the first place, the elliptic orbit is a cer- 
 tain figure detennii:":! by a longer diameter, 
 coiled its longer axis, aw\ a shorter called its 
 ■■shorter a.vis. Wlien their lengths were given, 
 the figure of the ellipse con be 'lescribed. 
 This IS the first thing— to get the magnitude 
 of the orbit— but when that is obtained, we 
 do not yet know what location it takes with 
 regard to other surrounding objects. In order 
 to" fix it in space, we must get the direction 
 of this longer line called the longer oxis. 
 Now the sun is always locoted at the focus, 
 and the distance of the urn to the extreme 
 longer axis, is on one side the shortest, and on 
 the" o'.her the longest possible distance. Hav- 
 ing then, the position of that line and havin? 
 the inclination to the fixed plane, we ore en- 
 abl-'d to locate the orbit in space. We have 
 
 i|ii 
 
 
 "' ■■'I-" -' 
 
 .IMf i W' 
 
 t-,t)„ I 
 
 **!!!.■' * 
 
170 
 
 ASTRONOMY. 
 
 yet to obtain the periodical time, and not only 
 the precise position of the planet in some one 
 known point in its orbit, but the particular 
 (late ; after which we are enabled to follow its 
 movements in all its wanderings. 
 
 When we have accomplished this, the ques- 
 tion arises : Are there no subsequent changes ? 
 There are changes of a most curious and com- 
 plicated kind, and which in the outset would 
 seem to destroy absolutely the nature of the 
 orbit, and lead to the ultimate destruction of 
 the entire system. In the m(K)n'8 orbit, we 
 find that the point nearest to the earth, celled 
 the moon's perigee, is never fixed and perma- 
 nent, but always varying its position, and 
 finally performing an entire revolution. This 
 is a point to which Newum directed his mind, 
 attempting to account for the rapidity wi*^'' 
 which this line was revolving in the heavens 
 upon the hypothesis of gravitation. He 
 brought into account, lis he supposed, every 
 point that could bear upon the result, and 
 when he reached it, he found the amount of 
 change was not coincident with that actually 
 exhibited in nature. Here the law of gravi- 
 tation seemed at fault ; and after many tedious 
 efforts, this great man actually died without 
 solving its mystery. It was taken up after- 
 ward by his successors, and in every instance 
 it seemed that Newton's results were con- 
 firmed most absolutely. It was finally given 
 up to Clairaut, who grappled it with all the 
 power of analysis ; but in spite of all he could 
 do, he reached just the results attained by all 
 his predecessors ; and, for a moment, he de- 
 clared it was impossible to accou for this 
 curious exhibition in the heavens. Bat strange 
 as it may appear, an individual without edu- 
 cation in astronomy, with simply a knowledge 
 of mathematics, stepped forth, and ventured to 
 defend the law of gravitation — and there was 
 a long dispute between the two — one of them 
 a metaphysical philosopher, and the other, one 
 who had devoted his best energies to the cul- 
 tivation of pure abstract science. Clairaut 
 determined to prove himself right ; revieweJ 
 his entire investigation, and finally in the ex- 
 amination of a mathematical series, entering 
 into the result, which at each successive term 
 had grown less and less, till it seemed that 
 they were ab.solutelv to disappear, and he be- 
 lieved they would disappear, and that the re- 
 maining ones might be neglected ; he found, 
 on pursuing the problem a little further, that 
 the character of the terms began to change, 
 and instead of diminishing, they began to in- 
 crease, so that when he had added together 
 all the terms and completed the result, he 
 found the law of gravitation was confirmed in 
 the most absolute manner — theory and obser- 
 vation coinciding precisely. 
 I would call your attention to another single 
 
 L 
 
 investigation, which has in like manner de- 
 monstrated, not only how far the human mind 
 can carry its researches, but how absolutely 
 applicable this one eolitary law, is to all the 
 changes and phenomena which are exhibited 
 by these heavenly bodies. I have already 
 stated, that we have records of eclipses ex- 
 tending back S.L^O years. Now, when we 
 come to examine t e velocity with which the 
 moon was moving at that time, we find that 
 it is not the same with which it is now mov- 
 ing ; that it is actually in advance of the posi- 
 tion it should occupy — on the hypothesis that 
 iti motion is uniform, and was accurately de- 
 termined at that time — by an amount equal to 
 nearly four times its diameter. It seemed 
 impossible to account for this acceleration of 
 motion. Every effort was made to reduce it 
 to the law of gravitation ; but it seemed to 
 evade every attempt. Some were disposed 
 to reject the early observations ; others be- 
 lieved that there was a resisting medium 
 which imjjeded its motion, diminishing its dis- 
 tance from the earth, and accelerating its mo- 
 tion around the earth, describing a spiral line, 
 and that slowly and surely it would at length 
 approach our globe, and bring destruction to 
 the whole system. 
 
 In this dilemma, Laplace comes in to the 
 rescue of physical astronomy. He took up 
 this problem, and, with the aid of the accura- 
 cy he had obtained in his previous investiga- 
 tions, Le finds himself able to master it, and 
 not only to do this, buf to tell the reason why 
 it was, that this accelerated motio- ;if the 
 moon was going on. I will attempt h^-i ex- 
 planation. 
 
 It is found, on examination of the elemeuli. 
 of the orbits of the planets, that this longer 
 axis, which has been described, is invariable 
 — it never changes — while the shorter axis is 
 subject to fluctuation, according to the config- 
 urations of the heavenly bodies. It is found, 
 that the earth's orbit is changing its figure. 
 It is now elliptical ; but this is slowly disap- 
 pearing. It has bf en going on for centuries, 
 and must continue for centuries to come, till 
 finally, the shorter axis becomes equal to the 
 longer, the eccentricity of the orbit disappears, 
 and the earth revolves in a perfect circle 
 atouml the sun. When this point shall have 
 been reached, analysis demonstrates the truth 
 that a change begins, and the figure then cir- 
 cular, slowly begins to come back agaii. to 
 its elliptical figure : and thus, in per.ods so 
 great, that the human mind can not stretch 
 euflSciently far, to comprehend them, we find 
 these mighty oscillations sweeping backward 
 and forward in the narrow limits witMn which 
 Infinite Wisdom has confined them. 
 
 But what effect shoujd this • hange have 
 upon the motion of the moon ? I will answ^er. 
 
 rjrr-Ml 
 
 ^^'^^WTOWiMiliWiiiiM 
 

 J has in like manner ile- 
 r how far the human mind 
 rches, but how absolutely 
 solitary law, is to all the 
 tnena which are exhibited 
 
 bodies. I have already 
 ire records of eclipses ex- 
 I years. Now, when we 
 e velocity with which the 
 It that time, we find that 
 vith which it is now mov- 
 illy in advance of the posi- 
 ly — on the hypothesis that 
 m, and was accurately de- 
 ie — by an amount equal to 
 its diameter. It seemed 
 nt for this acceleration of 
 brt was made to reduce it 
 ntation ; but it seemed to 
 ipt. Some were disposed 
 
 observations ; others be- 
 was a resisting medium 
 motion, diminishing its dis- 
 h, and accelerating its mo- 
 th, describing a spiral line, 
 1 surely it would at length 
 , and bring destruction to 
 
 Laplace comes in to the 
 astronomy. He took up 
 with the aid of the accura- 
 in his previous investiga- 
 self able to master it, and 
 but to tell the reason why 
 accelerated motio- of the 
 a. I will attempt ^^t >x- 
 
 camination of the elemenib 
 e planets, that this longer 
 ;en described, is invariable 
 — while the shorter axis is 
 Dn, according to the config- 
 ivenly bodies. It is found, 
 'bit is changing its figure, 
 ; Out this is slowly disap- 
 f en going on for centuries, 
 for centuries to come, till 
 axis becomes equal to the 
 city of the orbit disappears, 
 volves in a perfect circle 
 IVhen this point shall have 
 ysis demonstrates the truth 
 as, and the figure then cir- 
 ns to come back agaii. to 
 i : and thus, in per.ods so 
 man mind can not stretch 
 comprehend them, we find 
 lations sweeping backward 
 narrow limits within which 
 as confined them. 
 ; shoujd this hange have 
 the moon ? I will answer. 
 
 
 ASTRONOMY. 
 
 171 
 
 The moon is revolving about the earth, and 
 its motion is impressed u[)on it. Now, if no 
 other object existed outside the moon's orbit, 
 the earth would be able to draw the moon 
 closei to itself, and impress upon it a central 
 movement. But all the other heavenly bod- 
 ies, are on the outside of the moon's orbit, 
 drawing it away from the earth, taking it 
 partly from under the inlluence of the earth, 
 and e.<rrtii;g their influence upon it. Hence, 
 if it were possible to remove the earth and 
 the moon further from these disturbing influ- 
 ences, then will the moon CDmu entirely under 
 the influence of the earth, and its motion will i 
 be increased. Now this is the exact case in ' 
 nature ; it is precisely what is going on, in j 
 consetpience of the changes on the figure of j 
 the earth's orbit. Its orbit is becoming more I 
 nearly a circle, not bringing the moon so near 
 the sun as it once did ; hence it is able now 
 more etlectually to master its own satellite, 
 and thus impress upon it a more circular orbit. 
 
 But is this to go on throughout eternity ? 
 I answer, no. For when an orbit shall have 
 attained a circular form, and begins to recede 
 back to an elliptic figure, then will these 
 changes again take place in the motion of the 
 mo"'- ind that which was once acceleration 
 becoin' 3 retardation, and from the effect of the 
 very same cause, the sun will begin to take 
 hold of the moon, with greater and still great- 
 er power. Now what the period of these 
 changes may be — although possibly within 
 the limits of calculation — we have not yet 
 computed. One thing, however, we do know 
 — they are not to be reckoned by hundreds or 
 thousands — they must expand to millions of 
 years before the exact conformation of the sys- 
 tem can be brought about again. 
 
 Though I have presented you demonstration 
 upon ;'iiuir>nstration, you will pardon me if 
 I occupy a little more than my allotted time, 
 ■n giving "ome account of the telescopic ap- 
 T't ^''ancc of the moon's surface. Those, who 
 .. • iLe f.rst time, behold the moon's surface 
 'h ciugh a powerful instrument, will always 
 be disappointed in its ai)pcarance. There are 
 mighty mountains on its surface; there are 
 deep bleak cavities, some perhaps fifteen, 
 twenty, forty, and even sixty miles in diame- 
 ter and sinking below the surface, seven and 
 eight thousand feet. Out of these, mighty 
 rocks ari-se two thousand feet above the level 
 of the valley, casting their deep black shad- 
 ows upon the plains b jIow. All these thing:? 
 are very fine ; and yet on looking at them 
 through the, telescope, for the first time, one 
 is invariably disappointed. You can not see 
 mountains at. you see them in the highlands of 
 New York : you can not see the gray rocks 
 projecting so beautifully as you behofl them 
 on some earthly mountaiu height. Remcm- 
 
 V2. 
 
 bcr after your telescope has carried you out 
 as far as it can reach, there is yet u whole 
 hundred miles to be overcome. So in spite 
 of all you can do, and with all the aid you 
 can bnng, you are a hundred miles from the 
 object. 
 
 But do we know nothing of the moon? 
 Are we so far ofl', that we can tell nothing of 
 the charaetcil -tics of its surface ? I answer : 
 "We know t'-.ai, towering mountains lift rficir 
 lofty heads, deep caverns yawn, and there are 
 vast circular elevations, resembling the usual 
 productions of volcanic action. And how do 
 we determine these things? By the lights 
 and shadows which show themselves to the 
 eye, we measure the height of these mount- 
 ains, by remarking the relative ))osition of the 
 sun and the earth. We mark the extremities 
 of their long deep shadows, and find that as 
 the sun slowly rises, the shadows by degrees 
 recede toward the base of the mountains; 
 and, when noonday arrives, they entirely dis- 
 appear. Then as the sun begins to decline 
 on the other side, the same dark shadows are 
 cast in the opposite directions. We watch 
 these movements till we ascertain with per- 
 fect certainty the character of the object 
 which casts the shadow, and we measure its 
 height. These are reliable facts. 
 
 But the question next comes ; How is it 
 possible to measure the depths of those deep 
 cavities? It appears as if immense lakes 
 had once filled them, and by some extraordi- 
 nary means, the water had been evaporated, 
 leaving the interior dry, hard, and sterile. We 
 find these depths in like manner as we ascer- 
 tain the height of mountains. When the 
 sun is first rising, it casts its lifjht into these 
 cavities of the moon ; we sin shadows cast by 
 the sunward sides, and the limits of the cavi- 
 ties are defined with a degree of accuracy sur- 
 passing anything upon the surfnoo of the 
 earth. For the shadows are not here so black 
 as upon yonder orb. They art; mitis^HMi and 
 dispersedl through the influence ot our atmo- 
 sphere. But on the moon there is no atmo- 
 sphere, at least not .such a one as will eompure 
 at all with ours. The moon's atmosphere, if 
 indeed it have one, can 1 e no denser than the 
 extremely rarified air left in the most perfect 
 vacuum yet produced in an exhausted re- 
 ceiver. It can not sustain animal life — it can 
 not support clouds, nor can it sustain combus- 
 tion. And for the reason that the moon has 
 no atmosphere, there is no gradual fading 
 away of the light as the sun sinks deeper be- 
 low the horizon — no soft, mild, and lovely 
 twilight, such as sheds a holy serenity over 
 our favore<l globe — but instantaneous and ap- 
 palling darkness follows the setting of the sun, 
 drear as the night of death ; and broken — not 
 by the " rosy-fingered morn," slowly waxing 
 
 
 ■' i 
 
 
 IliS-l 
 
i'vltis:- 
 
 ">»"»W»»' 
 
 172 
 
 SIERRA LEONS. 
 
 from faint streaks of light, to thn fullness of 
 the day-spriiif; — but startled from the very 
 depth of bliickness by the lightning-flash of 
 the sun's lueridian glory. 
 
 SIERRA LEONE. 
 
 Sierra Leone is a considerable country 
 of Western Africa, on the Atlantic, distinj;uish- 
 ed for the colony formed there by the British 
 nation, rather from motives of philonthropy 
 than from those of commercial advantage. 
 It is traversed by a considerable river, called 
 the Miiomba or Sierra Leone. Its name is 
 derived from a ridge of mountains, which rises 
 near the southern bank of the river. This 
 country equals, in fertility and popnlousness, 
 any other in this part of Africa. It consists 
 generally of one vast, almost impenetrable 
 fore.st, only particular spots of which have 
 been cleared and cultivated. Rice is raiseil 
 wherever the ground is sutficiently watered 
 for its production, and forms the constant food 
 of the rich ; but the poor content themselves 
 with millet, yams, and plantains. There is a 
 great abundance of the most delicate fruits. 
 Elephants' teeth and civet are brought to the 
 coast. The woods and mountains are infested 
 with wild animals, particularly lions, from 
 the multitude of which the country ap])ears 
 to have derived its name. There are swarms 
 of insects, flies, musquitoes, and particularly 
 ants, the white species of which commit ex- 
 traordinary devastation. The serpent species 
 are also very numerous, and the rivers, be- 
 sides yielding an ample supply of fish for 
 food, contain large alligators, and the manata 
 or sea-cow. 
 
 The natives cf this country are not of so 
 deep black a complexion as those of Cape 
 Verd, nor have tliey the flat nose of the negro 
 race to such a degree, but the character of 
 the ditTerent tribes varies very considerably. 
 The Portuguese were the first who discovered 
 and form((l settlements on the river Sierra 
 Leone. Toward the close of the eighteenth 
 century the British began to turn their views 
 toward Sierra Leone, with a view to coloni- 
 zation, for the more effectual abolition of the 
 slave-trade, by raising up an African colony, 
 whither the slaves might be senr as freemen. 
 Lord Mansfield having decided, in 1772, that 
 a slave w'io sets foot in Britain becomes free, 
 a number of blacks in this country left their 
 masters, and were wandering about in a 
 desolate condition. Granville Sharp formed 
 the plan of transporting them to Africa; and, 
 the aid of the government having been ob- 
 tained, they were landed, in 1787, upon a 
 
 district jnirchascd from the king of Sierra 
 Leone. These negroes and the white feinulea 
 sent with them were mostly of indilVcriMit 
 characters, and a severe mortality ensued 
 among them. In 17!)-2, about 1,',M)0 negroes, 
 who had left their masters in the Utiiteil 
 States, dining the revolutionary v.ar, wer 
 also landed at Sierra Leone; and sever'; 
 years later the colony was increased by ,050 
 Maroons from Nova Scotia. Little [irogress, 
 however, had been made in the objects for 
 which the colony was formed, and, in 1807, 
 it was surrendered into the hands of the crown. 
 At the j)eriod, Great Britain received permis- 
 sion from several powers to treat as pirates 
 such of their subjects as should be found 
 engaged in the slave-trade north of the line; 
 and the liberated negroes seized by her cruis- 
 ers were placed at Sierra Leoni>. For the 
 first six months they reeeivi; a daily iillowauee 
 from the government, after which Imids are 
 assigned them, and they are left to sujiport 
 themselves. The number thus lilierated has 
 been about 20,000 ; and although iheir wild 
 and improvident habits have thrown many 
 difficulties in the way of the benevolent ex- 
 ertions of the British authorities, recent ac- 
 counts give decided proofs of great imjjrove- 
 ments in the spirit and condition of the colon- 
 ists. Freetown, the princi|)al place of the 
 colony, has an excellent harbor on the river 
 Sierra Leone, about six miles from the seu, 
 and upward of 6,000 inhobitants. Kegent's 
 town, six miles south of Freetown, founded 
 in 1816, has a population of 1.300; and in 
 the vicinity are several villages, with a more 
 distant stations of "Waterloo, Wellington, and 
 Hastings. Bathurst, on thi; (Tunibiii, is a 
 settlement also connected with this colony. 
 
 Our cut represents ])art of Regent's town 
 in the colony of Sierra Leone. It !■< inhabit- 
 ed by negroes of many ditlerent nations in 
 Africa, whom piraticafdealcrs were carrying 
 into slavery. The ships in which they had 
 been crowded together were tnkcn by the 
 English cruisers, and the negroes set at liberty 
 Here, and in other towns in the colony, these 
 injured negroes are placed in safety. 
 
 On the right of the view, a part of the 
 {own is seen: it extends, liowever, a consider- 
 able way further than is shown in our en- 
 gravmg. It is laid out with regularity, pos- 
 sesses several streets, and is iidinbited by 
 nearly 2,000 negroes old and young. V stone- 
 bridge, built by the negroes, leads from the 
 town to the side of the brook where the 
 principal buildings are. These consist chiefly 
 of the church, the mission or parsonage house, 
 and a house for the governor. TJiese and 
 other buildings are all of stone. This place 
 is now a beautifully-cultivated and well-gov- 
 erned spot ; and yet, only a few yea'« since, 
 
ed from th(> kirif; of Sierra 
 n.'^nrocs Qiiil till" wliirt! fcinulcs 
 
 were inoxlly of imlilU'rciit 
 
 a severe mortiility ensued 
 ji 17!)'3, nbout l.'.'OO ncgnjes, 
 heir musters in llie United 
 lie revolutionury v.iir, wer 
 Sierra Lconi!; and sRvef: 
 •olony wus inen'iised l)y 550 
 ovaScotin. Little [iro;iiress, 
 ecn made in the olijects for 
 y was formed, mid, in ifl07, 
 :d into the bunds of flie crown, 
 reat Britain rceeived jtermis- 
 il ])r)wcrs to treiit as pirates 
 uhjects ns shoidd Ijc found 
 lavo-tra(h; north of tlie line; 
 I ncn;roe9 seized by her eruis- 
 
 at Sierra Leone. For tlic 
 hey re(;rive a daily idlownncc 
 ment, after whicli lamls are 
 md they are left to support 
 le number thus liberated has 
 i)0; and ullhouj;h iheir wild 
 t habits have tlirown many 
 > way of the benevolent ex- 
 iritish aiithcn'ilies, recent ac- 
 :led jiroofs of great im])rove- 
 •it and condition of the colon- 
 
 tho j)rinci))al jdace of the 
 xcellent harbor on tlie river 
 Jirat six miles from the sea, 
 6,000 inhabitants. Kegent's 
 south of Freetown, founded 
 population of 1.300; and in 
 several vilhii,'es, with a more 
 )f Waterloo, Wellington, and 
 lurst, on the (Tumbia, is a 
 :onnected with this colony, 
 sents part of Regent's town 
 Sierra Leone. It is iidiabit- 
 jf many ditlerent nations in 
 iratical dealers were carrying 
 Phe shif)s in wuieh they "had 
 ogcther were tnken by the 
 and the negroes set at liberty 
 ler towns in the colony, these 
 ire placed in safety, 
 of the view, a part of the 
 extends, howevcn-, a consider- 
 er than is shown in our en- 
 laid out with regularity, pos- 
 itreets, and is inhabited by 
 roes old and young. V stone- 
 the negroes, leaij.s from the 
 le of the brook where the 
 gsare. These consist chiefly 
 le mission or parsonage house, 
 • the governor. These and 
 are all of stone. This place 
 ully-cultivttted and well-gov- 
 yet, only a few yeo's since, 
 
 rp-t: 
 
 ;.^ 
 
 m 
 
 i 
 
^■,*«i 
 
 174 
 
 THK AMfc-'UCAN CONTlNKNT. 
 
 the whole was ti %\ id desert. Another view 
 of thu town is prcscnteil (.n the oi»po8ito page. 
 
 The clinDttte of Sierra Lediio fi)nns so pe- 
 nuliar a ft iture of its geogra])Iucal charncter, 
 that wo gladly avail oursi Ivea of Major ilick- 
 ett'.< acrouiit, |)reli.\e(l i his ioumnl of the 
 Ashiiiiteo wiir : — 
 
 " On landing at FreeV vn, u 'iger is not 
 a liitif surprised to behold a plu so far su- 
 jx-rior to wliut he ha<l In en induci 1 to«(pt.H;l : 
 ami if ho should urrive in the herniitan season 
 wiien resident Kuropeans an- imtrnlly in li 
 ter health than at othci ,ienod9 (if the year, 
 from its suhihrious elVects, ho will be nlii d 
 with an agreeable s*melI,Himilar to tha' if new 
 hay, and will wonder how it w"*" [MWMble tiie 
 ))laee eoiild be so inihealltiy as refiresented ; 
 but on the approach of the ras ly season, his 
 wonder begins to cease. 
 
 " The hermitau is u very dry e-^-t. : ly wind, 
 which, in a few days, dries up uU vegetation, 
 except trees; ii sets in about December, and 
 continues at intervals for severtd days togeth- 
 er: such is the nature of the henni' i, that 
 the flooring of the houses, window-sli itters, 
 and other wood work, shrink and separate more 
 than an inch asumler; the glass is broke. 
 and the furniture is warped, but at the n 
 proach of the rains, the open seams gradual, 
 close again. 
 
 " After the absence of rain for many inon»h^, 
 the parched surface of the earth, all its \ 
 tation, e^ cept trees, having been dried up by 
 the hermitan, and then scorched by the in- 
 tense heut of a tropical sun, is suddenly cov- 
 ered with verdure. The day after the first 
 shower, the force of vegetation is so great, 
 that the face of nature is completely changed, 
 and it may literally be said that the grass 
 and weeds maybe seen to grow; yet, how- 
 ever strange it may appear, although these, 
 as well as the indigo plant, prow spontaneous- 
 ly everywhere, new land will not satisfactori- 
 ly produce the usual articles of consumption 
 nir three successive years, and some land 
 
 will not even yield the second year. The 
 dry season is preceded by dry tornadoes, 
 which, toward the latter end of May, are ac- 
 companieJ by rain ; they last generally about 
 an hour, sometimes not so long. They very 
 mr.ch resemble the hurricanes in the West 
 Indies, but are not so furious; they vary from 
 southeast to northeast. A dark cloud in the 
 easteni hori.-on foretells the approach of a 
 tornado; it advances, accompanied by tre- 
 mendous thunder and vivid flashes of light- 
 ning, whicli at first are distant and faint, until 
 the whole heavens gradually become obscured 
 by one black cloud. It frequently happens 
 that, from the quarter opjiosite to that where 
 i the cloud first appears, there previously arises 
 a breeze, which dies away as the tornado 
 
 gathe'b! the utmosphcrc then becomes very 
 sultry, and the tornado advances, with a great 
 rush of wind, bursts, sweeping bt • " it (if no 
 rain has previously fallen) inimcn- louds r)f 
 dust. The wet tort! idoes are suci edcd by 
 a beautifnl serene sky, and thi' air is (greatly 
 refreshed; tin' frame b< comes ij(oratea, 
 and the mind m ii- cheerful. Ah ihe rainy 
 season advano , the tormidocs gradually 
 cease, and art ^ucceedi ■' liy abnost eonstant 
 heavy rain; ut tln> tfrminai of tin nin^, 
 the tomiid(WH again 'lake their appi aruncp, 
 becoming weaker as .le dry season approach- 
 es, un' 1 they cease altogether. 
 
 " At interval* durincr the day in the rainy 
 season, the action of itensely hot sun on 
 
 the earth, covered wiu. a luxuriant vegeta- 
 tion, and sn'i 'id with moisture, produces a 
 disagreeabii; bK:kening si ell, which is prob- 
 nlily one of the causes oi the fever that prc- 
 ails at this perioiJ of the vear, as persons 
 recently arrivcl are generallv taki ill in July 
 or August; some, however, hi.yr been known 
 to Tc-ide in the coh about two years with- 
 out having been ati'ect( by it. If they re- 
 maii yond this time, they are certain not 
 to je it much lont"r ; and when at length 
 i' J take the fever, it gen "ly proves fatal 
 
 them. It is considered ire favorable 
 
 /mptom for a stranger to ' . /cd with the 
 
 '•■ ver soon after his arrival The havoc which 
 
 is dreadful disease has mi 1e among the 
 i:.uropean8 who have gone out, or have been 
 sent to the colony, is well known. On the 
 first arrival of European troops, in 1825, they 
 died in greater numbers than at any subse- 
 quent period ; the cause was attributed much 
 to the incomplete state of the barracks, which 
 had been hastily erected, the materials arri- 
 ving from England at the same time with the 
 troops, the barracks could not, consequently, 
 be covered in before the rains. From the 
 wnnt of occonnnodation on shore, most of the 
 troops were kept on board the transports for 
 some months. After the completion of the 
 barracks, and the walls had become dry, the 
 troops enjoyed better health, hut they drank 
 freely, and it was very difficult to keep them 
 sober. This no doubt tended much to bring 
 on sickness among them; the officers died, 
 however, in proportion." 
 
 THE AMERICAN CONTINENT. 
 
 Had not Columbus discovered America in 
 1492, it would not have much longer remain- 
 ed unknown to Europe, as the continent was 
 found by Cabot, a Portuguese navigator, 
 about 1500. He was on a voyagfe to the East 
 
DspliiTi' then becomes very 
 tiailo uilvuiicps, with a great 
 Its, Hwecping hi " it (if iii> 
 y fallen) iniinon ionds of 
 tori^ 'li>e8 arc suci eilcd by 
 »ky, anil the air i« jjreatly 
 ame hi lomrs ig«»rated, 
 ri' cheerful. Ah ihe rainy 
 the tornmlors fjrii.lually 
 ccedi"! by almost ci instant 
 u" tprtiiinati of lb' uin 
 lin nake their oppi miner, 
 M i lie dry seaxon ainiron.-h- 
 *e altogether. 
 
 durimx the day in the rainy 
 oi itensnly hot sun on 
 
 i wiiii u hixnriunt ven;eta- 
 .1 with moisture, produces a 
 Bniiif{ siiudl, which is jirob- 
 »use8 oi the fever that pre- 
 od of the vear, as persons 
 n; generally takr , ill in July 
 however, ^I.^•(> been known 
 il( . , about two vears with- 
 ifl'ecti ' by it. If they re- 
 time, they are certain not 
 Ion r ; and when at length 
 
 er, U yer 
 insidered 
 'anger to 
 9 arrival 
 ease has 
 
 'v |)roves fatal 
 re favorable 
 /cd with the 
 rhe havoc which 
 mil Id among the 
 ave gone out, or have been 
 y, is well known. On the 
 iropean troops, in 1825, they 
 lumbers than at any subse- 
 ! cause was attributed much 
 state of the barracks, which 
 erected, the materials nrri- 
 id at the same time with the 
 ;ks could not, consequently, 
 sfore the rains. From the 
 dation on shore, most of the 
 on board the transports for 
 ^fter the completion of the 
 I Willis had become dry, the 
 3tter health, but they drank 
 i very difficult to keep them 
 lioubt tended much to bring 
 ng them ; the officers died, 
 ortion." 
 
 RICAN CONTINENT. 
 
 mbu3 discovered America in 
 )t have much longer remain- 
 lurope, as the continent was 
 t, a Portuguese navigator, 
 5 was on a voyagfe to the East 
 
 1 
 
 I 
 
 B 
 f 
 
 9 
 
 T5 
 
 il 
 
 '11 
 
 « 
 
 iii 
 
'itj!/' 
 
 '#! 
 
 <ti 
 
 Mfi 
 
 176 
 
 TlIK AMKHICAN CONTINENT. 
 
 Iiiilie*. liiit ntnndinjr far to tlir wrut. lit- fell in 
 witli IiiimI ; lifiiiK II portiiili of what i-* imw 
 ciillfd Hra/.il. My wlint iimy ''<• <•""'''' n 
 '•Hiri«uliir (•(pincidcnop," tlii» liiml liiy within 
 till' liinit-> iiMsij,'niil l>y rlir I'lill of I'oPf AlfX- 
 iihilrr VI. to till' I'oVtimui'Kc. wlirn In- imiti- 
 tionid worliU to he discos i-rcil or sfi/.cd by 
 Portii,i,ml imd Si-uii,. Tiiis wii^ vfry mnioy- 
 iiij; to tln' Siiaiiinrds, who ttiii^ hud to nhoro 
 tliu contincnl with iinothcr timi a rival power. 
 Tiiux, without di'tractini; from the alory thfit 
 justly hi'loiigs to (,'olinnlnis. sve hvv- that urci- 
 dcnl would have ttU'rtfd the iL'riiit end, to the 
 rt-ali/ation of whi(di iif di^xottd his lilo ; so 
 cupriciMirt are the deerees of fortune. 
 
 Thr tirst peiHon who visited the Atnericon 
 contimnt, was John <'ubot, a Veuetiuii iner- 
 ehant, who resided \u Bristol, Kn-ilaiid. He 
 made the discovery m 1497, somewhere on 
 the eoast of Lulirador. He was aeeon>|)nnied 
 bv his more famous son, Sebu.sinin Cabot. 
 " So long ago us the rei^iU of Pliilii. II., it 
 WOH proposed to cut b canal throujjh the isth- 
 mus at Panama, for ship navigation, and en- 
 gineers were sent to examine the coinitry. 
 "They, however," says a Sjiaiiish writer, 
 " found the obstacles insuperable ; and the 
 council of the Indies at the same time re])re- 
 sented to the king the injuries which such a 
 canal wotdd occasion to tlio monarchy ; in 
 conseciuenee of which, his majesty decreed 
 that no one should in future attempt, or even 
 propose, such an undertaking under pain of 
 death." The injuries feared were the ?"/»/rM- 
 sion, as Spain considered it. of foreigners into 
 the '• South sea," and the conse(pient weak- 
 ening of ;]ie monopoly she then had of that 
 portion of the world. The only human ac- 
 cess to the Pacific at that time from the west, 
 was through the strait of Magellan, the diffi- 
 culty of navigating which was great. In 
 l(i(i(i, eighteen years after the death of Philip 
 II., the passage into the Pacitic by the way 
 of Cape Horn was discovered by two Hol- 
 landers, named Lemaire and Van Schonten, 
 who named the promontory after their native 
 place. 
 
 The first Englishman who entered the Pa- 
 cific, was John Oxenham, who, in 1555, cross- 
 ed the isthmus of Panama, at ^the head of a 
 party of his countrymen, a botly of semi- 
 freebooters — built a ship, and made jirizes of 
 many Spanish ships. They were finally 
 captured by the Spaniards, and most of them 
 ignominiously executed at Panama. Drake 
 was fortunate. He entered the Pacific by 
 the strait of Magellan, and though he had 
 but one small vessel— a schooner of a hun- 
 dred tons, and sixty men, he inllicted great in- 
 jury on the Spanish settlements, and com- 
 merce. This was in 1578-'9. The third of 
 these Jreebooters, as they called themselves, 
 
 was Thonnis Cavendish, who, in IIH?, rnv. 
 aged the western roast of Aliierini, iiliil rap- 
 tured among other vessels the (Jalleoii, that 
 was on iier way from iMaiiilia to Aeamiieo. 
 Tliese "genlleinaii-rovers" wete the illustri- 
 ous predecessors of the liuraiiiers of the next 
 century, and held that lliere was " no law be- 
 yond trie line." 
 
 The first • peilition ever undertaken by 
 the English expressly in seurch of a north- 
 west passagi' in the Pacific, was sent out in 
 1576, under the command of Martin Krobish- 
 er, a celebrated navigator in un age Mlxniitdihg 
 in daring and accomplished iiiariners. Sixty 
 years before, Sebastian Cabot discovered 
 Hudson's strait. 
 
 The name America wos first applied to this 
 continent, or division of the globe, in 1507, 
 ill a work published by one Martin Waldre- 
 mullen, at St. Die, in Lorraine. The Span- 
 iards never called their possessions liy the 
 name of America until about the inidille of 
 the 18th c.:ntury. They gave them the name 
 of the West Indies. The continent should 
 be called Colonia, or Colonica, frotn the Iti.l- 
 ian name of its discoverer. This would do 
 honor and justice to both his name and race. 
 The first person of the Anglo Saxon race, 
 bom within the limits of the United States, 
 was Virginia Dare. She was bom on the 
 18th of August, 1587. Her ])arents belonged 
 to the company sent over by Rahiigh, and who 
 IKWsessed the colony of Ilounoke. The name 
 of Virginia was given her from that of the 
 country in which the colony was situated. 
 Her fate, together with that of the entire 
 po|)ulation of the colony, is unknown. All 
 perished, and, as Bancroft beautifully has it : 
 "If America had no English town, it soon 
 had English graves." 
 
 The French early reached this country, 
 and, within seven years of the discovery of 
 the continent, the ftsHeries of Newfoundland 
 were known to the hardy mariners of Brit- 
 tony and Normandy. In 1534, Verrazam, 
 an Italian in the service of Francis I., ran 
 along ahead the whole coast of Ntmh Amer- 
 ica, to the 60th degree of latitude. He saw 
 the harbor of what is now New York, and 
 noted its convenience and pleasontness ; and 
 for fifteen days his vessel lay in the beautiful 
 haven of Newport. Jaijues Cartier was the 
 first person who sailed uj) the St. Lawrence, 
 which he did in August, 1534. The next 
 year, he made a second voyf ge to the K-rrie 
 (|uarter, and sailed up the rive' to the siif of 
 the present city of Montreal. He took p<)S- 
 j session of the ',e h gions for Fra.-.rs. All the 
 I earlifi un-^iip's t.t colonization failed, and it 
 wa'i net jnlil ih'. beginning of the 17th cen- 
 tury. :ha^, under the direction of the celebra- 
 I ted Champlain, they supceeded 
 
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 iiilisti, >vliii, ill KiM?, rnv. 
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 ition ever umlertnkfn by 
 inIv in ttearch <>l' n iiorfh- 
 B f'licitii', wan sent out in 
 iimiiml of Mnriiii Krobish- 
 i^ittor ill tin nijr' ulxxiniliii^ 
 niilinhc'd mariners. Sixty 
 t>UHtiun CuImjI iliHCovtTfil 
 
 iea was first applifil to this 
 ion of thfi piobc, in ITjO?, 
 m1 liy one Martin Walilro- 
 in Lorraine. Th<" Spnn- 
 tlieir j)o«seH.si(ina liy the 
 until about the iniilille of 
 They gave them tlie name 
 »8. The continent should 
 or Colonica, from the Iti.l- 
 Bcoverer. This woultl ilo 
 
 both his name aw\ roee. 
 of the Anglo Suxon race, 
 nits of the United States, 
 e. Sht! was bom on the 
 87. Her ))arents belonged 
 It over by Raleigh, iinil who 
 ly of Ivounoke. The name 
 ;iven her from that of the 
 
 the colony was situated, 
 r with that of the entire 
 
 colony, is unknown. All 
 3ancroft beautifully has it : 
 
 no English town, it soon 
 
 8." 
 
 irly reached this country, 
 years of the discovery of 
 fisheries of Newfoundland 
 le hardy mariners of Brit- 
 ndy. In ]r)24, Verrazam, 
 service of Francis I., ran 
 ■hole coast of North Amer- 
 ■gree of latitude. He saw 
 at is now New York, and 
 mce and pleasantness ; and 
 8 vessel luy in the beautiful 
 t. .Ta(iues Cartier was the 
 aileil up the St. Lawrence, 
 August, 1534. The next 
 second voyf ge to the F-rae 
 
 1 up the rive' to the si:» of 
 f Montreal. lie took p<i8- 
 f gions for Fro.... s. All the 
 t eolnnization failed, and it 
 bfiginning of the 17th cen- 
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 FOUNDER OF THE CITY OF BOSTON, AND FIRST GOVERNOR OF MASSACHUSETTS. 
 
 
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178 
 
 BIOGRAPHY OF JOHN WINTHROP. 
 
 BIOGRArHY OF JOHN WINTHROP, 
 
 FIRST OOVKRNOR OF MASSACHUSETTS. 
 
 Wf, know of nothing in the history of 
 colonies marked with 80 many peculiarities, 
 as the first settlement of New England. No 
 others were ever founded for purposes strictly 
 religious. Christian faith gave a tone to so- 
 ciety that is still felt throughout the commu- 
 nity. The belief of a special Providence di- 
 recting all matters of government, and order- 
 ing its changes, visiting vice with temporal 
 calamitie*. and giving peculiar aid to right 
 motives, seemed to bring man into more im- 
 mediate cimimunictttion with his Maker, and 
 to insi)ire him with high resolves.* It was 
 in this way that the colonists sustained them- 
 selves through the ditliculties and dangers 
 which met them at every step, and which it 
 was the daily, constant occupation of their 
 lives to surmount. But for this principle, it 
 would not be easy to understand felly the 
 prevailing character of the early period of their 
 history, and to judge aright of the principles 
 which supported the fathers of New England 
 in their struggles, situated as we are in the 
 midst of ease and prosperity. Indeed the 
 whole character of those who influenced and 
 directed their councils, has never been cor- 
 rectly estimated. By some it has been view- 
 ed as a model for the present generation, jjos- 
 sessed of every virtue, without blemish or 
 reproach. Others have seen nothing but bigo- 
 try, hy|)()crisy, a spirit of persecution, gloomy 
 superstition, and an absence of the social 
 graces and virtues. Both of these views do 
 violence to human nature, history, and truth. 
 There is a manifest wantof jus'ice in deciding 
 upon au}' ]iortion of history in th'5 abstract, or 
 by views which are obtained in a more refined 
 and cultivated state of society, where ques- 
 tions of uiitnral right are better understood. 
 A more correct judgment may be formed by 
 takin"' into the estimate the general state of 
 
 * OuiiPiT.oRiM Fathkhs. — When our fatliers fled 
 from peiseculiuri in KrialiiiK), and s<iUi;ht rin apyluin 
 in this coniilry, tliey at lirst depended much upon tlie 
 supplies ol loud iVom llic motlier-country. A com 
 pany of lliora Imving at one time yono to the sea- 
 shore, after looliinj; anxiouHly for a vessel which was 
 to bring llicni corn^ and being disappointed, hunger 
 induced them to search among the pebbles for 8onie- 
 thing to satisfy the craving demands of nature — And 
 sincove was their gratitude to Him who 'Mipenelh his 
 hand and satislieth tlie desire of every living thing," 
 when they found in the sand a kind of muscle, of 
 which they partook, and found to be wholesome and 
 nutricious. One day, after they liad finislied a hearty 
 meal of tliis kind, a venerable old man stood up and 
 returned thanks, by blessing God that ho had ful- 
 filled to them tlie promise made to Zebulon, Ukut. 
 xxxiii , 19 : " Tliey shall ofter sacrifices of righteous- 
 ness, for they shall suok of tlie abundance of the teas, 
 ■nd of treasurer hid in the sand." 
 
 society at the time, and any peculiarities in 
 the combination of circumstances that go to 
 form the aggregate. If we apply this rule to 
 the early settlers of New England, we may 
 lament the severities with which they visited 
 dilfering shades of o])inion and disrespect of 
 authority, the readiness which they manifest- 
 ed to believe that the calamities which befell 
 the eriing, and their enemies, were instances 
 of the Divine indignation. We c<»ild wish 
 that sqme things had been otherwise, some 
 we would blot out; but we can not join with 
 tliose who tread with contempt n|)on their 
 ashes, and condemn the ]>rincipal feuluros of 
 their character. They were no common 
 men who guided the suirerers from the ven- 
 geance of power to these shores. Virtue was 
 strong ; religion found her votories, who were 
 willing to quit the hearths and altars, the re- 
 finement and luxury of the old world, to erect 
 temples to the Most High in the deep .=ilence 
 of our forests. We can not join in a general 
 condemnation of those who fostered the good 
 institutions that have descended to us ; strength- 
 ened them against the violence of opposition ; 
 planted the seeds of liberty, now in full fruit ; 
 and cherished religion, till it became an es- 
 sential element in the constitution of society. 
 Surely it is some praiso that they planted 
 churches in every villoge ; thot, by the sys- 
 tem of free schools, established in many towns 
 so early as 1C45, and by law in 1648, they 
 sent the kindly influences of learning to the 
 fireside of the humblest citizen ; and, t(j crown 
 all, founded that venerable university, which 
 for two centuries has been the direct source 
 of incalculable goml to the peojile, and may 
 be regarded as, in an important sense, the 
 parent of many of the similar institutions in 
 our land ; anti all this at a time when the 
 people were few, anil, by reason of theii pov- 
 erty, were obliged, for one year, to forbear 
 laying the usual tax. 
 
 From a general view of our early hi.story, 
 we are satisfied, that the fathersof New Eng- 
 land were upright, intelligent, and )(ious men, 
 whose main endeavor was to strengthen the 
 colonics they had planted, accorditig to llieir 
 ability ; and that even their errors, in most 
 instances, were the result of good motives, 
 and an ardent desire to promote religion, 
 learning, purity, and all the best interests of 
 the community. 
 
 Governor Winthrop, the subject of this 
 biography, was born at Groton, in Sullblk, 
 England, June 12, 1587; and was descended 
 from an ancient and honorable family. His 
 grandfather was an eminent lawyer, in the 
 reign of Henry VIII., and attached to the 
 reformation. His father was of the same pro- 
 fession, and the governor himself was bred 
 a lawyer, in which character he was eminent 
 

 , nnd any peculinritiea in 
 circ'uinstaiiccs that go to 
 If we ni)i)ly this rule to 
 f New KriKlaiiil, we may 
 s with which they visited 
 o])iiiii)n nnd disrespect of 
 ness which they manifest- 
 he calamities which befell 
 r cnoiHies. were instances 
 ^nation. We could wish 
 lad heen otherwise, some 
 
 bnt we can not join with 
 k'ith contem|)t n|K)n their 
 I the |)rincipul feuluros of 
 They were no common 
 be sulFerers from the ven- 
 thesB shores. Virtue was 
 nd her votaries, who were 
 hearths and altars, the re- 
 f of the old world, to erect 
 t High in the deep silence 
 8 can not join in a general 
 ose who fostered the good 
 5 descended to us ; strength- 
 he violence of opposition; 
 ' liberty, now in full fruit ; 
 on, till it became an es- 
 he constitution of society, 
 praiss that they planted 
 village ; that, by the sys- 
 estaMished in many towns 
 nd by law in 1648, they 
 luences of learning to the 
 lest citizen ; nnd, to crown 
 ■nerable university, which 
 18 been the direct source 
 d to the pcojile, and may 
 
 an important sense, the 
 the sin)ilar institutions in 
 this at a time when the 
 ad, by reason of theii ])ov- 
 , for one year, to forbear 
 
 view of our early history, 
 U the fathers of Kew Eng- 
 intelligent, and jiious men, 
 \'n\ was to strengthen the 
 planted, according to their 
 sven their errors, in most 
 e result of good motives, 
 'sire to promote religion, 
 id all the best interests of 
 
 HROP, the subject of this 
 )rn at Groton, in Sutlidk, 
 1587; and was descended 
 1 honorable family. His 
 1 eminent lawyer, in the 
 III., and attached to the 
 father was of the same pro- 
 [overnor himself wns bred 
 I character he was eminent 
 
 BIOGRAPHY OF JOHN WINTHROP. 
 
 179 
 
 for both integrity nnd abilities. Indeed, he 
 must have liad the fairest reputation, for he 
 was appointed a justice of the pence at eigh- 
 teen y<'iirs of age. 
 
 Wliru the design of settling a colony in 
 New England was undertaken, Mr. Wintlinjp 
 was chosen, with general consent, to conduct 
 the enterjirise. His estate, amounting to tin; 
 value of six or seven hundred pounds sterling 
 a year, he converted into money, and em- 
 barked his all to jiromote the settlement of 
 New England. When he left Groton he wns 
 in the forty-third yenr of his age. He ar- 
 rived at Salem with the Massacliusetts char- 
 ter, June ISJ, 1()30. 
 
 To no one are wo more indebted than to 
 WiNTHRor, not only for the manifold good 
 which he did in his own day, but ulso for the 
 history he has left us of the early transactions 
 in church and state in New England, and 
 especially in Massachusetts. His work, 
 which, as we gather from him, was intended 
 for publication and for posterity, was left by 
 him in raanuscrijit. in three parts. Those hud 
 all been in the hands of Hubbard, Mather, 
 and Prince, who it seems, had derived more 
 assistance from them than they were ready to 
 acknowledge. The first two parts, bringing 
 the histo.N \)wn to 1644, were published at 
 Hartford lu Connecticut, in 1790. The third 
 part was discovered in the tower of the old 
 South ehuich in IJoston, in 1816. On colla- 
 ting the nmnus(Tipt of the first two parts with 
 the printed volume, the latter was found to 
 contain many errors; and the whole work has 
 been published 1-y the Massachusetts Histori- 
 cal Society, with tb- sistance of the legis- 
 lature of tlmt state 'hi'd i)art had never 
 before been ])ublishe(l. ontinues the his- 
 tory down to the time ol his death. Much 
 interesting matter, and many important facts, 
 are containeil in this part. Of these, are re- 
 lations of the various discussions between the 
 magistrates and deputies relative to their 
 respective powers ; an account of the synod 
 that met at Cambridge to establish the platfonn 
 of church disci[)line and government ; a de- 
 fence against the charges which were raised 
 to the prejudice of the colonists, by their ene- 
 mies, nnd preferred before the commissioners 
 in England. These all serve to fill up the 
 delineation of the character of the fathers of 
 New England to the middle of the seventeenth 
 century. 
 
 The contents of Winthuop's " History of 
 New England," are so various, that it is dif- 
 ficult to make an extract that will do justice 
 to the author. But we select at a venture 
 his "little speech," as he terms it. In 1645, 
 when he was de])uty governor, he was singled 
 out from the rest of the magistrates, who 
 had acted with him, to defend the legality 
 
 of his proceedings, in committing to prison 
 certain persons in Hingham, who had been 
 concerned in some disturltanee of the ])eace, 
 and who refused ti' find sureties f(T their ap- 
 pearance at court. The day of \Vi.N'riiRoi''3 
 trial came, and he declined taking his sent 
 upon the bench. Sjjcaking of himself, ns he 
 does throughout, in the third jierson, he says : 
 '■ Th(! day ai)])ointed being come, the court 
 assembled in the meetinghouse nt Boston. 
 Divers of the elders were jiresent, and n great 
 assembly of the peojile. Thede])uty g(»vern- 
 or, cominu in with the rest of the magistrates, 
 placed himself beneath, within the bar, and 
 so sats uncovered. Some question was in 
 court about his being in that jilace (for many 
 both of the court and assembly were grieved 
 at it). But the deputy telling them, th .t, 
 being criminally accused, he might not sit as 
 a judge in that cause, and if he were upon the 
 bench, it would be a great disadvantage to 
 him, for he could not take that liberty to jilead 
 the cause, which he ought to be allowed at 
 the bar ; upon this the court was satisfied." 
 
 Winthroj) wns fully and honorably acquitted 
 of all the charges brought against him. The 
 governor (Dudley) read the sentence of the 
 court. " Then was the deputy governor de- 
 sired ijy the court to go np and take his place 
 again upon the bench, which he did accord- 
 ingly, nnd the coiirt being n!)out to nrise, he 
 desired leave for a little speech, which was to 
 this eifect : — 
 
 " I supixjse something may be expected 
 from me, upon this charge that is befallen 
 me, which moves me to sjienk now to you ; yet 
 I intend not to intermeddle in the proceedings 
 of the court, or with nny of the persons con- 
 cerned therein. Only I bless (}od, thnt I see 
 nn issue of this troublesome business. I also 
 acknowledge the justice of the court, and, fo' 
 mine own part, I am well satisfied, I wns 
 publicly charged, and I am puliliely Hud legal- 
 ly acquitted, which is nil I did expect or de- 
 sire. And though this lie siitlieient for my 
 justification before men, yet not so before the 
 God, who hath seen so much amiss in my dis- 
 pensations (and even in this iitfiiir) as calls 
 me to be humble. For to be ])ubliely nnd 
 criminally charged in this court, is matter of 
 humiliation (nnd I desire to mike a ri^lit use 
 of it), notwithstanding I be thus acquitted. 
 If her father had spit in her face (saith the 
 Lord concerning Miriam), should she not have 
 been ashamed seven days ? Shame had lien 
 U|)on her, whatever the occasion had been. 
 I am unwilling to stay you from your urgent 
 aifiiirs, yet give me leave (upon this special 
 occasion) to speak a little more to this assem- 
 bly, it may be of some goo<l use, to inform 
 nnd rectify tiie judgment of some of the people, 
 and may prevent such distempers as have 
 
 ■•«« 
 
 
 :t 
 
 ^ 
 
 V^S 
 
If" 
 
 180 
 
 BIOGRAPIIY OF JOHN WINTHllOP. 
 
 arisen am()iif;st us. TIiP gront (jiiostions fhat 
 Imve tnmlilcd llt> ((Hiiitry, uri! alioiit the 
 uulliority ot' the inimislriilfs ami the lilicrty 
 of the people. It is yourselves who have 
 culled us to tills oHice, and beinn; called l)y 
 you, wo have our ui'.tV"irity Ircin (Jod, in way 
 of an ordinance, such as hath the image of 
 (Jod eminently stamped u|)on it, the contempt 
 QJid vi(iluli(in whereof hath heen vindicated 
 with examples of divine ven,;,'euncc. I en- 
 treat you to consider, that, when you choose 
 magistrates, y(ni take them from union;,' your- 
 selves, men subject to like [lassions a.s you 
 are. Therefore when you see inlinnities in 
 us, you should reflect upon your own, and 
 that would make you hear the more with us, 
 and not lie severe ceusurers of the failinp;s of 
 your mai^is^rates, when you have continual 
 experience of tlie like inlinnities in yourselves 
 and others. We account him a good servant, 
 who breaks not his covenant. The covenant 
 between you ami us is the oath you have 
 taken of us, which is to this purjiose, that 
 we shall govern you, and judge your causes 
 by the rules of God's laws and our own, ac- 
 cording to our tiest skill. When you agree 
 with a Workman to build you a shi|) or house, 
 ice, he undertakes as well for his skill as for 
 his faithfulness, for it is his iirofestion, and 
 you pay him for both. But when you call 
 one to be a magistrate, he doth not profess 
 nor undertake to have sufficient skill for that 
 ollicp, nor can you furnish him with gifts, 
 &(;., therefon; you must run the hazard of his 
 skill and ability. But if he fail in faithfulness, 
 which by his oath he is bound unto, that he 
 must answer for. If it full out that the case 
 be clear to common apprehension, and the 
 rule clear also, if he transgress here, the error 
 is not ill the skill, iiut in the evil of the will ; 
 it must be re(]uired of him. But if the cause 
 lie doubtful, or the lulc doubtful, to men of 
 such understanding and parts as your magis- 
 trates are, if your magistruies should err here, 
 yourself must bear it. 
 
 " For the othi^r point concerning libertVi I 
 observe a great mistake in the country about 
 that. There is a twofold liberty, natural 
 (I mean as our nature is now corrupt) and 
 civil or federal. The first is common to man 
 with beasts and other creatures. By this, 
 man, as he stands in relation to man simply, 
 hath liberty to do what he lists; it is a liberty 
 to evil as well as to good. This liberty is in- 
 compatible and inconsistent with authority, 
 ond can not endure the least restraint of the 
 most just authority. The exercise and main- 
 toining of this lilierty make men grow mf)re 
 evil, anl in time to be worse than brute 
 beasts : omnes sumus licentia deteriores. This 
 is that great enemy of truth and peace, that 
 wild beast, which all the ordinances of God 
 
 are bent against, to restrain and subdno it. 
 The other kind of lilierty I call civil or federal, 
 it may also be termed moral, in reference to 
 the covenant between God and man, in the moral 
 law, and the politic covenants and constitu- 
 tions, amongst men thein-;(lves. Tliis liberty 
 is the proper end and object of authority, and 
 cannot subsist without it: and it is liberty 
 to that only which is good, just, and honest. 
 This liberty you arc to stnml for, with the 
 liu/.ard (not only of your goods, but) of your 
 lives, if need be. VVhatNoever erosseth this, 
 is iiot authority, but a distemper thereof. 
 This liberty is maintained and exercised in a 
 way of subjection to authority ; it is of tlie 
 same kind of liberty where wi'ili Christ huth 
 made us free. The woman's own choice 
 makes such a man her husband ; yet being 
 so chosen, he is her lord, and slie is to be sub- 
 ject to him, yet in a way of liberty, not of 
 bondage ; and a true wife nccounts'her sub- 
 jection her honor ond freedom, and would not 
 think her condition safe and free, but in her 
 subjection to her husband's authority. Such 
 is the liberty of the church under tlie author- 
 ity of Christ, her king and husband ; his yoke 
 is so easy and sweet to her as a bride's orna- 
 ments ; and ii, through frowardness, or wan- 
 tonness, (kc, she shaite it off", at any time, she 
 is at no rest in her spirit, until she take it up 
 again; and, whether her lord smiles upon her, 
 and embraceth her in his arms, or whether 
 he frowns, or rebukes, or < uites her, she ap- 
 prehends the sweetness of his love in all, and 
 is refreshed, supported, and instructed, by ev- 
 ery such dispensation of his authority over 
 her. On the other side, ye know who they 
 are that complain of this yoke, and say, ' Let 
 us break their bands, &c., we will not have 
 this man to rule over us.' Even so, brethren, 
 it will be between you and your magistrates. 
 If you stand for your natural corrupt liberties, 
 and will do what is good in your own eyes, 
 you will not endure the least weight of au- 
 thority, but will murmur, and opjiose, and be 
 always striving to shake off* that yoke; but if 
 you will be satisfied to enjoy such civil and 
 lawful liberties, such as Christ allows you, 
 then will you quietly and cheerfully submit 
 unto that authority which is set over you, in 
 all the administrations of it, for your good. 
 Wherein, if we fail at any time, we hope we 
 shall be willing (by God's assistance) to 
 hearken to good advice from any of you, or 
 1 any other way of God ; so shall your liber- 
 iics be preserved, in upholding the" honor and 
 power of authority amongst you." 
 
 It is a very full evidence of the esteem in 
 which he was held, that, when mony gentle- 
 men of character, some of them of noble al- 
 liance, were concerned in the same under- 
 taking with him, he, by a general voice, was 
 
!) rostrnin and subline it. 
 K-rty I cull civil or federal, 
 od mornl, in rercrciicc to 
 ri Gi)d uiid man, in themoral 
 : covoiinntst luid (•onstitu- 
 hciimlvcs. This liberty 
 d (ilijeec of nuiiiority, and 
 Kiut it: ami it is lil)erty 
 is good, in>t, and honest. 
 R to stand for, with the 
 vour goods, lint) of your 
 iVlmtwopvor crosseth this, 
 ut n <li.st('tri|)('r thereof, 
 lainod and exercised in a 
 o niithorii y ; it is of the 
 f wlierewitli Christ hath 
 be woman's own choice 
 
 her husband ; yet being 
 lord, and she is to be sub- 
 
 a way of liberty, not of 
 le wife accounts her sub- 
 d freedom, and would not 
 safe and free, but in her 
 'Ijand's authority. Such 
 t'hurch under the author- 
 ig and husi)and ; his yoke 
 
 to lier as a bride's orna- 
 igh fruwanlness, or wan- 
 ike it oH", at any time, she 
 pirit, until she take it up 
 •her lord smiles upon her, 
 
 in his arms, or whether 
 ;s. or ' iiites her, she ap- 
 ess of his love in all, and 
 cd,and instructed, by ev- 
 Dn of his authority "over 
 mh, ye know who they 
 this yoke, and say, ' Let 
 s, &c., we will not have 
 
 us.' Even so, brethren, 
 ou and your magistrates, 
 •natural corrupt liberties, 
 good in your own eyes, 
 ! the least •weight of au- 
 "mur, and oppose, and be 
 lake off that yoke; but if 
 
 to enjoy such civil and 
 h as Christ allows you, 
 y and cheerfully submit 
 vhich is set over you, in 
 ns of it, for your good, 
 at any time, we hope we 
 >y God's assistance) to 
 ice from any of you, or 
 God ; so shall your liber- 
 upholding the honor ond 
 mongst you.'* 
 .•idence of the esteem in 
 that, when many gentle- 
 me of them of nolale al- 
 leil in the same under- 
 , by a general voice, waa 
 
 BKJIillAlMlV OK JDII.N U IN lil.KM' 
 
 LSI 
 
 The Dentil Bed of Winthrop. 
 
 placed at their head. He says himself, in 
 his excellent journal, which is indeed a treas- 
 ure to all who revere the memory of their 
 ancestors: "I was first chosen to be govern- 
 or without my seeking or expectation, there 
 being then divers other gentlemen, who, for 
 their abilities, every way were far more fit." 
 He was eleven times chosen governor, and 
 epent his whole estate in the public service. 
 His son John, lind his grondson, Fitz-John 
 (who was a captain in Col. Reed's regiment 
 at the Restoration in 1660), were successively 
 governors of Connecticut colony, and Wait- 
 Still, another grandson, was chief justice of 
 Massachusetts. Stephen, another son of the 
 elder Winthrop, went to England in 1645 or 
 1046, had the command of a regiment, and 
 succeede 1 Harrison in his msjor-gencralship, 
 was a member of parliament for Scotland m 
 1656, and wasmuch trusted by the Protector. 
 The family, in every generation, have occu- 
 pieii high stations, and been deservedly held 
 in great respect. Its character is now most 
 worthdy sustained by the Hon. Robkut C. 
 Winthrop, the distinguished and eloquent 
 speaker of the house of representatives, in 
 the United States' Congress ; and the Hon. 
 David Sears, of Boston. This latter gen- 
 tleman has been repeatedly a member of the 
 legislature of Massachusetts, as both repre- 
 sentative and senator, between the years 1816 
 
 and 18-26. Governor Winthrop died March 
 26, 1649, in the 62d year of his age, and 
 was buried April 3d, in the northern comer 
 of the King's chapel burying-ground. Wo 
 may truly say of him, as he finely said of the 
 husband of Lady Arabella Johnson, " He was 
 a holy man and wise, and died in sweet 
 peace." He conducted himself with such ad- 
 dress and unshaken rectitude, as to render 
 his character universally respected among 
 his contemporaries, and his memory dear to 
 posterity. In his magnanimity, disinterested- 
 ness, moderation, and harmonious character, 
 the father of Massachusetts reminds us of the 
 great "father of his country," and is the only 
 name in our history worthy to stand as a 
 parallel to Washington. 
 
 " How shall we mourn lliee 7 — with a lofty trust, 
 
 Our life's immortal birthright from above ! 
 With a glad faith, whose eye, to track the just, 
 
 ThroDgh shades and mysteries IH'tH a glance of love, 
 And yet can weep ! for nature thus deplores 
 
 The friend that leaves uu, though for hnppiershores. 
 " Praise! for yet one more name with power endowed, 
 
 To cheer and guide us, onward as we press, 
 Yet one more image, on the heart bestowed, 
 
 To dwell there, beautiful in holiness I 
 Thine, Wi nth nop, thine I whoso memory from the 
 dead, 
 
 Shines as the star which to the Saviour led." 
 
 % 
 
 
 ^.ii. 
 
 ^M 
 
 
 I' ■ '»S#..f>,f f 
 
 ;«".';■ 
 
182 
 
 BIOGRAPHY OF JOHN WINTHROP. 
 
 THE WINTHROP FAMILY TOMB, IN KING'S CHAPEL BUBYING-GROUND, 
 
 TUEMONT STREET, BOSTON. 
 
 This ancient Monument originally had inscribed on it t!ie Epitaph which is dven 
 below; but it is said that the letters having become nearly obliterated by time, or injured 
 by accident or design, during the Revolution, the stone wa« replaced oy another, which 
 bears the names and ages of the members of the family as follows : — 
 
 JOHN WINTHROP, 
 
 GOVERNOR OF MASSACHUSETTS, 
 
 Died 1649. 
 
 Major-General 
 
 WAIT STILL WINTHROP, 
 
 Died September 1th, 1717. Aged 76 Years. 
 
 ANN WINTHROP SEARS, 
 
 Tht Wife of David Sears, 
 Died Oct. 2d, 1789. Aged 33 Years. 
 Here also rest the remains of John Winthrop, first Governor of Connectictit, 
 [eldest son of John, the Founder of Boston, and first Governor of Massachusetts.] 
 He died at Boston, 5th April, 1676. 
 
 FiTZ-JoHN Winthrop, his son. Governor of Connecticut, died at Boston, 27',h 
 November, 1707. 
 
 Thomas L. Winthrop, Lieutenant-Governor of Massachusetts, died 22d 
 Feb. 1840. 
 
 STAND TRAVELLER, 
 
 And ndmirc yo Tomb, 
 
 And to y< Public Tcara add your own. 
 
 Bewail ya public host. 
 
 If of y« publick you are part. 
 
 Thia place is a Prince's Court 
 
 Rather than a Tomb. 
 
 This marble co"er« dust 
 
 Worthy to be enclosed in (lold. 
 
 Four WINTHR0P3 lie buried in this Tomb, 
 
 Who were sufficient to enrich ev'n ye four quarters of 
 
 ye Karth. 
 
 He is unacquainted with ye history of New England 
 
 Who is Ignorant of thia Family, 
 
 And he has no regard for Universal Virtue 
 
 That docs not highly value iL 
 
 The last of these 
 
 here Interr'd 
 
 Was Wait Winthbop, Esq^ 
 
 Whore last Honour waa this, 
 
 That ho was Govemour of New England, 
 
 He was, alas I he was 
 
 Of New England, ye glory & Defence, 
 
 The Light and Stay. 
 
 Major-General of Massachusett'a Colony, 
 
 Of a noble yet peaceful dis|)osition. 
 
 And who for his Country and for Peace could die. 
 
 President of ye Council for ye Province, 
 
 Whose chiefest care it always wiis 
 
 That ye Commonwealth might receive no damage t 
 
 And in whom many died. 
 
 Chief Judge, 
 
 Who paid an equal regard to Justice & Clemency. 
 
 He went thro' ye moat honourable 
 
 8tationa in ye Government 
 
 And adorn'd ye Honoura w'ch ho bore. 
 
 Deserving those he bore not 
 
 A person of yo most uiidisscmbled piety 
 
 And unspotted probity. 
 
 Of an exalted yet a modest Genina. 
 
 He placed all things beneath himscli^ 
 
 Himself beneath all men. 
 
 Benevolent tow'rds all, 
 
 And most so tow'ds ye poor St. needy. 
 
 Injurious to none not even to enemies i 
 
 An enemy to none, 
 
 Ev'n tho' highly provok'd. 
 
 No unhappy person was by him rejected. 
 
 Nor poor one rcfus'd admittance. 
 
 Nor did aay go away displeos'd. 
 
 Ho was skillfull in physick, 
 
 And being possessed of Golden Secrets, 
 
 Indeed more valuable than Gold itself, 
 
 And having obtained Universal Remedies, 
 
 Which Hippocrates St, Hclmont never knew, 
 
 All that were sick where o'er he came 
 
 He freely restor'd to health, 
 
 And made almost his whole study of Nature 
 
 Subservient to Medicine. 
 
 lie that under this stone now sleeps in death, 
 
 Still lives in ye hearts of thousands 
 
 Whose lives he has prolonged. 
 
 The merits of Winthbop with Him 
 
 01)livion shall not bury. 
 
 He was born y« 27th day of December 1641, 
 
 Died ye 7th day of September 1717, 
 
 In ye 7l)Xth year of his age. 
 
 They who value Life & still enjoy It, 
 
 Wish'd him a Thousand years continuance her^ 
 
 An age exceeding that of Methusalem, 
 
BURYING-GROUND, 
 
 Epitaph which is ^iven 
 erated bv time, or injured 
 placed Dy another, which 
 ws:— 
 
 JTTS, 
 
 s 
 
 an. 
 
 ernor of Connecticut, 
 3r of Massachusetts.] 
 
 died at Boston, 27th 
 
 lachusetts, died 22d 
 
 Honours w'ch he bore, 
 those he bore not. 
 nost unjissemblcd piety 
 spotted probity, 
 yet « modeet Geniiu. 
 things beneath himeel( 
 beucHth all meD, 
 
 lent tow'rds all, 
 Wda y« poor t needy. 
 le not even to enemioa; 
 lemy to none, 
 
 highly provok'd. 
 
 on was by him rejected, 
 
 ! refus'd admittance, 
 
 go away disploas'd. 
 cillfull in phyaick, 
 seed of Golden Secrets, 
 luable than Gold itself, 
 ned Universal Remedies, 
 1 (fe Helmont never knew, 
 ck where o'er he came 
 reetor'd to health, 
 lis whole study of Nature 
 int to Medicine, 
 stone now sleeps in death, 
 • hearts of thousands 
 
 he has prolonged, 
 WiNTHROP with Him 
 
 shall not bury. 
 
 th day of December 1641, 
 
 ly of September 1717, 
 
 1 year of his age. 
 
 ! Life It still enjoy It, 
 
 And years continuance hercv 
 
 ig that of Metlmsalem. 
 
 THE SOVEREIGNfl OF EUROI'K. 
 
 183 
 
 THE SOVEREIGNS OF EUROPE. 
 
 Eight of the twenty monnrchs arc protcst- 
 niits; nin(! nic Ri)inuii ciithi'lif's : two arc of 
 tin; Grui'k cliiirch, and one is a MoliainimMlun. 
 ThiHC buliin;.Mng to tile Greek church are the 
 emperor of Russia and tlie kiii^ of Wee^e. 
 Four of tliein are of irreproacliulih; charac- 
 ters. Many of thorn are as respeetalilo a.s our 
 piihlic men whom^we delight to honor. Tlio 
 
 leens are all of spotl(!ss elmracter, which 
 eoulil not have been said of former times. 
 
 The king of Prussia is a decidedly pious 
 man. Stiveral of the ipieens are true Chris- 
 tians, as I think, antl among these is the 
 (|ueeii of France. She reads many religious 
 books. As to talent, Louis Philippe, king of 
 the French, the king of Prussia, and the em- 
 ])eror of Russia, are admitted to rank first, 
 nnd Louis Philii)])e stonds jjre-eminently 
 ohovo uU. He was educated ot a French col- 
 lege, spent many years in foreign lands, and 
 then sixteen in r|uietly pursuing his studies. 
 Talleyrand said he had no idea of his vast ac- 
 ([uirements, before he was minister, after ho 
 became king. lie speaks English with case, 
 and never pronounces but one word wrong, 
 which is ice, which he calls hice. He said, 
 ho and his brother hired a boat at Pittsburgh, 
 to go down the river, but was obstructed by 
 the hice. This he had learned from the Eng- 
 lish cockneys, when he lived in England. 
 He has no minister who is equal. 
 
 The kinn; of Prussia is nearly the equal of 
 Louis Philiiipe ; he speaks English well, but 
 not so well as tlie king of the French. He is 
 a self-inade man. He was not allowed to get 
 his education at the German universities, as 
 he desired, as it was thought degrading to the 
 king's son, to associate with other young men. 
 He regrets to this day, that he was not per- 
 mitted to go to the university ivd associate 
 with the students. The king o. .v.eden grad- 
 uated at college, and is a fine sche'ir. 
 
 The king of Prussia is not pojmiar. He is 
 too good a man for that. He ijroposes too 
 many reforms, and pushes them forward with 
 too much energy to please the peojile. 
 
 The emperor of Russia is not inferior in 
 talent ; but he came unexpectedly to the 
 throne at the a;^e of twenty-seven or twenty- 
 eight years — his brother, the lawful heir to 
 the throne, having abdicated in his favor. He 
 has had no time to read. Being a resolute 
 monarch, his duties are most arduous. He is 
 most devoted to public affairs. I spoke to 
 him about temperance societies, when he be- 
 gan to make the same objections which were 
 once BO common here — that brandy was ne- 
 cessary for laborers to give them strength, and 
 protect tlium in heat and cold. He however, 
 at once perceived the force of my arguments, 
 
 admitted their correctness, and caid, " As for 
 the revenue we will let it go, and get a reve- 
 nue somewhere else." Nicholas is very deci- 
 ded and indepcnihint. 
 
 A nobleman of great wealth and talent liad 
 governed his brother Alexander. When Nich- 
 olas cam(! to the throne, in less than three duvs 
 he came to see him unasked. Nicholas .said 
 to him, "Who asked you to appear before 
 me ? I know how you griverned my brother, 
 and imposed upon his meekness. I give you 
 tliree days to arrange your affairs in St. Pe- 
 tersburgli, after which time you will retire to 
 your country-scat;" which lie did, and has re- 
 mained there ever since. 
 
 The king of Sweden is a literary man, and 
 is the uutbor of several books, lie gave me 
 a copy of his work on prison diseipline, just 
 published. The king of Holland is not so 
 popular ; he is an old man, about forty-four. 
 He was distinguished at the battle of \Vater- 
 loo, and bndly wounded. The king of Den- 
 mark is a man of fair talents, but of no decis- 
 ion of cluiructer. [Since thisaccount was writ- 
 ten, the king here referred to has died, and 
 Frederick VIL has succeeded to the throne. 
 His first acts have been liberal, and give 
 promise of a good and enlightened sovereign.] 
 
 The manners of the jjrinces are polished, 
 easy, and simple. Such is the character of 
 the nobles of Europe, whom I have seen. 
 They ore, however, more formal to diplo- 
 masts. There is more difficulty to get along 
 with our distinguished men, who sometimes 
 assume a t(me of haughtiness, which I never 
 saw in a prince. The monarchs ordinarily, 
 and their {|ueens, dress in the same plain way 
 as other well-bred peo])le. In public, they 
 of course appear in sjdendor. The queens 
 wear on ordinary occasions very little jewelry. 
 
 In the families of the emperor of Russia, 
 and the king of the French, there is great af- 
 fection. — R. Baihd. 
 
 MORAL CHARACTER OF THE MONKEY. 
 
 A GENTLEMAN whose premises were infest- 
 ed by a large breed of sparrows, said they 
 were hirds of no principle. Of all monkeys 
 it may be said, with much more propriety, that 
 they are beasts of no princijjle : for they have 
 every evil quality, and not one good one. 
 They are saucy and insolent ; always making 
 an attempt to bully, and terrify peojjle, and 
 biting those first who are afraid of them. An 
 impertinent curiosity runs through all their 
 actions; they never can let thhigs alone, but 
 must know what is going forward. If a pot 
 or a kettle is set on the fire, and the cook turns 
 
 ■W 
 
 ! M 
 
 
r 
 
 184 
 
 MORAL CHARACTER OF THE MONKEY. 
 
 I 
 
 lier linck, the monkoy whips off tho cover to 
 Kfc wliiit mIu' has put into it ; fivcn though ho 
 cun nut ^I't at it, without sptting his fcot upon 
 tile lull, Imrrt of the grate. Mimicry is iiiioth- 
 vr of tiic nionkoy'8 rpialities. Whatever lie 
 sce-i men do, he must affect to do the like 
 liinisfif. IIo seems to have no rule of his 
 own, iind so is ruled liy the actions of men or 
 lifiists; as weiik peo))le follow the fashion of 
 the world, whether it be good or Ijad. No 
 monkey lins any sense of gratitude, but takes 
 his viclun's wilh a snatch, and then grins in 
 the fiiee of the person that gives it to him, 
 li'st he should take it nwoy again ; for he sup- 
 po-ics lliMt all men will snatch away what thi 
 cull lay hold of, as nil monkeys do. Throu 
 an ijiviueilile seltislniess, no monkey critisiders 
 any iMciividtial but liimsi'lf, as tht; jioor eat 
 found to her cost, when the monkey burMe<l 
 her paws with raking liis chestnuts out of the 
 tire. They can never ent together in com- 
 pany wiiliout (luurrolling and plundering one 
 anoilier. Every monkey delights in mischief, 
 anil can not help doing it, when it is in his 
 power. If anything he takes hold of can be 
 liroken or spoiled, he is sure to iind the way 
 of doing it ; and, he chatters with pleasure, 
 when he hears the noise of a china vessel 
 smashed to ])ieces uixin the pavement. If he 
 takes up a bottle of ink, he empties it upon 
 the door. He unfolds all your papers, and 
 scatters them about the room, and what he 
 can not imdo, he tears to pieces ; and, it is 
 wonderful to see how much of this work he 
 will do in a few minutes when he happens to 
 get loose. Everybotly has heard of the mon- 
 key whose curiosity led him to the mouth of a 
 cannon to see how it went off; when he paid 
 for his peeping with the loss of his head. In 
 a ship, while the men were busy in fetching 
 powder from below, and making cartridges, a 
 monk(;y on board took up a lighted candle, 
 and ran down to the powder-room to see what 
 they were about ; but happily was overtaken 
 just as he got to the lantern, and thrown out 
 at the nearest port-hole into the sea, with the 
 lighted candle in his hand. Another lost his 
 life by the spirit of mimicry ; he had seen his 
 master shaving his own face, and at the first 
 opportunity, took up the razor to shave him- 
 self, and made shift to cut his own throat. 
 When the wild monkeys have escaped to the 
 tojis of trees, the people below who want to 
 catch them, show them the use of gloves, by 
 putting them on and pulling them off repeat- 
 edly ; and when the monkeys are supposed to 
 have taken the hint, they leave plenty of 
 gloves on the ground, having first lined them 
 with pitch. The monkeys come down, put 
 on the gloves, but can not pull them olF agam ; 
 and when they are surprised, betaking them- 
 selves to the trees as usual, they slide back- 
 
 ward and are taken. A monkey who had seen 
 his mistress upon her pillow in a niyl:f<'ap, 
 which at her rising, she |iulled oil' and liioij- 
 upon a chair, puts on the eaji, lavs his hcail 
 upon tlie jiillow, and by persiMiatiiii,' llir lady. 
 mode himself ten tiir.es more frightful and 
 ridiculous; asawkwarfl piMiple ,'o, when ihiy 
 ape their superiors, ond alfect a fashion whirli 
 is above their s])herc. A mischievous dis- 
 position is always inclined to jierKeeution. 
 There are minds whose greatest jileasure it is 
 to ride and tense the minds of (Jilier peiipli>. 
 A gentleman in the country kejit a moiikev, 
 who took to riding his hogs, especially one of 
 them, which he coirunonly singled out as fit- 
 test for liis use ; and, leaping upon its hack, 
 with his face toward tin: tail, he wliip|ii(| it 
 uimier(,ifully, and drov(! it about till it could 
 run no longer. The hogs lived under such 
 continiuil terrors of mind, that when the nujn- 
 key first came abroad in tht; morning, they used 
 to set u[) a great cry at the sight of him. A 
 well-known nobleman (nee had a wild horse, 
 whom nobody could ride. " I know not what 
 your lordshif) con do with him," said one, 
 " but to set the monkey u])on his back." So 
 they ])ut a pad on the horse, ond set the mon- 
 key upon it with a switch in his hand, wliich 
 he used upon the horse, and set hiin into a 
 furious kicking and galloj)ing ; but Pug kejit 
 his scot and exercised liis switch. The horse 
 lay down upon the ground ; but when he 
 threw himself on one side, tlie monkey was 
 up on the other ; he ran into a wood witli him 
 to brush him off; but, if a tree or a bush oc- 
 curred on one side, the monkey slijiped to the 
 other side ; till at last the horse was so sick- 
 ened, and fatigued, and broken-spirited, that 
 he ran home to the stable for protection. 
 When the monkey was removed, a boy mount- 
 ed him, who managed the horse with ease, 
 and he never gave any trouble afterward. In 
 all the actions of the monkey, there is no ap- 
 pearance of anything good or useful, nor any 
 species of evil that is wanting in them. They 
 are, indeed, like to mankind ; they can ride a 
 pig as a man rides a horse, or better, and are 
 most excellent jockeys ; but after all, they are 
 only like the worst of the human species. If 
 all the qualities of the monkey •were put to- 
 gether, they constitute what is properly called 
 ill-nature ; and, if any person would know 
 what an ill-natured man is, that man is a mon- 
 key to all intents ond purposes, with the ad- 
 dition of reason, which makes his character 
 much worse, and the loss of religion and con- 
 science, which is worst of all ; for without 
 these, reason is rather a disadvantage. 
 
 Life. — The advantage of living does not 
 consist in length of days, but in the right im- 
 provement of them. 
 
immA 
 
 NHfai 
 
 A niorikfv who liiiil hh'H 
 licr pillcpw ill It ni;i!:'cii|), 
 
 nIic piilli'il (ilV mill liiiiij; 
 (in the ciij), liiys his liciul 
 I by pcrsdimiinir t)ii' liidy, 
 ur.i'* nu>rv rriitliit'iil nnil 
 nrd |)('()|ilr^ ,!ii, wlicii tlii'v 
 iukI alli'c-r. It t'lisliiiiii wliii'li 
 TR. A iiiiscliicvims (Ijs- 
 
 iiirliiicd to |ii'is(i'utiiiii. 
 loso firciitfst pltiiMirc it is 
 le iniiids of oilier iiioplr, 
 ' cnuntry kept a iiiimkt'y, 
 lis lios«, ('sp('<iiilly one of 
 iinoiily hIiujIciI oiii as (it- 
 d, Iciipiim upon its imck, 
 d the tail, lie whipped it 
 Irovi! it iihoiit till it could 
 
 hos« lived under Hueli 
 triiiid, tliat when the iiion- 
 (I ill the moriiin;.', tlii^y used 
 / at the si;;ht of hiiri. A 
 nil (Bee had a wild liorso, 
 
 ride. " I know not vvliat 
 do with hitn," said one, 
 ikny ujion Ids back." So 
 ic horse, niid set the mou- 
 3witch in his hand, which 
 lorse, and set liiin into a 
 
 gnlloi)iiig ; liut Pug kejit 
 I'd his switch. The horse 
 c ground ; but when he 
 no side, the inonkey was 
 
 1 ran into a wood with him 
 ut, if a tree or a liush oc- 
 the monkey slipped to the 
 ast the horse was so sick- 
 and broken-sjiirited, that 
 
 he stable for protection, 
 vns removed, a boy mount- 
 fed the horse with ease, 
 iny trouble afterward. In 
 e monkey, there is no a])- 
 ig good or useful, nor any 
 
 15 wanting in them. They 
 mankind ; they can ride a 
 I horse, or better, and are 
 ;y8 ; but after all, they arc 
 of the human species. If 
 the monkey were put to- 
 ute what is properly called 
 
 any person would know 
 man is, that man is a mon- 
 md purposes, with the ad- 
 hich makes his character 
 
 16 loss of religion and con- 
 worst of all ; for without 
 ler a disadvantage. 
 
 antage of living does not 
 days, but in the right im- 
 
 Freaent Appnarance of Jorasalam. 
 
 TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND-N". 5. 
 
 BY IIARBIKT MARTINKAU. 
 
 Our last view of Jerusalem wos very fine. 
 We hKiked liack from a ridge on the northern 
 road, and saw it lying, bright and stately, on 
 its everlasting hills; but it looked lower than 
 from most other points of viesv, from the Moab 
 mountains forming its lofty background. We 
 descended the slope before US, and hist sight 
 of the holy city for ever. 
 
 Again we were struck with the vivid color- 
 ing of the scenery. All this day, the hills 
 were dressed in briiiiant hues : the soil, red, 
 gray, and brown; th(! tilled portions of the 
 brightest green; and the shadows purple or 
 lilac. All the hills show traces of having been 
 once terraced ; and they were still completely 
 so in the neighborhood of our encampment this 
 evening — the terraces following the strata of 
 the stone, which all lay slanting. This gives 
 a singular air of wildiiess to the most cultiva- 
 ted sjiots. Here and there were basins among 
 the hills, the red soil dropped all over with 
 fig and olive-trees, or full of com : and the 
 ujiland trucks winding among slopes all strewni 
 with cisias, iris, cyilainen, and anemones, and 
 bristling with tall flowering hollyocks. On 
 we went, past deep old wells yawning in the 
 hollows, or stone cisterns where the cattle 
 were crowiling to drink; jiast a few camels 
 here and there, browsing in the dells; past 
 groups of Arabs with their asses, carrying com 
 to the city ; past stone villages crowning the 
 steeps, till at (i P. M., we encamped beside a 
 beautiful old pixil. We were under the shelter 
 
 of a rock whose inoist crevices were fringed 
 with delicate ferns. While dinner wits iire- 
 ]ittring, I wont back on our roa I -the imrrow 
 stony road whicdi wound round the verdant 
 promontory ojiiiosite to our rock — to find a 
 honeysuckle which I had seen eliinbing and 
 blossoming to a great height : and I brought 
 back a charming handful of flowers. 
 
 While wc where at dinner in the tent, a 
 soimd of scurtling was heard outs^ile; and when 
 our dragoman next entered, he was out of 
 breath. " We afterward heard the wholcstory, 
 and were amused to find how zealous our Mo- 
 hammedan servants could hf in the cause of 
 Christians. Some Arabs, with their loaded 
 mules, had come with 'Jie intention of encamp- 
 ing beside the pool : and, on finding the ground 
 pa"rtly occupied, fnough there was plenty of 
 room" left, they became abusive, and wonder- 
 ed aloud what business these cursed Christians 
 had in their country. Our dragoiniiii resented 
 this, and threw the speaker down over the 
 tent-ropes. There was tlien a stout scutlle, 
 niid our cook coming to help, and the Arabs 
 falling one upon another over the tent-pegs in 
 the dlirk, they had the worst of it. and went 
 oir vowing vengeance. We heard no more 
 of them, however. 
 
 The next morning, we saw the Mediterra- 
 nean, like a basin of deep blue water between 
 two hills. We were not going toward it, how- 
 ever, bu*: to Nabloiis, the onciciit Syclinr; 
 where lies that .Jacob's well, at which the 
 woman of Samaria was wont to draw water. 
 
 Our road lay through a most tertile valley 
 now culled Hawarrah, where the crops were 
 splendid for miles, and the villages were thick- 
 
 1- ■ 
 
 i4f^- 
 
 ,.;iii. 
 4'> 
 
 :%r- 
 
 
 
 I' 
 
 
 
 'f«iS^ 
 
 ;,<»"••■■ 
 
 im*' 
 
r 
 
 
 186 
 
 TRAVELS IN THF HOLY LAND. 
 
 Terrace Cultivation. 
 
 ly planted on the hills. The ground rose in 
 a series of table-lands, of which there wos a 
 succession of three, when we were leaving the 
 rich Huwnrrah valley. The roads in this 
 part of the holy land were mere lanes full of 
 stones between wiilla. or tracks through Qlive 
 grounds and meadows, or paths running along 
 siielvcs of the rocks, with a bit of rocky stair- 
 case at each end, about ascending or descend- 
 ing whith our good horses madt. no difficulty. 
 Before entering the valley where old Sychrr 
 lay between the mountains Ebal and Gerizim, 
 we came to the fine fertile parcel of ground 
 which Jacob bought. The valley opens out 
 into this wide basin ; and near the junction of 
 the valley and the basin is the old well which 
 is the su()p(i8ed scene of the conversation of 
 Jesus with the Samaritan woman. Somi; of 
 our party wound round the base of the hill to 
 the well; and some (and I for one) rode by 
 the ui)por path, over the shoulder of the hill, 
 and came down on the other side. I had thus 
 a fine view of the whole locality ; of the val- 
 ley where the city lies — a narrow valley, rich 
 with fig and olive-aroves, and overhung by 
 the rocky bases of Ebal and Gerizim, where 
 the S({uare black entrances of tombs dotted the 
 strata of the rocks. From this height, Jacob's 
 land l(X)ked a beautiful expanse. The well 
 is a mere rough heap of stones, with a hole in 
 
 the middle, nearly closed up. What there is 
 below-ground, I can not say ; but this is all 
 that is to be seen on the surface. It is not a 
 well likely to be in use now, for there are 
 many springs and shallow cistcuis (though no 
 well) between this and the town, which lies 
 about a mile and a holf oir. 
 
 Everybody knows that the Jews had no 
 friendly dealings with the Samaritans in the 
 time of Jesus. The ((uarrel had then lasted 
 above 500 years. How many suns had gone 
 down upon their wrath! The Samaritans 
 had wished to assist the Jews in rebuilding 
 the temple of Jerusalem : but the Jews hated 
 them as a mixed race, and would not admit 
 that they had any right to share in temple 
 worship, or any other Jewish jjrivileges. It 
 really was a most serious f^lijeciion to^ the 
 Samaritans, that they were of a mixed race ; 
 not only because the Jews believed that they 
 held the promises on the very ground of the 
 purity of their race; but because the inter- 
 marriages of the former Samaritan Israelites 
 with Assyrians and others disposed them to 
 idolatry, or at least to a worship as mixed as 
 their race. So the Samaritans wero excluded 
 from the rebuilding of the temple, above 500 
 yearsB.C. And not being perinitlcd to help, 
 they did nil thoy could to hinder. About 100 
 years after, they obtained leave from the Per- 
 
iloseJ up. What there is 
 1 not sny ; but this is all 
 I the surface. It is not a 
 ti use now, for there are 
 lallow cisterns (though no 
 anil the town, which lies 
 
 inlf oir. 
 
 's that the Jews had no 
 th the Samaritans in the 
 e (juarrel had then lasted 
 :Iow many suns had gone 
 vrath! "The Samaritans 
 *t tlie Jews in rebuilding 
 ilem: but the Jews hated 
 ace, and would not admit 
 right to share in temple 
 er Jewish jirivileges. It 
 serious ritijeclion to^ the 
 3y were of a mixed race ; 
 ; Jews believed that they 
 n the very ground of the 
 !; but because the inter- 
 rmer Sainariran Israelites 
 i others ilispo.^ed them to 
 to a worship ns mixed as 
 Samaritans wcro excluded 
 of the temple, above 500 
 t being )iermitied to help, 
 aid to hinder. About 100 
 :aincd leave from the Per- 
 
 IS 
 
 .:s 
 
 
 ■*n 
 
 
 ^■iimt 
 
 *»*' 
 
 
18S 
 
 TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 
 
 sian court (to wliicli both the Jows and they | 
 were sui)jcet), to built u secimil temple to i 
 Jeli.ivali; and they build it on Mount Gerii'.im. | 
 This wus a shacking impiety in the sight of 
 the Jews ; and it was the occasion of a num- | 
 her of liix-minded Jews, who had broken the ] 
 hiw, by marrying heathen wives, or other- 1 
 wiue, and who" yet wished to worshi() Jehovah 
 in the tin)|ilu, resorting to Sychar, to join the ^ 
 Samaritans, and render thei'r race yet more ; 
 mixed. This was the quarrel which the 
 woman of Siimaria referred to when she spoke 
 of the (lueslion, whether " men ought to wor- 
 ship in this mountain or in Jerusalem !" and 
 thus isexpl ined her wonder that Jesus, being 
 a Jew, should ask water of her who v/as a 
 Samaritan. There was also a quarrel about 
 their Scriptures; the Jews insisting tci this 
 day, that the Samaritans had altered two or 
 three texts, relating to these two mountains, 
 Ebal and Uerizim, in their own sacred copy 
 of the books of Moses; the Samaritans in- 
 sisting, of course, that theirs was the true 
 
 copy. 
 
 From my early youth, I had always taken 
 a strong interest in this old quarrel, feeling 
 sympathy with both parties, and a keen de- 
 light in tbe wise and soothing words of Jesus 
 concerning it. What a truth it was for both 
 partii's to hear, that God was now to be wor- 
 8hi|)i)ed everywhere ; and that all places were 
 henceforth to be as sacred as the Jerusalem 
 temple, or the mountain at Sychar! And 
 what a le-.son in liberahty it was to the Jews 
 when he gave honor to the Samaritan in the 
 parable, on account of his good works, above 
 the sacred priest and the servant of the tem- 
 ple at Jerusalem. Both parties were, of 
 course, wrong in their fierce anger : bit each 
 had much to i)lead on his own side. The 
 Jews were bound to keep their race and wor- 
 ship pure ; and held, as an essential matter of 
 faith, that Jehovah would have but one dwel- 
 ling-place ; which was their view of their 
 temple. And the Samaritans were surely 
 right in persisting in their endeavor to worship 
 Jehovah, in accordance with the laws of Moses, 
 as they did not believe in strange gods ; o'^d, 
 if the Jews could not admit them to worship 
 in the tenqile at Jerusalem, they could not be 
 blamed for building one for themselves. 
 
 Such was always my view of the matter : 
 and such being mv view, it was w'.th inde- 
 scribable interest that I looked this day upon 
 Mount (ieri/.im, and remen;bered thut some- 
 where in the city we were aj)proaehing, was 
 treasured that sacred copy of the Samaritan 
 Pentateuch (books of Moses) which the pos- 
 sessors believe to be the true one. nnd to be 
 3,500 yean old. The most learned men 
 among 'the Christians do not believe it to be 
 cearly so old as that : but they have a high 
 
 opinion of its value, and would follow it sooner 
 than any other, I believe, (^xcejiting instances 
 where the di' puted texts about Ebal and Ger- 
 izim are concerned. 
 
 The present inhabitants of the city hate the 
 Christians as heartily as the old iidiabitaiits 
 used to hate the Jews. The present inhabit- 
 ants are Mohammedans of a most bigoted 
 character; and they would admit neither Jews 
 nor Christians within their gnti-s, till wiiliin 
 a few years; when the government of the 
 country (then Egyptian) compelled them to 
 better monners. They dared Jiot refuse us 
 admission; but they behaved with great in- 
 solence. We had to ride friim end to end of 
 the city, our tents being pitched on a green 
 on the other side. Our horses had to go as 
 sh)wly as ])ossible through the narrow stn^et, 
 which would not hold two abreast, and was 
 paved with large slippery stones. As we 
 rode along, one behind another, at this funeral 
 pace, all the people came out to stare, and 
 many to mock. Three times, things were 
 thrown in my face ; men anil women laughed 
 and sneered, and children thrust out their 
 tongues. I felt what a lesson this was to in- 
 tolerance about matters of opinion. These 
 people hold a faith which is very nolde and 
 beautiful. Few of us know how noble and 
 beautiful is the Mohammedan faith. And 
 there is no need to say w'lat their visiters 
 thought of the Christian faitli as they hold it: 
 and yet, what a scene of hatred and misun- 
 derstanding was here! And thus it is, but too 
 often, in the streets of other cities, wher(^ men 
 ought to know better than todes])ise each other 
 for worshipping the same God in a dillerent 
 manner. In the streets of other cities, men 
 take upon themselves to pity and despise one 
 another, with no better knowledge in reality 
 of one another's views and feelings, than these 
 Mohammedans had of ours, or we of theirs. 
 
 At last, we were through ! and glad I was 
 to issue from the gate at the furtlier end. But 
 a sad sight awaited us there. A company of 
 lepers were under the trees, crying out to us 
 for charity, and stretching out their maimed 
 hands. It is a terrible sight, which we see 
 too often in that country, it saddened us at 
 Jerusalem, almost every day. 
 
 Our tents were pitched on a weedy plot of 
 cround, among gardens, orchards, and rippling 
 streams, and looking up to Ebal on the one 
 side, and (Jeri/.im on the other. Ebal is still 
 the sternei -looking mountain of the two; but 
 Gerizim has lost much of its fertility. Both 
 have tombs and votive buildings on them, 
 which show them to hove been places of pil- 
 grimage. 
 
 Affr dinner, we ascended a height, past the 
 Mohammedan cemetery, whence we had a fine 
 view, in the last sunlight, of this most beauti' 
 
M 
 
 ', anil would follow it sooner 
 liolicvc, cxct'i)!!!!;; instances 
 il texts about Ebal and Ger- 
 1. 
 
 labitants of the eity hate the 
 rtily as tht.- old iidiubitants 
 ews. The present inliiihit- 
 tiiedans of a most l)ii;oted 
 ■y would admit neither Jew's 
 tliin their {iiites, till williin 
 en the goveniment of the 
 yptian) cimipelled them to 
 They dareil not refuse us 
 icy behaved with great in- 
 1 to ride from end to end of 
 } being pitched on a green 
 . Our horses had to go ns 
 
 through the narrow striM't, I 
 hold two abreast, anil was 
 ! slippery stones. As we 
 diind another, at this funeral 
 iple came out to stare, and 
 
 Three times, things were 
 e ; men and women laughed 
 1 children thrust out their 
 diat a lesson this was to in- 
 natters of opinion. These 
 th which is very noble and 
 nf us know how noble and 
 Mohammedan faith. And 
 
 to say w'lat their visiiers 
 ristian fait'ii as they hold it : 
 scene of hatred and misun- 
 ere! And thus it is, but too 
 ts of other cities, where men 
 ter than todesjnsc each other 
 he some God in a dilU'rent 
 
 streets of other cities, men 
 ;lves to pity and despise one 
 better knowledge in reality 
 dews and feelings, than these 
 ad of ours, or wc of tlieirs. 
 ire through ! and glad I was 
 Tate at the further end. But 
 ed us there. A company of 
 r the trees, crying out to us 
 itretching out their maimed 
 terrible sight, which we see 
 country. It saddened us at 
 it every day. 
 
 ! pitched on a weedy plot of 
 irdens. orchards, and rippling 
 king up to Ebal on the one 
 n on the other. Ebal is still 
 ig mountain of the two ; but 
 much of its fertility. Both 
 
 votive buildings on them, 
 n to hove been places of pil- 
 
 i/e ascended a height, past the 
 inetery, whence we had a fine 
 sunlight, of this most beauti- j 
 
 TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 
 
 189 
 
 ful city. It was once the capital of Sarnarin ; 
 and it is still, ami must ever be, from its situa- 
 I tion, a very striking iilace. It eonipletidy HHs 
 j till' valley, from side to side, and ascends a 
 little way u|) the skirts of (rerizim. Its houses, 
 with their flat white roofs, are hedged in by 
 the groves wdi' !i surround the town : vines 
 spread from roof to roof, and fro.'ii court to 
 court ; two or three palms sjiring up in the 
 midst, and higher aloft still, a graceful minaret 
 here and there. 
 
 Tiieii, to my delight, we descended to seek 
 the Samaritan syna:,'iigue. '^Ve were guided 
 to it, and I saw nearly all the Samaritans of 
 the |)lac(!; good-looking people, the men wear- 
 ing tlie high, helmet-like turbuti which we see 
 in the portraits of Josej)hus, and other old Jews. 
 They said their number was sixty in thi-^ place, 
 and about forty more elsewhere — only a huu- 
 (Ir ' in the whole, world. They declared their 
 c priest and the rest of their sect to be at 
 tieuoa. They keep three great feasts in the 
 year, going up (ierizim as the Ji.'ws used to 
 go up to the temple. 
 
 Tl'.e synairogue was a small, ordinary-look 
 ing chapel, within a curlainrd recess of which 
 is k<;pt the old copy of the I'entateuch. It 
 was shown to us, after somt; entreaty on our 
 l)art ; but I found it was imiiossible that I 
 Could be allowed to touch it. 
 
 I telt it a great event to have seen it. Ir is 
 written on a sort of vellntn, in the Samaritan 
 text, clear, small, and even. The vellum is 
 tattered ; but it is well mounted on parch- 
 inetit. The |)riest himself dures not touch 
 the MS. without careful purilication ; and 
 he holds it by the ends of the rollers on which 
 it is fixed as a scroll, like the copies of the 
 Jewish law in synagogues. 
 
 Wc were lighted tlirough the archways of 
 the street, on our way home, and down the 
 hill, by a single candle which burned steadily 
 in the still air. 
 
 Our employment this evening was reading 
 aloud the liistory of the Jewish and .Samaritan 
 controversy, and the fourth chapter of tiic 
 gospel of John. While we were thus read- 
 ing in our tent, the jackal was in full cry on 
 the slopes of Geri/.im. 
 
 We passed the night of the 14th of April 
 in our tents, just outsiih; the town of Jenin. 
 Our dragoman had warned us of the thie\ ish 
 character of the peo])le of this neighborhood, 
 so that we had an eye to such of our jjroperty 
 as was lying about while the tents were pre- 
 paring. Tlie governor called, had cotlee, and 
 appointed four guards: so that we sujiposed 
 ourselves safe from robbery. But in the 
 morning the best umie was gone : and the ftmr 
 guards declared themselves wholly unable to 
 say when, how, and by whom, the'aiiimal was 
 set loose from its fastenin;;s and carried otF. 
 
 I Our departure wos delayed : the governor was 
 'sent for; and a ]ireteiiiled impiiry was made : 
 I and this gave me opportnnily to walk about 
 j for an hour after breakfast — through the little 
 j town, through an orange grove where every 
 I tree was white with blossom ; and up a neigli- 
 i boring hiil, whence I saw, to my surjirise, a 
 I snowy mountain peak to ihe northeast. This 
 \vas the summit of (Jebel Sluukh — the mount- 
 ain which closes it. the north end of the valley 
 of the Jordan, and then joins on to the range 
 of Antilibanus. From my jmint of view, T 
 could see too tilc beautifur|)luin of Esdraelon 
 which we were to traverse this day ; and the 
 hills to the north which enclosed Nazareth, 
 where we hoped to slee|) this night: and to 
 the west, some tokens of the rise of a line of 
 hills which we should soon see swelling into 
 Mount Curmel, where we were to go to-mor- 
 row. What a prosj)ect lay before both eye 
 and mind ! 
 
 Our dragoman told us we might make our- 
 selves easy al)out our mule. He had no doubt 
 it was in 8omi> stable in the town. We should 
 be asked to leave a muleteer behind, and in a 
 day or two the animal would be delivered to 
 him, with a demand of a few ])iastres for the 
 trouble of finding the nmle on the mountains. 
 It is i)robable that nnitters stoinl exactly so, 
 for the muleteer followed in two days with 
 the beast, having |)aid fourteen piastres for 
 the troiible of lindin^: it ! 
 
 Thus far, wt' had travelled oidy among hills 
 and along valleys; and to-day we heartily en- 
 joyed our ride over the rich plain of Esdraelon. 
 It was fertile and ilowery from end to end; 
 and the young [lanridges ran under the very 
 feet of my horse. .Small Ijirds (lilted in mul- 
 titudes on every side ; and tall cranes stood 
 among the high grass. The Carmel range 
 grew upon the sight, as we had expected ; 
 and the blue hills of Galilee closed in the view 
 northward. Liitlc Mount Hermon rose on 
 our sighl : and on its ninth acclivity lay the 
 villago of Nuin. A round hill, droppeil over 
 with old oaks, was Mount Tabor. V^illages 
 were well placed on such rising grounds as 
 there were amidst the plain : and our track 
 lav, broad, level, and green, among rows of 
 tall artichokes and patches of rich cultivation. 
 
 When aliiiut two thirds of the way over, 
 we crossed the great caravan track from Egypt 
 to Damascus. We huil been to Egypt, and 
 
 we were going to J) ascus; but we did not 
 
 follow this track. We held on northward, to 
 the (Jalilean hills. 
 
 We entered among these hills about an 
 hour bef(u-o we reached Nu/arelh, winding up 
 and down, and round the base of one, and the 
 shoulder of another, sometimes among scatter- 
 ed wood, sometimes over stony tracts, and 
 always in sight of many goats. After mount- 
 
 ,, 1 1' . 
 
 '■» " 
 
 
190 
 
 TRAVELa m THE HOLY LAND. 
 
 Moant Cannel. 
 
 ing a very steep pass, anfl coining to a well, 
 anrl winding rouml a hill unce more, we came 
 suddenly in sight of ])retty Nu/.areth. Its 
 basin of fertility is channins; — its little plain, 
 full of gardens and groves and fields, surround- 
 ed, as it seemed, completely by hills. The 
 to^vn is in fact a poor one ; but, built of stone, 
 and covering a good deal of ground, and ex- 
 tending a little way up the western slopes, it 
 looks well from above. 
 
 Here, then, we had before our eyes the 
 scenery amidst which Jesus grew up. Its 
 character can not have changed very murh 
 since his day. A fertile basin among the 
 everlasting hills, and the primitive little town 
 which thoy protect, must bear much the same 
 aspect from age to age. The great addition 
 is the convent and church of the Latin monks : 
 but these buildings do not stand out ofTensive- 
 ly to the eye ; but mingle well with the flat- 
 roofed stone houses of the town. In this 
 convent we had to take up our abode. We 
 longed to pitch our tents on the green below 
 the town: but there was apprehension of 
 rain, and it was thought better to go under 
 the convent roof; which is truly a hospitable 
 
 one. 
 
 I I do not know what it is about the services 
 of this church which is soadbclingtostrangers: 
 bat I observe that all travellers speak of the 
 siron^' cmo'.ions excited here. Few believe 
 tliat the i)kces under the church are what they 
 are siiiil to be. Few t)eliove that the little 
 ' caves shown! by the minks are the kitchen 
 i and sittins-room of the jmrents of Jesus ; and 
 : that the sjiois marked out by two granite pil- 
 lars are those where Mary and the angel stood 
 ! nt the time of the annunciation. I <io not at 
 ' nil believe that these jdaces were thus con- 
 secrated : yrt I have seldom been so moved 
 I as 1 was tfiis afternoon in the church of the 
 \ annunciation nt Nazareth. We were at least 
 I in the place of residence of Jesus, and saw 
 what ho saw every day ; the hollows of the 
 valleys, the outlines of the hills, the streams 
 in their courses, and the wild flowers which 
 everywhere on the slopes spread under foot. 
 We were in the place which he called home. 
 Entering the church with these impressions 
 on our minds, we were saluted with a chant 
 from a full choir ; a chant sonorous, swelling, 
 and exact ; the best music, incomparably, that 
 I heard abroad. It told ujion our very hearts- 
 Of course, we visited the rocky recesses 
 
"F 
 
 1 
 
 M-hat it is aboTit the services 
 ich is so ailc-'cting to strangers : 
 It all travellf?rs speak of the 
 rxcitoil here. Few believe 
 iilf'i- the church are what they 
 Few l)clieve that the little 
 the miiiks are the kitchen 
 of the jiarents of Jesus; and 
 irked out by two granite pil- 
 ere Mary anil the angel stood 
 le jinnunciatioi). I do not at 
 the^e ]ilaccs were thus con- 
 have seldom been so moved 
 :enioon in the church of the 
 Nazareth. We were at least 
 residence of Jesus, and saw 
 cry day ; the hollows of the 
 ines of the hills, the strenras 
 and the wild flowers which 
 ;he slopes spread under foot, 
 place which he called home, 
 lurch with these impressions 
 e were saluted with a chant 
 ; a chant sonorous, swelling, 
 3est music, incomparably, that 
 It told ujjon our very hearts, 
 e visited the rocky recesses 
 
 Nazareth 
 
 l! 
 
 !i 
 
 Iwlnw the church which are called the abode 
 of J()i?('ph and Mary ; and saw no reason to 
 ouppose that, while citizens of Nazareth, they 
 lived in a grotto, rather than a house. We 
 were shown too a portrait of Jesus, which the 
 monks believe to have been copied from an 
 original taken in his lifetime ! — as if there had 
 been portrait-painting of that kind in those 
 days ! and as if the Jews would have con- 
 sidered it lawful if they had ! Such ignorance 
 on the part of the monks prevents our relying 
 on any traditions given by them : and I will 
 therefore say nothing of the other places point- 
 ed out as sacred by them. Nazareth itself is 
 sacred enough ; and it is merely ofTcnsive to 
 one's feelings to speak of some of the strange 
 stories the monks tell, and really believe, 
 about Jesus and his family, in exhibiting what 
 they declare to be the scenes of his life and 
 daily actions. 
 
 The next day, the uppermost feeling through- 
 out was of delight at the thought of the natur- 
 al beauty amidst which Jesus was reared. 
 From the heights above the town we looked 
 down into dells full of verdure ; and abroad 
 over the rich plain we had crossed the day 
 before, and over toward Carmel, where we 
 were going to-day. Wc rode among the hills 
 for two hours, observing that clumps of forest 
 trees became more frequent, and that the 
 scenery was changing its character : and then 
 we entered upon a tract which was so like the 
 outskirts of an English nobleman's park that 
 I could hardly believe we were in the holy 
 land. Rich grasses covered the slopes and 
 levels, and clumps of ilex wooded every re- 
 cess. We wound along under these clumps, 
 
 I and along the glades of the scattered forest, 
 ' and up broken hanks, and then again throii£;h 
 1 reaches of chcfiuered shade. And how could 
 j we help thinking at every step who had once 
 ! been here before us ! 
 
 I We were almost sorry to leave these park- 
 like hills, through we were descending into 
 the plain of Zabulon, and Carmel was before 
 us, and we were about to cross the old river 
 Kishon which Elijah knew so well when he 
 lived in this region; and the blue sea was in 
 sight ; that sea from which Elijah's servant 
 saw the cloud arise which was no bigger than 
 a man's hand. 
 
 We rode at the foot of Carmel, keeping 
 the river Kishon for the most part on the right 
 hand. There could not be a finer place of 
 assemblage than this plain for the children of 
 Israel, and the worshippers of the sun (Baal) 
 when Elijah summoned them to meet. From 
 the foot of Mount Carmel, which stands out 
 boldly into the sen, the beach stretches north- 
 ward in a fine sweep of fifteen miles to Acre, 
 and the old Tyre. The plain of Zabulon, 
 thus enclosed between the Galilean hills, Car- 
 mel, and the sea, held the assembled multitude 
 on that great day. The worship of the sun 
 was very imijosing in all the countries where 
 it subsisted. We have all heard of it as the 
 worship of Apollo in Greece. I saw mighty 
 temples to the same god, under the name of 
 Ra, in Egypt and Nubia ; and under the name 
 of Baal at Baalbec — a few days' journey from 
 this place ot the foot of Carmel, where his 
 hosts of priests were defied by Elijah (1 Kings 
 xviii.) Here stood his four hundred and fifty 
 prop'-ets, in oil their pomp. 
 
 .-if 
 
 ■ 'r 
 
 y:'l 
 
 
 "»H „,..», 
 
 
POWER OP MUSIC. 
 
 193 
 
 Nt'xt we ascended the mountain itself; and 
 we s])erit two iiiplits in the convent on its 
 heights ; 80 thnt the whole scene is well irn- 
 pn 'ssed on my memory. We went down the 
 moinituin-sid(! tliut nftemoon, to sec the coves 
 wlieie the schools of the prophets used to lie; 
 where tin; votiii^j men were gathered together 
 to leiini wliut was known of religion, mid to 
 prepare tliemsclves for its administrution. 
 Whether the ])riiicii)al cave was really thus 
 occiiiiied or not, some use was certainly made 
 of it in ancient times. We found it a hirjje 
 sipiare grotio ; a spacious apartment in the 
 mountain side — cool, shadowy, oud solemn. 
 All about its entrance, and over all that side 
 of the mountain, from the l)each below to the 
 convent on the height, was a ])erfect jungle 
 of hollyoeks, ilex, odoriferous shrubs, herbs 
 of many savors, and wild flowers ns ^ny as 
 the rainbow. Dry and droopino; was all this 
 vegetation when K'ijah came hither at the end 
 of the h)n!; dnpiiul.t, and cast himstdf liown 
 upon the earth while his servant watched on 
 the ridfje above, lint oh ! what an expanse 
 of sky and of blue sea was there for the man's 
 eye to ran<i;e over while looking for a token 
 of ajjproaching rain ! To-doy there was not 
 in all the sky a cloud so big as a man's hand : 
 but instead of a cloud, then; was, at evening, 
 the everlasting sign of the silver l)ow. When 
 the siui had sunk beneath the waters, and left 
 a golden glow on both sea and sky, the young 
 moon hung in the west yet a little while he- 
 fore the mild si)ring night veiled from my 
 watching eyes "the excellency of Carmel." 
 
 POWER OF MUSIC. 
 
 It has heen justly said that music had no 
 mortal artist for its mventor ; it was implant- 
 ed in man's nature, as a pure and heavenly 
 gift, by the great Creator himself. Of all the 
 fine arts, it alone comes home to every heart. 
 The uncultivated rustic, who would feel less 
 pleasure in contemplating the Apollo of Belvi- 
 dere, than in gazing at one of the course-paint- 
 ed plastcr-of-Puris figures h.iwked through 
 the streets of our cities, and would turn from 
 one of the finest of Titian's paintings, to ad- 
 mire some flaring sign over a country inn, is 
 alive to the tones of music, and can feel all 
 his sympathies awakened by a tender or a 
 lively air Music is so much a part of our 
 nature, surrounds us so completely in this vo- 
 cal world of ours, that its influence begins at 
 the cradle, and only ends at the grave ; it has 
 even been conceived to make a part of the 
 enjoyment in a happier state of existence. 
 
 There is a sweet harmony even in inanintatc 
 nature — the measured flow of the wiitris, the 
 regiilar rushing of the tide, the wintry gust 
 sighing through the woods, or the sunniior 
 breeze rustling the heaves, and the sweet 
 echoes retunieij from rock to glen, or breath- 
 ing in melting cadence along the waters— 
 which gives the listener a ff'eliiig as if he 
 were admitted to a communion with the un- 
 seen world. 
 
 When we consider the music of the anima- 
 ted world, the singing of birds, the hum of in- 
 sects, the lowing of cattle, it seems reasona- 
 ble to ask whether this melody is nuant for 
 the delight of num alone ? Though his organs 
 may bo more delicately adapt eil for musical 
 sounds, and his feelings more excpiisitely alive 
 to them, y(;t we may still believe that the low- 
 er creatures, ])artiei|)ate in some degree in the 
 enjoyment — a belief that may be more readily 
 granted, from the innumerable iiistanecs on 
 record, of the pleasure which music has ap- 
 peared to give them. We are told that musi- 
 cal sounds have wonderful power over the 
 stag, exciting complacency, if not rajiture ; 
 and that his enemies frequently employ the 
 shepherd's j)ipc to lure him to destruction. 
 Mr. Playford mentions that he niet a herd of 
 stags, consisting of about twenty, on the road 
 f()llovving a bugpipt^ and a violin. So long as 
 the instruments were ))laved, the stags went 
 forward ; when the music ceased, they stopped. 
 In this way they travelled from Yorkshire to 
 Hamilton Court. The excitement of horses 
 and of hounds, when they hear tire hunter's 
 horn", is well known. Stephanus states that 
 he saw a lion leave its prey to listen to music. 
 There is a remarkable mstancc of the delight 
 which a flock of sheep and some goats took, 
 in listening to the flute, mentioned in the life 
 of Haydn. A party of young jieoplo were 
 enjoying themselves one summer's day on the 
 side of a mountain near Lake Maggiore. One 
 of the party took out his flute and began to 
 jday. The shec]) r.nd goats, which were fol- 
 lowing each other toward the mountain, with 
 their heads bent downward, raised them at 
 the first sound of the flute, and all advanced 
 in haste to the sjwt, from which the music 
 proceeded. By degrees, they flocked around 
 the musician, an<l listened in motionless delight. 
 He ceased playing, but the sheep did not stir. 
 The shepherd with his staff oblige<l those that 
 were nearest to him to go on ; but when tha 
 flute-player began to perform again, the flock 
 returned to him. The shepherd became im- 
 patient, and began to pelt them with clods, to 
 force them to move, but not one of them would 
 stir. The shepherd enraged with them, 
 whistled, scolded, and finally pelted them with 
 stones. Such as were struck passed on, but 
 those who were not, refused to stir. The 
 
 •..a*^ 
 
 ««« 
 
 
 , ax's" 
 
 "**-.,« 
 
 
' 
 
 194 
 
 POWER OF MUSIC. 
 
 shepherd had at length to entreat the musi- 
 cian to ccdse, before he could pet his ilock to 
 move ; but wlienevcr he resumed the instru- 
 ment, they would stop at a distance to listen. 
 It is siiid by Goldsmith and others, that the 
 elephant np|)ears delighted with music, and 
 very readily learns to beat time, to move in 
 measure, and even to join his voice to the 
 sound of the drum and trumpet. Not long 
 since, an officer in the English iirmy mentioned, 
 that at Gibraltor, the monkeys used to come 
 forward to listen to the military bands, and 
 during the time of their performance, would 
 seat themselves on a wall to listen, retiring as 
 soon as the music was over. It is well known 
 that there have been ilogs, which evinced the 
 greatest pleasure when they have heard mu- 
 sic. The story of the dog at Rome, which 
 went by the name of the Opera Dog, from his 
 regular attendance at the opera, is well au- 
 thenticated ; many witnessed his ra])turcs, and 
 have seen him when he could not gain admit- 
 tance to the theotre, stand with his ear close 
 to the wall, to catch the sounds. Some have 
 evidently distinguished airs, testifying more 
 delight at some than others. Mr. Chambers 
 states that his father had a cot. unlike many 
 of her kind — which seem heedless of all nm- 
 sic, but their own purring — for she evinced 
 the most extraordinary feeling, whenever she 
 heard the song of " ftlary's Dream." It was 
 frequently and most sweetly sung, by a gen- 
 tleman, who was sometimes a guest in the 
 house. Poor puss would listen with rapt 
 attention till she heard, " Sweet Mary, wee]) 
 no more for me !" when she became excited 
 to an extraordinary degree, mewing most pit- 
 eously. Had we believed in the transmigra- 
 tion of souls, we should most assuredly have 
 thought that " sweet Mary," was again an in- 
 habitant of this world, in the shape of a sleek 
 tabby cat. It has been said, that even the 
 wild antelope has been known to come out of 
 the woods to listen to music. A party of 
 choristers experienced surprise owe evening, 
 when they were enjoying themselves on the 
 banks of the Mersey. As they sat upon the 
 grass, they joined in an anthem ; and after a 
 while, as they sang, they perceived a hare 
 come from an adjoining woo<l, and sto|) within 
 about twenty yards of them, turning her head 
 v;ith evident |)leasi:re to catch the sound of 
 the music. Wlien the singing ceased, the 
 hare went back toward the wood. When she 
 had nearly reached it, thi? singing was resumed. 
 She sto|)ped, turned romd, and hurried back 
 to the spot where she had before remained to 
 listen : here she stayed in evident delight, as 
 long as the music continued. When it was 
 over, she walked slowly across the field, and 
 disappeared in the wood. In Mexico, it is 
 absolutely required that the swineherd should 
 
 have a musical voice, that he may sing when 
 the pigs ([uarrel, which has the etleet of sooth- 
 ing them, ond lulling them to sleej) at the 
 ])ro])er time, which greatly I'romotes their fot- 
 tening. The gushing of' the wind, and all 
 sounds, it is well known have a great etl'ect 
 u|)on these creatures. We lately observed in 
 th(! streets of New York, a number of dogs, 
 dancing correctly souk; of the most ilifKcult 
 waltzes, to the tunes jjluyed by their master. 
 Snakes can be turned by nnisic : it is said that 
 even when irritated by pain or hunger, they 
 can be soothed by a plaintive air. Sir Wil- 
 liam Jones heard from a person, on whose ve- 
 racity he could rely, that he had often seen 
 the most venomous, and malignant snakes, 
 leave their holes upon hearing tunes upon the 
 flute. It is thus the Indians free the houses 
 which are infested by snak<'s ; the sound of 
 the flute entices them out from their hiding. 
 ])laces whore they lurk. It is said that when 
 the negroes search for lizards, which they 
 make use of for food, they attract them by 
 whistling an air. We may almost credit the 
 jjowers of the lyre of Orpheus, when we read 
 of a gentleman confined in (ho Bastile, who 
 begged the governor to pennit him the use of 
 his lute, to soften by the harmonies of his in- 
 strument, the rigors of his prison. At the 
 end of a few days, he was greatly ostonished 
 while playing <m his lute, to see peeping out 
 of their holes great numbers of mice ; and, 
 descending from their woven habitations, 
 crowds of si)iders, which formed a circle about 
 him, while he continued breathing his soul- 
 subduing instrument. When he ceased to 
 j)lay, the assembly, who did not come down 
 to see his person, but to hear his instrument, 
 immediately broke up. As he iiad a great 
 dislike to sjjiders, it was two days before he 
 ventured to touch his instrument again. At 
 length having, for the novelty of his company, 
 overcome his dislike of them, he recom- 
 menced his concert, when the assembly was 
 by far more numerous than at first. Thus is 
 this anecdote given in the " Curiosities of Lit- 
 erature," and has often been reprinted. It 
 may fairly be credited, when we recollect that 
 bees, when flying away, will lag behind if 
 they hear any tingling sound, and their flight, 
 when about to swarm, can be ellectually ar- 
 rested by the sound of a bell, near which they 
 will settle themselves. Bullfinches can be 
 taught to warble an air with the roost aston- 
 ishing precision. Sir William Jones states 
 on good authority, that when a celebrated lu- 
 tanist was playmg to q large company in a 
 grove, near Shiraz, the nightingales were dis- 
 tinctly seen trying to vie with the musician ; 
 sometimes warbling on the trees, sometimes 
 fluttering from branch to branch, as if they 
 wished to approach the instrument ; and at 
 
ice, tlint he may sinir -wlien 
 »hi('li 1ms the cHi-rt of SDoth- 
 lliiii,' tlicin to slcfi]) at the 
 li greatly jironiotes their f'nt- 
 hiiig of the wind, and all 
 
 known have a great efl'ect 
 res. Wc lately observed in 
 V \'ork, n number of dogs, 
 
 some of the most ilifficult 
 lies played by their master, 
 led by niusic : it is said that 
 i;<l by pain or hunger, they 
 
 a jjiaiutivo oir. Sir Wil- 
 froni a jierson, on whose ve- 
 ^ly, thut ho had often seen 
 us, and malignant snakes, 
 ipon hearing tunes ujion the 
 he Indians free the houses 
 d by snakes ; the sound of 
 ihein out from their hiding- 
 lurk. It is said that when 
 ih for lizards, which they 
 food, they attract them by 
 
 We may almost credit the 
 
 of Orpheus, when we read 
 Mitiiied in the Bastile, who 
 lor to jiennit him the use of 
 by the harmonies of his in- 
 nrs of his prison. At the 
 , he was greatly astonished 
 
 his lute, to see peeping out 
 at numbers of mice ; and, 
 
 their woven habitations, 
 which formed a circle about 
 itinued breathing his soul- 
 cnt. When he ceased to 
 y, who did not come down 
 but to hear his instrument, 
 e up. As he had a great 
 
 it was two days before he 
 1 his instrument agoin. At 
 the novelty of his company, 
 like of them, he recom- 
 rt, when the assembly was 
 reus than at first. Thus is 
 1 in the " Curiosities of Lit- 
 i often been reprinted. It 
 ited, when we recollect that 
 ; away, will lag behind if 
 jling sound, and their flight, 
 varm, can be etfectually ar- 
 id of a bell, near which they 
 elves. Bullfinches can be 
 an air with the most aston- 
 
 Sir William Jones states 
 , that when a celebrated lu- 
 g to Q large company in a 
 !, the nightingales were dis- 
 5 to vie with the musician ; 
 ng on the trees, sometimes 
 •anch to branch, as if they 
 ch the instrument ; and at 
 
 POWER OF MUSIC. 
 
 195 
 
 length dropping on the ground in a kind of 
 ecstasy, from which they were soon raised by 
 change? in the. measure. If music has such 
 charms for tlie lower creatures, well may its 
 influence be great over the human race, whose 
 sensil)ilities, fond associations, and tender rec- 
 ollections can be awakened by its witching 
 spell? It inde(;d mingles itself with all our 
 jiursuits i it quiets the child in its cradle, as 
 the nurse sings her soothing lullaby ; it rou- 
 ses the patriot's zeal ; it stirs uj) the spirit 
 to revelry, or raises it to devotion ; it exhil- 
 arates intercourse, and lightens labor; sweet 
 is the milkmaid's song as she jilies her task ; 
 its cadence falls alike soothingly upon her 
 own ear, and upon that of the cow who sup- 
 plies her i>ail. There is in the chorus of the 
 " yo-ho," of th*^ sailor, as he labors in his vo- 
 cation, that which makes it lighter. 
 
 Itinerant venders of goods, have set their 
 proirentd sale to regular notes, so that the dif- 
 ferent articles whirh they carry, are known 
 long before the words which accompany the 
 cadence are heard. Wc were much amused 
 lately, when reading " Letters from a Gentle- 
 man in the North of Scotland, to his Friend 
 in London," written befor 1730, with an ac- 
 count of the manner in which music accelera- 
 ted the harvest-work. He says, " When 
 there are any number of women employed, 
 they all keep time together, by several tones 
 of the voice, and stoop and rise together as 
 regularlv as a rank of soldiers when they 
 ground their arms. Sometimes they are inci- 
 ted to their work by the sound of a bagpipe ; 
 and by either of these things proceed with 
 great alacrity, it being disgraceful for any one 
 to be out of time with the sickle." They 
 use the same means when thickening the new- 
 wovon plaiding, which is done by six (,r eight 
 women, sitting upon the ground, near some 
 river or rivulet, in two opposite ranks, with 
 the wet cloth between them : " their petti- 
 coats are tucked uji, and with their naked feet 
 they strike one against another's, keeping ex- 
 act time, as above-mentioned ; and among 
 numbers of men employed in any work that 
 requires strength and joint labor, as the 
 launching of a boat or the like, thsy must 
 have the piper to regulate their time." Trav- 
 ellers, in passing through the southern states, 
 must have often remarked the slaves light- 
 ening their labors by chanting some simple 
 melody in concert. To keep rime seems 
 a natural propensity : why it should be 
 so, may yet be determined by philosophers. 
 It would be beyond our limits to point out one 
 instance in a hundred, that we could enumer- 
 ate ; but in everything we hear (though it 
 may pass without our observing it) there is a 
 kind of measure, and this often suggests sub- 
 jects to musical composers. A favorite air 
 
 imitated the yelping of dogs so exnetly, that 
 it could not be heard wiiliout the resenililaiice 
 being perceived. One of the most delightful 
 compositions was suggested l)y the regular 
 strokes of the lilacksniith's hauiiiier against 
 the anvil. Sir Charles Bell, in his admirable 
 treatise on the hand, observes — "The divis- 
 ions of the time in music in some degree de- 
 jjend on the muscular sense. A inun will put 
 down his stall' in regulated time : and in his 
 common walk, the sound of his steps vyill fall 
 into measure. A boy striking the railing in 
 mere wantonness, will do it with a regular 
 succession of blows. This disposition in the 
 muscular frome to ])Ut itself into motior. with 
 an accordance to rime, is the source of much 
 tha^^is i)leasing in music, and assists the ef- 
 fect of melo<ly. The closest connection is 
 thus established between the emiiloyments of 
 the sense of hearing, and the exercise of the 
 muscular sense ; the etrect of disorders of the 
 nervous system, is sometimes to show how 
 natural certoin combinations of actions are in 
 the exercise of the muscular frame." Sir 
 Charics Bell, illustrates this observation by a 
 curious case of a young woman who had nev- 
 er been able to learn a conitnon country-dance, 
 yet, when under the inlluence of a morbid 
 mental excitement, in association with the 
 organs of voluntary motion, began to exercise 
 involuntary movements not unbecoming an 
 ojiera-dancer. " At one time she would pace 
 slowly round the room, as in a minuet, with a 
 measured step, the arms carried with elegance ; 
 at another time she would stand on the toes 
 of one foot, and beat time with the other ; on 
 some occasions she would strike the fable, or 
 whatever she could reach, with her hand many 
 times, softly, and then witii force. At length 
 it wasfounif thatshedid everytiiitigin rhythms. 
 A friend thought that in her regular beating he 
 could recognise a tune, and he began singing 
 it. The moment this struck her ears, she 
 turned suddenly to the man, danced directiy 
 up to him, and continued to dance until she was 
 ((uite out of breath. The cure of this young 
 v/oman was of a very unusual kind. A drum 
 and fife were procured, and when a tune cor- 
 responding to the rhythms of her movements 
 was played, in whatever part of the room she 
 was, she would dance close up to the drum, 
 and continue dancing until she missed the step, 
 when these involuntary motions instantly 
 ceased, and the paroxysm ended. The physi- 
 cian, profiting by this, and observing a motion 
 in her lips, put his ear close to her mouth. He 
 thought he could hear her sing, and question- 
 ing ner, she said there was always a tune 
 dwelling upon her mind, which at times 
 had an irresistible influence upon her, and 
 impelled her to begin her involuntary mo- 
 tions. In the end, she was cured by altering 
 
 
 ■I'' 
 
 I; 
 
 tM** 
 
 ( ...iW' 
 
 
 Ni 
 
196 
 
 I'OVVEK OF MUSIC. 
 
 Iifiiting of tlio drum ; for 
 sscil the tiin«, tlie inotioiis 
 
 the time in llic 
 whi'ui'vi'r sill' Ml 
 
 8t()l)|>(il." 
 
 Till! nicely of iifrni'ptiim for fine soumb in 
 Hoino minds 'is an iiinarkiililo ii* the extreme 
 enjoyment they derive from them. A musi- 
 cal 'j^entleiiiiui' meiuioned ill compnny, that 
 amidst all the noise of u larj^e |)arty, ho could 
 distiniruish the faiatest tinkle on a \vine-j>luss, 
 l)ecauae it was a mnsii-ul sound, .'^miie years 
 ago, an emineul violinist arrived in KlinlMirijll, , 
 and took up his lod;;in!is in a street where all , 
 the houses wi're externally alike. Ileluininu j 
 home latt! one evenini;, and having; forgot the ^ 
 number of the house, lie was at a loss to find j 
 liis home, till a musical expedient occurred to 
 him. Cnnc'riving that he >hiuild In; abiisj^lo 
 distinguish ihestrefi-door hell of his landlaifj's 
 house, he deliberately went along a small por- 
 tion of the street, ringing each l)ell, till he ar- 
 rived at one of a ]ieculiar tone, which he at 
 once ri'cognisi'd as the riglit one, and on hear- 
 ing whicii, he waited till he was admitted. 
 We do not know if the hero of the subseipient 
 anecdote was in any d(^groc gifted as a musi- 
 cian ; but his percei'itiou of nicety in tcaie seems 
 
 to have been as great as that of Signor E . 
 
 It was in \pril, H.'iG. that Lieutenant Layer, 
 on leave of absence, from his regiment, sjient 
 a night in the Bush-Inn in Manchester. In 
 the morning, as lu; was sitting at breakfast, a 
 band of street musicians came past, and in one 
 of the iiistrmueuts (the serpent) he thought 
 he recognised the peculiar style of playing of 
 a man who h.ulonce jierformcd on that instru- 
 ment in the l)aiid of his regiment, hut who hud 
 deserted. Tho lieutenant immediately ran 
 down stairs, found his surmise correct, and 
 had the man ap|)reh(mded. To those entircl^^ 
 ungifted with music, such delicacies in this 
 particular intellectual sense seem miraculous. 
 Mr. Burette, and other physicians, have 
 believed that music all'ected the whole nervous 
 system, so as not only to give temporary re- 
 lief in some diseases, but to achieve radical 
 cures in many cases. He thought that music 
 could jmllinte the |)ains of the sciatica. He 
 conceived that certain vibrations of the nerves, 
 along with other elFects produced, to be the 
 cause of this ; and that its power of fixing 
 attention, and withdrawing the mind from the 
 feelings which occupied it to dirt'erent chan- 
 nels of thought and sensibility, awakening 
 dormant sensations, might produce a power- 
 ful ertect, that might operate on the entire 
 frame, causing changes almost miraculous. 
 Theophrastus asserted that diseases have either 
 been cured by music or mitigated. We find 
 this illustrated in Mrs. Grant's " Letters from 
 the Mountains," when she mentions the effect 
 which the singing of his attendants had on her 
 little boy, in soothing his last sufferings ; but, 
 
 like everything she ATote, it is sc) interesting- 
 ly given in her own words, that it is best to 
 transcribe the passoge. " 1, for my jmrt 
 though a stranger to the art of music, am well 
 acipiointed with its jiower, and subject to its 
 inlhience in its rnilest forms, particularly when 
 it breathes the spirit of that sentiment which 
 for the time predominates in my mind, or 
 wakes some lender remembrance with which 
 accident has connected it. When my dearest 
 little boy was in the hist stage of that illness 
 which proved fatal to him, we had thrive 
 maids who had all good voices. One was 
 afraid to sit up alone to attend my calls, on 
 wliich the nursemaid ngreeil to sit with her, 
 and lull the infant beside; her. The solitary 
 maid was then afraid to stay alone in her attic 
 abode. The result was, that the three syrens 
 sung in concert a great part of the night, wdiich 
 seemed to sooth the dear siilU'rer so much, 
 that when they ceased, he often desired thiit 
 they would begin again. Hi; listened to it 
 three hours before he expired. I never hear 
 the most imiicrfect note of Cm ChalUn since 
 without feeling my heurt-strings accord with 
 it." 
 
 Sir Henry Halford, in his essays and ora- 
 tions, mentions the >;ase of a gentleman who 
 became insane on the loss of his [iroperty, and 
 for months was in such a state of stupefaction, 
 that he remained perfectly motionless, not 
 moving imless when jiushcil ; nor would he 
 speak to or notice any iierson. Music in the 
 street at length jiroduced its effect. He was 
 observed to listen, and to be still more awaken- 
 ed to its iiower the second time ho heard it. 
 The person under whose care he was, avail- 
 ed himself of this happy omen, and offered him 
 a violin. He seized it eaijerly, and constant- 
 ly amused himself with it. 'The result was 
 most fortunate : in two months he was dis- 
 missed cured. Sir Henry alludes distantly, 
 but airectingly, to the case of George III., who 
 had been his patient, and bears testimonj; to 
 the power which music had oyer his mind, 
 mitigating the sadness of seclusion. And we 
 have heard a most touching account of the 
 venerable king : sightless and secluded, a prey 
 to visionary delusions, yet finding a sweet 
 solace for his troubled mind in "the touches 
 of sweet harmony." There, at his instru- 
 ment, he might often be seen, wrapt in thought, 
 as the strings responded to his touch in the 
 sacred strains of Handel. 
 
 One of the most remarkable instances of th» 
 efficacy of music occurred during the celebra- 
 ted Farinelli's visit to Spain. The queen 
 determined to try the effect of his astonishing 
 powers on the king, who had had a passion 
 for music. He was then laboring under such 
 a dejection of spirits, as baffled all medical 
 treatment, and disappointed every effort made 
 
 U 
 
■; 
 
 I'OWKll OF MUSIC. 
 
 ATiitr, it is si) iiitert'Mting. 
 Words, tliat it is Ix'sl to 
 n<;(;. " 1, fur my jmrt 
 
 the nrti)f iiiusir, nin well 
 pnwor, niul Hulijcct to its 
 t I'orins, piirticulnrly when 
 
 (if tlmt sciitiinriit which 
 iniiiatcs ill my mind, or 
 rcmeiiiliraiiii' witli which 
 edit. When rny<i<'nrnst 
 
 last stage of that illness 
 I til hitii, we hail three 
 
 good viiices. One was 
 le to utiind my calls, on 
 d nuri'oil to sit with her, 
 beside lur. The solitary 
 1 to stay alone in her attic 
 was, that the threi; syrens 
 ut part of thi; iiipht, ^vhich 
 o dear suiVerer so inueh, 
 ied, he oft( n desired that 
 igain. Ho listened to it 
 le expired. I never hear 
 note of Cm Cludlin since 
 
 heurt-strinjjs accord with 
 
 rd, in his essays and ora- 
 fase of a geiillemun who 
 le loss of his jiroperty, and 
 ich a state of stupefaction, 
 perfectly motionless, not 
 n ]iushed ; nor would ho 
 ny person. Music in the 
 duccd its elVect. He was 
 lul to be still more awuken- 
 ! second time he heard it. 
 vhose care he was, avail- 
 ippy omen, and oilered him 
 d it ca<;erly. and eonstant- 
 with it. "The result was 
 two months he was dis- 
 Henry alludes distantly, 
 le case of George III., who 
 It, and bears testimony to 
 music hud over his mind, 
 ess of seclusion. And we 
 t touching account of the 
 ;htk'S8 and secluded, a prey 
 ions, yet finding a sweet 
 led mind in " the touches 
 ." There, at his instru- 
 n be seen, wrapt in thought, 
 Dndcd to his touch in the 
 andel. 
 
 remarkable instances of th» 
 ccurred during the celcbra- 
 sit to Spain. The queen 
 the efTect of his astonishing 
 g, who had had a passion 
 SIS then laboring under such 
 rits, as baffled oil medical 
 appointed every efTort made 
 
 i„ .livert his thonghts. Neither pleature nor 
 l.u^iness iMuld rouse him from the hopeless 
 rnelaiiiliolv under which he labored. Llter- 
 Iv iiiciip:ibh" of managing pulilie allairs, or ot 
 criiovliig domestic intercourse, he remained in 
 n -tate (if the most de|.li.rulile sadness and 
 aiiiilhy. Farinelli was placed in a room ail- 
 j.'iiiiiiL' that where the king sat ; he sang some 
 of Ins pathetic songs with all the cnjitivating 
 expression for which he wa < so remarkable. 
 Tlie i| leen anxiously wulihed the edect; nor 
 was she disappointe'd. The king seemed sur- 
 prised ; and as he listened, he became alVect- 
 cd, and tears forced their way, and the ]ient- 
 up fei'liuus gushed forlli once more. Another 
 soil", and he ordered the attendance of the 
 sillier. Farinelli apiieared ; the king gave 
 niteraiico to his delight and adirMiatiim, and 
 desired him to say how he should reward him 
 for the iMatifieation which his wonderful talents 
 had gi "en. Farinelli, who had lieen directed 
 how"to act, only entreated that his majesty 
 would permit his attendants to dress him,^anil 
 that he would appear in council as usual. The 
 kiim complied; his spirits returned; and thus 
 Farlnidli ellected a cure in some monients 
 which the ablest medical men in Spain, nil 
 the devoted courtiers, and the anxious famiW, 
 had ill vain endeavored to bring about. '1 his 
 atlectiu" anecdote naturally reminds us of the 
 plaviiiMif David before Saul, when the evil 
 spiilt (Tepartedfrom the king, and he was well. 
 To this very remarkable case the beautiful 
 lines of Cumberland, now almost forgotten, 
 but worthy of being remembered, are appro- 
 priate, 'fhe last stanza runs thus :— 
 
 " The turbid pafwiont shall retiro 
 Before the minntrers art. 
 Anil the same hand that iiwceps the lyre 
 Shall heal the itricken heart." 
 
 As to Farinelli, he rose to the highest favor 
 at court; and, to his great credit, instead of 
 bein" elated by on elevation so exciting to one 
 of humble birth, he preserved a humiUty and 
 siiiiprunty which endeared him to the Spanish 
 nobility, and won from them their esteem and 
 conlidence. The various anecdotes recounted 
 qI' tliis gifted man, reflect as much honor on 
 his disposition and character as they do on the 
 izeiiius that so eminently distinguished him. 
 There was such enchantment in his singing, 
 that it completely overcame Senesino, who 
 was himself one of the finest singers. He and 
 Farinelli had long wished to hear each other 
 sing ; the opportunity was at length afforded, 
 and they were engaged to perform at the same 
 theatre. Senesino played the part of an in- 
 exorable tyrant, anil Farinelli of his unhappy 
 caiitive. When he oppeared in chains, he 
 sang with such exquisite pathos, that Senesino 
 forgot the cruel part he had to sustain ; he 
 ' forgot every thing ; and, throwing himself into 
 
 Furinelli's arm*, he burst into teors, r.ni this 
 
 need not surprise us, when we recoil, el iliiil 
 two hired assassins, who, it may be priMimed, 
 were not |iiisHessed of very tender li i Tmus, 
 
 when they waited to fulfif their cin^afie nt 
 
 to miirderStrudella, near the dinirof a cliuiih 
 ill Rome, where he was taking jiart in an ora- 
 torio, were so comiiletely overcome by his 
 pathetic music, that they not (inly alaindoncd 
 their purpose, but cimtessed it to him. and 
 warned him of his danger. The complete 
 mastery which music often exerts over the 
 mind may be considered its createst triumph. 
 I need only allude to the Ham ilrsViuhrs of 
 the .Swiss, t\\(i MuTsellaisp ul the FiiikIi, the 
 Liifhiihcr no more of the Scotch regiiiienis, and 
 Had Columbia of the Americans. Its inllii- 
 ence over the aflections may be illust rated i 
 an anecdote connected with a custom whi( 
 is oliserved among the Greeks. The young 
 (Jreek often leaves his home for a foreign hind, 
 but never without grief. Fondly attached to 
 the place of his birth, and to his domestic ties, 
 he feels himself an exile wherever he goes, and 
 endures the greatest anxiety on aeiumnt of 
 those near and dear to him that he has left, 
 and is often haunted with a sad foreboding 
 that he is to meet them no more. When he 
 is about to take his leave, there is a farewell 
 repast, to which the relations and the friends 
 are invited ; when it is over, all the guests 
 accompany the traveller some miles on his 
 journey. Daring this, and at the rejiast, it 
 IS the custom to sing farewell songs; many of 
 these have been long in use, but some are 
 composed specially for the occasion ; and it 
 not unfrequently happens that they are com 
 
 '7 
 iich 
 
 posed extempore by some one dearest to him, 
 or by himself. There was such a meeting 
 held one day near Piiidus, on the occasion of 
 the youngest of three sons of respectable 
 parents devoting himself to voluntary exile. 
 The deepest regret which he felt in leaving 
 the home of his childhood, was the conscious- 
 ness that he carried with him no share of the 
 affections of a mother on whom he doted. 
 She, unlike the generality of Greek mothers, 
 had never marked him as an object of her hive, 
 but had treated him with a coldness painfully 
 contrasted with her conduct toward her other 
 children ; this he had borne without a mur- 
 mur, but now that he was about to leave her, 
 perhaps for ever, his heart was breaking. The 
 spot chosen for the parting was a wild and 
 desolate scene, among high and rugged rocks. 
 Several of the mournful songs had olreody 
 been sung, when the young traveller, si'iiara- 
 ting from his company, ascended a rock which 
 overhung the path ; here he «ang his last sad 
 farewell in tones that sank into every heart, 
 and drew tears from every eye. He exjiress- 
 ed, with the deepest pathos, the passionate 
 
 ■« • 
 
 •f 
 
 
 .««#*^ 
 
 
 
 '^ 
 
 tirs^iiBv^^9-f 
 
 
198 
 
 SLAVaaY IN RUSSIA. 
 
 cricf which h(i felt in quitting his homo ami 
 tlios(' hf' loved ; Imt liis grenti'st nn;;iiiNh wns 
 in thinking h<- was jjoinK without \m mother's 
 aU'eirtiori. The lieart of the mother wn.s touch- 
 ed; her emotion inereased with every word 
 and every note of the piithetie nir to which lie 
 w>n<; ; thi; wnrm current of ufVcetion pushcMl 
 fn.m its hidden springs ; she clasped him in 
 her arms, iind wee()ing and kissing him over 
 and over again, she entreated forgiveness, and 
 promised to love and cherish him as long as 
 she lived. The promise waa inviolably and 
 tenderly ke|)t. 
 
 The most simple music, or that which is 
 hardly music at nil, often finds its wny to the 
 very henrt. It is said thiit Curran attributed 
 his first impressions of elfHpience and jioetry 
 to the will! eliunt of the Irish cry, or funeral 
 dirge. TIk^ memory of 'lonie of thos(3 strains, 
 which have been often described as something 
 unearthly, ond resembling the rmdody of an 
 .Eolian harp, no doubt flitted across his mind, 
 as he has sat preparing himself for the defence 
 of some client's life, os was his wont, with his 
 violin in his hand, from which ever ond anon 
 he drew forth wild and plaintive sounds. It 
 is customary with the improvisatori to sweep 
 the chords of an instrument os they composi; 
 their verses, to aid thinr conceptions. Even 
 the music of bells produces a powerful ellect. 
 Who does not feel his spirit lighten os he 
 hears the merry chime of festive bells ? Who 
 does not feel a touch of awe as the death-bell 
 tolls? The inhabitants of Limerick arc proud 
 of their cathedral bells ; and well they may, 
 for they are passing sweet. They boast that 
 they were brought from Italy, and tell of their 
 haying occupied the skill of a clever young 
 artist for some years. By the time he had 
 manufactured them, their chime had taken 
 such possession of his heart, that he resolved 
 never to leave them ; so that when he sold 
 them to the prior of a convent, he removed to 
 their neighborh(K)d, that he might still hear 
 their music : he hoped that they would toll 
 his re(|uiem. Troubles came — he lost his 
 property — the convent was laid waste — the 
 bells were taken away — and this grieved the 
 artist more than any of his losses ; he wan- 
 dered over many of the countries of Europe, 
 hoping to reach the spot where his bells might 
 be. Years after they had been manufactured, 
 it happened thot, toward the close of spring, 
 on a lovely evening, a vessel had anchored at 
 soiae distance from Limerick, and a boat was 
 seen to glide from its side along the Shannon. 
 It had been hired by one of the passengers — 
 tfie Italian artist — now grown old and gray. 
 He was impatient to reach the city, to which 
 he had traced his much-loved bells. As they 
 rowed along the smooth waters, the steeple 
 of the cathedral appeared in the distance above 
 
 the surrounding buildings J the boatmen [Kiint- 
 ed it out to the stranger, as he sat in the sieni ; 
 he fixed his eyes earnestly and fomllv upim it. 
 The boat glided on; but all at onee" thruimh 
 the stillness of the hour, the peal friini iFie 
 sweet cathedral brils burst upon the air ; the 
 stranger crossed his orms upon his lireiist and 
 leant back. The shore wos reached ; liie face 
 of the Italian was still turned toward the ca- 
 thedral, but the spirit hod fled, and the li.-lls 
 hod tolled his reijuiem ! 
 
 SL.WEUY IN RUSSIA. 
 
 TiiKUE are forty millions of serfs in (3reat 
 Russia, the largest slave population in the 
 world. FortA' millions of men — glebie nd- 
 scrifiti — attached to the soil, bought and sold 
 with the soil, on which they arc boni, and on 
 which they die. Upward of twenty millions 
 of these serfs belong to the crown, the remain- 
 der to the nobles. Previous to the sixteenth 
 century, the peasantry of Great Russia, re- 
 tained the privilege of moving from place to 
 place, held the free disposal of their |)ersons, 
 and sold their services for a term of years. 
 In 1.598, when Boris Gedcnof oseende'd the 
 throne, ond sought the sujiport of the nobles, 
 he mode a law by which the peasant was 
 bound to the soil, and become the property of 
 the noble. 
 
 The value of an estate in Weliki Russia, 
 depends more ujion the number of its peasants 
 than its acres. Some occupy a vast extent of 
 country, and contain as man^ as one hundred 
 thousand souls. The proprietor pays an an- 
 nual tax of about one dollar and sixty cents 
 upon every serf. The condition of the' latter, 
 varies according to the circumstances and dis- 
 iwsition of the master. As a general rule, he 
 has tt house and a piece of ground, and the 
 privilege of feeding o cow U|)on the common 
 near the village. For these ho pays with his 
 labor. The steward of the lord ossigns him 
 a daily task, which is easily accomplished be- 
 fore noon. The remaining hours are at his 
 nvn dispf)sal, except in harvest, and certain 
 other times, when he and his wife must turn 
 out into the field. He can not leave the 
 estate, or learn o trade without permission. 
 The master must maintain him, furnish him 
 with food and medicine when it is necessary, 
 ond is liable to a fine, if he is found destitute 
 or begging u{K)n the highway. Stray serfs, 
 runaways, or {)easants, whether free or bound, 
 roaming without o passport, are detained and 
 advertised ; and, if not reclaimed, or relieved 
 by the owner or some responsible person, are 
 sold at public sale. The proprietor can not 
 
irigs; tho bontinnn [Hiint- 
 :;r, ns lio snt in tlic strrn ; 
 lestly iirid fondly npim it. 
 but all at oDcr', tliriiiii;h 
 lonr, till! peal Crorii tlic 
 
 Uurnt u|M)ti the nir ; the 
 .nn« upon his breast and 
 ro WAS rf!«ched ; I lie fuco 
 1 tunifid toward tin- ca- 
 
 Imd fled, and the bells 
 
 IN RUSSIA. 
 
 illions of serfs in (Jrent 
 luvc population in the 
 lis of men — glcbiB ad- 
 10 soil, bouglit and sold 
 h they ore born, and on 
 I'ord of twenty millions 
 1 the crown, the rcniain- 
 evious to tho sixteenth 
 Y of Great Russia, ro- 
 : moving from place to 
 sposal of their |)ersons, 
 ;s for a tenn of years. 
 Gedenof asrended the 
 support of the nobles, 
 ifhicn the peasant was 
 jccamo the property of 
 
 tato in Weliki Russia, 
 I number of its pi.-asants 
 occupy a vast extent of 
 s many as one hundred 
 proprietor pays an an- 
 dollar ond sixty cents 
 condition of the' latter, 
 circumstances and dis- 
 As a general rule, he 
 ece of ground, and the 
 cow uijon the common 
 these he nays with his 
 )f tho lord assigns him 
 easily accomplished l)e- 
 ining hours are at his 
 n harvest, and certain 
 and his wife must turn 
 le can not leove the 
 e without permission, 
 itain him, furnish him 
 e when it is necessory, 
 if he is found destitute 
 lighway. Stray serfs, 
 whether free or bound, 
 sport, are detained and 
 reclaimed, or relieved 
 responsible person, are 
 rhe proprietor can not 
 
 SWITZERLAND. 
 
 199 
 
 oblige the serf to marry contrary to his incli- 
 niiriiin ; and, on the other hand, the cirgrv 
 can not nnirry him without the permission of 
 the iniister. The serf can not bi; sold oil" the 
 csiafc, or separated from his family, and many 
 ntlicr liiunane provisions havu been made for 
 hi-. Iiii|ipiness and sofety. 
 
 Hut it is futile to speak of rules and regula- 
 tions in a e((Mntry where wealth and birth, 
 give des|)otic. power. Thc! proprietor is gf)v- 
 erned in his action entirely by his interest, anil 
 lie treats his jieasants precisely as he pleases. 
 Jle sells ihem whenever a good price is of- 
 tered, and he send* them wherever it suits his 
 ciiliveiiienee. He makes them weave or 
 jilougli ; ho hires them out by the month or 
 year, just as it pleases him to do. In the 
 same Way, In^ may treat them with kindness 
 or with blows; but as they are generally re- 
 garded as insensible anil uiigrat(;t'ul, they get 
 more kieks than favors. 'J''lie serf ean not 
 aeciisi! the master. If the blows of the lat- 
 ter cause death within tliree days he is lined ; 
 liul it the serf lives more than three days 
 after severe punisliinent, the master is not lia- 
 ble. If the serf is killed without premedita- 
 tiim, by any otlii;r than the master, the killer 
 pays tile master three hundred and eight dol- 
 lars. If he is killed with premeditation, there 
 is no indeinniticatioii for the niast(!r, and the 
 munliM'er is res[)i)nsible to the police. 
 
 That the Russian serfs arc often sold with- 
 out the lands on which they dwidl, is truly 
 stated by Mr. Maxwell, but we believe he is 
 mistaken in saying that they can not be sold 
 by law. The imperial council has once for- 
 mally determined that such sales are legal. 
 
 In the subjoined passage, the reader will 
 notice several remarkable resemblances be- 
 tween the Russian serf, and the negro slave : — 
 
 '•The posadki, or freed man, can not hold 
 lands or serts ; but they have other privileges, 
 and in the distant provinces display, as we 
 have mentioned, all the natural vigor of the 
 race, and are distinguished for industry, and 
 the most indefatigable perseverance in the 
 pursuit of gain. But the serf has not the 
 same inducements, and exhibits none of tho 
 activity and industry so remarkable in the 
 l)()sadki. He is the creature of apathy, and 
 all the stirring qualities of his nature are latent 
 and unfleveloped. He works as he is directed, 
 and manifests the same rude ability in any 
 employment ho may follow. 
 
 "He is ordered to be a musician, mechanic, 
 or a manufacturer, and becomes either of these 
 with astonishing facility, though he excels in 
 none. Neither the fear of the lash, nor the 
 promise of reward, can force him to work with 
 the plane or saw ; but wth the hatchet, which 
 he always carries at his girdle, he will hew 
 the forest trees, prepare his Ibgs and plank, 
 
 build a housn, and makn his furniture. He 
 
 never exerts liis full strength. If the burden 
 is a heavy one, he calls for ns»istani:e. It is 
 a common thiii^j to see a hundred men holding 
 to a rope, and hauling a stone or a piec^e of 
 timber, that would have bi'en handled with 
 ease, by twelve or twenty Knglishmen. Un 
 such occasions, before the umIkmI elli)rt is 
 made, the Russian workmen sing for some 
 minutes in chorus, and tho end of the song is 
 the signal for the pull altogether. After two 
 or three pulls they stop, and the singing lie-ins 
 again, and so on to the completion of the 
 work — more than half the time at least being 
 passed in these muNical interludes. 'I'he task 
 IS therefore often a light one, and easily per- 
 formed. When it is finished, tht^ laborer is 
 at liberty to employ himself as he pleases. 
 Should he do double iluty, however, he would 
 not be rewarded, and instances are kuowii, 
 within the observation of the writer, where 
 the otler of the peasant to perform an extra 
 task had been rejected, and for the reason, that 
 any such proceeding was unusual, and calcu- 
 lated to ))roduce confusion. So the serf, leav- 
 ing his wife to cultivate his garden and tend 
 the loom, loiters away the balance of the day 
 in indolence." 
 
 The disinclination of the serf to hard work, 
 his apa'hy under chastisement, the necessity 
 of employing half a do/en to do the work of 
 one, the "lightness of his tasks, and his jirac- 
 tice of singing when several work in company, 
 are circumstances in which he resembles the 
 African slave, as seen in tho southern states, 
 ond in the West Indies. Mr. Maxwell [loints 
 out some other resemblances — such as the fre- 
 quency of great longevity among the serfs, 
 and the extraordinary multiplication of tho 
 race. ■ Every year another million is added to 
 tho population of the Russian empire. 
 
 SWITZERLAND. 
 
 SwiTZKBLAND Is rcputcd to be the freest 
 country in Europe. This is an error, arising 
 most likely from the common notion that the 
 country is a confederacy of republics, which 
 wrested its freedom from surrounding despo- 
 tisms. It is one thing to throw off a foreign 
 yoke, and another to establish internal free- 
 dom. Switzerland at the present day, with 
 all its wonderful industry and spirit of liberal- 
 ity in matters of inteniational trade, is, in 
 point of fact, a cluster of little despotisms, the 
 despots in each case being a majority of the 
 population which oppresses the minority — op- 
 pression on the score of religion and of birth. 
 Ignorance, and selfishness — which is only a 
 
800 
 
 IWITZKRLAND. 
 
 I 
 
 mnnifo»toti()n of ignormicc — are Cdtijointlv iln- 
 cni(:ie I't' tlii>i dixrrcilifnlilf" »fnt»' of nlVtiir'*. 
 I'tiil ' •'!'• rniiiiriiin imtiu' c,f Swinn, thm- !;riMt 
 Kn 'n'l'sinfi't iiml tu'iHtl<)iil>(nitth« heart 
 
 ot I -tilt,' Frriich from tilt- went, tlu' 
 
 OiTiiiiiii tmiii thp north ntiil cattt, iiiiiliho Itnl- 
 inii troiii the xoiitli ; niiil ihi; wuiit of corninii 
 iiji-ntioii, till of liitc yporx, hax kc|tt these race* 
 ttiiiirt mill iijnoriiiit of eaeh other. Nowhere, 
 nisi - liie (listinetion of reliuimi more 'imrkrd. 
 T'.v.. 'liriU of the Swisn circ protestnnts, niiil 
 the rc'iriaiiiirig one third entholirfi ; anil the 
 pntteKtiiiits niu! cntholic rniitons, a» the recent 
 civil war liitn «hown, hate eiieh other ns the 
 hiwtile eliiiiH in the hi>{hlnmU hated each other 
 two hnmiri-d yearn ago. Besiden, though 
 Swit/erlauii, coin|)nred with nuwt eoiintries; 
 is n liiijil of nioiintainH, the great jmrt of it is 
 eom|io^cili)f plaiiiH o'nid.^! thestiipendfms Al[w. 
 Two hours' stilV elimhing suHiren to change 
 friiMi the ncat-triinrned Hower-garden and Ntiic- 
 encd ciittai;'' "f 'ho industriouH ortisnn of Zu- 
 ricii. into the lofty hill-coimtry of ISc-hwoitz. 
 wlnTe the mountaineer lendn n half- vagabond 
 existence, tending his nutneroim goats among 
 litorms and mist, whilt! his children run rugged 
 iind liiircfooted along the road, begging from 
 triivrllers. Between i)eople so variously sit- 
 uoteil there can be little sympotliv. 
 
 A conseiruence of this national disintegration 
 has been, that the rights of citizenship posses- 
 sed in one cnnton have always been gixxl for 
 nothing in another. The citizen of Geneva, 
 who was driven to settle in the Valnis, was 
 allovvcd toleration; but neither he nor his 
 posterity coulil, by any length of residence, 
 li'.'coinc denizens of their adopted country. A 
 Roiniiii catholic at Lucerne "who turned nrot- 
 estunt, lost all his property, and was liable to 
 banishment ; a protestant at Btime turning 
 Koman cntholic, was punished in like man- 
 ner. Several of the present cantons continued, 
 up to the tinif of the French revolution, to be 
 vassals to the larger ones. Thus the canton 
 of Berne was sovereign lord of the present 
 cantons of Vnud, Uri, and Tessin, 'viiich it 
 crushed with taxation, without admitting its 
 subjects to any ))()litical rights whatever. 
 Thus, in process of time, it came to pass that 
 all over Switzerlond there gre \ iic a distinct 
 biHly <T men, the descendants oi ui'iidi. ds 
 who hud lost their civil rights ''i rbti'. .c ■; - - 
 live cantons, either in consei) ' " '' clu ije 
 of religion, or of mis<lemean<irs for which they 
 were sentenced to bniiisbment, or of illegal 
 marriages, or lastly, ns foreigners settled in 
 Switzerland. The stigma thus cast upon the 
 fathers descended upon the children to fhe 
 last generation. They formed a separate class 
 called Heiinathlosen — literally, the homeless 
 — people to whom the law allowe<l nothing — 
 involuntary outlaws. They exist at the pres- 
 
 ent moment in uteadily-increasing nnmbrri ; 
 and as injusiice always reacts on itsiif, tin* 
 parties so degrailril form an orgaiii/cd limlv 
 of ineniiieants, hucksters, pilfe:irs, mid nltcn 
 robbers, like the gipsiesof other countries, Imt 
 HMch mine iinineroiis, compoct, and Inriniilit. 
 blc to the < K;iety, which has east llii ni mil. 
 
 .Some years ago, these IFeitniiililusi n were 
 bediine so troublesome, that ilicir state was 
 forced upon the attention <d' the (Swiss diet, 
 which instituted inipiiries ucconlinylv, the re- 
 suit of which it now before us. 'rli(\ report 
 stateil the Heiniofhlosen to omonnt to Jiiany 
 thousands in number in all the ei ntral t iiiitniis, 
 from the lake of Oeneva to the (iri-ims, be- 
 ginning at the Hancnstein in ear ion .Sdlcure 
 on tilt! west, nnil evii'nding on ;l;r onst beyniid 
 the Rhine into tiu: Austrian principality of 
 Lichtenstein. Ni m of thr .ethousaiiilshiidany 
 Sxed trad -, or were allovvt;il by the law to pus- 
 sessapermu"' nt house or lodging. Wheniliey 
 ventured itit nhe towns, they assumed, for the 
 time, the characters of thread-twisters, matcli- 
 sellcrs, bird-catchers, and mendt-rsof pots and 
 kettles. Whenever they might they lived 
 by choice in the woods nnil mountains, sup- 
 porting themselves by all kinds of thievery. 
 At night, they creep into caves, or sleep round 
 a fire in the open air; and this through the 
 dejithsof winter. Marriagi! isunknown among 
 them; none of those examined could tidl their 
 own age, and veiy few knew who were their 
 fathers and mothers. As soon as the childn.ii 
 con walk, they are sent i"to the towns to licg 
 and steal, and bring their jdiinder at night to 
 the elder vagrants, who remain meantime en- 
 camped in the forests. They have still a 
 voluntary government, and tincir loader at 
 this time was a noted housebreaker nnnieil 
 Krusikans, subsequently executed. Wherev- 
 er and M'henever discovered, they are lialile 
 to be imprisoned without cause assigned ; and 
 formerly, when the prisons were overcrowdeil, 
 many were executed without even the formal- 
 ity of a trial. They arc now, as sixm ns seized, 
 escorted by troops to the boundaries of the 
 canton, and thrust into the next, by which they 
 are expelled in like manner, unless they can 
 meantime escape. The report recommended 
 various plans ft)r absorbing this unwholesome 
 populntio 1, which hii\u been frequently .-nice 
 discusse at nothing has been done, and 
 
 the troubled state of the country renders any 
 improvement now less likely than ever. 
 
 Vaud was a few years ago the scene of 
 some enormities on the score of religion, and 
 while we now write, intelligence has been re- 
 ceived that the council of state of that cnn- 
 ton, which is presbyterian, has enacted that 
 all religious meetings of parties, not in con- 
 nexion with the authorized church, ere illegal ; 
 public worship of all such bodies is according- 
 
ulily-iiiprpn^iris niunbprs ; 
 viiys rcnrtH on it>-iir, tlic 
 t'lirni nil nr^iini/ril ImiK' 
 ;«ti'r><, iiilfi'ur", unil utu'ti 
 iticH of niluT cciiiiilrii-', hut 
 IH, rotil|ia('t, iiikI Iniriinlii- 
 'liich hiiM ciiNi thciii nut. 
 llicnc FlriiimililoMi ri Wfrt; 
 )nu\ thiit iliiir Ntiiic ^san 
 
 C'lllinn of tile Swiss diet, 
 uirics urcordiriiilv, flic ri'. 
 V licfore HH. Tlic ri.'|i(irt 
 iloscn to niiiininr Id itmiiy 
 
 in nil tlie oi iitriil tiiiiiiiiii, 
 rncva to liip (jiri<fiiiM, lic- 
 irmtfii ill Pnniiin Sulcnrc 
 •ndin); on li n onut lifyniicl 
 
 Austrian i)rtncijinliiy <>t' 
 offbi ,«'tlionHnii(lsliiiiliiiiy 
 lillowt;(l l»y tlio law f<i |ir>n. 
 Hfi or lodging;. Wlu-iitlicy 
 v\\», they assunu'd, (iir tlic 
 of thrc'iid-twixtcrs, inntcli- 
 I, and mi.'iidi'rsof pot;* and 
 r they niifjht they lived 
 inds RTid inouiitnins, sup- 
 liy all kinds of tliievery. 
 
 into cavcH, or sleeji ronnd 
 ir ; and tliis tlirough tlio 
 arrias;*! is unknown nmon^ 
 
 examined could tell tlieir 
 
 ev/ knew who were their 
 
 As soon OS the chililren 
 
 lent i"^to the towns to lieg 
 
 their jdunder at night to 
 vho remain meantime en- 
 8t8. They have still a 
 ;nt, and fncir leader at 
 ted housebreaker named 
 ntly executed. Wherev- 
 scovered, they are liaide 
 ;hout cause assigned ; and 
 irisons were overcrowded, 
 1 without even the formnl- 
 arc now, as soon as seized, 
 to the boundaries of the 
 to the next, by which they 
 I manner, unless they iiui 
 The report recommended 
 lorbing this unwholesome 
 \i\u been frequently ,-incp 
 ling has been done, and 
 ' the country renders any 
 ss likely than ever. 
 
 years ago the scene of 
 he score of religii.n, and 
 I intelligence has been re- 
 ncil of state of that cnn- 
 ^ftcrian, has enacted that 
 ^s of parties, not in eon- 
 orized church, ere illegal ; 
 
 such bodies is according- 
 
202 
 
 COURTSHIP. 
 
 ly put down by military force, and ministers 
 arc in danger of thoir lives. A more startling 
 instance of the tyranny of a majority over a 
 minority could scarcely be found in modern 
 times. 
 
 Our illustration presents a panoramic view 
 of Zurich, the most important manufacturing 
 town of Switzerland, the capital of the Canton 
 of that name, which has taken the federal or 
 j)rotc'-,tant side in the recent struggle. 
 
 The town lies at the north end of the lake 
 of Zurich, and On ^he banks of the Limmat. 
 It is the seat of the Swiss diet, alternately 
 with IJernc and Lucerne, for a period of two 
 years together. 
 
 The banks of the lake and river, and all 
 the iKMghboring hills, are thickly dotted with 
 houses, now united with the town itself by the 
 removal of the useless and inconvenient ram- 
 parts, and forming a wide circle of suburbs. _ 
 
 There is little worthy of note in the public 
 buildings of Zurich. Its most pleasing Tea- 
 turcs are its promenades; the best )f which 
 commands a delightful view of the town, lake, 
 and distant Alps. 
 
 Zurich is historically remarkable as the 
 place where the reformation first commenced 
 in Switzerland, in 1519. It has also been the 
 asylum of many eminent English protestants; 
 and here was printed, in 1535, the first entire 
 English version of the Bible, by Miles Cover- 
 dale. 
 
 COURTSHIP. 
 
 We have seen how little there is deserving 
 the name of courtship in savage life, of either 
 the present or the past. It is only amid the 
 refinements of enlightened nations, that the 
 delights of making love are of common enjoy- 
 ment. In Asia, in Africa, and in much of 
 Europe, marriage is preceded by none of those 
 delicate attentions, and affectionate intP'- 
 change of sentiments, which form the p'oper 
 prelude to the matrimonial engagement. Even 
 in the politest nations, as among the most bar- 
 barous, the marriages are affairs of conveni- 
 ence, in which fortune, position, everything 
 is consulted, but the sentiments of those who 
 are taught to submit in a mattev of such vital 
 moment, to parental dictation. Thus in France, 
 as in Java, young persons meet for the first 
 time in their lives, to be indissolubly united 
 by the marriage tie. 
 
 Spain was long the land of gallantry and 
 chivalry. After the ancient customs of con- 
 fining women with bolts, bars, and duennas, 
 had giving way, a romantic gallantry was car- 
 ried to the hig'hest pitch, and love became the 
 brightest picture of Spanish life. 
 
 Though women have long since been per- 
 mitted to have a choice in affairs of the heart, 
 there was still preserved a decorum of man- 
 ners, which prevented a Spanish lady from 
 being alone with her lover. The conseipience 
 is a resort to every ingenious device, by which 
 a glowing passion may find expression. 
 
 The Spanish lover writes out his adoration 
 in sonnets, and sets his affection to music. At 
 night he sings iiis love-lays under the lattice 
 of his lady. Or if not himself gifted with 
 musical abilities, he hires nrrists who are able 
 to do justice to the ardor of his jiassion. The 
 colder the air without, the more is the seren- 
 ade supposed to warm the heart of the luily 
 within, and as pity is supposed to lead direct- 
 ly to love, the S])anish suitor stays night af- 
 ter night, heaving deep sighs, and casting 
 piteous looks toward the window, sarisfied, 
 yes, supremely blessed, if he receives the 
 slightest signal" of acknowledgment in return. 
 In Spain love is full of sentiment — a deli- 
 cious madness, which, for the time absorbs all 
 other feelings. A Spanish lover scarcely 
 thinks, speaks, or dreams of any but his mis- 
 tress. Not only does his devotion to her ap- 
 pear like idolatry, but he is ready to en- 
 counter any peril, or to engage in any cornbat, 
 to manifest the strength of his attachment. 
 He is ready to jjunish her enemies, fight his 
 rivals, or do battle with the worid at large, in 
 his sweet mistress's cause ; but his choicest 
 opportunity for signalizing his courage and 
 conduct, under the very eyes of his mistress 
 is in the bull-fight, the national festival of 
 Spain, and all Spanish countries. There, sur- 
 rounded by the whole public, and sure that 
 his mistress is watching him, as Hudibras 
 has it : — 
 
 " He obt«io8 the noblest sponse, 
 
 Who widows greatest herds of cows." 
 This notion of exciting love by bringing 
 into play the emotion of pity, or synipathy, 
 has been made use of in Spain, in a still more 
 remarkable manner. 
 
 It was once the custom in Madrid, and 
 other chief cities of Spain, for large companies 
 ef people, who called themselves disciplants 
 or whippers, to form a procession through the 
 public streets, every good Friday, aittmled by 
 the religious orders, courts of law, and some- 
 times by the royal court. The whippers vere 
 arrayed in high sugar-loaf hats, white gloves 
 and shoes, and waistcoats with ribands of the 
 colors preferred by the mistresses of t'jeir af- 
 fections, and were armed with whips of small 
 cords to the ends of which were fastened bits 
 of wax, in which were inserted pieces of 
 glass. The whole city, and espeeitilly the 
 ladies, were spectators of this procession, and 
 as it passed along, he who whipped himself 
 1 hardest felt sure of winning the favor of his 
 
 --*i!'??r<S!?*aKt«r-- 
 
 ilw& i tf,i] i J<ir 
 
have loiij; since been per- 
 loice in niVairs of the heart, 
 served u decorum of inan- 
 nted a Spanish \m\y from 
 ;r lover. Thcconseciuence 
 ingenious device, by which 
 nay find expression, 
 ■er writes out his adoration 
 I his aHi'ction to music. At 
 love-lays under the lattice 
 if not himself pitted with 
 e hires artists who are able 
 
 ardor of his ])assion. The 
 out, the more is the seren- 
 arm the heart of the lady 
 ' is su])posed to lead direct" 
 mish suitor stays night af- 
 ' deep siiihs, and casting 
 urd the window, satisfied, 
 lessed, if he receives the 
 jcknowlcdiiment in return. 
 
 full of sentiment — a deli- 
 ich, for the time absorbs all 
 \. Spanish lover scarcely 
 dreams of any but his mis- 
 loes his devotion to her ap- 
 , but he is ready to en- 
 or to engage in any lornbat, 
 trength oi' his attachment, 
 .nish her enemies, fight his 
 I with the world at large, in 
 s's cause ; but his choicest 
 ignalizing his courage and 
 J very eyes cf his mistress 
 It, the national festival of 
 nish countries. There, sur- 
 irhole public, and sure that 
 atching him, as Hudibras 
 
 rtaios the noblest sponso, 
 greatest herds of cows." 
 exciting love by bringing 
 Dtion of pity, or sympathy, 
 e of in Spain, in a still more 
 er. 
 
 he custom in Madrid, and 
 )f Spain, for large companies 
 iUed themselves disciplants 
 irm a procession through the 
 sry good Friday, attended by 
 rs, courts of law, and some- 
 l court. The whippers were 
 ugar-loaf hats, white gloves 
 aistcoats with ribands of the 
 ly the mistresses of t'leir af- 
 e armed with whips of small 
 of which were fastened bits 
 ;h were inserted pieces of 
 jle city, and especially the 
 tators of this procession, and 
 ig, he who whipped himself 
 of winning the favor of his 
 
 TYRR. 
 
 203 
 
 dulcinea. When they passed a beautiful 
 woman, some one was sure to whip himself in 
 such a manner as to sprinkle her with his 
 blood, an honor for which she returned suita- 
 ble acknowledgments; and when any lover 
 of this train passed the window where his 
 mistress was sitting, he began to lay on the 
 whip with refloubled fury ; while the lady felt 
 complimented by such proofs of devotion. 
 
 The lively Lady Montague gives an ac- 
 count of a somewhat similar scene, she wit- 
 nessed in Constantinople — a procession, when 
 the sultan was going out to take command of 
 the army. 
 
 " The rear of the procession," says Lady 
 Mary, "was comjiosed of volunteers, who 
 came to beg of the sultan the honor of dying 
 in his service ; they were all naked to the 
 middle, some had their arms pierced through 
 with arrows left sticking in them, others had 
 them sticking in their heads, with the blood 
 trickling down their faces ; some slashed their 
 arras with sharp knives, making the blood 
 spring out upon the bystanders, and this is 
 looked on -as an expression of their zeal for 
 glory. A.nd I am told that some make use of 
 it to advance their love ; and when they come 
 near the window where their mistress stands, 
 all the women being veiled to see this specta- 
 cle, they stick another arrow for her sake, 
 who gives some sign of approbation and en- 
 couragement to this kind of gallantry." 
 
 In England and Scotland there were former- 
 ly customs less barbarous perhaps, but scarce- 
 ly less objectionable — that for example of 
 drinking toasts to all the beauties admired by 
 the members of a convivial party, when she, 
 whose lover drank the most, was the reigning 
 toast. These, however, are the eccentricities 
 of the tender passion. 
 
 Courtship in Italy, as in Spain, has tnuch 
 of the romance of a deep passion, and it is 
 often protracted to a great length, that its 
 pleasures may be enjoyed the longer. 
 
 TYRE. 
 
 BtT we linger too long on tka east of the 
 Jordan. Now we cross that celebrated stream. 
 Our course lies due west, having on our right 
 die cedar forests and the snowy peaks of Leb- 
 anon, and on our left the green swellings of 
 fee Upper Galilee. Now we hare gained the 
 brow of an eminence which overlooks the 
 Mediterranean ; we have been too late by sev- 
 eral centuries in arriving here ; otherwise we 
 should have seen a sight, as the saying is, 
 worth seeing. From this height we should 
 have looked down upon the walls, the palace 
 
 roofs, the warehouses, the workshops, and the 
 spacious harbors of Tyre. Here we should 
 have been greeted by the city's hum, the rat- 
 tle of the cnariot wheel, antf the anvil of the 
 artisan; and here we should have seen the 
 seas, to their utmost verge, whitened by the 
 sails of her ships — some voyaging westward, 
 others returning with the merchandise of 
 distant lands. But no one who lixjks hence 
 at this day, and surveys the silent shore and 
 the solitary seas beneath him, could imagine 
 that such a sight as we have now described 
 could ever have been here beheld. 
 
 With Ezekiel's magnificent prediction of 
 the ruin of Tyre we are all acquainted — we 
 shall give Volney's version of the passage : 
 not because he has succeeded in transfusing 
 more of the spirit and sublimity of the prophet 
 into his translation than cur translators have 
 done in theirs — he falls, we apprehend, far 
 beneath them ; but because he has substituted 
 the modem names of places for the old He- 
 brew ones, and has thus thrown great light on 
 the commerce of Tyre — a commerce which 
 more nearly reserabi.j hit which Britain is 
 carrying on at this ('ay, ili m anything else of 
 the kind which the '..oxld has ever seen : — 
 
 " Proud city, that art situate at the entry 
 of the sea ! Tyre, who hast said, nay borders 
 are in the midst of the seas ; attend to the 
 judgments pronounced against thee ! Thou 
 hast extended thy commerce to [distant] 
 islands, among the inhabitants of [unknown] 
 coasts. Thou makest ships of fir-trees of 
 Sanir [the highest summit of Lebanon] ; the 
 cedars of Lebanon are masts to thee ; the pop- 
 lars of Bisan, oars. Thy sailors are seated 
 upon the box-wood of Cyprus, inlaid with 
 ivory. Thy sails and streamers are woven 
 with fine flax from Egypt; thy garments are 
 dyed with blue and purple of Hellas [the 
 Archipelago]. Sidon and Arvad send their 
 rowers to thee ; Djabel [Djebila] her skilful 
 shipbuilders; thy mathematicians and thy 
 sages guide thy barks; all the ships of the 
 sea are employed in thy commerce. The 
 Persian, the Lydian, and Egyptian, receive 
 thy wages: thy walls are hung round vdth 
 their bucklers and their cuirases. The sons 
 of Arvad line thy parapeU ; and thy towers, 
 guarded by the Djimedeans [a Phoenician 
 people], glitter with their brilliant quivers. 
 Every country desires to trade with thee. 
 Tarsus sends to thy markets iron, tin, and 
 lead. Yonia, the country of the Mosques and 
 Teblis, supply thee with slaves and brazen 
 vessels. Armenia sends thee mnles, horses, 
 and horsemen. The Arab of Dedan [between 
 Aleppo and Damascus] conveys thy merchan- 
 dise. Many isles exchange with thee ivory 
 and ebony. The Armenian [the Syrian] 
 brings thee rabies, purple, embroidered work, 
 
204 
 
 TYRE. 
 
 fine linnn, ooral, and agate. The children of 
 Israel and Jiidah sell thee cheese, balm, myrrh, 
 raisins, and oil ; and Damascus furnishes thee 
 ■wine of Halboun [perhaps Halab, where there 
 •re still vines], and fine wool. The Arabs of 
 Oman oiler to thy merchants polished iron, 
 cinnamon, and the aromatic reed ; and the 
 Arabians of Dedan bring thee rich carpets. 
 The inhabitants of the Desert, and the sheiks 
 of Kedar, exchange their lambs and their goats 
 for thy valuable merchandise. The Arabs of 
 Saba ami Rama [in the Yemen] enrich thee 
 with arotnatics, precious stones, and gold. 
 The inhabitants of Haram, of Kalana [in 
 Mesopotamia], and of Adana [near to Tarsus], 
 the factors ot the Arabs of Sheba [near the 
 Dedan], the Assyrians, and the Chaldeans, 
 trade also with thee, and sell thee shawls, 
 garments artfully embroidered, silver, masts, 
 cordage, and cedars; yea, the boasted vessels 
 of Tarsus are in thy pay. O Tyre ! elated 
 with the greatness of thy glory, and the im- 
 mensity of thy riches, the waves of the sea 
 shall rise up against thee, and the tempest 
 plunge thee to the bottom of the waters. 
 Then shall thy wealth be swallowed up with 
 thee ; and with thee in one day shall perish 
 thy commerce, thy merchants and correspond- 
 ents, thy sailors, pilots, artist), and soldiers, 
 and ihe numberless people who dwell within 
 thy walls. Thy rowers shell desert thy vss- 
 Thy pilots shall sit upon the shore, 
 
 sets 
 
 Is. 
 
 looking mournfully toward the land. The 
 nations whom thou enrichest, the kings whom 
 thou didst gratify with the abundance of thy 
 merchandise, trembling at thy ruin, shall cry 
 bit'terly in despair; they shall cut off their 
 hair ; they shall cast ashes on their heads ; 
 they shall roll in the dust, and lament over 
 thee, saying, what city shall equal Tyre, that 
 queen of the sea !" 
 
 Now we are in circumstances to feel how 
 completely the prediction has been verified. 
 Look down, then. You see this little clump 
 of iniserable houses immediately beneath, all 
 huddled together on this low island, which 
 scarcely rises above the surface of the water. 
 This is all that remains of the crowning city. 
 You see that basin for ships on the north, 
 well-nigh choked up with sand. There the 
 fleets of the world were wont to cast anchor. 
 A stranger from a far-distant land passed this 
 way not many years ago. He tells, that when 
 he passed by, there was only a single fishing- 
 boat in the harbor of Tyre- On the sandy 
 plain which you perceive running up on the 
 north of the town stood old Tyre. The army 
 of Nebuchadnezzar lay thirteen years on that 
 plain. Every head wos made oald — every 
 shoulder was peeled in the siege; but at last 
 the city was taken. 
 
 Before the banners of the Ch&ldean army 
 
 were seen on the plain before Tyre, and even 
 before Nebuchodnezzar had projected the ex- 
 pedition, with what beauty had the projihct 
 described the result of the siege ? " Thus 
 saith the Lord ; behold I will bring upon 
 Tyrus Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon, a 
 king of kings, from the north, with horses, 
 and with chariots, and with horsemen, and 
 companies, and much people. He shall make 
 a fort against thee, and cast a mount against 
 thee, and lift up a buckler against thee, and 
 he shall set engines of war against thy walls, 
 and with his axes he shall break down tliy 
 towers. By reason of the abundance of his 
 horses their dust shall cover thee ; thy walls 
 shall shake at the noise of the horsemen, and 
 of the wheels, and of the chariots, when he 
 shall enter into thy gates, as men enter into a 
 city wherein is made a breach. And T will 
 cause the noise of thy songs to cease ; and the 
 sound of thy harps shall be no more heard." 
 
 Old Tyre was now in ruin. The inhabit- 
 ants hp'^'fled to a little island a very short 
 distance from the shore. There they pro- 
 ceeded to erect a new city which became the 
 heii of the fame and the vast commerce of 
 that which Nebuchadnezzar had destroyed. 
 New Tyre continued to flourish till the times 
 of Alexander ; but, as she stood in the way 
 of the scheme of universal contiuest whicn 
 that monarch had formed, her reduction was 
 necessary. In order to bring his engines of 
 war chjse up to her walls, he found it neces- 
 sary to construct a mound between the shore 
 and the island on which the city stood. For 
 this ])urpose he chose the materials which the 
 place most readily offered. These were the 
 dust, the timber, and the stones of Old Tyre, 
 which had lain here since the periixl of her 
 destniction by Nebuchadnezzar: " They shall 
 lay thy stones and thy timber and thy dust in 
 tlie midst of the water." '* / uill also scrape 
 her dust from her." The arms of the con- 
 queror prevailed, and the queen of the seas 
 sank. She was soon rebuilt; but to suffer 
 new calamities, and to come, in the course of 
 ages, into the miserable state in which we 
 now find her. " When you come to it," says 
 Maundrell. "you find no similitude of that 
 glory for which it was so renowned in ancient 
 times, and which the prophet Ezekiel de- 
 scribes. On the north side of it, it has an old 
 Turkish ungarrisoned castle ; besides which 
 you see nothing here but a mere Babel of 
 broken walls, pillars, vaults, &c., there being 
 not so much as one entire house left. Its 
 present inhabitants are only a few poor wretch- 
 es, harboring themselves in the vaults, and 
 subsisting chiefly upon fishing." 
 
 Before we quit the eminence where we now 
 stand, and from which we look down on the 
 shadow of Tyre, let us observe how God hM 
 
 IliiillliiliillllliWil 
 
f 
 
 he plain before Tyre, and even 
 adnezzar had projected the ex- 
 wliat beauty had the prophet 
 result of the siege ? " Thus 
 d ; behold I will bring upon 
 ladnezzar king of Babylon, a 
 
 from the north, with horses, 
 riot8, and with horsemen, and 
 I much people. He shall make 
 :hee, and cast 8 mount against 
 up a buckler against thee, and 
 gincs of war against thy walls, 
 axes he shall break down tliy 
 eason of the abundance of his 
 ist shall cover thee ; thy walls 
 the noise of the horsemen, and 
 
 and of the chariots, when he 
 ) thy gates, as men enter into a 
 is made a breach. And T will 
 ) of thy songs to cease ; and the 
 arps shall be no more heard." 
 'as now in ruin. The inLabit- 
 to a little island a very short 
 the shore. There they pro- 
 t a new city which became the 
 me and the vast commerce of 
 ebuchadnezzar had destroyed. 
 itinued to flourish till the times 
 ; but, as she stood in the way 
 I of uiiiversal contjuest which 
 had formed, her reduction was 
 I order to bring his engines of 
 
 her walls, he found it neces- 
 ict a mound between the shore 
 
 on which the city stood. For 
 e chose the materials which the 
 idily offered. These were the 
 er. and the stones of Old Tyre, 
 in here since the period of her 
 Nebuchadnezzar: ^^ They shall 
 and thy timber and thy dust in 
 ie water." " / uill also scrape 
 
 1 her." The arms of the con- 
 ied, and the queen of the seas 
 'as soon rebuilt; but to suffer 
 3, and to come, in the course of 
 1 miserable state in which we 
 
 " When you come to it," says 
 you find no similitude of that 
 h it was 80 renowned in ancient 
 hich the prophet Ezekiel de- 
 he north side of it, it has an old 
 irrisoned castle ; besides which 
 ing here but a mere Babel of 
 pillars, vaults, &c., there being 
 
 as one entire house left. Its 
 tants are only a few poor wretch- 
 
 themselves in the vaults, and 
 ;{ly upon fishing." 
 |uit the eminence where we now 
 tm which we look down on the 
 ,rre, let us observe how God h«« 
 
 MKXK. 
 
 205 
 
 here inflicted his threatening^ to the very let- 
 ter. Here is the silo of Old Tyre, a sandy 
 pliiin with the waves tuinblin;j; over it : " IVhen 
 I shall hrltifr up Otcdeep upon thee, and great 
 waters shall cover thee ; I ivill make thee a 
 terror, and thou shalt be no more : though thou 
 be sought for, yet shalt thou never he found 
 again, saith the Lord God." Ailjoining the 
 |)iMiiusulti on which the miserable village be- 
 neath us is seated, you perceive what you 
 take to be dark rocks rising out of the was'es ; 
 tluse are very convenient for the fishermen, 
 who here spread their nets in order to be dried. 
 These are not rocks ; they are the stones of 
 Tyic tumbled iiito the sea by her successive 
 destroyers: " 1 will make thee like the top of 
 a rock ; thou shalt be a place to spread nets 
 upon." Wh(j now remembers this great city 
 whose fall resounded over the seas, and caused 
 tiiis song of lumentalioii to be heard among its 
 isles — a song which the proidict had prepared 
 beforehand, and taught the kings and cities of 
 the earth to sing, when the mournful event 
 should have come ? We r|uote part of this 
 hymn of lamentation and depart : " Thus saith 
 the Lord God to Tyrus; shall not the isles 
 shake at the sound o"f thy full ? Then all the 
 princes of the sea shall come ilowii from their 
 thrones, and lay away their rolies, and put off' 
 their broidered garments : they shall sit upon 
 the ground, and shall tremble at every mo- 
 ment, and be astonished at thee. And they 
 shall take up a lamentation for thee, and say 
 to thee, how art thou destroyed, that wast 
 inhabited of sea-faring men, the renowned 
 city, which wast strong in the sea, she ond 
 her inhabitants, which cause their terror to be 
 on all that haunt it." 
 
 MEXICO. 
 
 Mkxico extends from about latitude sixteen 
 to forty-two degrees north, from the gulf of 
 Mexico to the Pacific: and was in extent, 
 before the loss of Texas, about as large as the 
 United States. It embraces all the climates 
 of the world, and rises in temperature from 
 the tropical plains of Vera Cruz and Acapulco, 
 to the regions of perpetual snow. The Rocky 
 Mountaitis, which separate us from Oregon, 
 extend through all Mexico, and her whole sur- 
 face is coinpr)sed of table-lands and mount- 
 ains, which rise in steps from the gulf and 
 the Rio Grande, to the highest level, and then 
 descend in regular gradations once more to the 
 Pacific. She has no navigable streams, and 
 the mountains and the arid plains compose, I 
 should think seven eighths of the whole ter- 
 ritory. It is now three hundred years since 
 
 I the .Spanish conquest, and her population has 
 long since reached that barrier, where nature 
 imposes eternal obstacles to further progress, 
 where the whole products of the earth are 
 economically consumed by the peojde. No 
 
 I doubt, a better mode of agriculture would in- 
 crease her population ; but at present, to use 
 the language of Malthus, she has reached the 
 jjoint of subsistence. It is true, that the 
 remote provinces of California and New Mex- 
 ico, and those borrlering u|)on thi> Rio Grande, 
 and suliject to Indian invasions, contain some 
 uncultivated lands; but the proposition, as 
 above stated, applies to the mass .>f Mexict,. 
 For in the greater portion of the while repub- 
 lic, women and chili! 'en may be seen picking 
 up grains of corn in the highways, and the 
 rinds of fruit thrown in the streets, are imme- 
 diately seized and consumed. So soon as you 
 cross the Rio Grande, you feel yourself in a 
 foreign land. Mexico hns no fiirests. It is 
 true, that along the streams and on mountain- 
 tops there are trees, but you are struck M-ith 
 this great characteristic, that the land is bare 
 of trees. The numerous varieties of the 
 coctus of all sizes, intermixed with palmetto, 
 stunted or long grass, cover the whole land 
 You are among a [teople of a novel color, and 
 a strange language. Tne very birds and 
 beasts, and dogs, seem r"' "jrent. The part- 
 ridge, the Inrk, the cro ' 
 
 fer in size, and plunia' 
 from ours. The buildj 
 Spanish style. The 
 
 together. The bricks are of clay and straw, 
 sun-dried. The women go wgth "earthen ves- 
 sels to the vv ell, just os Rachel was sent of 
 old in the time of the patriarchs of Judea. 
 The roofs of the houses are flat, and are places 
 of recreation ; and the people wear sandals as 
 in the East, in filden time. Wheat, Indian 
 com, and herds of cattle, sheep and goats, the 
 banana and re(l-pep[)er, and garlic and onions, 
 are the principal sources of subsistence. The 
 products of the mines, are the principal arti- 
 cles of foreign exchange, added to woods, be- 
 sides tallow and cochineal. 
 
 The extreme dryness of Mexico, makes 
 irrigation necessory in most of the country, 
 and the scarcity of water, and the habits of 
 the ])eople, collect the inhabitants into cities 
 or villages. The land itself is owned by a 
 few large proprietors, not the least of whom 
 are the priests. The great mass of the peo- 
 ple are serfs, vrilh but few more rights thnn 
 the American slaves. It is true, that the chil- 
 dren of serfs, are not of necessity also serfs, 
 but debts brings .-slavery, and the wages allow- 
 ed by law, almost always perpetuate it. 
 Here then is the secret of the success of our 
 arms. I converscil freely with the tenantry 
 and soldiers in all Mexico, and where they are 
 
 ie black-bird, dif- 
 
 id sing diflferently 
 
 are of Moorish and 
 
 t and the sheep feed 
 
 % 
 
 'tT 
 
IT 
 
 I 
 
 206 
 
 WINTKR TRAVELLINO IN RUSSIA. 
 
 not filled with religious enthusiasm against us, 
 tliey care not who rules thetn, American or 
 Mexican masters. If all the Mexican soldiers 
 were freeholders ond freemen, not one of all 
 the American array could escape from her bor- 
 ders. The soldiers are caught up in the ha- 
 ciendas, and the streets of the towns, by force 
 confined in some prison or convent, there 
 drilled, clothed, armed, and then sent on to the 
 regular army. Such men avow their resolu- 
 tion to desert or run, on the first occasion. Of 
 near one thousand soldiers sent from Toluca, 
 to the aid of Santa Anna at Mexico, not one 
 hundred stood the battle. 
 
 The whole people do not exceed eight mil- 
 lions ; of these, about two millions arc white, 
 and mixed bloods ; the ijemainder are native 
 Indians, I never, in all Mexico, with the ex- 
 ception of foreigners in the capital, saw a sin- 
 gle white man at work. 
 
 WINTER TRAVELLING IN RUSSIA. 
 
 OcK engraving represents one of the cou- 
 riers of the cabinet of the emperor of Rusitia. 
 They wear a military uniform, with official 
 epaulettes, according to their grade. There 
 are constantly a certain number of these cou- 
 riers in attendance, in a chamber of the impe- 
 riol palace, to be despatched as occasion may 
 require. These are confidential persons, and 
 they receive th(;ir orders direct from the em- 
 peror ; and, at any hour of the day or night, 
 they are ready to receive instructions for de- 
 parture, or for delivery of their despatches. 
 At each post, there are relays of horses, spe- 
 cially kept for these couriers, whose approach 
 is announced by a bell suspended from a cir- 
 cle above the head of the centre horse. 
 
 They travel with surprising rapidity, and 
 they often receive large sums of money for 
 their services. 
 
 The illustration shows the courier seated, 
 and the mode by 'which he carries the des- 
 patches — in a leather bag; the car, driver, 
 and horses, are alike characteristic portrait- 
 ures. 
 
 Those who have been accustomsd only to 
 our fine roads, and rapid and regular convey- 
 ances, can form but a very inaderiuate idea of 
 the miseries attending a continental journey, 
 more particularly in Russia, where, with the 
 exception qf the Chaussoe, from Moscow to 
 St. retersburgb, the roads are execrable ; the 
 springless vehicles, the most agonizing that 
 can be irhagincd ; and the post-houses so dirty, 
 so comfortless, that the traveller frequently 
 passes the night in the open air, in his travel- 
 iing-carriage, rather than be exposed to the 
 
 filth, the swarms of vermin, and the disgust- 
 ing etlluvia, that would have annoyed him 
 within. 
 
 Excepting those on the great road, already 
 mentioned, there are no stage-coaches in Rus- 
 sia. The traveller is conse(|uently reduced 
 to the alternative, of either purchasing an 
 e(|uipage, or taking the rude vehicles of the 
 country, and changing them at every stage. 
 
 His tirst iireliminary before starting is, to 
 give notice three ilays previously, of his inten- 
 tion, to the head |)olice-orticer of his quarter, 
 who gives him a certificate, attesting that he 
 has no unliijuidated debts, nor any law-suit 
 pending : he then jirocures from the bureau 
 of the " grond-masfer of the (wlice," a pass- 
 jiort, without which he would not be allowed 
 to pass the city gotes. His next step is to ar- 
 range the mode of conveyance ; of these he 
 lias the choice of two. Upon the payment of 
 stated tax, amounting to aoout a farthing per 
 milo for each horse, he may obtain a govern- 
 ment order, called a ])adoroshnee, entitling him 
 to demand relays at every station, for which 
 he will pay for hire about three fourths more 
 for every horse. At each post-house, he will 
 find a government oflBcer, called a " smotre- 
 tel," or over-looker, whose duty it is to en- 
 register his name, and furnisn the horses, 
 which the peasants are bound to supply. Or, 
 he may contract with a class of men called 
 yimshtchikee, who will undertake to convey 
 him to his destination within a specified time. 
 The former plan is generally adopted by those 
 to whom the trifling additional expense is 
 not an object ; the latter method is, from its 
 novelty, perhaps not unworthy of notice. 
 
 The yemshtchikee are generally, but not 
 exclusively, frecdmen or crown-vassals, who, 
 together with other immunities, enjoy an ex- 
 emption from military ser\'ice, upon condition 
 of contracting with the government, for the 
 regular supply of horses for its couriers, and 
 for postoffice duty. They frequent, when in 
 the cities, places called, " postoyalee droree," 
 or post-yards, situate in the principal streets 
 entering the town. To these the traveller 
 goes — they assemble round him in great num- 
 bers — he states the distance he wishes to be 
 conveyed, and inquires the sum for which they 
 will contract to take him ; a consultation fol- 
 lows, and a price is named, generally as much 
 again as they intend to take ; he offers what 
 he thinks a fair sum ; another and another 
 eager consultation — and at last, after k ng bar- 
 gaining, the contract is made. He starts, auci 
 is driven two or three stages by the individual 
 with whom he contracted,- who then disposes 
 of his bargain on the best terms he can to an- 
 other, reserving to himself the difTerence — the 
 amount of which alone the traveller pays him. 
 The same transfer is made at intervals upon 
 
 .Wi i nLnmi^w ift ' j t ' - ' K.ii ' '■ H'.g- ' .g' ^ .v&t^-,- ' imu eBMtm 
 
3IA. 
 
 IS of vermin, and the ilisnrust- 
 it would have annoyed liim 
 
 ose on the great road, already 
 e are no stage-coaches in Riis- 
 eller is conse(|uently reduced 
 ive, of either ptirctiasing an 
 king the rudo vehicles of the 
 anging them at every stage, 
 iliminary before starting is, to 
 s days previously, of his inten- 
 J iMilice-otticer of his f]uarter, 
 a certlKcate, attesting that he 
 lated debts, nor any law-suit 
 icn procures from the bureau 
 master of the jwlice," a pass- 
 hich he would not be allowed 
 gates. His next step is to ar- 
 e of conveyance ; of these he 
 )f two. Upon the payment of 
 iounting to aoout a farthing per 
 orse, he may obtain a govern- 
 ed a padorosnnee, entitling him 
 ^s at every station, for which 
 hire about three fourths more 
 At each post-house, he will 
 ent officer, called a " smotre- 
 )ker, whose duty it is to en- 
 me, and furnish the horses, 
 mts are bound to supply. Or, 
 ct with a class of men called 
 'ho will undertake to convey 
 nation within a specified time. 
 n is generally adopted by those 
 trifling additional expense is 
 
 the latter method is, from its 
 IS not unworthy of notice, 
 chikee are generally, but not 
 cdmen or crown-vassals, who, 
 )thcr immunities, enjoy an ex- 
 lilitary service, upon condition 
 with the government, for the 
 of horses for its couriers, and 
 luty. They frequent, when in 
 !s callfed, " postoyalee droree," 
 ituate in the principal streets 
 >wn. To these the traveller 
 ^inble round him in great num- 
 I the distance he wishes to be 
 nquires the sum for which they 
 
 take him ; a consultation fol- 
 :e is named, generally as much 
 ntend to take ; he oilers what 
 .ir sum ; another and another 
 on — and at last, after k ng bar- 
 itract is made. He starts, and 
 ■ three stages by the individual 
 contracted,' who then disposes 
 )n the best terms he can to an- 
 il to himself the difference — the 
 :h alone the traveller pays him. 
 jfer is made at intervals upon 
 
■r 
 
 r 
 
 the jriurnpy. Sometimes several mav wish 
 to take the contract : the (|uestion is then ile- 
 cidcd 1)V lot, in n very singuliir way ; one 
 throws liis whip into the air— another seizes 
 it in f'nllins. iinil tlie two then grasp it olteT- 
 natelv, hand over hand, till they reach the 
 rnd, wlien he who last has hold of it i» declared 
 the winner. 
 
 The yeinshtchikee are a fine race ot fel- 
 lows : some of them, with their dark cluster- , 
 inj; hair, their ample beards, their sun-hnmt ! 
 features. fmi\ their brawny necks, wouhl form 
 studies for a Salvator Rosa. There is an air 
 of bold frankness about them, which is highly 
 pleasing. They have several mel(Klies pecu- 
 liar to^themsi^lves, which they sing almost 
 ■without intermission the whole stage. 
 
 In Hne weather, and over good roails, there 
 is something delightfully exhilarating in sledge 
 travelling ; snugly enveloped in furs, while 
 
 . . . " The vault is blue 
 
 WiUiout a cloud ; and white witlioiit a Bpeck, 
 The dazzling oplendor of the scenes below ; ' 
 
 the traveller glides swiftly along the level 
 snow, enlivened by the tinkling of the sono- 
 rous bell, attached' to an arch that rises over 
 the head of the centre horse, and cheered or 
 soothed, as his mood may be, by the wild, yet 
 pliiintiv<j song of his yimshtcMk driver. 
 Cheerless as may be imagined 
 
 . , . . •' The deserts tossed in »now 
 And hoavy-loaded groves" 
 
 of this frigid climate, yet are they not with- 
 out their charms. In clear frosty weather, 
 daybreak, on a vast plain, is pre-eminently 
 beautiful. The sober gray of dawn, first 
 faintly streaked in the east, with a pale red 
 tinge, that gradually deepens into crimson, till 
 the' sun lifting his broad glowing disk, above 
 the horizon, pours his level beams on the un- 
 sullied purity of the snowy scene, that blush- 
 es and sparkles in his glance, as glittering like 
 gems unon its surface, countless icy crystals 
 catch and refract his rays. In peculiar states 
 of the atmosphere, the air is charged with in- 
 numerable atomic congelations, that dance and 
 glisten in the sunbeams like minutest diamonds, 
 tinged faintly of all the prismatic colors. 
 Tliey might also be fancie<l stray particles of 
 froirn light, so brilliantly vivid, yet so impal- 
 ■pably delicate are they, the reader can not fail 
 to have remarked, that when a stream of sun- 
 light is permitted to fall into a darkened toom, 
 it'appears .illed with motelike particles inces- 
 santly in movement ; let him then imagine 
 the whole circumambient air filled with these, 
 all glittering like little gems, and he will have 
 some conception of this beautiful atmospheric 
 phenomenon. 
 
 The forest, too, has its attractions. The 
 snow, hanging in heavy musses on the pine- 
 tree, and weighing down its branches, present* 
 a striking contrast to the gloomy veriiure of 
 its dark foliage. The elegant weeping birch- 
 tree is another object of interest, assuming 
 the ai)pearance of a delicate petrifaction, as 
 the gracefully-slender fibres tcnninating its 
 bratiches, droo|> to the very gn)unt' beneath 
 the weight of their lucid covering. 
 
 "With the o|)proach of spring, the scene 
 changes. Beneath the increased power of the 
 sun, the snow loses its resplemient whiteness 
 — the gem-like icy crystals are <lis»olved— 
 the fir is stript of its snowy mantle— the birch 
 of its glossy covering. The great roads, be- 
 coming almost imi)racticable, are deserted, and 
 sinuous by-tracks are made over the a()iacent 
 plains, or through the forests that skirt the 
 road ; these in a short time, are intersected 
 by furrows, as regular os those of a ploughed 
 field, hut muchdeeiK!r; their torturing monot- 
 ony is inoeed, sometimes varied by the suc- 
 cession of deep holes, filled with half-melted 
 snow, through which the unhappy traveller is 
 whiried, plunging and splashing at every step. 
 Fancy, reader, for a moment, the luxury of 
 being driven in a taxed-cart, or dragged on a 
 hunile, over the frozen ridges of a ploughed 
 field, for the space of some five or six hours, 
 and you will have some slight notion of the 
 pleasures of travelling in Russia in the spring 
 of the year. All this might be endured with 
 com|>lacency, if the cleonly comforts of a de- 
 cent inn could be calculated upon, at the end 
 of the stage— no such thing is to be found in 
 the whole emi)ire, out of the principal cities. 
 The only substitute is the i)easant's or y^msh- 
 tchik's house, or the post-house ; the latter is 
 perhaps preferable, as there the traveller may 
 probably get a leathern sofa, on which to rest 
 his aching, and almost diskx>at«l bones; beds 
 are ((uite out of the cjuestion, and refresh- 
 ments of any kind almost eijuully so. 
 
 The Russian nobility in travelling, take 
 with them everything 'that is necessary for 
 the roads ; ' bedding, rugs. ()n)visions, culinary 
 utensils, wax-tapers, &c., with j)astiles lor 
 fumigation, the latter a very necessary pre- 
 caution, where the olfactories have not all 
 together lost their sensitiveness. They are 
 invariably accompanied by their cook-— as in 
 the majority of places, actually nothing is 
 procurable, excepting black bread of the 
 coarsest description, eggs, and sometimes milk ; 
 unless indeed, the traveller be content to |)ar- 
 take of the peasants' luxury — boiled gram, 
 eaten with hempseod-oil, as black and as thick 
 as treacle, or a dish called shlchee, a kind i)f 
 cabbage-soup, in which float a few straggling 
 strips of beef. 
 
 It must be distinctly observed, however. 
 
I A. 
 
 10. has its nttriictions. The 
 u hi'iivy mussel on the )iinn- 
 u<i iIdwii its lirnncht's, present* 
 ra.st to till! gloomy veriluie of 
 Thu eleiiiint weeping bireh- 
 
 ol)joct of interest, assuming 
 
 of a c]elicat<! petrifaction, as 
 (lender tilircs tenninuting its 
 
 to the very grount' beneath 
 beir luciil covering. 
 i))roach of spring, the scene 
 ath the increaseil power of the 
 ises its resplenilent whiteness 
 
 icy crystals are dissolved — 
 )f its snowy mantle — the liirch 
 vering. The great roads, be- 
 rnpracticnble, are deserted, and 
 ks are made over the adjacent 
 igh the forests that skirt the 
 
 a short time, are intersected 
 regular os those of a ploughed 
 deejwr; their torturing monot- 
 Bometimes varied by the suc- 
 
 holcs, filled with half-melted 
 which the unhappy traveller is 
 ng and splashing at every step, 
 for a moment, the luxury of 
 
 a taxed-cart, or dragged on a 
 e frozen ridges of a ploughed 
 jace of some five or six hours, 
 ave some slight notion of the 
 nvelling in Russia in the spring 
 \11 this might be endured with 
 f the cleanly comforts of a de- 
 be calculated upon, at the end 
 10 such thing is to be founcl in 
 lire, out of the i)rincipal cities, 
 itute is the i)easant's or y^iash- 
 or the post-house ; the latter is 
 able, as there the traveller may 
 leathern sofa, on which to rest 
 I almost dislocated bones ; beds 
 of the (juestion, and refresh- 
 kind almost equally so. 
 m nobility in travelling, take 
 erything "that is necessary tor 
 Iding, rugs, jmivisioijs, culinary 
 tapers, Sec, with jfastiles for 
 e latter a very necessary pre- 
 ■e the olfactories have not all 
 their sensitiveness. They are 
 ompanied by their cook— as in 
 of places, actually nothing is 
 jxcepting black bread of the 
 ption, eggs, and sometimes milk ; 
 
 the traveller be content to par- 
 peasants' luxury — boiled grain, 
 mpseod-oil, as black and as thick 
 a dish called shtvhie, a kind ()f 
 . in which iloat a few straggling 
 
 5 distinctly observed, however. 
 
 that these remarks do not apply to the line of 
 road between the two capitals, on which the 
 inns are respectable, and not altogether desti- 
 tute of the comforts of civilized life. 
 
 LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY.— No. 4. 
 
 BT PROFKSSOR O. M. MITCIIKLL. 
 
 We find that all the planets of which we 
 have any knowledge, are revolving upon axes 
 and all rotate in the same direction on their 
 axes that they move in their ori)its. Now as 
 the earth is sweeping round the sun, it is held 
 stationary to that great centre by the ottraction 
 of gravitation ; but it would be held in its po- 
 sition even if it did not rotate uiMin its axis at 
 all. Gravitation has nothing whatever to do 
 with the rotation on its axis. But agaiii : 
 we find the earth sweeping round the sun in 
 on orbit, the ])lane of which is located in a 
 particular position in the heavens. Now, 
 gravity would have held the eorth equally 
 steady to this centre, if that orbit, instead of 
 sweeping in the direction it now does, had re- 
 volved in any other direction whatever, forrn- 
 ing any possible angle with the present orbit. 
 Once more: we find all the planets revolve 
 about the sun in planes nearly coincident, 
 travelling on in nearly the same direction. 
 Gravity had nothing whatever to do with the 
 inclination of their planes, nor with the start- 
 ing of these planets in their orbits. If they 
 had revolved in contrary directions, gravity 
 would have held them just as perfectly ; and 
 indeed we find a full confirmation of this truth 
 in the fact that the comets which come in from 
 every possible section of the heavens, observe 
 no particular direction either in the position 
 of their orbits or the manner in which they 
 sweep around the sun. They, too, are gov- 
 erned, as are the planets, by the law of grav- 
 itation. 
 
 Now the question arises at this point : is 
 there no evidence of design in the structure 
 of our system, that it was built in this way ? 
 Why do not all planets sweep in any direction 
 at all consistent with the law of gravitation 
 and having their planes inclined in any possi- 
 ble way, as t\ie comets? I will answer it, 
 and I think in a way satisfactory to every 
 mind. If the system had thus been construct- 
 ed, it would have contained within itself the 
 seeds of if" own destruction : it never could 
 have endured; the time would have come 
 when the planets would have rushed madly 
 from their spheres and the whole system have 
 been swept to utter destruction. We find that 
 in order to preserve the stability of this beau- 
 
 tiful system, it is necessary that these planets 
 should revolve in the same direction, and that 
 the planes of their orbits should be nearly co- 
 incident with each other, and, furiliennore, 
 that the law of gravitation has nothing what- 
 ever to do with the localities of the planets. 
 Suppose, for example, that Jupiter could be 
 snatched from its present orbit and cnuld oc- 
 cupy that which the earth now occupies, and 
 we could throw the earth out to fill the mighty 
 orbit of Jupiter: gravity would hold each ol 
 these equally steady. But then, even were 
 all other bmlies to move on in the position they 
 now do, or in any combination which now ex- 
 ists, such an event would prmluce destruction. 
 It is not possible to change places with any 
 of these bodies and at the same time (ireserve 
 the stability of the whole. Let us then mark 
 the difference between what is absolutely de- 
 pendent, and what is not dejiendent upon these 
 laws : and in this difference we see that an 
 Almighty Power has adjusted this vast ma- 
 chinery, and that it has been formed in infinite 
 wisdom and with infinite skill. 
 
 With these views I shall proceed to the 
 exatnination of the system with reference to 
 those bodies recently discovered. But before 
 I j)roceed it will be necessary to make some 
 explanation with regard to certain matters in- 
 volved in this discussion. And first, this mat- 
 ter of perturbation. I know this subject is 
 somewhat difficult to understand ; but a few 
 words, I think, will be sufficient to render it 
 ((uite plain. Suppose the sun to be located 
 at a given point ; at a distance ecjual to the 
 shortest distance of the planet Mercury from 
 the sun we locate that planet: this is its 
 jierihelion. Next let us place Venus ; then 
 the Earth ; and so on with all the planets- 
 all located in a right line and in their peri- 
 helion, or nearest position to the sun. Sup- 
 pose they receive the primary influence which 
 starts them on their mighty journeys. Now 
 will they all come around again to occupy the 
 starting point after a single revolution ? No. 
 
 Will these perihelion points remain in a right 
 line after the first revolution? No. The 
 very moment they start they begin to operate 
 upon each other through the force of attrac- 
 tion, and all the elements of every orbit begin 
 to be swayed backward and forward. These 
 changes are going on perpetually — these peri- 
 helion points are moving onward, their eccen- 
 tricities continually changing; and millions 
 of millions of years will roll' round, when at 
 length — at the expiration of some miglity and 
 almost inconceivable cycle, when this great 
 time-piece of eternity shall have struck one — 
 they will all occupy their original relative po- 
 sition and once more start on their immense 
 journey. [Applause.] 
 Now, this being the case, how is it possible 
 
 
 .Wil' 
 
I 
 
 210 
 
 LECTURES ON A8TH0N0MY. 
 
 for the human mind to reach to any knowledge | 
 of the influence of these bodies mutually on i 
 each othor ? for if the limits of their orbits are 
 continually shifting, there must be some diffi- 
 culty in getting at that influence ; for before 
 you can make any use of established positions 
 they arc changed again. This is all literally 
 true ; and the astronomer is obliged to seize 
 every one of them, and even the sun himself, 
 ond weigh them in a balance : he is obliged to 
 ascertain the amount of matter belongmg to 
 each and all of them ; and when he shall have 
 attained to this knowledge, he must then com- 
 pute the influence which each exerts upon the 
 other, and thus with long and patient toil trace 
 out all their devious wanderings. 
 
 I shall now attempt to explain how it is that 
 the weight of these distant orbs is determined. 
 How can we weigh this earth against the sun ? 
 How can we place them as it were in some 
 mighty balance and ascertain precisely how 
 much one preponderates over the other f Fol- 
 low me, it you please, in a very brief exposi- 
 tion of this problem. In the hrst place, the 
 power of gravitation upon any body is deter- 
 mined, as all know, by the amount of velocity 
 it is capable of producing in a falling bwly in 
 one unit of time. If at the earth's surface a 
 body falls sixteen feet in the first secijnd of 
 time, that is the measure of the intensity of 
 gravity at that point. — But if this earth did 
 not contain the amount which is now in it — 
 if it were smaller, a body would not fall so far 
 in a second of time. — There is a certoin law 
 establishing this, which we have ascertained. 
 I have already stated that the moon is ever 
 falling toward the earth, and the amount by 
 which it falls is measured — we know it ex- 
 actly ; hence we know precisely the influence 
 exerted upon the moon by the earth — and 
 that is the first point. Now suppose, on the 
 opposite side of the moon there was another 
 earth, and it were as large as ours and equally 
 distant, but contained double the weight of 
 matter. At the same distance it would pro- 
 duce twice the eflect of our earth. Increase 
 its magnitude to three times and the effect is 
 increased in like proportion. Now there is 
 no such other earth, but there is the sun, and 
 let us attempt to ascertain the comparative 
 weight of the sun and the earth, by weighing 
 the amount of action which each exerts upon 
 the moon. In the first place, then, the moon 
 is attracted by the earth and is caused to fall 
 through a certain distance in a given time. 
 Secondly, the earth itself is attracted by the 
 sun and is caused to fall through a certain 
 space in the same time. Now with reference 
 to the magnitude of the sun, I think the moon 
 and the earth may be regarded as equal. It 
 IB exactly like dropping two weights one of 
 one pound and the other of two pounds to the 
 
 earth ; they will both fall with the same ve- 
 l(x;ity. So with the moon and the earth : the 
 diflercnce of their masses may be regarded as 
 absolutely nothing. Now the sun deflects the 
 earth from a tangent line by a certain amount 
 whicli measures its influence upon the earth; 
 likewiMO the earth deflects the mo<m by an 
 amount which measures the i'ltensity of its 
 force upon that satellite. Thr amount of de- 
 flection produced in the orbit of the earth is 
 more than double that exerted by the earth 
 upon the moon ; hence if the sun were equally 
 distant from the moon with the earth, it should 
 be twice as heavy as the earth, because it 
 produces twice as much effect. But the truth 
 IS, it is not at an equal distance — it is four 
 himdred times further off'. If "then at this dis- 
 tance it produces twice the effect of the earth 
 itself, we must increase it in the ratio of the 
 8(|uaro of 400, or 160,000, this number must 
 be multiplied into the exact ratio of the in- 
 fluence of the two as already estimated at an 
 equal distance, which carries it up to 354,436 
 earths ; and that is the the precise ratio exist- 
 ing between the mass of the earth and the sun. 
 Thus it is that we are able literally and ab- 
 solutely to weigh these Ixxlies one against the 
 other : hence every satellite which revolves 
 about its primary planet, gives us the means 
 of weighing that primary. 
 
 But what is to be d(me in cases where there 
 are no satellites ? Here the problem is more 
 difficult. The influence exerted by other 
 planets on these bodies in swaying them from 
 the paths which they otherwise would have 
 pursued, tells us the amount of matter belong- 
 ing to them. In this way astronomers have 
 attained to a most accurate knowledge of the 
 value of the mass of all the planets. 
 
 It is true that in the instance of Jupiter, La 
 Place in his earlier computations made it out 
 difler nt from subsequent discoveries. He 
 said ihat it would re(iuire 1067 Jupiters to 
 make a mass ec|ual to the sun. He reached 
 this conclusion from a series of observation 
 made by the astronomer Puond, and when he 
 hod examined them all critically he said that 
 the mass could not be in error by one hun- 
 dredth part of its value and that the chance 
 of its varying to that amount was as eleven 
 millions to one. He had brought all the pow- 
 ers of analysis itself into the calculations, and 
 the probabilities of his being in error were as 
 I have stated. But it seemed as if chance 
 was not to have its peculiar dominion invaded 
 in this way, and, if I may be allowed to use 
 the expression, chance determined to chastise 
 the hand that had ventured to draw aside the 
 curtain and unveil her mysteries ; for it has 
 been proved most positively that that one 
 chance out of eleven millions was the one that 
 turned up, and La Place was wrong. [Ap 
 
 IL 
 
both fall with the same ve- 
 the moon and the earth : the 
 r masses may be regarded as 
 g. Now the sun detlccts the 
 'ent line by a certain amount 
 it8 influence u])on the earth ; 
 th deflects the moon by an 
 leasures the i'jtcnsity of its 
 atellite. Thf, amount of de- 
 \ in the orbit of the earth is 
 a that exerted by the earth 
 hence if the sun were equally 
 noon with the earth, it shonld 
 vy as the earth, because it 
 ) much effect. But the truth 
 n equal distance — it is four 
 rther otT. If then at this dis- 
 twice the effect of the earth 
 icrease it in the ratio of the 
 r 1GO,000, this number must 
 to the exact ratio of the in- 
 
 as already estimated at an 
 rhich carries it up to 354,436 
 is the the precise ratio exist- 
 nass of the earth and the sun. 
 we are able literally and ab- 
 i these bodies one against the 
 ery satellite which revolves 
 y planet, gives us the means 
 primary. 
 
 be (lone in cases where there 
 Here the problem is more 
 influence exerted by other 
 bodies in swaying them from 
 they otherwise would have 
 the amount of matter belong- 
 this way astronomers have 
 9t accurate knowledge of the 
 s of all the planets, 
 in the instance of Jupiter, La 
 ier computations made it out 
 ubsequent discoveries. He 
 lid recjuire 1067 Jupiters to 
 lal to the sun. He reached 
 "rom a series of observation 
 •onomer Puond, and when he 
 em all critically he said that 
 not be in error by one hun- 
 13 value and that the chance 
 
 1 that amount was as eleven 
 He had brought all the pow- 
 
 sclf into the calculations, and 
 of his being in error were as 
 But it seemed as if chance 
 its peculiar dominion invaded 
 , if I may be allowed to use 
 ihance determined to chastise 
 d ventured to draw aside the 
 lil her mysteries ; for it has 
 wt positively that that one 
 ven millions was the one that 
 La Place was wrong. [Ap- 
 
 LECTUREB ON ASTRONOMY. 
 
 211 
 
 plause.] The fact was, the measurements had 
 been mude indirt'ereutly and a long time ago. 
 He had used a computation made upon a little 
 body called Encke's comet, and from the 
 etheroal muss of the elements of this ghost of 
 a world, so (ilmy that it has not the power to 
 lessen even the light of the smallest stars that 
 shine thr()U;;h it, ho had made his calculation 
 of the mighty orb of Jupiter. The mass of 
 Jupiter, as computed by La Place, was em- 
 ployed to determine how much disturbance 
 existed there, and there was not enough. So 
 when this mass was applied to other calcula- 
 tions and suspicions were uroused that it was 
 inaccurately calculated, it excited other meas- 
 urements, until at length all agreed very ac- 
 curately in giving the mess of Jupiter such, 
 that 1049 such bodies would make one sun. 
 
 Wo proceed now to the structure of our 
 system. It will be remembered by all who 
 heard me in ntiy second lecture, that the older 
 planets were for a long time known. They 
 are arranged according to a very curious law, 
 with reference to their distance from the sun. 
 It is known, for example, that when passing 
 out from the sun to P.lercury, and from Mer- 
 cury to Venus, there is a certain ratio of dis- 
 tance, which holds true in regard to the dis- 
 tance of the other planets, for an immense 
 space of 350,000,000 miles, until you come to 
 a mighty gulf, within which no planet was 
 known to revolve ; and the moment that limit 
 was passed, the old law was resumed. This 
 curious law was detected by Bode. I will 
 explain the law in a simple manner. Begin- 
 ning with the first of this series as nothing, 
 and assuming 3 for the first distance, we have 
 the following series : 0, 3, 6, 12, 24, 48, 96, 
 and BO on. This is obtained by multiplying 
 each succeeding term by two. Now, if you 
 add 4 to every term of the series, you have 
 another series as follows : — 
 Mercury. Venut. Earth. Mart. Jupiter. Saturn. 
 
 4 7 10 16 28 52 100 
 
 and so on. This latter series represents most 
 accurately the distance of all the planets from 
 the sun. But in passing from Mars to Jupiter 
 the link was broken — there was no planet to 
 fill up the space — and when Baron de Sac 
 detected this law, and found it to be perfect in 
 every other instance, he came to the conclu- 
 sion, and could not resist the conviction, that 
 a planet unknown revolved in that space. 
 Such was his absolute conviction, that he ac- 
 tually commenced a computation of its orbit in 
 1784. He made out its dibtance, and publish- 
 ed the elements of its orbit, fifteen years be- 
 fore any bodies were known to exist in that 
 space. In the year 1800 such was the effect 
 produced by his investigotions, that a congress 
 of astronomers met at Lilienthal, to unite npon 
 a plan for hunting down this unknown bcdy. 
 
 They ogreed to divide the whole region into 
 zones, twenty-four in number, or one to each 
 astronomer. They commenced their labors on 
 the first day of the first year of the present 
 century, and before they had hardly commen- 
 ced, one of their number detected a small star 
 which did not exist on his chart, although ho 
 had laid down upon it, as he supposed, all the 
 fixed stars. His name was Piazzi, of Paler- 
 mo. With whot anxiety did he wait till the 
 following night again to exomino this stranger! 
 — When the next night came round, to his in- 
 expressible delight he found it had changed its 
 position, and was actually retrograding as a 
 planet ought to do. But he did not venture 
 to believe he had so soon discovered this un- 
 known wanderer, and only told his friends he 
 had found a very suspicious body and supposed 
 it might be a comet, but he could not tell — it 
 looked very much like a planet. Baron de 
 Sac, when he heard of this discovery at once 
 seized it, saying : " This is my planet which 
 I have so long predicted." Ho took a few 
 observations, but in consequence of the fact 
 that it soon fell into the rays of the sun, only 
 a few observations could be made, so that but 
 for the extraordinary discovery of other bodies, 
 by other observations at short intervals it could 
 not have been known to be a planet. But 
 Baron de Sac at once commenceil o computa- 
 tion of its orbit. They had oil agreed in as- 
 signing to it exactly the place that could be 
 occupied, in order to make the lawof relc ive 
 distance which had previously been thoi ^ht 
 to exist, apply in this lost instance. Bi» on 
 de Sue knew the planet was found, and wh 'n 
 he compared his own investigotions with thos. ■« 
 which were found to result from actual '•h 
 servation, it was discovered that he had |. 
 dieted its place precisely. 
 
 While all the astronomical world was re- 
 joicing in the beautiful law and the complete 
 establishment of the harmony of the system, 
 another object was found — another planet was 
 detected which seemed to have an orbit pre- 
 cisely similar to the one already found. Here 
 was a most astonishing anomaly — two planets 
 revolving in orbits nearly coincident. The 
 like was to be seen nowhere else in the entire 
 system. What could be the meaning of this ? 
 How happened it that thep • two little bodies 
 occupied this place and with orbits so nearly 
 equal T Olbers conceived the idea that they 
 we'e fragments of a former mighty planet 
 whic by the action of some powerful force, 
 had been rent asunder and scattered in ev- 
 ery direction. — Strange theory this! passing 
 strange ! But follow rne through tliis curious 
 history, and then decide if there be any founda- 
 tion for its truth, or whether it is merely an 
 astronomical dream. In a very short time, to 
 the astonishment of the world, Hartling finds 
 
 X'-.' 
 
 *«*• 
 
I 
 
 .1 
 N 
 
 M'i 
 
 r 
 
 i 
 
 another planet. There ore three. Olbere 
 wii« •.Kmlirmtil in the oiiinion that his theory 
 wu» true, und, ^ >iil he, "If this cunvulsion iliil 
 take pliice iiml i« Iraginciiti* were ncatier<-<l, 
 then, iiiifntucli us they started from the mnw , 
 iioiiit, they must all revolve to that ttiuiie |Miint : 
 111 their orbits." If ho could find the place 
 wlure their orbits inter»ecte<l or croiwed each 
 other (which we have already explained u» 
 the niMlc!*), inasmuch as these were common 
 points, it might be true such u disruption had 
 taken plttc(!. It was on this hypothesis that, 
 after watchin;.' from night to night and from 
 year to year in the particular region of this 
 nmle, they finally detected a fourth binly. 
 Here, at length, were four bodies revolvinu ni 
 nearly the Hamc rbits, and thus the triiUi of 
 this wonderful h pothesis was verified. 
 
 Again, an investigation was made to ascer- 
 tain the amount of iitrcc necessary to burst a 
 planet and separate its frapients. Le (Jrungo 
 demonstrateil that with a lorce 1.50 times gr ut- 
 er than that giv('n to o connon-ball th'- pa^ii- 
 cles would sweep oil" in an orbit cuUeu 'he 
 parabola ; but that the force of twenty tJines 
 would give elliptic orbits of dilfeient ilegrees 
 of eccentricity. There is also onolher jicint : 
 in case this theory wos true, the la'ger freg- 
 ment would occupy more nearly tlw orbit de- 
 scribed by the original body, antl th3 smaller 
 one revolve more obli(iuely to the ploiic of 
 the ecliptic. — This wus found to be the fact: 
 in comi)aring their biKlies und their orbits some 
 of the smaller ones maile un angle as hi^h as 
 30 degrees, with the p' in,.of the ecliptic, awl 
 had exceeded the plan • ■ T the zodiac wau'b 
 confines all the rest of tlie planets. 
 
 When they .vere thus fixed and determined, 
 and after fourteen years of examination all had 
 been done that it seemed could be done, and 
 the investigations need not continue any fur- 
 ther with the ho|>e of success, many years roU 
 round and finally in December, 1845, we hear 
 onnounced thot another of the asteroids had 
 been added to the four: Astra;a, discovered by 
 Enck6 of Dresden. He was prosecuting this 
 examination for the purpose of finding the n(Kles 
 of the asteroids and on the plane that had been 
 previously adopted, having more accurate 
 charts of the heavens with the stars more core- 
 fully laid down. The moment he detected a 
 new "tar he suspected it of being a planet, 
 and a lew evenings would always settle the 
 investigation; and in this way he detected 
 Astnea. For two years he continues, when 
 lo ! he has found another planet, and Hebe is 
 added to our system. But Y-i had scarcely 
 described it, when Hinds, an Englishman, has 
 fished up another, Iris ; and before we know 
 the name given to this one, the same astron- 
 omer announces another, and Flora is joined 
 to the other seven ! Thus we have the beau- 
 
 tiful phenomenon of a group of eight sisters 
 revolving around the sun in orbits id' nearly 
 eipial magnitude, in periwls absolutely identi- 
 cal ; alt mcupy the centre of the space be- 
 twcc-n the planets Mars ond Jupiter, and by 
 their joint action, their joint muss, their joint 
 distances, fulfilling this beautiful law ok' Barun 
 de Sue. 
 
 Having gone through the examination of 
 these objects, I shall proceed to give an ac- 
 count of the planet Jupiter. This is the lorg- 
 est in our system, and one of the oldest known. 
 We have, indeeil, no knowledge of the time 
 when this beautiful orb wis unknown. Go 
 back to the pages of historv as far os you 
 [dcase — go even beyond the Tiiiits of tradition 
 — still you find that this planet was known to 
 the earliest inhabitants. " How do we know 
 this ?" some will hove already imiuired. Let 
 me tell you. If we go to the records of the 
 earliest notions, we find invariably this curi- 
 ous fact : thot the days of the week, seven in 
 number, are named after the jdunets, counting 
 the sun ond imnm, thus — the Sun, the Moon, 
 Mors, Mercury, Jupiter, Venus, Saturn. Ev- 
 ery notion — the Cninese, the Egyptians, the 
 Persians, the Chaldeans — hove upolicd the 
 names of the planets to the days of tne week. 
 They do not, to be sure, begin the week on 
 the same day ; but beginning with their first 
 day, they run round the cycle exactly in the 
 same order. There is but one way of ex- 
 plaining this remorkoble coincidtnce, and that 
 is: they must have received this from some 
 nation anterior to either of them ; it mnst have 
 come down from the same comwon origin. 
 Hence we run back anterior to tradition itself 
 to find the first discovery of these plonets. 
 
 In this beautiful planet, Jupiter, we find one 
 that fastened the gaze of the earliest minds 
 that turned their ottention to the heavens, and 
 by possibility it moy hove been detected be- 
 fore Venus; for Jupiter is seen ot all possible 
 tMstances from the sun, while Venus, is olways 
 comparatively near. 
 
 when the telescope was first directed to 
 this wonlerful orb, a sight was revealed to 
 the nsvorished gaze of old Galileo, thot seem- 
 ed almost to slapify his mind ; there were four 
 beautiful .noons revolving ob<iut this noble orb, 
 obedient to its altiaction. You all remember 
 that at the time this discovery was made the 
 battle was raging betwiren the old and new 
 schiMil of philosophers •, those who believed 
 with Ptolemy and those vhj followed Coper- 
 nicus. Galileo hod become a convert to 
 Copernicus, stood up the champion of truth, 
 and fortunately for the world anned himself 
 with a power that all the antagonism of earth 
 could not withstand. "You tell me," said 
 he, " the earth is the great centre about which 
 the universe is revolving ; now I tell you thai 
 
 i 
 
uf a group uf eight sistf-rt 
 he sun iii orbits of nearly 
 n pcriixls absolutely iilpiiti- 
 \t! centre of the space be- 
 Mars oiiii Jupiter, and by 
 their joint u\umh, their joint 
 ; tliis beautiful law oi Baron 
 
 irough the examination of 
 lall proceed to give an ac- 
 ; Jupiter. This is the larg- 
 uid tme of the oldest known, 
 no knowl'--d);i) of the time 
 ful orb WIS unknown. Go 
 s of historv us far us you 
 eyond the fiiiitscjf tradition 
 lit this planet wum known to 
 tunts. " How do wo know 
 lOve ulreutly inquired. Let 
 we go to the records of the 
 re find invariably this curi- 
 days of the week, suven io 
 d after the plunet», counting 
 , thus — the Sun, the Mmm, 
 upiter, Venus, Saturn. Ev- 
 Jhineso, the Egyptians, the 
 ildeons — have upolicd the 
 ets to the days of tlie week, 
 le sure, begin the week on 
 It beginning with their first 
 nd the cycle exactly in the 
 ere is but one way of ex- 
 rkable coinr.idt nee, and that 
 ve received this from some 
 either of them ; it nmst have 
 the same common origin, 
 ek anterior to tradition itself 
 scovery of these pluncts. 
 I planet, Jupiter, we find one 
 ga/e of the earliest minds 
 attention to the heavims, and 
 nay have been detected be- 
 fupiter is seen at all possible 
 ! sun, while Venus, is always 
 ar. 
 
 iscope was first directed to 
 rb, a sight was revealed to 
 ze of old Galileo, that seem- 
 ify his mind ; there were four 
 evolving about this noble orb, 
 traction. You all remember 
 ihia discovery was mode the 
 » between the old and new 
 Dpbers; those who believed 
 tf tho6« vho followed Coper- 
 had become a convert to 
 d up the champion of truth, 
 for the world armed himself 
 It ail the antagonism of earth 
 band. "You tell me," said 
 the great centre about vrhich 
 evolving ; now I tell you th«» 
 
 1 TtJEKS ON TBONOMY 
 
 813 
 
 vorder globe showi t mhrftture system like 
 
 r.ur own, uml while we huve a single moon, 
 tluTf in n planet which hin no Irm tlinn four. 
 Do not then attempt to inipme thin iiiipoH«i- 
 liilitv up<m mc. I do not lidieve it." He 
 ooriiimteil thoHB who opi^wcd the projrress ot 
 truth, till finally he incurred the displensure 
 of th.- ihureh itself. You all know the fact, 
 that, borne down by the weijjht of years, he 
 v/ai* l)rou^'lit before the iiKpiinilion and forced 
 to recant his opinionnin the most Kolemn man- 
 ner ; but such was the power of truth that in 
 spite of all the threatenin? I>y which he was 
 surrouiiiled, as he rose frotn his knees he 
 stniiipi'il upon the earth and said, " She does 
 move, though." 
 
 It seems that Jupiter and its satellites were 
 given for a most valuable purpose, and I ask 
 vour attention to but one or two of their uses. 
 "Ami first, the fact thiit they served to deter- 
 mine the velocity of li>,dit. I know many 
 minds revolt from the conclusion which as- 
 tronomers hove reached, when they say that 
 liiiht flies twelve millions of miles in a minute, 
 ond that there are objects so dif^tant that their 
 liyht would require the enormous period of 
 fifty thousand years to reach our earth. Tn 
 the language of my •' old friend"—" thit is a 
 hard story." It is incredible; but before this 
 course of lectures closes I intend to show clear- 
 ly and positively how this has been determin- 
 ed and how much reliance is to be placed upon 
 this wonderful revelation. 
 
 Previous to the discovery of the Batellites 
 of Jupiter, and their eclipses, it was believed 
 that light passed instantaneously over the most 
 distant space. It was believed that if a lamn 
 was lighted and the eye could see it through 
 a 8|)ace of millions of miles, that the instant 
 it wafl lighted the eye, if directed toward it, 
 would see the light. On the discovery ()f 
 Jupiter's satellites, they were found revolving 
 in such orbits that in every revolution the 
 three interior ones were always eclipsed and 
 disappeared from the sight. It did not require 
 a long series of observations before the astron- 
 omer" began to predict the coming of their 
 eelijises as we do those of the moon. He ex- 
 amines the result of his computation, and after 
 a while detects a certain amount of discrepan- 
 cy between the observations ot the two op- 
 posite points of its orbit — He tries again, but 
 in »|)ite of all efforts, after long years of toil, 
 he could not reconcile the predictions exactly 
 with the observations, and then he began to 
 infjuire if by possibility there could not be a 
 law which would reconcile theni. Let me 
 endeavor to show how this wasattained. Sup- 
 jiose the earth to be at a given point in its 
 orbit, and Jupiter to be in that part of its orbit 
 on the same side as the earth : the distance 
 which separates them is precisely the differ- 
 
 flncf of til 
 sun. — Bii' 
 
 .1, '«nce of til orbits from the 
 I.- earth r< c around ;o the 
 opposite XI ! ihc sun ui I upiter remain iis 
 before! tin- ili^tunct! i» mi\v ineniited by the 
 whole dinioeief of the carth'sorbit l!tO,000,OI)0 
 miles. Now tin observer on the enrih, 
 I when nearest to Jupiter, will, in the eclipse 
 
 W llVli III. W»»-dl, »" .«|-.---T » 
 
 j)f its Hutidlite, see the lifflit disappear too soon 
 according to the computation. Why ? Be- 
 cause the stream of light is shorter liy an 
 omount cpial to the whole diameter of this 
 orbit, and consequently runs out more quickly. 
 
 When he takes his observotion from the 
 
 opposite side of the eorth's orbit, he finds the 
 eclipse comes on Uk) late, because the streom 
 has 190,000,000 miles further to run, and of 
 course he will continue to see the satellite till 
 the stream runs out. Now, then, in this way 
 we arc able to determine how lon^ it takes 
 light to pass across the earth's orbit. Then 
 by oscertaining the exact difTerence in these 
 extreme jxiints. this single calculation of the 
 velocity of light would account for all the dis- 
 crepancies, and reconcile theory and observa- 
 tion in the most perfect monner. But to poss 
 across this orbit requires sixteen minutes ; 
 hence the velocity must bo at the rate of 
 12,000,000 of miles in a minute. 
 
 Here, then, is the foundation upon which 
 this result was first rested. " Well," some 
 skeptical mind will soy, "thot is only a single 
 observation ; give me confirmation of it from 
 some other sources, or I must reject so aston- 
 ishing a result." For a long time the astron- 
 omer was at fiiult, and the skeptic had in some 
 sense the advantage. But at length a better 
 series of observations are at hand. In certain 
 examinations of the fixed stars it is found that 
 these little points of light, when critically ex- 
 amined, appear to be moving according to a 
 certain law and describing a minute orbit. 
 The cause of this was perplexing to the as- 
 tronomer, and baffled all the efforts of one of 
 the strongest minds that ever gave its jjowers 
 to this subject. But finally the explanation 
 was discovered in the fact that it was owing 
 to the effect produced by the aberration of 
 light— that as the ear h swept round its own 
 orbit, the li;,ht in coming to us caused the boily 
 to appear in different positi*m3 from that in 
 which it then occupied. Let me make this 
 intelU'ible. Suppose you desire to cross a 
 river, 'and the stream will carry you down, 
 and you wish to land at .^ point fixed upon on 
 the opposite shore. W ill you start out from 
 an exactly opposite point and row directly 
 across to the opposite shore T By no means, 
 because you know vou will in that case land 
 below. Now how' far above will you make 
 your starting point T Just as far above as the 
 1 current will carry you down in the time yon 
 expect to occupy in crossing. But what has 
 
 i 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
 •«sf^ 
 
 A 
 
 uLJM. 
 
J: 
 
 21i 
 
 ESQUIMAUX INDIANS. 
 
 tli'm to do with tho velocity of lijjht? I will 
 tfli vdu. Every porticlo of light that Ifttivet 
 yonder orli, in coming toward n» »wee|m down- 
 wiird in th(! dir(.>(;tion of a right line, and when 
 tlin ai4troriotncr turn* hia telescope to receive 
 that point of light and to cause it to pass down 
 the axil* of the tiilie, he must take into account 
 the fact that he himself is moving with a cer- 
 tain velocity. As ho is homo on by the move- 
 ment of the corth, he must take m the other 
 fact that every particle of light is coming with 
 a certain velocity, and he must incline his in- 
 strument so as to couse it to pass down its 
 axis. The omountof inclination depends upon 
 the velocity of light, as the distance you would 
 be carried down the river depends U|)on the 
 velocity of tho water, and when we have in- 
 clined our tube so that the victual ray shall hit 
 the mark, that inclination is precisely whot 
 ought to be given it. Upon oil this calcula- 
 tion it is found ihat light travels twelve million 
 miles in a minute. Here is confirmation strong 
 and irresistible. 
 
 But one step further : it is found that cer- 
 tain stars are united together — not a planet 
 revolving round a sun, but two mighty suns 
 revolving about each other. To this matter 
 I will call your attention more particularly 
 hereafter. In a certain system of doutile stors 
 which had engaged the scrutiny of the very 
 ablest minds, there were found discrepancies 
 between the observations and computations 
 which could not be reconciled for s long time. 
 The problem seemed utterly beyond our reach ; 
 but at last, within a short time, one of the 
 German astronomers discovered that the whole 
 difficulty has grown out of the fact that the 
 velocity of light was not taken into the ac- 
 count, and that the fact that the star was 
 sweeping around a mighty orbit, ond thus im- 
 pressing its own motion upon the particles of 
 light was not considered. When it was, all 
 the discrepancies disappeared and the velocity 
 of light comes out precisely as before. Here, 
 then, are three demonstrations from diflercnt 
 sources all coinciding ; I will not say exactly, 
 but nearly so. 
 
 The reason why I do not say exactly is this : 
 a very short time ago I received a communi- 
 cation from M. Struve, a Russian astronomer, 
 who said he was engaged upon the subject of 
 the velocity of light, and had determined what 
 is called tne constant aberration of the fixed 
 stars, and found the value for them was a little 
 dirterent from that obtained in regard to the 
 satellites of Jupiter. — There was a slight va- 
 riation, perhaps a thousandth part of the 
 whole, yet it could be measured, and he said 
 it was impossible there might be a difference 
 between the velocity of direct and reflected 
 light. And he begs me in consequence of the 
 peculiar position of my observatory being more 
 
 advantageons than his, to furnish a series of 
 eclipses of the fir»t satellite of Jupiter thmueh 
 tho next ten y*'ars, with a view to determine 
 thereby ony ditlttrence between the nciuiil 
 velocity of direct antl reflected light. 
 
 The is the kind of aceurory attempted to 
 be attained in our own day ; and this, in truth, 
 is the accuracy which is actually reached. 
 You may think it is s[)ending time in vain tn 
 work for ten years to settle a question in which 
 the discrepancy gives you only a second deci- 
 mal place ; but now im|iortant it is to know 
 whether this mysterious element in the oriijin- 
 al movement of light is dilFerent from that 
 when it impinges U|x)n the surface rellecting 
 it, will bo perceived when we reflect that the 
 computation affects the movements of all these 
 bodies, and thot by a correct calculation of 
 this apparently insignificant feature we ottain 
 to a degree j)f accuracy that we can not reach 
 in any other way. 
 
 ESQUIMAUX INDIANS. 
 
 The vast region of country lying on tho 
 north shore of the gulf of St. Lawrence, and 
 extending to the eostward of the Snguena as 
 for as Newfoundland, is generally known un- 
 der the name of Labrador. It is on exceed- 
 ingly wild and desolate region, and, excepting 
 on occasii >nal fishing hamlet, or a missionory 
 station belonging to the Moravians, its only 
 inhabitants are Indians. Of these the most 
 fomous tribes ore the Red Indians (now olmost 
 extinct), the Hunting Indians, the Milk-rnaks, 
 and the Es(iuimaux. The latter are by far 
 the most numerous, and it is said that their 
 sway extends even to the coosts of Hudson's 
 bay. They are at the some time the wildest 
 anil most rude inhabitants of this wilderness, 
 and in appearance, as well as manners and 
 customs, closely resemble the inhabitants of 
 Greenland. 
 
 "During one of my nautical expeditions 
 down the St. Lawrence," says a celebrated 
 traveller, " I chanced to be wind-bound for a 
 couple of doys at the mouth of a nameless 
 river on the north shore, where I happened to 
 find a small encampment of E8(]uimaux Indians. 
 The principal man of the party was exceed- 
 ingly aged, and the only one who could convey 
 his thoughts in any other language than his 
 own. Ho had mingled much with the French 
 fur-traders of the north, and the French fisher- 
 men of the east, and possessed a smattering of 
 their tongue. Seated by the side of this go<Ml 
 old man in his lo<lge, with a moose-skin for 
 my seat, a pack of miscellaneous furs to lean 
 against, and a rude sea-oil torch suspended 
 
 UL 
 
 "nmmss^? 
 
hi», to fnminh a wnr» of 
 ■ntellito of Ju|iitcr thnnjfh 
 , with a view to (Icii-rminr 
 •Bnce hntwi'pn the ocinu 
 nil r«flpctP(l lijjht. 
 
 of acrrurnoy attemptPil to 
 wn (Iny ; mi'l thin, in tnith, 
 'hich if» Q<'luiilly rpuched. 
 i« opendinfi time in viiin t > 
 tiiietile a nuention in whii n 
 'OH you only a sccoml ili'ci- 
 IV imjiortant it i« to know 
 rioiiH element in the orijjin- 
 ght is (lilferent from that 
 u|X)n the surface retlectinf; 
 il when wo reflect that the 
 I the movements of all these 
 y a correit calculation of 
 ijiniKcant feature we attain 
 racy that we can not reach 
 
 lATJX INDIANS. 
 
 n of country lyins? on the 
 gulf of St. Lawrence, and 
 istwanl of the Sajruena as 
 11(1, is generally kn'iwn un- 
 abrador. It is an exeeed- 
 ilate region, and, excepting 
 ag hamlet, or a missionary 
 to the Moravians, its only 
 dians. Of these the most 
 le Red Indians (now almost 
 ng Indians, the Milk-maks, 
 IX. The latter are by far 
 i, and it is said that their 
 > to the coasts of Hudson's 
 ; the same time the wildest 
 abitants of this wilderness, 
 ;, as well as manners and 
 semble the inhabitants of 
 
 f my nautical expeditions 
 vronce," says a celebrated 
 :ed to be wind-bound for a 
 the mouth of a nameless 
 shore, where I happened to 
 ment of E8(]uimaux Indians, 
 n of the party was exceed- 
 only one who could convey 
 ly other language than his 
 gled much with the French 
 orth, and the French fisher- 
 d possessed a smattering of 
 ited by the side of this good 
 Ige, with a moose-skin for 
 ' miscellaneous furs to lean 
 ie sea-oil torch suspended 
 
 ESQUIMAUX INDIANS. 
 
 21.1 
 
 ovof my >iB«d, T spent many honni of one long- 
 to-be-remembercd night m questioning him 
 I'Miut his jieopln. Tne substance of the in- 
 fiinriution I then collectfil, it is now my pur- 
 ji.we to re(!ord! but it shoulil lie remembered 
 tliat I speak of the nation at lorge, and not of 
 any particular tribe. 
 
 " According to my informant the extent of 
 the K«piimaux nation is unknown, for they 
 onsidcr theinti-lves as numerous as the woves 
 of the sea. Much has lieen <lone to jjivo them 
 an education, and though missionorics of the 
 cross have dwelt among thetn for about a cen- 
 tury, the majority of this people are at the 
 present time in heathen darkness. The men 
 are chiefly employed in hunting and fishing, 
 anil the ilomfjstic labor is all performed by 
 the women. Their clothes are made in the 
 rudest manner imaginable, and generally of 
 the courser skins which they secure in hunt- 
 ing. They believe in o Su|)remo Being, who 
 hiis a dwelling-place in the earth, the oir, 
 anil the ocean, and who is both good and evil; 
 and they ol»o believe in the immortality of 
 the soul, which they describe as i^imilar to air, 
 which they can not feel. Their principal 
 men are magicians and conjurors, distinguish- 
 ed, as I infer with good reason, for their 
 profligacy. 
 
 " Whenever a man is sick they attribute the 
 cause to the oUeged foct that his soul has de- 
 parted from his body, and ho is looked upon 
 with contempt and pity. The first man who 
 came into the world sprang from the bosnmof 
 a beautiful valley ; in this valley he spent his 
 infoiicy and childhood, feeding upon berries, 
 and having on a certain occasion picked a flow- 
 er that drooped over one of his accustomed 
 paths, it immediately became changed into a 
 girl with flowing hair, who became his play- 
 mate, and afterward his wife, and was thi | 
 mother of all living. 
 
 "They believe m a heaven and a hell, and 
 consider that the road to the former is rugged 
 and rocky, and that to the latter level ond 
 covered with crass. Their ideas of astronomy 
 are peculiar, for they consider the sun, moon, 
 and stars, as so many of their ancestors, who 
 have, for a great variety of reasons, been 
 lifted to the sky and became celestial bodies. 
 In accounting tor the two former, they relate 
 that there was once a superb festival given by 
 the Esquimaux in a glorious snow-palace of the 
 north, where were assembled all the young 
 men and maidens of the land. Among them 
 was a remarkably brave youth, who was in 
 love with an exceedingly beautiful girl. She, 
 however, did not reciprocate this attachment, 
 and did all in her power to escape from his 
 caresses. To accomplish this end she called 
 upon the Great Spirit to give her a pair of 
 Winn's; and having received them, she flew 
 
 into the air, and beramo the moon. The 
 youth olso endeavored to obtain a noir nf 
 wings, and ofter many months, flnally »\:c- 
 cneiled ; and on asccniiing to the sky he be- 
 came the sun. The moon they say, has a 
 dwelling-nlace in the west, and the sun an- 
 other in tno east. They account for thunder 
 and lightning by giving the story of two wom- 
 en who livoii together in a wigwam, and on 
 one oecoNion had a most furious battle. Dur- 
 ing the art'ray the cabin tumbled in upon them, 
 causing a tremendous noise, while the women 
 were so angry thai their cv«» flashed fire. 
 Rain, they say. comes from a n/er in the sky, 
 which, from tne great number of people who 
 sometimes bathe in it, overflows its banks, and 
 thus comes to the earth in showers. 
 
 •' When one of their friends has departed 
 this life, they take all his property and scatter 
 it upi n the ground, out of his cabin, to be pu- 
 rified by the air; but then in the evenin|»tney 
 gather it together and bury it by the side of 
 his grave. — They think it wrong for the men 
 to mourn for their friends, and think them- 
 selves defiled if they happen to touch the body 
 of the deceased, ami the individuol who usual- 
 ly performs the otBce of undertaker, is con- 
 sidered unclean for many days ofter fulfilling 
 his duty. 
 
 "The women do all of the wailing and 
 weeping, and during their mourning season, 
 which corresponds with the fame of the de- 
 ceased, they obstain from food, wear their 
 hair in great disorder, and refroin from every 
 ablution. When a friendless man dies, his 
 body is left ujion the hills to decay, as if he 
 had been a beast. When their children die, 
 they bury the body of a dead dog in the same 
 grave, that the child may have a guide in his 
 pathway to an unknown lund, to which they 
 ojppose all children g'). 
 
 " Polygraay, as su.ih, ninongthe Esquimaux 
 is practised only to a limited cxceiit, but mar- 
 ried men and women ure not over scrupulous 
 in their love affairs. Unmarried women, how- 
 ever, observe the rules of modesty with pecu- 
 liar care, and the maiden who suffers herself 
 to be Ijetrayed is looked upon with infamy. 
 When a young man wishes to marry, he first 
 settles the matter vdth his inteisded, and then, 
 having asked and obtained her father's per- 
 mission, he sends two old women to bring the 
 lady to his hxlge, and they are considered one. 
 Children are tought to be dutiful to their pa- 
 rents, and until they marry they always con- 
 tinue under the paternal rod. 
 
 •• The amusements of the Esquimaux do not 
 differ materially from those tf the Indian 
 tribes generally. They are fond of dancing, 
 playing ball, and a species of dice game, while 
 the women know of no recreation but that of 
 dancing and singing." 
 
i !'^ 
 
 j: 
 
 «• *' 
 
 WATER IN THE DESERTS. 
 
 A CHEAP and convenient mode of procuring 
 water is adopted in some places, where the 
 sinking of wells would be eitner too expensive, 
 or, from the great depth, quite impracticable. 
 The method is simply by boring with a kind 
 of large auger, till the instrument reach to a 
 reservoir of water under ground, which then 
 rises to the surface through the auger-hole, 
 and issues in a jet, by means of a tin-pipe, 
 which is Pxed in the opening. This method, 
 however will only be successful in certain 
 situatioKS, and tiie^d occur chiefly in districts 
 where the rock next the soil is formed of beds 
 of sandstone. When these beds lie sloping 
 upon one another, water oozes into the soil at 
 their upjier edges and continues trickling down 
 between the layers, and gathering by the same 
 process from diflerent quarters, till it runs 
 along in some of the interstices in a constant 
 but slow current. It is forced to flow down 
 the slope by the accumulated weight of its 
 own body above, but finds no ready vent in 
 the downward direction it is pursuing ; hence 
 it work , onward under a great pressure ; and 
 if any opening is presented to it either above 
 or below, it rushes into it with great force. 
 Such an opening is the auger-hole of the 
 borers, which, lighting on a body of water 
 thus pressed on all sides, is filled instantly, 
 and becomes a fountain throwing out its jet 
 often to a considerable height. This meide 
 has been practised with great and beneficial 
 success in some of the sandstone districts of 
 England, formerly ill supplied vdth water; 
 but more interest is attached to it from a trial 
 which has been made in certain places of 
 Africa, where water ia as scarce and as valu- 
 able as in a ship that has been six months at 
 sea. The experiment was tried by Mr. 
 Briggs, the British consul in Egypt, 'inder 
 the patronage of the pacha of that country, and 
 was attended with complete success. Wells 
 were opened, and reservoirs formed of thou- 
 sands of cubic feet of water, in places where 
 the sands hud hardly ever been moistened, 
 even by a shower, since the creation of the 
 world, and where tl'.T Arabs, in performing 
 the ceremonial washi. /s of the body required 
 by their Mohammedan law, were obliged, like 
 sparrows on a dusty road, to go through the 
 forms with sand in the absence of water. 
 These reservoirs were formed, we believe, on 
 what would, if water were present, be a great 
 commercial line of comraunicaticm between 
 the Nile and the Red sea ; and there is every 
 pr.ispect that they will be the means of estab- 
 lishing such a line. But the importance of 
 the discovery would be ill ajipreciated, were 
 we to su))pose its operations limited to this 
 point. The vast sandy desert of Africa, a 
 
 tract more than 2,000 miles long, and 1,000 
 broad, ia almost without water, and has hither- 
 to been a barrier preventing all communication 
 between the northern shores of the country, 
 and the fertile districts southward in the in- 
 terior. This region is everywhere filled with 
 districts presenting the same kind of forr ;a- 
 tion of rocks, as that in which water has been 
 so easily procured elsewhere; and there is 
 hence the prospect that wells may be ojiened 
 on the route from Tripoli to Fezzan, Bornou, 
 and Timbuctoo, on a road which is now cov- 
 ered with the bones of thousands who have 
 died from want of water in attempting to pass 
 it. Major Denham was at times waked from 
 a revery on horseback while passing this 
 dreary track of sand, by his horse's hoofs 
 treadmg on the crackling and dried skeletons 
 which lay in the way, of travellers who had 
 perished by thirst. The probability of find- 
 ing water, by boring, on this 'oute, is increased 
 by the opinions current among the natives. 
 who believe that there is here what they cull 
 an underground sea, and that it is only on the 
 surface that drought prevails. There is, be- 
 sides, no doubt that the same \ind of structure 
 exists here which has furnished water in other 
 places ; and it is more than likely that wells 
 might be found, not only for supplying travel- 
 lers, but for carrying on cultivation. This 
 simple discovery, therefore, may, in process 
 of time, have an effect as powerful upon the 
 torrid districts of the earth, as any of the great 
 inventions of modem times have produced in 
 Europe. It is only the want of water which 
 leaves the central parts of both Arabia and 
 Africa in the state of deserts. If the soii were 
 duly moistened, it would be as fertile as other 
 parts of the tropics; and there is much reason 
 to anticipate, that, when this process comes to 
 be understood and valued as it ought, many 
 portions of the desert will become so. It is an 
 agreeable idea to onticipate, that an apparently 
 trifling discovery, originating from the geolo- 
 gical science of England, may be the means of 
 raising up new corn-islands in the African 
 sands, and conferring on the wandering Be- 
 douin many of the blessings of civilization. 
 
 Female Education. — The present system 
 of female education, aims too much at embel- 
 lishing a few years of life, which are in them- 
 selves 80 full of pleasure and happiness that 
 they hardly need it, and then leaves the rest 
 of existence a miserable prey to vacancy and 
 idle insignificance. The real object of educa- 
 tion is to give children resources that will en- 
 dure as long as life enrlures, habits that time 
 will ameliorate, not destroy, occupations that 
 will render sickness tolerable, solitude pleas- 
 ant, age venerable, life more dignified and 
 useful, and death lesster.lble. 
 
2,000 miles long, nnd 1,000 
 ithout water, and has hither- 
 ireventing all comniunicntion 
 ;hern shores of the country, 
 itricts southwanl in the in- 
 on is everywhere filled with 
 ig the same kind of forr la- 
 liat in which water has been 
 sd elsewhere; and there is 
 :t that wells may be ojiened 
 Tripoli to Fezzan, Bornou, 
 m a road which is now cov- 
 nes of thousands who have 
 ■ water in attem|)ting to jinss 
 im was at times waked from 
 rseback while passing this 
 sand, by his horse's hoofs 
 rackling and dried skeletons 
 way, of travellers who had 
 it. The probability of find- 
 ng, on this 'oute, is increased 
 current among the nanvcs, 
 there is here what they cull 
 sea, and that it is only on the 
 ght prevails. There is, be- 
 at the same kind of structure 
 , has furnished water in other 
 more than likely that wells 
 lot only for supplying travel- 
 rying on cultivation. This 
 ■, therefore, may, in process 
 effect as powerful upon the 
 the earth, as any of the great 
 dem times have produced in 
 ily the want of water which 
 al parts of both Arabia and 
 e of deserts. If the soii were 
 it would be as fertile as other 
 cs; and there is much reason 
 it, when this process comes to 
 id valued as it ought, many 
 isert will become so. It is an 
 anticipate, that an apparently 
 r, originating from the geolo- 
 Sngland, may be the means of 
 corn-islands in the African 
 srring on the wandering Be- 
 le blessings of civilization. 
 
 CATION. — The present system 
 tion, aims too much at embel- 
 ars of life, which are in thnni- 
 pleasure and happiness that 
 i it, and then leaves the rest 
 liserable prey to vacancy and 
 ;c. The real object of educa- 
 lildren resources that will en- 
 ife endures, habits that time 
 not destroy, occupations that 
 less tolerafile, solitude pleas- 
 ible, life more dignified and 
 h lesster.lble. 
 
!f 
 
 •Si: 
 
 218 
 
 CHUaCH OF ST. OUDULE.— A VISIT TO VENICE. 
 
 CHURCH OF ST. GUDULE. 
 
 The church of St. Gudule situated in Brus- 
 sels is of the Gothic order of architecture, and 
 has a majestic appearance. It is one of the 
 most ancient of the old country, the founda- 
 tion^ having been laid in 1010, though it was 
 rebuilt in 1226. Its shape is that of a cross, 
 the door on account of its location upon the 
 side of a hill is reached by a flight of steps 
 some forty in number, and two square towers 
 of e(iual "height give the facade an imposing 
 effect. 
 
 The interior of the church is simple and 
 dreary, and the large pillars which sustaia the 
 roof are without any ornament though colos- 
 sal statues of Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary, 
 and the apostles are attached to different pil- 
 lars. These statues are the work of the sculp- 
 tures of those days, though they have no great 
 claims as works of art. 
 
 The principal altar is modem in its appear- 
 ance and the tabernacle contains an ingenious 
 piece of mechanism by which the holy sacra- 
 ment is made to ri8<^ or fall according to the 
 wish of the priest. On the left of the altar is 
 a superb mausoleum erected by archduke 
 Albert to the memory of John ll. duke of 
 Brabant, who died in 1312, and his wife Mar- 
 garet of England who died 1318. The monu- 
 ment which covers their cinders is of black 
 marble, surmounted by a lion. Opposite to 
 this monument is that of the archduke Ernest, 
 who died in Brussels in 1595. The monu- 
 ment also in this edifice, consecrated to the 
 memory of Chauvine Triest, is the work of 
 Simonis. Charity is represented by a female 
 holding upon her knees a newborn infant and 
 inclining to the left she is offering to one older 
 a shell filled with water for its thirst. On the 
 right is a third child still older, in the attitude 
 of rendering thanks to Heaven for the benefits 
 which charity bestows upon himself and broth- 
 ers. The subject has been often treated but 
 never more cleverly. 
 
 The most remarkable object of interest, 
 especially to the stranger, is the pulpit of Saint 
 Gudule sculptored in wood, of which we give 
 a representation. It will be aeen that the de- 
 signer Henry Verbruggen was entirely origin- 
 al in this conception. It represents Adam and 
 Eve chased by the angel from the garden of 
 Kde J. — On the right. Death also follows them, 
 and on the top the Holy Virgin is crushing 
 the head of the serpent with a cross which she 
 holds in her hand. The work is finished with 
 great care, though we can not conceive for 
 what purpose the originator introduced the 
 monkey and birds which are perched there, 
 and when we witnessed it excited the risibilities 
 of the visiters. The other figures are symbol- 
 ical and easily comprehended. 
 
 A VISIT TO VENICE. 
 
 Ox the 5th of September last, on hour or 
 two before sunset, I took my place in the 
 diligence, which twice a week leaves Milan 
 for Venice. At ten o'clock we reached Ber- 
 gamo, and stopped half an hour in its suburb, 
 the Faubourg St. Leonard, from which the 
 city, built on a hill, or rather a mountain, and 
 enclosed by massive wolls, showed most beau- 
 tifully in the moonlight. Some hours after, 
 we made a similar halt at Brescia, another 
 ancient city, rich in magnificent edifices and 
 Roman remains, the centre of a fertile prov- 
 ince. Soon after sunrise, our road lay for many 
 miles along the margin of a beautiful lake, 
 formerly called Benacus, now the Lac de 
 Garda, its shores studded with pretty vil- 
 lages. At noon we reached Verona, situated 
 on both banks of the Adige, over which river 
 are thrown four beautiful bridges. This city, 
 so captivating to the imagination from its as- 
 sociations with " Romeo and Juliet" and the 
 " Two Gentlemen of Verona," possesses, in 
 visible reality, one of the most perfect and re- 
 markable Roman relics to be found in all Italy. 
 The celebrated amphitheatre of Verona is, 
 this day, in its interior structure, almost ex- 
 actly what it was, when, nearly eighteen hun- 
 dred years ago, twenty thousand Romans, 
 seated on its marble benches, watched with 
 eager eyes the gladiatorial combats in the 
 arena below. The exterior circumference of 
 this vast elliptical edifice is fourteen hundred 
 and thirty-four feet; the height of the cornice 
 froi.' ihe level of the street, one hundred feet. 
 Within, the tiers of seats, forty-five in num- 
 ber, ascend from the arena to tne level of the 
 third story of external arches— of which only 
 four remain of the seventy-two that, arranged 
 in three stories, originally formed the fa^-ade 
 of this grand structure. 
 
 Our stay of two hours at Verona barely 
 sufRced for a visit to the amphitheatre, after 
 which we dined and resumed our places in the 
 diligence. It was near sunset when we 
 reached Vicenza, a city of palaces, the en- 
 during memorials of opulence and splendor 
 long since departed. Viccnza was the birth- 
 place of the celebrated architect ralladio, 
 and he adorned his native city with magnifi- 
 cent edifices, which in any other land than 
 Italy would attract crowds of admiring pilgrims 
 from all quarters. I walked awhile i hrough 
 its silent and deserted streets, gazing at the 
 beautiful architecture, which seemed still more 
 impressive to the imagination from being thus 
 strangely contrasted with the air of desolation 
 around. 
 
 At Vicenza, a gentleman and lady, tlie 
 former in a half-clericpil dress, took places in 
 the diligence, and I soon had occasion to con- 
 
 fHMHI 
 
VENICE. 
 
 51T TO VENICE. 
 
 September last, an hour or 
 let, I took my place in the 
 
 twice a week leaves Milan 
 
 ten o'clock we reached Ber- 
 ed half an hour in its suburb, 
 ?^ Leonard, from whi';h the 
 lill, or rather a mountain, and 
 live walls, showed most beau- 
 >on1i«;ht. Some hours after, 
 ilar nalt at Brescia, another 
 h in magnificent edifices and 
 , the centre of a fertile prov- 
 sunrise, our rood lay for many 
 
 margin of a beautiful lake, 
 
 Benacus, now the Lac de 
 ■ea studded with pretty vil- 
 we reached Verona, situated 
 r the Adige, over which river 
 beautiful bridges. This city, 
 I the imagination from its as* 
 • Romeo and Juliet" and the 
 en of Verona," possesses, in 
 ne of the most perfect and re- 
 1 relics to be found in all Italy. 
 
 amphitheatre of Verona is, 
 interior structure, almost ex- 
 s, when, nearly eighteen hun- 
 , twenty thousand Romans, 
 arble benches, watched with 
 
 gladiatorial combats in the 
 ?ne exterior circumference of 
 al edifice is fourteen hundred 
 feet; the height of the cornice 
 f the street, one hundred feet. 
 8 of seats, forty-five in num- 
 i the arena to tne level of the 
 temal arches — of which only 
 le seventy-two that, arranged 
 originally formed the faj:ade 
 ucture. 
 
 two hours at Verona barely 
 sit to the amphitheatre, after 
 and resumed our places in the 
 was near sunset when we 
 a, a city of palaces, the en- 
 ils of opulence and splendor 
 ted. Vicenza was the birth- 
 jlebrated architect Palladio, 
 
 his native city with magnifi- 
 hich in any other land than 
 ict crowds of admiring pilgrims 
 8. I walked awhile ihrough 
 eserted streets, gazing at the 
 ;cture, which seemed still more 
 te imagination from being thus 
 isted with the air of desolation 
 
 a gentleman and lady, the 
 >cleric(il dress, took places in 
 nd I soon had occasion to con- 
 
 A VISIT TO VENICE. 
 
 219 
 
 gratulate myself on this accession to our party. 
 My previous companions had been very cour- 
 teous in their manners, but, as they spoke only 
 Italian, our verbal intercourse had been very 
 limited. This they probably intimated to the 
 new-comer, for he soon addressed himself to 
 me in French, and finding that I was a pilgrim 
 from a land so distant, entered into a very in- 
 teresting conversation in regard to the most 
 remarkable objects to be sought after in Italy. 
 Rarely have t met with more courtesy and 
 politeness than this stranger manifested. My 
 difficulty in understanding the French when 
 spoken, only served to display the more per- 
 fectly a degree of patience and urbanity on 
 his part, which, I greatly fear, a foreigner, 
 situated as I was in Italy, would rarely find 
 in our own country. He was evidently a man 
 of superior intellect, as well as polished man- 
 ners; and I have since conjectured that he 
 might be a professor in the university at Padua. 
 At length, it being now dark, our conversation 
 declined, fatigue overpowered me, and I fell 
 asleep. When I awoke, I found myself alone 
 —the sole occupant of the diligence, which 
 was no longer in motion. I looked out of the 
 window; the moon was shining on the high 
 walls of a vast edifice, enclosing the paved 
 courtyard in which I thus unexpectedly found 
 myself; the horses had been taken away — 
 not a human being was in sight — all around 
 was quiet and solitary. Scarcely yet restored 
 to full consciousness. I got out of the diligence, 
 and, passing under an arched gateway at one 
 comer of the court, came out into the open 
 street. Here the first object that met my eve 
 was a magnificent palace of white marble, 
 with a faf ade of perfect Grecian architecture, 
 beautiful Corinthian pillars sustaining the ex- 
 tensive portico, on which the moon was shed- 
 dingher softest radiance— presenting altogether 
 such a scene as fancy conjures up in our dreams. 
 I looked at my watch : it was near midnight. 
 Ascending the broad flight of steps, I entered 
 a vast and sumptuous hall, rich in marble, 
 brilliantly lighted up. but perfectly empty. 
 Beyond this was another equally spacious hall, 
 similar in appearance, and lighted like the 
 first; here were a few persons seated at small 
 tables, and in one corner a sort of bar, or stand 
 for refreshments. This last savored of reality ; 
 I approached and uttered the word "doc- 
 colata ;" this word broke the spell, and the 
 enchanted palace seemed transformed almost 
 to a caf6, when an attendant placed on a mar- 
 ble table a small metolli: pitcher of chocolate, 
 and some light cake. But what could this 
 vast and magtiificent palace be ? And why 
 should its halls be so brilliantly lighted at that 
 dead hour of night ? The mystery was not 
 solved till some days after, when, returning 
 from Venice, I found this same palace, at the 
 
 1^ 
 
 hour of two in the morning, open and lighted 
 as before. The place was Padua, so cele- 
 brated for its university ; and this magnificent 
 cafe (for such it was, though unrivalled in 
 size), is sustained by the special potronago 
 of the students, who occupy the rooms above, 
 and for whose accommodation, as well as that 
 of the travellers who pass this way, to and 
 from Venice, at all hours, it is kept open uid 
 lighted all night. 
 
 Leaving Padua, I had the whole interior 
 of the diligence to myselfi nml soon fell 
 asleep. An hour after, I awoke, looked out 
 on the road. It lay on the bank of a canal, 
 extending throu§;h a country perfectly level. 
 On the opposite side of the road from the canal, 
 the soft moonlight fell on a long succession of 
 palaces — the country residences of the ancient 
 nobility of Venice, each with a benntiftil gar- 
 den in front, and adorned with a profusion of 
 statues, some placed on the tops of the princi- 
 pal edifice, others ranged along the garden 
 walls, or disposed among the shrubbery. The 
 great number of these statues astonished me, 
 and as the bright moonlight fell on them, ex- 
 hibiting their various attitudes, some, with 
 the deep blue sky for the background, and 
 others on the walls, so near that the expres- 
 sion of the face vras distinctly visible, there 
 was a loveliness and enchantment about the 
 scene altogether unique. The diligence drove 
 rapidly along, and still the same prospect con- 
 tinued for miles. Sleep again overpowered 
 me, and when I next woke the palaces had 
 disappeared, and the perfectly level road, 
 straight as an ar»ow, was in view for a long 
 distance ahead. At 3 o'clock in the morning, 
 we arrived at a small town (Mestre) at the 
 termination of the main land, where we left 
 the diligence, and went on hoard a gondola 
 for Venice, distant now but seven miles. This 
 going out to sea in quest of a city, was some- 
 thing new. We soon left the narrow canal 
 for the open water, and when the eastern sky 
 was tinged with the first ruddy hues of morn- 
 ing, the domes of Venice were in full view, 
 the city seeming to rise out of the sea. I 
 shall never forget that view of Venice, with 
 the crimson sky for the background, arid the 
 exulting feeling when I found myself in the 
 vicinity of this " ultima thule" of my wander- 
 ings — at least in this direction. 
 
 At a police station, built on piles in the wa- 
 ter, our passports were examined. Soon after, 
 we entered the grand canal, the Broadway 
 of Venice, lined with ancient nnd magnificent 
 palaces. At the posta, the miiils were dis- 
 charged, the conductcur and other passengers 
 landed, leaving only myself and two young 
 Spaniards, who had come from Milan in the 
 " rotonde" of the diligence, and who had m 
 view the hotel whir.h I had selected. It was 
 
 riri 
 
220 
 
 A VISIT TO VKNICB. 
 
 Bituater] near the tennination of the grand 
 canal, where it opens into the broader channel 
 on the southeastern side of the city ; tV > sun 
 was just rising, as we stepped frona th "gondola 
 upon its stone staircase projecting into the 
 water. There were but two rooms unoccupied 
 in the house, neither of them very inviting in 
 appearance ; I took possession for the time of 
 the one assigned me, closed the blinds, went 
 to bed, and slept four hours. I rose at ten 
 o'clock perfectly refreshed, took breakfast, and 
 set off in quest of better lodgings, which I f^n 
 secured at the hotel d'ltalia. Having in- 
 trusted my passport to the conamiusionaire, I 
 next repaired to the posta (postoflice) and 
 there, to my great satisfaction, secured a seat 
 in a diligence which, after three days, would 
 set off for Bologna and Florence. This done, 
 my mind was free from all solicitude ; 1 had 
 notWng to do for three days, but to see and 
 enjoy as much of Venice as possible. I strolled 
 through its narrow streets — so narrow that 
 with extended hands you can touch the walls 
 on each side — and soon found my way to the 
 grand centre of resort, the Piazza di San 
 Margo. This is a spacious ojpen square, hav- 
 ing on one side the church of St. Mark, and 
 on the other three sides three magnificent 
 palaces, united at the angles, and thus forming a 
 complete enclosure. The basements of these 
 palaces present in front an unbroken series of 
 arcade?, occupied with numerous cafis and 
 shops, atlbrding a most delightful shelter for 
 the crowds that daily assemble there. Under 
 these arcades there are also, at intervals, pas- 
 sages to the streets in the rear. On tlie side 
 of the square near the church, is the splendid 
 Umr de I'horloge (clock-tower) rich in mar- 
 ble and gilding. Two statues in bronze are 
 conspicuous on ito top, and by au in;,enious 
 
 Siece of mechanism, these figures, called " the 
 loors," are seen to elevate their arms and 
 strike the Iwurs. This they do in a style quite 
 like life. 
 
 The glorious old church of St. Mark, so 
 intimately associated with every thought of 
 Venice, is not easily described. It was begun 
 A. I). 976. and completed in 1071. How 
 strange do these dates sound in Ameiican ears! 
 How indesoribnble are the feelings of a pilgrim 
 from the new world, when he finds himself on 
 the threshold of that grand and time-honored 
 edifice, and feels that he is indeed in Venice, 
 and amid the monuments of a national history 
 even more remarkable than that of Rome ! A 
 handful of exiles, driven by despair to take ref- 
 uge on a narrow strip of barren sand, lay there 
 the foundations of a mighty empire; without 
 vegetation, without drinkable water, without 
 building materials, almost without soil on 
 which to build, they ' ect a city in the midst 
 of the waves of the sea. This state without 
 
 a territory, this city floating as it were on the 
 Adriatic, strong only in the indomitable enter- 
 prise and invincible courage of its inhabitants, 
 attracts to itself the commerce of the world, 
 sways the sceptre of the seas, itself a republic, 
 gives laws to proud emiiires, and grown now 
 to colossal size, overshadowing the nations, 
 fills the measure of its fame by that splendor 
 in the fine arts, which to this day remains, 
 alas! the only relic of its ancient glory. Such 
 is the history of Venice, from its origin aliout 
 the middle of the fifth century, to the extinc- 
 tion of iu independence in 1796. 
 
 Some idea of the sumjrtuous architecture 
 of the church of St. Mark may be formed 
 from the fact that the nunibcr of pillars of 
 marble, porphyry, verd-anticine, etc., within 
 and without, is not less than 500. Bronze, 
 gold, and mosaics, everywhere meet the eye. 
 Just in front of the principal entrance, the spot 
 where the reconciliation took place in 1177 
 between Pope Alexander III. and the emperor 
 Frederick Barbarossa, is indicated by some 
 pieces of red marble in the pavement. 
 
 Close to the church stanils the doge's pal- 
 ace, an edifice as grard and imposing in its 
 architecture, as it is interesting in its historical 
 associations. It occupies one side of the piaz- 
 zetla, a small square, which extends from one 
 angle of the place of St. Mark to the water, 
 the two quadrangles together resembling in 
 shape the letter L. This palace was built 
 near the middle of the fourteenth century, 
 when Marino Faliero was doge of Venice. 
 Entering the principal gate, and crossing the 
 interior court, you ascend the celebrated giant 
 staircase, so called from its being ornamented 
 with two semi-colossal statues of Mars and 
 Neptune — emblems of tht military and naval 
 power of the republic. Just at the head of 
 this staircase the doges were crowned, ai:d 
 this same spot, Byron, following tradition, has 
 represented as the scene of the execution of 
 Marino Faliero. 
 
 The doge's palace is preeminently the place 
 to which the stranger must resort in order to 
 feel the full inapression of the past— whose 
 memorials here surround him. Its vast snd 
 numerous halls are filled with historiciil paint- 
 ings, picturing to the eye all those scenes and 
 transactions which are "associated with Vene- 
 tian glorv'. In one of these is a series of 
 geographical paintings, delineating the different 
 countries discovered and visited by the Vene- 
 tians, in the proudest days of the republic. 
 Of the numerous pictures in the different halls, 
 those interested me most which most vividly 
 depict her ancient power and splendor; such, 
 for instance, as that of the doge Cicogna, re- 
 ceiving the Persian ambassadors — Pope Alex- 
 ander III. advancing to meet the doge Se- 
 bastien Ziani, returning from his victory over 
 
1? 
 
 I I 
 
 is city flontinff as it were on the 
 g only in the indomifable enter- 
 icible courage of its inhnbitnnts, 
 slf the commerce of the world, 
 jtre of the seas, itself a republic, 
 proud cmjiircs, and prown now 
 '.e, oversihadowing the nations, 
 ire of its fame by that splendor 
 ts, which to this day remains, 
 relic of its ancient glory. Such 
 of Venice, from its origin about 
 the fifth century, to the extinc- 
 jpendence in 1796. 
 
 of the sumptuous architecture 
 J of St. Mark may be formed 
 
 that the number of pillars of 
 [ivry, verd-anti([ne, etc., within 
 is not less than 500. Bronze, 
 laics, everywhere meet the eye. 
 if the princii)al entrance, the spot 
 conciliation took place in 1177 
 ! Alexander III. and the emperor 
 irbarossa, is indicated by some 
 marble in the pavement. 
 e church stands the doge's pal- 
 e as grard and imposing in its 
 as it is interesting in its historical 
 
 It occupies one side of the piaz- 
 
 siiuare, which extends from one 
 place of St. Murk to the water, 
 jraugles together resembling in 
 tter L. T^is palace was built 
 Idle of the fourteenth century, 
 Faliero was doge of Venice, 
 principal gate, and crossing the 
 :, you ascend the celebrated giant 
 called from its being ornamented 
 mi-colossal statues of Mars and 
 nblems of the military and naval 
 3 republic. Just at the head of 
 3 the doges were crowned, aud 
 jt, Byron, following tradition, has 
 M the scene of the execution of 
 ;ro. 
 8 palace is preeminently the place 
 
 stranger must resort in order to 
 
 impression of the past — whose 
 sre surround him. Its vast snd 
 ills are filled with historical paint- 
 ig to the eye all those scenes and 
 which are associated with Vene- 
 
 In one of these is a series of 
 , paintings, delineatingthc ditferent 
 covered and visited by the V^ene- 
 > proudest days of the republic, 
 rous pictures in the different halls, 
 ited me most which most vividly 
 ncient power and splendor ; such, 
 , as that of the doge Cicogna, re- 
 'ersian ambassadors — Pope Alex- 
 idvancjng to meet the doge Se- 
 li, returning from his victory over 
 
 
 A VISIT TO VENICE. 
 
 221 
 
 Frederick Barbarossa — the pop^- presenting a 
 sword to the doge, as he embarks — the return 
 of a doge after his victory over the Genoese 
 —the doge Henry Dandolo (who, at, the age 
 of 97 years, and blind, led the Venetians to 
 the capture of the ancient Byzantium) crown- 
 ing the emperor Bnldovino at Constantinople 
 
 the doge, surrounded by his council, re- 
 
 cinving the deputations of cities otrcring them- 
 selves as voluntary subjects of the republic — 
 imtnnrous battles of the Venetians, etc. To 
 gu/.c on these paintings, most of them the 
 works of great masters — to feel that you are 
 standing on the very spot where many of 
 those memorable scenes occurred — to lo^k out 
 from the windows of the palace on the mole 
 where the embarkation depicted on the canvass 
 took place — to ropeople in imaginatitm the 
 quiet squares beneath you, where in the heat 
 of the day but a few loungers are seen, with 
 those exulting throngs that crowded. in past 
 ages to these grand demonstrations of Venetian 
 glory — these are things that tak^ powerful 
 possession of the soul, and cause it indeed to 
 live in the past. Never before had I so felt 
 the power of historical painting. 
 
 The portraits of one hundred and fifteen 
 doges extend along the upper part of more than 
 one hall. In the place where should have 
 been that of Marino Faliero, is this inscription I 
 on a black ground — " Hie «st locus Marini 
 Fidierii decapitati pro criininibus." The ef- 
 fect of this is most impressive. 
 
 On the place of St. Mark stand three lofty 
 flag-staffs, resting on richly ornamented pedes- 
 tals of bronze. From these were once dis- 
 played the standards of the republic, indicating 
 her dominion over Cyprus, Candia, and the 
 Morea. 
 
 The campanile, or tower of St. Mark, is an 
 isolated square tower near the church. From 
 the top of it I gazed with no common delight 
 on the beautiful city below, the neighboring 
 islands, the blue waters of the Adriatic, and 
 the distant mountains of the Tyrol. When 
 this glorious panorama was spread out before 
 me, beneath that cloudless sky, I felt sure 
 that no city in Italy, no one m the world, 
 could rival the perfect enchantment which its 
 •cenery and its history impart to Venice. 
 
 The contrast between the past glory and 
 present decay of this renowned city is exceed- 
 ingly imoressive. Yet, politically and com- 
 mercially unimportant as she now is, there 
 are many things which to the stranger mate- 
 rially diminish the painful sensations which 
 such a contrast is fitted to produce. The en- 
 during glories of architecture, statuary, and 
 painting, still remain, though the sceptre of 
 pt>wer and pride has departed from Venice. 
 There appear to be, also, far more industry 
 and general comfort here, than in most of the 
 
 other Italian cities. Not only are the crowds 
 that congregate in the evenings at the pinz/a 
 and piazzetta, well dressed and genteel in ap- 
 pearance, but the lower class generally appear 
 in better circumstances than elsewhere in 
 Italy. 
 
 As there were no excursions to be made out 
 of the city, three busy days sufiicrd for very 
 extensive rambling through its narrow streets, 
 as well us for repeated visits to the olijects iif 
 greatest interest. A connoisseur in the (ino 
 arts would indeed wish to spend weeks or 
 months here, but for those who are not so, it 
 is perhaps the best policy to compress in as 
 small compass as possible the pleasure of visit- 
 ing such scene? J to leave them bofoie they 
 have even begun to pall on the sense. To 
 me, Venice will ever be rnchanfed ground, 
 and the glimpse I had of its glories, Ijrief as 
 it was, yet sufficient for vivid impression and 
 enduring remembrance, was a chapter of the 
 purest poetry of life. It might have degen- 
 erated into prose, had I stayed long enough to 
 associate it chiefly with every-dav occurrences 
 and commonplace companions. It so happen- 
 ed that here I was absolutely without ncijuaint- 
 ances, and except at the table d'hote of the 
 hotel, had little occasion to hold intercourse 
 with any one ; and I was precisely in that 
 mood of'mind in which this circumstance was 
 most delightful. The objects around me were 
 eloquent, and I would on no account have had 
 the effect of their eloquence frittered away by 
 ordinary chit-chat. The gorgeous architecture 
 of those time-honored palaces and ternples, and 
 the memory of the stirring events with which 
 many of them are associated, furnished in- 
 exhaustible food for that delicious revery, to 
 which the voluptuous softness of the air, and 
 the repose of all nature beneath that cloudless 
 sky, seemed of themselves to invite. 
 
 Venice is built on about seventy small islands, 
 separated from each other by a great number 
 of canals. The number of'^ bridges crossing 
 these canals is said to be three hundred and 
 six. Even in Amsterdam there are wde 
 streets traversed by light vehicles, and, since 
 the opening of the railway, by one or two 
 omnibuses ; but in Venice, not a horse or car- 
 riage of any kind is to be seen ; the narrow 
 streets, and the bridges, often at an elevation 
 reached by stone steps, are adapted exclusively 
 to pedestrians. Besides the spacious squares 
 (the piazza and piazzetta), adjoiiiing each 
 other, near the church of St. Mark, there are 
 few public places large enough for general re- 
 sort, and accordingly, these constitute the chief 
 promenade. 
 
 The grand canal, far exceeding the rest 
 in width, winds its serpentine way through 
 the city, dividing it into unc(|ual parts. There 
 is but one bridge o\er it, the celebrated Rialto, 
 
 l%- 
 
JB r: 
 
 s 
 
 lip 
 
 322 
 
 A VISIT TO VENICE. 
 
 which thus connects the two groups of islands 
 on which the city is built. A double range 
 of shops extends over this bridge, dividing it 
 intij three parallel streets, generally filled with 
 a gay and laughing throng. The Rialto makes 
 also a fine appearance from the water, being 
 built of stone, and spanning the canal by a 
 single high arch, beneath which the black 
 gondolas are passing and repassing continually. 
 The churoiies of Venice are magnificent m 
 architecture and sumptuous in their decora- 
 tions, enclosing a great number of paintings 
 by the first masters, and many of thetn con- 
 taining vast sepulchral monuments of most 
 elabor ite sculpture, in memory of the doges aiid 
 distinguished nobility of former years. Those 
 erected in honor of distinguished artists are 
 
 Frari, I paused for a long time at the monu 
 ment to Canova, erected in 1827. Its magnifi- 
 cent sculpture is the result of the labors of 
 seven of the most distinguished living Venetian 
 artists, after a model designed by Canova him- 
 self for a sepulchral monument to Titian, who 
 lies interred in the same church, and to whom 
 a monument, just opposite to Canova's, is not 
 yet completed. That to Canova is a pyramid 
 of white marble, with exquisitely sculptured 
 mourning igures ranged on steps leading to a 
 door, representing the opening to a sepulchre. 
 An account cf the last hours of Canova which 
 I had read some years previous, made my visit 
 to his tomb exceedingly interesting. I thought 
 of him an one whose love for the beautiful had 
 not been limited to material forms — whose soul 
 ha<l imbibed a pure and elevating influence 
 from communion with ideal excellence. A 
 peculiar purity and chastencss characterize 
 his works, and are nowhere more conspicuous 
 than in his oelobrated Vemis, which I saw 
 afterward at Florence. 
 
 Of the churches which I visited, except St. 
 Mark's, none seemed to me to surpass that of 
 Sanla Maria della Salute. This gorgeous 
 edifice was built by the republic, then in its ] 
 highest glory, in fulfilment of a vow made on ^ 
 occasion of the plague which in ICSO swept | 
 otr thousands of victims. It stands in a con- j 
 spicuous jtlace not far from St. Mark's, on the ! 
 opposite side of the grand canal, just where 
 the latter opens into tho broad channel. It is 
 most profusely ornamented, coKiprising no 
 fewer than one hundred and twenty-five 
 stotues, besides numerous celebrated paint- 
 ings, and is surmounted by a magnificent 
 dome. 
 
 Not far from this church, on the same bank 
 of the grand canal, is the academy of fine arts, 
 containing a rich collection of jjaintings, chiefly 
 of the Venetian school. The two paintings 
 
 i i ' ■ -■■ •• - 
 
 here that interested me most were the Resur- 
 ruction of Lazarus, and the Death of Rachel. 
 In the latter of these, the bcautiftd fure of her 
 who lies extended on tho couch — the deep 
 grief of Jacob as the wife of his love is ex- 
 pinng — the attitude of Josei)h, and the infant 
 m charge of the nurse— make up a scene in- 
 expressibly touching. 
 
 As an omnibus ride after dinner was not to 
 be had in Venice, I tfH)k, as on excellent snb- 
 stitutc for it, an excursion in a fiondoia. Set- 
 ting off near the pkce of St. Mark, the gon- 
 dolier proceeded leisurely along the canw!, 
 giving me tiixic to u(hnire the palaces on its 
 banks, till, at some distance beyond the ponte 
 Rialto, by one of the numerous canals open- 
 ' ing to the right, we possed through to the 
 ' shallow water on the northern side of the city. 
 i The sun was netting when we reached this 
 1 point, and the view was moat enchanting. 
 I Passing by the arsenal, whose strong walls, 
 flanked by towers, enclose a space nearly two 
 miles in circumference, I stopped a few minutes 
 at the public gardens. When I left the gon- 
 dola, the full moon was shining on one of tho 
 loveliest scenes that can well be imagined. 
 The place of St. Mark, and the adjoining 
 square which fronts on the broad channel, were 
 now filled with promenaders. Hundreds of 
 chairs in front of the cafes were occupied by 
 porties of ladies and gentlemen, refreshing 
 themselves with ices and lemonade, and occa- 
 sionally serenaded by musicians of both sexes, 
 who, after their song was ended, collected a 
 moderate tribute from the audience. In one 
 of the cafes I took np a Paris newspaper 
 which discussed at some length the question, 
 who would be the next president of the United 
 States. It seemed strange to read of " Mon- 
 sieur Welwter de Boston," and "Monsieur 
 Cloy de Kentucky," under the shadow of the 
 doge's palace at Venice. 
 
 The foUowiug evening was the last of my 
 stay. At eight o'clock it was necessary for 
 mc to be at the posta. In compliance with 
 the usual requisition, my baggage had been 
 sent some hours before, I had settled my bill 
 at the hotel, and received tho courteous fare- 
 wells of my landlord, whose English " good- 
 by" hod a very kindly sound, when super- 
 induced ui)on his customary French. 
 
 Once more, and for the fast time, I stood in 
 the piazza, and yielded to the full inspiration 
 of the place and the hour. Every beautiful 
 object was more beautiful beneath the moon- 
 light, and, to heighten the enchantment of the 
 sccni, the band of music connected with the 
 Austrian garrison, numbering at least eighty 
 musicians, with a great variety of instruments, 
 formed a hollow s<]anre in the place of St. 
 Mark, and gave a magnificent serenade. Tk 
 i listen to those strains under the shadow of the 
 
 f¥ 
 
 in. 
 
 - Im 
 
■ested me most were tlie Resiir- 
 ;D.rus, and the Death of Rachel, 
 f these, the beautiftil fare of her 
 nded on the nmeh — the deep 
 > a» the wife of his love is ex- 
 tituile of Joseph, and the infant 
 he nurse— make up a scene in- 
 uching. 
 
 bus ride after dinner was not to 
 lice, I l(K)h, as nn excellent snb- 
 M cxcurswu in a gi/ndola. Set- 
 he pluce (jf St. Mark, the gon- 
 ded leisurely olon^' the canal, 
 le to admire the palaces on its 
 some distance beyond the ponte 
 a of the numerous canals ojjen- 
 ght, we passed through to the 
 ■on the northern side of the city. 
 I netting when we reached this 
 tie view was roost enchanting, 
 he arsenal, whose strong walls, 
 wers, enclose a space nearly two 
 mferencc, I stopped afewmmutes 
 gardens. When I left the gon- 
 moon was shining on one of the 
 ics that can well be imagined, 
 f St. Mark, and the adjoining 
 fronts on the broad channel, were 
 ith promenaders. Hundreds of 
 it of the cafes were occupied by 
 idies and gentlemen, refreshing 
 nth ices and lemonade, and occa- 
 laded by musicians of both sexes, 
 leir song was ended, collected a 
 bute from the audience. In one 
 I took up a Paris newspaper 
 Bed at some length the question, 
 e the next president of the United 
 eemed strange to read of " Mon- 
 :er de Boston," and "Monsieur 
 itucky," under the Bhadow of the 
 .' at Venice. 
 
 viug evening was the last of my 
 ight o'clock it was necessary for 
 the posta. In com[)liance with 
 ;qtiisition, my baggage had been 
 )urs before, I had settled my bill 
 , and received the courteous fare- 
 landlord, whose English " good- 
 very kindly sound, when supcr- 
 n bis customary French. 
 e, and for the Inst time, I stoodin 
 and yielded to the full inspiration 
 '. and the hour. Every beautiful 
 more beautiful beneath the moon- 
 o heighten the enchantment of the 
 land of music connected wth the 
 irrison, numbering at least eighty 
 vith a great, variety of instruments, 
 lollow s(pinre in the place of St. 
 gave a magnificent serenade. To 
 )8e strains ui»der the shadow of the 
 
 VEOKTABLB CUKIOSITIES. 
 
 223 
 
 church of St. Mark and the doge's palace, | 
 wusaUme sufficient to compensate a pilgrimage ^ 
 to that distant city. Reluctantly I tore my- [ 
 self away from this enchanted ground, ami , 
 hastened to the posta, where 1 arrived just in 
 tim«. The mail-boat, which waits for no one, j 
 had received nearly all its passengers, and two ' 
 minutes after I stejjped on board we were in 
 motion. 
 
 Thus I parted from Venice. But there is, 
 indeed, *' no farewell" to such scenes. Neither | 
 Florence, in tlio beautiful and classic vale of 
 the Arm,, nor smiling Naples, with its un- 
 rivalled bay, nor Rome itself, with all its 
 solemn grandeur, distinct and vivid as they 
 are in recollection, has power at all to dimin- 
 ish the charm which memory throws around 
 thai unique and most lovely city, whose moon- 
 light scenery still mingles with the most deli- 
 cious of my waking dreams. — Rex. VV. C. 
 Dana. 
 
 VEGETABLE CURIOSITIES. 
 
 The vegetable kingdom has often supplied 
 the natural theologist, with the most striking 
 and forcible of his illustrations, in proof of 
 the lavish goodness of the Creator. He has 
 sien in its varied productions, the cxhuustl^tiS 
 skill of the All-creative hand ; in the adapta- 
 tion to the wants and necessities of man, his 
 wisdom ; and in the gratifications they i>resent 
 to his eye, and to his taste, the clear evidence, 
 that, while utility has been amply regarded, 
 the enjoyment of the crenture has been c<|ually 
 remembered, and abundantly provided for. 
 With the most of the utilitarian products of 
 this kingdom, we are sufficiently familiar ; 
 but with regard to its more exciuisite gifts, we 
 believe a good deal of ignorance to prevail, 
 which it will be our endeavor, though imper- 
 fectly, to dissipate. 
 
 The Rev. Dr. Walsh, in a paper upon 
 plants, growing in the neighborhood of Con- 
 stantinople, contained in the " Horticultural 
 Transactions," speaks in an interesting man- 
 ner, of several of the gourd tribe, which 
 grow luxuriantly in that district. One of the 
 curious varieties was the cucurbita davifor- 
 mis, or " Jonah's gourd," which is believed to 
 be really that plant, which was caused to 
 grow up over tho head of the prophet in a 
 single night. It forms a beautiful dense ar- 
 bor, through which the rays of even the east- 
 ern sun arc unable to penetrate ; under its 
 shade the Easterns delight to smoke ; while 
 overhead, the singular fruit of the plant 
 hangs down in long, delicate, tempting clubs, 
 somewhat like very stout candles. The fruit 
 
 is not eaten in the uncooked state ; but the 
 central part being scooped out, it is filled with 
 forcemeat, and boiled, forming a very delicate 
 and rclishable repast. Another remarkable 
 gourd ic the •' Turk's turban," the cucurbita 
 ridariformis ; in form, it is like a Inr 'c (piince 
 placeu (m the top of a large melon, i as bear- 
 nii; a pretty close resemblance to a turban. 
 Tlie history of its origin is curious, and more 
 " wonderful than true," as we fear. A gourd 
 was planted in Cum]>ania, near a quince, and 
 an atI(!Ction apporently s|)ringing up between 
 the two, the gourd came to the conclusion of 
 adopting the form of the quince, in addition to 
 its own glossy rotundity, and the result was 
 the form wo have just noticed. It is used as 
 an excellent addition to soups. Another spe- 
 cies is the white, or cucurbita j)epo ; this is 
 found in the markets principally m the winter, 
 and is commonly piled up in heaps, like can- 
 non-balls, or more like pyramids of snow- 
 bulls. Romantic associations attach to this 
 chaste production ; it is presented at every 
 native marriage ceremony to the married pair, 
 and is supposed to insure peace and prosperity 
 to them and to their house. The momordica 
 elaUrium, a member of the same family, is 
 otherwise known as the " s<piirting cucumber," 
 from its possessing the strange property of 
 S(|uirting out its contents, on one of the ends 
 being pulled or touched. It is a common 
 piece of gardener's wit, to refjuest one to take 
 hold of the dangerous end, and if we consent, 
 the face and person are covered with the acrid 
 slimy contents of this vegetable po])gun. 
 Where the plant grows in abundance, they 
 may be heard popping of!" frequently ; and by 
 simply walking near these irritable instru- 
 ments, the jiassenger is often shot in the eyes 
 with great force by them. Some of this tribe 
 occasionally reach an enormous size, particu- 
 larly the munnnoth or American gourd. Among 
 many examples, one is specially recorded as 
 having u:iuined the colossal weight of two 
 hundred and forty-five pounds! a size truly 
 monstrous. 
 
 Among delicious fruits, the tree known as 
 the •' tomberong," produces small berries of a 
 yellow color, and exquisite flavor. These are 
 highly esteemed by the natives, who convert 
 them into o beautiful sort of bread, which, 
 curious to relate, in l)oth coh)r and flavor bear 
 the closest resemblance to our finest ginger- 
 bread. A tree belonging to the natural or- 
 der Assoiynaceee produces a fruit called the 
 "cream-fruit," which is estimated by some, 
 as being the most exquisite fruit in the world. 
 Two are always united togi'ther, and they de- 
 pend from the extremity of a small branch. 
 When wounded they yield a quantity of white 
 juice resembling sugar or the best milk in its 
 taste. For allaying the thirst incident to a 
 
29A 
 
 VEGKTABLE CUU1081TIKS. 
 
 * ,*»' 
 
 troiiiniil climnte tin* fruit is invaluiiMc ; nml j 
 its (l.-fK-ious quality give* it un iipimiprmt.; 
 t-stiiiiiiti(in rn the eyfs of tliD weiiry tnivi'llrr 
 in tlii'sc reizions. Of aiKithcr ciirinrn fruit 
 |,r(Mlurc(l by one of the same tril)i-, Dr. I^iml- 
 Icy writes: "The sapcs of Ccvlim, havinc: 
 demonstrated, os they say, that I'ara.Iise was 
 iti tluit island, and havinij tlierefore fijund it 
 ner(rssary to point out the forbidden fniit ()f 
 liie canien of EiJcii, assure us that it was 
 boi-Tie on a species of thin genus the Divi 
 Ladner of their country. The proof they 
 tuid of rliis discovery, consists in the beau- 
 ty of the fniit, said to be tempting in the fra- 
 crance of the flower, and in Us still bearing 
 the murks of the teeth of Eve. Till the oHence 
 was committed, which brought misery nyum 
 man, we are assured that the fniit was deli- 
 cious ; but froin that time forwani it became 
 poisonous, as it now remains." The fruit of 
 another tree, of the same 8i)ecies atlbnJs a 
 cui.ital substitute for red currant jelly, and 
 one of the celebrated "cow-trees," inhabitants 
 of p(|uatf)rial .\merica, belonsrs to this natural 
 order also. The delicious custanl-api)les of 
 tlui East and West Indies are pro<]uccd by 
 the Aiitna reticulata. It is a small, weakly, 
 branrhtng tree, bearing fruit about the size of 
 a tennis-ball, which is of h dull-brown color. 
 The flesh is said to be of n yellowish color, 
 soft and sweet, being about the consistence, 
 and sharing even much of the flavor of a good 
 custard. Another variety, is a small tree, 
 which bears a fruit of a greenish yellow color, 
 and is tlio size of an artichoke, called the 
 " sweet sop." The skin is half an inch thick, 
 and encloses an abundance of a thick, sweet, 
 luxurious pulp, tasting like clouted cream, 
 mixed with sugar. Rumphius says, that it 
 has in some degree the smell and taste of rose- 
 water, and is so delicious, that one scarcely 
 ever tires of partaking of it. It has a com- 
 plete contrast in the " sour 8op,'| which be- 
 longs to the same species, which is a fruit, of 
 the size of a large pear, alxtunding in a milk- 
 white pulp of a sweetish acid taste. Sir 
 Huns Sloane, in the "Natural History of 
 Jamaica," particularly mentions the alligator, 
 or avocado jjear, the protluct of one of the 
 lacerels ; the fruit is the size of a large pear, 
 iind possesses a rich delicate flavor, not unlike 
 that of the peach; but it is described as being 
 even more grateful. Another curious fruit is 
 that called the " maminee ;" it is round and 
 yellow, and when ripe, the rind peels of, dis- 
 covering the eatable part, which has an acid- 
 ulo saccharine taste, and is of great fragrance. 
 The tree by which it is borne reaches the size 
 of the largest of our oaks. 
 
 Those who are admirers of marmalade (and 
 •we exjJBCt a vast number of our readers are 
 guilty of that indiscretion) will leam with 
 
 some surprise that nature pv^ents the inhabi- 
 tants of Huriniitn, with tl'.-^ i .icle ready con- 
 fecled. The fruit is called he " murmaludc 
 »K)X." It is about the size <.i" a large apple, and 
 is covered with down. At first it is green, 
 but when ripe It becomes brown, and fluri 
 opens into halves like a walnut ; the pulp is 
 of a brownish color, very sweet and tempting, 
 and is eaten by the native;, with »";« irrentest 
 avidity. The Brazilians boast also of a deli- 
 cious fruit, the murucuja, said to be unsur- 
 jjossed in fragrance and flavor, jxtsseising a 
 pulp of a deep yellow, and exhaling a .Ine 
 vinous odor. Yet it must vieU to the for- 
 fnmed niangustin of the Indian archipelago. 
 This exquisite pnnlnction is universally es- 
 teemed, and is alike agreeable to strangers as 
 to the inhobitunts of its native country, whose 
 pride it is. In shape and size it is like a mid- 
 dling apple; it has a thick purplish rind, 
 which surrounds three or four cloves of snow- 
 white pulp, which almost immediately dis- 
 solve. The flavor is extremely rich, yet nev- 
 er luscious, nor palls on the taste ; and the 
 fruit may be eaten almost ad libitum. Dr. 
 Lindley says that an intelligent traveller and 
 his companions, were anxious to bring away 
 with them, mnm precise expression of its fla- 
 vor, but after satisfying themselves that it par- 
 took of the compound taste of the pine-opple 
 and the peach, they were obliged, after of 
 course a series of tastings, to confess that it 
 haj many other e(|ually delicious, but utterly 
 inexpressible flavors. Not only is it grateful 
 to the strong and hearty, but even to the sick, 
 who may eot it with impunity ; and, as if to 
 swell the list of its good attributes, it is related 
 that Dr. Solander was cured of putrid fever 
 by eating it. A more singular, and at first a 
 most uninviting fruit, is the " durian :" it 
 combin >s in a remarkable manner an odor the 
 most disgusting and offensive — creoting an al- 
 most insuperable aversion to the fruit — with a 
 very rich and delicate taste. The tree is de- 
 scribed as being something like a i)ear-tree ; 
 the fruit externally resembles that of the 
 " bread-fruit" tree, the outside being covered 
 with tubercles. AVhen ripe, it contains sev- 
 eral cells, in each of which is a large seed of 
 the size of a pigeon's egg, imbedded in a rich 
 pulp. The taste is very curious, and hns been 
 compared to a dish commonly known in S|)ain, 
 under the name of " mangiar Man," composed 
 of hen's flesh dressed in vinegar. The fruit 
 really appears to portake more of an animal 
 than vegetable nature, and never becomes 
 sickly or closing. The natives are passion- 
 ately fond of it, and when it is to ba procured, 
 live almost wholly on its luxurious cream-like 
 flesh. It is said soon to turn putrid. One 
 durian is worth more than a dozen pine-apples. 
 The rose-apples of the East, have long been 
 
 
 ^^^^5^SI 
 
* 
 
 thot nnfiirp pv^ents tlip inlinlii- 
 (III, with t]\''. I Ac\i' rcnily ri)ri. 
 fruit is nolle. 1 he " miirriinludf; 
 iMit the size <-'" a large npple, nnd 
 h down. At first it is srcm, 
 » it become* brown, nnd flicn 
 ves like o walnut; tin- imlp is 
 color, very sweet nnd teni|ilini», 
 Y the nutivc!. with r'je larredlest 
 
 Brazilians boast also of a deli- 
 e muructtja, said to be unsur- 
 [ranee nnd flavor, p>sses!«inp[ a 
 •p yellow, and exhalinp a .Ine 
 
 Yet it Hiust yield to the far- 
 9tin of the Indian archipelago. 
 » pnnlnction is universally es- 
 1 alike agreeable to strangers as 
 int8 of its native country, whose 
 1 shape and size it is like a niid- 
 
 it has a thick purplish rind, 
 ids three or four cloves of snow- 
 ivhich almost immediately dis- 
 lavor is extremely rich, yet nev- 
 or palls on the taste; and the 
 
 eaten almost ad libitum. Dr. 
 that an intelligent traveller and 
 ns, were anxious to bring away 
 imo precise expression of its fla- 
 sotisfying themselves that it par- 
 impound tasle of the pine-npple 
 :h, they were obliged, after of 
 es of tastings, to confess that it 
 ler e([nally delicious, but utterly 
 flavors. Not only is it grateful 
 and hearty, but even to the sick, 
 ; it with impunity ; and, as if to 
 of its good attributes, it is reloted 
 inder was cured of putrid fever 
 A more singular, and nt first a 
 ing fruit, is the " durian :" it 
 I remarkable manner an odor the 
 ng and offensive — creating an al- 
 ible aversion to the fruit — with a 
 I delicate taste. The tree is de- 
 »ing something like a pear-tree ; 
 iternally resembles that of the 
 " tree, the outside being eovereJ 
 DS. When ripe, it contains sev- 
 each of which is a large seed of 
 
 pigeon's egg, imbedded in a rich 
 ;astc is very curious, and has been 
 a dish commonly known in Spain, 
 ne of " mangia'r hlan" composed 
 h dressed in vinegar. The fruit 
 rs to partake more of an animol 
 ble nature, and never becomes 
 1,'ing. The natives are passion- 
 ■"it, and when it is to be jjrocured, 
 vholly on its luxurious cream-like 
 
 said soon to turn putrid. One 
 rth more than a dozen pine-apples, 
 apples of the East, have long been 
 
 VBOETABLE CURIOSITIES. 
 
 225 
 
 J 
 
 held in esteem, and take a high position among 
 the elegantdelicai-iesof nature. In all res[)cct8, 
 this fruit is u lovely production ; it is borne by 
 a tree called the jambo ; it is about as large 
 as a pear ; externally, it is arrayed ma coat 
 of the most splendid red ; inside, its pulp is ot 
 the loveliest white ; and in perfume and taste 
 it much rcsemliles the r me. Some vaneties 
 of the rose-apple ore so fine, as to be preserved 
 for the king's use alone : a beautiful variety, 
 the jumrosade, is most highly perfumed with 
 rose, while its color is a delicate transporent 
 pink mixed with white. The well-known 
 Kuava, is a fruit belonging to the natural order 
 —the myrtleblooms. One of the chief deli- 
 cacies ot the Indian desert, is the fruit of the 
 mango, the oll'spring of a considerable tree 
 like a walnut. When fresh, it is of an ex- 
 ceedingly delicate, sweet, ond acidulous fla- 
 vor, and foirns pickles and preserves, which 
 are highly esteemed. Some of its vaneties 
 arc us'^large as an infant's head, and exceed 
 two pounds in weight. Sir William Jones, in 
 the " Asiatic Reseorches,'^ mentions a very 
 delicious fruit, known as the malura, which is 
 curious in consequence of its ixjssessing a fro- 
 grance strongly resembling that of the wall- 
 
 The Chinese horticulture has long been 
 famous for its productions, some of which are 
 very anomalous. Marco Polo says, they have 
 some pears of most gigantic sizes ; pears are 
 at all seasons in the Chinese markets, and 
 some api>ear to have been fattened up to a de- 
 gree of obesity that would do good to the 
 eyes of an agricultural prize-breeder. What 
 would be thought in England, of a pear 
 weighing ten pounds, therefore, somewhat ot 
 the size of a Southdown leg of mutton ! Yet 
 such this industrious traveller affirms as a fact, 
 addin-r that they are white in color, melting, 
 and most fragrant in taste. Other authors 
 mention pears of approximate sizes, some 
 measuring neariy sixteen inches m circumfer- 
 ence the long way, and upward of a foot the 
 round way. Their peaches, too, are equally 
 fine ; many of them are of the most beautiful 
 colors and exquisite flavor, nnd some attain 
 enormous sizes. The Chinese gardeners boast 
 of having produced peaches weighing two 
 pounds ; and it is not for us to doubt their 
 assertion, although we know somewhat of the 
 elasticity of the Chinese conscience. They 
 are also said to be possessed of the valuable 
 secret of preserving fruit gathered in October 
 until the succeeding January, in all its beauty, 
 freshness, and flavor. Among other fruits, 
 the "flat peach," well deserves the title of a 
 horticultural curiosity. It is in all respects 
 like a peach, except that it is flattened out in- 
 to a cake ; this fruit is well knowm at Canton ; 
 itt color is a pale yellow ; when cut into, a 
 
 beautifdl circle of pink is seen Borrounding 
 the stone, and radiating into a mass of deli- 
 cately-colored pulp. In the indulgence of 
 their dwarfing propensities, they manufacture 
 for such it is, miniature fruit-trees of various 
 kinds, by the methtxl now become familiar to 
 most persons. Large sums are set on the 
 heods of those diminutive trees, in proportion 
 to their ugliness and their abundance of fruit. 
 Venerable old plum-trees, a f(M)t high, laden 
 with fruit, are without a price ; while finger- 
 fruits, marygoes, peaches, rarambolas, and 
 grapes, come in for subordinate attention. 
 The beautiful orange, the " mondorin," (cit- 
 rus nobilis) one of the recent importations into 
 this country, is remarkable for having a deep 
 crimson rind when rific, which is <piite detach- 
 ed from the fruit. " The whole," writes Sir 
 J. F. Davis, •' has a flattish aspect, and is 
 sometimes four or five inches in diameter ; and 
 the loose skin, when broken, opens like a puff- 
 ball, disclosing the juicv lobes surrounded with 
 a kind of network of fibres." The celebra- 
 ted finger-fruit comes very manifestly into our 
 category, and is a curious result of an ingeni- 
 ous horticulture. It is a peculiar kind of cit- 
 rus, which by some means or other, is made 
 to run entirely into rind, the whole terminating 
 at the head in several long narrow processes 
 like fingers: it has hence been named, "Fo 
 show," or the hand of Fo. Its (xlor is very 
 powerful, but is considered as very fine. " So 
 entirely, however, is this strange production 
 the reuult of art, operating upon nature, that 
 it does not appear a second time after the plant 
 had been purchased." The Chinese have also 
 some curious oranges, known as the homed 
 oranges, from the circumstance of a number 
 of little hom-Jike processes projecting from its 
 upper end. It may be mentioned in connexion 
 with these plants, that the pnKluctiveness of 
 the orange, is something quite enormous. A 
 single tree at St. Michael's has been known to 
 prmluce 20,000 oranges fit for packing, exclu- 
 sively of about one third more of damaged 
 fruit. Mr. Fortune supplies a curious account 
 of the production of "vegetable tallow." 
 The seeds of the tallow-tree, after having 
 been steamed and bruised, are heated over the 
 fire ; the tallow is thus completely separated, 
 but it looks like coarse linseed-meal ; subject- 
 ed to expression, it exudes in a semi-fluid 
 state, and beautifully white, soon hardening, 
 and becoming solid. It is then made into 
 cakes, and exposed for sale in the markets, tor 
 the manufacture of candles ; but as these are 
 apt to get soft, they are often dipped in wax 
 of various colors, and sometimes are finely 
 ornamented. But this is a subject with an 
 unconquerable tendency to expansion : let us 
 therefore, having gone thus far, take a hasty 
 leave of it at once. 
 
 I 
 
■T' 
 
 ^ h- 
 
 5 W 
 
 226 
 
 MEMOIH OF LOUIS FHILIFPB. 
 
 MEMOIR or LOUIS PHILIPPE. 
 
 The cx-king of the French was born in 
 Paris, October fith, 1773, and con(i(!(|uently is 
 now in his 7.')th year. Ho gucc(;ed(Ml to the 
 title of duke of Orleans in 1703, ttfltr the death 
 of iiis father, Philippe Egalitc, who, it is well 
 known, sulli-reil l)y the guillotine in the san- 
 guinary doys of the revolution. The Orleans 
 branch of thi' Hnurlion family, of which Louis 
 Philippe ia now the hcud, originated in Phil- 
 ippe, a younger son of Louis XIIL, created 
 (luke of Orleans l>y his elder brother, Louis 
 XIV. The first duke of Orleans was twice 
 married, his second wife being Elizabeth 
 Charlotte, of Bohemia, grand -daughter of 
 James I., of England ; thus connecting the 
 houses of Orleans and Stuart, from the Tatter 
 of whom the queen of England, Victoria, is 
 descended. 
 
 For many years, Louis Philippe was exiled 
 from France"! travelling in various countries 
 of Europe, and visiting the United States in 
 his exile. While in Switzerland he engaged 
 08 a teacher in an ocademy for eight months, 
 being then tv. onty years of ago. It is a mis- 
 toke, however, that ho ever taught school in 
 the United States, as is generally 8U|)|x>sed. 
 
 He arrived in this country in November, 
 1796, and was joined by his two brothers, the 
 three spending some time with General Wash- 
 ington, at Mount Vernon, by iuvitstion, pre- 
 vious to makii»g a journey tlirough the west- 
 em country. After a tour to the lakes and 
 the falls of Niagara, the princes returned U) 
 Philadelphia, where they residedafewmonths. 
 Having dt.'terniined to join their mother in 
 Spain, the princes determined to go thither by 
 way of New Orleans and Havana. For that 
 purpose they again crossed the mountains of 
 Pittsburg, and descending the Ohio and Mis- 
 sissippi river in a boat, arrived at New Orleans 
 in February, 1798. Being refused a passage 
 to Spain from Havana, whither they went 
 from New Orleans, they sailed to Ne-v York, 
 whence an English i)acket carried them to 
 Falmouth, at which place they arrived in 
 February, 1800. The princes then took up 
 their residence on the banks of the Thames, 
 at Twickenham. They received much atten- 
 tion from the English nobility. They made 
 a voyage to the island of Minorca, a passage 
 being given them in a frigate by the British 
 government; but finding no opportunity of 
 passing thence to Spain, which was then in a 
 convulsed state, they returned to England, 
 and resided for some years at Twickenham. 
 The duke of Orleans nad the misfortnne to 
 lose both his brothers while in exile. The 
 duke of Moiitpensier died in England, in 1807, 
 and his remains were interred in Westminster 
 
 abbfy. The Count Beaujofois died at Mnl- 
 ta, whith':r his brother accomparied him in 
 1808. 
 
 From Malta. Louis Philipjie went to Sicily, 
 and accepteil an invitation from Ferdinand, 
 the king of Sicily, to visit the royal fomily at 
 Palermo. During his residence there, he 
 gained the atfections of the Princess Amelia, 
 tile second daught(!r of the king, and the con- 
 sent of Ferdinand and the duchess of Orleans, 
 who had joined her son in Sicily, their mar. 
 riage took place in November, 1809. By this 
 lady, late queen of the French, Louis Philippe 
 has had eight children, of whom six still sur- 
 vive, viz.: — 
 
 1. Louisa, queen f Belgium (wife of Leo- 
 pold), bom 1812. 
 
 2. Louis, duke of Nemours, bom 1814, mar- 
 ried Victoria Aumista, of Coburg, cousin of 
 Prince Albert. 
 
 3. Maria Clementina, bom 1817, unmarried. 
 
 4. Francis, Prince de Joinville, bom 1818, 
 admiral of the French navy, married Francis- 
 ca, a sister of the emperor of Brazil, and of 
 the (lueen of Portugal. 
 
 •i. Henry, Duke d'Aumale, bora 1822, 
 married to Carolina, cousin of the king of the 
 Two Sicilies. 
 
 6. Anthony, duke of M> mtpensier, bom 1824, 
 morried a sister of the ([uecn of Spain. 
 
 The oldest son of Louis Philippe was Fer- 
 dinand, duke of Orleons, bom 1' 10, killed by 
 jumping from his carriage, July, 1842. He 
 married in 1837, Helena, danehter of the 
 grand-duke of Mecklcnburg-Scnwerin — by 
 whom he had two children, viz., Louis Phil- 
 ippe (count of Paris) born 1838, and now ten 
 years of age, and R(}bert Philippe, duke of 
 Ghartres, bom 1840. 
 
 At Palermo, Louis Philippe remained after 
 his marriage, until 1814, when on the restora- 
 tion of the Bourbons, he rejiaired to Paris, and 
 was restored to his rank and honors. The 
 retum of Napoleon from Elba, in 1815, broke 
 up his orrangements, find he sent his family 
 to England, where he joined them, and again 
 took up his residence at Twickenham. 
 
 On the restoration of Louis XVIII., the 
 duke returned to France, in September, 1815, 
 and took his seat in the chamber of peers. 
 The Iwge estates to which he was entitled 
 by inhentance being restored to him, he de- 
 voted his attention princi]>ally to the education 
 of his family. His opulence enabletl him to 
 become the protector of the fine arts, and the 
 patron of letters, and few men in France were 
 more popular during the career of the Bourbons. 
 He was unexpiectedly callet! from private life 
 by the revohition of the three days in Jnly» 
 1830, when, on the abdication of Charles X., 
 the chamber of deputies offered him the crown, 
 which he accepted on the 9th of August, 
 
(lunt neaujofaia dind at MnU 
 brother accuinpai'icd him in 
 
 Lnuid Philippe wont to Sinily, 
 n invitation from Ferdinand, 
 ly, to visit the royal family at 
 •iiig his residnnco thnrc, he 
 ti()u» of the Princes Amelia, 
 hter of the king, and the con- 
 id and the diieheM of Orleans, 
 her son in Sicily, their mar- 
 in November, 1809. By this 
 of the French, Loiiis Phdippe 
 lildrcn, uf whom six still sur- 
 
 sen f Belgium (wife of Leo- 
 
 e of Nemours, bom 1914, mar- 
 ugiista, of Coburg, cousin of 
 
 nentinn, br)m 1917, unmarried, 
 rince de Joinvillc, bom 1819, 
 rench navy, morried Francis- 
 he emperor of Brazil, and of 
 trtuj^al. 
 
 >uko d'Aumole, bom 1922, 
 ilina, cousin of the king of the 
 
 nkeof M.mtpcn8ier,bom 1824, 
 of the queen of Spain, 
 in of Louis Philippe was Fer- 
 Orleans, bom 1' 10, killed by 
 lis cnrriiige, July, 1842. He 
 17, Helena, dauehter of the 
 Mecklcnburg-Scli werin — by 
 vo children, viz., Louis Phil- 
 i*aris) born 1938, and now ten 
 id Robert Philippe, duke of 
 1940. 
 
 Louis Philii)pe remained after 
 itil 1814, when on the restora- 
 bons, he rej)aired to Paris, and 
 J his rank and honors. The 
 eon from Elba, in 1815, broke 
 [lenta, nnd he sent his family 
 ere he joined them, and again 
 dence at Twickenham, 
 •ration of Louis XVIII., the 
 o France, in September, 1815, 
 eat in the chambf' of peers, 
 tes to which he was entitled 
 being restored to him, he de- 
 ion princi|»ally to the edui'iition 
 
 His opulence enabTetl him to 
 lector of the fine arts, and the 
 S and few men in France were 
 iring the career of the Bourbons, 
 sctedly called from private life 
 an of the three days in JulVt 
 
 the abdication of Charles X., 
 deputies offered him the crown, 
 jptcd on the 9th of August, 
 
 MBUOia OF LOUIS PHILIPFB. 
 
 827 
 
 18.10, and adopted the stylo and title of Louit 
 Philippe, kinff of thf. Frtnch. 
 
 The ex-king was a handsome man when 
 young ; hi^ frame is now bulky, but there is 
 much case in his manners. He is ready in 
 conversation, and was always remarkable afla- 
 ble to all. 
 
 Besules the young count of Pans, grandson 
 to the ex-king, there are two other claimants 
 to the FrenrJi throne at this time, namely : 
 first, the young duke of Bordeaux, son of tlie 
 Duke de Herri, and grandson to the late kinp, 
 Charies X., who was the elder branch of the 
 Bourl)on fuinilv. and brother of Louis XVI. 
 and Louis XVIII. Charies X., it will be 
 recollected, was deposed in 1830. 
 
 Second, Louis Napoleon, son of the late 
 Louis Bonaparte, who was for awhile king 
 of Holland. The mother of this prince was 
 Hort'-usc, daughter of Josephine, first wife of 
 the Emperor Napoleon. 
 
 The claims of neither of these two princes 
 seem to be worth much now; the only chance, 
 if a republic be not permanently established, 
 is probably for the young count of Paris, under 
 the regency -A his mother, the duchess of 
 Orieans, who is now thirty-four years of age. 
 In connexion with the preceding article we 
 present our readers with some very interesting 
 details respecting the flight of the ex-king and 
 queen of the French, and their safe arrivol and 
 scjoum at Newhaven, England. The ac- 
 companying engravings were made by artists 
 on the spot, and may be depended upon for 
 cotrectness. 
 
 A farmer procured dis^ises for the royal 
 party previously to leaving the chateau at 
 Dreux, the king habiting himself in an old 
 cloak and cap, having first shaved his whis- 
 kers, discarded his wig, and altogether dis- 
 guised himself so as to defy recognition. Long 
 before daylight, they started on they way to 
 La Ferte Vidame: taking the road of Evreux, 
 twelve to fifteen leagues from Honfleur. They 
 travelled chiefly by night, and reached Hon- 
 fleur at five o'clock on Saturday morning. 
 They remained at Honfleur, in the house of 
 a gentleman whom the king knew, for a short 
 tinae, and then crossed to Tronville, a short 
 distance from the town. It was their inten- 
 tion to embark at Tronville, but owing to the 
 boisterous state of the weather they were com- 
 pelled to remain at the latter place two days, 
 when finding they could not set sail, they re- 
 turned to Honfleur, with the intention of em- 
 barking at that place ; but the sea still (con- 
 tinued very rough, and the king fearing that 
 the queen in her exhausted condition would be 
 unable to bear the fati^e of a rough passage, 
 deferred his departure till the weather changed 
 on Thursday. In the meantime information 
 1 was secretly conveyed to the express, South- 
 
 ampton steam-packet, that they would be ro- 
 (|uircd to take a party from Havre In England. 
 On Thursday iftenuHMi, the gentleman who 
 sheltered the dethroned monarch ond his con- 
 sort at Honfleur, engaged a Fren.h fishing- 
 boat to convey the party from Honfleui to 
 Havre ; and, fearing that in his small vessel 
 the features of the king might be recogtiised, 
 the gentlemon engaged an interpreter to inter- 
 pret Fn^nch to the king, who, to render his 
 disguise more complete, passed as un English- 
 man. Nothing of moment transpired on the 
 passage to Havre where the exjiress wiis wait- 
 ing with her steam up ; and at nine o'clock on 
 Thursday evening, the royal fugitives and 
 suite set sail for England. 
 
 A little before seven on Friday morning, 
 the express steamer arrived off' Newhaven 
 harbor. Here she lay to, and her command- 
 er. Captain Paul, pulled off for shore in a 
 boat wth General Dumas, who proceeded to 
 the bridge inn, to bespeak accommodation for 
 the voyagers. Having made due arrange- 
 ments, he started for London, leaving the 
 hostess in perfect ignorance as to the lank of 
 her expected guests. The captain returned 
 to his ship shortly after. About eleven o'clock 
 a boat pulled up ..o the shore, containing un 
 elderiy gentleman attired in an old green 
 blouse and travelling-cap, and a rough great 
 coat ; a lady of similar age, plainly dressed in 
 a black bonnet, and checked bluck and white 
 cloak, attended by a young femole ; and three 
 other persons. 
 
 The royal party having landed, were con- 
 ducted by Mr. Sims the distance of two hun- 
 dred yards, where a fly was in waiting, into 
 which the king and queen, with the female 
 attendant, had 8tep|»ed, and were about to 
 proceed, when Mr. Sims involuntarily betray- 
 ed his recognition, and exclaimed " Welcome 
 to England, King Louis Philippe ! welcome, 
 welcome 
 
 The party were then conducted by Mr. 
 Sims to the "Bridge Inn, where every prepara- 
 tion had been made by Mrs. Smitb to secure 
 the comfort of her anticipated but unknovra 
 guests. The truth, however, was immediate- 
 ly disclosed, and the worthy hostess, her 
 daughter and assistants, comfirmed the wel- 
 come which had already been pronounced, 
 and conducted the royal exiles up- stairs. On 
 reaching their apartment, the emotions of the 
 worn-out and harassed travellers overpowered 
 them, and found vent in a flood of tears. 
 
 The accommodations of the Bridge Inn are 
 not so limited as has been stated. The royal 
 party, which consisted of seven persons, oc- 
 cupied two sitting and six bed-rooms, inde- 
 pendent of a large room sixty feet in length 
 which was appropriated to the attendants. 
 The sitting-room occupied by their majesties w 
 
 wm 
 
I 
 
 I*' 
 
 The Bridge Hotel, Newhtven. 
 
 about twenty feet long by fifteen wide, having 
 a large bow window, affording additional space. 
 
 Tiie news of the royal arrival soon spread 
 among the i«ihabitant». Immediately on re- 
 cciviiic; the intelligence, Mr. Catt, of Bishop- 
 stone (who bad the honor of an introduction 
 to Louis Philippe at the Chateflu d'Eu some 
 two years ago), repaired to the Bridge Inn. 
 The king at once recognised Mr. Catt, and 
 received his congratulations on his escape with 
 much emotion, shaking hands with him with 
 great empressement, and expressing the most 
 undisguised pleasure at meeting with him. 
 In the course of conversation the ex-king ex- 
 claimed, " Ah, Mr. Catt, we have had a fear- 
 ful time of it We have been eight days in 
 flight, and huve been, it may be said, within 
 two hours of liting murdered. But, thank 
 God, here we are safe on vour hospitable 
 shores." He also added, "It is not the first 
 time, Mr. Catt, that I have experienced the 
 ^onerous hospitality of England. I am always 
 proud to come to' England." On Mr. Catt 
 prollering the use of his house, Louis Philippe 
 declined the otFer, expressing his thanks, but 
 observing, " The gwKl people of the inn have 
 done everythinij to render us comfortable, and 
 we shall do extremely well." Mr. Elphick 
 and Mr. Cole had, in a like spirit, both volun- 
 teered to place their residences at the disposal 
 of the king and suite. 
 
 The royal party comprised, in addition to 
 the king and queen, a female German attend- 
 
 ant on her majesty, a confidential valet, a pri- 
 vate secretary (M. Pauline, qfficier d'ordon. 
 nance), and two other gentlemen. Consider- 
 able secrecy was at first observed as to the 
 names and rank of the retinue, who, however, 
 have since proved to be Generals Dumas and 
 Rumigny, M. Thuret, the king's orivate valet, 
 and Mdle. Muser, attendant on the queen. 
 
 _We omitted to state that in the mterview 
 with Mr. Catt, his majesty inquired for Mr. 
 Packham, and finding that he was at Brighton, 
 expressed his joy that he waa safe in England, 
 and his wish that he should be sent for, which 
 waa accordingly complied with. 
 
 One of the first steps taken by Louis Philippe 
 after his arrival at the inn was to write a letter 
 to her majesty Queen Victoria, which he in- 
 trusted to Mr. Irons (the active secretary of 
 the Brighton railway and continental steam- 
 packet company), who had waited on him, 
 and offered, on behalf of the company, every 
 facility of transit. Mr. Irons immediat.-ly 
 started on his mission: leaving directions in 
 passing through Lewes, that a special train 
 should be sent down to Newhaven, to be 
 placed at the disposal of the royal exiles. 
 
 In the course of the morning, several of tha 
 inhabitants at Newhaven paid th'^ir resper-ta 
 to his majesty, and offered their services ll 
 various ways. On Mr. Packham's arrival, he 
 was charged to proceed to Brighton, in order 
 there to repair the deficiencies of the royal 
 wardrobe ; " for," said the ex-monafch pithily 
 
 Mi 
 
[itial valet, a prt- 
 ojpcier d'oraori' 
 men. Consider- 
 served as to the 
 % who, however, 
 >ral8 Dumas and 
 g'fl private valet, 
 an tne nueen. 
 in the interview 
 inquired for Mr. 
 was at Briphton, 
 safe in England, 
 e sent for, which 
 th. 
 
 y Louis Philippe 
 9 to write a letter 
 ia, which he in- 
 ive secretary of 
 ntinental steam- 
 waited on him, 
 company, every 
 ans immediat ly 
 ing directions in 
 t a special train 
 ewhaven, to be 
 royal exiles, 
 ig, several of the 
 id th"iir respect! 
 their services Im 
 ham's arrival, he 
 righton, in order 
 des of the royal 
 -monarch pithily 
 
 J 
 
 iM 
 
 M 
 
*l 
 
 230 
 
 MEMOIR OF LOUIS PHILIPPE. 
 
 to Mr. Pankliam, "we are very short of 
 clothes." The king also handed over to him 
 several hags of silver coin, for the purpose of 
 gcttin? it changed into English money. 
 
 In the course of the afteniofin the editor of 
 the Sussex Advertiser was honored with a 
 I>rivate interview with Louis Philippe and 
 his august consort. " We found," says the 
 editor, in his journal of Tuesday, "Louis 
 Philippe dressed plainly in black, without his 
 wig, Olid looking cheerful and refreshed. The 
 queen, however (who was sitting at a side 
 tnble), appeared much worn and fatigued. 
 The ex-kins: intimated his wish that the names 
 of his attendants should not transpire, observ- 
 ing how desirous he was not to compromise 
 in the eyes of their countrymen those faithful 
 friends who had exposed themselves to danger 
 for his sake in the hour of peril and need. In 
 this feeling the queen shared. 
 
 " In alluding to recent events, his majesty 
 pointedly disclaimed any feelings of animosity 
 or resentment against those who had helped 
 to hurl him from the lofty position he had 
 lately wcupied. His observations on this 
 point were made with a calm and dignified 
 composure of voice and manner, which certain- 
 ly gave the strongest impress of sincerity and 
 truth. Without attempting to exculpate either 
 one party or the other, it may be truly said 
 that, had a far different tone pervaded the ob- 
 servations of the dethroned monarch, the mo- 
 ment and the occasion might well have been 
 pleaded in excuse. During this most interest- 
 ing interview, there were no other persons 
 preseiit save General Rumigny. It was an 
 interview not easily to be forgotten." 
 
 During the afternoon, several gentlemen had 
 the honor of an interview ; among others, G. 
 Molineux, Esq., and the Rev. Dr. Gary, of 
 Lewes. On learning the name of the fonner, 
 the ex-king, after replying to that gentleman's 
 congratulations on his safe arrival, observed 
 that " he well remembered that name of Mr. 
 Molineux, when at Lewes many years ago." 
 Soon after this, a special tram arrived at 
 Newhaven, conveying the Hon. Captain 
 Hotham (one of the directors), who immedi- 
 ately had an interview with Louis Philippe, 
 and despatched for town a letter Queen Amelia 
 hail written to Queen Victoria. The royal 
 party then resolved not to quit Newhaven 
 until next day. 
 
 Toward eight o'clock, General Dnmas ar- 
 rived at the An from the town, accompanied 
 by Count de Jarnac, of the French embassy, 
 who had an interview with the king. At a 
 later hour, Mr. Irons returned from London, 
 having delivered his despatch to Prince Albert, 
 and being charged with a private message from 
 her majesty, through Prince Albert, for the 
 exiled monarch. 
 
 On Saturday morning, before eight o'clock, 
 several ladies and gentleman had arrived, 
 anxious to pay their respects to the royal 
 party. Among these were Mr. Lawrence and 
 Lady Jane Peel, and the Rev. T. Cooke, 
 with Miss Augusta Otway, who came from 
 Brighton ; and the Rev. Mr. Brookman and 
 his lady, of Rottingdean. Count Duchatel, 
 minister of the interior, who also arrived from 
 the Bedford hotel, Brighton, had "an audience 
 of his royal master. Large parties likewise 
 arrived from Brighton and Lewes ; and an 
 ddress from the latter place was presented by 
 a deputation, headed by Edward Bhiker, Esq. 
 Toward ten o'clock, a number of ladies had 
 assembled in the large room of the inn, whither 
 the king proceeded to pay his respects. The 
 royal party then prepared to take their de- 
 parture, but their progress down stairs was 
 intercepted at every step by fresh comers. 
 In the passage were stationedf the scholars of 
 the Lewes free grammar-school, on whose 
 behalf the Rev. Dr. Cary (principal) presented 
 two addresses, one in Latin and the other in 
 French, bearing the signatures of the pupils. 
 His majesty received these marks of youthful 
 attachment and sympathy most graciouslj', 
 and having placed himself in front of his young 
 auditors, addressed a few sentences to them 
 expressive of his appreciation of the feeling 
 which had prompted them to approach him', 
 and assuring them he would read and retain 
 the addresses they had presented to him in his 
 misfortunes. This concluded, the signal for 
 departure was given, and the king, assisted 
 by the Count de Jamac, and her majesty, con- 
 ducted by the honorable Captain Hotham, and 
 followed by Generals Dumas, and Rumigny, 
 M. Pauline, M. Thuret, and Mdle. Muser, 
 descended the stairs as quickly as the crowd 
 permitted. Just before leaving, the king em- 
 phatically conveyed his thanks to Mrs. Smith, 
 the landlady ; and the queen, who had been 
 attended by Miss Skinner and Miss F. Stone, 
 of Newhaven, embraced them, thanking them 
 for their attention ; the king shaking hands 
 with them, and adding his earnest thanks. 
 
 The royal party then proceeded to the rail- 
 way station, and at eleven the train took its 
 departure. At quarter past twelve the train 
 reached the Croydon station, where they 
 were joined by the duke and duchess of Ne- 
 mours, and thence the royal party proceedpd oy 
 carriage to Claremout, where tiey at present 
 remain. 
 
 The town of Newhaven lies on the Sussex 
 coast, seven miles south from Lewes, four 
 miles west of Seaford, and nine east from 
 Brighton. It has a good ridal harbor (the 
 Ouse), capable of great improvement, having 
 considerable natural advantages, and situate 
 midway between Portsmouth and Dover. 
 
ire eight o'clock, 
 an had arrived, 
 ct8 to the royul 
 fr. Lawrence and 
 Rev. T. Coolte, 
 who came from 
 '. Brookman and 
 ^qunt DuchAtpl, 
 also arrived from 
 had an audience 
 parties likewise 
 Lewes ; and an 
 was presented by 
 ard Blaker, Esq. 
 ler of ladies had 
 the inn, whither 
 I respects. The 
 3 take their de- 
 lown stairs was 
 Y fresh comers. 
 I the scholars of 
 hod, on whose 
 icipal) presented 
 ,nd the other in 
 a of the pupils, 
 arks of youthful 
 tiost praciouslj', 
 ront of his young 
 itences to them 
 1 of the feeling 
 I approach him, 
 read and retain 
 ;ed to him in his 
 i, the signal for 
 e king, assisted 
 er majesty, con- 
 in Hotham, and 
 and Rumigny, 
 Mdle. Muser, 
 'y as the crowd 
 g, the king em- 
 I to Mrs. Smith, 
 who had been 
 Miss F. Stone, 
 thanking them 
 shaking hands 
 lest thanks, 
 ded to the roil- 
 3 train took its 
 welve the train 
 I, where they 
 Juchess of Ne- 
 ;v proceeded oy 
 tney at present 
 
 i on the Sussex 
 I Lewes, four 
 line east from 
 al harbor (the' 
 ement, having 
 es, and situate 
 md Dover. 
 
232 
 
 LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 
 
 LEOTURES ON ASTEONOMT.-No. 5. 
 
 BY PROFESSOR 0. M. HITCBELU 
 
 If it wero possible for me to transport you 
 to the distance of ninety millions of miles in 
 a directum passing through the sun's an- 
 nual truck, and could there locate you, your 
 sight would in a short time be greeted with 
 a most wonderful and sublime exhibition. 
 You would see approaching you a mflgnificent 
 world, rapidly whirling upon its own axis. 
 Around this vast central orb you would find a 
 number of beautiful rings of fight: these, too, 
 would be seen to be whirling around with sur- 
 prising velocity. On the outside of this again 
 you would mark, as the object approached 
 nearer and nearer, no less than seven sub- 
 ordinate worlds sweeping around the great 
 central orb and with it rolling through space. 
 This is the planet Saturn with its rings and 
 mfK)ns ; and it is to this object I propose,' pri- 
 marily, to call your attention. It is the most 
 distant of all the old planets known to the an- 
 cients, its period is the longest, and its move- 
 ment the slowest and most majestic. Up to 
 the time of the discovery of the telescope, the 
 wonderful characteristics which mark this ob- 
 ject were unknown, but when Galileo direct- 
 ed his space-annihilating tube to its investiga- 
 tion he announced to the world that he found 
 Saturn to be triple — that there were what he 
 conceived to be two globes attached to the 
 main botly, one on the right and the other on 
 the left. But these were only the projections 
 of those mighty rings standing oblique to the 
 line of vision, and seen imperfectly through 
 his glass which magnified but twenty or thirty 
 times. They appeared to him to be projec- 
 tions or globes attached to opposite sides of 
 the main body of the planet. As the telescope 
 was improved, these projections had their true 
 character revealed, and it was seen that a flat 
 annulus, or ring, passed entirely around the 
 globe of the planet and was separated by a 
 certain amount of distance. As the power of 
 the telescope was increased, and more minute 
 investigations were made, it was found that 
 the broad ring was divided into two rings; 
 and in modern times, within the last few years, 
 by the aid of the mighty telescopes now en- 
 gaged in astronomical mvestigations, it has 
 been ascertained that the outer of these rings 
 is again divided, and there are no less than 
 three which encircle the jilanet. The satel- 
 lites were not discovered till long after the 
 time of Galileo. In the year 1655, we learn, 
 one of them was seen ; and shortly afttr f^ur 
 more were announced. Then Sir William 
 Herschel, with his forty-foot reflector, detects 
 the two minute bodies tnat seem to cling close- 
 ly to the edge of the ring and are scarcely e--er 
 
 visible in consequence of the intense light 
 thrown out by the planet. Here, then, we 
 have three rings and seven satellitCH, or moons, 
 which belong to this most wonderful sphere: 
 and remember that all these are sweeping 
 with the planet through space, and as it wluels 
 its circle about the sun, they move regularly 
 with it, obedient entirely to its control. IJut 
 what are these mighty rings? The exterior 
 diameter of the outer one is no less than 
 177,800 miles, their breadth, measured entire- 
 ly across both rings, is 30,000 miles, and their 
 thickness is one hund red miles. How strange- 
 ly are they constituted ! how wonderfully are 
 they poised in space! We can understand 
 the original movement of all the planets with 
 the exception of Saturn ; we can form some 
 idea how ...is earth, which we know to be 
 globular, might have been projected by the 
 hand of Omnipotence, and caused to revolve 
 in its orbit about the sun; but how was it 
 that these stupendous rings were hurled in 
 such a manner as to acquire that stability of 
 movement which holds them steady to the 
 action of the central planet, and at the same 
 time rolls them onward through space with 
 the immense velocity with which they move ? 
 This [wrtion of our system baffles all ■- c- 
 ture : it rises entirely above the cor.. - ' ?.. 
 sion of the human mind. While i e 
 
 some rough approximation to the nv,,'!< < u3 to 
 how the other planete might have been launch- 
 ed in space, we can form no conception of the 
 manner in which this one was started in its 
 career. 
 
 But what are these mighty rings? Are 
 they merely a mass of light ? Are they pro- 
 jections of the atmosphere belonging to the 
 planet ? Are they portions flung out by the 
 centrifugal force, and thus in some sense held 
 steady m their position?— Arer they solid 
 bodies? I answer; they are solid bodies, 
 and of the same material that composes the 
 body of the planet. 
 
 But how do we know this? In the first 
 place, we know them to be solid because, as 
 the planet with its rings passes between us 
 and distant groups of stars, such stars are first 
 occulted by these rings. In the next place, 
 they are not transparent in any degree, because 
 of the fact that at the distance of nine hundred 
 millions of miles we are able to mark the space 
 of the shadows cast by these rings on the bfxly 
 of the planet. Night after night, month after 
 month, and now almost year after year, have 
 I watched with my own eyes the phases of 
 these wonderful shadows. They are deep 
 and dark, much blacker than any shadow vou 
 find c^st upon the surface of the earth. " 
 
 But agam, they are able to exhibit the same 
 characteristics themselves, and in certain ])osi- 
 tions we find the light of the sun falling upon 
 
 
of the intonfie lipht 
 net. Here, then, we 
 :n satellites, or miions, 
 >.st wonderful sphere: 
 these are sweepina 
 pace, and as it wheel.'* 
 they move regularly 
 yr to its control. But 
 ■ings? The exterior 
 one is no less than 
 dth, measured cntire- 
 D.OOO miles, and their 
 miles. How strange- 
 how wonderfully are 
 We con understand 
 F all the planets with 
 ; we can form some 
 lich we know to be 
 sen projected by the 
 id caused to revolve 
 un; but how was it 
 ings were hurled in 
 lire that stability of 
 them steady to the 
 net, and at the same 
 through 8j)ace with 
 ;h which they move ? 
 ^m baffles all < ■ c- 
 love the corr^, •'-.vv. 
 i. While :-..:;e 
 
 jn to the nv.,'i( ■( ua to 
 ;ht have been launch- 
 no conception of the 
 le was started in its 
 
 mighty rings? Are 
 ght J Are they pro- 
 -■re belonging to the 
 ma flung out by the 
 19 in some sense held 
 7 — Arer they sf*lid 
 y are solid bodies, 
 I that composes the 
 
 f this? In the first 
 be solid because, as 
 I passes between us 
 8, such stars are first 
 In the next place, 
 I any degree, because 
 ance of nine hundred 
 lie to mark the space 
 sse rings on the bwly 
 ?r night, month after 
 ear after year, have 
 eyes the phases of 
 8. They are deep 
 lian any shadow you 
 I of the earth, 
 3 to exhibit the same 
 », and in certain posi- 
 the sun falling upon 
 
 LECTURES ON ABTRONOHY. 
 
 233 
 
 the body of the planet, which casts a shadow 
 npon the broad surface of these rings; and 
 though we have the same blackness as before, 
 here is the distinct shadow cast by the planet 
 upon the ring. Now, as we watch them at- 
 tentively, we find invariably that these shad- 
 ows depend upon the position of the sun and 
 certain jwaitions of the planet and rings. Just 
 as the shadows which are cast upon the sur- 
 face of the earth depend upon the position of 
 the source of light, so do these ; and they 
 follow with the same precision and accuracy the 
 movement of the source of light that shadows 
 do upon the earth, and hence we can not be 
 deceived. 
 
 The space by which the interior ring is 
 separated from the body of the planet is no 
 less than twenty thousand miles, and the 
 breadth of the ring is about ten thousand miles 
 before we reach that space which separates 
 it from the next ring, and so onward till we 
 pass the outer one, of which I have just 
 spoken. 
 
 Now how is it that these rings are hf^ld 
 stable ? How is it that they, detached from 
 the body of the planet, are carried with that 
 planet through space ? The stability of the 
 rings of Saturn is perhaps one of the most 
 difficult and perplexing problems for the as- 
 tronomer, and I would do injustice to the sub- 
 ject were I to pass over it without attempting 
 to give some notion of this singular problem. 
 And before I begin, permit me to explain the 
 fact that there are three different kinds of 
 er^uilibrium — for . ' understanding of this 
 will be involve > ^- 'erstanding of the ex- 
 planation which 1 urn about to make. I will 
 attempt to exhibit these three different kinds 
 of e(|uilibrium by the simplest possible ex- 
 planation. If I were to suspend a rod from 
 the top, and cause it to vibrate as a pendulum, 
 it would finally stop of itself. Here is an 
 equilibrium of stability. Why ? Because if 
 I move it ever so little to the right or left it 
 will come back to its original position. Now 
 if I take the same rod and balance it horizon- 
 tally across my finger, it being equal in mag- 
 nitude and density throughout, I have on 
 e<|uilibrium of inertia, because if I move it 
 slightly it will not fetum, but remain wherev- 
 er 1 place it. Now there is a third kind, ex- 
 emplified by taking the same rod and poising 
 it upon my finger : so long as I can hold the 
 centre of gravity above the point of support, 
 1 hold it steady ; but the slightest inclination 
 to either side destroys the stability. This is 
 an equilibrium of instability, in consequence 
 of the fact that every deviation tends to in- 
 crease itself, and therefore destroy the equi- 
 librium entirely. 
 
 Having explained the three kinds of equi- 
 librium, let us now, if you please, pass to the 
 
 examination of the system of rings of Saturn. 
 It is found by close investigation that in case 
 these rings are precisely circular, in case they 
 are equal in density throughout, in case their 
 centre of gravity is their centre of figure, and 
 in case we add to this the fact that this centre 
 shall coincide with the centre of the planet, 
 about which they are placed, then the e(iui- 
 librium is one of instability, and with the 
 slightest cause that comes in to derange the 
 system such derangement will go on increasing 
 itself, and the centre of gravity of the ring 
 will commence moving in a spiral line about 
 the central planet, the ring approaching closer 
 and closer to that body till finally it is pre- 
 cipitated upon the planet and the whole struc- 
 ture is destroyed. On our examination of the 
 ring we find it to be circular, and in the eorly 
 examination it was believed that the centre 
 of gravity was coincident with the centre of 
 the figure of the ring, and moreover, that the 
 centre of gravity of the figiire coincided with 
 the centre of the planet. This being supposed 
 to be the fact, it seemed impossible that this 
 systflHi should be perpetual, in case there was 
 found in the satellites which revolve upon the 
 exterior a disturbing influence suflScicnt to 
 draw this centre slightly away, and thus begin 
 that very kind of motion which must end in 
 final destruction. It was not till after La- 
 place gave his mighty intellect to the solution 
 of this problem that the truth was discovered. 
 He found that the stability could not be 
 guarantied in any other way than by making 
 the ring unequally thick in different parts, or 
 at least of a different specific gravity. This 
 was not all : it was necessary to move the 
 centre of gravity from the centre of gravity 
 of the planet, and cause it to revolve about 
 that centre in a minute orbit. Yet, however 
 strange this might appear, it seemed as if 
 Saturn was too remote for the telescope ever 
 to verify the principle of this extraordinary 
 statement. But it happens, fortunately for 
 us, that in the position which we occupy in 
 the system, these rings which are so very 
 thin, are occupying a position such that the 
 eye is situated m the plane of the ring and we 
 see them edgewise ; and when wo view them 
 in the first place they exhibit the appearance 
 of a line of light drawn across the diameter 
 of the plane passing through this centre. Now 
 in the disappearance of the ring bv its taking 
 up this position, we are enabled "to examine 
 with tho utmost possible occuracy, and it has 
 been found that the two extreniities do not 
 disappear at the same time, and that there 
 are ine<jualities upon their surface which are 
 well marked and defined — the very thing pre- 
 cisely that Laplace predicted would be the 
 cose, provided an instrument should be found 
 of sutlicicnt power to discover them to the eye. 
 
 
 IP 
 
 .«!♦• 
 
li 
 
 
 234 
 
 LaCTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 
 
 But this was not all: the most delicate 
 microraetrical apparatuses were constructed, 
 and with these — which were capable of meas- 
 uring the most minute distances — the spaces 
 between the planet and the ring, upon the right 
 and left, were determined ; and it was discov- 
 ered that these spaces were unequal, not only 
 unequal but variable, and not only variable 
 but changing according to a certain law. Thus 
 it was shown conclusively and absolutely that 
 the centre of the planet did not occupy the 
 centre of the ring, thus bringing in the other 
 condition requisite for stability, and fastening 
 the whole system permonently in space. 
 
 Now how could these nngs have been 
 formed ? Is it possible that they were attach- 
 ed to the planet after it commenced its journey 
 in space ? It seems impossible for us to con- 
 ceive how this might be accomplished ; hence 
 some philosophers have adopted the idea that 
 they were formed at the same time with the 
 planet, and by the action of the same law ; 
 and in all probability the celebrated nebular 
 theory of the formation of the universe derived 
 more support from the exhibition of Saturn's 
 system, than from all other causes combined. 
 It W03 supposed that in the beginning of all 
 things, the matter which now forms the sun 
 and planets and satellites, was diffused through- 
 out all space, or if not throughout all space 
 at least to a vast distance from the place which 
 the sun now occupies ; and that this incohate 
 matter was divided and its particles held 
 asunder by the repulsive power belonging to 
 it. Laplace conceives that in process of 
 time — under the action of gravity — the mass 
 of particles commence a movement toward a 
 centre, and in coming from positions diametri- 
 cally opposite they pass each other, and thus 
 a rotation is commenced about an axis. When 
 millions of years shall have rolled away, and 
 when this mighty sea of crude matter shall have 
 been slowly impregnated with gravity and 
 consequently with motion, it will contract, and 
 as it contracts its velocity of rotation must in- 
 crease, till finally the centrifugal force gen- 
 erated at the equator of the revolving mass 
 overcomes the force of gravity, and a flat por- 
 tion is detached from it in the form of a ring. 
 When this hus been once loosened and de- 
 tached, after millions of years shall have roll- 
 ed round, we find the central mass contracting 
 and leaving rliia ring in space; revolving with 
 the velocity due to the revolving mass at the 
 time it wai detached. Now then, in the pro- 
 cess of the formation of the planet, this ring 
 may by possibility break up and coalesce into 
 one mass. The same, cause which operated 
 in the outlet t > detach the ring from the mass, 
 will in the second in'-tance detach from its 
 equator other .na-iscs which may form satel- 
 lites ; or the se by poseibility may even remain 
 
 and become solid in the form in which tho^ 
 were first thrown off". If we admit this won- 
 derful and strangi? theory v,-e can understand 
 how It was that the mysterious system of 
 Saturn existed, and how the conditions of 
 stability were such as they now are, and how 
 It is that this body moves on, century after 
 century, without any change— with the sta- 
 bility which fastens every part of it for ever 
 permanent. 
 
 I do not pretend that this is the manner in 
 which this system was formed ; I do not know 
 —I can not fathom— any such mysterious 
 problem ; but one thing, however, I do know, 
 and that is this : that if by the ai)j)lication of 
 the higher powers of analysis this most extra- 
 ordinary theory is demonstrated to be true, it 
 carries the mind higher and nearer to the great 
 source of all things than any other which the 
 human intellect has ever devised. It gives a 
 more comprehensive idea of the omniscience 
 and omnipotence of God than any other theo- 
 ry of which I have any conception : for here, 
 with motter in a chaotic form and scattered 
 throughout all space, having been brought into 
 existence by the fiat of his will, by the action 
 of one solitary law the universe — as boundless 
 as himself— is upheld and sustained forever ! 
 We pass on from the examination of this 
 subject to another. If in the planet Saturn it 
 seems as if the analogy by which the system 
 is governed has been broken, we shall find in 
 the next planet which revolves upon the ex- 
 terior of this, a still more strange anomaly. 
 For a long time there were certain ditficulties 
 with regard to the movements of Saturn, which 
 seemed to perplex philosophers : it was get- 
 ting out of its computed place, and the most 
 extraordinary difference was seen in the move- 
 ments of Jupiter when compared with those 
 of Sotum. It was found that during the 
 whole of the seventeenth century one cf these 
 placets was perpetually getting beLnd ita 
 computed place, while the other was getting 
 in advance. It seemed that the two were 
 moving in some way in which one was de- 
 pendent upon the other, and it was next to 
 impossible to discover how it was to bo made 
 out. Finally the problem was taken up by 
 Laplace, and solved ; and the explanation Ts 
 perhaps as curious as any which has ever been 
 presented for the examination of the human 
 mind. Who would suppose that the stability 
 of our system depends in any degree upon the 
 relation existing between the periodic time of 
 the plonets 1 Yet this is the fact. 
 
 We find that in case the periodic times of 
 any two planets should happen to be in such 
 a relation to each other, that one of them taken 
 a certain number of times should be equal to 
 the other taken a certain nuijiber of times 
 different from the first, then irregularities 
 
 'fr 
 
e fonn in which thsj 
 If we admit this won- 
 ry we can understand 
 mysterious system of 
 low the conditions of 
 hey now arc, and how 
 oves on, century after 
 :hange — with the sta- 
 ery part of it for ever 
 
 : this is the manner in 
 'ormed ; I do not know 
 any such mysterious 
 , however, I do know, 
 
 by the application of 
 alysis this most extra- 
 onstrated to be true, it 
 and nearer to the great 
 a any other which the 
 r devised. It gives a 
 ea of the omniscience 
 I than any other theo- 
 conception : for here, 
 ic form and scattered 
 ving been brought into 
 his will, by the action 
 niversc — as boundless 
 id sustained forever ! 
 e examination of this 
 n the planet Saturn it 
 by which the system 
 oken, we shall hnd in 
 •evolves upon the ex- 
 ore strange anomaly. 
 sre certain dilficulties 
 aents of Saturn, which 
 osophers : it was get- 
 i place, and the most 
 was seen in the move- 
 compared with those 
 md that during the 
 I century one (>f these 
 y getting beh-nd its 
 the other was getting 
 I that the two were 
 1 which one was de- 
 , and it was next tc 
 jw it was to bo made 
 !m was taken up bv 
 id the explanation fs 
 ' which has ever been 
 nation of the human 
 lose that the stability 
 
 any degree upon the 
 
 the periodic time of 
 s the fact. 
 
 the periodic times of 
 happen to be in such 
 lat one of them taken 
 3 sliould be equal to 
 in nuijiber of times 
 
 then irregularities 
 
 LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 
 
 235 
 
 % 
 
 mm 
 
 would be introduced in the system, which 
 would go on always increasing in the same 
 direction and the equilibrium would be that 
 of instability. Now it happens in the peri(xlic 
 times of Jupiter and Saturn there is a close 
 proximity to such a relation — five periods of 
 Jupiter being about sixty years, and two pe- 
 riods of Saturn abour. the same time. Now 
 suppose to-night Jupiter and Saturn occupy 
 a given [losition with reference to the sun, and 
 they start out on their career : at the end of 
 sixty years they will come round again to oc- 
 cupy almost exactly the same relative position; 
 and whatever etfect Jupiter may have had to 
 hasten the movement oi Saturn, or Saturn to 
 retard that of Jupiter, will again be repeated 
 in the same way and in the same position, 
 without the possibility of restoration, except 
 with a ditrerence of configuration on the oppo- 
 site side. Strange as it may appear, this partic- 
 ular case comes very nearly, though not quite 
 exactly, to that of these planets : they do not 
 reach the same position by an amount equal 
 to something like six or seven out of the 360 
 degrees : here choy are a little behind at the 
 succeeding year — at the next still further — at 
 the next they have changed yet again, till 
 now after about 3,500 years they come to 
 a«:upy the first position in all the successive 
 roands of their orbits ; and not till they have 
 gone entirely around will the compensation be 
 effected and the system be restored to its ori- 
 ginal condition. Such is what is called the 
 long equation of Jupiter and Saturn. 
 
 I do not mean to say the period is 2,500 
 yecrs ; because in consequence of the fact 
 that they come to resume the same relative 
 places in ditierent parts of their orbits the same 
 will be efiected in a shorter time : and indeei 
 in consequence of this dilference of configura- 
 tion in difierent parts of their orbits it is ac- 
 complished in nine hundred years. 
 
 It appears then^ that this particular case 
 which seemed to set the law of gravitation at 
 defiance, is reduced absolutely within the con- 
 trol of the law, and a most beautiful explana- 
 tion of the phenomena is presented. 
 
 When these difficulties had been removed, 
 a mora rigid scrutiny seemed to reveal others 
 in Saturn, till finally, after having exhausted 
 all the means withm the limits of the solar 
 system to account for them, some mind ven- 
 tured to pa6S the limits that had hitherto 
 circumscribed it, and say, " There must be a 
 planet upon the outside." Bat no one dared 
 at that time to undertake the resolution of the 
 vast problem, by whose solution the position 
 of the unknown body could be determined. 
 Fortunately for the world, in 1781 Sir William 
 Ilerschel in one of his telescopic explorations 
 found an object which attracted his attention : 
 in short, he saw in it something which resem- 
 
 L 
 
 bled a planetary disk. On the following night 
 the examination showed that body to have 
 changed its place ; yet so little did he expect 
 to find another planet, that ho announcea he 
 had found a comet ant', commenced to compute 
 its orbit ; but found no elongated orbit would 
 suit the place which had been given to it and 
 that notning but the circular, or nearly so, 
 would fulfil its conditions. It was found to 
 be a planet revolving outside of Saturn, at a 
 distance of eighteen hundred millions of miles 
 from the sun. This (first called Georgium 
 Sidus in honor of King George III.) is known 
 by the name of Herschel — more generally 
 called Uranus. 
 
 In the course of five or six years, Herschel 
 announced he had found six satellites revolving 
 about the body ; but what astonishment every 
 one, was the announcement that these satel- 
 lites, instead of following the analogy of the 
 other known planets by revolving in tne same 
 direction in which the planets moved, were 
 actually moving backward in their orbits, and 
 nearly perpendicular to the plane of the eclip- 
 tic. Here was a difficulty in the great sys- 
 tt::n of the universe called " Laplace's theo- 
 ry," which I have already announced. If 
 tnis system was formed as he supposad, how 
 is it possible to account for the retrograde mo- 
 tion of these satellites, and for the fao'<; that 
 their planes are nearly perpendicular to the 
 plane of the ecliptic ? Perhaps it is impossi- 
 ble to account for it; but if we will admit 
 that such a thing may occur aa the impinging 
 of a comet upon any body in our system, it 
 would not be impossible to account for those 
 retrograde movements, nor for this great in- 
 clination, by supposing at the time this was a 
 duid mass, the movement may have changed 
 its rotation upon its axis, and nave caused the 
 satellites to take the position they now occu- 
 py. I do not present this for any one to re- 
 ceive as a true hypothesis ; it only shows that 
 those who adhere to a particular theory will 
 find ways and means of explaining difficulties 
 which others never would think of. Neither 
 do I wish to be understand as having adopted 
 Laplace's theory; very fir from it. It re- 
 mains to be demonstrated yet, and it is possi- 
 ble the means may yet be attained whereby, 
 by the power of analysis, we may bring out 
 the truth or falsehood of this most atupendous 
 theory. We are obliged, therefore, to accept 
 the statement of Herschel for the present, al- 
 though, so far as I know, up to the present 
 time no eye has ever seen more than threes 
 out of the six satellites which he tells us re- 
 volve about this planet. 
 
 When this planet had been watched a suffi- 
 cient number of years, and the observations 
 had been made by means of which its orbit 
 could be computed with accuracy, and thi* 
 
 ««i^ 
 
ft ™ ■* ■ 
 
 ill 
 
 236 
 
 LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 
 
 place v/hich it had occupied years and years 
 before its discovery, on running hack through 
 the catalogues of stars which had been formed 
 by preceding astronomers, it was found that 
 this body had been seen a number of times 
 and had had its place fixed in the heavens, 
 being regarded as a fixed star. These early 
 observations we'Cv^f infinite value in deter- 
 mining a more ac ate orbit of this planet, so 
 
 that long before the elements of this orbit were 
 known it was possible to predict its position 
 in all coming time. But when these predic- 
 tions were made, and when observation and 
 theory were compared, it was found that the 
 planet was deviating from its computed place 
 — it was found that no analysis could confine 
 it: it has broken away from its computed 
 orbit, and at the distance of eighteen hundred 
 millions of miles from the centre this body 
 seemed to be moving lawlessly through the 
 heavens. 
 
 In order to resolve this great problem, it 
 would be necessary to go into a minute inves- 
 tigation of all the observations that had been 
 made ; to go back from the planet through the 
 whole solar system to the sun itself, and to 
 ascertain with the most perfect precision what 
 influence was exerted by all the knovm bodies 
 upon this one. If, after every possible influ- 
 ence had been admitted, accounted for and 
 applied, there were yet outstanding inequalities 
 remaining unaccounted for, it certainly became 
 necessary to look for their cause beyond the 
 limits of the known solar system. This was 
 the problem taken up by Leverrier, and to 
 which I will now call your attention. 
 
 Perhaps there is no person living in the 
 World who occupies so unfortunote a position 
 as the individual just named. This may 
 sound strangely in your ears. The difficulty 
 is this : that he hos accomplished the resolu- 
 tion of one of the most sublime problems ever 
 attacked by the human mind — literally and 
 truly accomplished it — and yet that problem 
 turns out not to be the problem of nature, or 
 one thot God had given to be resolved! I 
 know how diflScult a task it will be to explain 
 this, and it is this particular difficulty which 
 constitutes the truth of what I hove stated, 
 that his position is one least to be envied ; for 
 he probably never will receive the credit due 
 to him, in conseijuence of the fact that the 
 planet so recently found is not the planet of 
 his analysis. 
 
 But now for the examination of this matter. 
 Leverrier is a comparatively young man, and 
 had shown the power of his genius by a rigid 
 examination of the conditions involved in the 
 movements of the planet Mercury. He had 
 taken up the old tables which seemed to gov- 
 ern the movements of this planet, and had 
 corrected them from beginnmg to end. It 
 
 was believed thot the knowlerlge which we al- 
 ready had of the movemen's of this body was 
 sufficiently correct for all practical purposes. 
 The transit of that planet across the sun, 
 which occurred not long since, gave the oppor- 
 tunity of testing the accuracy of his own in- 
 vestigations, in the most perfect marjier ; and 
 when the results came in from every quarter 
 of the world, and were concentrated at Paris, 
 and presented for examination, it was found 
 that he had predicted the instant at which the 
 planet should touch the disk ot the sun more 
 accurately than any other person who had at- 
 tempted It ; and indeed he only failed by the 
 amount of sixteen seconds of time. 
 
 His great success in this particular induced 
 his friend Arago to request him to attempt the 
 resolution of the problem of the perturliations 
 of Uranus. He commences, not to skim su- 
 perficially over the surface — tailing for granted 
 what had already been done — but goes back 
 to the first observation recorded, and traces 
 each and every one down the stream of time, 
 sifting out everything which belongs to each 
 one of them. Not satisfied with this, he com- 
 mences a review of all the planets that can 
 operate upon its motion, makes a new theory 
 for Saturn, and for Jupiter, takes into consid- 
 eration even the change of position occasioned 
 by the action of Jupiter upon Saturn itself, 
 and the minute subsequent changes it; the ac- 
 tion of Saturn upon the planet nine hundred 
 millions of miles distant from it. All these 
 things are gone through, and with the iiand 
 of a master he holds the problem steadily be- 
 fore his gaze, arid seizes overy point with per- 
 fect certainty. At length he has accounted 
 for the perturbation due to the action of any 
 known body in the solar system, and there is 
 a certain amount yet outstanding. And now 
 the grand object is to pass upon the true ele- 
 ments and see whether it be possible so to 
 locate a planet in space that it may account 
 for this outstanding perturbation, and whether 
 by giving to it this position it be possible to 
 find it. How did ne attempt this? To most 
 persons it would seem utterly beyond the grasp 
 of the human intellect. But let us consider. 
 
 In the first place : Bode's law of distances 
 told him about where it would be located in 
 space. As Saturn was about twice as far 
 from the sun as Jupiter, and Uranus twice as 
 far as Saturn, he had a right to conclude that 
 possibly the unknown body would be located 
 at twice the distance from the sun of Uranus, 
 or three thousand six hundred millions of miles. 
 Having obtained the distance, Kepler's law 
 gave him the periodic time, and the velocity 
 became proximately known. But now the 
 great point was to get one particular position, 
 and if that could be obtained he could follow 
 its progress and tell where it would be at the 
 
e knowledge which we al- 
 ivemrn's of this body was 
 for all practical jmrposes. 
 t planet across the sun, 
 ong since, gave the oppor- 
 ! accuracy of his own in- 
 most perfect marjjer ; and 
 me in from every quarter 
 ere concentrated at Paris, 
 xainination, it was found 
 ■d the instant at which the 
 
 the disk ot the sun more 
 other person who had at- 
 eed he only failed by the 
 !conds of time, 
 in this particular induced 
 equest him to attempt the 
 ^blem of the perturbations 
 mmences, not to skim su- 
 urface — taking for granted 
 een done — but goes back 
 tion recorded, and traces 
 down the stream of time, 
 ig which belongs to each 
 latistied with this, he com- 
 ' all the planets that can 
 ition, makes a new theory 
 Jupiter, takes into consid- 
 inge of position occasioned 
 ipiter upon Saturn itself, 
 lequent changes in the ac- 
 i tne planet nine hundred 
 stant from it. All these 
 rough, and with the i)and 
 s the problem steadily be- 
 ;izes every point with per- 
 
 length he has accounted 
 n due to the action of any 
 solar system, and there is 
 et outstanding. And now 
 to pass upon the true ele- 
 Jther it be possible so to 
 pace that it may account 
 perturbation, and whether 
 position it be possible to 
 e attempt this ? To most 
 m utterly beyond the grasp 
 3ct. But let us consider. 
 : Bode's law of distances 
 !re it would be located in 
 
 was about twice as far 
 >iter, and Uranus twice as 
 id a right to conclude that 
 vn body would be located 
 e from the sun of Uranus, 
 : hundred millions of milea. 
 lie distance, Kepler's law 
 lie time, and the velocity 
 y known. But now the 
 ;et one particular position, 
 ! obtained he could follow 
 
 where it would be at the 
 
 LECTURES ON A3TE0N0MY. 
 
 237 
 
 end of any given time. To accomplish this 
 ho ciiinmcnccd tin cxnitiination of the derunge- 
 mt'iit in the pliiiii't, Uranus. He found that 
 in certain parts (>f its orliit it is going further 
 and furtlier iiwny frmn the sun. Its radius, 
 or direct lini; to the sun was elongating. This 
 he thimght was no doubt occasioned by the ac- 
 tion of a planet. Let us locate the two planets 
 ill iinn;,MURti(m. Suppose they are on the same 
 side of tiie sun. Tlien the snuce bv which 
 they are sejiaratcd is but eijjhteen liundred 
 millions of miles. But if their position is on 
 opposite sides of the sun, the distance is in- 
 creased by the whole diameter of the orbit of 
 Uranus, or thirty-six hundred millions of miles. 
 Then there will be a vast diirerci. ,■ between 
 the power exerted in one position from tliat in 
 the othiT. Now if he could only find a point 
 in which Uranus is drawn furthest from the 
 sun — if it commences to sweep out, and hav- 
 ing passed a certain point begins to graduolly 
 draw in, from the point where it was most 
 drawn out, then in the prolongation of a line 
 from the sun, passing that iierihelion point 
 must the unknown body be found. All he 
 had to do was to find where Uranus was 
 drawn furthest from the sun, and looking out 
 in that direction he locates the biMly that draws 
 it out. Having, therefore, found one position, 
 uiid the time when Urunus occupied that po- 
 sition, from its known periodic time, he traces 
 up its movement and says at such a day it 
 will occupy such a point m the heavens. He 
 reaches the conclusion of his investigation and 
 presents the results to the institute at Paris ; 
 they are thrown before the scientific world ; 
 they are received with incredulity and doubt 
 by the best living astronomers ; the problem 
 seems to have been too mighty — too intricate 
 for any inind. But Leverrier desires them to 
 point their telescopes to the position in which 
 he says the unknown body exists : his request 
 is granted, and lo ! to the amazement of the 
 whole world, there is a planet exactly in the 
 place pointed out. 
 
 There was the triumph complete ; and if 
 any had before doubted those iloubts were now 
 removed, ond the whole world rang with the 
 praises of the great astronomer, Leverrier. 
 
 And now, as if to make everything doubly 
 sure, it is found that a young man of England 
 had been engaged in investigating the same 
 problem, had reached the same results, and 
 seven months before Leverrier had published 
 his, he had presented them to the astronomer 
 royal of his own kingdom and the professors 
 of his own university. Thejr, not daring to 
 take the resjionsibility of uttering them before 
 the world, failed to do it; but so soon as 
 Leverrier's computations were known, so soon 
 as the planet was found, then it became cer- 
 tain that he had been investigating precisely 
 
 I the same problem and reached the same identi- 
 cal results — each confirming the otlier, and 
 the two combined convinced the world that 
 they had reached the true results. 
 
 l^ow do you think it possible that this is 
 all false 7 Having carried you to this point, 
 am I obliged to tell you that these computa 
 tions had nothing whatever to do with finding 
 of that planet ? Yet I am absolutely obliged 
 to do it, for it is true. How then sha"ll I show 
 you and convince you, that in announcing this 
 truth I do not jiluck a solitary laurel from the 
 brow of this great man. No, not one ! There 
 they are, green as in the moment of their win- 
 ning, and there they must remain for ever. 
 
 As soon as it was known that the idnnet 
 was discovered, telescopes were directed from 
 every part of the world to its scrutiny. Its 
 movements were followed v.ith the most in- 
 tense anxiety for the purpose of ascertaining 
 how nearly the real coincided with the com- 
 puted elements. Adams led the way, as he 
 had before done in the computation of the 
 elements derived from theory, and when he 
 reached to the knowledge of the actual dis- 
 tance of the discovered planet, he was the 
 first who found end announced that hitherto 
 the discrepancy between the distance now ab- 
 solutely known, and the first computation of 
 the distance, amounted to about three times 
 the distance of the earth from the sun. He 
 had found by comjiutation before the discovery 
 that at the time of the discovery it ought to 
 be thirty-three times the distance of the e^.rth 
 from the sun, whereas it was but thirty times. 
 This did not appear to be a very great dis- 
 crepancy, yet it was more than was anticipa- 
 ted ; for had it been an error of three times 
 the distance of the earth on the opposite side, 
 there would have been more reason in it, be- 
 cause it would have coincided more neorly 
 with the distance revealed by the law of Bode. 
 It seemed, in consequence of the fact tlmt it 
 had fallen on the inside, in s^me sense to Iiuve 
 violated this law. 
 
 But again : more tine rolls, on, ond better 
 observations are obtained. Finally, there 
 seemed to be no data to commence a compu- 
 tation of the orbit, thit sl-ould reveal what 
 the phases of the platu-t 'vere in years past 
 and gone, as well as what they v. 1 be when 
 hundreds of years shall have rolled round. 
 One of our own countrymen engaged in this 
 investigation with ardor, zeal, aiid success. 
 Walker, of the United States coast survey, 
 obtained an orbit, and thought he could trace 
 the motion of the planet backward for a hun- 
 dred years. In tracing it backward he honed 
 to find in the catalogue of the fixed stors s<>me 
 one thot might have been observed which 
 should prove to be the planet, and thus give 
 us the advantage of a long series of observa- 
 
 i.m 
 
 M' 
 
•t i.i« 
 
 238 
 
 LECTUaSS ON ASTRONOMY. 
 
 tions extending over many years. The later 
 catalogues were examined : he went back fifty 
 years, till finally he took up the catalogue of 
 Le Lande, made in Paris. He found the stars 
 recorded by him, computed the reach through 
 which he knew the planet to have followed 
 at that date, till he discovered that on the 
 lOch of May, 1795, Le Lande had observed 
 star which then occupied a place where he 
 computed the new planet should have follow- 
 ed at that date. But how could he verify his 
 Erediction that this was the place, and Le 
 lande had seen the planet at that very date 7 
 He turns his telescope to tho region in the 
 heavens which Le Lande's star had filled, 
 and if it were a fixed star it would be found 
 there, but if it should turn out to be a planet, 
 then would that six)t be blank. The telescope 
 was directed anil lo ! the spot was a blank. 
 Thus it was believed that this was the place 
 of the planet; but when this place was taken 
 into account, and when this observation was 
 combined with later ones, behold ! the orbit 
 determined for this new body, and the period- 
 ic time, fell entirely beyond the limits of 
 Leverrier's and Adams's computations, who 
 had announced that it could not be a period 
 shorter than 210 years nor longer than 268 
 years. Here was a great discrepancy, so 
 that it was impossible that this could be the 
 the planet of their theory, in case these ob- 
 servations could be sustained. And now it 
 was that every eye was at once directed to 
 the catalogue of Le Lande, to see what his 
 observations were, and distinguish as to what 
 observations were marked doubtful. There 
 were discovered two little dots placed opposite 
 this observation, and referring to his preface, 
 it was found that observations marked with 
 dots were not to be relied upon. Those who 
 longed to find the grand theory which had 
 been built by Leverrier to be true, hoped in 
 this mark to find that which would save the 
 system. So soon as a knowledge of this fact 
 came to the institute at Paris, they appointed 
 an astronomer to review all the old manu- 
 scripts of Le Lande. It is found that on the 
 ni/{ht of the 16th of May, 1795, he made this 
 observation and marked it doubtful. On the 
 same identical piece of paper is discovered an 
 observation made on the 8th of May, on a 
 star, which he believes to have been incorrect- 
 ly made ; this he rejects and takes up what 
 he thinks to be the same star, observes it on 
 the 10th, prints that observation, rejects the 
 other and marks the printed one doubtful. 
 Now what a singular state of afiairs is here 1 
 But the moment the orbit of the planet is com- 
 puted, that star of the 8th, is found to be in 
 the place of our planet ; and so instead of hav- 
 ing one we have two observations, and the 
 distance between the two stars of the 8th and 
 
 10th is the same the planet ought to have 
 travelled, upon the hypothesis we havo already 
 given. 
 
 Now there seems to be no doubt left in re- 
 gard to that fact that Adams and Leverrier 
 stand before the world in a different position 
 from what they had previously >x;cupied ; but 
 there is something vet left to be ascertained. 
 There is a planet iound in a most wonderful 
 maimer, occupying almost precisely the rK>8i- 
 tion theii planet did occupy. Is it the planet 
 that accounts for the perturbations of Uranus, 
 or is it not ? This is the next question for 
 examination. In order to ascertain that fact, 
 it became necessary to know the mass of this 
 new planet. In the onset it seemed hopeless 
 to look for an answer to this question for a 
 long period of years. But the scrutinizing 
 gaze now directed to the heavens does not 
 permit the most minute point to escape. At 
 length it is announced that from the distance 
 of three thousand millions of miles, the light 
 of a little satellite is flung back all the way 
 to the earth, and that little satellite, by its 
 
 Periodic time around its planet, reveals to us 
 ow much matter belongs to this most distant 
 orb. Now, although at present I do not know 
 precisely the amount ascertained, for we have 
 only approximated to it, yet the knowledge 
 we have obtained tells us most certainly and 
 absolutely that no mass can be assigned con- 
 sistent with the periodic time of this satellite, 
 whic'i will account for the perturbation of 
 Uranus ; hence the conclusion is forced upon 
 us that this is not the planet of theory, but wo 
 have got to look further before we can settle 
 the question as to what produces all the per- 
 turbations belonging to this interior planet. 
 
 Now can I reconcile my statement or not ? 
 Have Leverrier and Adams failed in the prob- 
 lem they undertook to investigate? Have 
 the facts I have brought out lowered them in 
 your estimation ? I hope not ; for I can truly 
 feel for these great men. They had resolved 
 the problem they undertook ; they had done 
 it correctly; and in this they displayed the 
 most extraordinary genius that ever has been 
 exhibited by any human mind ; but alas ! for 
 their fame, the problem they solved was not 
 the problem of nature. God has permitted 
 us to see that, and if I were permitted to in- 
 terpret anything I would almost say, here is 
 a special Providence to reward the lofty and 
 powerful efforts of mankind. Such was the 
 structure of the system that it was impossible 
 to attain to a knowledge of it without the solu- 
 tion of this problem, and such was the grandeur 
 of the problem solved, that it deserved as it* 
 reward a world, and a world was given. 
 
 I know you can comprehend this if I bring 
 you back a little, and refer to what I told you 
 the other night with reference to the asteroids, 
 
 "'*s^SES»siy.?<w 
 
e planet ought to have 
 pothesis we havu already 
 
 ;o be no doubt left in re- 
 t Adams and Leverrier 
 Id in a different position 
 (rijviously occupied ; but 
 !t left to be ascertained, 
 and in a most wonderful 
 Imost precisely the jKwi- 
 »ccupy. Is it the planet 
 perturbations of Uranus, 
 18 the next question for 
 er to ascertain that fact, 
 :o know the mass of this 
 onset it seemed hopeless 
 er to this question for a 
 I. But the scrutinizing 
 o the heavens does not 
 Dte point to escape. At 
 d that from the distance 
 llions of miles, the light 
 ) flung back all the way 
 at little satellite, by its 
 its planet, reveals to us 
 longs to this most distant 
 at present I do not know 
 ascertained, for we have 
 
 it, yet the knowledge 
 lis us most certainly and 
 iss can be assigned con- 
 die time of this satellite, 
 for the perturbation of 
 onclusion is forced upon 
 
 1 planet of theory, but wo 
 :her before we can settle 
 lat produces all the per- 
 to this interior planet. 
 
 le my statement or not ? 
 Vdama failed in thejprob- 
 
 to investigate? Have 
 igbt out lowered them in 
 hope not ; for I can truly 
 len. They had resolved 
 idertook ; they had done 
 
 this they displayed the 
 enius that ever has been 
 man mind ; but alas ! for 
 em they solved v/as not 
 re. God has permitted 
 
 I were permitted to in- 
 roold almost say, here is 
 
 to reward the lofty and 
 nankind. Such was the 
 ■m that it was impossible 
 Ige of it without the solu- 
 ind such was the grandeur 
 d, that it deserved as it* 
 a world was given, 
 tmprehend this if I bring 
 1 refer to what I told you 
 reference to the asteroids, 
 
 I 
 
 GUTTA PKRCHA. 
 
 2;J9 
 
 which sweep around between Mars and Jupi- 
 ter. Sun|H»e, before these were discovered, 
 some daring genius had undertaken to resolve 
 tlic mysteries in which the movements of Mars 
 were involved and should have reached the 
 (■i)iicliiHion, that they were iinMluced by the 
 notirm of a certain planet located between 
 Jujiitor and Murs, at it certain distance, and 
 revolving in a certain peri(xl of time. Now 
 here is a problem presented for solution, and 
 worked out with consummate skill ; but when 
 the fucts come to be known this problem does 
 not exist in nature ; for there are no less than 
 eight planets tcvolving in these limits, and 
 combineil they produce the same etttjct that 
 would have been pro<luced by the constructive 
 [ilanet. This is precisely the case in point, 
 imd this is the reason why it was imimssiblc 
 for Adams or Leverrier to give the elements 
 of the orbit of the planet now found ; for I 
 have no doubt this is only one of more bodies 
 which exist in the same region. 
 
 Whether we shall ever ottain to a knowl- 
 edge of them, or be permitted to feast our eyes 
 on them, it is impossible to know; but, a year 
 a^o, in the discussion of this subject, when I 
 (lid not doubt that this was the planet, I ven- 
 tured to say that, in case it should be found 
 hereafter that the orbit of this planet was not 
 very eccentric — carrying it otF to a much 
 greater distance than it now is, and thus ac- 
 counting for the fact that its distance is less 
 than that assigned by the law of Bode — that 
 it was one of a group, how extended it is im- 
 possible to soy. 
 
 I know the difficulties which I have had to 
 encounter. I have tried to impress your minds 
 with one great truth. I do not know how 
 successful I have been ; but I can not close 
 without repeating once again : nlthounh this 
 new planet is not the planet of Leverrier ond 
 Adams's theory, yet it does not in the smallest 
 degree detract from the just fame which is 
 due to them for the re8<ilution of this mighty 
 problem. 
 
 GUTTA-PEUCH.\. 
 
 Althocgh the trees yielding gutta-percha 
 abound in the indigenous forests of Australia, 
 it is scarcely five y''ar8 since it wos discovered 
 by Euro|)cans. The first notice taken of it 
 appears to have been by Dr. William Mont- 
 yoinerie, in a letter to the Bengal Medical 
 Himrd, in the beginning of 1843, wherein he 
 commends the substance as likely to prove 
 useful for some surgical purposes, and supposes 
 it to belong to the fig tribe. In April, 1843, 
 the substance was brought to Europe, by Dr. 
 
 d'Almeida, who presented it to the Roynl So- 
 ciety of Arts, London ; but it did not at first 
 attract much attention. 
 
 The gutta-percha tree, or gutta-tubn, as it 
 ought more properly to be culled — the percliu 
 prwlucing a spurious orticle — belongs to the 
 natural family sapolece, but differs so much 
 from all described genera, that the naturalists 
 of Australia are inclined to ronk it ns a new 
 genus. The tree is of largo size, from sixty 
 to seventy feet in height, and from two to 
 three feet in diameter. 
 
 The mode in which the notives obtain the 
 gutta is by cuttin)? down the trees of full 
 growth, and wringing the bark nt distances 
 of obout twelve to eighteen inches a|>art, and 
 placing a cocoa-nut shell, spathe of a palm, 
 or such like receptacle, under the fallen trunk 
 to receive the milky sap that immediately 
 exudes upon every fresh incision. This sop 
 is collected in bamboos, token to their houses, 
 and boiled, in order to drive off the wotery 
 particles, oud inspissate it to the consistence 
 It finally assumes Although the process of 
 boiling a|)penrs necessary where the gutta is 
 collected in large quantities, if a tree be fresh- 
 ly wounded, a small (pinntity allowed to ooze 
 out, and it be collected ana moulded in the 
 hand, it will consolidate perfectly in a few 
 minutes, and have all the appearance of the 
 prepared article. When it is quite pure, the 
 crilor is of a grayish white ; but, os brought to 
 the market of Australia, it is more ordinarily 
 found of a reddish hue, arising from chips of 
 bnrk that fall into the sap in the act of making 
 the incisions, and which yield their color to it. 
 Besides these occidental chips, there is a great 
 deal of intentional adulteration by sawdust 
 and other materials. Some specimens that 
 i have been obtained were found to possess verv 
 little short of one fourth of impurities: nnll 
 even the purest specimens yield, on being 
 cleansed, one ounce of impnnties per pound. 
 Fortunately, it is difficult neither to detect nor 
 to clear the gutta of foreign matter; it being 
 only necessary to boil it in water until well 
 softened, roll out the substonce into thin sheets, 
 and pick out all impurities ; which is easily 
 done, as the gutta does not adhere to anything ; 
 ond all foreign matter is merely entangled in 
 its fibres, not incorporoled in its substance. 
 Mr. Oxley has calculated that the quantity 
 exported from Singapore to Great Britain and 
 the continent, from the first of January, 1 84.'J, 
 to the present dote, amounts to about 7,000 
 piculs; ond that to obtain this quantity nearly 
 70,000 trees hove been sacrificed. 
 
 When fresh ond pure, the gutta is of a 
 greasy feel, viith a peculiarly leathery smell. 
 It is not affected by boiling alcohol, but dis- 
 solves readily in boiling spirits of turpentine ; 
 also in naptha and coal tar. A good cement 
 
S40 
 
 BT. TH0MA8. WEST INPIK9,— COTTONBLEACHIN(», 
 
 f<»r gluing bottles nml other purpose*. i« form- 
 etl by boiling toKCtber efjual parts of gutta, 
 con! tur, uinl resin. When ri-i|uircil for use, 
 it run always be made olastic by jJiittinK the 
 pot containing it over tno fire for a few min- 
 utes. The gutta itself is very inHaniinable — 
 a strij) cut oH' takes light awl hums with a 
 brij;lit flame, emitting sjiarks, and dropping a 
 liliick residuum in the manner of sealing-wax; 
 which, in itii combustion, it very much re- 
 semldcs. 
 
 But the great peculiarity of this substance, 
 and that which n;akes it so eminently useful 
 for many purpox-s, is the cHect of boiling- 
 wuter UjK)u it. When immersed for a few 
 minutes ui water above 1,50 degrees of Fahren- 
 heit, it becomes soft and plastic, so is to bo 
 capable of being moulded to any rcijaired 
 shape or fonn, which it retains u|)oi cooling. 
 If II ripof it be cut off and plunged into boil- 
 ing w uter, it contracts in size, in both length 
 and breadth. This is a very anomalous and 
 remarkable phenomenon, apjiurently opposed 
 to all till' laws of heat. It is this plasticity, 
 when plunged into boiling water, that has al- 
 lowed of its being applied to so many useful 
 i>ur|)08es, and which first induced some Ma- 
 lays to fabricate it into whips, which were 
 taken into 8<jme of the towns in Australia, and 
 led to its further notice. The natives soon 
 extended their manufactures to buckets, basins, 
 and jugs, shoes, traces, vessels for cooling wine, 
 and severul other domestic purposes. The 
 number of patents lately taken out for the 
 luuiiufacturo of the article in this country, 
 jiroves how much attention and interest have 
 been attached to it, and how extensively use- 
 lul it is likely to become. 
 
 SAINT THOMAS, WEST INDIES. 
 
 St. Thomas is one of the three Danish 
 Virgin Islands, and is about twelve miles long 
 from east to west, -with an average width of 
 two miles and a half, which gives a surface 
 of about thirty s<)uare miles. It is very un- 
 even, but the height of its mountains has not 
 been ascertained : the most elevated are west 
 of the harbor of St. Thomas. Most of the 
 white inhabitants are of Dutch origin, and 
 Dutch is the common language. The planta- 
 tions hove yielded in cne year 20,000 cwt. of 
 sugar, 64,000 gallons of rum, 18,000 gallons 
 of molasses, and p~'ne cotton. But as large 
 tracts are unlit foi the production of colonial 
 arti^iles, maize, ground provisions, and fruits, 
 are cultivated to a considerable extent. 
 
 The town of St. Thomas is built on the 
 north shore of a fine bay, which is about three 
 
 miles long, an<l two wide, and lian good nnrhiir- 
 •gc for 'JOO vessels. It derives its im|)<)rtnnrc 
 from being a free |N>rt, open to ail natinnH, and, 
 consc<|uently, a great cntre|H»t for artieli's of 
 plantation conHumption, such as timl *r, rorn, 
 and Hour, which are shipped to i», in lar>;R 
 quantities from the United .Stotes T he t-.wn 
 is built iin three conical hills, of nearly e |nal 
 elevation, on which stand some well-cnnstrnct- 
 cd fortresses, commanding the harbor and shiii- 
 ping. Till! houses arc bnilt of stone or brick, 
 and are tiled in the Dutch monner. The 
 population is stated to exceed three thousand 
 individuals, of whom four hundred are whites. 
 The Virgin Islands, generally, are subject to 
 earthquakes, but the shocks are slight, and 
 are not attended with such dreadful consecioen- 
 ccs as in the Antilles, which are further to the 
 southeast. 
 
 COTTON -BLEACHING. 
 
 CoTTOH, flax, wool, and silX. have all, in 
 their natural states, a certain shode of color. 
 These tints remain with them more or less 
 during the processes of weaving; 8«) that if it 
 be desired to pnKluce them in a perfectly white 
 form, it is necessary to subject them to some 
 bleaching process. Bleaching, it must be 
 borne in mind, is not imparting a color to cloth, 
 but removing all color from it. 
 
 The Egyptians and other ancient nations 
 appear to have known certain modes of bleach- 
 ing linen cloth ; but their processes, as well 
 as those of later ages, are not well known to 
 us. Until about a century ago, bleaching was 
 hardly known in England, in either theory or 
 practice. The brown linens made in Great 
 Britain were sent to Holland to be bleached 
 This process consumed a long periixl, nam^'y, 
 from March to October of each year. The 
 principal Dutch bleaching-groumis were in 
 the neighborhood of Haarlem ; and the great 
 success of their bleaching was ascribed to the 
 superior efficacy of the water, which was 
 filtered sea-water. The process consisted in 
 steeping the linen for about a week in a potash 
 ley poured over it boiling hot. The cloth was 
 then taken out of the ley, washed, and put 
 into wooden vessels containing butter-milk, in 
 which it lay under pressure for fiv or six days ; 
 after this it was spread U|x>n the grass, and 
 kept wet for several months, exposed to the 
 sunshine of summer. 
 
 In 1749, an Irishmnn introduced a some- 
 what similar mode of ' caching into England, 
 and after many ditScultics, succeeded in ef- 
 fec/ing it tolerably well, but with lamentable 
 slo .vness. From this time, a succession of im- 
 
:hin(». 
 
 iilp, »nil lin» good nnrlior- 
 It dfrivrn itn ini|)<)rtnnro 
 , Dpcii to oil nntiimw, nml, 
 cutrr|)«it for articlrs of 
 :>n, Huch n» timt "r, com, 
 ; shipped to it in )aru« 
 nitrd Statei" ^hp^.wn 
 ml hills, of nearly f \rm\ 
 nnd Homo wrll-conHtrnct- 
 idinj{ the hnrljor und nhip- 
 rc bnill of stone or lirirk, 
 3 Dutch mnnnpr. Tho 
 ;o encned three thontinnd 
 four hundred ore whites, 
 generally, are subject to 
 I shocks are slight, and 
 such dreadful conse(|nen- 
 , which are further to the 
 
 BLEACHING. 
 
 L)1, and silk, have all, in 
 a certain shade of color, 
 with them more or less 
 of weaving; so that if it 
 them in a perfectly white 
 
 to subject them to soine 
 
 Bleaching, it must be 
 impurting a color to cloth, 
 r from it. 
 
 id other ancient nations 
 11 certain modes of bleach- 
 
 their pnxiesses, as well 
 s, ore not well known to 
 ntury ago, bleaching was 
 gland, in either theory or 
 'n linens made in Great 
 
 HoUond to be bleached 
 ed a long periful, nam^'v, 
 bcr of each year. The 
 aching-grounds were in 
 Hoorlem ; nnd the great 
 ;liirij,' was ascribed to the 
 
 the water, which was 
 The pnicess consisted in 
 about a week in a potash 
 ling hot. The cloth was 
 le ley, woshed, ond put 
 :ontaining butter-milk, in 
 assure for fiv'» or six days ; 
 Bad upon the gross, and 
 
 months, exposed to the 
 
 man introduced a some- 
 r \ 'eaching into England, 
 cultics, succeeded in ef- 
 'ell, but with lamentable 
 8 time, a succession of im- 
 
 r 
 
 X 
 
 HK'jV/iwaw^^CW! 
 
 I y- swr^?!^ '^'* J'l- »»i" "■. 
 
nr 
 
 provcmcnt* took plart*. Dr. P. Home ihnwed 
 that that pare of the eflV-ct which milk pro- 
 duccil in NJK nr eight week*, might be produced 
 by wenk sulphuric acid in twenty-four houra. 
 Thin enabled the manufacturer to receive his 
 bleached cotxls in a much ahorfer time than 
 before, and therefore to trade with ieita capital. 
 
 The next Jm|>ortBnt, and in fact we may 
 aay the important improvement in the art of 
 bleoching, resulted from the discovery of 
 chlorinr. Thi'i gas was first separated from 
 muriatic acid by Scheele ond Uerthollet about 
 the year 1780; and one of the first properties 
 discovered in the new gos, wos an extraordi- 
 nary newer of destroying vegetable color. 
 This fact was s(M>n taken up by Saussure, 
 James Watt, Professor Copland, and Mr. Hen- 
 ry, and other |)ractical men, and a speedy rev- 
 olution took place in the art of bleaching. 
 There were, however, sundry objections made 
 to the use of chlorine, on account of the oflen- 
 sive smell which it exhales. But it was dis- 
 covered that the gas might be united with 
 lime, whereby mucn of the odor was removed, 
 without depriving the gas of its bleaching prop- 
 erty. As a proof of the wnnlerful advance 
 made in thia art, Dr. Ure staff . hat an eminent 
 bleacher in Lancashire once received fourteen 
 hundred pieces of gray muslin on a Tuesday, 
 which, on the Thursday immediately follow- 
 ing, were returned bleached to the manufac- 
 turers, at the distance of sixteen miles, and 
 they were packed up nnd sent off on that very 
 day to a foreign market ; thus elTecting in two 
 days what formerly occupied six months ! We 
 will now describe the present minJe of bleach- 
 ing cotton fabrics. 
 
 When the woven cotton passes tothe bleach- 
 er, he has the pieces sewn up end tti end into 
 a longer (liece five hundred yards in length, 
 and »>tump8 the owner's name on one end of 
 each piece, which is done in a kind of ink 
 formed of coal-tar. The cloth is then drawn 
 rapidly over a hot iron, by which the hairy 
 filaments of cotton are singed otf without burn- 
 ing the cloth itself. The pieces of cloth are 
 next folded up into an irregular bundle, and 
 thrown into a large cistern of cold water, 
 where they become completely soaked. When 
 quite wetted, the cloth is put into a revolving 
 hollow cylinder, by which it undergoea a pro- 
 cess of washing : this prepares it for the re- 
 ception of the bleaching materials. 
 
 A solution of lime is then prepared, by 
 slaking ciuick-lime, and mixing it into a kind of 
 cream with water: this cream is laid between 
 the folds or a long piece of the cloth, and the 
 whole i? placed in a boiler, and boiled rapidly 
 for several hours. This removes the paste 
 which the cotton had received before being 
 woven, and also the greasy spots which are 
 likely to occur in the cloth. 
 
 The cloth is now prepared to receive the 
 bteaeking-powder. This is hchlcrideoflime, 
 and is made on a great scale in mannfactorir-s 
 devoted to that express purpose. To pnKlnce 
 it, a quantity of slaked lime is spreail out on 
 a stone floor, and the apartment rlosetl in |ier- 
 fectly air-t'sht. A leailen pipe leads from it 
 to a large leaden vessel containing /ommon 
 table salt, black oxydo of manganese, iiid dilute 
 sulphuric acid. A nhymirol action takes place 
 among these ingredients, esti» cially when aid- 
 ed by hcnt ; and the chlorim gas (one ingre- 
 dient in common salt), lircotning liberated, 
 ascends throu<;h the leaden pipe, and unites 
 chymicolly with the lime cpread out on the 
 floor. Tnis, then, is the Ueachine-powdf ; 
 and in order to apply it to the cloth, twenty- 
 four |>ounds arc dissolved i'l sixty gallons of 
 wat( or if the (pjantity of cloth to be bleach- 
 ed be seven hundred pounds, three hundred 
 and ci'ihty-eight pounds of bl'^aching-powder 
 are dissolved in nine hundred and seventy-one 
 gallons of water. In this cold solution the 
 cloth is ateeped for about six hours ; and on 
 taking it out and washing it with water, it is 
 found to be partially bleached. 
 
 The bleoching is further extended by steep- 
 ing the cl' ith for a few hours in woter contain- 
 ing a little sulphuric acid : this removes the 
 oxyde of iron which the cloth is apt to contain, 
 and also the small portion of lime which is 
 liable to adhere to it. The cloth is again 
 washed in cold water, and again steeped for 
 five or six hours in a solution of bleaching- 
 powder, weaker than the first. Lastly, anoth- 
 er steeping for four hours in water slightly 
 impregnated with sulphuric acid, presents the 
 cotton cloth in a purely white state. It will 
 thus be seen that the cloth, even under the 
 improved process, undergoes a complicated 
 treatment ; but if it be of inferior (juality, 
 some of the above processes are omitted. 
 
 But the labors of the bleacher are not yet 
 ended ; there are many finishing processes 
 still to be done. When tne last bleaching is 
 ended, the cloth is carefully washed, to re- 
 move all traces of thd acid, &cc. It is then 
 squeezed, to force out as much as possible 
 remaining in the cloth : this squeezing be- 
 ing effected by passing the cloth between two 
 rollers working closely on each other. The 
 cloth is now damp anrf much crumpled ; and 
 the next process is to pull out each piece to 
 its full breadth : this is done by women. But 
 the edges of the piece still continue folded in. 
 To make them straight, a workman strikes 
 the bundle against a smooth beating stock, first 
 one edge, and then the other. By this pro- 
 cess the pieces are spread out to their full 
 breadth, and all the folds and wrinkles re- 
 moved. 
 
 The cloth is then mangled while wet : this 
 
 ^A 
 
J-*. 
 
 i 
 
 prepRred to recpivo the 
 Tlii» ii tLchlcridtofUme, 
 ;at scali! in niBnufactorir>i 
 :m purpose. Tonnnluce 
 Led lime is tpreaii nut on 
 
 apartment closed in [>er- 
 lenden pipe leads from it 
 pssel containing /ommnn 
 Bof nian/iiaiifse, titd dilute 
 iymirnl action takes place 
 •nts, e»!)» cinlly when aid- 
 • chlorin- gas (one ingre- 
 ilt), Iweorning liberated, 
 
 leaden pipe, and unites 
 
 lime ("oread out on the 
 t the Ueaching-powdf- ; 
 f it to the cloth, twenty- 
 ilved h> sixty gallons of 
 tity of cloth to be bleach- 
 d iioundH, three hundred 
 mds (»f bl'»aching-powder 
 hundred and seventy-one 
 [n this cold Holution the 
 ibout six hours; and on 
 shing it with water, it is 
 I bleached. 
 
 urther extended by steep- 
 ly hours in woter contain- 
 ! acid : this removes the 
 :he cloth is apt to contain, 
 portion of lime which is 
 
 it. The cloth is again 
 !r, and again steeped for 
 
 a solution of bleaching- 
 1 the first. Lastly, anoth- 
 
 hours in water slightly 
 Iphnric acid, presents the 
 rely white state. It will 
 le cloth, even under the 
 jndergoes a complicated 
 t be of inferior (|uolity, 
 recesses are omitted. 
 
 the bleacher are not yet 
 lany finithinff processes 
 hen tne last bleaching is 
 carefully washed, to re- 
 he acid, ice. It is then 
 }ut as much as possible 
 oth : this squeezing be- 
 ng the cloth between two 
 elv on each other. The 
 ml much crumpled ; and 
 to pull out each piece to 
 
 is done by women. But 
 :e still continue folded in. 
 light, a workman strikes 
 smooth beating stock, first 
 the other. By this pro- 
 spread out to their full 
 e folds and wrmkles re- 
 
 mangkd while wet : this 
 
 IMPORTANCE OF SSLF KNOWLEDOf. 
 
 243 
 
 ii done by passing tt between rollers, by which 
 it is made toji-rubly smooth and even, and 
 rvody fur ttiirr.hinff or it{ffenin/(, Thi) starch 
 emiiloyed fur this purpose is made from flour 
 witn tne addition of a small <|uuntity of some 
 earthy substance. It is mixed into a thi( k 
 iiaxte, and pourod into a box or vat. The cloth 
 IS made to di|> into this vat, and thus imbibe 
 a portion of starch, and intinediately afterward 
 to pass between two rollers, which expel the 
 superfluous starch, and work i\\>^ remainder 
 well into the pores of the cloth, by which it 
 becomes thickened. It, has lieen observe i 
 "This method of thickening was undoubtedly 
 intended at first as a fraudulent metluxl of 
 making the purchaser bclievv that the cloth 
 wau much stouter and thickeT than it really 
 was. But it has been so long practised, and 
 is now so universally known, that all pur- 
 chasers must be aware of it, and of course not 
 in any danger of being deceived. But it cer- 
 tainly serves the purpose of making the giMxls 
 appear much more beautiful, aiut of a stouter 
 fabric to the eye ; and as long as they continue 
 \» -washed, they are really stronger than they 
 V "lid be without this artificial dressing. So 
 fa' it is beneficial ; and as it does not enhance 
 (.1 price, the purchasers have no reason to 
 jmnlain of imposition." 
 
 Tne starched cloth is hung up in a heated 
 room to dry : und is then ready for mlender ■ 
 ing, i\T impurting a tmoothness and gloss to it. 
 For this purpose, it is dam|)cd by being slight- 
 ly sprinkled with water by an ingenious ma- 
 cliine, and is then forced between two rollers, 
 which press it very heavily, Ditlerent ap- 
 
 fiearanccs, varying from that of a soft silkv 
 ustre to thot of wiry texture, are given to it 
 by varying the degree of pressure. The cloth 
 is now finished, and is folded into a pile, with 
 pastelx)ard and iron plates between the folds, 
 and subjected to a heavy pressure, in a Bramah 
 press. When removed from this i)re88, the 
 cloth is unfolded, and consigned to the respec- 
 tive owners. 
 
 Thus we see that the process of bleaching 
 a piece of cotton involves more than twenty 
 distinct processes ; and yet the charge for the 
 whole is less than one naif- penny per yard ! 
 Such is the etFect of combined improvements 
 in mechanical and chymical processes; im- 
 provements which give to the large bleach- 
 works of Lancashire an interest felt by both 
 the man of science, and the intelligent obser\ er 
 who lOoks only to learn. 
 
 Reason. — Without reason, as on a tempest- 
 uous sea, we are the sport of every wina and 
 wave, and know not, till the event hath deter- 
 mined it, how the next billow will disfirMe of 
 us ; whether it will dash us against a rock, or 
 drive as into a quiet harbor. 
 
 TMPORTANCK OP SELF-KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 Tmehc is no theme upon which humanity 
 can bestow its i«ttenti< n to more advantage, 
 nor \<.hiuh tnaiimrts to its votarist, more real 
 pleasure, than the ptirsuit of knowledge. But 
 of all the various departments of knowledge, 
 there is no I'ne which carries with it more im- 
 portance — w)'''.h is ro Ultimately identified 
 with the welfare of each individual and hence 
 with th' general interests uf humanity, nor 
 which in more frc(|uently neglected than that 
 which constitutes the suoject of the present 
 article. 
 
 The duty of self-knowledge, has ever been 
 looked upon, by the more intelligent of every 
 nation, us indispensable to the temp4)ral as well 
 as spiritual interests of man. The ancient 
 Greeks, though destitute of a knowledge of 
 the Scrr t'li'es, were not insensible to its im- 
 portance, 'Jut BO deeply consciouii were they 
 of Its ni.Oi ■ .;';i' decidedly religious tendency 
 that they caused the inscription, " Know thy- 
 self" to be consecrated in golden characters 
 on the ancient temple of D^lphos. 
 
 Even Cicero, the preat Koman orator, at- 
 tributed its authenticity to the gods, believing 
 it to convey to<i mutn weight of sense and 
 wisdom to be attribi t <.' to man. Such is the 
 estimation in which U 'vas held in the darker 
 ages of heathen superstition. And corrobora- 
 ted, as it now is, by divine truth, it falls with 
 increased weight at the shrine of every man's 
 duty- " Stand in awe ond sin not, commune 
 with your own hearts upon your bed, and be 
 still." Psalm iv. 4. " Examine yourselves 
 whether ye be in the faith, prove your own 
 selves, know ye not your own selves, how 
 that Jesus Chnst is in you, except ye be repro- 
 bates ?" 2 Cor. xiii. 5. 
 
 By self-knowledge, we understand a thor- 
 ough acquaintance with our own nature — a 
 thorough knowledge of our own character — 
 our own abilities — the motives prompting ua 
 to act — the prejudices of our hearts— our du- 
 ties, our thoughts, our virtues, and our vices. 
 A thorough knowledge of these, will e::i;ble 
 us to meet the responsibilities of life, and serve 
 to promote our usefulness toward our fellow- 
 men. 
 
 The man who diligently acquaints himself 
 with the negotiation of his neighbors, and 
 neglects his own business, becomes an object 
 of censure. He who eagerly studies the his- 
 tory and anxiously regards tne movements uf 
 foreign nations and [laya no attention to the 
 history and legislation of his own country, 
 justly renders himself ridiculous in the estima- 
 tion of every honest and intelligent citizen. 
 So too, that man whose privilege it is to 
 " stand midway between the kingdom of na- 
 ture and that of iiumortal spirits," who might 
 
 0' 
 
 .■ "sw:.'SfiZS»f--^'3r.;--.- 
 
 .-.-,yc.-[.K<a.vria--aT?S:^,(tV^;TO'-. 
 
-^vH 
 
 k ' 
 
 «ii 
 
 244 
 
 IMPORTANCE OP SELF-KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 reco^ise in himself one of the " highest be- 
 ings in nature," who can look down uj)on and 
 investigate everything below himself; who 
 knows " the soil which he cultivates and the 
 stars which regulate the seasons ;" " who is 
 the measure of the earth and all it contains, 
 and who unites what is dispersed in nature, 
 every power and every beauty in himself," 
 — although he eagerly drinks from the rich 
 fountain of general knowledge, if he learns 
 not to know himself, his frailties, his human 
 weakness, his sinful nature, and at the same 
 time his duties, and noble capacities, will after 
 all seem awkward to the eyes of the commu- 
 nity and subject himself to the censure of the 
 world. 
 
 Man, as a relative being, stands intimately 
 related to the world. And it is only when he 
 brings his own personal peculiarities to har- 
 monize with external influence, that he can 
 properly meet the object of his existence. 
 This, he can accomplish, only so far, es he is 
 thoroughly acquainted with nimself. 
 
 From the preceding, it follows, that self- 
 knowledge constitutes the foundation rock of 
 the lofty structure of general knowledge. 
 Without it, the structure, like the house on 
 sandy bottom, will be subject to foreign influ- 
 ence, driven here and there at pleasure, hav- 
 ing nothing fixed nor stable, and the subject 
 himself will be disqualified for his responsi- 
 bilities and duties. 
 
 Knowledge, we are told " puffeth up and 
 makethman proud and haughty." This charge 
 is perhaps not groundless when the subject is 
 not acquainted with himself. But self-knowl- 
 edge which reveals the hidden evil of our 
 hearts, looks into the secret recesses of our 
 minds and exposes to our view our faults and 
 imperfections, is calculated to humiliate and 
 subdue our naturally haughty spirits. It ex- 
 erts a healthful influence over our general 
 character, awakens the nobler feelings of the 
 aoul, and enables us to frame our actions in 
 such a way that they will adorn our sta- 
 tion. Hence the necessity, and in the first 
 place, of a thorough acquaintance with our 
 Tiature. 
 
 In the contemplation of our nature, we have 
 presented before our minds a picture, at once, 
 indeed 'ude and uncomely; but again, dis- 
 playing all the beauty, magnificence, and splen- 
 dor imaginable. We behold in it, the dark 
 valleys of depravity, the deserts of sin, and 
 the polluted swamps of ini(|uity, without a ray 
 of light to reveal its hidden beauties, or a single 
 flower to shed its fragrance round. Its rich 
 store* and treasures lie buried beneath the 
 fragments of its own ruin. We see it deserted 
 by all that is good and amiable, and abandoned 
 to the frowns of an incensed Deity. Such is 
 the first stage of human nature. But again, 
 
 cultivated by the skilful hand of an all-wise 
 Providence ; fertilized by the rich stores of 
 his goodness, and watered by the refreshing 
 streams of long-suffering and forbearance, it 
 is brought to bloom and blossom as the ruse. 
 Its hidden beauties are brought to light, and 
 its rich stores and treasures prominently pre- 
 sented to our view. As we contemplate it, 
 we learn to appreciate its wortli. We see its 
 superiority over the nature of the animal 
 " We discover in ourselves, opart from our 
 bodies which we have in common with the 
 animal, mind immortal and rational in its na- 
 ture, which traverses almost infinity of space, 
 and elevates us fur above all other creation." 
 We also "discover in ourselves capacity for 
 reflection, penetration, and study, together 
 with many other mental operations of which 
 we have no symptoms in the animal." Thus 
 the contemplation of our nature has, in the 
 first place, an humiliating tendency. And as 
 we learn to know ourselves the deep-toned 
 chords of our hearts swell with sympathetic 
 feeling when we see others deviate from the 
 path of duty in which they were wont to tread. 
 Again, as we contemplate its beauty and worth 
 we learn to appreciate the power, the glory 
 and the goodness of Him who has cultivated its 
 barren wastes, endowed it with those noble 
 faculties, impressed upon it his own image, 
 and exalted it even to the attainment of his 
 favor. Conscious of our entire unworthiness, 
 and of the goodness of God as manifested tow- 
 ard us, we also feel the debt of gratitude we 
 owe to him for our deliverance. Aided by the 
 power of the Holy Spirit, and the light of the 
 gospel, we endeavor to discharge this debt by 
 bringino; our bodies and minds and all we ate 
 in conformity to his will. This conviction 
 originating, as it does, from a sense of gt.'.' "tude, 
 love the most noble feeling of the soul becomes 
 the moving spring of our actions and sheds 
 forth a happy influence which may tell to the 
 eternal interests of those with whom we asso- 
 ciate. These, kind reader, are some of the 
 advantage derived from this department of 
 self-knowledge. How important then that we 
 should contemplate our nature. 
 
 Again : we should familiarize ourselves with 
 our character. It is strange, and yet true, that 
 men are exceedingly deficient in this depart- 
 ment of science. The man who has not at- 
 tended to this department of self-knowledge 
 frequently finds himself involved in diflUculties 
 the most unpleasant. We are much disponed 
 to estimate the character of others, by our 
 own, and where this is not fairly understood, 
 the estimate must necessarily be unjust. We 
 frequently condemn others for the same faulta 
 of which we ourselves are guilty, or oflend at 
 small blemishes in the character of another 
 while we look with perfect satisfaction upon 
 
 "^ 
 
ilful hand of an all-wise 
 3(1 by the rich stores of 
 atered by the refreshing 
 ;rine and forbearance, it 
 and blossom as the rose. 
 Eire brought to light, and 
 easures jiroininently pre- 
 
 As we contemplate it, 
 te its worth. We see its 
 i nature of the animaL 
 urselves, apart from our 
 ve in common with the 
 tal and rational in its na- 
 3 almost infinity of space, 
 ibove all other creation." 
 in ourselves capacity for 
 )n, and study, together 
 ntal operations of which 
 is in the animal." Thus 
 f our nature has, in the 
 ating tendency. And as 
 jurselves the deep-toned 
 
 swell with sympathetic 
 others deviate from the 
 I they were wont to tread, 
 jlate its beauty and worth 
 Lte the power, the glory 
 [im who has cultivated its 
 (ved it with those noble 
 upon it his own ima^e, 
 
 to the attainment of his 
 " our entire unworthiness, 
 f God as manifested tow- 
 the debt of gratitude we 
 liverance. Aided by the 
 I pint, and the light of the 
 to discharge this debt by 
 ind minds and all we ate 
 s will. This conviction 
 , from a sense of gt," 'tude, 
 ;eling of the soul becomes 
 )f our actions and sheds 
 ice which may tell to the 
 lose with whom we asso- 
 reader, are some of the 
 from this department of 
 3W important then that we 
 )ur nature. 
 
 familiarize ourselves with 
 strange, and yet true, that 
 deficient in this depart- 
 !'he man who has not at- 
 rtment of self-knowledge 
 elf involved in difficulucs 
 We are much disponed 
 racter of others, by our 
 i is not fairly understood, 
 cessarily be unjust. We 
 Dthers for the same faults 
 es are guilty, or oiTend at 
 the character of another 
 perfect satisfaction upon 
 
 IMPORTANCE OP SELF-KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 245 
 
 much greater ones in our own. This is the 
 result of self-ignomnce. It is only when men 
 are brought to understand their own character 
 that they can form a proper estimate of that 
 of another. And would we be useful and con- 
 sistent ourselves or to others we must under- 
 stand our character. Upon a moment's re- 
 flection the truth of this jmsition will be mani- 
 fest. " Atfectation," savs a popular writer, 
 " is the spring of all ridicule, and self-ignor- 
 ance the true source of atlectation." This 
 fact bears with as much weight and import- 
 ance. He who knows not himself, knows not 
 what will beautify and adorn his character, 
 and proudly desiring to appear to the best ad- 
 vantage frequently atVects one entirely difler- 
 ent from his own, avi thus acting either above 
 or beneath himself, in either case becomes 
 equally ridiculous in the estimation of the 
 wise. The man, however, who understands 
 his character, views it in its proper light. He 
 estimates it according to its moral worth, and 
 thus conducts himself in a way becoming his 
 station. Not influenced by the vain notions 
 of noble birth, .,,i)ugh he possess all the pow- 
 er, wealth can bestow, he feels that an ad- 
 verse change of fortune can bring him to cir- 
 cumstances of want ; that he too is a man 
 subject to all the faults, sorrows and trials of 
 his race, and hence he condescends to all, 
 though humble, yet amiable, noble, and worthy 
 deeds ; " but in his condescension there is a 
 true dignity which elevates and exalts him in 
 the estimation of the world." 
 
 Another and important part of self-knowl- 
 edge is, a thorough acquaintance with our 
 abilities. Many of the censures, disappoint- 
 ments, and sorrows of life are to be attributed 
 to self-ignorance in this view. It has pleased 
 Providence to award to evet|y man certain 
 capacities and talents which develop them- 
 selves and, if properly understood, serve to 
 promote his usefulness in the world. The 
 man, however, who is unacquainted with these 
 capacities neither knows what he can, nor 
 what he can not do. Hence he either spends 
 his days in careless inactivity, or influenced, 
 as men frequently are, by a vain desire to 
 display, presumes to undertake what he by no 
 means has power to accomplish. Thus vainly 
 endeavoring to grasp such laurels as lie far be- 
 yond his reach, in order that he may decorate 
 his brow with wreaths of honor, he precipi- 
 tates himself headlong down the cragged rocks 
 of public censure, each successive tumble 
 bringing him nearer and nearer the final gulf 
 of dishonor and disgrace. Thus we frequent- 
 ly find men of very ordinary capacity en- 
 deavoring to fathom the deep principles of 
 philosophy and reveal the faults and errors 
 of others, with whose minds were their own 
 to be compared, they would be almost as a 
 
 drop to the ocean or the veriest atom to a 
 world. 
 
 Who, that has read Horace's epistle to Pison 
 has not been struck with the trutn, the weight, 
 and importance of his suggestion as contained 
 in the following extract : — 
 
 " Examine well, ye writeri, weigh with care 
 W hat fru it your genias, what your strength can bear, 
 For when a well-proportioned theme ye choose 
 Nor words, nor method shall their aid refuse. 
 In this, or I mistake, consists the grace 
 And force of method, to assign a place 
 For what with present judgment we should say, 
 And for some happier time the rest delay." 
 
 He who knows his alnlities contemplates 
 well before he begins whether he will be able 
 to perform, and in so doing never ventures be- 
 yond his legitimate sphere. Though anxious 
 to meet the responsibilities of life, and willing 
 to endure thj toil and labor of civil, literary, 
 and religious warfare, he is careful to observe 
 that the means at hand are adequate to the 
 object proposed. 
 
 Agam, there are no faults to which we are 
 more subject and yet less conscious of than 
 our prejudices. These, though latent, present 
 the greatest barriers to a fair and honest judg- 
 ment imaginable. To know and understand 
 these constitutes another importont part of 
 self-knowledge. The circumstances of our 
 youth, our general system of education, and 
 the selfish disposition of our hearts, all seem 
 to exert a prejudical influence over our minds. 
 This is manifest from our early disposition to 
 cling to one system of opinions on religion, 
 politics, or philosophy, and reject the other 
 while in reality we scarcely understand the 
 prinr'nles of either. This is not the result of 
 fair and honest investigation, but of mere 
 speculative notions imbibed according to the 
 peculiar circumstances with which we are 
 surrounded. This disposition, if permitted to 
 flow on uninterruptedly, naturally develops 
 itself, and finally so perfectly overshadows 
 and biases our minds as to render them " im- 
 penetrable by the rays of truth or light of 
 reason." But apart from external influence 
 prejudices frequently arise from a vain convic- 
 tion of our own good sense and understanding. 
 Hence we form notions and invent plans, and 
 supported by a good share of self-esteem, pro- 
 claim them to the world confident of their ex- 
 cellence and superior merit. Should how- 
 ever, another, whose mind is less darkened by 
 the black mantle of self-sufficiency, detect 
 and expose their faults, though it be with all 
 posbible kindness, we immediately attribute it 
 to ill will, envy, or ignorance on his part and 
 proudly resent it, never dreaming that the 
 fault might after all lie with ourselves. Such, 
 however, is not the case with the votarist of 
 self-knowledge. His object is truth. And 
 does he discover a plan or advance an idea he 
 
Ill 
 
 ft ll 
 
 «i ^' «■ •* 
 
 ft :- #^'» 
 
 246 
 
 LITGRATUBE OF THE JEW& 
 
 views it well by the scrutinizing eye of honest 
 judgment, weighs it in the balance of sound 
 sense, and impartially compares it with the 
 fair standard of truth, and does he, or another 
 discover that it is wrong, he nobly renounces 
 it, and, grasping the lingering ray of truth, re- 
 joices that his mind may again move in that 
 pleasing element so congenial to its growth. 
 
 Reader, be persuaded to devote your atten- 
 tion to this important duty. Make it a fre- 
 quent theme of contemplation. Learn to 
 know yourself, and you will go forth in your 
 respective pursuits with increased interest and 
 delight. You may sit by the still fountains 
 of literature, rove over the beautiful plains of 
 art, or ascend the lofty hill of science, and in 
 all these you will discover new charms, and 
 new beauties. It will adorn your actions, 
 which honorable, noble, consistent, and be- 
 coming your station, will elicit public favor 
 and approbation. It will be to you a fountain 
 head of noble deeds. It will strew your path 
 with fragrant flowers, and finally, when you 
 stand upon the verge of the eternal world, you 
 will look back with pleasing recollections and 
 recall the happy day when you first resolved 
 to make self-knowledge a theme of contempla- 
 tion. 
 
 LITERATURE OF THE JEWS. 
 
 The indebtedness of the literary world to 
 the Israelites, has not been generally recog- 
 nised nor realized by Christian scholars. To 
 illustrate the obligations of literature to the 
 Jews, we need not dwell on the fact that this 
 peojple were the penmen, and the chosen de- 
 positaries of that wonderful book which con- 
 tains the only reliable history of the world for 
 many centunes, and which has more sublime 
 and beautiful poetry, and more valuable moral 
 instruction than all other books — though this 
 should entitle them to the lasting respect of 
 the world ; for ever since the dispersion of the 
 Jews among the Gentiles — by whom they have 
 been a despised and persecuted people — the 
 children of Israel have distinguished them- 
 selves by their pursuit of literature. 
 
 In the darkness of the middle ages, they in- 
 terested themselves in the studies of the Arabs, 
 who for successive ages, were the sole patrons 
 of learning, and by means of translations into 
 Hebrew and Laun, dittused a knowledge of 
 the sciences through the different countries 
 of Europe in which they resided. Even pre- 
 vious to the ninth century the Jews produced 
 several origbal works on morals and puiloso- 
 phy. 
 
 In the tenth century science was assiduous- 
 ly cultivated by them in Spain. At Toledo, 
 
 they had schools which were greatly celebra- 
 ted and crowded with scholars, no less than 
 twelve thousand pupils attended them. In 
 mathematics and astronomy, there were no 
 schools in Europe that could compete with 
 those at Toledo. Aben Ezra, a Jew, was the 
 inventor of the method of dividing the cei'^stiul 
 sphere equatorially ; and it is said that in some 
 of the philosophical treatises by the Jews of 
 that period, allusion is made to that important 
 ])rinciple in the Newtonian system — the at- 
 (jaction of the heavenly bodies. 
 
 What was true of the Jews in Spain, was 
 likewise true of their brethren in Portugal. 
 Germany, Italy, France, and elsewhere ; ev- 
 ery where during the ages of darkness and gen- 
 eral ignorance, the dispersed Israelites were 
 the zealous culti\ ators and successful teachers 
 of the important sciences. 
 
 They were also distinguished for their 
 knowledge of medicine ; and notwithstanding 
 the bitterest persecutions with which they 
 were everywhere visited, they supplied physi- 
 cians to most of the kings of Europe, and even 
 to some of the popes of Home. 
 
 Thus v.-ere the Israelites the cultivators 
 and transmitters of learning through the entire 
 period of darkness and gloom which enveloped 
 the minds of men during successive centunes. 
 As they had been the faithful depositaries of 
 those sacred books so invaluable to men, thus 
 were they also, under Providence, not only 
 the depositaries, but, from their peculiar con- 
 dition and dispersion, the propagators of hu- 
 man science and knowledge in ^1 the king- 
 doms of Europe. 
 
 These facts are deeply interesting if not 
 new, and are suggestive of the debt of grati- 
 tude which the Christian world owes to the 
 still dispersed and despised descendants of 
 Abraham. 
 
 Domestic Ecokomt.— 7%e teetling of 
 coals is very false economy, as, though they 
 burn slower, a great deal of heat is wasted in 
 drying, and carried oiTin the steam. 
 
 In airing rooms, both the upper and lower 
 parts of the window should be opened, as the 
 bad and heated air, from its lightness, w'll 
 pass out at the top, and the fresh cool air come 
 in at the bottom. 
 
 A blanket is a cooler covering than a sheet 
 in summer, because it allows the perspiration 
 to escape. Sheets feel cooler at first, because 
 they carry ofT the heat of the body quicker ; 
 but when they become as warm as the body, 
 they feel warmer, by confining the perspira- 
 tion. 
 
 Roast meat is more nutritions than boileil, 
 as in boiling the gelatine is extracted, and dis- 
 solved in the water. 
 
 -^*45^ 
 
f 
 
 lich were greatly celebra- 
 th scholars, no less than 
 ipils attended them. In 
 itronomy, there were no 
 that could compete with 
 ben Ezra, a Jew, was the 
 xl of dividing the cei'tstial 
 and it is said that in some 
 treatises by the Jews of 
 is made to that important 
 wtonian system — the at- 
 nlv bodies. 
 
 the Jews in Spain, was 
 ir brethren in Portugal, 
 ince, and elsewhere ; ev- 
 ages of darkness and gen- 
 lispersed Israelites were 
 rs and successful teachers 
 nces. 
 
 distinguished for their 
 ne; and notwithstanding 
 utions with which they 
 ited, they supplied physi- 
 lingsof Europe, and even 
 of Rome. 
 
 sraelites the cultivators 
 aming through the entiru 
 d gloom which enveloped 
 ring successive centunes. 
 e faithful depositaries of 
 ) invaluable to men, thus 
 ler Providence, not only 
 from their peculiar con- 
 1, the propagators of hu- 
 owledge in all the king- 
 
 Iceply interesting if not 
 ive of the debt of grati- 
 stian world owes to the 
 lespised descendants of 
 
 ml.— The wetting of 
 ;onomy, as, though they 
 deal of heat is wasted in 
 trin the steam, 
 oth the upper and lower 
 should be opened, as the 
 from its lightness, w'll 
 id the fresh cool air come 
 
 !er covering than a sheet 
 t allows the perspiration 
 el cooler at first, because 
 at of the body quicker ; 
 le as warm as the body, 
 ' confining the perspira- 
 
 e nutritions than boiled, 
 ine is extracted, and dis- 
 
 I 
 
 Indian Ls?lr. 
 
 INDIAN LOCK. 
 
 This curious lock is in the form of a bird ; 
 probably, representing the Hindoo god, Ga- 
 rnda, the carrier or bearer of Vishnu, the sec- 
 ond of the Hindo«^ -. d, Garuda being to 
 Vishnu what the ea^ ■•; . o Jupiter. Garuda 
 is worshipped by the i;,-,nve9 of Madras ; and, 
 his living type, a kind of large hawii, is dili- 
 gently fed by the devotees: the writer has 
 often seen the worshippers with little baskets, 
 filled with fliesh, which is thrown skilfully, a 
 small piece at a time, into the air, while they 
 shout, "Hari! Hari!" a name of Vishnu, and 
 the bird stoops on the wing and takes the prey. 
 Garuda is supposed to possess human, or, 
 rather, divine, intelligence, and is much rev- 
 ered. Many stories are told of his discernment 
 and cunning ; and it is, probably, on this ac- 
 count that the native artist has made his lock 
 in the form of Garuda, a suflRcient guaranty, 
 in his notion, for its acting as a safety or de- 
 tector, equal, or even superior, to tne more 
 mechanical and scientific inventions of Bramah 
 or Chubb. We should add, that, in this Indian 
 lock, the keyhole is on the side, one of the wnga 
 of the bird serving as a shifting escutcheon. 
 
 HOW TO LIVE. 
 
 Nkrvo08 iHDnLOENCE.— All ncrvous and 
 melancholy people should not only seek occu- 
 pation to divert self- reflections from their lead- 
 ing grievance, but deter.-ninedly not think 
 
 of it, even though they can find nothing else 
 to do. Ever-present apprehensions, misgiv- 
 in^.s, and even sensations, are the growth of 
 habit, as much as the musician is always sing- 
 ing, the poet rhapsodizing, or the artist sketch- 
 ing. No man can do two things at once, any 
 more than a man can be at two places at the 
 same time ; and hence, engage but the mind 
 in a new task, no matter whether it be to 
 count a hundred or set off on an errand, and 
 the dull thought will give way to the circum- 
 stance of the moment. "We contend it is 
 possible in this way to subdue grief — to avert 
 distressing reflections, and to struggle agai.ist 
 difficulties. There are a thousand occupa- 
 tions that might enga." the best of us, success- 
 fully too, if we int^uire into and can find our 
 capacities. Learning a language — studying 
 music — singing — horticulture — dan i'l" (a 
 most excellent device)— drawing — opei •% 
 
 — sight-seeing — riding and driving out ., 
 elling (above all others) — jaunting — makir 
 excursions — following the pleasures of ti: 
 day ; and if none of these possess attractions, 
 it IS unwise to indulge in the one thought — for 
 brooding rivets the malady, and the chances 
 are against our ever resuming the position in 
 life we have fallen from. 
 
 Think of the shortness of life, and what a 
 piece of extreme folly it is to waste an hour in 
 needless lamentation and wo. Fretting never 
 repaired a loss — never filled up a chasm— 
 never mended a broken limb — ^never smother- 
 ed a fire. The moment a circumstance is 
 past — if it be inimical, set instantly, like the 
 oird with its stolen nest, to repair it. The 
 mischief often happens for the best. 
 
f ' 
 
 J' - 
 
 1 ''^ " 
 
 8 ■*" V * 
 
 1 4. »-« 
 1 * "''*' 
 
 hi , 
 
 ^ ■■> « =v 
 
 
 248 
 
 HOW TO LIVE. 
 
 On Exercise, Horse-Riding, and Gym- 
 nastics — Nothing can exceed the value of 
 exercise. Nature made man to be moving as 
 birds are made to fly; and it is unnatural not 
 to use the powers we are supplied with. In 
 walking— which is before every other action, 
 except horse-ridinff, and that, by-the-by (only 
 we are told " all things are made for our use") 
 IS, by some, a questionable right of man's au- 
 thonty— every muscle is brought in play. In 
 consequence, the blood circulates with weater 
 torce and rapidity; and so long as we do not 
 excite the same too powerfully, so long may 
 we walk and move about, short of fati^e. 
 
 Horse-exercise is sanatory and recreative. 
 Healthy Irom securing thereby abundance of 
 exercise— getting over distances and far into 
 the country, procuring thus fresh air and 
 mental occupation— and of an agreeable kind ; 
 because the very management of a steed re- 
 quires some little address ond attention. It 
 strongly behooves all dyspeptics to whom time 
 IS an object, and who, besides, may not be 
 strong enough to walk two or three miles, to 
 ^cure by hook or cnK,k, a cob or a poney. 
 Ihe anxious man may plead expense os a 
 hindrance ; but surely the hiring might be sub- 
 stituted in the case for purchasing : more also 
 IS made of the latter than need be. Seventy 
 or eighty dollars will be begrudged for a horse • 
 whereas the same money will be spent in a 
 teast, or parted with in an incautious credit, 
 or laid aside for some little unnecessary ex- 
 travagance. Many a man has to reflect, that 
 It would have been better for him to have 
 b<iught his horse, than to have done so and so 
 with hi8 money. 
 
 Where ambling and cantering ore quite im- 
 possible, and a two-legged conveyance is all 
 that can be comraonded, pray, my friend, be 
 you invalid or otherwise, use it ; do not 
 "stick" indoors all day, but make an effort 
 and get over, by gentle or brisker efforts, some 
 three or four miles a day. If your business 
 confine you from eight till eight, or six till six, 
 there is still time feft before and afterward! 
 Have that to yourself, and spend it in walking 
 in the sun, if possible, at least in the air, and 
 where you can, as far from town or narrow 
 streets as may be. 
 
 There are thousands of people whose only 
 complaint is want of exercise. A bloated 
 paunch may, by exercise and abstinence, be 
 rendered classically spare and elegant. The 
 " city "prenrice," the friendless youth, or the 
 young gentleman, all of whom service, re- 
 straint, or indolence, forbids stepping beyond, 
 scarcely, can it be called, in and out of bed. 
 
 ntKn*- .......1.1 ^1 . ■ t ^ ' 
 
 pale face, bloodless lips and sunken eyes of 
 many a young maiden, also might be rostored 
 to roseate health, by an hour or two's morninc 
 wolk m th.' parks, or the high roads, or the 
 fields: and how it behooves fathers and mothers 
 to insist upon their doughters that need it 
 doing as much, if the young ladies have nd 
 taith in the means themselves. 
 
 what would they not derive from a couple of 
 hours' daily walk in the fresh oir ? It would 
 moke a hero of eoch— every lad might become 
 a Whittington— mony of them mayors. The 
 
 Uif remaining tight to tieallh and recreation. 
 i. his IS a good division where practicable. 
 
 The Flesh Brush.— Korse-hair gloves 
 soft and hard brushes, to rub the body with 
 or friction or shampooing of the same, witli 
 the uncovered hand, are severally recommend- 
 ed by medical men. I am a believer in the 
 usefuiucss of each variety; but I give prefer- 
 ence to the latter, the use of the hand ; ond 
 I advise its application, local and general. 
 
 b riction of the abdomen, in coses of torpid 
 liver, distended bowels, or a morbidly irritable 
 stomach, 18 of great service. It will not. how- 
 ever, suffice merely to rub the hand over the 
 belly half a dozen rimes. The bowels, liver 
 and stomach, should be regulorly kneoded, 
 tor at least fifteen or twenty rimes every day • 
 the easiest times certainly are, before rising 
 and on going to bed ; but the best time is be- 
 tween meals, when the food is all but digested. 
 In young and delicate persons, friction of 
 the entire body is highly serviceable ; and it 
 IS no bad additional morning and eveninf 
 omusement for an odult to use the "hair 
 brush" or the "flesh brush," or the hand, 
 
 ^A 'mu ^*** ^"^^ '^^*' '^^^' and entire 
 body. 1 he advantages of this process are, 
 that it con be done without assistance ; but 
 with elderly and infirm people, a rubber is 
 indispensable. The result will be, that oil 
 the digestive organs will be excited into some- 
 thing like ocrion. Where exercise is forbid- 
 den, by involuntary confinement or other 
 causes, the shampooing supplies its place; 
 but It must be continued (it will not hurt) all 
 the year round ; and it should form u species 
 of gymnastics, night and morning, from five to 
 ten minutes more or less each time. The 
 stomach receives thereby a glow that diffuses 
 itself over the enrire abdomen; and I have 
 known cases of constipation most agreeably 
 relieved by the same. 
 
 The use of dumb-bells is salutary, as indeed 
 are all gymnastic recreations, fifting light 
 weights, suspending the body by the hands, 
 swinging, skipping, etc., etc. Bottledore and 
 shuttlecock is an excellent game for grown-up 
 people. Get into an unlumbered room, or a 
 courtyard, and alone, or with a playmate, 
 determine to number a thousand jerks of the 
 feathered cock. Never mind the seeming 
 
 lue I 
 Qing 
 
18 lips and sunken eyes of 
 iden, also might be restored 
 )y an hour or two's inorninr; 
 or the high roods, or the 
 ehoovesfutliersnnd mothers 
 if daughters that need it, 
 the young ladies have no 
 themselves. 
 
 be thus distributed : eight 
 hours' application to our 
 'ies, worl/Jlij duties, and 
 '■ to health and recreation. 
 sion where practicable. 
 USH. — Korse-hair gloves, 
 hes, to rub the body with, 
 pooing of the same, with 
 , are severally recommend- 
 . I am n believer in the 
 ■ariety; but I give prefer- 
 the use of the hand ; and 
 ion, local and general, 
 xlom^-n, in cases of torj)id 
 els, or a morbidly irritable 
 service. It will not. how- 
 tt) rub the hand over the 
 imes. The bowels, liver, 
 d be regularly kneaded, 
 ■ twenty times every day ; 
 srtainly are, before rising 
 ; but the best time is be- 
 he food is all but digested, 
 icate persons, friction of 
 ighly serviceable ; and it 
 11 morning and evenin" 
 adult to use the "hair 
 9h brush," or the hand, 
 'er legs, arms, and entire 
 iges of this process are, 
 without assistance; but 
 firm people, a rubber ia 
 result will be, that all 
 vill be excited into some- 
 iVhere exercise is forbid- 
 iT confinement or other 
 Ding supplies its place; 
 aed (it \v\\\ not hurt) all 
 it should form u species 
 ind morning, from five to 
 r less each time. The 
 •eby a glow that diffuses 
 ! abdomen; and I have 
 tipation most agreeably 
 
 jlls is salutary, as indeed 
 Bcreations, lifting light 
 the body by the hands, 
 c, etc. Battledore and 
 llent game for grown-up 
 unlumbered room, or a 
 . or with a playmate, 
 a thousand jerks of the 
 ver mind the seeming 
 
 tm 
 
 ZOOPHITES, OR PLANT ANIMALS. 
 
 249 
 
 puerility of playing " with trifles light as air." 
 Vou will get into a wholesome glow, and de- 
 rive much amusement at the fun of it. " Let 
 those laugh who win." Cricket is a splendid 
 j;uine ; bowls an amusing one ; billiards, if 
 i)!uyed only for friendly contention, are mental- 
 ly recreative and p.iysicolly useful. In short, 
 whether you be man or woman, boy or maiden, 
 old or young, move about and take escrcise 
 in the best way you can, ond as much "un- 
 housed" as possible. Exercise is positively 
 a virtue; and "virtue is," as the school-boy's 
 copy has it, " its own reward." 
 
 ZOOPHITES, OR PLANT ANIMALS. 
 
 These wonderful productions are so denom- 
 inated, on account of their existing in the shape 
 of plants. They are very numerous, and the 
 greater part of them have so great a resem- 
 blance to vegetables, that they have generally 
 been considered as such, although the horny 
 and stony ajipearance of several of the tribe, 
 declares them at first view, to be of a widely 
 ditferent nature from the generality of plants. 
 In others, however, the softness of their sub- 
 stance, and the ramified mode of their growth, 
 would lead any one not acquainted with their 
 real nature, to suppose them vegetables. Tfle 
 hard, horny or stony zoophites are in general 
 known by the name of corals ; and of these 
 several distinctions are formed, either from 
 the structure and appearance of the coral or 
 hard ])art, or from tne affinity which the soft- 
 er or animal part bears to some other genus 
 among soft-bodied animals, or mollusca. The 
 zoophites may be therefore said to unite the 
 animal and vegetable kingdoms, so as to fill 
 up the intermediate space. 
 
 Belonging to the class of zoophite worms, 
 the fresh water polypes are infinitely curious. 
 These animals may be found in small streams, 
 and in stagnant waters, adhering to the stems 
 of aquatic plants, or to the under surface of 
 the leaves, and other objects. If a polype be 
 cut in two parts, the superior part will pro- 
 duce a new tail, and the inferior part a new 
 head and arms ; and this, in warm weather, in 
 the course of a very few days. If cut into 
 three pieces, the .middle portion will produce 
 both head and tail ; and in short, polypes may 
 be cut in all directions, and will still repro- 
 duce the deficient organs. The natural mode of 
 propagation in this animal, is by shoots or off"- 
 sets, in the manner of a plant ; one or more 
 branches or shoots proceed from the parent 
 stem, dropping off" when complete; and it 
 often happens that these young branches pro- 
 duce others before they themselves drop off 
 
 from the parent; so that a polype may be 
 found with several of its descendants still ad- 
 hering to its stem, thus constituting a real 
 genealogical tree. The polype, likewise, du- 
 ring the autumnal seasons, deposi'^s eggs, 
 which involve themselves afterward into dis- 
 tinct animals ; and thus possessing two modes 
 of multiplication. It seems paradoxical that 
 a polype should be able to swallow a worm, 
 three or four times as large as itself, which is 
 frequently observed to happen ; but it must 
 be considered that the body of the animal is 
 extremely extensile, and that it possesses, in 
 an extraordinary degree, the power of stretch- 
 ing itself according to the size of the substance 
 it has to swallow. It seizes its prey with 
 great eagerness, but swallows it slowly, in the 
 same manner as a snake swallows any small 
 quadruped. The arms of a polype, when 
 microscopically examined, are founcl to be fur- 
 nished with a vast number of small organs, 
 apparently acting like so many suckers, by 
 the means of which the onimal can hold a 
 worm, even though but slightly in contact 
 with one of its arms ; but when on the point 
 of swallowing its prey, it then makes use of 
 all its arms at once, in order to absorb it the 
 more readily. 
 
 Corals, on being gathered perfectly fresh, 
 and planted in sea-water, appear to put forth 
 small flowers from all the minute cavitie?j or 
 hollow points on the surface. These sup- 
 posed flowers (for such an idea has been en- 
 tettained) are real animals; and consequently 
 corals are to be considered as aggregates of 
 animals, either forming, or at least inhabiting 
 the calcareous substance of the coral in which 
 they appear. The smaller corals, commonly 
 known by the name of corallines, or sea-mos- 
 ses, are so many ramified sea- polypes, covered 
 with a kind of strong, homy case, to defend 
 them from the injuries to which they would 
 be liable, in the boisterous element destined 
 for their abode. 
 
 The harder, or stony corals, are equally of 
 an animal nature ; the entire coral continuing 
 to grow as an animal, and to form, by secre- 
 tion, the stronger or homy exterior which jnay 
 at once be considered as Us bone, and the Hab- 
 itation in which it has constantly to dwell. 
 A coral of this kind is therefore, a large com- 
 pound zoophite, springing up from the rock, 
 in which it seems to have taken root, and 
 shooting out into branches like a vegetable 
 production. 
 
 cJponges afford another curious instaii.t.' of 
 -"•''phitic life. T'^iere are forty-nine species 
 of this zoophite, ' ach of which is character- 
 ized in tl)() Tiinniean system as « f'xr/? animal, 
 flexile, '.ovpid, of various fovnw, <.>tnpo8ed 
 of either reticulate fibres, or nias5ie!a of small 
 spines interwoven together, and ct'.ithed with 
 
 m 
 
s. M 
 
 rt 
 
 850 
 
 BELEM, OR PAHA— THE SELF-TORMENTORS. 
 
 a gelatinous flesh, full of small mouths on its 
 surface, by which it absorbs and rejects 
 water. The existence of the animal inhabi- 
 tant within its cell, has been satisfactorily as- 
 certained by the observations and experinientfl 
 of Ellis, on the spongia tormi'iii'-ya. He 
 remarked its contraction whenerpu.i?fl to pain 
 or injury, as well as the expi.Aiii..n avi' inspi- 
 ration of water through its tiiu s. .'ile thus 
 established the position that sp trige i.- art ani- 
 mal, and that the ends or o;,irriDri8 cf ihe 
 branched tubes ore liie mouUit* ioy wL:ch it 
 receives its nourishm'^nt and d'scharges its 
 excrementiivious matter. This pr-jinon chym- 
 istry has sinre abundantly swr^ported, by prov- 
 ifi!» the arinioiliical property of the cellular 
 rnibstance o* sponge. 
 
 resisting the action of water in a surprising de- 
 gree. Vanilla is also plentiful, and the Indians 
 eather large quantities of wax and resin. The 
 forests contain, besides, dye-wootls of various 
 kinds, and in considerable quantity. 
 
 BELEM, OR ?i\U. 
 
 Tmk city of Belem, to which our illustra- 
 tion refers, is situated at the entrance of one 
 of the largest ana-branches of the river Ama- 
 zon, and \n a position to influence greatly the 
 future stream of commerce, which will doubt- 
 less vivify the present bou;'.i1less wastes and 
 impenetrable forests of the interior of South 
 America. The capabilities o'' this quarter of 
 the world are at present litvit known, though 
 the public attention of several *^aropean coun- 
 tries has of late been directed to tne subject. 
 The recent expedition under f-Ar R. Schom- 
 berg, has been followed by one instituted by 
 the desire of the French government, not to 
 be behind us upon the subject of correct geo- 
 graphical and general information as regards 
 Central South America. From sources such 
 as these, we learn that in this neighborhood, 
 extensive forests of wild cocoa exist, and no- 
 where has nature developed her riches in a 
 more lavish manner ; it is impossible to ima- 
 gine the diversity and extreme beauty of the 
 trees, and particularly the palms which form 
 these forests. The creatures that animate the 
 countries are not less remarkable for their sin- 
 gular forms than the brilliancy of their colors 
 — ^the jaguars, the tapirs, the ant-eaters, the 
 tatons, more than twenty species of monkeys, 
 birds of the most dazzling hues, couroncous, 
 colinf[is, and parrots, show themselves in every 
 part. The former has on its head a singular 
 crest, in the shape of a parasol, and the sec- 
 ond displays in its plumage all that the sun of 
 the equator can produce in purple, emerald, 
 and gold. These regions also ..i'oand in mag- 
 nificent woods, and produc 'i nbundance 
 everything required in ship-'i ^. uiiig ; such as 
 birch, hemp, and exr^llen'; - ^age, made of 
 the fibres of the pakn-J ••< and capable of 
 
 mZ SELF-TORMENTORS. 
 
 THvai; is no situation in life for which 
 candidufns will not be found to offer them- 
 selves, no matter how degrading or disgusting 
 it may be ; and it is indeed most fortunate 
 that there are those whose habits and tastes 
 are not too refined for occupations which to 
 others would be absolutely appalling, for thus 
 no rkpartment is left unfilled : the hangman 
 is never sought in vain ; the scavenger spends 
 his .lays amidst the filth of the streets, and 
 does not hold himself one whit the worse ; 
 butchers are not loath to slay ; and surgeons 
 perform amputations con amore. The ac- 
 quirement of the means of subsistence oiimn- 
 laten all, and thus the business of the world is 
 conuucied with undeviating completeness. 
 But there is a class of human beings, and no 
 inconsiderable one, who devote themselves to 
 hardshipa, and submit to privations, from mo- 
 tives wholly apart from the desire to earn a 
 livelihood. This is the class of self-torment- 
 ors. Some of the most extraordinary exam- 
 ples of these are to be found among the Fakirs, 
 who, from their strange tenets respecting the 
 Deity, and the sacrifices which they think 
 pleasing to him, inflict the most severe tor- 
 tures on themselves. Some of them make a 
 vow to continue for life in one posture ; others 
 carry a weary load, or drag a heavy chain, 
 from which they have vowed never to disen- 
 gage themselves. Some have doomed them- 
 selves to crawl upon their hands and knees for 
 a term of years ; and others roll their bodies 
 along the ground, from the shores of the Indus 
 to the banks of the Ganges. Some have con- 
 demned themselves to swing before a slow 
 fire for the remainder of their days ; while 
 others suspend themselves with their heads 
 downward, exposed to the fiercest flames. 
 Many of the Hindoo fanatics, pledged by a 
 religions vow, are to be found at the \'illage8 
 where the ceremony of swinging is observed 
 at stated times. It is thus contrived : in the 
 centre of an area a pole of from twenty to 
 thirty feet high is erected, on which a long 
 horizontal beam is fixed, with a rope run over 
 a pulley at the extremity; to this rope an 
 iron hook is fastened, which being run through 
 the integuments of the swinging devotee, he 
 is suspended high in the air, a spectacle of 
 admiration to the assembled multitude, who 
 
ORS. 
 
 of water in a surprising; de- 
 o plentiful, and the Indinns 
 ;ie8 of wax and resin. The 
 de», dye-woo<ls of various 
 lerable quantity. 
 
 ^T0RMENT01lS. 
 
 tuation in life for which 
 ; be found to offer them- 
 3W degrading or disgusting 
 is indeed most fortunate 
 B whose habits and tastes 
 for occupations which to 
 wlutely appalling, for thus 
 ih unfilled : the hangman 
 ain ; the scavenger spends 
 e filth of the streets, and 
 self one whit the worse ; 
 lath to slay ; and surgeons 
 na con amore. The ac- 
 eans of subsistence aiimu- 
 he business of the world is 
 indeviating compltteness. 
 I of human beings, and no 
 who devote themselves to 
 nit to privations, from mo- 
 from the desire to earn a 
 ( the class of self-torment- 
 inost extraordinary exam- 
 )e found among the Fakirs, 
 ange tenets respecting the 
 ;rinces which they think 
 tlict the most severe tor- 
 I. Some of them make a 
 life in one posture ; others 
 , or drag a heavy chain, 
 ave vowed never to disen- 
 Some have doomed them- 
 I their hands and knees for 
 id others roll their botlies 
 om the shores of the Indus 
 Granges. Some have con- 
 I to swing before a slow 
 der of their days; while 
 mselvee with their heads 
 I to the fiercest flames. 
 30 fanatics, pledged by a 
 be found at the ^^llage8 
 f of swin^ng is observed 
 is thus contrived : in the 
 \ pole of from twenty to 
 erected, on which a long 
 ixed, with a rope run over 
 tremitv; to this rope an 
 , whicn being run through 
 the swinging devotee, he 
 in the air, a spectacle of 
 issembled multitude, who 
 
 §■ 
 a 
 ^' 
 2. 
 
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 hJ 
 5 
 
 
 i 
 
 r 
 
 e 
 
 e 
 a 
 
 :% 
 
 17 
 
 
 tt. 
 
 ■y| 
 
 f 
 
 
252 
 
 THE SELF TORMENTORiJ. 
 
 <iiH 
 
 > V 
 
 tffstify their npprobntion by the loudest nc- 
 clnmaiiuns: the more violently he swinsa 
 hirn^lt' round, the more vehtrnont is the ap- 
 plause : ihe llesh often gives wny, ond the 
 unfortunate performer is released by a pre- 
 cipitate fall, very frecpiently nt the ex])ense 
 of tt broken limb. The voluntary socriiicc of 
 the Hindoo widows to the flames is too well 
 known to need any description of the ceremo- 
 ny here. There are many devotees, who, in 
 tl)e very prime of life, anxious to propitiate 
 the Deity, resolve to bury themselves alive — 
 no trilling sacrifice for those who might, in the 
 ordinary course of nature, look for along term 
 of years. Un the day appointed for the sac- 
 rifice, crowds assemble, a circular pit in which 
 a mtin can stand upright is then dug, into 
 which the self-devoted victim descends ; the 
 earth is then thrown over him, until he is com- 
 pletely covered ; a massive tomb is immedi- 
 ately erected over the spot, where sacred rites 
 are performed, and garlands of flowers are 
 olFered at stoted intervals, in memory of the 
 holy inan who has sealed his devotion by this 
 act of self-immolation. 
 
 The self-inflicted cruelties which take place 
 at the festival in honor of Siva, u Hindoo god, 
 apjiear almost incredible. The Hindoos who 
 are to be the principal actors at the ceremo- 
 nies, have assumed the name of Sunnyassis, 
 and gone through some preparations for ten 
 or fitteen days before the exhibition begins. 
 On the first day of the festival, they fling 
 themselves from a biimboo stage, which has 
 three resting-places: the highest is twenty 
 feet from the ground : hn^rs of straw, struck, 
 with iron spikes, have been placed underneath 
 to receive them : however, the spikes are so 
 arranged, that they generally fall down, in- 
 stead of entering the body : it sometimes, 
 however, happens otherwise, and many per- 
 sons have been killed and wounded by them. 
 In some villages, several of these stages are 
 erected, and two or three hundred have cast 
 themselves on the spikes in the course of one 
 day. On the third day of the festival there 
 is a large fire made, opposite to the temple of 
 Siva ; and when the buined wood has been 
 formed into a great mass, one of the chief 
 Sunnyassis flattens it a little with a bunch of 
 canes which he holds, and walks over it with 
 his feet bare ; the rest of the Sunnyassis then 
 spread the fire about, and walk over it, and 
 dance upon it, and throw the burning embers 
 into the air and at each other. This pastime 
 over, the next morning is appropriated to the 
 work of piercing the sides and tonsjues. It is 
 thus described by Mr. "Ward, who went to 
 Kalceghatu, in company with two or three 
 friends, in the year 1806, to witness the rites. 
 
 " We orri ved," he says, " above five o'clock 
 in the morning. We overtook numerous com- 
 
 panies who were proceeding thither, having 
 with them drums nnd other instnimrnts of 
 music, also spits, rones, uiid ditl'crent ortirlrs 
 to pierce the tongues and sides. .Some, with 
 tinkling rings on thi'ir ankles, were dancing as 
 they passed along, while others rent the air 
 witn sounds of their filthy soni;^. As we en- 
 tered the village where the temple of this 
 greot g(Kldess is situated, the crowds were so 
 greot, that we could with difficulty get our 
 vehicles along, and at last were eomplotoly 
 blocked up. Wc then alighted, and went 
 among the crowd : but who can describe a 
 scene like this? Here, men of all ages, who 
 intended to have their tongues pierced or their 
 sides bored, were bringing garlands of flowers 
 to hang round their necks or tie round their 
 heads. There, others carrying their otrerings 
 to the goddess. Above the crowd were seen 
 nothing but the feathers belonging to the great 
 drums, and the instruments of torture which 
 each victim was carrying in his hand. These 
 wretched slaves of superstition were dis- 
 tinguished from others by the quantity of oil 
 rubbed on their bodies, and by streaks and 
 dots of mud all over them. Some of the 
 chief men belonging to each company were 
 covered with ashes, or dressed in a most fan- 
 tastic manner, like the fool among mounte- 
 banks." 
 
 He goes on to describe the operation of 
 piercing the tongue. "We went into the 
 temple-yard, where two or three blacksmiths 
 had begun the work of piercing the tongues 
 and bonng the sides of these infatuated disci 
 pies of Siva. The first man seemed reluctant 
 to hold out his tongue ; but the blacksmith, 
 rubbing it with something like flour, and hav- 
 ii.'g a piece of cloth between his fingers, laid 
 firm hold, dragged it out, and placing his lancet 
 under it, in the middle, pierced it through, 
 and let the fellow go. The next person whose 
 tongue we saw cut directed the blacksmith to 
 cut it on a contrary side, as it had already 
 been cut twice. This man seemed to go 
 through the business of having his tongue »l:t 
 with perfect sang-froid. The company of 
 natives were entirely unmoved ; and the black- 
 smith, pocketing the trifling fee given by each 
 for whom he did this favor, laughed at the 
 sport. I could not help asking whether 
 they were not punishing these men for lying. 
 After seeing the operation performed on one 
 or two more, we went to another group, wliere 
 they were boring the sides. The first we saw 
 uncfergoing this operation was a boy, who 
 might be twelve or thirteen years old, and who 
 had been brought thither by his elder brother 
 to submit to this cruelty. A thread, rubbed 
 with clar^fiyd butter, was drawn through the 
 skin on ^■n side, with a kind of lancet having 
 an eye lift a needle. 'He did not flinch, but 
 
 • -gjEgsg^ y.- 
 
> proroi>(lin!j thithor, hnvinj; 
 na nnd otlwr inslnimriifH of 
 , rnncs, nml (lifli-rcnt: nrtirlcs 
 iiur^ ami niilfs. .Somo, with 
 their nnklrs, were dnneing nu 
 ig, while r)thprs rent the nir 
 heir filthy son^s. As we eii- 
 e where the temple of this 
 sitnnted, the crowds were so 
 ;ould with difficulty pet our 
 Bfid Qt last wore complrtrly 
 Vc then alighted, antl weiit 
 r'd : but who can describe a 
 
 Here, men of all nges, who 
 I their tongues pifrceii or their 
 B bringing garlands of flowers 
 deir necks or tie rounri their 
 others carrying their olFerings 
 
 Above the crowd were seen 
 eathers belonging to the great 
 instruments of torture which 
 carrying in his hand. These 
 s of superstition were dis- 
 others by the quantity of oil 
 
 bodies, and by streaks and 
 
 over them. Some of tlio 
 ging to each company were 
 les, or dressed in a most fan- 
 ike the fool among mounte- 
 
 to describe the operation of 
 ngue. " We went into the 
 lere two or three blacksmiths 
 vork of piercing the tongues 
 ides of these infatuated disci 
 he first man seemed reluctant 
 tongue; but the blacksmith, 
 lomething like flour, and hav- 
 oth between his fingers, laid 
 d it out, and placing his lancet 
 
 middle, pierced it through, 
 V go. The next person whose 
 ;ut directed the blacksmith to 
 trary side, as it had already 
 This man seemed to go 
 ness of having his tongue sl:t 
 ng-froid. The company of 
 rely unmoved ; and the black- 
 
 the trifling fee given by each 
 d this favor, laughed at the 
 
 not help asking whether 
 uiiishing these men for lying. 
 
 operation performed on one 
 went to another group, where 
 
 the sides. The first we saw 
 
 oi)eratioii was a boy, who 
 or thirteen years old, and who 
 t thither by his elder brother 
 s cruelty. A thread, rubbed 
 itter, was drawn through the 
 :, with a kind of lancet having 
 idle. 'He did not flincb, but 
 
 TUB SRLF TOKMENTORS. 
 
 25U 
 
 hung by the hands over the shoulders of his 
 l)ri)tlier. We usked a man who had just had 
 his sides bored why he did this. He said he 
 liad made a vow to Kulce at a time of danger- 
 ous illness, and was now performing this vow; 
 a i)ystnndcr added, it was ua act of holiness 
 or merit. Passing from this group, we saw 
 a mull danciui; backward and forwu.-d, with 
 two cuiies run through his sides as lliiek as a 
 man's little finger. In returning to Calcutta, 
 we saw many with things of diirereiit thick- 
 nesses thrust throui;h tlieir sides and tongues, 
 uiid several witll the pointed handles of iron 
 sill ivels, containing fire, sticking in their sides. 
 Into this firo, 6very now and then, they threw 
 Iiidiun pitch, which for the rnomi.'iit blu/.ed 
 very high. We saw one man whose singular 
 mode of self-torture struck us much ; his 
 oreust, arms, ami other parts of his body were 
 (ititirely covered with pins, as thii^k as nails or 
 pucking-ncedles. This is called vanu-phora 
 (that is, piercing with arrows). The person 
 hud made a vow to Siva thus to jiierce his 
 body, praying the god to remove some evil 
 from him. Some Sunnyassis at this festival 
 put swords through the noles in their tongues, 
 others spears, others thick pieces of round iriui, 
 which tiiey call arrows; many, as a bravado, 
 put other things through their tongues, as liv- 
 ing snakes, bamboos, ramrods, &c. On the 
 evening of this day some Sunnyassis pierce 
 the skins of their foreheads, and place a rod 
 of iron in it, as a socket, and on this rod fasten- 
 ed a lamp, which is kept burning all night." 
 
 .Such are a few of the self-inflicted tortures 
 borne by those who think that by such the 
 wrath of the cruel deity to whom they do 
 homage can only be ajipensed. The details 
 of bodily torments inflicted by the victims 
 themselves to propitiate his favor are so nu- 
 merous, that thoy might fill volumes ; but 
 these limits are so brief to allow of a more ex- 
 tended notice of them ; and for the present, 
 we will turn our attention to other self-tor- 
 mentors, who are actuated by ^potives of a 
 totally difTerent nature. Such are impostors, 
 whose livelihood depends on the alms of the 
 charitable, who maim and disfigure themselves 
 that they may make a more forcible appeal to 
 compassion. It is no uncommon practice with 
 Shem to drive needles into their flesh, thus 
 Vj produce swelling and inflammation, which 
 -an be displayed on fitting opportunities, and 
 turned to profit. 
 
 There was an unfortunate young woman, a 
 patient in Richmcnd hospital, Dublin, who 
 liad to undergo amputation of the arm, it was 
 Hi dreadfully diseased from needles in the 
 lesh. She afterward confessed that she had 
 iiersclf forced them into her hand and arm. 
 \f'oar hundred needles were extracted from 
 liircrent parts of the body of a woman named 
 
 I'll 
 
 Rachel Her/, of Copenhogen ; they liiid re- 
 duced her to the most frightful stale. It wiis 
 afterwaril discovered that she hud herself in- 
 serted them jiurposely. There are oihers, 
 e(pially impostors, who have been known to 
 undergo the most a(!Ufe bodily anguish willi 
 out flinching, impelled to it by having growr. 
 Weary of the way of life in which they uio 
 engaged, and pining for a return to home and 
 friends. Uecejition under any exigency or 
 temptation whatever, is to be held in ublior- 
 reiice ; but certainly a touch of pity iiiiist 
 mingle with the feelings with which we reuiird 
 it under such circiimstaiiees. 'IMie liard-iliips 
 which the soldier and the sailor are culled to 
 endure, and the separation from lioine and 
 kindred, must teach us to look witli enmpas- 
 sioii wliili! we Illume; and the torture-^ wiiich 
 they so unhesitatingly undergo, tell a inelan- 
 clioly tale of wearisome existence, and of 
 henrt-yearnings after curly scenes, that may 
 well suggest to the reflecting mind a hope that 
 some improvement in the mode by which their 
 services are procured, and llii! regulations 1 
 which they are governetl, may make sn( 
 guilt, if not impossible, ut least of compara- 
 tively rare (M-currence. With the desire of 
 being declared unlit for service, they have been 
 known to inflict the most serious injuries upon 
 their sight, and to mutilate themselves in a 
 frightful manner; something cutting ofl' one or 
 more of their Hiigcrs, pretending that accident 
 had produced the mischief. A woman in 
 Dublin actually made a livelihood by selling 
 to the recruits u mixture of soft soap and lime, 
 which, on being applied as she directed, |)ro- 
 duced ulcers. Soldiers, anxious to be free, 
 have been known to make an incision in the 
 log, into which a copper coin has been inserted, 
 and then bound up. So common was the 
 practice among the patients in the military 
 hospitals of tamjiering with their sore legs, to 
 prevent their cure, in the hope of ])roruring 
 discharges from the army, that the surgeons 
 were fre(|uently obliged to seal the bandages 
 with which they bound them ; but this has not 
 always succee(fed, as the men often force pins 
 and needles through the bandages, so that at 
 last a box, with lock and key, was found ne- 
 cessary to keep the leg confined, so that it 
 could not be got at till the surgeon went to 
 dress it. Soldiers have often broken tlieir 
 front teeth, to render it Impossible for them to 
 bite the cartridges. A deserter who had been 
 arrested and put in jail, in the year 1811, sub- 
 mitted to remain in a state of ajiparent insen- 
 sibility from the 5th of April to the 8tli of 
 July ; everything to rouse him that could be 
 thought of was tried, but in vain ; he took no 
 nourishment but a little that he sucked through 
 his teeth", as his jaw was fixed, and could not 
 be opened. The medical-people, supposing 
 
 
 " ^^VISfp^TiPf'^W'^P*^^' 
 
 :gj»aa^awjs M i . as^8g 
 
254 
 
 THE SELFTORMKNTOaa. 
 
 •i . 
 
 
 % . . , 
 
 $i^^ 
 
 M' 
 
 ift- 
 
 
 there was some injury in the hend, dftcrmined 
 on an opcrnuon. 'fhc sculp was removed, 
 thut an tx nination nii);ht take place. So 
 liltle did he appear Bensiblc of pain, that a 
 very "liiiht groan wns the only sign of feeling 
 whieh he gave. lfi'< case being considered 
 hopt'iesa : lie was dischnrgcd, and sent home to 
 hi-i father. A day or 1 o uft«r, he was seen 
 'lateliing a lifl\ li' k ! 
 
 There is a still more extraordinary class of 
 self-tormentors to be found in those who are 
 not cxeitcd by a mistuken zeal, or who have 
 no chance ot restoration to some cherished 
 object, or loathing of some forced pursuit; 
 but who, as it were, for a mere whim, or a 
 suilden pi()ue, consign themselves to lasting 
 privution-* and •orments, more difficult, per- 
 liui ■ t ,1, . ■ , • than bodily pain, because 
 timre enduring, and to the observance of 
 which they adhere with a constancy worthy 
 of a belter calling. Miss Mary Lydia Lu- 
 crine is mentioned in " Dodslev's Annual 
 Register" for 1778, as " a maiden lady of 
 genteel fortune, who lived in Oxfoid street, 
 London. She had beendi8ap|X)ini< li in love, 
 and made a vow, in consequence tli reof, nev- 
 er to see the light of the sun again. Accord- 
 ingly, the windows of her apartment were 
 closely shut up, and her vow was never broken. 
 Another lady, under similar circumstances, ond 
 condemning herself in like manner, is men- 
 tioni'd in the same volume. She, like Mary 
 Lydi was disappointed in her matrimonial 
 pro»|«ct8, and vowed to live shut up from the 
 light of the sun; however, ver w' i.,, she 
 made herself some slight amends, oy occasion- 
 ally indul4iiig herself with thelightofalampor 
 candle, 1- t she never admitted 'lieraysof tlii' 
 sun int .. r presence again. !• rom the saiui 
 autlmrity, in the volume for : 777, we also find 
 the fdllowing curious uccount of the mistres 
 of Beau Nash, in fh( u 'ices of deaths; "Died 
 <xt Bishop's-view, her native place, near War- 
 minster, in Wilts, Juliana Papjoy, in the sixty- 
 8Cve: h year of her age. In her youth she 
 had en the mistc^ss of the famr-is Nash of 
 Bu ind after li' r separation fn.in him, slir 
 tix.A to a very uncommon way of life; her 
 principal residence she took up in a large hol- 
 low tree, now standing, within a mile of War- 
 minste ■. on a lock c'* itraw, resolving never 
 more .u lie in a bed; and she v>as as good ns 
 her word, for she matie that tree her habit 
 tion for between thirty a.nd forty years, unle 
 when .1' made short peregrinationH to Bot 
 Bristol, nnd the ger"l(men'8 houses uljacent : 
 
 he thf f ly in .-iome bam or outhou-u." Not 
 li-e ifittble was the ul le selected by h 
 
 lan lived in Dunsta* in SutTolk; ' 
 
 iiijr' , Ot »eenof a day seat' ' on a chaif read- 
 ing the newspaper, in a largi- 'e, which was 
 placed in the middle of the towi., and in which 
 
 he had lived for upward of thirty-four years, 
 never quitting it. He resiMeJ all the en- 
 treaties of his friends, who endeavored to jier- 
 suode him to chonge his residence ; ond, true 
 to the character of a genuine self-tormentor, 
 he never left his strange dwelling-plnre. The 
 cage was ju-t large enough for him to i^vc in, 
 and in all rc»{ cts but size was like the com- 
 mon cages solti for birds. 
 
 Ill success in love otfairs appears to be the 
 most frcipicnt cause of extraordinary vows. 
 Poor J 'hu Baker of Charming, the county of 
 Kent, I) was liom in liie year 1700, wns 
 but a laborer. It was his misfortune to fall 
 in love at tli e early oge of sixteen, and she he 
 loved "pri'Ved untrue," whereupon John 
 liound himself by a solemn vow never to take 
 otr his clothes, or to go to bed, till he should 
 regain the aHectionsof his mistre-^^ — a felicity 
 to which, alas '. ho never attained ; but, iii ac- 
 cordance with his vow, he never took of!" his 
 clothes, or rested himself in bed, for the rest 
 of his life, which lasted for forty years. He 
 never slept but in a chair or on the ground. 
 The neighbors d ■ il kindly to put a patch upon 
 his clothes when they saw that it was requir- 
 ed, 80 that at the time of his death his coat 
 was entirely composed of patches of every 
 shade and hue. Even in thi'^ ''<isty sketch it 
 is marvellous to see what torin ;ts have been 
 voluntarily endured, \at bodily anguish and 
 what cruel privations have been persevcringly 
 borne. But many as have devoted themselves 
 to these tor; ires, there is a much larger class 
 of self-tormt /itors than those already noticed ; 
 and that is, those tormentors who make the 
 torturing of t'tic'.. mind- '^ic cat object of 
 . Among ilu, the cnt attendant 
 
 a spectacle which is t ' lown the ap- 
 plause of an admirin -rowd i.ies not allure to 
 the pursuit ; the ^tic circle is the favorite 
 
 scene of its uno .tatiousdi 'ay. They can 
 not boast of i desper'^ ''ep' with 
 
 which the poor Hi <loo r 
 
 the wheels of the car of J u, or Uie 
 
 profound serenity with which tin: holds 
 
 up his arm, with it motion, till it di and 
 withers awn . noi of the puhcnt exertion of 
 
 he devotee who rolls himself along from the 
 shores of the Indus to the banks of the Ganges, 
 nor of the carcl'ss tramjuillity wit! which the 
 S unnyassi swiii j;s himself u jwn his hook. Hap- 
 py, indeed, would it be if, like those who maim 
 and excorittt their bodies, or who live apart 
 in the holl< of trees, or in the cages hung 
 
 4) m the I ic streets, the mental self-tor- 
 Hientors kept their sull". rings to themselves: 
 but those who can not If happy teithout a 
 misery, are too generous nic to snare their en- 
 joyment with their friends ard near- «» '>f kin; 
 I for it ay be observed, that those 
 
 , suffer 
 
 from imai,.nary iuries and griev nces, draw 
 
nwiMf 
 
 ■^ 
 
 UAHRIAUK. 
 
 255 
 
 pward of thirty-fimr yearH, 
 IIo rcsiHtoi) oU the cn- 
 iils, who pndfBVorcd tn pt-r- 
 cc his rcsiilencR ; nnci, true 
 f a f;ptiuinfi self-tormentor, 
 rnnge ilwdling-place. The 
 n enough for him to hvo in, 
 
 !)Ut «izo was like the com- 
 ■ birds. 
 
 ve otrairs appears to be the 
 jse of extraordinary vows, 
 of Channin)?, the county of 
 om in ih« year 1700, was 
 t was hi'* niiifortune to full 
 y o);e of rtixtucn, and she he 
 untrue," whereujjon John 
 a solemn vow never to take 
 to pit to bed, till he should 
 ns of bin mistre'^.s — a felicity 
 e never attained ; but, in ac- 
 
 vow, ho never took olT his 
 himself in bed, for the rest 
 lastf'd for forty years. lie 
 n a chair or on the ground, 
 d kindly to put a patch upon 
 they siiw that it was requir- 
 } time of his death his coat 
 vnosed of patches of every 
 Even in this liasty sketch it 
 te what torrii Is have been 
 ed, lat bodily anguish and 
 ions have been perseveringly 
 f as have devoted themselves 
 there is a much larger class 
 I than those already noticed ; 
 B tormentors who make the 
 
 mind.' '>"" eat object of 
 
 ,u, the ■ i-nt attendant 
 
 lich is i( 1 down the ap- 
 
 rinc. .irowd does not allure to 
 
 i«tic circle is the favorite 
 
 iiatiuusdi Hy, 'Hieycan 
 
 despera trepi' y with 
 
 Hi! (loo c imsf If u) !er 
 
 e car of Ju^, rnn' or the 
 
 with which the I ai r holds 
 :' It motion, till it di( ^ and 
 r of the pjutunt exertion of 
 rolls himself along from the 
 s to the bunks of the Ganges, 
 ( tramiuillity wit! which the 
 liimselfui>on his hook. Hap- 
 itbe if, like those who maim 
 jir bodies, or who live apart 
 
 trc( 8, or in the cages hung 
 streets, the mental self-tor- 
 sir sull rings to themselves: 
 an not ! ■ happy without a 
 •nerous ni/t to snare their en- 
 ir friends hi '1 neare'^t of kin; 
 erved, that those ' i sufTer 
 
 juries and griev mces, draw 
 
 ■ largely on those about them for sympa- 
 , than those who labor under real alTliction. 
 lie piuigsof tlu! self-tormentor are many and 
 shnri), and pnKluce a constant state of etl'cr- 
 vcscing agouy. The forecasting of evil, and all 
 the petty annoyances of pii|UCM, and utlVonts, 
 and rnisconiusptions, which one word might 
 sit right; uud the -uistrust of friendship, and 
 tin; doubts of love, and all the nameless little 
 caprices, and suspicions and jealousieis and 
 estrungemeat^, and unreasonable exactions, 
 which they engender, if to be touchiid <m, 
 would recpiire a chapter, and a long cha| r, 
 to themselves. In very trutl , they are oi loo 
 grave a cast, and the cause o ' t(Ki much dis- 
 cwufort aiid unhuppiness, to be longer dwelt on 
 in a spirit of leuity. 
 
 Menes the 
 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 In nations most primitive and savage, mar- 
 riage is the unceremonious appropriation of 
 one or more females by the right of tlie strong- 
 est. We may suppose that t1ie same was the 
 case before the duwnings of civilization. But 
 very early i« the history of our race, we liiid 
 contracts made withccrtain impressive solem- 
 nities. Covenants were made memorable by 
 i»u exchange of presents, still a custom among 
 barbarous tribes, and the " know all men by 
 tlu'se presexits," preserved in fonns of law, 
 may bear such a meaning. Abraliam made 
 presents of sheep and oxen ; the Phenicians, 
 set ui) a pillar or raised a heap of stones ; the 
 Scythians poured wine into a vessel, mixed 
 with it the blood of the contraitting parties, 
 and dipoed into it a cimeter, arrows, a jav- 
 elin, and with imprecations on whomsoever 
 should break tht; agreement, the [larties and 
 their witnesses drank ; the ancient Arabians 
 cut their hanJs, and sprinkleil the blood upon 
 seven stones, invoking the gods ; the ancient 
 Medes and Lycians sucked the blood from 
 each other's arras ; the Nasamoncs drank with 
 each other; the Greeks and Humans shook 
 h^nds and swore by the gods, and the tombs 
 of their ancestors. 
 
 But the most common pledge of good faith, 
 is eatiig together Inn i-i considered all 
 
 over the world as a pledge of m ty. A feast 
 is, therefore, one of the eai id most gen- 
 
 eral modes of sole«mi/.ina ;t u ■< • i lage contract ; 
 and for ages, and in many countries, it was the 
 only one known. Marriage, as a religious 
 ordinance or lacrament, has been recognised 
 by but a sni I portion of the human race. It 
 was such an ig the Greeks and Romans, who 
 connected reunion with all the actions of their 
 lives Slid in^ ked the gods in thsir most sim- 
 ple Ui amiliar labors and pastimes. 
 
 All nations, of whom we have nny histori 
 cnl aei-ount, ascribe the regulutioi 
 gt:s to their first luw>»ivers. Thus l>lenes 
 first king of Egypt, is said to have (irst intro- 
 duced mutrimony, and fixed the laws concern- 
 ing it ; the Greeks attribute the some institu- 
 tions to Cecroiis ; the Chinese to Fo Hi ; the 
 Peruvians to Manco (japac ; and the Jew s to 
 (i(«; himself. Mythology would seem to 
 l(iiri mono<{ainy, thiiugh polygamy was oc- 
 casionally the jiractice. Thus Jupiter had 
 only his Juno; Pluto his Proserpine; Osiris 
 hi-- Isis; and the stolen omours of the gods, 
 u ih t!i ■ jealousies of their wives, point very 
 signill ily to the idea of confining the rela- 
 tion to u single coujilu, in theory, whatever 
 irregularities of practice were tolerated. 
 
 Hut if we !iK)k back to the patriarchinl 
 ages, in the oriental countries, where the high- 
 est type of humanity is hi'ld to have its origin, 
 we hnd jiolygamy to have existed rime out of 
 mind, and even m the lifetime of Adam, in 
 the antediluvian pericxl. In the i ly oges, a 
 wife was of great consecpu'ncc ,id 'ue. 
 Her lobor was of great use, for i : )m iu Kill 
 in handicraft, men derived shelter, clothing, 
 and many of the comforts of their simple life. 
 When men were long lived, it was a great 
 object to have many children, to lake core of 
 their i' icks and henls, and for a df^fencc 
 againM .i;j;Kression. To be well served, there- 
 fore, and ><> insure a numerous progeny, men 
 took a number of wives, and each wife 
 strengthened the potriurch, by securing the 
 ftiendshin of the family from which she was 
 taken. But as, in the order of Providence, 
 men and women were bom in nearly c(|ual 
 [iroportions, the demand for women coused a 
 price to be set upon them, and the husband 
 was obliged to purchase his wife, by paving a 
 liberal sum ; and this is still the case in China, 
 where customs are petrified, and generally 
 over Asia. 
 
 When the price agreed upon was paid, the 
 marriage was celebrated with a feast. Laban 
 gatiiered his friends, and bade a marriage feast, 
 wheu he pretended to give Rachel to Jacob, 
 for seven years' labor, and then defrauded him 
 by placing Leah in the nuptial bed, instead of 
 her more beautiful sister, whom he married 
 seven years afterward. Samson, when he 
 married Delilah, gave a feast which lasted 
 seven days. The Babylonians carried the 
 splendor of their marriage-feasts to such an 
 extravagant and ruinous extent, that they had 
 to be restrained by law. Among the Scandi- 
 navians, the celebration of a marriage, was a 
 scene of revelry ond drunkenness, tre(|uently 
 pr>"luctive of the most deplorable ettccts. 
 Sui a was the custom omong th.- Jews in the 
 time of Christ, and to thi- iny, nnd in neariy 
 all countries, marriage is celebrated withfeast- 
 
 
 I 
 
 
S 4 
 
 13 
 
 
 !**»• 
 
 k -., „-, . 
 
 256 
 
 CUniOSITIKS OK AUiriiMKTIO. 
 
 itiKund ftMtivity. Tlv* fi»llowinj{ .T«wi»h fnnii 
 of riiiirriii);)- contract, in prolmbly the olilei»t in 
 the Morlil. 
 
 "Oil siK-h n iliiv, nicmtli, mid y<iir, A, tho 
 win of H, hiH Nuii) '«> D. till' (liiimliicr of F., 
 b.' tliMii iiiv N|iouti', iiccnnliiiji I'l » law of Mo- 
 HCM mill of'iht! IjtraditcH, hihI I will givp theo 
 as u dowry for tliy viiKiiiity, the sum of two 
 hmidrcd HU/.it>ii!«, iin it in orden 1 liy our law ; 
 mill tlic said Dliiilh coiisontrd to lie liix n|xiu.'«! 
 u|ioii the i-oiiilitioii ■ afortwHJd, wliii 1i th«> said 
 A dolli liiiiil liiniii I mill ull tliiit he hnth, to 
 tlic vi-ry clouk U|iiiii lii;* Imfk ; <iinnf!ing liiin- 
 »clf tolovf, honor, fcf'd, clothe, Qiiil protfct hor, 
 and to iiFrform nil that is generally implitMl 
 toward InrucliiiHh wives." 
 
 Tliin wi"* the written foriri of betrothal, and 
 in all r(^|H;ct» a civil contract. A Nirn|)ler 
 form was by a verbal a/^jreement, and the i)ai*- 
 siiiK of u piece of money before witnesw-s. 
 
 The ancient Ass^yrians, in the front rank of 
 easteni civilization, at a very eurly jx-riiHl, 
 established laws of marriage, wliich wi re of 
 a singular character. Once a year they a.<- 
 sombled, at a great fair, all the murringeablo 
 girls of a province, when the public crier put 
 them U|> for sale at public auction. First 
 were put up the most beautiful, for whom the 
 rich strove against each other, until the com- 
 petition carried up the price to the highest 
 point. When one beautiful woman hod thus 
 been disposed of, one less favored by nature 
 wnf put up, ond here the auction was reversed, 
 the (piCMtion was not how much will ony one 
 give, bit how little will any one take, and hes 
 who bid i. r oir at the lowest don ry tiMik her 
 for his wife, so that the price paid for the 
 beauiiful went to give dowries to the ugly, 
 and thus husbands were provideil for all. We 
 often find nature making such a pnvvision, 
 since beauty and fortune are seldom u ited. 
 
 The great attention paid by the Assyrians 
 to matrimony, is further shown by their hav- 
 ing constituted a e])ecial court, or tribunal, 
 whose only office was to see that young wom- 
 en were jiroperly married, and that the laws 
 of this relation were observed. 
 
 The custom of purchasing wives, for which 
 we have given some reasons, appears to have 
 generally prevailed as soon as the rights of 
 ))roperty began to be respected, and bargained 
 and exchanged commwlities, instead of taking 
 them by force. From the moment property 
 was recognised, everything was considered as 
 property, even to a man's wives and < • ildreti. 
 Men bought their wives, sold their daughters, 
 and it is 8up|K)sed, in innny cases sold their 
 children to service, since slaves were aiiinng 
 the first articles of property and commerce 
 known amongmankind; and the sale of Joseph, 
 by his brethren was no extraonlinaiy circum- 
 stame at that period. The idea of'^ property 
 
 in wives and i-hildrcn has never been lout and 
 U fully rcnigiiiNfd by our coiiinion law, wliich 
 gi\cs nn nctiiin of duiiinuis fur aihilterv nml 
 Mcdiiction. A man who runs nway with 
 uiiciihcr'* wife Im iiiiilcteil in no much money, 
 mid the »iiMie for the "eduction of n daiiglitcr 
 — though the IegiMlntiire<iof some of oar statics 
 have recently addi il other iM-nalties. 
 
 The regulation ot the sale of wives by the 
 Assyrinns, which wan an imiirovement •ipoii 
 their snif l>y parents, since it provided hus- 
 bands for I ise who would not otljerwise have 
 been sou^lii tor, was not the only example in 
 anti<|uity. of marriages being conducted (ly 
 the sfati- The Thracions pnt np their fairest 
 virgins to public sole, for ibi- benefit of the 
 government ; and the magistrates of Crets 
 <'\erciscd the sole jxiwcr of choosing partners 
 for their viiiing men ; and in the exercise of 
 this power, intercut and aflection were over- 
 looked — the good of the state being the only 
 object of attention. 
 
 CURIOSITIES OF ARITHMETIC. 
 
 A ?t eastern prince was so murh delighted 
 with the game of chess, w+iich had been de- 
 vised for his amusement, that he desired the 
 inventor to name his own reward. The phi- 
 losopher, however, was too motlest to seize the 
 op|x)rtunity of enriching himself ; he merely 
 begged of liis royal master, a grain of corn for 
 each s(|uare on the chess-table, doubling the 
 number in proceetling from the first to the six- 
 ty-fourth square. The king, honoring his 
 moderation, made no scruple of consenting to 
 the demand ; but on his treasurer making the 
 necessary calculations, he was surprised to 
 find that he hud . ngagcd to give away the 
 impossible (juantity of 84,07'),4'J5,54« 692,656 
 grains of com, or near two hundred milions of 
 bushels. 
 
 The sti 11 V of the horseshoe is of the same 
 kind, and like tin above, is usually met with 
 in books of scientific recreation. A man sel- 
 ling a fine horse is to receive for him nothing 
 more than the value of the twenty-fourth nail 
 of the animal's shoes, snp|Mising that the first 
 nail is worth a farthinq, the second two, and 
 80 on doubling each time. The bargain is a 
 tolerably good one, since the twentv-fourth 
 noil at this rate, proves to be worth eighty 
 thousand dollars. 
 
 Among the curiosities of arithmetical ex- 
 pression, may be mentioned that produced by 
 the multiplication of any row of figures, no 
 matter how extended, by the figure 9. — The 
 product of such a multijilication, when added 
 laterally, will invariably be even nines. 
 
 ' «ftiWia.M)wmgiJi8 
 
rrrt hon n^vrr hi-cn lout «?iil 
 liv oiir niiiinion Inw, wliirh 
 iliiiiinni"4 lor aihilirry nml 
 nil wild runs nwny wiih 
 mlctfil in Hi» much moiirvi 
 hn •ft'dnction of n iliiii^ilitcr 
 laturdtof Homn ot'onrstaltrs 
 1 1 ofhor iM-nnltipfi. 
 )t thn nale of wivpn by fh«< 
 waM an impnivcmt-nt -ipon 
 iitR, Riiii-f! it proviilvil hus- 
 () would not oth«rwiftp have 
 as not thf only rxam|iln in 
 '\oge» being conilncted ty 
 firnciuns pat np thi-ir fairest 
 Mulc, for ilie benefit of th« 
 tho magistrates of Crete 
 jKiwer of ch(X)«inf( partners 
 ■n ; and in t)ic exercise of 
 t ond ntlection were over- 
 if the ;'tate being the only 
 
 S OF ARITHMETIC. 
 
 ICO was 80 much delighted 
 chess, w^iich had been de- 
 ement, that he desired the 
 lis own reward. The phi- 
 was too motlest to seize the 
 iching himself; he meruly 
 1 master, a grain of corn for 
 8 chess-table, doubling the 
 ins from the first to the six- 
 The king, honoring his 
 no scruple of consenting to 
 )n his treasurer making the 
 tions, he was surjirised to 
 iigaged tf> give awuv the 
 / of 84,07f>,4'-i5.546 692,656 
 lear two hundred milions of 
 
 p horseshoe is of the same 
 above, is usually met with 
 fie recreation. A man sel- 
 to receive for him nothing 
 le of the twenty-fourth noil 
 )cs, supposing that the first 
 thin<>, the second two, and 
 h time. The bargain is ■ 
 e, since the twenty-fourth 
 proves to be worth eighty 
 
 iosities of arithmetical ex- 
 nentioned that produced by 
 of any row of figures, no 
 Jed, by the figure 9.— The 
 multiplication, when added 
 iriobly, be even nines. 
 
§■1— r« 
 
 1 :F: 
 
 .*' 
 
 
 I ■'*'•*¥■». 
 
 !«»!«' ' 
 
 
 258 
 
 ENGLAND TO AMERICA. 
 
 ENGLAND TO AMERICA. 
 
 ADDRESS OF REV. MR. TIMPSON. 
 
 Wk have much pleasure in presenting to 
 our readers a correct and faithful portrait of 
 the Rev. Thomas Timpson, of London, the 
 author of many valuable works, and the 
 founder of various benevolent movements in 
 that great emporium. His address to the 
 citizens of the United States, will be found 
 an invaluable document, and well worthy of 
 a careful perusal, by every lover of his race. 
 Every document like the present adds, as it 
 were, another link between the United States 
 and the parent land , tend ing greatly to strength- 
 en, perpetuate, and cement those good feelings 
 which now subsist between our respective na- 
 tions. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Timpson has enlarged so 
 eloquently on the blessings of a " union of the 
 two countries," which must, in all probability, 
 continue to grow out of an increased inter- 
 course between them, as to leave us little room 
 for remark. But we feel desirous to add our 
 humble testimony respecting the navigation 
 of the ocean by steam. The idea of a " fly- 
 ing bridge" across the wide Atlantic, was only a 
 few years ago deemed an impossibility. Now 
 we nave a weekly communication with the 
 old world, and additional steamers are in prog- 
 ress of building. The enthusiastic reception 
 our first American steamer met with at South- 
 ampton and Bremen, where all classes vied 
 with each other in doing her honor, sufficient- 
 ly indicates that our brethren abroad are equal- 
 ly alive with ourselves to the incalculable 
 benefits arising from our ocean-steamers on 
 both sides. Like a weaver's shuttle, may 
 they continue to pass to and fro across the 
 Atlantic, weaving a web of forgiven sss, love, 
 and friendship, between the two nat'ons. 
 
 London (Lewisham), Dec. 16, 1847. 
 
 To Robert Sears, Esq. — And the Wor- 
 thy Citizens of the United States of America : — 
 
 "During a.' ut half a century, from my 
 childhood, I have felt an intense interest In 
 your great and celebrated country ; and that 
 mterest has been much heightened and in- 
 creased from the first by all that I have since 
 heard and read of the history of its discovery, 
 the principles of its early colonists, the es- 
 tablishment of its independence, and the un- 
 exampled progress of America, as indeed a 
 * New World.' But, for many of the latter 
 years, my mind has been more closely drawn 
 to your people by various considerations. 
 Among these are, their descent, chiefly, from 
 ray own forefathero in Britain ; the identity 
 of our origin, our language, our institutions, 
 and our divine religion ; from the fact of many 
 of my own friends having settled in your 
 
 country from personal acquaintance with 
 some of your learned ministers of the gospel ; 
 from correspondence with others ; from the 
 writings of your divines; and especially from 
 the honor which your people have done me in 
 republishing several of my volumes for their 
 edification in things relating to the Holy 
 Scriptures. I must not omit to notice, partic- 
 ularly, my ' Bible Companion,' with an ' In- 
 troduction by the Rev. Dr. S. Ttng, of New 
 York.' 
 
 "At present, however, my design is not to 
 dwell on either of these topics, but to frame 
 an appeal to your whole people, to cherish that 
 spirit of union between our two nations, which 
 will benefit the entire human family, andsecuie 
 to all the blessing of God. My desire is to 
 assure the American people of the interest 
 cherished by my countrymen in the welfare of 
 America, and to excite, or rather to promote a 
 spirit of mutual and fraternal regard and unfail- 
 ing confidence between Britain and America. 
 It is true, that several classes in this kingdom 
 look across the Atlantic through different me- 
 dia ; but all with profound admiration of youi 
 people, and the highest anticipations of their 
 future glory. And as I have the means of 
 knowing their views, I may briefly advert to 
 the more important classes, severally, with 
 some degree of propriety. 
 
 "1. British Merchants. — These may 
 justly be supposed to have a peculiar interest 
 m the prosperity of America. Such is the 
 fact. A large number of this influential class 
 there are in Britain, whose wealth has prin- 
 cipally been derived from the American trade. 
 My earliest norions of mercantile afTairs are 
 identified with honored men who were engaged 
 in important transactions with America. I 
 need only mention the names of Baring and 
 Brown, and our Alexander Baring, now the 
 Right Honorable Lord Ashburton, and his 
 special mission to your government, in forming 
 a recent treaty, to prove the deep interest that 
 is taken in the welfare of America by British 
 merchants. 
 
 "2. British Manufacturers. — Thou- 
 sands of these, in diflierent districts of our coun- 
 try, look to America with the utmost solicitude 
 for its ])eace and progress, as individually inter- 
 ested in the prosperity of its people. / am a 
 native of Birmingham, that vast centre of 
 British ingenuity and mechanical skill, and 
 intimately acquainted with the feeliiigs that 
 pervade the great body of manufacturers in 
 iron, steel, brass, japan, silver, gold, glass, 
 porcelain, silk, cotton, wool, ice., &c., toward 
 your country. Regarding it, therefore, sim- 
 ply as a place of consumption and demand for 
 their endlessly-diversified productions, their 
 most ardent wishes are breathed fcrth for your 
 onward progress and unlimited greatness. 
 
ersonal acquaintance with 
 led ministers of the gospel ; 
 ice with others; from the 
 i vines; and especially from 
 our people have done me in 
 ral of my volumes for their 
 ngs relating to the Holy 
 St not omit to notice, partic- 
 Companion,' with an ' In- 
 Rev, Dr. S. Ttng, of New 
 
 jwever, my design is not to 
 
 these topics, but to frame 
 whole people, to cherish that 
 veen our two nations, which 
 ire human family, and secui e 
 y of God. My desire is to 
 can people of the interest 
 ountrymen in the welfare of 
 ccite, or rather to promote a 
 J fraternal regard and unfail- 
 ween Britain and America, 
 ^eral classes in this kingdom 
 lantic through different nie- 
 profound admiration of youi 
 ighest anticipations of their 
 id as I have the means of 
 iws, I may briefly advert to 
 int classes, severally, with 
 Dpriety. 
 
 Merchants. — These may 
 i to have a peculiar interest 
 
 of America. Such is the 
 mbjr of this influential class 
 in, whose wealth has prin- 
 ed from the American trade, 
 is of mercantile affairs are 
 lored men who were engaged 
 isactions with America. I 
 m the names of Baring and 
 Alexander Baring, now the 
 
 Lord Ashburton, and his 
 your government, in forming 
 
 prove the deep interest that 
 ilfare of America by British 
 
 Manufacturers. — Thou- 
 lifferent districts of our coun- 
 ca with the utmost solicitude 
 rogress, as individually inter- 
 enty of its people. / am <■ 
 gham, that vast cen*:ro of 
 and mechanical skill, and 
 tited with the feelings that 
 t body of manufacturers in 
 , japan, silver, gold, glass, 
 tton, wool, ice., &c., toward 
 legarding it, therefore, sim- 
 consumption and demand for 
 [versified productions, their 
 « are breathed forth for your 
 md unlimited greatness. 
 
 ENGLAND TO AMEEICA. 
 
 259 
 
 fl 
 
 " 3. British Statesmen. — Our senators, 
 as a body, are persons of liberal education, 
 possessing extensive information and expanded 
 minds ; and from their knowledge of our na- 
 tional resources, of our incalculable mineral 
 riches, and of the indefatigable industry of our 
 artisans, they can not fail to entertain the con- 
 viction of the sound policy of our friendly al- 
 liance and mercantile intercourse with Amer- 
 ica. I need only refer to the late most grati- 
 fying visit to your country of a nobleman, who 
 is now an active member of the queen's gov- 
 ernment. Intelligent and benevolent as was 
 Lord Viscount Morpeth's regard for the 
 United States before his visit to America, it 
 has been much increased by the cordial wel- 
 come he received from your citizens, and by 
 the discovery of the real greatness of your 
 Union. And his conce-n for a closer alliance 
 between the two countries, is shared by his 
 colleagues in the government ; and, as is 
 manifest, by every public character in Great 
 Britain. 
 
 "4. British Christian Ministers — 
 These of every denomination throughout the 
 British isles, feel the liveliest interest in the 
 progress of religion in America. They look 
 upon the grand army of nearly twenty thou- 
 sand of the faithful ministers ot Christ, labor- 
 ing in every part of the extensive Union — a 
 noble band of whom we delighted to see at our 
 evangelical alliance — many of them profound- 
 ly learned, and possessing the rarest talents 
 and the most exalted virtues — and a goodly 
 host of them occupied in important missionary 
 enterprise among the heathen — they reflect 
 upon them with udmiratiou of the grace of 
 God our Savior, and cherish gratitude on their 
 account, for his sovereign gifts and the bles- 
 sings of his Holy Spirit. — These they look 
 upon as the hope of America. 
 
 "5. British Theologians. — America, 
 though comparatively a young country, has 
 reason to glory in the number of her learned 
 orthodox di vines. Many of their volumes are 
 venerated in Britain. President Edwards, 
 Duvies, Dwight, Alexander, Hodges, Barnes, 
 Bush, Mason, Robinson, Sprague, Spring, 
 Staart, and many others of distinguished em- 
 inence, are held in deserved honor in England 
 and Sv-otland by those of the highest reputa- 
 tion in the churches of Ohrist. The fruitful- 
 ness bf the United States in the useful labors 
 of their excellent divines, more than on other 
 accounts, unites to them the hearts of the best 
 men in Great Britain, in the sacred bonds of 
 Christianity. 
 
 " 6. British Phii-anthropists. — A gen- 
 erous band of these are found in Great Britain, 
 whose ' charity begins at home,' but does not 
 end there. America has very largely engaged 
 iheir warmest sympathies. They see in that 
 
 mighty confederation of the states, a vast field 
 for the exercise of philanthropy ; and they 
 cherish it with the utmost ardor. I need only 
 mention the sacred breathings of my late valued 
 friend, Joseph John Gumey, Esq., brother of 
 my late venerated colleague and fellow-lal)or- 
 er, Elizabeth Fry, whose names, and the fruits 
 of whose philanthropy, are imperishable. — 
 Every British philanthropist is prepared to 
 subscribe to the declaration of the amiable 
 Gurnet, as he published it in America, in 
 1839, and in England in 1840, on his return 
 from his visit of three years to the West In- 
 dies and America : ' I heartily desire to cul- 
 tivate peace and gootl will among all mankind; 
 and though / am no American citizen, I ad- 
 mire the federal union of this great 
 country, and cordially desire its un- 
 broken PERMANENCE, AND CONTINUED AND 
 INCREASED PROSPERITY.' 
 
 "British philanthropists feel interested in oil 
 the reforms, Sec., going on in America. They 
 believe that if British and American Chris- 
 tians do their duty, the boy is at school who 
 will live to see half the human family speak- 
 ing the English language, and half the habita- 
 ble surface of the globe covered with the 
 Anglo-Saxon race, and blessed with its civili- 
 zation. The railroad engines that shall thun- 
 der through the heart of Asia, Africa, and the 
 American continent, will speak and teach the 
 English language, and so will the mounted 
 lightnings on the highways and wire bridges 
 of thought that shall be erected for the con- 
 verse of the world's extremes. Let us lay 
 hold of the hopeful side of all vexed questions, 
 ind follow those things that make for peace, 
 remembering that • God has made of one blood 
 all the children of men, to dwell on all the face 
 of the earth ;' let us bury and forget all past 
 animooities, and, in our respective nations, do 
 everything in our power to promote the litera- 
 ry and religious instrucrion of all classes, with- 
 out distinction. Let virtue and merit be the 
 only test of character, and all be invested with 
 the right of cirizenship on equal terms ; let 
 every civil prize, every useful employment, 
 every honorable station, be thrown open to the 
 poor as well as the rich. Let us encourage, 
 and never depress, the natural desire to 
 rise. If this be done, every man would rest 
 on his own responsibility. Character, like 
 other things, would find its natural level ; 
 LIGHT AND TRUTH would Spread without ob- 
 struction ; » nd the great North Am<>rican Union 
 would afford to an admiring world, a splendid 
 and unsullied evidence ot the truth of that 
 mighty principle on which the constitution is 
 founded, 'All men are created equal, and 
 are endowed by the Creator with certain in- 
 alienable RIGHTS — LIFE, LIBERTY, AND 
 THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS.' 
 
4> 
 
 r M''f ? 
 
 !*«'* 
 
 260 
 
 LITERATUKE OF CHINA. 
 
 "Suflficient is here testified, on which to 
 found my ii|)()oal to the people of Ameiicn, to 
 ('titer, with all their hearts, into an indissolu- 
 ble compact of friendship and alliance with us 
 Hiitons. GihI has rendered us worthy of their 
 esteem, attachment, and confidence. Such 
 an alliance, founded in virtue and benevolence, 
 and sanctified by Christianity, will assuredly 
 bless both the contracting parties. From 
 America and Britain it will bless the whole 
 world, and secure the blessino; of Almioiitt 
 God, the Father of all Nations. 
 
 "' Coi.UMBiA. child of Britain— noblest child I 
 
 1 piiMHe the gldwing lustre of ihy worth. 
 And fain would see thy great heart reconciled 
 
 To love the mother of so blest a birth ; 
 For wo are one. Columbia ! still the same 
 In lineage, languafje, lawn, and ancient fame, 
 
 The natural nobility of earth ; 
 Yes, we are one. the glorioua days of yore 
 
 When dear old England earned her storied name 
 Are tliine, as well an ours, for evermore ; 
 
 And thou hast rights in Milt&n, even as we — 
 Thou too canst claim 'sv.eet Shakspere's wood- 
 notes wild,' 
 
 And chiefest, brother, we are both made free, 
 Of one religion, pure and undeliled ! 
 
 " ',\ blame thee not. as other some have blamed— 
 
 The highborn heir hath grown to man's estate; 
 I mock thee not, as some who should be shamed, 
 
 Nor ferrei out thy faults with envious hale ; 
 Far olherwine, by generous love inflamed, 
 
 Piitriot, I praise thy country's foreign son, 
 Rejoicing in the blaze of good and great 
 
 Tliat diadems thy head j go on. go on I 
 Young Hercules, thus travelling in might. 
 Boy Plato, filling all the west with bght. 
 
 Thou new Thcniistocles of enterprise, 
 Go on and prosper— Acolyte of fate! 
 
 And— precious child, dear £phraim — torn 
 eyes— 
 For thee thy mother'* yenming heart doth wait, 
 
 those 
 
 "With ardent prayers for the accomplish- 
 ment of these grand objects, I remain, a Brit- 
 ish lover of America, 
 
 •'Thomas Timpson." 
 
 LITERATURE OF CHINA. 
 
 If there is any one thing which more than 
 another elevates the Chinese character, it is 
 their literary institutions. In letters and edu- 
 cation China takes the first rank amongbeathen 
 nations. 
 
 There are few countries in which education 
 is so widely diffused as in China; but it fails 
 to produce its due improvement on the mind 
 from the fact that it is pursued for the pur- 
 pose of obtaining office, literary eminence be- 
 ing the only path to political distinction. Ed- 
 ucation is consequently rarely bestowed upon 
 females ; and few, if any, of the other sex 
 pursue knowledge for its own eake. 
 
 Chimese Namks.— a child's first name is 
 given when about a month old. This is called 
 the milk-name ; and is usually some trifling 
 epithet, as the name of a flower for girls, nnd 
 of sorne distinguished virtue for boys. This 
 name is dropped when the child grows up. 
 
 The children associate together till they are 
 about eight years old, when the boys are sent 
 to school, nnd the giris kept secluded in the 
 house. When a boy enters school, he re- 
 ceives another name", called the hook-name, 
 which is conferred with much ceremony, and 
 which he afterward retains. In the family, 
 however, he is often called familiariy by his 
 milk-name. 
 
 Persons engaged in business have what is 
 called a shop-name, not putting their own 
 proper naines on their stores. This shop-name 
 is somewhat analogous to our names for hotels ; 
 consisting sometimes of such phrases as "mu- 
 tual advantuge," " abundant profits," &:c. A 
 man's last name is given to him after his death, 
 on account of his moral qualities, and is equiv- 
 alent to the epitaphs on our tombstones. 
 
 Education of Children. — Wealthy fam- 
 ilies prefer to educate their children at home, 
 and sometimes two or three families will unite 
 and engage the services of a teacher. In such 
 case the daughters are sometimes instructed ; 
 and perhaps nine tenths of all the educa- 
 ted females in China obtainer' their learning 
 under such circumstances. "There is not," 
 said Mr. Willioms, "as far as I know, a single 
 girls' 8(>hool in Canton." 
 
 At the door of the (school is a tablet in honor 
 of Confucius, to which the scholars bow as 
 they enter, and sometimes ofTer incense. The 
 masters are as severe as in any country. The 
 first task is to learn the characters. The boys 
 learn to form the characters by tracing them 
 with a pencil on paper which is tbin enough 
 for the characters to show through. They 
 learn the names of the characters by standing 
 up in a class before the teacher, who reads 
 off the first six characters in the books, and 
 they re peat them after him ; six more are then 
 gone over in the same way, and the boys are 
 then sent to their seats to learn them by neart, 
 twelve being considered enough for one lesson. 
 As they always stiudy aloud, they make not a 
 little noise over their tasks. When they have 
 committed the first twelve characters to mem- 
 ory, they recite them to the teacher, who 
 gives them twelve more, and so on, till they 
 have gone through the whole book, which 
 contains two hundred and seventy-six lines, of 
 six characters each. During all this time they 
 are entirely ignorant of the meaning of what 
 they have learned, knowing nothing but the 
 names of the characters. In every school 
 they always be^n with the same book ; and 
 when this is finished they go through a second 
 
KS. — A child's first name is 
 a month old. This is called 
 »nd is usually some trifling 
 me of a flower for girls, and 
 shed virtue for boys. This 
 vhen the child grows up. 
 isociate together till they are 
 old, when the boys are sent 
 i girls kept secluded in the 
 boy enters school, he re- 
 Jme, called the book-name, 
 I with much ceremony, and 
 rd retains. In the family, 
 ;en called familiarly by his 
 
 J in business have what is 
 ne, not putting their own 
 eir stores. This shop-name 
 ;ous to our names for hotels ; 
 lesof such phrases as "mu- 
 ' abundant profits," ice. A 
 given to him after his death, 
 loral qualities, and is equiv- 
 hs on our tombstones. 
 Uhildrkn. — Wealthy fam- 
 :ate their children at home, 
 1 or three families will unite 
 vices of a teacher. In such 
 I are sometimes instructed ; 
 
 tenths of all the educa- 
 ina obtainer: their learning 
 istances. " There is not," 
 , " as far as I know, a single 
 iton." 
 
 le Jschcol is a tablet in honor 
 i'hich the scholars bow as 
 letimes offer incense. The 
 re as in any country. The 
 1 the characters. The boys 
 ;haracters by tracing them 
 aper which is thin enough 
 
 to show through. They 
 the characters by standing 
 >re the teacher, who reads 
 laracters in the books, and 
 fter him; six more are then 
 me way, and the boys are 
 jats to learn them by heart, 
 ered enough for one lesson, 
 dy aloud, they make not a 
 ir tasks. When they hove 
 twelve characters to mem- 
 bem to the teacher, who 
 more, and so on, till they 
 I the whole book, whicn 
 id and seventy-six iiKes. of 
 
 During all this time they 
 it of the meaning of what 
 knowing nothing but the 
 acters. In every school 
 with the same book; and 
 i they go through a second 
 
 L 
 
 LITERATURE OF CHINA. 
 
 261 
 
 book, which contains a thousand characters; 
 after vvliich the teacher ;^ives his pupils some 
 idea of what they have bcyii rfadiiig in tile 
 first book. In this way they go throujih their 
 nine classics, the whole of which are learned 
 by heart ; but neither history, geograjjhy, 
 natural philosophy, religion, nor arithmetic, 
 is taught in the schools. 
 
 LiTKHART Examinations — These are 
 peculiar to China. They are four in number, 
 and ])rogressive in degree. The first examina- 
 tion takes place in the town jr village, and all 
 persons are eligible as candidates. Those 
 who pass this trial are said to have " a name 
 in the village." 
 
 The second examination is held in the dis- 
 trict town, before the literary chancellor. All 
 in the district who were successful at the first 
 examination are eligible for the second ; and 
 sometimes as many as thirty or forty thousand 
 students are collected on these occasions at 
 Canton. The examination last three days, 
 and on each day a theme is given on which 
 the candidates are to write an essay. The 
 successful candidates receive the first literary 
 degree. 
 
 The third examination is held in the pro- 
 vincial town every third year, and is open to 
 all the students in the province who have re- 
 ceived the first degree. Two examiners are 
 sent from Pekin, who, with the literary chan- 
 cellors, form a board of twelve examiners. 
 In the place of examination are several thou- 
 sand small cells. The competitors give their 
 names, age, lineage, &c., and are ".arefuUy 
 searched to see that they have not secreted 
 any copy of the classics about them. They 
 are then furnished with writing materials, and 
 shut up separately in small cells for two days, 
 during which time they are required to com- 
 pose essavs and poems on given subjects. 
 The same subjects are given to all the can- 
 didates, and each is expected to use at least 
 two hundred characters in bis composition. 
 At Canton i here will sometimes be seven thou- 
 sand candidates at this examination, of whom 
 only seventy-two can be successful, the di- 
 plomas being limited to that number. 
 
 To read and determine the merits of seven 
 thousand essays on the seme subject is a tedi- 
 ous and laborious work ; but sometimes the 
 examiners lighten their task by passing over 
 many of the essays without retiding. A stu- 
 dent who suspected this, once wrote an essay 
 severely criminating the chancellor, knowing 
 that if It were r^'ad he should be called to ac- 
 count for it. He heard nothing of it, how- 
 ever, and rightly concluding it had never been 
 read, he published it; and the result was that 
 the officer was discharged. Bribery is often 
 effectual in procuring a favorable award from 
 the examiners : but not to such an extent as 
 
 entirely to vitiate the benefits of the examina- 
 tion. 
 
 Tile names of the candidates to whom the 
 degree is awarded are announced at midnight 
 from one of the watch-towers, and placarded 
 next morning over the city. The candidates 
 themselves are honored with a feast in the 
 governor's palace, and afterward receive the 
 congratulations of their friends. 
 
 Unsuccessful candidates are allowed to try 
 again at subseipient examinations, as long as 
 they please ; and there have been instances 
 of lather, son, and grandfather, appearing as 
 competitors at the same time. 
 
 The ^ur^ examination takes place at Pe- 
 kin ; and all who have passed the previous 
 examinations are allowed to compete. The 
 manner of proceeding is similar to that pursued 
 in examining for the second degree. Those 
 who are successful receive the third degree, 
 and are eligible for important oflBces ; but it is 
 said that in the distribution of honors and offi- 
 ces the Mantchous are more favored than the 
 Chinese. 
 
 The fourth degree is an office of itself. 
 Those who obtain it reside at the court ; and 
 by this policy tho men of the greatest talents 
 are collected at the capital, where they u^n 
 be best directed and controlled. The empe- 
 ror's son passes through these examinations 
 the same as other persons. 
 
 Effkcts of this Plan — The benefit of 
 this system of examinations is, that it excites 
 the mass of the people to apply themselves ti) 
 learning, and keeps up a high standard of 
 literature, as the books they are required to 
 study are the best in the language; and to 
 have any chance of success, they are com- 
 pelled to make themselves so thoroughly ac- 
 quainted with their contents that they can 
 never forget them. Those who are not suc- 
 cessful in reaching the highest degree have not 
 spent their time in vain, as they generally ob- 
 tain situations as schoolmasters, government 
 clerks, &c. 
 
 Among the evils of the system may be 
 mentioned, that the plan of carrying every 
 student in the empire through the same routins 
 of ancient lore, aiid bur 'ening his memory with 
 it, destroys the power of invention, and begets 
 a blind admiration of anti(|uity, so that the 
 people of China neither hope nor desire to be 
 any wiser than their fathers ; a mental uni- 
 formity pervades ther., ; the lapse of centuries 
 brings little or no intellectual advanceirent, 
 the minds of th»; whole people continuing to 
 run in a sort of railroad track after Confucius, 
 who though he flourished as far back as the 
 time of Ezra, yet exerts perhaps a greater in- 
 fluence over his fellow-men than any other 
 man we have ever heard of. 
 
 The Literatdre or China is very ex- 
 
 t 
 
 I 
 
 ^^Si 
 
 iitiwiirnw)- 
 
!f 
 
 
 A ^^,lt^* 
 
 
 I- JliS'S: 
 
 262 
 
 LITERATUKK OF CHINA. 
 
 tensive, though it can not be said to contain 
 much that would repay the study of foreigners. 
 The most celebrated writings are the nine 
 volumes already referred to, and which may 
 be regarded as their sacred books. They are 
 called the Five Classics and the Four Books, 
 and are chiefly written by Confucius. They 
 contain, among other things, the early history 
 of the empire, and abundance of moral pre- 
 cepts, minute directions for human conduct 
 from childhood and upward. Many of the 
 latter would appear to us childish and trifling, 
 but not so to the Chinese, who are taught to 
 revere and govern themselves by them. 
 
 Of historians they have many, and their 
 works are very voluminous. They have only 
 two or three distinguished poets ; but are very 
 fond of making poetry, as an amusement. A 
 person at the table will give out a subject, and 
 each of the company will write verses upon 
 it. Their poetry is mostly in heptameter, the 
 character of their language not allowing the 
 variety of metres that we make use of. Some- 
 times they vfiW adopt a very urtiiicinl style, 
 making all the words in a line end in the game 
 sound ; the number of characters having the 
 same sound affording great facility for this 
 kind of composition. Novels are very abun- 
 dant, and some of them very licentious. 
 
 Chinese Proverbs — The Chinese are 
 very fond of aphoristic proverbs and sayings. 
 Mr. Williams repeated many of these, from 
 
 which we select the following a? specimens : 
 
 " Never climb a tree to catch a fish." 
 " Win a cat, and lose a cow" (ridiculing the 
 folly of going to law for trifles). 
 
 "Good iron is not used for nails, nor are 
 soldiers made of good men." 
 
 "Ivory does not come f'om a rat's mouth." 
 "An avaricious man is like a serpent wish- 
 ing to swallow an elephant." 
 
 " Two skins can not be stripped from one 
 cow" (meaning that there is a hmit to oxtor- 
 cion). 
 
 "To instigate a villain to do wrong is like 
 teaching a monkey to climb trees." 
 
 "The chick will come out of the egg" 
 (equivalent to our '•' murder will out.") 
 
 " Exaggeration paints a serpent, and adds 
 legs." 
 
 " All that a fish drinks goes out at its gills," 
 (applied to a spendthrift). 
 
 " A blustering fellow ip like a paper tiger." 
 "Dig a well before >ou are thirsty." 
 " Let every man sweep the snow from his 
 own door, ind not busy himself about the frost 
 on his neighbor's tiles." 
 
 Chinese Language.— The Chinese is the 
 only modem Ic nguage in which the characters 
 do not represer.t counds. The whole number 
 of characters in then- dictionaries is upward 
 of foi ty thousand ; but as many of them are 
 
 obsolete, or duplicates, the actuol number is 
 not more than thirty thousand. Thev may 
 
 be arranged under the following classes : 
 
 Imitative symbols, which bear some resem- 
 blance to the things they are designed to rei)- 
 resent. 
 
 Indicative symbols, in which something in 
 the form of the choracter indicates its mran- 
 ing ; as a dot under a line signifies " beneath ;" 
 a triangle, "unity;" a stroke drawn through 
 a square signifies " the middle," or " to Si- 
 vide." 
 
 Combined symbols, the symbols for fire and 
 surround, when united, signify " to roast." 
 An eye with legs under it means " to see." 
 A child in the house signifies " letters," be- 
 cause learning requires long study in a house. 
 There are &]sQinverted and syllabic symbols, 
 but their number is not large. 
 
 All the characters in the language may be 
 resolved into two hundred and fourteen radi- 
 cals. The greatest number of strokes in any 
 one character is forty-seven. The number 
 of characters in actual use is not more than 
 ten thousand. 
 
 [Mr. Medhurst says that by a careful colla- 
 tion of an historical novel in twenty volumes, 
 and of the Chinese version of the Scriptures, 
 it appears that the whole amount of characters 
 used in both does not much exceed three thou- 
 sand different sorts.l 
 
 There are several dialects in China, but as 
 their written language represents things, and 
 not sounds, it may be perfectly intelligible to 
 persons who could not understand one anoth- 
 er's speech. In this respect it resembles our 
 figures, or characters to represent numbers, 
 which are as intelligible to a Frenchman or a 
 Spaniard as to us; yet each in speaking would 
 designate the numbers by words which we 
 could not understand. Tlie Japanese, Mant- 
 chous, and Chinese, can understand one another 
 when they write, although their spoken lan- 
 guages are very different. 
 
 The variety of spoken dialect in China are 
 rather perplexing to travellers, who find it ne- 
 cessary to learn the court dialect, which is 
 understood by some persons in all parts of the 
 country. 
 
 Books. — Books in China are very aburn'ant 
 and cheap ; but the charge for almanacs, dic- 
 tionaries, and topographical works, is higher 
 than for other books. They are printed from 
 wooden blocks, on each of which a page of 
 the matter has been cut. These blocks v ;il 
 give three thousand impressions before tJ'* / 
 are so worn as t>: require retouching. Tlrir 
 paper is very thin, and printed only on .> (■ 
 side. The top, bottom, and back of the vi ]- 
 ume, are cut, bnt in front the folds pre h ft 
 uncnt, so that the blank sides of the leaves pre 
 not seen. The books are merely stitched 
 
'icates, thn nctuol number is 
 hirty thousand. They may 
 
 ;r the following classes : 
 
 'ols, which bear some rescin- 
 ngs they are designed to rej)- 
 
 iboh, in which something in 
 choracter indicates its mcun- 
 er a line signifies " beneath ;" 
 y;" a stroke drawn throuijh 
 s "the middle," or " to di- 
 
 bols, the symbols for fire and 
 united, signify "to roast." 
 s under it means " to see." 
 ouse signifies "letters," be- 
 rjuires long study in a. house. 
 Inverted and syllabic symbols, 
 is not large. 
 
 ters in the language may be 
 I hundred and fourteen radi- 
 38t number of strokes in any 
 forty-seven. The number 
 ictual use is not more than 
 
 says that by a careful colla- 
 al novel in twenty volumes, 
 e version of the Scriptures, 
 3 whole amount of characters 
 not much exceed three thou- 
 ;s.1 _ 
 
 ral dialects in China, but as 
 uage represents things, and 
 y be perfectly intelligible to 
 1 not understand one anoth- 
 ;his respect it resembles our 
 ;ters to represent numbers, 
 ligible to a Frenchman or a 
 1 yet each in speaking would 
 nbers by words which we 
 md. Tlie Japanese, Mant- 
 !, can understand one another 
 although their spoken lan- 
 iSerent. 
 
 spoken dialect in China are 
 to travellers, who find it ne- 
 ;he court dialect, which is 
 le persons in all parts of the 
 
 in China are very abunt'ant 
 le charge for almanacs, dic- 
 Bgraphical works, is higher 
 ks. Thej' are printed from 
 I each of which a page of 
 n cut. These blocks viil 
 id impressions before they 
 require retouching. Tlrir 
 I, and prnted only on unc 
 ittom, and back of the vcl- 
 in front the folds ore h ft 
 ilank sides of the leaves pre 
 ooks are merely stitched 
 
 mam 
 

 in ^ (fiJte u 
 
 through, and have no stiff cover, or durable 
 binding, like ours ; consequently they do not 
 lust long : and very few old books are to be 
 seer.. 
 
 The Chinese begin their books at what we 
 should cull the last page; and the lines go 
 down instead of across the pi.ge. 
 
 The Chinese do not write with pens, but 
 with sable pencils. Their escritoire is made 
 of 11 piece of polished marble, in the ends of 
 which are holes for the cakes of ink, and for 
 water : the cake of ink is moistened and 
 rubbed against the marble until it becomes 
 li(|uid and fit for use. The brush, ink, paper, 
 and marble, are designated by a (simple word 
 which signifies the four precious things. 
 
 The Chinese bookseller, as represented in 
 our engraving, has no store, but carries his 
 books about v/ith him. 
 
 SAINT PETERSBURG. 
 
 No greater or nobler mer.-ly Imman task 
 was ever undertaken, than that with which 
 Peter the Great charged himself, when the 
 death of his brother called him to the throne. 
 It was to civilize the barbarous race over 
 whom he was called to rule. To fit himself 
 for this [jurpose, he left his kingdom and trav- 
 elled into western Europe, to observe and 
 study the progress there made. In Holland, 
 especially, did he learn what triumphs the art 
 and genius of man can acquire over nature 
 itself. Wishing for a navy, he there .ecame 
 a practical ship-builder, and returned to his 
 home determined to rear a second Amsterdam 
 among the frozen waters of the northern Bal- 
 tic. Men of genius and skill were taken free- 
 ly into his service. 
 
 The gulf of Constadt appeared to liim, from 
 the size and depth of the Neva at its mouth, 
 suitable to hia designs, and he determined to 
 make it a mercantile and naval station. To 
 protect this establishment a fortress was con- 
 structed on an island formed by the two arms 
 of the Neva. Then on the left bank of the 
 grand Neva was reared the Admiralty, and 
 then the wooden palace. With Amsterdam 
 as the model in his eye, he now determined 
 on the site of his future city, the foundation 
 of which was laid in Wassili-Ostroff, an island 
 formed by the large and smaller Neva. Canals 
 were dug, and wooden houses were erected on 
 it. As the difficulties of the project increased, 
 so did the determination of the czar. More 
 canals wer'e dug and drains made to rid it of 
 the water which stagnated in it, until finally 
 streets having taken the place of the canals, 
 Wassili-Ostroff is now one of the finest quar- 
 ters of St. Petersburg. 
 
 Now (lid the genius of Peter lead him to lay 
 out a plot of his new city on a scaio suitable 
 to the camtal of his vast empire. Both banks 
 of the Neva were lined with marshes. To 
 enable them to bear the weight of the superb 
 edifices he contemjjlated, thov must be thor- 
 oughly reclaimei. and drainc^I. It ,>ns an 
 herculean task, w rthy of such a mor;..roh. 
 Streets of groat width, large and superb »<|unrts 
 were traced out, and the northern capital was 
 to be the admiration of Europe. The seat of 
 government located there, the nobility and 
 courtiers naturally flocked thither, and it was 
 easy to jiredict the brilliant future which await- 
 ed the city of the marshes. 
 
 Viewed in connexion with the rest of the 
 empire, no capital in Europe is so badly lo- 
 cated. It is in a distant and remote corner, 
 situated on a mars.h of Ingira, in the sixtieth 
 degree of north latitude. The climate is most 
 severe, the adjacent country desert, sterile and 
 unhealthy— no other man would probably have 
 thoughtof rearing a capital in such a position. 
 But Peter just then was Dutch-mad. He had 
 the Holland mania on him, and Amsterdam in 
 the midst of its dikes and canals was prefera- 
 ble in his eyes to the splendid locations of 
 many other great Europeans cities. The po- 
 sition of St. Petersburg and the wretched 
 country around it, renders its inhabitants de- 
 pendent upon remote provinces for a large por- 
 tion of their provisions. As a maritime posi- 
 tion, too, it is most wretched, as the Neva, on 
 which it is located, is frozen steadily 'uiing 
 six months of the year, so that vessels .o",,j 
 from it on voyages of any, even moderate di, - 
 tance, are obliged to leave late in the season 
 and return early; they can, moreover, only 
 go out with easterly winds, and those from 
 the west prevail chiefly during the summer; 
 while the soft water of the Neva is very prej- 
 udicial to them. 
 
 Add to this the dreadful ravages which tie 
 constantly made by the breaking up of the ice 
 m the Neva, and the numerous destructive 
 fires, resulting from the immense number of 
 wooden buildings, used in preference in con- 
 sequence of the severity of^ the climate, and 
 we have a catalogue of drawbacks against the 
 location of this memorable city. Peter wish- 
 ed, however, to force a people, who are not by 
 nature maritime, to become so. In this re- 
 spect, like all other attempts to force things 
 out of their natural channel, and in opposition 
 to those immutable laws which Providence 
 has wisely ordained for the government of the 
 human race, he failed. 
 
 In his determination to un-Russianize the 
 Russians, Peter acted wisely in removing his 
 capital from Moscow. So long as the ;; great 
 and "holy city" remained the capital of the 
 empire, he must have found insurmountable 
 
 rti 
 
jeniusnf Peter lead him to Jay 
 s new city on a scnii- suitnlile 
 his vast empire. Both banks 
 ,'re lined with marshes. To 
 jear the weight of the suporl) 
 enii)!ate(l, they must be thor- 
 'i. and drnint^I. It .,ns an 
 
 w rthy of such a mori.inh. 
 I'idth, large and superb »(piiires 
 
 and the northern capital was 
 lion of Europe. The scat of 
 ited there, the nobility and 
 ly flocked thither, and it was 
 e brilliant future which await- 
 ;• marshes. 
 
 nnexion with the rest of the 
 al in Europe is so badly lo- 
 a distant and remote corner, 
 rsh of Ingirn, in the sixtieth 
 titude. The climate is moat 
 ;nt country desert, sterile and 
 herman would probably have 
 ;; a capital in such a position, 
 en was Dutch-mad. He had 
 ia on him, and Amsterdam in 
 ikes and canals was prefera- 
 to the splendid locations of 
 
 Europeans cities. The po- 
 tersburg and the wretched 
 t, renders its inhabitants de- 
 lete provinces for a large por- 
 isions. As a maritime posi- 
 it wretched, as the Neva, on 
 ed, is frozen steadily 'u;ing 
 
 year, so that vessels .."v-k' 
 s of any, even moderate di, - 
 
 to leave late in the season 
 ; they can, moreover, only 
 3rly winds, and those from 
 chiefly during the summer; 
 :erof the Neva is very prej- 
 
 dreadful ravages which tie 
 y the breaking up of the ice 
 
 the numerous destructive 
 m the immense number of 
 
 used in preference in con- 
 Bverity of the climate, and 
 ue of drawbacks against the 
 morable city. Peter wish- 
 ce a people, who are not by 
 
 become so. In this re- 
 er attempts to force things 
 
 1 channel, and in oppositi>)n 
 le laws which Providence 
 d for the government of the 
 led. 
 
 ation to un-Russianize the 
 ted wisely in removing Ms 
 :)w. So long as the i great 
 jmained the capital of the 
 ave found insurmountable 
 
 SAINT PETEESBURG. 
 
 2G5 
 
 obstacles in removing thi prejudices of his 
 people. It is much easier to change the char- 
 acter of men by removing thrm to other places, 
 than to etlect it in the spot in which all their 
 eiirly prejudices have been born and grown. 
 His first attempt was of coui'«e on the higher 
 classes, and through them gradually on tneir 
 (Icpendants. In this view of the case some 
 removal vsas as wise as necessary in this case. 
 Hut should St. Petersburg have been the spot? 
 Its distance from the centre of the empire 
 and its vicinity to the frontier, answer no. 
 Hud the seat of government been more in the 
 heart of the empire, so that the government 
 could have been earlier apprized of his move- 
 ments, the rebel Pontgatscheir, the false Peter 
 III., would net, at the head of his insurgent peas- 
 antry, have been enabled for a time to sweep 
 all opposition before him, and cause Catherine 
 II. to tremble for life and throne. Its vi- 
 cinity to the frontier rendered it in 1790, al- 
 most a prey to the Swedes, who disembarked 
 within live miles of the city. There is noth- 
 ing to prevent a superior naval power from at 
 any time giving great disquietude to the city. 
 We have spoken of the inundations of the 
 Nevu. We will briefly glance at several of 
 the most striking. M.ntion is made of thom 
 from the eorliest times. On the 5th of No- 
 vember, 1715, the whole city wos under wa- 
 ter. On the same day in 1721, an inundation 
 whieh filled the lower part of the city to the 
 ilcptii of seven feet four inches occurred. In 
 thi; ui)])er parts of the city the water was u.p to 
 the breasts of the horses. The czar, who was 
 at a ball at the English embassador's, regained 
 his palace with great difficulty. Inundations 
 also occurred twice in 1726, in 1729, 1732, 
 17.^^, 1744, 1752 (in which year ^he waters 
 i-'.se to <)\'C' eight feet in the lower part of the 
 city, and jo.Tiained so for eight days), in 1757, 
 ^762, and 1777, This last was the most for- 
 >Au 'ibleof the eighteenth century. It occurred 
 i Ute IGth of September, during the night, 
 '" . by six o'clock in the morning had raised 
 the waters in the streets to a depth of over ten 
 feet. They passed all through the city in 
 boats, large vessels were driven up in the 
 streets, and one of considerable size rested on 
 the steps of the winter palace — a very large 
 number of lives were lost, and much property 
 destroyed. 
 
 We pass by several others of minor import- 
 ance, more or less destructive, however, to 
 note the great one which occurred on the 7th 
 of November, 1824. The waters of the Neva 
 had been swollen by copious rains, and on that 
 day overflowed their banks. The capital was 
 soon under water to the depth of many feet, 
 which, agitated by the furv of the wind, re- 
 sembled in the streets of tlie city the waves 
 of the ocean. Vessels were driven through 
 
 the streets; and so sudden was the inunda- 
 tion, that very many were surprised by it in 
 the streets, who, unable to escape by climbing 
 to the nearest resting-places, were drowned. 
 Four hundred and eighty persons were ofliciol- 
 ly announced to hove perished, which wos, 
 however, believed to be short of the mark. 
 Four hundred an<l sixty-two houses were en- 
 tirely destroyed, three thousand six hundred 
 and eighty damaged. Three thousand six 
 hundred head of rattle were drowned ; and at 
 the customhouse j)roperty to the value of 
 several millions of roubles wos totally lost. 
 Since then there have been several inundations, 
 but none so destructive. The most ond worst 
 of these occurred from the violence of the 
 west wind, in meeting the waters of the river 
 swollen with heavy rains, and forcing them 
 back toward their source. To this casualty, 
 against which no human power can guard, St. 
 Petersburg is always liable. 
 
 The climate of this city in winter is what 
 its latitude indicates. Its coldness and hu- 
 midity require the utmost care to guonl against 
 its influences. The thermometer indicates a 
 range S( 'ow as to be almost incredible that 
 civilized man should have voluntarily selected 
 it for a residence. The rich, whose houses 
 are warmed constantly to a summer heat, and 
 who never expose themselves, if they can 
 avoid it, unless entirely mutHed in furs, do 
 not sufl^er from it, as do the jioor. The nights 
 are frightful. The boutechuiks (inferior po- 
 lice agents) and sentries are sometimes found 
 frozen to death. The exposure of the least 
 part of the body is dangerous. Individuals 
 are constantly seen gravely nibbing each 
 other's frozen nose or cheek ^s ith snow, to pre- 
 vent it from becoming gangrened . Thus with- 
 out, all is ice, cold ; within, the stifling heat 
 of the stove. No air can be inhaled in out- 
 door exercises during that greater portion of 
 the year in which St Petersburg i> buried 
 several feet deep in snow and ics. The prin- 
 cipal topic of conversation is the weather, and 
 thermometers are studied with an assiduity 
 which renders a sojourner in St. Petersburg 
 an adept in them. 
 
 One of the most curious spectacles affordeu 
 by St. Petersburg at this season, is the mar- 
 ket for frozen provisions. Housekeepers lay 
 in their stock for tlie season. All that is bought 
 is frozen, and it is to be kept in the same state. 
 It is curious to see around you numerous dead 
 bodies, having the appearance of petrified ani- 
 mals. Oxen, sheep, lambs, calves, pork, game, 
 all are reduced to the stiffness of marble, and 
 when a piece is to be cut off, it ie done by the 
 hatchet. The supply taken home is buried 
 in the snow, and thawed when required for 
 use. 
 
 The greatest curse which con befall St. 
 
 tl 
 
 ii 
 

 II 
 
 266 
 
 8ELFG0VEUNMKNT. 
 
 Petersburg during this season, is a thaw. By 
 it provisions are destroyed, and the capital 
 dependent on distant provinces for a supply* 
 is threatened with a famine. The roads, too, 
 become such as to forbid any hope of immedi- 
 ate ussistancc. The eflTect of this rise of tem- 
 perature, by melting the upper crust of the 
 snow, is to render the streets almost impassa- 
 ble, and when the final and general thaw 
 takes i)lace in the spring, you are reminded in 
 wading through them of the original marshes 
 out of which they sprung. 
 
 The aspect of St. Petersburg is grand and 
 imposing. It may be called, however, like a 
 large portion of its inhabitants, always in uni- 
 form, always under arms. Its regularity, its 
 immense palaces, its immeasurable squares, its 
 streets laid out by a line, its masses of stone and 
 granite, always fill the mind with surprise and 
 admiration. It wants, however, that variety 
 wliich is the great charm of some of the older 
 E uropean cities. The immense scale on which 
 everything is laid out, deprives it of that life, 
 which is the charm of many other capitals. 
 In the f|uarters of the city and the streets, which 
 are remote from the haunts of promenaders 
 and of business, a dulness which may be felt 
 reigns. In this respect it resembles, but on a 
 large scale, many portions of our sister-city. 
 New York. It has been likened by a likely 
 French writer to Versailles, on a large scale, 
 but Versailles as it now is, empty, pompously 
 insignificant, and majestically insipid ; not 
 Versailles as it exis'fd in the times of Louis 
 .XIV., with its tlinisunds of courtiers and 
 populace of lackeys. 
 
 The Grecian style of art, with its long facade, 
 its lofty columns, its noble porticoes, does not 
 appear to us suitable to the climate of Russia, 
 and yet it is this which the inhabitants of St. 
 Petersburg have sought to acclimatize in their 
 cold and wintry regions. It seems strikingly 
 out of place to see the Parthenon, which over- 
 looked the sunny waters of the south, trans- 
 ferred to the ice-bound shores of the Baltic. 
 The temples which graced the rocky steeps 
 of the Egean seem out of keeping on the 
 marshes of the Neva. And yet it is to this 
 style of architecture that they have so much 
 resorted. Th >se are, however, rendered worse 
 by being adorned with ornaments of tinsel 
 show, whose very beauty in their native climes 
 is their chaste simplicity. 
 
 By the side of all this magnificence is found 
 th". ever-present Russian filth. ITiese two 
 words, says a traveller, describe the city. 
 The hotels especially, abound in this. They 
 are most uncomfortable within, and form a 
 
 * There are frequently seen on the same table, the 
 ■terlet of the Volga, the veal of Archangel, the mutton 
 of Astrachan, the beef of the Ukraine, and the pheaa- 
 aat of Hunt;ary and Bohemia. 
 
 I Striking contrast to the splendor that reigns 
 I around. Nor is the attendance better. There 
 , is a perfect contempt of comfort, on the part 
 of those charged to administi.'r it to you. " I 
 resided in a hotel," says M. Marmier, " which 
 had been recommended to me us one of the 
 I best. Every seven or eight dayf<, my riioujik, 
 I tired of yawning on the staircusc, and not 
 j knowing what else to do, came to take the 
 ; covering off my bed and pour a liiile fresh 
 water into a jug when he went iiwiiy, en- 
 chanted at having accomplished such iiiurvcls. 
 Cleaning a bureau or dusting a chair was work 
 unworthy of him. He <iuietly pennitted 
 floods of dust to accumulate on the furniture." 
 .Such is a brief glance at St. PctiTsburg. 
 To have considered it more at ltMi,L!th would 
 hav led us into details inconsistent with our 
 plan. 
 
 SELF-GOVERNMENT. 
 
 Ir the midst of events which seem to be- 
 speak predestination, man still feels that h». is 
 free. The planets wheel throujjh the heav- 
 ens : the earth revolves on its axis, and per- 
 forms its vast annual circuit ; the seasons come 
 and go ; the clouds rise and vanish ; the rain, 
 the hail, and the snow, descend ; and in all 
 this, man has no voice. There is a system of 
 government above beyond, and around hirn, 
 declaring a sovereignty which tokes no coun- 
 sel of him. But still, in the midst of nil this, 
 man possesses a consciousness of freedom. 
 The metaphysician may be confounded with 
 the seeming inconsistency of an omnipoti.'nce, 
 ruling over all things, yet granting free ngriicy 
 to the subjects of its power. But common sense 
 does not puzzle itself with an attempt to discover 
 the precise point at which these seeming prin- 
 ciples of opposition may clash or coalesce. It 
 contents itself with the obvious fact that God 
 is a sovereign, who has yet creatoul beings, 
 and given them their freedom, j)iescribing 
 boundaries to their powers and cajiacities, in- 
 deed, but within these limits permitting them 
 to act by their own volition. 
 
 Man then is free ; he has the power to seek 
 happiness in his own way. He enters upon 
 existence, and sets forward in the path of life. 
 But as he passes along, a thousand tempters 
 beset him. Pleasure comes to beckon him 
 away, ofTering him present flowers, and unfold- 
 ing beautiful prospects in the distance. Wealth 
 seeks to make him her votary, by disclosing 
 her magic power over men and things. Am- 
 bition woos him with dreams of glory. Indo- 
 lence assays to soften and seduce him to her 
 influence. Love, envy, malice, revenge, jeal- 
 
 »wi 
 
 v^gSg'WSiS 
 
 
to the splendor that rnigns 
 the ftttnndance better. There 
 em[)t of comfort, on the port 
 
 to oilminister it to you. " I 
 ," says M. Mnrinier, " which 
 mcniled to me us one of the 
 •en or eight days, my uimijik, 
 e on the stQircusc, iiiiil not 
 Ise to do, came to tuke the 
 bed and pour a little fie^*h 
 X when ho went away, en- 
 g accomplished sueh uiiirvcls. 
 u or dusting a chair was worit 
 im. He ([uietly pritnilted 
 iccumulate on the fiiniiture." 
 al glance at St. Petersburg, 
 red it more at li'iiyth would 
 details inconsistent with our 
 
 -GOVERNMENT. 
 
 )f events which seem to be- 
 tion, man still feels that h", is 
 ets wheel through the heav- 
 svolves on its axis, and per- 
 mal circuit ; the seasons come 
 ids rise and vanish ; the rain, 
 B snow, descend ; and in all 
 voice. There is a system of 
 fe beyond, and around hirn, 
 ■eignty which takes no conn- 
 ; still, in the mi<lst of nil this, 
 I consciousness of freedom. 
 Ian may be confounded with 
 nsistency of an omnipotence, 
 ings, yet granting free agency 
 its power. Butcommoii sense 
 ielf with an attempt to discover 
 
 at which these seeming prin- 
 on may clash or coalesee. It 
 ith the obvious fact that God 
 (vho has yet created beings, 
 I their freedom, prescribing 
 ;ir powers and capacities, in- 
 
 these limits permitting them 
 (vn volition, 
 ee ; he has the power to seek 
 
 own way. He enters upon 
 ts forward in the path of life. 
 !8 along, a thousand tempters 
 asure comes to beckon him 
 m present flowers, and unfold- 
 ipects in the distance . Wealth 
 im her votary, by disclosing 
 • over men and things. Am- 
 with dreams of glory. Indo- 
 often and seduce him to her 
 !, envy, malice, revenge, jeal- 
 
 TRAJAN AND UOHRIIT FULTON. 
 
 267 
 
 ousy, and other busy spirits, assail him with 
 X-ir various arts. And man li free to yield 
 to thos.- temptations if he wil ; or he has the 
 „,wer to resist them if he will. Goil has sur- 
 rendered him to his own discretion, making 
 him responsible, however, for the use and the 
 abuse of the liberty bestowed upcm him. _ 
 If a peison mounts a high-spinted horse, it 
 is important that he should be able to control 
 him, otherwise he may be dashed to pieces. 
 If an engineer undertakes to conduct a loco- 
 motive, it is necessary that he should be able 
 to guide or check the panting engine at his 
 i.leusurc, else his own life, and the lives ot 
 others may be sacrificed. But it is still more 
 imlispensal)le that an individual, who is in- 
 trusted with the cure of himself, should be 
 able to govern himself. 
 
 This might seem a very easy task ; but it 
 is one of the most ditlicult that we are called 
 upon to perform. History shows us that some 
 of the greatest men have failed m it. Alex- 
 onder C(")uld comiuer the legions of Persia, but 
 he could not comiuer his i)assi(m9. Cmsar tri- 
 umphed in a hundred l)attles, but he tell a 
 victim to the desire of being a king. Bona- 
 parte vanquished nearly the whole ot fcurope, 
 but he could not vamiuish his own ambition. 
 And in humbler life, nearer homo in our own 
 every-day atlairs, most of us are often drawn 
 aside from the path of duty and discretion, 
 because we can not resist some temptations or 
 yrercome some prejudice. 
 
 If we consider that self-government recjuires , 
 two things : ^rst, whenever we are tempted 
 to deviate fro... the path of rc'titude or to act ; 
 imprudently, or whenever we are tempted to 
 neglect any duty, that we should possess and 
 exercise the power to check ourselves in the 
 one case, and to compel ourselves to the re- 
 quired action in the other, we shall see that it 
 is the great regulator of conduct, the very 
 balance-wheel of life. Without it, a person 
 is almost sure to miss happiness, however 
 great may be his gifts, however high his lor- 
 tune; with it the humblest individual may 
 command not merely the world's wealth, but 
 the world's respect; and, what is better, 
 peace of mind, and the consciousness of Heav- 
 en's approbation. 
 
 If parents would not trust a child upon the 
 back of a wild horse without bir or bridle, let 
 them not permit him to go forth into the world 
 unskilled in self-government. If a child is 
 passionate, teach him, by gentle and patient 
 means to curb his temper. If he is greedy, 
 cultivate liberalitv in him. If he is selhsh, 
 promote generosity. If he is sulky, charm 
 him out of it, bv encouraging frank good hu- 
 mor If he is indolent, accustom him to exer- 
 tion, and train him so as to perform even on- 
 erous duties with alacrity. If pnde comes in 
 
 to make his obedience reluctant, subdue him, 
 by either counsel or discipline. In short, give 
 your children the habit of overcoming their 
 besetting sins. Let them feel that they can 
 overcome temptation. Let them ac(pnr(! from 
 experience, that confidence in themselves 
 which gives security to the practised horse- 
 man, even on the back of a high-stning steed, 
 and they will triumph over the dirticulties and 
 dangers which beset them in the path of life. 
 
 TRAJAN AND ROBERT FULTON. 
 
 THE CONNEXION OF THEIR WORKS. 
 
 The close of the first century bt^held a 
 Spaniard on the throne of Rome. He was a 
 native of Seville, and was at the heail of the 
 army in Germany when the aged Nerva called 
 him to share the cares of the government. 
 The death of the old emperor soon after oc- 
 curred, and Trajan was left to reign alone. 
 When the eyes of millions were turned tow- 
 ard him with the most profound interest, he 
 jiroved himself to be ade(iuato to his place, 
 and for nearly twenty years continued to fill 
 the Roman world with the renown of his 
 achievements. His immediaW; predecessors 
 had professed to maintain the peaceful policy 
 of Augustus, but their vices rendered them 
 quite incompetent to carry it out with dignity 
 and success. The concessions which Augus- 
 tus had won by diplomacy, they could not 
 keep, either by wisdom or by force. Although 
 they were troubled by incursions on their 
 eastern borders, yet the Roman name was 
 most grossly insulted by the barbanans of 
 Dacia, north of the Danube, who crossed the 
 river, ravaged the country, defeated the le- 
 gions, and even imposed a tribute on Domitian. 
 At last the humbled army were surprised to 
 see an imperial soldier at their head, march- 
 ing on foot, sharing their fatigues, and content 
 with theit fare. Under the eye of Trajan, the 
 ancient discipline and valor were revived; and 
 the Dacian king, Decebalus, ranked among 
 the first warriors of his age, was thrice de- 
 feated ; his hordes were driven back beyond 
 the Danube, and his kingdom was reduced to 
 a iirovince of the empire. 
 
 The victories of Trajan, however, would 
 hardly be thought of now, but for the stony 
 records which proclaim to the traveller along 
 the confines of Dacia, the bold projects of the 
 emperor to spread the civilizing arts into those 
 northern regions, and to naturalizx those sav- 
 age tribes to the Roman life and maiiners. 
 Indeed, a fresh reminiscence of his history 
 was brought to light, ten years since, by a 
 Servian fisherman, who discovered, m the bed 
 
 18 
 
 •* 
 
 1 
 i 
 
 t 
 
 i- 
 >*, 
 
 i 
 
 if 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 i! 
 
 I* 
 .1 
 
i .,-, - 
 
 I i'l 
 
 (!*» %<, 
 
 268 
 
 TIIAJAN A' D KOBKttT i UtTON. 
 
 of tho 
 
 rh'tr, nonr 'ho village of Praona, a 
 bronze i)U9t of 'I'lujan. Aljout twenty-five 
 miles abov!> this spot, uro vot to bo soen thn 
 remains o( that sulcndid briifgn "f gtorip, which 
 Trajan rciucil across the Daniuie, at a point 
 where tho river is two thi' i-<anii and four hun- 
 dred feet in width, guin od i" with strong 
 castles ut botli I iwls, and ' !ted i *'i be a per- 
 manent thorougiifare to L;>nnect new con- 
 quest with the old dominion. Li tlo did In- 
 think tliiit it would ever fall by tltt! hands ol 
 Romans ! L"niit of nil could he ima^ne thm 
 his sui'ccssor, ncknowlcdijinjj his iiicaparii v 
 to goveni so wide a realm, would df-stroy rhU 
 noble m'luiiiiient of imperial powui. iji; 
 
 day, the bases of tho ca*»fl('s are visi! , an^i 
 buttresses ei!»ht('t'n feet thick. Eleven piles 
 may bo seen in tho bed of thf river, nt low 
 water. Apollodorus, of Damn j, t' '•eat 
 architect of the time, whose naii /da- 
 
 ted witii much of the ma^nificcn. ui Rome, 
 planned and exi mited this structure, anima- 
 ted, no doulil, by the full belief, that he was 
 *' buildin!^ for posterity." 
 
 Not u long time after the coii; iletioi f the 
 bridge, tho nortlirm traveller of the sicond 
 century enjoyed the advantage of a wellfoi! 
 structed roail, cxteniling from the Danube i'u 
 into the interior of the savage Dacia, termini 
 ting near Bender, about fifty miles from the- 
 Black sea. It was a bold conception of the 
 emperor, and its traces indicate his faiili 
 the principle, that whatsoever is worth doing 
 at all i worth doing well; for great difficul- 
 ties were overcome, and in some places it is 
 cut, with signal skill, through solid rock. 
 Seventeen hundred years ago, a man might 
 pass with some degree of comfort through that 
 land ; but in these days, if one venture to trav- 
 el there, as he finds himself seated in a car- 
 riage of the rudest form, and jolted over a 
 rough and rutty Moldavian wagon-track, drag- 
 ged, too, by ponies destitute of all tackle, ex- 
 cept a few frail cords, with many a <igh will 
 he coll to mind the signs of civilization in the 
 days of Trajan. 
 
 But special praise is due to the emperor for 
 his etforts to improve the navigation of the 
 Danube, and to make it subserve, through all 
 time, the interests of commerce. As the ge- 
 ographer looks upon the map of Europe, and 
 beholds this magniScent river, springing up in 
 the very heart of the continent, fed by si.Kty 
 streams which flow down from the Carpathian 
 and Alpine heights, bringing its constant tribute 
 to the feet of many ancient und mighty cities, 
 — now boldly pushing its way through mount- 
 ain ramj)arts, and making forests echo its roar 
 of waters, and now again spreading itself out 
 into a lake of beauty, reflecting scenes of the 
 richest fertility upon its glassy bosom, then 
 rolling on with turbid and rapid volume, till, 
 
 at la»t. it blendi with the waves of the F.uxine, 
 to wn h the coast A^ia — luiwcan he moid be- 
 ing filled with admiration at the ■ I ilfsHch 
 a 8|)lcndid avenue of commerce, n. knowl- 
 edging the design of Providence i make it 
 the means of bringing 'kindreU and tribes" 
 of men together, in a friendly mf bange of 
 benefits, and uniting them in bun if social 
 intercourse 7 A s have rolled awn v, how- 
 ever, during whi. It the scholar, the merchant, 
 the voyager, and the jihilarifhro|)ist. have 
 read, in the records of geogrupny, thin ■the 
 Danube i- not navign c to the Kuxine 'n ae. 
 count 'f the cataracts." Too true, indeed, 
 l».t wl. t a melancholy testimony is this to 
 the leaden slowness of 'jirnpo, iti the career 
 of improvement, and t.. ibc long, buij retro- 
 ce8si(m of art. science, and eivilization in the 
 I old world ! i . , , in the reirjn of Trajan, there 
 i was a spirit of enterprise, awakened and fos- 
 \ 1 red by his genius, which could mock at such 
 ■ Di.Ntacles to its cour^^e, as thi^e " citnraets," 
 that sank to littleness before the march of 
 ' lloman art. This sction of the Eiscn Thor, 
 ; or Iron Gate, on accimiit of the bold sweep of 
 I the 1' 'v banks, and the normous rocks of a 
 us color which make the river's bed, 
 the passage t^ .ipp. as if entirely 
 ''rlhcr than 
 ' rrounded, 
 iiiil, beau- 
 
 fcrr' 
 
 i-n' 
 
 -cd up, extending not ii 
 en thousand feet, was i 
 
 ii the time of Trajan, by c 
 
 ii ally chiselled out aecordii.^tt ins directions, 
 u ,igned by him as a lasting" hoc in to northern 
 Europe. .But nlas! he left no heir to his com- 
 prehensive views, and his lofty s])irit. Ilis 
 plans were abandoned, and this great work 
 was left to dilapidation and ruin ; to be almost 
 choked up by falling stones and earth ; to re- 
 main for centuries a monument of the solemn 
 truth, that the old Roman civilization had then 
 spent its last energies, and that humanity mu:it 
 pause in its career of jirogress, to wait for 
 some new impulse, ere it could advance an- 
 other step, or gain new triumphs over the 
 gloomy reign of barbarism. 
 
 "Be patient — bide thy name." This is 
 God's lesson, tauglit by history to every honest 
 worker in the cause of man. It is taught 
 here — "The night is far spent." The impulse 
 long waited for, has come at last. It has come, 
 not from the bosom of paganism, but of Chris- 
 tianity — not from the shores of the Tiber, but 
 of the Hudson. The mind which grappled 
 successfully with the problem of applying the 
 expansive power of steam to navigation, set at 
 work a moral force which has lately reached 
 the borders of Dacia — has broken the deep 
 sleep of ages — has given to the people new 
 ideas — has kindleu a desire ff)r knowledge — 
 ! has opened new plars for enterprise — hiis called 
 I art from its tomb to renew its \-outh — and, 
 I having disinterred tlie ship-caiml of Trajan 
 
^ 
 
 )N. 
 
 < with th'^ wavf'Hof ihe Kiixine, 
 1st \*\n — liiiwi'iin lie moid be- 
 nilmirnlion nt th<! ■ I nf Dud) 
 luo of commerce, n knrnvl- 
 
 liftn of Proviilenco i. make it 
 ringing ' kindreiln nnd tril)e»" 
 r, in a, friemlly infr haiigr of 
 iiting them in boui. .if mwial 
 * ; have rolleil awny, how- 
 tlie '-rholiir, the merchant, 
 lUKi the ,ihiliifi''iro))ist, 'inve 
 orils cif Koogrui.iiv, thni 'the 
 lavipn I- to the l-fuxine ii ne- 
 atiirncH." Too true, inileed, 
 ilaiicholy teatinmtiy is thi^ to 
 'nesfi of V'lirnpo, iti the career 
 t, and t.. I In; lonji;, \'<us retro. 
 science, luid civili/iitioii in the 
 
 i, iii the rei^nof Tniiiin, tliero 
 enterprise, awukeneij and los- 
 lius, whicli cohM mock at such 
 course, as thi ■'C " ' unracts," 
 ttleness before the march of 
 'his ""'tion of tii. Kisen Thor, 
 1 account of the bold sweep of 
 , and the i normous rocks of a 
 )r which make the river's bed, 
 isac;e to iippe"' as if entirely 
 nding not m further than 
 
 feet, was i irrounded, 
 
 ["rajan, by v ual, beau- 
 
 out accord 1 1, -t. us directions, 
 n as n lasting boon to northern 
 lias! he left no heir to his com- 
 ws, and his lofty sjiirit. His 
 indoned, and this great work 
 lidation and ruin ; to lie almost 
 ailing stones and earth ; to re- 
 ies a monument of the solemn 
 Id Roman civilization had then 
 ergies, and that humanity mu;it 
 ireer of jjrogress, to wait for 
 Ise, ere it could advance an- 
 gain new triuinphs over the 
 ■ barbarism. 
 
 — bide thy name." This is 
 ught by history to every honest 
 cause of man. It is taught 
 ;ht is far spent." The impulse 
 has come at last. It has come, 
 5om of paganism, but of Chris- 
 m the shores of the Tiber, but 
 . The mind which grappled 
 ;h the problem of applying the 
 r of steam to navigiition, set at 
 srce which has lately reached 
 Dacio — has broken the deep 
 has given to the peojde new 
 le:I a desire for knowledge — 
 plars for enterprise — hhs called 
 mb to renew its \()uth — and, 
 red the ship-cunul of Trajan 
 
 aM/ind the Eisen Thor, is giving to the work I 
 
 "id causing it to be a con- 
 •he couimercc of the 
 
 ■orld. 
 . -.teaui navigation was 
 iiiulie, it may lie well to 
 xpiriinent was umde a 
 years since, by 
 
 M 
 
 r. 
 Vienna. The want of |piiblic 
 ihi? pnietieubility of ihe plan. 
 
 its lliiisliitig sirok- 
 neetina link ' "•' 
 wesrern and ili 
 
 Tile iii.iunei 
 Oiiriiiiieiiei'd iiu I 
 record. The lii 
 lit tie more than iwelv 
 Amirew , 
 couHdemie iu 
 
 \V!is tli(! cause of much discuuriii;eiiietit during 
 tlore successiv years, when IJle voyilltc Wll'~ 
 o'ten made wiih only a siu,'l'' jiasscnger. Ai 
 li ii'^'th, a 1,'reut fair at Sinilin roused public 
 (niri'"'ity, uud three huni'ied persons embarked 
 at r ■'it. Fr-iii liiat day. lie project became 
 very popular ivith the llnugarians and llie 
 Turks: Old 'ui t S/.ocbeayi, of Pest, who 
 p i lie, has devoted liis time, 
 
 tu; a ,1 its promotion. He vis- 
 
 iteil K , order to obtain the best ma- 
 
 chiuer ' Kiiglish engineers, auil stim- 
 
 utale i .mil and the Austrian emperor to 
 
 ])alrou work. Tlie po^'^ ion thus taken 
 
 l)y Ausuu, is an important one, considered 
 politicuily. us it is asserting a general right to 
 the navigation of the Danube, raising up a 
 barrier against the amliitious encroachments 
 of Russia, and bringing Christian and Moslem 
 couiilrii's into intimate comminiication. 
 
 Iinineii^e and far-iiaching as must be the 
 elFects of steam navigation upon the social 
 state of the world, they will ni'vcr transcend 
 the measure of the hopes whitdi ijlowed in the 
 breast of IloBKRT FuiiTO.N. Tlis was a great 
 soul. It was ever inditing brigiit prophecies 
 of the future. It was a living spring of phi- 
 lanthropy. Herein lay his ';reat strength to 
 bra\ disappointments, failures, anil neglect. 
 Altliuiinh the bent of his genius led him, even 
 in early life, like Michael Angelo, to seek his 
 amusemi.-nts iu the shops of mechanics, and in 
 works .)f art, yet we see the moral grondeur 
 of l'"'ult<jn's mind iu the fact, that his strongest 
 impulse to action was his earnest sympathy 
 with the fortunes of his race, t' A universal 
 free trade," says Mr. Golden, his biographer, 
 " was his favorite theory in political economy ; 
 and thi! war system of the old world, he con- 
 sidered as the cause of the misery of the great- 
 est pornon of its inhabitants." He cherished 
 a tirni belief in the progress of society, in the 
 ultimate triumphs of peace, and in a final 
 prevaleitce of a spirit of brotherhood among 
 the nations of the earth. 
 
 Tlie diireront elFects which have flowed from 
 the lives of Trajan and Fulton, exhibit, in a 
 striking light, how much can bo done by sci- 
 ence, and how little by war, for the civiliza- 
 tion of mankind. In spite of all the emper.tr's 
 achievements in Dacia, and his colony of thir- 
 ty thousand Romans settled there, seventeen 
 
 centuries have rolled over the inhohitnnts of 
 
 that rinhf coimtry without beholding one Mep 
 of morul progress, or a »ini;le change for the 
 better in their social state. 'I'lie celeliruted 
 Tuscan eohnnn, reared by Apollo(lorus in 
 honor of Trajan, still stuiids in "the eternal 
 cilv, "covered with basso-relievoes, portraving 
 the appearance and manners of the Daeians. 
 If thi'se same fii;ures had all been just carved 
 by the hand of I'owers, they would represent 
 us well till I )iieiinis of the present day as these* 
 of thr a^i- of Trajan. They wear the same 
 mean costume, and use the sanu' awkward 
 implements of agriculture. They live in the 
 same \ile kind of straw huts, eoniparcd with 
 wiiieli an .Vmerican loiti'iibin is a palace. 
 Tiicy are generally small in stature, iiinorant, 
 iille, faithless, clothed in sheep-skiirs, and 
 either goini; barefoot or wearing sandals. 'J'he 
 cattle of their farms appear untaiueil and wild, 
 and their do^s are very wolves as to ferocity. 
 Ir.ie\erv point of chariicter, thesi- Wallachians 
 uiiil Moldavians are inferior to the inhabitants 
 of Srrvia, on the opiiosite side of the river, 
 who are more imineiliat(dy inider Turkish rule. 
 What a spectiude in the si^ht of Chrisfendom ! 
 A nation of Europe livin;; seventeen hundred 
 \rars without the least sign of improvement ! 
 Their state is laie of dull and dreary monot- 
 (uiy. But a better time is coming. This 
 gloomy nicht of barliarisrn is besiiniing to |)ass 
 away. T' .• whi/./iug sound r)f the first steom- 
 er w'hich disturbed the repose of these north- 
 ern wilds, WHS the herald of an auspicious 
 change, and the impulse ijiveii to the march of 
 Christian civilization by the toils of Robert 
 Fulton, has alreaily extended from the banks 
 of the Hudson to those of tin; Ditnulie and the 
 Euxine. May Heaven sjiceil it, nn<l "the 
 stars in their courses" favor it, until it shall 
 girdle the earth with a zone of light, and 
 hasten the era, when no more the separating 
 frith or ocean shall make enemies •' nations, 
 but all — 
 
 " Like kindred drops, be min 'ed iJito one." 
 
 THE NIGEU. 
 
 The Niger is a large river of central Africa, 
 celebrated for the uncertfiinly and mystery 
 which prevaileil for ages respecting its course 
 and termination, a problem which has been 
 but recently solved. Its source is in western 
 Africa, near that of the river Senegal. In the 
 upper part of its course it is called by the na- 
 tives the .Toliba, and in the lower ]iart it is 
 known by the name of the Quorra. The 
 noe.ie of the Niger was given to it by JCuro- 
 peans, from the supposition that it was the 
 same river mentioned by Herodotus, Ptolemy, 
 
 I 
 

 I f.l 
 
 
 1 
 
 4„r* ■'■ 
 
 I 
 
 1 MlfBf}^ 
 
 i 
 
 870 
 
 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 ami others. It i«, (loiibtful, however, whether 
 itH exiHteiico was known to tho uncii-nt ^niitra- 
 plii'rt. To tho inoilcriis it hii^ been known 
 but very irapurfectly. Hy niiiny it wnn hv- 
 licvetl to be u branch of tho Nil«N by others to 
 lose itsi'lf either in u lake, or in thit soniU of 
 the (bsttertfl of At'rutn. Thus its source, ns 
 well as its course, remained in obscurity until 
 the latter part of the IMth century, when an 
 association was fiin/iiil i'l (Jreat Uritain for 
 the purpose of proniotins il 4covery in Africa. 
 In 1788, this society tlcsn 'cheil John Led- 
 yaril, an American by i)irtli, wlio had been j 
 round the world with Captain Oook, ond was 
 u remarkably enterprising traveller. His in- 
 structina were to penetrate the interior from 
 Egypt, in search of the Niger. He, howev- 
 er, unfortunately peri-»hed in Cairo, in Kgypt, 
 the same year. Other fruitless attempts were 
 made by "tnglish travellers, proving fatal to 
 themselves, and tho course of t!iis river re- 
 mained in obscurity, no modern traveller hav- 
 ing succeeded in reaching its banks. The 
 honor of accomplishing this hazardous enter- 
 prise was reserved for the celebrated iMungo 
 I'ark, a Scotchman, sent out by tho associa- 
 tion above referred to, in 1795. Landing on 
 the western coast, he penetrated up the river 
 Gambia, which he left, at Medina. Having 
 crossed the Senegal, he arrived soon after, at 
 Jarra, and taking a course southward of east, 
 after great hardships, he at length arrived at 
 tho long-sought-for Niger, which he beheld 
 flowing from west to east. From Sego, he 
 continued his journey to Silla, along the banks 
 of the Niger, where, finding himself exhaust- 
 ed and destitute, he determined on returning to 
 England, where he arrived in December, 1797. 
 Park was sent out aga^n, in 1805, by the 
 Afriean assoc ition, to pursue his investiga- 
 tions respecting this river, but this second 
 journey terminated fatally. He proceeded 
 with a party to the banks of the Niger, a few 
 miles below Sego, where he accomplished the 
 building of a vessel and embarked with four 
 Europeans, the only survivors of his party, 
 intending to descend the river to its moutli. 
 From accounts afterward received, it ;ippeared 
 that they were attacked by the natives at 
 Boussa, and killed ; the boat was lost and Mr. 
 Park drowned in the, river. Various expedi- 
 tions since sent to Africa, to explore this river, 
 have proved unsuccessful and fatal to the ad- 
 venturers, until 1830, when two young men, 
 Richard Lander and his brother John, were 
 sent out by the British government (Richard 
 Lander having foniierly accompanied Captain 
 Clapperton on a similar expedition). They 
 landed at Badagry, on the west coast of Afri- 
 ca, and proceeded over land to Boussa, on the 
 Niger, whence they ascended to Yaooric. 
 They then descended the river, and finally 
 
 reached tho «ea hy a mouth of tho Niger, 
 which had been before? known as the nver 
 Nun, thus having hud the honor of deciding a 
 (piestion which had perplexed geographers for 
 ages. Thecoursi'ol the Niger is nearly north- 
 east from its sources to Timinict(M). soon after 
 which it is believed toturn to tho southeast, un- 
 til it reaches Ya(M)rie ; thence its course varies 
 from southen-' to southwest, flowing into the 
 bight of Benin ^a part of the gulf rjffJiiinea). It 
 is su|>|)oscd to have several mouths, allhougli 
 l)Ut one is known. Its course has been traced 
 for two thousanil miles, a considerable part of 
 which is navigable for steamboats, through a 
 rich and pojiulous country, and its whole 
 length is probably three thousand miles. Capo 
 Formosa, at the mouth of the Nun, is in lati- 
 tude 4 ' 'JO' north, longitude 0" east. 
 
 Our engraving exhibits a pleasing view on 
 the river descrii>ed above. In that (juarter of 
 tho world there are few roads, anil therefore 
 it is very diHicult and dangerous, and some- 
 times almost impossible, to travel any distance 
 by land. But by means of the great rivers 
 of Africa, which have been well culled its 
 high roads, the task of reaching central re- 
 gions has become comparatively easy. An- 
 other river, called the (Jhadda, which'fulls in- 
 to tile Niger, enaliles the voyager to proceed 
 many hundreds of miles toward the east. The 
 ))eoi)le who live in the neighborhood of these 
 rivers are very ready to trade with one anoth- 
 er, and with foreigners, as will be perceived 
 by the market-boats in the engraving; but the 
 trade chiefly carried on of late years has been 
 the horrible traffic in human beings. They 
 have sold their own brethren into slavery ; 
 and there is every reason to believe that, at 
 the present time, according to the most mod- 
 erate calculation, Africa loses about one thou- 
 sand of her inhabitants every day, in conse- 
 quence of the slave-trade. To check, and 
 eventually to extinguish, this enormous evil, 
 is one of the most important duties of the 
 Christian missionarv. Our armed prevention 
 fleets, may check the traffic, but it is the in- 
 culcation of Christianity alone, that will in- 
 sure its abolition. 
 
 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 * 
 
 TiiK essay, which is here ofTered, is a mere 
 sketch of an almost illimitable auhject — Arr.: • 
 ican scenery ; and in selecting le theme tn i 
 writer placed m'l;'- confidence in its overflow- 
 ing ricl'*:.. p, t'lnii m his own capacity for 
 treatirjj, it .u a rriRime'- worthy of its vastness 
 and "iftp-iri ance. 
 
 It 13 a suujoct that to every American ought 
 
 ■IP 
 
 
i 
 
 a by a mouth of tho Nigpr, 
 n Ix^forn kniiwn n» tho river 
 11^ hull till' hiinor oCdrcidins a 
 hitd [>»>r|iIi'X('cl f;(?i);;rn|ih('r« for 
 rsc ot thi- Ni^fr Im m-urly iiorth- 
 ircci to Timi)urfoo, noon uftnr 
 vcdtotnrn to tho xoiithonMt, un- 
 i<K)rio; thoiion itfx-ourHe varies 
 to w)uihwi'»t, llowinj; into the 
 I port ot'iho gidf of ( Juinon). It 
 iQve scvorHl moiilhM, iilthoii;;h 
 n. It« courso has l)oon trnoed 
 I milfis, a coniiihirohlo part of 
 lilu for Mtpambonts, thronjjh a 
 OU9 country, and its wholo 
 y threo thousand niihis. Cape 
 
 inouth of tho Nun, is in lati- 
 h, liinjjitude 6" east. 
 g oxhibit-i a lOensinj; view on 
 od iibovi;. In that (|unrtor of 
 arc few roads, and therefore 
 lit und danfjoroiis, ami .some- 
 jotisiblo, to travel any distance 
 by means of the great rivers 
 :h have boon wtdl culled its 
 
 tosk of reoching central re- 
 ne comparatively easy. An- 
 •A the (Jhudda, which falls in- 
 lubli's tho voyager to prooood 
 ifmiles toward the east. Tho 
 
 in tii(! noi;s;hborhood of these 
 'eady to trade with one onoth- 
 ■eigners, as will be perceived 
 oats in the engraving ; but the 
 rried on of late years has been 
 iRc in huinan beings. They 
 
 own brethren into slavery, 
 jry reason to believe that, at 
 e, according to the most raod- 
 1, Africa loses about one thou- 
 ibitants every day, in conse- 
 slave-trade. To check, and 
 ctingui>«h, this enormous evil, 
 nost ii, portant duties of the 
 narv. Our armed prevention 
 :k the traffic, but it is the in- 
 ristianity alone, that will in- 
 
 LICAN SCENERY. 
 
 hich is here oflered, is a mere 
 ost illimitable sutyect — ArAi; • 
 tid in selettting le theme tn i 
 ■ir- confidence in it^ overflow- 
 inn in his own capacity for 
 riftime'' worthy of its vostness 
 
 that to every American ought 
 
r 
 
 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 /. 
 
 
 
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 If IM IM 
 
 1^ 1^ III 2.2 
 t U£ 111112.0 
 
 !.8 
 
 F^xOtDgrapnic 
 
 Sciences 
 
 Corporation 
 
 L25 ilL4 11.6 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 
 
 (716) S72-4S03 
 
 i. 
 
'd 
 
 CIHM/ICMH 
 
 Microfiche 
 
 Series. 
 
 CIHM/ICMH 
 Collection de 
 microfiches. 
 
 Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques 
 
 mMti 
 
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072 
 
 AMERICAN SCENKRY. 
 
 to l.r (.f ^nrpn^^m- inlrrost; for, wlictl.rr ho 
 ,„.h„l,ls the llu'l^'-n mindii..,' ^vi.t.is with llu- 
 Alluutic-oxi-lorcs tho control wl.ls ot th s 
 vast, c..nti..cnt, or stands ..n the .nar.!->n ot t ; 
 clist-mt Oregon, l.e i. snll u. the m,. s t 
 American scenerv-it i>* his own Um\, Us 
 u'Lty, its nm,.ulk-om:e, its subhmuv-^^^^^^^^^^ 
 l,i. ; und hew un<h.scrvn>- of such a l.irthnglit, 
 if he cm turn towarJ it an unobservmg eye, 
 nil niiairocted heart ! 
 
 Before entcrinf; into the proposrcl subject, 
 in which we shall treat more particularly ot 
 the scenery of the northern and eastern states, 
 
 whiitevrr creates such n disjKisilion, by in- 
 creasing our i.lcasures niid enjoyments, can 
 not be too much cultivated." 
 
 It would seem unnecessary to those who 
 can see and feel, for me to eximtiare on the 
 loveliness of verdant fields, the sutilitnity <.t 
 loftv mountains, or the varied imKi.ihcenre 
 of t1ie sky; but that themimberot those who 
 seek enjoyment in such sources is con.|mrati ye- 
 ly smuil. P>om the indilTerence with which 
 the multitude regard the beauties of nature, 
 it might be inferred that she had been un- 
 necessarily lavish in adorning this world for 
 
 tu.; ...,.^.j ^ . ■"*'/'■" ,.'*,";^: hein-rs who take no pleasure in its adornment 
 
 we shall fe excused for s™ a f''^ ^^ 'wh^ iuRr-^^^^ pursuits forget their glori- 
 on the advatitagesot cultivating; a taste tor i,,.^;^„„^. Whv was the earth made so 
 
 scenery, and for exclaiminR against the opathy 
 
 scenery, uiiu lui c.-vv-."-'""-in ••^- 
 with which the beauties ot external nature are 
 regarded by the great mass, even ot our re- 
 fined community. . vi. i .„ 
 It. is generally admitted that the liberal arts 
 tend to soften our manners; but they do more 
 —they carry with them the power to mend 
 
 our hearts. , ,. , -r 
 
 Poetry and painting sublime and punty 
 
 thought, by grasping the f^^\'\%^''l''''l' 
 and the future-they give the mind a foretaste 
 „f its immortality, and thus jircpare it for per- 
 forming an exalted part amid the realities of 
 if.™ And rural nature is full ot the same 
 .mickcning spirit-it is, in fact, the^ exhaust- 1 
 lUs mine From which the piet and the painter 
 have brought such wondrous treasures— an 
 unfailing fountain of intellectual enjoyment, 
 where all may drink, and be awakened to a 
 deeper feeling of the works of genius, an.l a 
 keener perception of the beauty ot our exist- 
 ence. For those whose days are all consumed 
 in the low pursuits of avarice, or the gaudy 
 frivolities of fashion, unobservant^of nature s 
 loveliness, are unconscious of the harmony ol 
 creation : — 
 
 " Heaven's roof to thorn 
 1» but a painted culling bung with lamps : 
 No raore-tl.at lights thera to their PlirPO'es- 
 They wander- loose about;' they nothing see, 
 Them^Wea except, and creature, like themselvea. 
 Short-livod, ahovl Bighted. 
 
 What to them is the page of the poet where 
 he describes or personifies the skies, the mount- 
 ains, or the streams, if those objects them- 
 selves have never awakened observation or 
 excited pleasure ? What to them is the wild 
 Salvator Rosa, or the aerial C aude Lorrom T 
 
 There is in the human mind an almost in- 
 separable connexion between the beautiful and 
 the good. 80 that if we contemplate the one 
 the other seems present; and an excellent 
 author has said, " it is difficult to look at any 
 obiecta with ,,leasarc-unless where it arises 
 from brutal und tumultuous emotions---with- 
 
 ous heritage. Why was the earth made so 
 beautiful, or the sun 8« clad in glory at his 
 risin.' and setting, when all might be unrobed 
 of beauty without alfecting the insensate mul- 
 titude, so they can be "lighted to their pur- 
 
 ^""Tuias not been in vain— the good, the en- 
 lightened of all ages and nations, have fonw\ 
 pleasure and consolation in the beauty ot the 
 rural earth. Prophets of old retired into the 
 solitudes of nature to wait the 'f Ifi^;/,';!."* 
 Heaven. It was on Mount Horeb that fclijah 
 witnessed the mighty wind, the earth<inake, 
 and the fire ; and heanl the "st.H small voice 
 I —that voice is tet heard ai. - g the mount- 
 ains ! Si. John preached in the desert— the 
 wilderness is tkt o fitting place to speak ot 
 God. The solitary Anchorites of byna and 
 E-rypt. though ignorant that the busy world is 
 man's n. Mest sphere of usefulness, well kne^w 
 how co.igenial to religious musings are the 
 pathless solitudes. , 
 
 He who looks on nature with a '' 
 
 eye." can not move from his dwelling w 
 the salutation of beauty; even in the city lU 
 deep blue sky and the drifting clouds appea. 
 to him. And i«" to escape its turmoil— it only 
 to obtain a free horizon, land and water in the 
 play of light and shadow yields de ight— let 
 hint be transported to those favored regions, 
 where the features of the earth are more 
 varied, or yet add the sunset, that wreath of 
 glory daily bound around the world, and he, 
 indeed, drinks from pleasure's purest cup. 
 The dehght such a man expenences is not 
 merely sensuol. or selfish, that passes with 
 the occasion leaving no trace behind ; but m 
 gazing on the pure creations of the Alrnighty, 
 he feels a calm religious tone steal through 
 his mind, and when he has turned to mingle 
 with his fellow-men. the chords which have 
 been struck in that sweet communion cease not 
 
 to vibrate. n i j ♦„ 
 
 In what has been said wc have nllmled to 
 wild and uncultivated scenery; but the cul 
 
 &b,u.«l«n.l ™..ul.«.. ^"'"'"•t""'^; Sirrr . b. fogoS f..r i. i. «ill 
 
isilidn, hy in- 
 joyiniTifs, can 
 
 to thdsn wlin 
 iMitiixtf' on tin? 
 > snl)Iiiniry <'t" 
 I inncnificeiiro 
 >r of till ISP who 
 isconi|mrntiv('- 
 re with -which 
 tips of nature, 
 had boen iin- 
 this worM for 
 its adomment. 
 get their glori- 
 earth ina<te so 
 in pJory at his 
 ight bo unrobi (1 
 ; insensate mul- 
 :d to their pur- 
 
 le good, the en- 
 )ns, have found 
 e beauty of the 
 retired intd the 
 le inspiration of 
 lorcb that Elijah 
 the earth(innke, 
 still small voice" 
 1 . g the monnt- 
 the desert — the 
 ace to sj>eak of 
 tcs of Syria and 
 the bnsy world is 
 tlness, well knew 
 musings are the 
 
 with a "^' ; 
 dwelling w i 
 
 en in the city il.t. 
 ing clonds appeal 
 i turmoil — if only 
 I and water in the 
 ields delight-— let 
 } favore<l regions, 
 
 earth are more 
 it, that wreath of 
 le world, and he, 
 ure's purest cup. 
 jxperiences is not 
 
 that passes with 
 ce behind ; but in 
 s of the Almighty, 
 one steal through 
 ( turned to mingle 
 ihords which have 
 mmunion cease not 
 
 re have alluded to 
 lery, but the cul- 
 )tten, for it is still 
 his social capacity 
 
 AMERICAN SCKNEllV. 
 
 273 
 
 -necessarily bringing liun lu contact with the 
 ruUurrd ; it enc-otnpasses our hoiiics, and, 
 ho '.. >evoid ..f the stern sub imitj; of the 
 V 1. : its quieter spirit steals tenderly into our 
 bJimns minghd with . thousand domostic 
 alV.rrloMs uu.l h.ait-touch.ng associations- 
 human hnnds have wrought, and human deeds 
 hullowcd all nrotmd. , • , • .i 
 
 And it is W-rv that taste, which is the per- , 
 coi.tion of the beautiful, and the knowledge , 
 of the principles on which nature works, can 
 be appli.'d, and our dwelling-places made fit- | 
 line for ntined- and intellectual beings. 
 
 If then, it is indeed true that the contem- 
 ulation of scenery can be so abundant a source 
 of dcli-dit and i"rni.n)vemciit, a taste tor it is 
 ccrtaiuTv worthy of i.articular cultivation ; 
 for the capacity for enjoyment increases with 
 the knowledge of the true means of obtain- 
 
 '""in'this nge, when a meager utilitarianism 
 seems reiuly to absorb every feeling and senti- 
 ment, and what is sometimes called i'nFov«- 
 raent in its march makes us tear that the bngh 
 and tender flowers of the imagination shall all 
 be crushed beneath its iron tramp, it would Dc 
 well to cultivate the oasis that yet remains to 
 us, and thus pres-rve the germs of a future 
 and a liurer system. And now, when the 
 swav of fashion is extending widely over so- , 
 cletY-p.iis<)ning the healthful streams ot true ^ 
 refiiiemr.it, and turning men from the love ot 
 simplicity and beauty, to a senseless idola ry 
 of their own follies-to lead them gently into 
 the iileasant paths of taste would be an object , 
 worthy of the highest efforts of genius and ] 
 benevolence. The spirit of our society is to 
 contrive but not to enjoy-toiling to produce 
 more toil-accumulating in order to aggran- 
 dize The pleasures of the imagination, among 
 which the love of scenery holds a conspicuous 
 place, will alone temper the harshness of such 
 a state; and, like the atmosphere that softens 
 the most rugged forms of the landscape, cast 
 a veil of tender beauty over the asperities ot 
 
 ' Did our limits permit we would endeavor 
 more fully to show how necessary to the coni- 
 plete appreciation of the fine arts is the study 
 of scenery, and how conducive to our happiness 
 and well-being is that study and those arts , 
 but we must now proceed to the proposed sub- 
 ject of this essay— American Scenery . 
 
 There are those who through ignorance or 
 nreiudice strWe to maintain that American 
 sceiierv possesses little that is interesting or 
 truly beautiful-that it is rude without pic- 
 tures.uumess, an.l monotonous without subhm- 
 itv-tlmt being destitute of those vestiges ot 
 anti(,uity, whose associations «<> strongly affect 
 the mind, it may not be compared wth Euro- 
 pean scenery. But from whom do these opin- 
 
 ions come? From those who have read of 
 European scenery, of Ureciun ni.nintauis, b 
 Italian skies, and never troubled ih.ni.elv. . 
 to look at their own; and from those truvelled 
 ones whos( eyes were never oi-cned to tlie 
 beauties of i.ature until they beheld lorei.n 
 londs, ar' I when those lands fnd.d from the 
 si.'ht wf . again dosed and "or .r.cr; disdain- 
 in" to destroy ,heir trans-atlunlic impressions 
 by the observati.m of the less bisliioimble and 
 I unfamed American scenery. L-t such per- 
 sons shut themselves up in their narrow shell 
 of prejudice-we hope they an- .;w-a«d the 
 community increasing m intelligence, will 
 ' know better how to appreciate the treasures 
 of their own country. 
 
 We arc by no means desirous of lessening in 
 any one's estimation the glorious scenes of the 
 old world-that ground which has been the 
 crreat theatre of human cvents-those niount- 
 Sins, woods, and streams, made sacred in our 
 minds by heroic deeds and iiiimortal son"— 
 over winch t-me and genius linve suspended 
 i an imperishable halo. No! But we would 
 ! have it remembered that nature has shed over 
 ! this land beauty and magnitic.mce, and al- 
 ' though the character of its scenery may diRer 
 froriAhe ol.l world's, yet inferiority must not 
 therefore be inferred; for though Am..r.can 
 scenery is destitute of many of th.ise circum- 
 stances that give value to the 1*>"'-"I'«""' f " 
 it has features, and glorious ones, unknown to 
 
 ' T'vcrY few generations have passed away 
 since this vast tract of the American continent, 
 I now the United States, rested m the shadow 
 of primeval forests, whose gloom was peopled 
 by^savage beasts, and scarcely less savage 
 men; or lay in those wide grassy plams called 
 
 prairies — 
 
 " Tl>.e gardens of the deBorta, lliese ^^ 
 The unihorn fields, boundless uu.l boauulul. 
 And, although an enlightened and increasing 
 peoile have%roken in upon the sc.htude, and 
 with activity and power wrought changes that 
 Teem magical, yet the most distinctive, and 
 perhaps the most impressive characteristic of 
 American scenery, is its wildness. 
 
 It is the most distinctive, because in civilized 
 Europe the primitive features of scenery have 
 long since been destroyed or modihed-the 
 extensive forests that once overshadowed a 
 great part of it have been felled-rugge^ 
 mountains have been smoothed, aii.l impetu- 
 Ts rivers turned from their courses to accom- 
 modate the tastes and necessities of a dense 
 p,Zlation-the once tangled wood is now a 
 SaC lawn ; the turbulent brook a navigable 
 fS-crags that could not be reuioved have 
 been crowned with towers, and the rudest 
 valleys tamed by the plough. ,„^„.p-_ 
 
 And to this cultivated state our western 
 
 *''^^.. 
 
274 
 
 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 world is fast approaching; but nature is still 
 predominant, und there are those who regret 
 that with the improvements of cultivation the 
 
 into the beautiful, the savage tempered by the 
 mapnificent. 
 
 We will now speak of another comjionent 
 
 Bublimity of the wilderness should puss away : , of scenery, without which every landscape is 
 for those scenes of solitude from which the ; defective— it is water. Like the eye in the 
 hand of na.ure has never been liftetl, atlect ; human countenonce, it is a mos' expressive 
 the mind with a more deep-toneil emotion than ; feature : in the unrippled lake, which mirrors 
 aught which the hand of man has touched. | all surrounding objects, we have the expression 
 Amid them the consei|uent associotions are of i of trun(|uillity and peace— in the rap.d stream, 
 God the creator— they are his undetiled works, \ the headlong cataract, that of turbulence and 
 and the mind is cast Into the contemplation of j impetuosity. , , , 
 
 eternal things. I I" »!''« great element of scenery, what land 
 
 As mountains are the most conspicuous ob- I is so rich ? We would not speak ot the great 
 jects in landscape, they will take the prece- lakes, which are in (net inland seas— posses- 
 dence in what we may"8ay on the elements of sing some of the attributes of the ocean, though 
 
 American scenery. 
 
 destitute of its sublimity; but of those small- 
 
 It is true that in the eastern part of this i er lakes, such as Luke George, Champlain, 
 continent there arc no mountains that vie in , Winnii-isiogce, Otsejio, Seneca, and o hundred 
 altitude with the snow-crowiiiid AIjjs- that . other.-,, that stud like gems the bosom of this 
 the Alleganies and the Catskills are in no \ country. There is one delightful cpiality in 
 point higher than five thousan.l feet ; but this nearly all these lakes— tlie jrority und trans- 
 is no inconsiderable height; Snowdon in 1 parency of the water. In speaking of scenery 
 Wales, and Ben-Nevis in Scotland, are not it might seem unneces=ary to mention this ; 
 more lofty ; and in New Hampshire, which ; but independent of the pleasure that we all 
 has been called the Switzerland of the Uiiitetl | have in beholding pure water, it is a circum- 
 States, the White mountains almost pierce , stance which contributes greatly to the beauty 
 the region of per|)ctual snow. The AUe- i of landscajH;; for the reQcctions of surrounding 
 ganies are in general heavy in form ; but the \ objects, trees, mountains, sky, are most iierfect 
 Catskills. although not broken into abrujit | in the clearest water; and the most perfect is 
 angles like the most pictures(|ue mountains of the most beautiful. 
 
 Italy, have varied, undulating, and exceeding 
 ly beautiful outlines — tb' ' heave from the 
 valley of theHudson like the subsiding billows 
 of the ocean after a storm. 
 
 American mountains are generally clothed 
 to the summit by dense forests, while those 
 of Europe are mostly bare, or merely tinted 
 by grass or heath. It may be that the mount- 
 ains of Europe are on this account more pic- 
 turesque in form, and there is a grandeur in 
 thtir nakedness; but in the gorgeous garb of 
 tht) American mountains there is more than 
 an equivalent; and when the woods "have 
 put their glory on," as an American poet has 
 beautifully said, the purple heath and yellow 
 furze of Europe's mountains are in comparison 
 but as the faint secondary rainbow to the pri- 
 mal one. 
 
 But in the mountains of New Hampshire 
 there is a union of the picturesque, the sublime, 
 and the magnificent ; there the bare peaks of 
 granite, broken and desolate, cradle the clouds; 
 while the valleys and broad bases of the mount- 
 ains rest under the shadow of noble and varied 
 forests ; and the traveller who passes the 
 Sandwich range on his way to the White 
 mountains, of which it is a spur, can not but 
 acknowledge, that although in some regions 
 of the globe Nature has wrought on a more 
 stujiendous scale, yet she has nowhere so 
 completely married together grandeur and 
 loveliness : there he sees the sublime melting 
 
 Wc would rather recommend a visit to the 
 '• Holy Lake," the beautiful " Horican," than 
 attempt to describe its scenery — to behold one 
 rambling on its storied shores, where its south- 
 ern expanse is spread, begemmed witl; isles 
 of emerald, and curtained by green receding 
 hills — or, perhaps, gliding over its bosom, 
 where the steep ond rugged mountains ap- 
 ])roach from either side, shadowing with black 
 precipices the innumerable islets — some of 
 which bearing a solitary tree, others a group 
 of two or three, or a " gomlly company," seem 
 to have been sprinkled over the smiling deep 
 in nature's frolic hour. These scenes are 
 classic — history and genius have hallowed 
 them. War's shrill clarion once waked the 
 echijs from these now silent hills — the j)en of 
 a living master has portrayed them in tiie 
 pages of romance — and they are worthy of the 
 admiration of the enlightened and the graphic 
 hand of genius. 
 
 Though diflering from Lake George, Win- 
 nifusiogee resembles it in multitudinous and 
 uncounted islands. Its mountains do not stoop 
 to the water's edge, but through varied screens 
 of forest may be seen ascending the sky soften- 
 ed by the blue haze of distance — on the one 
 hand rise the Gunstock mountains; on the 
 other the dark Ossipees, while above and far 
 beyond, rear the " cloud-capt" peaks of the 
 Sandwich and White mountains. 
 
 We will not fatigue with a vain attempt to 
 
:empere(] by the 
 
 thor componpnt 
 ery 1 
 the 
 
 lanilscr.pc is 
 eye in the 
 mo-s*^ expressive 
 .', which mirrors 
 ■etheex])rt'ssi()n 
 he rajnil stream, 
 turbulence and 
 
 nery, what land 
 eak of the great 
 1(1 seas — posses- 
 lie ocean, though 
 t of those sinall- 
 •ge, Champluin, 
 a. and a hundred 
 IP I)()som i>f this 
 ;htf'!il quality in 
 lurity and trans- 
 ukinj; of scenery 
 ;o mention this ; 
 ure that we all 
 r, it is a circum- 
 tly to the beauty 
 IS of surrounding 
 are most perfect 
 e most ))erfect is 
 
 ;nd a visit to the 
 " Horicaii," than 
 y — to behold one 
 I where its sotvfh- 
 mrned with isles 
 y green receding 
 
 over its bosom, 
 d mountains np- 
 awing with black 
 
 islets — some of 
 e, others n gi'oup 
 company," seem 
 the smiling deep 
 ^hese scenes are 
 
 have hallowed 
 
 once waked the 
 hills — the pen of 
 yed them in the 
 arc worthy of the 
 3 and the graphic 
 
 ke George, Win- 
 iiultitudinous and 
 ntains do not stoon 
 igh varied screens 
 ing the sky soften- 
 mce — on the one 
 ountains ; on the 
 ile above and far 
 ipt" peaks of the 
 tains. ~ 
 a vain attempt to 
 
 AMERICAN SCENKEY. 
 
 275 
 
 describe the lakes that we have named; but 
 would turn our attention to those ex<iui8itcly 
 beautiful lakes that are so numerous m the 
 ,„.rthern states, and particularly m New 
 Hampshire. In character they are truly arid 
 peculiarly American. We know nothing in 
 Europe which they resemble ; the famous 
 lakes of Albano and Nemi and the small and 
 exceedingly pi.;tures<,uc lakes of Great Britain 
 may be compared in size, but are dissimilar in 
 I almost every other respect. Ernbostimed in 
 the primitive forest, and sometimes overshad- 
 owed by huge mountains, they are the chosen 
 nlacesoftranciuillity ; and when the deer issues , 
 from the surrounding woods to drink the Cfwl 
 waters, he beholds his own image as in a pol- i 
 ished mlrror-the (light of the eagle can be 
 seen in the lower sky; and il a lea* falls, the 
 circling undulations chase each other to the 
 shores unvexed by contending tides. 
 
 There are two lakes of this description, 
 situated in a wild mountain gorge called the 
 Franconia Notch, in New Hampshire. 1 hey 
 lie within a few hundred feet ot each other, 
 but ore remarkable as having no communica- 
 tion— one being the source of the wild Amo- 
 noosuck, the other of the Pemigiwasset. Shut 
 in by stupendous mountains which re_st on crags 
 that tower more than a thousand feet above 
 the water, whose rugged brows and shadowy 
 breaks are clothed by dark and tangled wchkIs, 
 they have such an aspect of deep seclusion, 
 of utter and unbroken solitude, that, when 
 standing on their brink a lonely traveller, we 
 were overwhelmed with an emotion ot the sub- 
 lime, such as we have rarely felt. It was not 
 t'^at the jugged precipices were lotty, that the 
 encirclin.' woods were of the dimmest shade, 
 or thot the waters were profoundly deep ; but 
 that over all, rocks, wootl, and water, brooded 
 the spirit of repose, and the silent energy ot 
 nature stirred the soul to its inmost depths. 
 
 We would not be understood that these 
 lakes are always tranquil; but that tranquil- 
 lity is their great characteristic. Ihere are 
 times when they take a far different expres- 
 sion; but in scenes like these the richest chords 
 are those struck by the gentler hand of nature. 
 And now we must turn to another ot the 
 beautiiiers of the earth— the waterfall; which 
 in the same object at once presents to the mind 
 the beautiful, but apparently incongruous idea, 
 of fixedr-ess and motion— a single existence in 
 which we perceive unceasing change and ever- 
 ! lasting duration. The waterfall may be called 
 the voice of the landscape, for, unlike the rocks 
 and woods which utter sounds as instruments 
 played on by the elements, the watertall 
 strikes its own chords, and rocks and mount- 
 ains re-eeho in rich nniscm. And this i» a 
 land abounding in cataracts; in these northern 
 states where shall we turn and not find them T 
 
 Hove we not Kaaterskill, Trentcm, the Flume, 
 the Genesee, stupen.lous Niagara, and a hun- 
 dred others named and nameless ones, whose 
 exceeding beauty must be acknowledged when 
 the hand of taste shall point them out .' 
 
 In the Kaaterskill we have a streann, di- 
 minutive indeed, l)ut throwing itself headlong 
 over a fearful precipice into a deep gorge ot 
 the densely w(«)ded mountains— and possessing 
 : a singular feature in the vast arche 1 cave that 
 '■ extends beneath and behind the cataract. At 
 I Trenton there is a chain of waterfalls ot re- 
 ' markuble beauty, where the foaming waters, 
 : shadowed by steep cliffs, break oyer rocks ot 
 ' architectur-il formation, and tangled and pic- 
 turesciue trees mantle abrupt precipices, which 
 it would be easy to imagine crumbling and 
 " time-disparting towers." 
 
 And Niagara ! that wonder of the -vorld .— - 
 where the sublime and beautiful are bound 
 together in an indissoluble chain. In gazing 
 on it we feel as though a great void had been 
 filled in our minds— our conceptions ej-mnd— 
 we become r. part of what we behold ! At 
 our feet the tl<x)ds of a thousand rivers are 
 poured out— the contents of vast inland seas. 
 In its volume we conceive immensity ; in its 
 course, everlasting duration; in its impetuosi- 
 ty, uncontrollable power. These are the ele- 
 ments of its sublimity. Its beauty is garland- 
 ed oround in the varied hues ot the water, m 
 the spray that ascends the sky, and in tliat 
 unrivalled bow which forms a oomiilete cinc- 
 ture around the unresting floods. 
 
 The river scenery of the United States is 
 a rich and boundless theme. The Hudson for 
 
 natural magnificence is unsurpassed. What 
 can be more beautiful than the lake-like ex- 
 panses of Tapaan and Haverstraw. as seen 
 from the rich orchards of the surrounding hills ; 
 hills that have a legend, which has been so 
 sweetly and admirably told that it shall not 
 perish but with the language of the land? 
 What can be more imposing than the pre- 
 cipitous highlands; whose dark foundotions 
 have been rent to make a passage for the deep- 
 flowing river? And, ascending still, where 
 can be found scenes more enchanting .' 1 he 
 loftv Catskills stan.l afar ofl— the green hills 
 gently rising from the flood, recede like steps 
 by w'hich we may ascend to a great temple, 
 whose pillars are those everlasting hills, and 
 whose dome is the blue boundless vault of 
 
 licflvcn* • 
 
 The Rhine has its castled crags, its vine- 
 clad hills, and ancient villages; the Hudson 
 has its wooded mountains, its rugged precipi- 
 ces, its green undulating 8hores--a natural 
 maiesty, and an unbounded capacity tor im- 
 provement by art. Its shores are not be- 
 sprinkled witli venerated ruins, or the palMes 
 of princes; but there are flourishing towns, 
 
 ■^^^i 
 
 
 ■^v.. 
 
276 
 
 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 and neiit villas, nrnl the hnnd of tnsti! lias al- 
 ready liccii ut work. Without any crrnt 
 streich of the iiim^inotioii we may nrilicipate 
 the time when the iiinpli! wutcM shall reflect 
 temple, and tower, and dome, in every variety 
 of picturesipieness and maiinitieence. 
 
 In the Conneeticiit we Indiold a river that 
 diirers widely from the Hudson. Its nourees 
 are amid the wild mountains of New Hamp- 
 shire; hut it soon lireaks into a luxuriant val- 
 ley, and flows for more than a hundred miles, 
 sometimes lieneath the shadow of wooded 
 hills, and sometimes filanciii!; throu^jh the 
 preen expanse of (dm-hesprinkled meadows. 
 Whether we si.'e it at Haverhill, Northamp- 
 ton, or Hartford, it still possesses that gentle 
 aspect; and the imuifination can scarcely con- 
 ceive Areadlan vales more lovely or more 
 peaceful than the valli^y of the Connecticut — 
 Us villages are rural places where trees over- 
 spread every dwellin!;. and the fields upon its 
 margin have the richest verdure. 
 
 Nor ought the Ohio, the Sus(|uehannah, the 
 Potomac, with their tributaries, and a thou- 
 sand others, be omitted in the rich list of 
 American rivers — there arc a glorious brother- 
 h<xjd ; but volumes would be insufficient for 
 their description. 
 
 In the forest scenery of the United States 
 we have that which occujiics the greatest 
 space, and is not the least remarkable ; being 
 
 iirimitive, it diU'ers widely from the Eurojiean. 
 n the American forest we find trees in every 
 stage of vegetable life and decay — the slender 
 Bajiliiig rises in the shadow of the lofty tree, 
 and the giant in his prime stands by the hoary 
 patriarch of the wood — on the ground lie 
 prostrate decaying ranks that once waved their 
 verdant heads in the sun and wind. These 
 are circumstances productive of greot variety 
 and pictures(|ueness — green umbrageous mas- 
 ses — lofty and scathed trunks — contorted 
 branches thrust athwart the sky — the mould- 
 ering dead bidow, shrouded in moss of ever_, 
 hue and texture, form richer combinations than 
 can be found in the trimmed and planted grove. 
 It is true that the thinned and cultivated wootl 
 offers les.s obstruction to the feet, and the trees 
 throw out their branches more horizontally, 
 and are cons(!(piently more umbrageous when 
 taken singly ; but the true lover of the pic- 
 turesque is s(d(iom fatigued — and trees that 
 grow widely apart are often heavy in form, 
 and resemble each other too much for pic- 
 turescjueness. Trees are like men, difTering 
 widely in character; in sheltered spots, or 
 under the influence of culture, they show few 
 contrasting points; peculiarities are pruned 
 and trained away, until there is a general re- 
 semblance. But in exposed situations, wild 
 and uncultivated, battling with the elements 
 and with one another for the possession of r. 
 
 morsel of soil, or a favoring rock to which they 
 mav cling — they exhibit striking peculiarities, 
 anil sometimes grand originality. 
 
 For vari(!ty, the American forest is nnrival- 
 led : in some districts are found oaks, elriis, 
 birches, beeches, planes, pines, hemlocks, and 
 many other kinds of trees, commingled — 
 clothing the hills with every tint of green, 
 and every variety of light and shade. 
 
 There is a ])ecnliarity observable in some 
 mountainous regions, where trees of a genus 
 band together — there often may be seen a 
 mountain whose f(M)t is clothed with deciduous 
 trees, while on its brow is a sable crown of 
 jjines ; and sometimes belts of dark green en- 
 circle a mountain horizontally, or are stretched 
 in well-defined lines from the summit to the 
 base. The nature of' the soil, or the courses 
 of rivulets, are the causes of this variety ; and 
 it is a beautiful instance of the exhaustlrss- 
 ness of nature ; often where we should ex))ect 
 unvarying monotony, we behold a charming 
 diversity. Time will not permit me to speak 
 of the American forest-trees individually ; 
 but I must notice the elm, the ])aragon of 
 beauty and shade ; the maple, with its rain- 
 bow Hues ; and the hemlock, the sublime of 
 trees, which rises from the gloom of the forest 
 like a dark and ivy-mantletl tower. 
 
 There is one season when the American 
 forest surpasses all the world in gorgeousness 
 — that is the autumnal ; then every hill and 
 dale is riant in the luxury of color — every hue 
 is there, from the liveliest green to deepest 
 purple — from the most golden yellow to the 
 intensest crimson. The artist looks despair- 
 ingly upon the glowing landscape, and in the 
 old world his truest imitations of the Ameri- 
 can forest, at this season, are called falsely 
 bright, and scenes in fairy land. 
 
 The sky wiU next demand our attention. 
 The soul of all scenery, in it are the fountains 
 of light, and shade, and color. Whatever ex- 
 pression the sky takes, the features of the 
 landscape are afFected in unison, whether it 
 be the serenity of the summer's blue, or the 
 dark tumult of the storm. It is the sky that 
 makes the earth so lovely at sunrise, and so 
 splendid at sunset. In the one it breathes over 
 the earth the crystal-like ether, in the other 
 the liquid gold. The climate of a great part of 
 the United States is subject to great vicissi- 
 tudes, and we complain ; but nature ofl"ers a 
 compensation. These very vicissitudes are 
 the abundant sources of beauty — as we have 
 the temperature of every clime, so have we 
 the skies — we have the blue unsearchable 
 depths of the northern sky — we have the up- 
 heaped thunder-clouds of the torrid zone, 
 fraught with gorgeousness and sublimity — we 
 have the silver haze of England, and the gold- 
 en atmosphere of Italy. And if he who has 
 
tW^^ 
 
 k to which they 
 ig peculiarities, 
 
 y- 
 
 )rrst is uiiriviil- 
 iml oaks, «'lfiis, 
 
 hemlocks, nrid 
 cotnminj;l«vl — 
 
 tint of green, 
 shiido. 
 
 rvntilo in some 
 oes of a genus 
 lay be seen a 
 with (leeiduous 
 satilo erown of 
 (lark p;reen en- 
 )r are stretched 
 sinnmit to the 
 or iho courses 
 is variety ; and 
 lie exhaustloss- 
 ; should exiiect 
 111 a charming 
 lit mo to speak 
 
 individually ; 
 !>o piirnijon of 
 , with its rain- 
 tho suhlinie of 
 >in of the forest 
 wer. 
 
 the American 
 n gorgeoiisness 
 
 every hill and 
 lor — every hue 
 pen to deepest 
 
 yellow to the 
 
 looks desj)air- 
 pe, and in the 
 of the Ameri- 
 
 called falsely 
 
 our attention, 
 •e the fountains 
 Whatever ex- 
 catures of the 
 ion, whether it 
 "s blue, or the 
 is the sky that 
 sunrise, and so 
 it breathes over 
 r, in the other 
 F a great part of 
 ) great vicissi- 
 lature ofTers a 
 icissitudes are 
 r — as we have 
 e, 80 have we 
 ; unsearchable 
 e have the up- 
 B torrid zone, 
 sublimity — we 
 1, and the gold- 
 if he who has 
 
 AMKUIOAN SCENKllY. 
 
 R77 
 
 : hmdw are rural -hveirui-s shaded by elm- lu. ' 
 ,.„rbinded bv (lowers— from yonder diirk niiiss 
 r.f foliage tlie village spire beams li.ie a star. 
 You see no ruim'd tower to t.dl ol outrage- 
 no Ln>rKe.ms temple to speak of ostentaMou ; 
 but Freedom's oll'spring-peac.;, ^ecuri.> , and 
 
 ,,„ler- happiness, dwell there, the spirits of the scene. 
 
 .:;::i;'L 0,1 L margin ..f that gent^nver the _v.llage 
 
 travelled and ol)served the skies of other dunes 
 will spend a few mouths ou il.c banks ,,l tb. 
 lludsl.u, be must be coiistniini'd to aeknowl- 
 ,.,b'e ihut for variety and imiiiintK'eiie.; Airieri- 
 can 4ues are unsurpassed. Italian skies have 
 bien lauded by every tongue, and sun- l>y ev- 
 nv iioer, and who will deny iheir woiider- 
 [ lleauiy ! At .unset the serene are. js -;,;- ::';^;,;i--^,b;.t.d_and tin „ 
 
 ,iU.d with alehymy »VV'T" hL i i -r s kiS 
 uins, and streams, and t.Muples, luto livmg ^ ^l;)}'!; ' ij^,,,, „,„t dwellings, unpr.^tt ndnig 
 jrol.l. „„ I ,,, nmimiticence, are the abodes ot plenty, vir- 
 
 " Hut the American f '"'"", "'^^"^''^■'f.^^ J^^S'S.^^ And in b.okingover the 
 
 without many sunsets that might vu- with he , tue «'^'^ '•^ ^l , ,^^ „;„,].« ..ye may 
 
 Italian, and many std more gorgeous-that yt^t uncult^ ^.^^^^.^^_ ^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^.^j,. 
 
 seem peculiar to this cbine. ! ■ , . ^ ^i nlislen; on the gray crag shall 
 
 Look at the h.avens when the ^ '7 « , M';;,l 3, '^.^^ ^ 
 shower has pusse.l, and the sun stoops bel nd '^^^^^^ "„„^ pathless wilderness ; and po- 
 Ibe western mountaiu^lhere the l.nv purp e d mo m ten ^^ ^^^^ ^^^.,_ 
 
 clouds hang in festoons around the steeps— in 
 the hi'dier heaven are crimson bands inter- 
 
 lioim III m^ .."•• I -- .. 
 
 cts yet unborn shall sanctify the s(nl. 
 
 ' It was our intention to attempt a description 
 
 - crimen bands ime - ^f'^^^; ^ '-.;;;;;i^ble for their" pic 
 wovcn°with feathers ot gold. «'' <"f ''V-^'^T ! turesreness Id truly American character; 
 of angels-and still above is spread that inte - | ^^"^^ ^'^"^'^Vto whicli we have been limited 
 .aiuable lield of ether, whose color is too beau- 1 '^"/i,^ ft'^ Yet we can not but express soi- 
 liful to have a name. ,, , . , •„„„ I row that the beauty of such landscapes ore 
 
 It is not in the summer only that American , \2ci\wl^^^^^^- away-thc ravages of the oxe 
 skies are beautiful, for the winter evening MU.ckly pa sm^^^^^^y^^ niost noble scenes 
 often comes robed in purple and gold and u a o la y . c g^^ „ft,„j;„es with a ^yan- 
 
 the westering sun the iced ^''^'^.^ « ".^^ " ^, ^^ Ld barbarism scarcely credible in a 
 beneath a shower of diamonds-and thn ugh »' ""^^ , j ^he way-side is becoming 
 
 the twilight heaven innumerable stars «1»»«, T^'J^^'J/'^ another generation will behold 
 with a purer light than summer ever knows. 1 shaaeiess, ann__uu ^ ^ _^ ,i„„„„,„tn,i hv 
 
 Wbat has been considered a grand detect 
 in American scenery is the want of associa- 
 tions, such as arise amid the scenes ot the old 
 world. , 
 
 We have many a spot as umbrageous as 
 Valloinbrosa, and as picturesiiue as the soli- 
 tudes of Vaucluse ; but Milton and Petrarch 
 have nut hallowed them by their footsteps and 
 immortal verse. He who stands on Mont 
 Albano and looks down on ancient Rome, has 
 his mind peopled with the gigantic associations 
 of the storied past; but he who stands on ttie 
 mounds of the west, the most venerable re- 
 mains of American antiquity, may ex])erience 
 the emotion of the sublime, but it is the sub- 
 limity of a shoreless ocean un-islanded by the 
 recorded deeds of man. . 
 
 Yet American scenes are not destitute ot 
 historical and legendary associations — the 
 graat struggle for freedom has sanctified many 
 a spot, and many a mountain, stream, and rork, 
 has its legend, worthy of poet's pen or the 
 painter's pencil. But American associations 
 
 spots, now rife with beauty, desecrated by 
 what is called improvement ; which, as yet, 
 cenerally destroys Nature's beauty without 
 substituting that of Art. This is a regret 
 rather than a complaint; such is the road so- 
 ciety has to travel; it may lead to rctinernent 
 in the end, but the traveller who sees the place 
 of rest close at hand, dislikes the road that has 
 so many unnecessary windings. 
 
 We conclude, with the hope that, though 
 feebly urged, the importance of cultivating a 
 taste for scenery will not be forgotten. Na- 
 ture has spread for us a nch and delightful 
 banquet. Shall we turn from it ? AVe are 
 still in Eden ; the wall that shuts us out of the 
 garden is our own ignorance and lolly. W e 
 should not allow the poet's words to be ap- 
 plicable to us: — 
 
 " Deep in rich paeture do tby flocks complain ? 
 Not so; but to their master is denied 
 To share the sweet serene." 
 
 May we at times turn from the ordinary pur- 
 
 valley, begirt with wooded hills— through i let us 
 those enamelled meadows and wide, waving 
 
 fields of grain, a silver stream winds lingcring- 
 ly alone— here, seeking the green shade of 
 trees— there, glancing in the sunshine : on Us 
 
 " Learn 
 The laws by whicli the Eternal doth sublime 
 And sanctity his works that we may ^e __ 
 The bidden glory veiled from vulgar eyes. 
 
 . 'i ■ . 
 
 ;.*,,*s 
 
 ■'%ii., i,i 
 li-. - i- 
 
 '■>^^ 
 
878 
 
 DIVISIONS OF THE GLOBE. 
 
 DIVISIONS OF THE GLOBE. 
 
 TiiK notural division of the Burface of the 
 globe is into sea and land, about three fourths 
 of the whole being occupied by water, al- 
 though probably nowhere to n (U'lah beyond 
 two or three miles. The reinoining fourth 
 consists of land elevated more or less above 
 the level of the sea, inters|)er»ed in some parts 
 with smaller collections of water at various 
 heights, and in a few instances somewhat low- 
 er tluui the general surface of the main ocean. 
 Thus, the Caspimi sea is said to be about 
 three hundred feet lower than the ocean, and 
 in the interior part of Africo, there is probably 
 a luke 'j(pi>«lly depressed. We can not ob- 
 serve any general symmetry in this distriltu- 
 tion of the earth's 'surface', except that the 
 two large continents of Africa and South 
 America, have some slight reseniblonce in j 
 their forms, and that each of them is termina- 
 ted to the eastward by a collection of nume- 
 rous islands. The large copes projecting to 
 the southward, have also a similority with 
 respect to their form, and the islands neor 
 them. To the west, the continents are exca- 
 vated into large bays, ond the islands are to the 
 east. Thus Cape Horn, has the Falkland 
 islands ; the Cape of Good Hope, Madagas- 
 gar ; ond Cape Comorin, Ceylon to the east. 
 The great continent, composed of Europe, Asia 
 and Africa, constitutes about a seventh of the 
 whole surfoce of the earth ; America, about 
 a sixteenth ; and New South Wales, about o 
 fifth ; or, in hundredth parts of the whole, 
 Euroj)e contains two; Asia, seven; Africa, 
 six ; America, six ; and Austrolia, two ; the 
 remaining seventy-seven being sea ; although 
 some authors assign seventy-two ports only 
 out of one hundred to the sea, and twenty- 
 eight to the land. These proportions moy be 
 ascertained with tolerable accuracy, by weigh- 
 ing the paper made for covering a globe, first 
 entire, and then cut out, according to the ter- 
 minations of the ditferent countries. Or, if 
 
 rivers. Of these some of the principal are, 
 the Amo/on, the Missouri, the MiHsissippi, 
 the Niger, the Arkansas, the Nile, the Kian- 
 Ku, the St. Lawrence, the Honng-ho, the 
 Amour, the Rio del Norte, the Volga, the 
 Yensei, the Oby, the Danube, the Imlus, the 
 Orinoco, the (ianges, the Euphrates, the Sen- 
 egal, and the Dnieper ; and thi» is nearly the 
 order of their magnitudes. 
 
 Wc may form a pretty accurate idea of the 
 levels of the ancient continent, by tracing a 
 line across it in such a direction as to puss no 
 river, which will obviously point out n tract 
 of country higher than most of the neighbor- 
 ing parts, beginning at Cape Fiiiisterre, we 
 soon arrive at the Pyrenees, keeping to the 
 south of the Garonnle, an<l the Loire. After 
 taking a long turn northwanl to avoid the 
 Rhine, we come to Switzerland ; and we may 
 apjtroach very near to the Mediterranean in 
 the state of Genoa, taking core not to pass 
 the branches of the Po. Wc make a circuit 
 in Switzeriand, and pass between the sources 
 of the Danube and of the branches of the 
 Rhine and Swabia. Crossing Franconia, we 
 leave Bohemia to the north, in order to avoid 
 the Elbe, and coming nea' to the borders of 
 Austria, follow those of Hungary, to the 
 I south of the Vistulo. The Dnieper then 
 obliges us to go northward through Lithuania, 
 leaving the Don wholly to the right, and the 
 Volga, to j)ass still farther north, between 
 Petersburg and Moscow. We may then go 
 eastward to the boundaries of Asia, and thence 
 northward to Nova Zcmbla. Hence we de- 
 scend to the west of the Oby, antl then to the 
 east of the branches of the Volga, and the 
 other inland rivers flowing into the lake Arel, 
 ond the Caspian sea. Here we are situated 
 in the widely-extended elevation of India, in 
 the neighborho(Kl of the sources of the In- 
 dus ; and lastly in our way hence toward 
 Knmschatko, we leave Yensei, ond Lena, on 
 the left, and 'he Ganges, Sec, on the right. 
 The direct! • < the most conspicuous mount- 
 ains is, how vet, a little different from this, 
 
 The principal chain first constitutes the Pyr- 
 enees, and divides Spain from France ; then 
 
 still greater accuracy were required, the great- 
 er port of the continents might be divided in- 
 fo known portions of the whole surface, and . • • t, ai 
 their remaining irregular portions alone weigh- I passes through Auvergne. to join the Alps, 
 ed It will be seen, even by a superficial j ami through the south of Germany, Daltnutio, 
 glance, at an artificial globe, that the great Albania, and Macedonia. It is found again 
 preponderance of land lies toward the north- ' beyond the Euxine. under the name of lau- 
 ern hemisphere or half; all the conriiients lie ' rus, Caucasus, and Imaus, and goes on to 
 in this direction, and to the south, is a wide | Tortary, and Kamschatka. The peninsula 
 expanse of ocean, studded with numerous of Iniiia. is divided from north to south, by 
 small and scattered groups of islands. It will 1 the mountains of Gate, extending from the 
 be observed, too, that the continents stretch | extremity of Caucasus, to Cape 
 from the north pole, toward the equator and 
 south pole, or parallel to the lines of longitude, 
 not across or parallel to the equator. The 
 general inclinations and levels of the conti- 
 nents are discovered by the course of their 
 
 Comorin. 
 In Africo, Mount Atlas stretches from Fez to 
 Egypt, and the Mountains of the Moon run 
 nearly in the same direction. There is also a 
 considerable elevation between the Nile und 
 the Red sea. In the New World, the neigh- 
 
TT-- 
 
 an 
 
 THE FALL OF BABYLON. 
 
 ) principnl ore, 
 hf! MiHs'iMsijipi, i 
 Nile, th« Kinii- 
 Hotinjr-hii, tin; 
 the Voljjii, thf! 
 , the Imlus, the 
 hrotcn, tlie .Sen- 
 lis is neorly the 
 
 irate idea of the 
 It, by tracinn; b 
 m Bs to pass no 
 Dint out n tract 
 f the neiphbor- 
 ^ Kiiiisterrc, we 
 keeping to the 
 e Loire. After 
 (I to avoiil the 
 1(1 ; ami we may 
 [editerranenn in 
 are not to ]ms» 
 1 make a circuit 
 ^ccn the sources 
 )ranche8 of the 
 ; Franconia, we 
 in order to avoid 
 
 the borders of 
 iunpary, to the 
 3 Dnieper then 
 ough Lithuania, 
 le rinht, and the 
 
 north, between 
 
 Ve may then go 
 
 Asia, and tlience 
 
 Hence we de- 
 
 , and then to the 
 
 Volga, and the 
 to the lake Arel, 
 we are situated 
 ition of India, in 
 irces of the In- 
 y hence toward 
 ei, and Lena, on 
 c, on the right, 
 ispicuows monnt- 
 ierent from this, 
 stitutes the Pyr- 
 m France ; then 
 join the Alps, 
 many, Dalenatia. 
 t is found again 
 le name of Tau- 
 
 and goes on to 
 
 The peninsula 
 
 )rth to south, by 
 
 ;ending from the 
 
 Cape Comorin. 
 ches from Fez to 
 of the Moon run 
 , Thftre is also a 
 een the Nile and 
 World, the neigh- 
 
 l„„h.M..I of the wcxtrrn roa,.t is in grnrrnl th»! 
 ,n„.t cl.vutcd. In North Amcr.ca, tW Mine 
 ,„„„uiuins. ,.r .St, my mountains an; the most 
 .•oM.idcrable, and the nmuutamt of Mexico 
 i„ii. the Andes or Cordili.T.H. winch are con- 
 iinur.l aionu' the whole of the west coast ot 
 .S.Miih America. There arc sevral points in 
 both licmi«i>hcrcM, from which wc may observe 
 river-, scpurutin;; to run to ditliTcnt seas. 
 Tlic lii'dicst mountuins in the world are the 
 Ilinmbrvarannc. in Asiu. which are uiiward 
 „f ivvrn"ty-eii;littliousBmi feet; ( Jumbora/.o. 
 iu America twenty-one thousand j the Abys- . 
 <ini.m mountains in Africa. Iroin ten to httee_n 
 Ibousund; Mount Bbmc, in .Switzerland, tif- 
 tr.'u tliousiind; and the \ppcn.ncs, upwanl 
 of nine lli.usiind feet. The plains of (iuito, 
 in l»,'ru, are so much elevated, that the bar- 
 ,„r„.|(r stands at the height i>( fifteen inches 
 „„lv wlii(di at th.i level of the sea, stan.ls at 
 thirty indios: thus the air is reduced to 
 half "its density. Hut none of these heights 
 is eniml to a thousandth part ot hall the 
 earth's diameter, and the greatest ot these 
 miglit be represented as grains of^and on a 
 six-inch silobe. * , 
 
 The internal parts of the body of the earth 
 are little known from actual observation, as 
 the deepest mines or excavations, are com- 
 paratively as but scratches on the em o an 
 ai.I)lc. The real density of the earth then, 
 beyond the mere surface, is l)ut matter of con- 
 jecture From observations on the attraction 
 of'the mountain Shehallion, Dr. Maskylcn 
 supposed the actual mean density ot the 
 earth throuijhout all its mass to be that ot wa- 
 ter as 4 A to' 1, judging from the probable den- 
 sity of the iuternal substance ot the mount- 
 ains, which he supposed to be a solid rock. 
 Mr. Cavendish, has concluded more directly, 
 from exiieriments on a mass of lead, that the 
 mean density of the earth is U) that of water 
 as r>i to I. This density assigned by Mr. 
 CavJndish, is not at all greater than might be 
 coniecturcd, from observations on the vibra- 
 tions of pendulums. The great Newton had 
 lon.r a^o advanced it as a probable supposition, 
 that the moan density of the earth might be 
 about five or six times as great as that ot wa- 
 ter, and the perfect agreement of the result 
 of many modern experiments with thin con- 
 iecture, afTords us a new pnx.f, m addition to 
 in<iny others, of the accuracy and penetration 
 oi that illustrious philosopher. 
 
 THE FALL OF BABYLON. 
 
 Truth and Justick arc the immutable 
 laws of social order. Far from us be t|ie 
 dan-'erous maxim, thot it is sometimes usetul 
 to mislead, to enslave, and to deceive man- 
 I kind, to insure their happiness. Cruel expe- 
 rience has at all times proved, that wuh inipu- 
 nity, these sacred laws can never be mjured. 
 
 Tut history of the fall of Habylon rriOy be 
 found at large in HenHlolus, mmI in Ioskphus's 
 I AnlinHilks of the Jew.i. h . ■■ ^^^T'] ''"' 
 scribed by Strabo, Xeiiophcn. and DuMlorus 
 Siculus. The prolliu-ncy unJ impiety o 
 Helsha/./ar, king of Habylon, jfrandson ot 
 1 Neliuchadnc/./.ar, had excited the Divine an- 
 i ger, and at the visibb- interposition ot the (..mI 
 : whom he had derided ami Idasphenied, be lost 
 i at once his kingdom and his life. Having 
 I provided a »pb'ndi<l entertainment tor llie lio- 
 ' Lies of his court, lie commanded to be brouglit 
 th.) L'olden cups, those npoils ot the Jewish 
 temple which Nel>iicha.irie//.ar. after his siic- 
 ' cessful siege of .lerusalei.i. had carrie.l into the 
 sanctuary of his own uod. These spl.'ndid 
 i m.blcts In- ordered to be used by his guests in 
 iheir drunken revelry : thus m.t only protaniiig 
 Itho sacred vessels originally ih' voted to the 
 purposes of the Jewish ceremonial worsliip, 
 Lut likewise polluting those othis country s 
 ' g„ds; as those Jewish vessels had lieen con- 
 ; sccraterl to the rites of his own religion. 1 his 
 I double sacrilege did m.t pass without its rctri- 
 I hution. During the feast, the most odious 
 i blasphemies were uttered by the king and 
 the revellers who composed his court. I hey 
 sang praises to th.ise divinities of wooil and 
 stone which were the objects of their hollow 1 
 adoration, as if in mockery of Hun, who. 
 though "mighty to save,^' proved to the 
 Chaldean king and his nobles, that he is mighty 
 
 also to destroy. . .. , ^, c„„„. 
 
 In the midst of their impious least, the finger 
 of Go.1 inscribed their sentence upon the wall 
 of the court in which they were audaciously 
 deridins him. While in tlie very act of pro- 
 fanin" the sacred vessels, the king perceived, 
 to his^ utter consternation, a hand tracing upon 
 the wall in legible characters, the ternble rec- 
 ord of his doom. Astounded at a sight so 
 singular and appalling, he sent for the astro o- 
 gers. who at that time were regular y retain- 
 ! cd in the eastern courts, together with all per- 
 sons who had ac<iuired repute as il>v"'(">-s, 
 prophets, and interpreters of '^^^'^^f,/''^ 
 these he cunnanded an explanation of the mys- 
 
 terhms writing. The seal "f G-'d; ^^"'^V o,;! 
 coul.l not break, was tipon it. Amazed a 
 confounded, the king disinissed them, and 
 cnlU:.l others to unveil the fearfu mystery in 
 which his destiny appeared to be shrouded. 
 No one could read the record. The royal 
 blasphemer was abashed, and 1"^. ?""«"X„ 
 shrunk from the apprehension of impending 
 
 destruction. - „,„i:n„ 
 
 Nitocris. his mother, a woman / "^"^f ^"/^ 
 energies, who had successfully fortihed l^r 
 native cty agoinst the Medes ami Persians, 
 roied tS effeminate king from the stupor of 
 
 ■'PC 
 
 =^-== 
 
 
him t.. i,.i.'ri.r.a the writing which htt.l ball c.l 
 ,1,,, ,„.„..truti,.» <.f ttU his wiHc mm.. Ihe 
 (Jlml'l.'.iM tno.mrch promlsc.l to b.'stnw u.xm 
 Dai.irl ilw third purt <-f hi« (lominumH, if he 
 Hh.iul.l succ-.mI in unfoklinR tho a^lul mys- 
 t,.rv si ill viniblo u|K.n the wb 1, where it had 
 hern triicfd by a supernatural hnnd. Hut, to 
 
 that which i» the etrect of wis.lom and ot Di- 
 vine revx-lation admits of no Rifts, and bestows 
 its, ud vm.tiiKcs on jictitioncrs freely ; neverthe- 
 h»*, ihut ho would explnin the wnlms to him, 
 which (b'uotcd that he must soon die, ond this, 
 beciuse ho had not learned to hoiior 0(«1 
 
 TIIK FALL OP BABYLON. 
 
 — ~ ' " . ,. -Tk • 1 .1.-1. Al.nfNitocris the MUPen's mother, the Hiiliy- 
 
 d..pair. hy tellmg him '--' - J'-;,f..''^«, ! .1 derail 0..! efr.t, of the Persian. 
 J,.w. This " servant of the 1 v. »r «'' "• °« | ,p,, „„,, ,,r.,vision« sutlhr.rnt or a ronsu.,.].- 
 h„ is el.ewli.Te styled in Scnpture, vm then, i uy ^,j^^ ^^,^„^ ,,,. ,,„.,^ ,.,( 
 
 with many of hisii-ountryrnen, ^ capt'v y a »; "^J' , ^ ^ly^, ,„ ,,,,„„,, ,„.„>, three hun- 
 lkhvlon.a..dh..dr.ndere.lh.mselfcelebrac< |wore( 1 « ^^^, ,,i„hty-sevrn 
 
 1 1, the Chaldeans, by having 'n^;nTe «d {^ ^ ""^n e7 were built of bricks, forrried of 
 the dr.M.ms ..f N«bueha.:ne//.ar. _f ' « ,»^ "« r;";^- ^,,1 Jfirm in texture, as to be harder 
 
 intcK. 1 11' If v>< ■' •• , , 
 
 a materi.il so firm in texture, as to be harder 
 tlnm atmhc. Th.'8e brirks wer.; ^em- nted 
 to«ethcrw'th a Rlutim.us .-orth that in lime 
 became as har.l as the ni.ixs.-s which it .init.'d. 
 In spite of all tlicnc unshty ..bKtridcs, Tynis 
 resolved upon the reduction .if tins nppar.'.itly 
 impregnablo capital. T- this end he cm- 
 structed a nutnb.-r of wo...l.'n towers, hi-her 
 
 icrv siiii vi:ii."i. "I - ", ; , T. . ►„ Btructe.l a nutnu.'r oi i".,,, .w.,w, ..-r.- - 
 
 b,,."u tracc.l by a supernatural han,i. mu, ^ ^^^,,p ^ ,U.,,,rrut.- ef- 
 
 „g.. the words of Josephus.* '' l^«"'''l '77' i A"" o carry the place by storm; but .•very 
 Zt h.- would keep his ^ifts to himself;, i.r | ♦';:^,':J,'^^^^'i^[y f„.,,,,\. He next .Ir.'W a lu,.. ot 
 
 attempt wus foil.-.l H«' next .Ir.'W a ....■ .it 
 circumvallation roun.l tho city, thus hoping 
 to starve the enemy into a wrreiid.r. I wo 
 years were spent in this unnvmhna I'lo.'ka.l.j, 
 when an oi)p..rtunity presented its.dt "'»"""';"- 
 that iMirposo by Btratnsem, which h.- hail 
 
 opposiie SHU) wiiiiD ■•. 1-"' ■• ■ .• 1 I 1„ 
 
 to enter the channel wherever it WaS for.lal le 
 
 He then detached a thir.l party t.) ..pj n the 
 
 head of a canal connected with the Kuphra tcs, 
 
 and thus admit the river into the trenches 
 
 which ho had opened roun.l the city, iiy 
 
 Thut, therefore, God seeing tm«. /^ "- these means the ri'ver was so complet.;y.lrain- 
 
 ,,U,"a.s.=d with him, and h.i.l declared ^Y tf "I „;j„ij,hl, that the tr.H.ps easily made 
 
 writing that his life would have a most ™M t^eir way along its be.l, an.l the pates upon 
 
 teriniuati.m. He then explained the writing 3 s ^^^^ ^^^^ uncl.«e.l, in const- 
 
 ,s tuUows._MENE: This if It be expounded he banKs ^^^ ^fc^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^ 
 
 in ih.; Greek language, will signify a «"»»j'^'^; I '„nfu8i„„ of the festival, the besiegers tound 
 because God has numbered so long a time tor co.uuai _ ^ ^^.^ „rnarpss. Havine 
 
 „f imiMkind. Daniel alw out Belshaz/.ar in 
 tnind h pw greatly he had blaspliemed agamst 
 God, ...1,1 ha.l nia-le use of his sacred vessels 
 umon- his .lepraved nobles and concubines. 
 Tlmt," therefore, God seeing this, was dis- 
 
 thy life an.l for thy government, and that wre 
 remains but a small portion.— Tekel: 1 ms 
 signities a weight, and means that God lias 
 weiirh.'.l thy kingdom in the balance, oid hmls 
 it already on the decline.— Pu_ARE3j^Thisal90, 
 
 in til " 
 will 
 
 an. 
 
 f 
 
 tation; iii.-vcii.iivj'^s-', ">'"—'--•• --■ „ 
 
 what ho had promised. Immediately alter 
 the city was taken, and Belshazzar put to 
 death. The manner of its capture was singu- 
 lar. About 540 years before the birth ot 
 Christ Cyrus the Great had invested the cap- 
 ital of Chiililea. His armies had been every- 
 where victorious ; yet trusting in the prodi- 
 gious strength of their city, and the vase coun- 
 
 ish Antiquities, Book x. Chap xi. 
 
 no interruption to their progress. Having 
 thus penetrated into the heart ot the cnerny a 
 capital, they met, according to agrccm.Mit, at 
 Uie gates of the palace. Here, after a ieeble 
 resistance, they easily overpowere.l tl'e S";""|»' 
 
 Where now arc Trov an.l iruKl.ti. B^ ['»" ' 
 On their pn.rd site tlie eiirth 18 wil.l an.l bare, 
 o'er them stern Time has a f..ll y-otory worn 
 And they are n.ingle.l wHh tb-Uhu-ps > were. 
 Thus works deHtrucUon ; from h,M «'7;«'.'' L._ 
 He skulks nbroa.l to mar what "'»" ^"" "'"^^ ' 
 Decay, slow mh-.Mig, meets us evrrywlioro^ 
 H-Krth'n oaeea ir'os are '■..guive— horo l.ido 
 iu thbgs ITik.- a.e dcbtso? m u.re lou.l be paid. 
 
 -Sii 
 
 f'fffi 
 
 
 t%ti%«i 
 
r 
 
INDIANS IN OEEGON, 
 
 283 
 
 In the engraving of the fall of Babylon, the 
 artist has endeavored to exhibit tV.e Chaldean 
 c« tal at the height of its glory. In the dis- 
 taTe the mighty tower of Babel, which he 
 u^poses to have^been still standing upon the 
 nlains of Shinar, rears its stupendous bulk, 
 Sidin.' its summit in the clouds, a monument 
 of human presumption and human impotency. 
 The hi-h tower upon the bank of the ri\er 
 is the celebrated temple of Belus, the external 
 buil.lings of which were raised by Nebuchad- 
 ncMar. This huge tower was six hundred 
 feet simare at the base, and the same number 
 of feet hiMi. The temple was set apart tor 
 theworshfpof Baal,and the treasure contain- 
 ed within its walls, in the palmy days of the 
 Chaldean empire, has been estimated at torty- 
 two millions sterling. , c -n t 
 
 Upon the right of the temple of Belus, as 
 the spectator faces the water on that sule, 
 stands the palace of Semiramis, four miles m 
 circumference. To this extraordinary woman 
 Babylon first owed its greatness, blie lett 
 everywhere immortal monuments of her genius 
 and of her power. She was the greatest war- 
 rior of her time. To facilitate communica- 
 tion with her capital, she hollowed mount- 
 ains and filled up valleys, and water was con- 
 veyed at a vast expense by immense aqueducts, 
 to deserts and unfruitful plains. _ 
 
 The bridge seen in our engraving was built 
 bv Nitocrls, the mother of Belshazzar. In 
 the right-hand corner of the engravmg is seen 
 the palace of Nc'uchadnezzar, eight miles m 
 circumference, and surmounted by the cele- 
 brated hanging gardens. These occupied a 
 square of four hundred feet on every side, and 
 consisted of spacious terraces raised one above 
 the other, until they reacaed the height of the 
 city walls. The whole pile was sustained by 
 immense arches, built upon other arches, and 
 supported on either side by a wall twenty-two 
 
 ^ The'crowd which appears in the bed of the 
 river is the enemy setting fire to the Babylo- 
 nian navy. On the right of these is the Per- 
 sian horse headed by Cyrus. The group m 
 the near foreground consists of the king, and 
 apartyoftheenemy; these attack anddestroy 
 
 him in sight of several of his concubmes, who 
 had escaped with him from the palace. 
 
 Here is one of those awful pages m the 
 records of time, which may be summed up in 
 this brief exclamation, "How are the mighty 
 fallen !" 
 
 INDIANS IN OREGON. 
 
 We will first describe the Indians of the 
 plains. These live in the upper country from 
 the falls of the Columbia to the Rocky mount- 
 ains, and arc called the Indians of the plains, 
 because a large proportion of their country is 
 prairie land.^ The pry'^'lfl t"'?f^ "/' ^^'^ 
 kez Pcrces, Cayuscs, Walla Wallas. Banax, 
 Shoshones, Spokcins, Flnthoa.ls, C^cur de 
 Lions, Pondcrns, Cootanies, Kcttletalls, Uka- 
 nagans, and Carriers. These do not inclule 
 probably more thnn one half of those east of 
 the falls ; but of others we have obtained but 
 little definite knowled^. Those all resenible 
 each other in general characteristics. In their 
 
 The lust of dominion innovates so imper- 
 ceptibly, that we become complete despots be- 
 fore our wanton abuse of poweris perceived ; 
 the tyranny first exercised m the nursery is 
 exhibited in various shapes and degrees m 
 every stoge of our existence. 
 
 eacnoint-i 111 j^Kiitiu. v,.....--..- 
 persons the men are tall, the women are of 
 common stature, and both men and women are 
 well formed. While there is a strong natural, 
 as well as moral resemblance among all In- 
 dians, the complexion of these is niucli the 
 same as other Indians, excepting a ittle tairer. 
 Their hair and eyes are black, their cheek- 
 bones high, and very frequently they have 
 aciuiline noses. Thefr hands, feet, and ankles, 
 are small and well formed; and their move- 
 ments are easy, if not graceful They wear 
 their hair long, part it upon their forehead, 
 and let it hang in tresses on each side, or down 
 
 There is a great resemblance in their dress, 
 which generally consists of a shirt, worn over 
 long close leggins, with moccasins for their 
 feet Those are of dressed leather made ot 
 the 'skins of deer, antelope, mountain goats, 
 and sheep ; and over these they wear a blanket 
 or buffalo robe. The borders of their garments 
 are ornamented with long fringes, after the 
 manner of the ancient Jews. They are fond 
 of ornaments, and according to their means, 
 their heads and garments are decorated with 
 feathers, beads, buttons, and porcupine quills; 
 the last of which are colored red, yellow, blue, 
 and black, and worked with great skill and 
 variety of design. They appear to have less 
 of the propensity to adorn themselves with 
 painting, than the Indians east of the mount- 
 ains; but still at their toilet, vermilion, mixed 
 with red clay, is used upon their faces and hair. 
 The dress of the women does not vary much 
 from the men, excepting, that, instead of the 
 shirta, they have wUt may be called a frock 
 coming down to the ankles. Many of them 
 wear Z largo cape made of the same material, 
 and often highly ornamented with large oblong 
 bis of blue, rfd, purple, and white, arranged 
 in curved lines covering the whole. Some ot 
 the aaughters of the chiefs, when clothed in 
 tSei? clean white dresses made of antelope 
 skins with their fully ornamented capes com- 
 «"!"« to the wiist, and mounted upon 
 sptrited speeds, going at full speed, their or- 
 
 LJ 
 
 ti«»u,:-.i-.J 
 
 19 
 
 "■-V. 
 
284 
 
 INDIANS IN our N. 
 
 4 
 
 
 naments glittering in the sunbeams, make an 
 appearance that would not lose in comparison 
 with e(|UPStrian ladies of the east. 
 
 Their horses are not less finely caparisoned 
 ■with blue and scarlet trimmings about their 
 heads, breasts, and loins, hung with little brass 
 bells. 
 
 While a want of cleanliness is a character- 
 istic of all heathen, the Indians of the plains 
 are less reprehensible than others, and far 
 more neat than those of the lower country 
 toward the Pacific. It is not to be understood 
 that there are not those who are poor, sufTer- 
 ing from the want of food and clothing. 
 
 Their wealth consists in their horses, and, 
 in a great degree, their consequence upon the 
 number they possess; some owning several 
 hundreds; and that family is poor whose num- 
 bers ore not sufficient for every man, woman, 
 and child, to be mounted, when they are trav- 
 elling from place to place ; and also to carry 
 all their eH'ects. In these respects they are 
 far better supplied than any tribes we saw 
 east of the mountains. While their horses 
 are their wealth, they derive but little from 
 them for the support of themselves and fami- 
 lies ; for they do not employ them to cultivate 
 the earth ; and the market for them is so low, 
 that they command but a small price. A 
 good horse will not sell for more than enough 
 to purchase a blanket, or a few small articles 
 of merchandise. For subsistence, they, of 
 necessity, depend upon hunting and fishing, 
 and gathering roots and berries. Their mode 
 of cooking is plain and simple. Most of their 
 food is roasted, and their excel in roasting fish. 
 The process is to build in the centre of their 
 lodge a small fire, to fix the fish upon a stick 
 two feet long, and to place one end in the 
 ground, so as to bring the fish partly over the 
 fire, and then, by a slow process, it is most 
 thoroughly roasted without any scorching, or 
 scarcely changing the color. The principal 
 art consists in taking time, and our best cooks 
 might improve by following their mode. 
 
 Their habits. The habits of Indians are 
 said to be indolent. As a generol remark it 
 may be true, but we saw but very little to 
 confirm its truth among the Indians of the 
 plains ; for we rarely saw any of these Indians 
 without their being engaged in some object of 
 pursuit; not the most prodiicrive, perhaps, 
 but such as enlisted their attention. While 
 we believe in the striking resemblance, both 
 physical and moral, of all the different nations 
 and tribes of Indians spread over large portions 
 of the continent of America, more so than is 
 seen in any people of any other country of 
 equal extent ; yet, if it is true, that as a gen- 
 eral fact, they are morose and gloomy in their 
 countenances; sullen, or bacchanalian in their 
 dispositions; that they are rarely so joyful as 
 
 to Hu,jM, unless excited by ardent spirits ; that 
 
 they f.rc taciturn and never indulge in mirth ; 
 that they are obtuse in sympathy, ond destitute 
 of social alFcctions; that in proud disdain they 
 turn away from whatever would excite curi- 
 osity ; that no common motives or endearments 
 excite them to action ; if these things are true, 
 then the Indians in the Oregon territory are 
 on exception to the general fact. In oil the 
 obovenomed porticulars, we saw no special 
 difference between them and other natidTis. 
 As a part of the human family, they have the 
 same natural propensities, and the pome social 
 Directions. They ore cheerful and often gay, 
 sociable, kind, and affectionate ; and anxious 
 to receive instruction in whatever may con- 
 duce to their happiness here and hereafter. 
 It is worse than idle to speak of _ " physical 
 insensibility inwrought into the animal nature 
 of the Indians, so that their bodies approximate 
 to the insensibility of horses' hoofs." The in- 
 fluence of this kind of remarks is to produce, 
 in the bosoms of all who read them, the same 
 insensibility which is charged upon the native 
 character of the Indians. To represent their 
 characters and their restoration to the com- 
 mon feelings of humanity so hopeless, is to 
 steel the heart of even Christianity itself, if 
 it were possible, against all sympathy, and to 
 porolyze oil exertions ond efftjrts to save them 
 from the twofold destruction to which they 
 doom them, temporal and etemol. Is this 
 the reason that Christians are sitting in such 
 supineness over their condition, and the heart- 
 thrilling appeals from them for teachers to 
 enlighten them? Is this the reason, that 
 while the philanthropy of the United States' 
 citizens toward them is so widely blazoned, 
 that those, who are sent to teach them the arts 
 of civilized life, ore sitting quiet on the borders 
 in govemmentol poy, while the Indians are 
 roaming still over the prairies in search of un- 
 certain and precarious game ? We forbear to 
 tell the story. 
 
 They have but a few manufactures, and 
 those few are the most plain and simple, not 
 extending much beyond dressing the skins of 
 animals, ond making them into clothing; ma- 
 king bows and arrows, and some few articles 
 of furniture. In dressing their skins, they 
 never make any use of bark, or tanning in any 
 way. Their process is to remove the hair and 
 flesh from the skins, by scrapinf, them with a 
 hard stone or wood, or, when it con be obtain- 
 ed, a piece of iron hoop, and then besmearing 
 them with the brains of some animal, they 
 smoke them thoroughly, and rub them until 
 they are soft; and after this bleach thernvvith 
 pure white cloy. Their mode of smoking, is 
 to dig or excavate a small place in the ground, 
 at'out a foot deep, and over this to construct 
 a small fixture in the form of a lodge, a few 
 
 -_t i* WM< ii<»i n i r II I 'iii rrt il t^ '" ^i'*i* 
 
rTfv«K 
 
 THE MIGRATION OF BIRDS. 
 
 285 
 
 !nt spirits; that 
 lulge in mirth ; 
 y, and destitute 
 ud disdain they 
 Id excite curi- 
 or endearments 
 things are true, 
 n territory are 
 ct. In all the 
 saw no special 
 
 other nations. 
 , they have the 
 the pame social 
 I and often gay, 
 e; and anxitjus 
 Ltever may con- 
 
 and hereafter. 
 k of " physical 
 e animal nature 
 lies approximate 
 oofs." The in- 
 ts is to produce, 
 them, the same 
 upon the native 
 ) represent their 
 ion to the com- 
 I hopeless, is to 
 tianity itself, if 
 ympathy, and to 
 rts to save them 
 1 to which they 
 jtemal. Is this 
 e sitting in such 
 n, and the heart- 
 
 for teachers to 
 he reason, tliat 
 3 United States' 
 videly blazoned, 
 ich them the arts 
 iet on the borders 
 the Indians are 
 1 in search of un- 
 ' We forbear to 
 
 anufactures, and 
 and simple, not 
 sing the skins of 
 to clothing; ma- 
 ome few articles 
 ;heir skins, they 
 or tanning in any 
 move the hair and 
 [)inf, them with a 
 it can be obtain- 
 then besmearing 
 me animal, they 
 I rub them until 
 bleach them with 
 de of smoking, is 
 ice in the ground, 
 this to construct 
 rf a lodge, a few 
 
 feet wide at the base, and brought to a point 
 ui the top. Then they build a small fire in 
 the contie, and place the skins around upon 
 tlie framework, so as to make the enclosure 
 al„.„st smoke tight. The process occupies 
 ul.out one day. Their mode of dressing buf- 
 fulo-robes is ailTerent. It is by stretching the 
 skin upon the ground, flesh-side up, fastening 
 it down with pins around the border. Ihcn 
 V ith an instrument formed somewhat, like a 
 coper's adz, made of stone, or wood over aid 
 with a piece of iron, brought to a blunt edge, 
 like a currier's knife, they clear from it all 
 remaining llesh, and let it thoroughly dry. 
 Vfter this, with the same instrument, they 
 'work upon it with a pounding, hewing stroke, 
 until they have brought it to a suitable thick- 
 ness, ancl rendered it soft and white, in the 
 same condition as our buffalo-robes are, when 
 Ijrought into market. It is a work of great 
 labor performed by women. We little think 
 how much toil it costs a woman to prepare 
 one of these robes, and then how httle is paid 
 for it by the purchaser ; a pound of tobacco, 
 or a bunch of beads, is as much as the Indian 
 generally receives. ..!»•„ 
 
 Their bows are made of the most clastic 
 wood, strengthened with the tendons of am- 
 mals, glued upon the back side, and a string 
 made cf the same substance. Their arrows 
 are made of heavy wood, with one end tipped 
 with a sharp stone or pointed iron, nn'> t'f 
 other end pinnated with a feather. Whi.e 
 the first is to pierce, the latter is to govern the 
 direction. Their bows and arrows perform 
 astonishing execution, aad they manage them 
 with great dexterity. 
 
 Most of their cooking utensils, which they 
 BOW use. are obtained from traders. These 
 do not often extend beyond a brass kettle, tin 
 pail, and a very few knives. They have 
 bowls which they manufacture very ingenious- 
 ly from the horns of buffalo ; and sometimes, 
 those that are large and more solid, from the 
 horn of the big-horned mountain sheep. 1 ney 
 have spoons of very good structure, made ot 
 buffalo-horns; also, they have various kinds 
 of baskets of Hide workmanship. Their sad- 
 dles are rude, somewhat resembling the Span- 
 ish saddle, having a high knob forward, and 
 rising high on the back part, generally sitting 
 uneasy upon the horse's back. Their bndles 
 arc only a rope, well made of hair, or the shag 
 of the buffalo, fastened to the under jaw of the 
 horse, very long, so as to form the lasso ; this 
 is so coiled in the hand as to form a noose 
 when thrown over the horse's head, vvhich is 
 done very dexterously; and when they are 
 mounted, the rope, or leather thong, which is 
 often used in its place, trails al""g "P"" /5'- 
 ground. This is often left upon the horses 
 neck, when he is turned out for a short time 
 
 to feed, for the convenience of more easily 
 
 catching him. , • . • 
 
 Their canoes, before they obtained iron 
 hatchets of the traders, were, with great labor 
 and patience, made with hatchets ot stone ; 
 and even now, it is with no small etlort. A 
 canoe of good construction is valued os high 
 as one or two good horses. Their fishing nets 
 are another article which is well constructed, 
 formed of wild flax ; and in every particular 
 like our scoop nets. 
 
 :, - :: "h 
 
 THE MIGRATION OF BIRDS. 
 
 " As fables tell, an Indian aape, 
 
 Tlio Hindostani woodo among. 
 Could, in Ilia desert liermitage, 
 As if 'twere marlted in written page, 
 
 Translate the wild bird's song. 
 " I wish I did his power possess, 
 
 That I might learn, fleet bird, from the«, 
 What our vain systems only guess. 
 And know from what widowildemess 
 
 You came across the sea." 
 
 The migration of the feathered race has 
 occupied much attention, and afforded subject 
 for many interesting inquines, from a very 
 eariy period. Nor is the topic exhausted ; 
 numerous important facts still remain unex- 
 plained ; and a vast field for observation still 
 presents itself to scientific search. 
 
 Birds mi-n-ate northward and southward ; 
 so that there is in our laritudes at least a pe- 
 riodical ebb and tide of spring and winter 
 visiters. The former gradually work their 
 way, as the season advances, from the wami 
 regions of the south, where they have enjoyed 
 food and sunshine, and have escaped the rigors 
 of our winter, and arrive here to cheer us with 
 their songs, and to make our summer months 
 still more delightful. The latter, being in- 
 habitants of the arctic circle, and finding m 
 the forests and morasses of that region a sufli- 
 cient supnly of food in summer, are only ed 
 to (luit their homes when the eariy winter be- 
 gins to bind up the lakes and the surface of 
 the earth, and to deprive them of sustenance. 
 It is then that they seek our milder shores; 
 wid, accordingly, at the season when our sunri- 
 mer visitants are leaving us to proceed on th^ir 
 iourtiey southward, these songless inhabitants 
 of the north arrive to take their places, and 
 to feed on such winter fruits and berries, and 
 such insects and a.piatic jilants as arc donuMl 
 to their own inhospitable chmale. 1 Uese 
 visitors, though mute, arc of no mean value ; 
 for many of rtiem are esteemed as delicate 
 food ; and, in conse.piencc, the redwing, field- 
 fare, woodcock, siiipc, widgeon, tec, are wont 
 1 to receive homage and admiration r.m. tli<«e 
 who could listen to the sweet warblmgs of the 
 
 . % .^t«' 
 
 "^^-v.' 
 
r 
 
 \ 
 
 I 
 ! 
 
 THE MIGKATION OF BIRDS. 
 
 nightingale or the tcmlcr cooingsof the turtle- 
 
 ers; and of those which do not intorn-'t their 
 
 (love with perfect imliilerencc. 
 
 The visits of these birds, as we.l as of those 
 from the south, depend greatly on the state 
 of he weather, which appears to l»asten or 
 retard their flight as the season may be. 
 Tim we often find that a few of our summer 
 bir.ls leave the main body, and amve sooner 
 than the rest, while the others have been kept 
 back by a sud.kn return of unfavorable ^^^ather. 
 accordligtothe adage, "One.swa lowdccsno 
 make a summer." It is a singular fact, that 
 the early-comers are male birds, arriving, as 
 would seem, in search of a fit spot to which 
 introduce their mates The bird-catchers 
 arc aware of this, and prepare their traps 
 accordingly, so that nightingales and other 
 singing-birds are often snared »n/*^"' £ 
 arrival, and spend the short reinainder of their 
 Uv"s in captivity. Many birds return no 
 only to the same country, but to the very spot 
 thev left in the preceding season, a fact which 
 has' been ascertained by catching and marking 
 some of them, while other birds do not con- 
 fine themselves to a particular country, but 
 ran-e from one to another, as circumstances 
 
 uiav dictate. . . ^ 
 
 It has been observed that certain migratory 
 birds do not leave their summer abode, unless 
 ihe winter is to be one of unusual seventy. 
 This fact is surprising, and the question, liy 
 what means is the bird instructed as to the 
 coming season 1" naturally presents itself to 
 the mind, but still remains unanswered. What 
 their instinctive knowledge is, and whether 
 they have any power of reflecting on the 
 phenomena by which they are surrounded, 
 will ever probably be a mystery to us; but 
 we may trace in this, as in numberless other 
 instances, the core and wise management ot a 
 superintending Providence,by which creatures 
 
 small and insignificant in the scale of creation 
 are lo,l to choose the climate most favorable 
 to them, and to hasten toward another region 
 iuot at the period when a longer tarry m the 
 one they inhabit would be fatal to them. 
 " Whero the northern ocean, in vast vvhirls 
 Boils round the naked melancholy isles 
 Of fanhest Thnlo, and the Atlantic surge 
 Pours ill among the stormy Hebndes. 
 Who can recount what transmigrations the* 
 Are annual made? what nations come and go T 
 And how the living clouds on clouds arise 7 
 Infinite wings! till all the plume-dark air 
 And rude resounding shore are one wild cry. 
 Most birds perform their migrations duririg 
 the night; but there are some that travel only 
 by day, and others that stop not either by 
 nl-ht or by day. Among the first are the owl, 
 bkckbird, &c., and a great nunaber of aqua ic 
 birds; among those that travel by day, are the 
 crow, pie, titmouse, wren, woodpecker, chat- 
 finch, goldfinch, lark, swallow, and some oth- 
 
 flif-ht are the heron, wagtail, yellowhammer, 
 stork, crane, plover, swan, and wild goose. 
 These choose a bright moonlight season m 
 which to set out on their journey. 
 
 The flight of birds ha'* been estimated from 
 fifty to a'' hundred and fifty miles an hour, 
 though some heavy birds scarcely exceed thirty 
 milelan hour. Bishop Stanley mentions, in 
 his " Famihar History of Birds," an easy way 
 by which the flight of birds may be determm- 
 ed with tolerable accuracy. Supposing any 
 bird— a partridge, for instance— should nse 
 from the middle of the stubble, and fly a 
 straight line over a hedge, all the observer 
 has to do is to note by the second's hand of a 
 watch the number of seconds between the 
 bird's rising and that of its topping the hedge ; 
 and then ascertain the distance between the 
 point whence it rose and the hedge, by stepping 
 and counting the number of paces; when, sup- 
 posing each pace to be a yard, we have a 
 common rule-of-three sum. Thus, if a part- 
 ridge in three seconds flies one hundred yards, 
 how many yards will it fly in thirty-six hun- 
 dred seconds, or one hour ? _ , fl. .. 
 Another method of ascertaining the flight 
 of birds is by carrier-pigeons. The same 
 author tells us of a recent instance, in which 
 fifty-six of these birds were brought over from 
 Holland, and set at liberty in London. 1 hey 
 were turned out at half-past four o'clock in 
 the morning, and all reached their dove-cots 
 at home by noon; but one favonte pigeon, 
 called " Napoleon," arrived about a quarter 
 before ten o'clock, having performed the dis- 
 tance of three hundred miles at the rate of 
 abpve fifty miles an hour, supposing he lost 
 not a moment and proceeded in a straight line ; 
 but, as they usually wheel about in the air for 
 some time before they start, the first bird 
 must have flown, most likely, at a still quick- 
 
 ^ It is'probable that most birds perform their 
 ioumey to distant countries by stages of a 
 few hours' flight, resting and recruiting their 
 strength in convenient situations. We need 
 not suppose them often to cross the wide ex- 
 pause of the ocean, but take it at its narrowest | 
 portions, as the channel between France and , 
 England, the Mediterranean, &c., and so pur- i 
 suing their way across the continent. I heir | 
 power of remaining on the wing does not ex- 
 cite so much surprise as do the motives which 
 lead them to undertake such distant flights, 
 and the instinct which guides them so unernng- 
 ly in their aerial course ; for though we have 
 named the deficiency of food as one of the 
 probable causes of migration, this does not ap- 
 ply in many cases; and we are more ma 
 more at a loss to account for the facts relating 
 to several species of the feathered race, 
 
 I 
 
^"VTi 
 
 t intrrrr't tlifir 
 ifcllowharniner, 
 i(i wild goose, 
 ight season in 
 ey. 
 
 estimated from 
 miles an hour, 
 ly exceed thirty 
 jy mentions, in 
 3," nn easy way 
 ay be determin- 
 Supposing any 
 ce — should rise 
 )ble, and fly a 
 ill the observer 
 ■ond's hand of a 
 Is between the 
 iping the hedge ; 
 ice between the 
 dge, by stepping 
 ices; when, sup- 
 ard, we have a 
 Thus, if a part- 
 B hundred yards, 
 a thirty-six hun- 
 
 aining the flight 
 ms. The same 
 istance, in which 
 rought over from 
 I London. They 
 !t four o'clock in 
 1 their dove-cots 
 favorite pigeon, 
 about a quarter 
 jrformed the dis- 
 53 at the rate of 
 supposing he lost 
 in a straight line ; 
 bout in the air for 
 ,rt, the first bird 
 y, at a still quick- 
 
 irds perform their 
 E8 by stages of a 
 id recruiting their 
 ations. We need 
 ross the wide ex- 
 1 it at its narrowest j 
 ■tween France and i 
 1, &c., and so pur- { 
 continent. Their 
 wing does not ex- 
 the motives which 
 ich distant flights, 
 isthemsoanerring- 
 or though we have 
 food as one of the 
 m, this does not ap- 
 we are more and 
 or the facts relating 
 athered race. 
 
 Of all migrating birds the cranes nmy 
 perhaps be considered the most remarkabe. 
 Jn , ; cem to be most endowed with foresight, 
 „, have every appearance of consutatum 
 Zd regular preparation for the time of their 
 l" arturc. They utter peculiar cries several 
 .s before, an.l assemble with much no.se 
 a I bustle. They then form themselves into 
 uvoliues, making' an anghs at the vortex of 
 Xich one of their number, who is looked 
 , m as the general director of their proceed- 
 i^kes his place. The office of the leader 
 
 and moralists will be i)re8ented and embalmed 
 SutlWing no injury from translation, the on- 
 ^^Is wfu bo explored. I'lt-"--- i, l''^ 
 The benefit of such a mcdiuiu. Of such a 
 speech who but cai. be proud? In all tlm 
 properties of a langutfe it is great. Its Sh .1- 
 ing vocables, its significant l'"vs-ers, its hne 
 di^riminations, its mo estic compounds, leave 
 u,^ Zing to desire. Its tones stir like a clarion 
 and sooth like a lute. There is u ph.losop luc 
 radix and a multitudinous expression. It bus 
 inXorated each image of nutiK^^ 
 
 
 icc IS taKcn uy ..... .-- | - :^^^ ^,f tij„<,e charges we are very 
 
 bird," while he retires to the end of the line , , V^' j j though it declines to admit, and is 
 aid thus their orderly flight is accomphsliecK ; J^f'^XLf receiving. ^^^ 
 
 In order that birds may fly with ea e and , mt, p u„,.atural-it loves to adopt some 
 
 continue long on the ^-".'g' '^7 .f ""^S s er"L diulect-magniticent stores-sump- 
 Salnst the wind; and patiently do they wm , t r,,. g^.^^^^^^_^_^^^ p, ,„ expounded and 
 for a favorable time m this respect. 1 be sua enunciated. The soions grafted on it ml 
 
 den change of the wind will ^om.tme.^^-^^ \ ^3;,",^„,ened to its own temperament and 
 numbers of quails, which are heavy in their I'^^^/j^^ ji,;, „,„,nent science has made it 
 1 St. to be drowned in crossing the Mediter- \ ^^\^^^.^^^ ^^^j, and our literature stamps 
 San sea. Yet there are certain seafaring h"javorj^ permanence. It is 
 
 'bids so wonderfully endowed as to'^™?;"!*.Cr^^d^ ""mortal verse." Itmustalwnys 
 !!,..:L -nnrinnallv on the wing, and ^yl^^*^ 1 ^^ ""["jieJ, should it ever become obsolete 
 
 almost continually on the wing, and which 
 are often found ot the distance of more than a 
 ZusS miles from land, The giga^uc al- 
 batross is one of these, with its eno m^^a3 ex- 
 panse of wing, measunng. f^^^^'-^^^f 'j,;"^ 
 even more, from tip to tip. But the bira 
 Xl. surpasses all others i« its power of 
 fligh is the frigate-bird, which seldom visUs 
 
 hfland except at the breeding reason, and » 
 never seen to swim or rest ^f^'^^J.^^^;^ 
 With such an instance of adaptation to the 
 
 vviui suL. longer wonder 
 
 ' It^r pier bTwhfch our birds L enabled 
 tJ remain so lon^g on the wing as to perform 
 their periodical migration to other laads. 
 ■■ Yc tell U3 a tale of the beautiful earth, 
 Bird« that overBweep it >" P"'',^'''.^ ™^^ ' 
 Yet through the wastes of the iracklCBS air, 
 Vo hive /guide, and A-Ul we dcBpair? 
 Ye over desert and deep.have Passed 
 So shall we reach our bright home at last. 
 
 THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 The circulation of our language, will seem 
 to us no slight advantage, when we think on 
 tslonsr consecration as the vehicle of religious 
 ideas and of noble ^en^ments. In libraries 
 where now it is almost impossible to think ot 
 Tuch a collection, the minds of our theologians 
 
 and dead: its poetry, its criticism, Us legisla- 
 S its science, its ethics, insure it an im- 
 r^" aUty. Commerce repeats it, new worlds 
 "voke U as their parent speech, and we d.c- 
 rai: it to our antipUs. Without a„ augury 
 we may pred ct its course. It bears witii it 
 a tra^n^ofmaster-spirits. Wherever the enii- 
 erairwandcr he will talk it, though it be on- 
 &rechoes. Wherever the lum-standard 
 or the eagle-banner sweeps the a, r and flaps 
 to Z wi^d, the settler loves to sing his name 
 lavs Rivers unknown to song, forests w hicU 
 I the Ixe is just beginning to thin of the trunks 
 which cenuries have rooted, deserts in which 
 untU almost now the beast of prey prow ed 
 ' unmolested and not a flower grew-resound to 
 the words of our households, our exchanges 
 our Temples! Who can but exult that the 
 strong,™ e vivid, the flowing language, which 
 in our infancy we lisped, seems destined to 
 become The uLrance of knowledge of vij^^^^ 
 of freedom ! the passport, through J* naUon^ 
 of generous and manly sentiment, of pure and 
 exfuisite emotion! the signal-cry to the de- 
 sSng spirit of patriotism ! the key-note of 
 tCuDlifted chorus of liberty ! the holy ac- 
 tts C-l^-h Christianity shf P-l«r £ 
 message of peace and good-will to men . as 
 frrafurn,orratherariver-source,whatbW 
 
 , ings will our idiom pour out upon the world. 
 
 f:p.wys 
 
 
 fi-v- 
 
 i*^ 
 
 I. '««»« %,% 
 
 ^fe- 
 
leciJed proof of 
 inual labor, with- 
 » the bench of the 
 he ancit-nt motive 
 a later invention 
 Inygens, a native 
 ipplied it to the 
 ; and it has since 
 ock. 
 
 tower, divided in- 
 s of strongly gilt 
 i ornamented, and 
 ns of strongly gilt 
 
 =!l 
 
 La il llhe catholic feasts and holy days 
 
 S ve i/ns of the^,odiac, with the sun a.>d 
 n, ,„ pursuing their -urse, so that at - e 
 j,luuce we can ascertain in >vha /^ f j^f^ * f^. : 
 .o,liac they arc at the tunc. W fhm th s a^ 
 ,.!,. is a small clobe, poniling out the proper 
 L es and aspects of the moon •, and wukm 
 u 1 i. are the' Hxed stars setting, nttm'!\y. '»»; 
 ZZnt Orion, Great Bear, Casseiopeia, &c. 
 T 1 mr corners of this chamber are emb km- 
 ■!. 'al V rn.'raved with the names of those na- 
 £.f ^.hoiave con.,uered kingdoms at an 
 
 "'fLSithe second story are the minutes 
 
 ;::-±i^=a;::L:f:^^^^ 
 
 of the clock, the one hgure J^rns he hcmr 
 glass, as an cml)lem of time, the "'l J ™ 
 the sickle of dealh._ Above e^"^ \f .^J, . 
 ver figures is a Latm verse ' ^nd m the m I 
 die of the plate is a simple, yet correct y 
 mathematical representation of l'o«; j^e glob- 
 Xr form of thi earth is perceptible to the 
 eve Above, the minute-hand describes a 
 c^cuit ot- 24 hours, each half of the d.al- 
 Xte containing 12 hours; the day hours be 
 ng marked with the image of the sun, and 
 he hours of the night with the ™age o the 
 moon. On the four corners of the dial-plate 
 are engraved the four seasons of the yea . , 
 
 Vhe third story also consists of four divis- 
 ions whchprojec^t in the manner of a balcony . 
 '^und the Venire of the lower dmsio" m"ve 
 the seven silver figures of heathen gods, m 
 har^otr, every defy makes ts appearance 
 
 once in seven days, exactly '" ^""/'.^J'^Vv 
 remains for 24 hours, when it is relieved Dy 
 the next ; these godheads represent the seven 
 
 'Tletrrf of the second division is an 1 
 imaae of the virgin, holding her son Jesus in 
 h"r 'arms ; two aLels are seen vY'^F^^'Z ' 
 and garlands on iier head; and during tlie 
 perfonnance of the bells, several angels make 
 fheir appearance making thdr obeisance be- 
 fore the image of Mary and the Savior. 
 
 W thin the centre of the third division is a 
 metal bell pending on a gilt plate of copper, 
 r whi.di 'is represented the figment day. 
 Round this metal plate move four silver fag- 
 
 ?res?set in motioil by -f --^^'J-S'- 
 ing the four states of social lite. 1 he'« "T 
 ees point out the quarters of the hour, by 
 f trlkilig the bell ; the first quarter is represen- 
 
 ted by a youth, the second by a grave citi- 
 zen, the tliird by a Roman soldier, and the 
 
 .«;,. 
 
 *"YnMle lur'tlfdivision is likewise a metal 
 bell, on the sides of which there are cham- 
 bers; on the left side is the fe,.rese„tation of 
 Death, proclaiming the hours ot _ day and 
 St bv striking the bell; abo^;e it maybe 
 seen a "Latin inscription, fr.mi Romans vii. 
 ' 03. To the right side is the image ot tlie 
 i Savior, stepping ti,rward. with the ^.Je in 
 ! his hand, and above it the cross. This tigure 
 i proceeds every two minutes, in a « ";^v "?«"- 
 ner, and then for a moment, hides itself tr m 
 view; above it is a Latin verse, from the 
 prophet Hosea, chapter xiu. . 
 
 ' IHiese two figures arc of massive silver, 
 behind the bell is inscribed the name ot the 
 artist, and the date 1569. 
 
 The whole is covered with copper, beauti- 
 1 fully worked in filagree ; on the extreme top 
 L stationed a c<K:k, which at the close of the 
 ' chiming of the bells, spreads its wings, opens 
 its beak, and crows; after which it resumes 
 its former position. i „;u «„ 
 
 On the side doors are painted and gil fig- 
 ures of the Virtues, with flowers, obelisks, 
 aid other ornaments; and w thm are figures 
 of the Fates. These exquisite figures are 
 stated to have been engraved by the pupils. 
 %his clock is also stated to have been made 
 by Habrecht, for Pope Sixtus V. ; and m 
 many respects resembles the famous Strasburg 
 clock. 
 
 THE HEAD-STONE. 
 
 The cofTm was let doxvn to the bottom of 
 the grave, the planks were removed from the 
 heaned-up brink, the first rattling clods had 
 struck thL knell, their quick shovellingas 
 over and the long, broad, skilfully-cut pieces 
 of turf were aptl? joined together, and tnmly 
 ^aiSby the bTJng-spade. so that the newest 
 moumf in the church-yard was scarcely dis- 
 1 dngui«hable from those that were grown over 
 by the undisturbed grass and daisies of a 
 ' luxuriant spring. The burial was soon oyer ; 
 and the partyf with one consenting motion, 
 having uncovered their heads, in decent rev- 
 erencfof the place an.^ occasion, were beg^n- 
 S to separate, and about toleave the church- 
 
 ^^Here some acquaintances, from distant parts 
 of the paTsh, w4o had not had opportunity 
 o aKssing each other in the house that had 
 beloneed to the deceased, nor in the course 
 othf few hundred yards that the little pro- 
 cession had to move over from his bed to his 
 
 "^r^ 
 
H 
 
 it 
 
 r 
 
 V 
 
 290 
 
 THE HKAD-STONK. 
 
 irrave, were shaking hands quietly hut cheer- 
 fuUv, and innuiring after the weltare of each 
 other's families. There, a sn.nll knot ot 
 
 neighbors were spenkinR, without exaggera 
 tion, of the respectable character the deceased 
 hod borne, and mentioning to one another little 
 incidents of his life, some of them so remote 
 as to be known only to the gray-headed per- 
 sons of the group. While a few yards further 
 removed from the spot, were standing together 
 parties who discussed ordinary concerns, such 
 as the state of the markets, the promise of the 
 season, or change of tenants ; but still with 
 a sobriety of manner and voice that was in- 
 sensibly produced by the influence of the sim- 
 ple ccromony now closed, by the (luict graves 
 around, and the shadow of the sinre, and gray 
 walls of the house of God. 
 
 Two men yet stood together at the head of 
 the grave with countenances of sincere, but 
 unimpassioned grief. They were brothers, 
 the only sons of him who had been buned. 
 And there was something in their situation that 
 naturally kept the eyes of many directed umm 
 them, for a long time, and more intently than 
 would have been the case, had there been 
 nothing more observable about them than the 
 common symptoms of a common sorrow. But 
 these two brothers, who were now standing at 
 the head of their father's grave, had for some 
 yeors been totally estranMd from each other, 
 and the only words that had passed between 
 them during all that time, had been uttered 
 within a few days past, during the necessary 
 preparations for the old man's funeral. 
 
 No deep and deadly quarrel was between 
 these brothers, and neither of them could dis- 
 tinctly tell the cause of this unnatural estrange- 
 ment. Perhaps dim jealousies of their father's 
 favor— selfish thoughts that will sometimes 
 force themselves into poor men's hearts, re- 
 specting temporal expectations— unaccommo- 
 dating manners on both sides — taunting words 
 that mean little when uttered, but which 
 rankle and fester in rcmen.brance— imagined 
 opposition of interests, that, duly considered, 
 would have been found one and the same — 
 these, and many other causes, slight when 
 single, but strong when rising up together in 
 one baneful band, had gradually but fatally 
 infected their hearts, till at last they who in 
 youth had been seldom separate, and truly at- 
 tached, now met at market, ami, miseroble to 
 say, at church, with dark and averted faces 
 lilie diflerent clansmen during a feud. 
 
 Surely if anything could have softened their 
 hearts toward each other, it must have been 
 to stand silently, side by side, while the earth, 
 stones, and clods, were falling down upon their 
 father's coffin. And doubtless their hearts 
 were so softened. But pride, though it can 
 not prevent the holy affections of nature from 
 
 being felt, may prevent them from being 
 shown; ond these two brothers stood there 
 together, determined not to let each other 
 know the mutual tenderness that, in spit« of 
 them, was gushing up in their hearts, ami 
 teaching them the unconfessed folly and wick- 
 edness of their causeless quarrel. 
 
 A head-stone had been prepared, and o ner- 
 sop came forward to plant it The elder 
 brother directed him how to place it— a i)lain 
 stone, with a sand-glass, skull, and cross- 
 bones, chiselled not rudely, and a few words 
 inscribed. The younger brother regarded the 
 operation with a troubled eye, and said, h)ud 
 enough to be heard by several of the by- 
 standers, "William, this was not kind in you: 
 you should have told me of this. I loved my 
 father as well as you could love him. You 
 were the elder, ond, it may be, the favorite 
 son; but I had a risht in nature to have 
 
 mill f uuw X «■"•'■« « -•-., — 1 1. 1 
 
 joined you in ordering this head-stone, had 
 I not?" 
 
 During these words the stone was sinking 
 into the ei'.rth, and many persons who were 
 on their way from the grave returned. For a 
 while the elder brother said nothing, for he 
 had a consciousness in his heart that he ought 
 to hove consulted his father's son in designing 
 this last becoming mark of aflection and rosiiett 
 to his memory; so the stone was i)lantcd in 
 silence, and now stood erect, among the other 
 unostentatious memorials of the humble diad. 
 The inscription merely gave the name and 
 age of the deceased, and told that the stone had 
 been erected "by his affectionate sons." The 
 sight of these words seemed to soften the dis- 
 pleasure of the angry man, and he said, some- 
 what more mildly, " Yes, we were his aHec 
 tionate sons, and since my name is on the 
 stone, I am satisfied, brother. We have not 
 drawn together kindly of late years, and per- 
 haps never may; but I acknowledge and 
 respect your worth, and here, before our own 
 friends, and before the friends of our father, 
 with my foot above his head, 1 exprci^s my 
 willingness to be on other and bettor terms 
 with you, and if we can not command love in 
 our hearts, let us, at least, brother, bar out all 
 unkindness." , , , r i 
 
 The minister, who had attended the tuneral, 
 and had something intrusted to him to say 
 publicly before he left the church-yard, now 
 came forward and asked the eWer brother, 
 why he spake not regarding this matter. He 
 saw there was something of a cold and sullen 
 pride rising up in his heart, for not easily may 
 any man hope to dismiss from the chamber 
 of his heart even the vilest guest, if once 
 cherished there. With a solemn and almost 
 severe air, he looked upon the relenting man, 
 and then, changing his countenance into se- 
 renity, said gently : — 
 
 fi ummt ' U'nm'm'^ ip 
 
NATURAL TI'EOLOQY. 
 
 m from brinp; 
 srs stood thert! 
 let ench other 
 hot, in spiU) of 
 cir hearts, ami 
 folly anil wlck- 
 •el. 
 
 «re(l. nnci per- 
 it The (•Idor 
 (Ince it — a jilnin 
 uU, and cross- 
 11(1 a few words 
 ler regarded the 
 , Qiid said, loud 
 iral of the by- 
 iiotkind in you: 
 lis. I loved my 
 ove him. You 
 be, the favorite 
 nature to have 
 head-stonei had 
 
 one was sinking 
 jrsons who were 
 •etumed. For a 
 I nothiiijj, for he 
 art that he ought 
 I son in designing 
 ;ction and respect 
 
 was planted in 
 among the other 
 the hunilile d( ad. 
 ive the nnnie and 
 that the stone had 
 tiate sons." The 
 to soften the dis- 
 nd he said, some- 
 'e were his ailcc- 
 
 name is on the 
 r. We have not 
 te years, and per- 
 icknowledge and 
 e, before our own 
 ids of our father, 
 ad, 1 express my 
 and better terms 
 
 command love in 
 rother, bar out all 
 
 tended the funeral, 
 ,ed to him to suy 
 church-yard, now 
 the elder brother, 
 » this matter. He 
 r a cold and sullen 
 for not easily may 
 from the chamber 
 est guest, if once 
 solemn and almost 
 the relenting man, 
 ontenance into se- 
 
 . BclioM bow «oorl ft tbing It ta, 
 Ai'.il how becoming weU, 
 Together mich M brethren mo 
 111 unity to dwell. 
 
 Ill UMIfcJ ■«—-•- 
 
 The time, the place, an.l this beautiful cx- 
 
 preVXn "f a natural «t"'''"'^"\'^'"r ;?„,; 
 pressi.m ^^„,j^ ^^ not 
 
 1 J^r,. Inimunelv toward each other. 
 "iX bZhers'stood fervently, but com- 
 
 nofedlv, Rra^l-ing •''^'^^ "'^" ' u"" ' „ nf 
 E h^oUow Iha? lay between the grave of 
 
 sr^l^&n:st;iy:^;lt*s 
 
 fmm liie all <.f -Hist to .lust, the minister stood 
 r ,, \v>,pn his tongue demcd its oflice. 1 
 
 When the nalsY struck him for the last time. 
 
 Tears were in his eyes; I saw them there, 
 learswere 1" '"=• J , breath came 
 
 and on his cheek, too, wnen iiu 
 fmrnhislios. But of this no more, tie mea 
 S tWs aper in his hand ; and he made me 
 SVi Avas to read it to you over his 
 ^nvp I now obey Inm. ' MY sons, u you 
 S kt LXnes L quiet in Aa ^a- near 
 the dust of your mother depart not from my 
 burial till, in the name of God and Chn^t y^n^ 
 promise to love one another as you used to 
 
 bear bovs. receive my blessing. 
 
 SomeYurned their 'heads away to hide^^^ 
 
 tears that needed not to ^« ^^'^ J" ' ^" Vlong 
 the brothers had released ^''ch from a long 
 and sobbing embrace, many went npt° them 
 and in a single word or two, expressed jneir 
 inv nt this perfect reconcilement. 1 ^^^^"^'^ 
 SttSes walked away from Jl^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 ^"^""o^tlSl^lgBabCtrth^^^^^^^ 
 F;J off the same Bible when the mmister 
 ;i^':i^4twenoutattheirownre 
 
 nuest^, of which one verse had brrn repontrd 
 ^^fl,\T father'rt crave ; a larger sum than 
 Su was'on that'sabbath found in the ph.e 
 fo the poor, for love and chunty are ....«• 
 A Lever after, during both the r-'^'-^ «"'/''" 
 fr ubks of this life, the heart of the broth.-rs 
 were ^ one, and in nothing were they divided. 
 
 . in- . 
 
 NATURAL THEOLOGY. 
 
 Natural theology tells of the crea inn of 
 all thing^of the mig'hty power that fashioned 
 ad that sustains the universe ; of the exquis- 
 Uc skill that contrived the wings, and beak, 
 and feet of insects invisible to the nuked eye 
 an that lighted the lamp of day, and launched 
 "I'^osparrcometsathoi.snnd ti.nes largertlHin 
 the earth, whirling n million ot times switt. r 
 than a cannon-ball and burning with a hrnt 
 which a thousand centuries c.mld not quench 
 iTt exceeds the bounds of material «if' "-e. 
 and raises us from the creation to the Author 
 of nature Its office is not only to mark what 
 thinrrr;,but for what purpose they were 
 in&Y the infinite wisdom of an all-pow«r- 
 M Being with whose existence and attributes 
 S high prerogative is to bring us acqumnted. 
 ^Versons of such lives as should make 
 it eit emely desirable to them that there was 
 no God an^ no future state, might very well, 
 i?;inannhers dprivc grat tication from con- 
 
 theVa?n which reflection upon the past, and 
 
 f „Jnf the future, are calculated to mflict 
 fears of the tutur , ^^^^ 
 
 r sc enTe' de^i^es an int'erost' incomparably 
 Seater f^m the consideration that we our- 
 
 Ss wh" ultivate it, are ""'^t • V^Z," 
 selves, wno ^^ y^ to,jrown highest des- 
 
 Ses are i^vSved in the results of the inves- 
 l^r^on This indeed, makes it beyond all 
 
 mmm 
 
 ons. u. 'l""; "", ,he,°conn,.ect tl,™»lvc. 
 STSSblch 'of human knowWge, 
 with t"" g'""." - . ;„„ jnade subservient to 
 ?ST»? "Se »ly in'»h.t eomemnWion. 
 
 nrsrr£"M;,^^-te: 
 srorhoi."*p-^5"4 -«. 
 
 44iM9in 
 
 ■•*^ 
 
292 
 
 LIBEAUIEa AT CONSTANTINOVLB. 
 
 
 beyond the sDlur woy— giving out the kw 
 which bind* th« universe in cteriiul order! 
 1I(! tvHtrt, at hy uu inovitablo necewity, upon 
 
 the c(.iitcmi'l"t''>" "*' ''"= ^""^^ ^y^^ ^"""f* 
 and hnl.l8 it Ills hishest glory to Imve nmde 
 the evidence of his existence, ami llio .lispen- 
 BUtiona of lii» power, und of his wisduin, bet- 
 ter understood by man. If such are the pe- 
 culiar pleasures which appertnin to this sci- 
 ence, it seems to follow that those plnloso- 
 phers ore mistaken who would r(;stnct us to 
 a very few demonstrations— to one or two 
 instances of design— os suiricient i.roofs of the 
 Deity's power and skill iu the creulum id the 
 world. That onn sullicient proof of this kind 
 is in a certain sense eiKJugh, can not bo denied ; 
 u single .such proof overthrows the dogmas of 
 the udieist, and dispels the doubts of the skep- 
 tic ; but is it enough to the gratilicationot the 
 contemplative mind ? The great multiphca- 
 tionof proofs undeniably strengthen our posi- 
 tions ; nor can we ever allirm respecting the 
 theorems in a science not of necessary but of 
 contingent truth, that the evidence is sufti- 
 ciently cogent without variety and repetition. 
 But, independently altogether of this consid- 
 eration, the gratihcution is renewed by each 
 instance of design which we ore led to con- 
 template. Each is ditlercnt from the other. 
 Each step renews our delight. The hnding 
 that at every step we muko in one science, 
 and with one object in view, a new proof is 
 added to those before possessed by another 
 science, allbrds a perpetual source ot new in- 
 terest and fresh enjoyment. This would be 
 true, if the science in (juestion were one of 
 an ordinary description. But when we con- 
 sider what its nature is— how intimately con- 
 nected with our highest concerns, how imme- 
 diately and necessarily leading to the adora- 
 tion of the supremo Being— can we doubt 
 that the perpetually renewed proofs of his 
 power, wisdom, and goodness, tend to fix and 
 to transport the mind, by the constant nour- 
 ishment thus afforded to feelings of pure and 
 rational devotion 1 It is, in truth, an exercise 
 at once intellectual and moral, m which the 
 highest faculties of the understanding and the 
 warmest feelings of the heart alike partake, 
 and in which, not only without ceasing to be 
 a philosopher, the student feels as a man, but 
 in which, the more warmly his human feel- 
 ing's are excited, the more philosophically he 
 ha"ndle8 the subject. What delight can be 
 irore elevating, more truly worthy of a ration- 
 al creature's enjoyment, than to feel, wher- 
 ever we tread the paths of scientific inquiry, 
 new evidence springing up around our loot- 
 steps, new traces of Divine inteUigence and 
 power meeting our eye! We are never 
 alone ; at least, like the old Roman, we are 
 never less alone than in our solitude, we 
 
 walk with the Deity ; wo commune with the 
 Great First Cause, who sustoins at every in 
 Btant what the word of his |K)wer made. The 
 delight is renewed at each step of our prog- 
 ress, though as far as evidence is concerned, 
 we have long ago had priwf enough. But 
 that is no more a reason for ceasing to contem- 
 plate the subject, in its perpetually renovated 
 and varied lorms, than it would be a reuson 
 for resting satisfied with once seeing a long- 
 lost friend, that his existence had been sutli- 
 cicntly proved by one interview. Thus, in- 
 stead ot restricting ourselves to the pnxifs 
 alone required to refute otheisiii, or remove 
 skepticism, we should covet ihe indefinite 
 multiplication of evidences of design and 
 skill in the universe, as subservient in a three- 
 fold way to purposes of use and gratilicution : 
 First, as strengthening the foundation where- 
 upon the system reposes ; secondly, as con- 
 ducive to the ordinary purposes ot scientific 
 gratification, each instance being a fresh re- 
 newal of that kind of enjoyment -, and third- 
 U), us giving additional ground for devout, 
 ])lea8ing, and wholesome adoration of the 
 Great First Cause, who made and who sus- 
 tains all nature. 
 
 I 
 
 LIBRARIES AT CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
 "It is a ridiculous notion which prevails 
 among us," said Sir William Jones, many 
 years ago, " that ignorance is a principle of 
 the Mohammedan religion, and that the Koran 
 instructs the Turks not to be instructed." 
 There is little question that even now we are 
 too much accustomed to regard the followers 
 of that faith as necessarily rude and ignorant 
 beings, men who will neither cultivate learn- 
 ing themselves, nor allow others to do so; 
 there is still less question that the articles of 
 their creed afford us no ground for such an im- 
 pression. Mohammed not only permitted, but 
 advised his people to apply themselves to the 
 acquisition of knowledge; "Seek learning," 
 he tells them, in one of his precepts, "though 
 it were in China." The high estimation, in- 
 deed, in which he held it, is abundantly shown 
 in his extravagant declaration, that " the ink 
 of the learned, and the blood of martyrs, 
 are of equal value in the sight of Heaven. 
 Nevertheless, it must be confessed, that at the 
 present day there is no Mohammedan people 
 remarkable for proficiency in literature or 
 science; the existing race of Turks, who af- 
 ford us the readiest specimen of a Moslem 
 nation, are a set of barbarians, as proud as 
 they are ignorant. The early sultans, as well 
 as their predecessors, the Saracen calits, 
 I were the zealous potrons of knowledge ; " Be 
 
 J 
 
 — :'3»B«a5W«S^?S« 
 
 mm 
 
luno with tbo 
 1 at every in- 
 ■ mnilc!. Tiie 
 I of our pniR- 
 iH coiicf rnc(l, 
 ;no«sl'- Hut 
 11(5 to contcin- 
 illy renovated 
 1 he a rfu8on 
 seeing a long- 
 id bcfn sutii- 
 V. Thus, in- 
 to the pnHifs 
 III, or rcmovo 
 ihe iniloKnite 
 f design and 
 ent in a three- 
 grntificution : 
 dation where- 
 mdly, as con- 
 !g ot scicntilic 
 fig u fresh ro- 
 ll ; niul third- 
 d for devout, 
 iration of the 
 and who 8U8- 
 
 M M fctJ i r i 
 
 UTINOPLE. 
 
 vhich prevails 
 
 Jones, many 
 a pnncijilo of 
 that the Koran 
 le instructed." 
 en now we are 
 
 the followers 
 e and ignorant 
 lultivate leam- 
 lers to do so; 
 the articles of 
 for such an im- 
 r permitted, but 
 jraselves to the 
 leek learning," 
 cepts, "though 
 estimation, in- 
 iindantly shown 
 
 that "the ink 
 od of martyrs, 
 lit of Heaven." 
 ssed, that at the 
 mmedan people 
 in literature or 
 Turks, who af- 
 n of a Moslem 
 ns, as proud as 
 r sultans, as well 
 
 Saracen califs, 
 nowledge; "Be 
 
 LimiAlUKS AT CONSTANTINOPLK. 
 
 293 
 
 Sling » -r u'b '.s"S s bS 
 
 • „f Tnrlcpv have testihed to posterity 
 
 from our «"&/(re?green, rWack), and 
 •" '° r«l in a case of imikrmaterial, which 
 13 enclosed in »'="*«" ^ f^om the worms. 
 
 then again on the edge 01 I ^^^ 
 
 Cases, with glass or %'X« Ubrarv or in its 
 ranged along the ^f I'^^^^t.^^^s are 
 5^S:"Js^:^SSles. one above 
 
 ■"^ms-e librarie. are open on everjr d«y^«f 
 
 er part of th« ^^^^J^^ followed in the 
 I to the usual studies ^^mcn 
 
 of theinW beautiful .pec,m.i» ot pM- 
 
 plu. "VX"' ''X*b"."~».ributio». 
 lotprivuteindiviJu""- lM«c™» 
 
 s 
 
 r-'ff 
 
 
 y.S!$ 
 
 «^3»,*»«iwt;»«(^>itt'-^ ■ 
 
rM 
 
 
 71 
 
 £04 
 
 FIIANKNKBS AND HK8EIIVE. 
 
 a fine hnnil, ncncrnlly rogonU it ai ii duty to 
 iniikf n traii-rriiitof thu Koran nt mmin ]iPTm\ • 
 of hit lit''. iiikI lii^stiiw lh« i;i>|iy upon otm of | 
 fhf Kiliil'Klmn(!n. Notwithttnndinjj ihf nr- 
 <iHMiry (h'liriicM of liookst where printing in 
 riiii prnrti^eil, every citi/.i-n token eare to ne- 
 (iiiire n eertnin nurnl)er in the eourie of hiH 
 hie; iitiil the lawyer, tho iitatotirmii, or the | 
 man of letters, who jioBnefise* a lino library, 
 bciineathi it to some jiublic library.thot he 
 may receive the beiieilictions of thotio who 
 avoil themselves of hin liberality. 
 
 FRANKNESS AND RESERVE. 
 
 To strike ii proper medium between impru- 
 dent n|uiiii'.'-i of commnnication mid fnrbid- 
 dins reserve, is an attainment which will be 
 fimnd of conseipipncc in our progress throu;j;h ] 
 life. While an open ingenuous disposition i« 
 nnturnlly tnost attractive, it is, when carried 
 to an extreme, ottended with many serious 
 evils ; and, on the other hand, while a person 
 characteri/.ed i)y preat caution in his conver- 
 Bation avoids the ftxilish disclosures (if the 
 former, ho is in danger, if he maintoin too 
 close a reserve, of thereby repelling the friend- 
 ly feelings which depend on mutual knowl- 1 
 edge, nnd conseipient symoathy. Hut before I 
 attempting to jxiint out the course to b(! piir- I 
 sued in order to steer clear of both these ex- 
 tremes, it may be ns well to delineate a few j 
 varieties in culii class ; for while the general 
 etlect may be the same, the causes which lead 
 to it are often very dill'erent. 
 
 There are first, then, the constitutionally 
 reserved — those whose natural disposition it 
 is to withdraw, like the snail, within its shell, 
 from the gaze of the multitude, the tendency 
 of their minds being to restrain the outward 
 expression of their views and feelings. 
 
 Then there are the reserved from consider- 
 ations suggested by prudence. Having fie- 
 (|uently seen mischievous conseiiuences flow- 
 ing from making those with whom we come 
 in contP.oi the ropos'i iries of our information, 
 they II r 1 guard upon their lips, lest they 
 sh()ul(J be led, by too great freedom of inter- 
 course, into some awkward and unploasant 
 predicament. However necessary nrudencc 
 m this respect may be, persons ot tlli^. class 
 sometimes carry their caution to a riditndous 
 extent. So guarded is their correspondence 
 with all around them, that one would imagine 
 they believed themselves surrounded by per- 
 sons resembling the emissaries of the famous 
 or rather infamous Fouche, ready to seize on 
 every word and drag them into judgment on 
 account of it. iBuch persons seems to move 
 
 In an atmosphere of my«tory : fhey smrrely 
 know what they li-i 'hemsplvi-i, far le»s how 
 others are engaged. A deciiled remark M|Mm 
 character orevents never full-" fr>>tn their Ii|m; 
 the fHrth(!»t len^i ' they arc c\< t known to ao, 
 and I ven that is u -.trefeh, it to mtntion that 
 they had heard so and so — however, it wm 
 but a rumor, merely a float ii' report, as like- 
 ly to be false ns true. Wni such persons, 
 the reply " I don't know," is an iinpetietrnble 
 ipgis, repelling every curious itupiiry. To 
 judge from their conversntion, they turn the 
 contingency of the past into certainty and 
 adopt as thi'ir motto," Since ignorance is bliss, 
 'tis folly to be wise." 
 
 A third class we tind charnrterlzed hy dig- 
 nilied reserve. A number of those little in- 
 cidents and events which ]iossess interest in 
 the e»timati(m of others, ari' passed over by 
 them as unworthy of notice; they look with 
 a fiM'ling bordering on contempt \ipoii the trilles 
 which, judging from the conversation in vogue, 
 seem to iKicupy the attention of others. Their 
 taste becomes gradinilly more fastidious, and 
 as they find it imi>ossibfe to intioduce import- 
 ant and serious subjects at every season, and 
 in all eompnnies, the conseipience is, that they 
 learn to ri'tire into the sanctuary of their own 
 thoiiirhts for entertainment. 
 
 Then, again, there are the consecpjentially 
 reservtMl. Tho reserve of this class is to lie 
 undi^rstoixl with limitations; it rather consists 
 in the withholding sources of iiiforniutioii than 
 of the information itself. To say, " I read 
 so-nnd-so in the in-wspapers," or "such a jier- 
 son told me this," would in their estitnation be 
 an unpardonable loweringnf I heir conseipience. 
 Such phrases os " I understand," or " I am 
 told," convey a far grander nnd more indefinite 
 idea to their hearers, of their knowledge of 
 men and things. 
 
 Reserve, however, may very often proceed 
 from principle — from a rigid determiimtion to 
 say nothing but what is well authenticated, 
 and which will not prove injurious to the 
 character of any one ; and although such a 
 determination shuts up numerous subjects re- 
 8|)ecting which |)erfect freedom of intercourse 
 may be enjoyed, it also ])revents the person 
 actnig upon it from indulging in that kind of 
 conversntion in which it is most dangerous to 
 throw oil" reserve. 
 
 The causes leadin~ to freedom of commu- 
 nicati in are ns various as those leading to the 
 opposite. There is a constitutional frankness, 
 as well as a constitutional reserve — with some 
 ii -1 OS natural to communicate as with others 
 to refrain from communicating. The first of 
 this class may be denominated the benevolent- 
 ly frank. These take a philanthropic jilensure 
 in entertaining an • interesting those with whom 
 they meet, and, in order to ertect this end. 
 
St 
 
 ?hpy (trnrrrly 
 ^, (iir If'-*-* how 
 
 I rc»niirl< 'limn 
 "rumthi'ii .i| , 
 
 r known 111 -.), 
 ) rniritidfi flint 
 
 IWCVt-r, it ^VU^I 
 
 rcjiorf, ot likf- 
 
 Mllc'h pITUdll-', 
 
 II impfiicirnliln 
 ini|uiry. To 
 
 tlii'y turn tin- 
 rcrtniiity luid 
 
 uiroiirc in blisn, 
 
 teri/.iMl liy ilig- 
 thosn little ili- 
 less intcri'dt in 
 T liy 
 with 
 uiiiiii thf trilli'H j 
 Hiitioii in vogue, 
 otlliTs. Their I 
 fuHtiilioiis, mill 
 tioilucc iin|iort- 
 "ry Hcnwiii, niiil 
 ICO is, tliut tliry 
 ry of thi'ir own 
 
 iiisMcd over li' 
 tlicy look 
 
 ponnptinnntinlly 
 
 is clnss \* to l)(! 
 ; rather consists 
 nformiitioii thun 
 ) i^iiy, " I read 
 or "such a ])(;r- 
 ir cstiinntlnn bo 
 .•ircoiisei|U('nce. 
 nd," or " I Bin 
 more indotiiiite 
 knowledge of 
 
 y ofirn proceed 
 fcteriniimiion to 
 I authenliciUed, 
 njurious to the 
 tlihou^'h HucTi a 
 ■ous .subjects re- 
 in of intercourse 
 ents the person 
 in that kind of 
 ust dangerous to 
 
 dom of cominu- 
 se leadins; to the 
 tionnl frankness, 
 ;rve — with some 
 ;e as with others 
 g. The first of 
 1 the benevolent- 
 ithropic pleasure 
 those with whom 
 effect this end, 
 
 FllANKNESS AND IlKPKUVE. 
 
 „,..v make nil th*. .rocV oflnformntion wh ch 
 
 (JhU- ..t «nv time for the public h«'" 'ht. 
 
 S 11. ..n* rr..>.t a..iduou.ly .et th-"'- -. 
 
 , „, '„t.^r to liieBrnfifieaUonot their com- 
 
 uu--. Iftherq.!ytothe.|U<-t.on"I lave 
 
 'v^ h.-nrd m..und.Ho?" Im m the n.'Rnt.v«. 
 IH V wuh the utmost delight proced to give 
 a lilll. true, ond particular account of tho 
 ' h lu at ..r, t^inki..« th..,n.elves abundantly 
 
 which they lli'i'* Ponfef. ■ 
 
 As there ore the co,i»e.,ue,.n.lljr reserved, 
 «, there ore also the couse.i: Mttally unre- | 
 
 nerved If V""' ""»' » *«*='"^' '" ""^ "^ ." 
 l.tter. depend upon it it will not ^^f J^^ 
 ,o. The pleiwtire -f Hbowing t t he has 
 been l.UH disli.,«uishe.l , m thd mUltudc, 
 ,erpower.u«e.te..thon, -d th.^ecret .« 
 ,.,„n,'nunicatedtoa,lardj„ '^ ««='•' ;7""'« J 
 with strict injunct-ns tU ^ «»"'"'' 8«/" 
 farther, <onveyed, .erhapR, «iicVi termi M 
 Uefoll.vving: "N.'W. leM" ttliww'itgo 
 
 voml these walls, and I tell .t you k, wmg 
 Ihiit it will be perfectly sate" Xs ex.a^e 
 is always better than precept n i.aa.ijr 
 
 l,e conceived, that howi^ver 
 reasoniil;- may lie to its author 
 ert ft very ereat iiilluence on t'l 
 conduct It is intended to «was . 
 
 Another srade of this class at 
 vid.ials who speak freely of theih 
 
 opinions, their dinM«», tlieir w 
 !)ut all this vs done : roin motives 
 order to place themsolves in as 
 ' linht as possible. 
 ' "These various ciiuses ot tlie 
 tions which form ''>.■ subject ot 
 ,U,housh distinct in th.M.ry, are genera. . tound 
 blendi^l more or lc«s together m ar^.al hie, 
 sometimes one preponderating and -t^'"'' ^ ««« 
 another. In regard to wl.other tt is I, t to 
 ■ultivatc the one o' the other, it ^,11 be mU 
 hat tho path of safetv hcs in the muUlb he 
 Ktremes on either Bicfo being dangerous. 
 
 The iierson who keeps his sentiments, joys, 
 , ,d sorrows, to himself, will soon h'.d him- 
 if as isolated from the sympathy of his M- 
 1 .v-creatures as Robinson Cru.soe was m his 
 n ,ert island, having placed h;>nf f vAuntanly 
 i hat forlorn situation, to which Defoe s hero 
 V s forced by adverse circumstances. Uc 
 tl, H deprives himself of that interchange of 
 f,, line which enhances the joy of prosperity, 
 an 1 so'othes and sustains tho mind in adversity , 
 r the Creator has appointed the disclosure 
 of lur foehngs to those who can sympathize 
 wi 1 hem, as a kind of safely-valve, in those 
 Till, sof extreme emotion when the heart would 
 
 bii k if not thus relieved. 
 
 \ hile an individual of a too-reserved char- 
 
 actc r thus deprives himself of the benefit and 
 
 happinoM «ri.in«frotn «Kial mferchnnKe of 
 .. '.L- f...„..ii,ete voimoxite eharnctrr 
 
 sjve this 
 
 ill not ex- 
 • m whose 
 
 hose iridi- 
 
 'ves, tlieir 
 
 Clients ; 
 
 iiity, in 
 
 iiiible a 
 
 '! posi- 
 .rticle, 
 
 feel ng, one of 5 complete Iv op|«.«.te character 
 
 i« theri'by exposed to cvifi which, though ot 
 
 a ditVerent nature, are by no means le«H to bo 
 
 nvoid.'d. Such a pernon otien errs .v.ih re- 
 
 nard to those whom he makes his c.mtidnntH 
 
 —newly-formed friend«, casual acipiainlaiices, 
 
 or even perfect strangers, receive coiniiiniiica- 
 
 tions fit only for tho ear of intimate Iriends 
 
 on whose prudence reliance may be place . 
 
 Certainly, none need feel t»!'""<f '"• '';; 
 
 tinguishe.l by th.' ei .ifidenco ot such per^ms, 
 
 I which i. freely bestowed on any with w lom 
 
 ll.ev may happen to cmo in contact. 1 Hose 
 
 of Aus Chora. U.r err also in regard to the sub- 
 
 jeers on which they .p.'nk. Details respect- 
 
 i„,T ner^ ' >land family matters, which n light 
 
 thinkii. , i.ud prudent person wi.uld f '^'''l^J';";? 
 
 allow; g to pass beyou.i 'he circle in which 
 
 thev .curre.l. are made known to those whoso 
 
 only interest in them is the >fr"t'hcat.on ot 
 
 tl,.-ir curiosity, mid being lurnished vvith tho 
 
 means of cmimunicaling to others what was 
 
 80 thoughtlessly made known to theni. An-l 
 
 it were comii iratively well it an individual ot 
 
 this disposition restricted hi.nse f to his own 
 
 affairs; but it schlom happens that this is the 
 
 case. Ho who exposes his own concerns to 
 
 the public is not likely to be v.;ry chary abou 
 
 those of others, and ra.sh judgni. nts in regard 
 
 toeharacter uiid exaggerated or >ll-7' '^'"l'" 
 
 cated reports of matters are throwii about as 
 
 if the individual were utterly careless of the 
 
 iniuries which gl.'ing currency to such ntato- 
 
 i mints may inffict on those wlio are the sub- 
 
 ' .Tects of tLm. Many have had great reason 
 
 to reiicnt of such unreserved and imprudent, 
 
 not to say sinful communications. 
 
 But it may be said here, that n is far easier 
 to see tho evils on both sides, than to hit he 
 exact medium between unsocmblcncss on ^lio 
 one hand and imprudenco on tl'^"'l^"■ ^'' 
 it is; but still to reach this is a p-nt of some 
 importance in the minor morals ol ife, and it 
 is worth while to make an effort to '^o bo. 
 
 To gain this object wo should use discrini- 
 ination, both in regard to whom we sFak, 
 and what we speak ab<,ut. _ In reference to 
 the firstof these, our communications, especm^ 
 Iv in as far as they relate to personal teelings 
 1 or history, should grow more and more re- 
 ' served as the circle widens, for there are many 
 things which it would be quite proper for an 
 ndividunl to speak freely of in his owt. family, 
 which it would be manifestly imprudent to 
 talk of in the same manner to mere oc-iuaint- 
 ances or strangers; for while in the one case 
 such oJennessSends to strengthen affection 
 n the other it may only furnisli an alime-U to 
 the curious, or, as sometimes happens, w tapons 
 
 ^''fn'^retSTwhatweBpeakof.weshoul 
 
 all I 
 
 f rrf. 
 
 M 
 
 ':.i4 
 
 
 ^••-v. 
 
it 
 
 be careful to say nothing, either directly or 
 indirectly, for the mere jjurposc of showinj; 
 oil ouriielveb, our amiable character, our 
 knowledge, our connexions, and the like ; and 
 if wo are tempted to introduce subjects for 
 any such purpose, we should immediately 
 check ourselves, remembering the counsel of 
 the wise man — " Let another praise thee, and 
 not thino own lips." 
 
 Again, in all our communications, we ought 
 to have a strict regard to character ; putting 
 out of view altogether a worse motive, we 
 ought never, for the mere purpose of having 
 something interesting to say, thoughth.'ssly 
 make statements injurious to the character ot 
 others. On the other hand, we ought to avoid 
 making a mystery of trifles, and of those 
 thin!TS,''the communication of which, while it 
 raiiy" gratify others, can neither injure our- 
 selves nor them. 
 
 Free and unreserved communication ot 
 thought and feeling, is at once the cement and 
 charm of domestic life ; but there is a vast 
 variety of tojiics of general interest, which 
 may furnish us with subjects of both useful 
 and interesting conversation, in the other cir- 
 cles in which we may move, and thus pre- 
 serve inviolable those matters, the publishing 
 of which often manifests both imprudence ond 
 vanity. 
 
 THE SECRET OF SUCCESS. 
 
 Theke are some men who appear bom to 
 good fortune, and others whose destiny seems 
 to subject them to eternal failure and disaster. 
 The ancients represented Fortune as a blind 
 goddess, because she distributed her gifts 
 without discrimination ; and in more modern 
 times, the belief has been prevalent that the 
 fortunes of a man were ruled chiefly by the 
 planet under which he was bom. These su- 
 perstitions, however ridiculous, show at least 
 that the connexion between merit and success 
 is not very conspicuous, yet it is not therefore 
 the less jierpetual. To succeed in the world, 
 is of itself a proof of merit ; of a vulgar kind, 
 indeed it may be, but a useful kind notwith- 
 standing. We grant, indeed, that those quali- 
 ties of mind which make a man succeed in 
 life, are, to a great extent, subversive of 
 genius. Nevertheless, numerous illustrious 
 examples might be given of men of the high- 
 est genius being as worldly-wise as duller 
 mortals. It is the pretenders to genius, rather 
 than the possessor of it, who claim the largest 
 excmi)tion from those rules of prudence which 
 regulate the conduct of ordinary mortals, and 
 array thenxselves in the deformities of genius, 
 
 in the idea that they constitute its beauties. 
 There are some indiscretions, wo believe, to 
 which men of a vigorous fancy and keen sen- 
 sibility are naturally heir, and for which it 
 wouhi be unjust to condemn them with vigor, 
 as it would be to blame one of the cold-blood- 
 ed sons of discretion for being destitute of po- 
 etic fire. Yet every deviation from prudence 
 is a fault, and not to be imitated, though it 
 may sometimes be excused. ^ 
 
 The most important clement of success is 
 economy : economy of money and of time. 
 I3y economy we do not mean penuriousness, 
 but merely such wholesome thrift as will dis- 
 incline us to spend our time or money without 
 an adecjuate return in either gain or enjoyment. 
 An economical ajjplication of time beings lei- 
 sure and method, and enables us to drive our 
 business, instead of our business driving us. 
 There is nothing attended with results so dis- 
 astrous, as such a miscolculation of our time 
 and means, and will involve us in perpetual 
 hurry and difficulty. The brightest talents 
 must be ineflective under such a pressure, 
 and a life of experiments has no end but 
 penury. Our recipe for succeeding in the 
 world, then, is this : "Work much and spend 
 little." If this advice is fo.lowed, success 
 must come — unless, indeed, some unwise ad- 
 venture, or some acciilent against which no 
 humon foresight could provide, such as sick- 
 ness, conflagration, or other visitations of 
 Providence, should arrest the progress on- 
 ward ; but, in the ordinary course of human 
 affciirs, success will ever wait upon economy, 
 which is the condition by which property must 
 be earned. Worldly success, however, though 
 universally coveted, can only be desirable in 
 so far as it will contribute to happiriess, and 
 it will contribute to happiness very little, un- 
 less there be cultivated a lively benevolence 
 toward every animated being. " Happiness," 
 it has been finely observed, " ib the propor- 
 tion of the number of things we love, and the 
 number of things that love us." To this 
 sentiment we most coniially subscribe, and 
 we should wish to see it written on the tablet 
 of every heart, and producing its fruits of 
 charity. The man, whatever be his fame, 
 or fortune, or intelligence, who can treat light- 
 ly another's wo, who is not bound to his fel- 
 low-men by the magic tie of syrajiathy, de- 
 serves, ay, and will obtain, the contempt of 
 human kind. Upon him all the giftsof fortune 
 are thrown away. Happiness he has none ; 
 his life is a dream ; a mere lethargy, without 
 a throb of human emotion, and he will descend 
 to the grave, " unwept, unhonored, and un- 
 sung." Such a fate is not to be envied, and 
 let those who are intent upon success, re- 
 member that success 'is nothing without hap- 
 piness. 
 
 iiw- ' ui!i^iittjlifcjn^Maa ^Maii|iiliP 
 
te its beauties, 
 wo btlievf, to 
 • nnd keen sen- 
 id fur which it 
 ipm with viij;nr, 
 the cold-bldoil- 
 destitute of ]K)- 
 1 from prudence 
 :ated, though it 
 
 nt of success is 
 y and of time, 
 penuriousness, 
 lirift as will dis- 
 ■ money without 
 in or enjoyment, 
 time beings lei- 
 us to drive our 
 less driving us. 
 :h results so dis- 
 tion of our time 
 us in perpetual 
 [jrightest talents 
 uch a pressure, 
 las no end but 
 cceeding in the 
 much and spend 
 j.lowed, success 
 ome unwise ad- 
 [jainst which no 
 de, such as sick- 
 r visitations of 
 he progress on- 
 lourse of human 
 t upon economy, 
 ch property must 
 however, though 
 if be desirable in 
 [) happiness, and 
 iS very little, un- 
 'ely benevolence 
 " Happiness," 
 "ib the propor- 
 we love, ond the 
 ! us." To this 
 jr subscribe, and 
 ttcn on the tablet 
 ling its fruits of 
 ,-er be his fame, 
 10 can treat light- 
 bound to his fel- 
 (f sympathy, de- 
 the contempt of 
 he gifts of fortune 
 )ss he has none ; 
 lethargy, without 
 id he will descend 
 bonored, and un- 
 to be envied, and 
 ipon success, re- 
 ling without hap- 
 
44! 
 
 I'Ih' 
 
 • « 
 
 298 
 
 THE OLD CITY HALL, NEW YORK. 
 
 THE OLD CITY-HALL, NEW YORK. 
 
 The f)lJ city -hall in Wall street, at the 
 heail of Broad street, has been faithfully coj)- 
 icd from an engraving i)ublishe(l by Tiebout, 
 in 1769. It had been a short time previously 
 enlarged and inii)roved for the recci)tion and 
 accommodation of the first congress convened 
 under the new constitution of the United 
 States. In compiling the annexed succinct 
 history of its jiredecessors, we have drawn 
 largely from the original records of the com- 
 mon council. 
 
 The first stadt-house was erected by the 
 Dutch, while in possession of the colony of 
 New Netherlands and the city of New Am- 
 sterdam, under the jurisdiction of a schout, 
 bunjomaster, and schepen. 
 
 Hudson came up to the island of Monhat- 
 tan, called by the natives Manndoes, in the 
 month of October, 1609, then occupied bv a 
 ferocious tribe of Indians: he navigated as 
 hi'Th as All- IT", and on his return to Holland, 
 transferred Ins right of discoveryto the Dutch, 
 who i>fiersvii.-(f granted it to their West India 
 compuny. The latter the next year sent ships 
 to Manhattan to trade with the natives. In 
 1614, a fort was built by the Dutch at the 
 southwest extremity of the island, and also 
 another, called Fort Aurania (Orange), where 
 Albany now stands, which was settled before 
 the city of New Amsterdam; the latter prob- 
 ably was not permanently occupied until the 
 year 1619. From this period, it remained in 
 possession of the Dutch until the conquest of 
 the colony by the English, in 1664. A few 
 years after, it was granted by Charles II. to 
 his brother James, duke of York and Albany ; 
 and the two principal, indeed only cities at 
 that time in the colony, were called after him, 
 New York and Albany. 
 
 The date of the erection of the stadt-house 
 is not ascertained, but most likely it was 
 shortly after the settlement of New Amster- 
 dam. It was, as were most of the houses of 
 that period, built of bricks, called clinkers, 
 imported from Holland, as ballast for mer- 
 chant-vessels. Few specimens of these early 
 structures now remain here, but several yet 
 exist in Albany. The style of architecture, 
 with steep, tiled roofs, gables to the streets, 
 and alleys between the houses, was Spanish, 
 introduced by that nation into Flanders, now 
 Belgium, while that populous portion of the 
 Netherlands was possessed by Spain. In 
 consequence of the long-protracted civil and 
 religious wars between Spain and Holland, 
 which terminated in the independence of the 
 latter, a most rancorous antipathy existed on 
 the part of the Dutch oi New Netherlands 
 against the Spaniards, which was scarcely 
 obliterated from the minds of their descend- 
 
 ants until the American revolution. Evidence 
 of this fact is to be seen in the history of the 
 famous negro plot in 1741, when the absurd 
 idea was propagated and believed, that it was 
 instigated by the Spaniards of South America. 
 Indeed, the predatory wors of the English 
 against Spanish America, privateering and 
 buccaneering, fostered this early prejudice. 
 To kill or plunder a Spaniard, was regarded 
 neither robbery nor murder. Wnat dreadful 
 principles to cherish in a civilized nation ! 
 
 About the year 1695, the stadt-house began 
 to require repairs, adequate to render it safe 
 for the meetings of the court of common coun- 
 cil, and of the supreme court. After several 
 surveys and profound deliberations, the Ho- 
 gen Mogens of the day determined that it was 
 most expedient, as well as economical, to build 
 a new city-hail, at the head of Broad street, 
 and to lease or sell the old one. No lessee 
 ofTering, it was sold at auction to Mr. John 
 Rodman, merchant, for nine hundred and 
 twenty pounds, equal to two thousand three 
 hundred dollars. Three thousand pounds, or 
 seven thousand five hundred Jollars, were ap- 
 propriated toward building the new city-hall : 
 a large sum in those days to be raised by di- 
 rect tax on a population not exceeding five 
 thousand. 
 
 The stadt-house, or first city -hall, was situ- 
 ated in Dock, now Pearl street, at the comer 
 of Coenties (Countesses') lane. 
 
 The site of the new city-hall was laid on a 
 bastion and line of stone fortifications that ex- 
 tended across the northern boundary of the city, 
 from the East to Hudson river, whence the 
 name of Wall street is derived. This appears 
 by a petition of the corporotion to Lieutenant- 
 Governor Hanfen and his majesty's council, 
 to intercede with the earl of Bellamont, the 
 governor, then absent at Boston, for pennis- 
 sion, as the fortifications were dilapidated, to 
 make use of the stones for building a new- 
 el ty-hall, which, no doubt, was granted. No 
 ceremony appears to have taken place on lay- 
 ing the foundation, which was, probably, in 
 the spring of 1700 ; and the common council 
 held its first meetings there in the summer of 
 1703. This edifice, for a long time the most 
 magnificent in the city, was frequently im- 
 proved and embellished, until the revolution- 
 ary war. While in possession of the British, 
 it was occupied for the main-guard, and es- 
 caping the ravages of the enemy, it remained 
 entire, although much injured, until the evac- 
 uation of the city by the British forces, on 
 the 25th of November, 1783. 
 
 A room was appropriated in the hall for 
 the use of the New York Society I library, 
 founded in 1754, whose collection of books, 
 though not extensive, was select and valuable, 
 and was totally plundered by the British. 
 
^^^%i 
 
 tion. Evidence 
 e history of the 
 hen the absurd 
 ved, that it was 
 South America, 
 of the English 
 rivatccring and 
 early prejudice. 
 1, -.vas regarded 
 
 AV'nat dreadful 
 ized nation ! 
 adt-house began 
 3 render it safe 
 f common coun- 
 , After several 
 ■ations, the Ho- 
 lined tliat it was 
 nomicol, to build 
 of Broad street, 
 one. No lessee 
 ion to Mr. John 
 le hundred and 
 
 thousand three 
 isand pounds, or 
 Jollars, were ap- 
 e new city-hall : 
 be raised by di- 
 t; exceeding five 
 
 y-hall, was situ- 
 et, at the comer 
 e. 
 
 all was laid on a 
 fications that ex- 
 indaryofthecity, 
 iver, whence the 
 d. This appears 
 m to Lieutenant- 
 lajesty's council, 
 f ]3elIamont, the 
 ston, for pcrmis- 
 •e dilapidated, to 
 
 building a new 
 iras granted. No 
 ken place on lay- 
 ,-as, probably, in 
 
 common council 
 in the summer of 
 ng time the most 
 is frequently im- 
 il the revolution- 
 on of the British, 
 in-guard, and es- 
 emy, it remained 
 d, until the evac- 
 Jritlsh forces, on 
 3. 
 
 d in the hall for 
 Society I library, 
 llectiort of books, 
 lect and valuable, 
 , by the British. 
 
 The present library was renewed in 1789. 1 
 r hL-er also co'ntained a large Btan.n^ | 
 arms and equipments purchased by the cor 
 Nation in 1764, which were seized by he 
 ^higs on the Sunday afternoon, ^'fen the 
 Tews of the battle of Lexmgton, 19th of 
 AiTr 1, 1775, arrived, and threw the c.ty into 
 fhe u most Consternation. The chief persons 
 oncerned in the sei/.ure. viz Colonel sac 
 Sears, Col. John Lamb, M/DougaU Wd kt 
 1 and others, w.re the " Liberty Boys, so 
 ' c" ed who imuuMliutely assembled in Van 
 Dvck's bull-alley, northeast corner of Broad- 
 S; and John st'reet, and formed a company 
 which patn.llc.l the city to prf=vcnt any .li.- 
 
 1 natrolicd iiu: "-"-j '■" i„ •' .. , 
 
 t„rbam?es-their parole was Boston, counter 
 i, Leri»^(on. This was the first resort 
 n arms in tfie province of Nr ^ York. . 
 ' Ccity r tate in the Union suHered in 
 proporS,! to New Vork-a frontier at b.^h 
 extremities; exposed on the north to the 
 nredaTo y incursions of the Canadians and 
 Ens while its capital at the south was 
 ' Sr^ne fifth desnllued by the aw ul con- 
 flagration on the '2lBt of September 1776, 
 shortly after its occupation by the Bntisli, 
 who kept possession until the pea^ of 1783 
 If the Tvacuation, on the 25th of Novem^^^^^^ 
 the patriot families returned, after a tedious 
 and distressing exile of seven lo"? >'««"• »" 
 mourn over their homes, 'levfated or n^^u 
 ins-their fortunes reduced by ^Vr^''^^^^ 
 currency, with little remaining -f^J^f 
 
 themsefves in the enjoyment . '""™«;. 
 nlain but redundant comfor ineir ue 
 Sants of the present day .ad the enter- 
 Sng inhabitants of this commercial empo- 
 Kf the ocean an * ihe lakes, can but feebly 
 Sate the privations and sufferings of the 
 
 great strugglo for hberty, the A ^^ 
 
 which wa8 by '"^^ ,J'",7,,"e^,' airaoit miraculous, 
 which present Wf °' '»"« 1'^.^™ ^^^ perseverance 
 
 terprises^nd ready at all times to^w'-y^ , j ^f 
 r"f'r;;udThoat.cffi.he;n^"ve, together 
 the patnoUo o«"°' ''™ "^ns ^ Liberty." Tlieir or- 
 
 S^FSSC^By^hS 
 
 ?a^?^t%^iHTofa:fi^{^^^^^^ 
 
 their peraevering mdnstry and «e»'Jf,hC ^hese 
 
 excit^d.lo OPP"''^ «'' f "„', ',,'°„rofTe S^ armies 
 bold spirits formed the nn^le'is o, ^ 
 
 of the ttevolution ; a°^ '» » ° t«^,^,^, ^,o,„tion 
 
 :i;i?^s«|^''lsri;;^i:';^^^ 
 itrtS'jc^i^S^rrrir^^^^s-^-nd 
 
 glorious republic 
 
 anti-revolutionary famdics, whose survivors 
 ma, say, as Augustus did of Rome we found 
 our city in brick, and leave it m marble. May 
 thev never lose sight of the plain, simple .ru- 
 cality and virtues of those iirogenitors whose 
 word was their bond, and whose morals were 
 irreproachable. 
 
 In the fall of 1784, the revolutionary con- 
 gress removed to this city, and the court-room 
 in the citv-hall was fitted for theiri.se. On 
 the a.loption of the new constitution, more 
 extensiv^ accommodations were required for 
 the senate and house of representntivt-s about 
 to convene in the city, lor which purpose the 
 old edifice was entirely renovated. a...l an ex- 
 tensive addition mode in the rear. i\^ ^f 
 ate-chamber was in the f.irmer, and that for 
 the house of re|.rescntatives in the latter. 
 The expenses of these extensive improve- 
 ments were defrayed by lottery. Mnj. L En- 
 Tan t a French enginee'r, of great « "'it^^^;^" 
 he service of the United States during the 
 war, was the architect, ami his skill and taste 
 displayed in this edifice were universally ad- 
 miredf and gave the chief spring to a more 
 Improved style of architecture in public bmld- 
 ings throughout the United States. 
 
 \n the spring of 1789, the first congress un- 
 der the new constitution assembled in this 
 city, and met in the new edifice. On the 30th 
 of Ipril, George Washington was inaugurated 
 the tire presilient, in the gallery in front of 
 tJe senate chamber, ^.l view of an immense 
 concourse of citizens collected in Broad street 
 -the doors, windows, and roof of every honae 
 were thronged with exulting spectators. 1 ne 
 Tath of office was administered by Chancellor 
 Livingston, on a superb quarto bible, then be- 
 longing to the grand lodge of the state of 
 ' Ne^ York, which is carefu ly P'-c^f .^^^by 
 St John's lodge. No. 1, having the following 
 f:d^pZ im'printed in gold letters on «s 
 cover of an event so auspicious to the pros- 
 perity and happiness of the United States :- 
 
 .. On this sacred volume, on the thirtieth 
 dav of April, A. M. 5789, in the city of New 
 York was administered to George Washmg- 
 S thl fir«t president of the United States 
 of America, the oath to support the constitu- 
 tion of "he United States. This important 
 ceremony was performed by the most wor- 
 shS grand-mister of free and accepted ma- 
 Ktle state of New York^^ the Honor^^^^^^^ 
 Robert R. Livingston, chancellor of the state. 
 .. .Fame stretched her wings, and wkh her trumpet 
 
 . Oreat WMhiiigton is near-what praise is daef 
 .. < What title shaft he have t She paused---and sa id 
 
 The standard belonging to the se-ond re^ 
 I ment of New York state artillery held near 
 
 
 4* ; 
 
r — 
 300 
 
 
 LINDLEY MUIIHAY. 
 
 the iiicsidcnt on the occasion, is still m pos- 
 session ..(• the cori)oration of the city, which 
 prescnf.l another elegant stand of colors to 
 the r."'inxent in exchange. May the bihle and 
 standard be preserved and transmitted to u- 
 ture generations, as proud memorials ot tins 
 imiiorliint e|>ocli in our national history. 
 
 Tills ediiicc, becoming ruperannuated, re- 
 (luiriii" constant and expensive repairs, and, 
 moreover, not conveniently adapted tor the i 
 increasiii' courts and municipal ollices, was, | 
 after thc'building of the third, ineseiit marb e 
 citv-hiill, 111 the head of the Park, the pride , 
 of "the eitv and admirotion ot every visiter, 
 ,lein..lisli,a ill Iril-'. and the site hud out in 
 l„ts and sold to private individuals, i he 
 Uniteil Suites afterward inirchased buildings 
 upon the «te for a euslomhouse, which in 
 its turn became too eonliucd -ud inconveni- ; 
 cnt for the immensely growing comniercia 
 operations of the city, and has been replaced 
 by the present splendid and more commodi- 
 ous structure. 
 
 LINDLEY MURRAY. 
 
 LiNDLKY Murray, the " prince of Enghsh 
 craininarians," was an American. He was 
 born in the memorable year 174.'5, at Swetara, 
 near Lancaster, in the state of Pennsylvania. 
 His father was an active and enterprising [ler- 
 son, very anxious to imiirove his circutnstan- 
 ces, and to raise his family to independence. 
 While he was following the occupation ot a 
 miller, he thought of devoting his attention to 
 some other branch of business, and began 
 tradin" to the West Indies, to which he made 
 several successful voyages. Latterly, he be- 
 came an extensive ship-owner, and engaged m 
 a great variety of mercantile pursuits, by which 
 he amassed a considerable fortune. 
 
 To his mother, an amiable and clever woman, 
 voun-r Murray owed much, and he was sen- 
 sible of it. lie held her in greot esteem, and 
 cherished toward her the feelings ot a most | 
 atiectionate and devoted son. Both his parents 
 were members of the society ot tnends, and 
 they were iiious and exemiilary persons. I he 
 Bible was read daily in the taimly ; and one 
 of the first things which made a strong im- 
 iiression on his mind was seeing his lather 
 sheddin-j tears as he sat in a corner oi the 
 room, perusing by himself the sacred page. 
 This may ajipear to some a trifling incident ; 
 but such was its influence upon the rmnd ot 
 Lindley Murray that he contmued to reter to 
 it with gratitude and gladness to the end o. 
 his days. „ , , ., , 
 
 Lindley was the eldest of twelve children. 
 
 „. ey was tne eiuesi oi iwciv^^ v,.... 
 
 In his iniancy he was very delicate. He was 
 
 playful and frolicsome, howc'er; ar.d, being 
 weak and sickly, he was greatly indulged, 
 especially by his grandmother, who liv(;d in 
 the fanifly. Indeed, he was, in every sense 
 of the term, a " spoiled child ;" and, as was to 
 be expected, became very jx evish and obsti- 
 natt;. He was full of mischief ami tricks, some 
 of which indicated anything but an amiable 
 disfiosition. As he was not corrected, he be- 
 came so forward and ungovernable that it was 
 found necessary to retnove him from the ob- 
 servation of hi"s indulgent grandmother, mid 
 place him under the care of an aunt. She 
 was a woman of great kindness, as well as 
 firmness of character; and it wus not long till 
 the wayward, mischiev(m9 boy found that he 
 was under a very dilVerent kind of training 
 from that to which he had formerly been sub- 
 jectcil. To this discreet ond excellent relative 
 he was much indebted ; and in after-life he 
 fre(iuently confessed that to her wise ami 
 salutary management he owed in a great meas- 
 ure his' future eminence. 
 
 When about seven years of age, he was 
 sent to the city of Philadelphia, that he might 
 have the benefit of a better education than 
 could be had ot Swetara. But he was not 
 Ion" at the academy of Philadelphia till he 
 rctnovcd with his parents to North Carolina. 
 Their residence there was temporary, and in 
 1753 they settled at New York. Lind! .-y was 
 sent to one of the best seminaries in the city, 
 and every attention was paid to his education 
 by his |)arents and teacher. Notwithstanding 
 his fondness for play, he scarcely ever neglect- 
 ed to perform the tasks which were ])rescribpd 
 to him, and he did so to the satisfaction of his 
 teacher. He made great progress in his ed- 
 ucation, and gained a reputation for talent and 
 scholarship. 
 
 Krom school, young Murray was removed 
 at a very corly age to the counting-house of 
 his father, who was most desirous that his 
 son should follow the mercantile [irotession, 
 though all his eflhrts and solicitations to this 
 elVect failed ; Lindley had no relish font, and 
 would be anything but a merchant. His 
 father jiersevered in his purpose. He was a 
 severe disciplinarian, and went the length ot 
 compelliiii; him U) enter on an emploj;nient 
 which was most uncongenial to his wishes. 
 This, together with certain family regulations, 
 appeared to him so unreasonable that he re- 
 solved to withdraw from the countinjf#oiise 
 and the parental roof, and begin the world tor 
 himself. After having received a severe 
 chastisement from his father, he packed up 
 his books and any little jiroperty he possessed, 
 and set out for a town in the interior ot the 
 countiy, where there was an ex:cellent semi- 
 nary. Being respectably connected, he was 
 received into the establishment as a boarder. 
 
 1 
 
 tmsm 
 
 mmm 
 
 mm 
 
LINDLEY MUHRAY. 
 
 301 
 
 ft*:' 
 
 •»er ; ar.d, being 
 ;reatly indulswl. I 
 er, who lived in | 
 s, in cvf ry sonse 
 ;" and, an was to 
 fovish and obsti- 
 •t'nnil tricliH, some 
 1 but un amiable 
 coiTf'cti'd, he be- 
 rnablp that it was 
 him t'niin the oh- 
 >randinotlier, and 
 )!' an unnt. 8!ie 
 (hiess, as well as 
 t V as not lonj; till 
 bov found that he 
 t kind of training 
 ormerly lieen sub- 
 1 fxeclfeiit relative 
 (1 in after-life he 
 to her wise and 
 ed ill a great meas- 
 
 ■8 of a;^e, he was 
 ihia, ihat lie mishl 
 er educari.m than 
 But lie was not 
 liladelpliia till he 
 to North Carolina. 
 tein]>orary, and in 
 ork. Lind;?ywas 
 liuaries in the city, I 
 .id to his education I 
 
 Notwithstanding 
 ircely ever neglect- 
 ieh were jirescrilicd 
 e satisfaction of his 
 progress in his ed- 
 ;ation for talent and 
 
 irray was removed 
 counting-house of 
 t desirous that his 
 Tcantile jirofessioti, 
 solicitations to this 
 no relish for it, and 
 a merchant. His 
 urpose. He was a 
 went the length of 
 nn an employment 
 nial to his wishes. 
 1 family regulations, 
 sonahle that he re- 
 the counlin£!'<|»o"sc 
 begin the world for 
 receivid a severe 
 ther, he packed up 
 operty he possessed, 
 the "interior of the 
 I an excellent semi- 
 r connected, he was 
 ihment as a boarder. 
 
 While here he prosrcut.'d his studies wih 
 3ardor.,u.d\vould have been perb^et ly 
 h n 1 y i>ut for the sorrow which he tlicmuh 
 Sl,L.nee would on-aMon his n.other. 1 bat 
 
 «l,sen(,e, how..v.-r, was of ■^1""-.V''Y";";"; • "'" 
 
 .1 a mrlieular iriend at Philadelphia, a 
 
 vouthal.outhisownage.towhonihe,m,da 
 
 visit. When ahnil t.) leave the citv . u «i. t 
 ,.„,,„lnTmn who had dine,! at ..slathers a 
 
 ,ho.ttiuie before, wh.. asked Imn bow lo^.g 
 
 1„, ,.xpeete.l to re.nai.i. H'" ««>'l '"■ ^^"; 
 
 ..just setting oir." The. g.-utlruian lia.l just 
 ! I,;...,, with a letter to the postolli.'e. b.it was 
 ' t-,„ late; ai.-l it bei.ig about Inismess ot givat 
 
 inip-.rln.ice, be .VM.iestedl.i.ii to deliver It wuh 
 
 l,i ' own baud as so.,., as h.' arrived at >< vv 
 , York. Young Murrav was taken by surprise. 
 i 1„. could not ...uster sulli.M.'.-t coun.ge to s.af 
 ' ,„ l,„„ his sit.iation, iu.d took charge of tie 
 ^ l.tter. At r.rst he thought ot puttin- it into 
 ii ,Uo postolfirc; but having eiyia^ed to .leliver 
 ' i, p' rso..,.llv. he eould not tl.u.k of break.... 
 his word. H<- hurried .m to New Y.nk, a..d 
 ', ,l,.Uvere,l the letter, expeeti.ig to return i.n- 
 :, ,a,diately; but the boat which cn.ss.^d 1h^ 
 !l |,av did not sail till next mor.i.ng. and he 1 a 
 ^i ,0 remain over the night. Tli.mgh he ha.l 
 il conducted his business with great ';"'"i«m, h. 
 i! was perceived by s<nne person who knew him. 
 I \n uncle visited him, who urged h.iu strongly 
 I ,0 go home, telling him at the ^«!«e tm>e <> i 
 I th<- distress of his mother on his account.; 
 Aftersome remonstrunee he agreed t'"-'»l "1'" ' 
 'her- she received him nllectionately , imd 
 Ij ,lt..-ing the interview his fatb.^r came in. He 
 '' saluted him tenderly, expressed great sntis- 
 facion at seeing him again, and they spe , 
 the evening together in great harmony and , 
 allection. A p.'rson was .lespatched next day | 
 to the place of his retreat, to settle all accounts 
 and bring back his property; thji^.^'"? ^T '^Z I 
 folly was hai.pily terminated, and his lather s 
 fireside was <learer to h.m than ever. T 11 
 his death he referred with sorrow to the Jolly 
 ..f ..,i,;nii hn was jTuiltv in leaving his home. 
 
 ileatn Ue reierreo wuii .^ -...,.. - : , -^ 
 ot which he was guilty m leaving his home 
 and likewise with gratitude to the "—-•'"; 
 which he was brouuht back. In one of his' 
 Mters he says-" When 1 reflect on this rash 
 ,„„n,nprudent adventure-on the miseries m 
 which it might have involved me-and on tlie , 
 slv'ular manner in which I was restored to 
 ,l,,n,„som of my family-I can not avoid see- 
 1,;. the hand of Divine Providence m my 
 pn-ervation, and feeling that T ought to be 
 h,n„'.;ly and deeply thankful for the gracious , 
 
 '"'slS'^lr his return to New York, he I 
 solicited the privilege of a private tutor t.o 
 ..id him in his studies, with which request his , 
 ^ther kindly complied. The ff"™"""]:; 
 pointe,! was learned, and talented, and most 
 Ittentive to his charge. Lindley commenced 
 
 and prosecuted his studies w.th d. igenee m.d 
 alacritv. He rose.'ariy.a..<lsat ..p ate. 1 h.s 
 dose .■.pplicalion, however. i..-oved too m.ieli 
 torn eonsiit..tion n.itu-ally del.c.ite: the in- 
 cessant stu.lv a.i.l conli...'ment injuiv.l his 
 h.'altb, and lie w.is oblige.l f.)r n t.ir.e t.. almte 
 the a.-.i..r of his pi..suits. and to .loui bodily 
 ex.-rcise with mental appli'-ation. _ 
 
 Wh.'U uniler the superinte...le.ice ot th.s 
 l,.ur..(Ml and faiihf.il pivcept..r, he was very 
 „„v an.l f,oli.-some, a.,.1 was led H appears ^ 
 r. ,•„„, U.-...V folli.'s mal tra..sgre.siohs. l?.it ; 
 he ha.l a lu-h v-'.ieratio,. f..r tl.osr who w.'.-.. j 
 trulv .vl...i.ms, an.l b.rall b.H.kstl.at luculeafed 
 „.„n.r,tv"a..d vi,tn.-. Kv.mi at this pe.-.o.i. 
 ihou^dMiot .l...-ide,lly th.- s,.l.,.vt ot rel..n.us I 
 i.npressio.is. b.' ha.l a giviit .sl.MM.. I..r .bi.s- 
 tia nitv. S.ane ..f his inti.nat.^ a.M|..a.nlan.-es 
 !re^k..p.i.'-^an.l.i.Ms.s; 1...'... It'.- ..^...- 
 ,„..nts which tl.ev ...Ivam-ed. and all th..> ...tidel 
 
 Udi.-a.io,,swhiVh they pu. ..i.ohish.in.s 
 ;,ov..r .listurbe.l his niiixl or l.'.l h.n. to .h.ubt 
 the .livine .a-igln of the Christian rehfi'."... 
 
 Whe.i between s<-ve..tee.. an, e.Ld.teen 
 , v,.ars,.f age, he became so attache, t.. literary 
 ;,u.-.uilsthat th.-c.,.u.ti..g-h..ns.. had i.ochainis 
 f..r him. To lollow his fa.her-s b,.s,ness-to 
 be a mer.dia.it-he w.ml.l not cns.'nt. it 
 seem.Ml to hiin a most unint.Test.ng and un.n- | 
 .dlectual employment. He -...miumeated 
 his wishes t.. his father, an.l expresse.l his n- 
 Untion to f.illow the l..gal I-f--';-. '1!^ - 
 proposal was strongly ob ecfd to. H s lath. 
 virin.le.1 him of itsUMnptations-..! the smal 
 return it w..nl.l viel.l him c...n|.are.l with ^^hat 
 C W..U1.1 lecdve if h.. became a ."''n' f"" " 
 and the anxiety he felt that he shou 1. assist 
 him in his mercantile pursmis; but al argu- 
 
 „;:nt an.I persuasion faile.l ; ^^'^.^^^^l 
 e,l tof..llow a lit-'rary J.rotessi.m, th ugh^ 1^^^ 
 his father's estimation, it was neither so lu.^ra 
 tive nor so honorable as that ol a merchan . 
 
 The otHce in which Mmray was placed o 
 acmire a kii.iwledge of the law was (me ot 
 ?he iK-t which c.uld be ha.l in the .Mty of 
 S:wY.irk. The principal was Ben,im.n 
 Rissam, Es.,.. an intimate tneii.t oi »";»;"[' 
 a man of great integrity and einmence n h . 
 pr^'^sion. .T..bn Jay, Es.,.. a terwar. g.v- 
 em.r of New York, was his felb.w-student-- 
 a V m I" >nan wh.. then gave ui.licat,..ns ot 
 mle an.l excellence. With these advantages 
 ^ ,e m."ecute,l his stu.Ues with /.eal an.l .dac- 
 1 rity an.l at the cb.se of the fourth year he 
 ' w?s .-alle.! to the b.ir, an.l receive.l license to 
 i ;^.tise as both counscd and attorney, ojjn^- 
 n- to the .Mistom .>t that time. Hi.-, su. ctss 
 exceeded his expectations; and at the age of 
 twtMUV Nv" he mirried "a young w.mumot 
 Pson'al attracti.ins, good sense, a uuist amia- 
 ble .lisp.,siti<m. and of a w.nthy and icpecta- 
 Ide family." 
 
 ,«t 
 
 m^ 
 
 ''^^^iSl 
 
 flg^p^auiT^^v^l.-, ir: ■ 
 

 Shortly after liis marriage his father's busi- 
 ness reciuired hiir to go to Eiiglatiil, and to 
 remain ior a time in that country. Circum- 
 stances connected with his own profession ren- 
 dered it necessary for him to go there likewise. 
 In 1771 they returned to New Vork, where 
 he resumed the practice of the law. He was 
 exceedingly attentive and laborious, and was 
 generally esteemed for his jirofessional knowl- 
 edge, as well as his private worth. He never 
 encouraged litigation, "ven when he saw it to 
 be for his own jiecuniary advantage. He 
 uniformly recommended a settlement of difler- 
 cnces by arbitration, and never, in the whole 
 course of his j)ractice, did he undertake a case 
 about the justice of which he had a doubt, or 
 advocate the claims of an individual which he 
 thought unreasonable. He gained for himself 
 the reputation of an "honest lawyer;" and in 
 consequence of his integrity as well as his 
 ability he acquired great celebrity, and enjoyed 
 for mony years great success. 
 
 But " there is o tide in the affairs of men:" 
 like others he had only his day. About this 
 time the troubles in the colonies commenced, 
 which were followed by a general failure of 
 proceedings in the law courts of this country. 
 This circumstance, together with a severe 
 illness which impaired his health, induced him 
 to relinquish the profession of the law, and 
 retire for a time into the country. He went 
 to Islip in Long Island, about forty miles from 
 New York, where he remained four years. 
 They were the idlest and most unprofitable 
 years of his life ; and to his detth he spoke 
 of them with regret, and with unqualified 
 condemnation. He then returned to New 
 York, and began business os a merchant. His 
 father gave him unlimited credit in the im- 
 portation of goods from England ; and by 
 perseverance and a great command of capital 
 be succeeded beyond his most sanguine ex- 
 pectations. He became every year more 
 prosperous; and about the time when the ques- 
 tion of American independence was settled he 
 retired from business, and purchased a delight- 
 ful country-seat, about three miles from the 
 city, where he expected to pass the remainder 
 of his days. But how soon are our hopes 
 blasted ! Before he could leave New York 
 and settle at Bellevue (the name of his new 
 atjode), he was seized with a most alarming 
 illness, which left him in a very infirm and 
 debilitated state. As soon m his health would 
 permit, he repaired to the spot where, to use 
 nis rvrn words, " he promised himself every 
 enjoyment which his hrart desired." But the 
 fine mansion, and the noble river on which it 
 stt)od, and " the pleasant country on the op- 
 posite shore," and the elegant nimiture, and 
 the beautiful garden, and the verdant lawns 
 on which the cattle grazed, yielded him but 
 
 little comfort. Hishealth declined, every year 
 he felt himself weaker, and his friends and 
 himself feared that death would soon terminate 
 his earthly existence. To remove, if ixMsible, 
 his complaint, and to restore his health, he was 
 recommended to try a change of scene, ami to 
 leave for a time his delightful retreat. He 
 went first to Bristol in Pennsylvania, then to 
 the ceiebroted mineral sjirings in the mount- 
 ains of New Jersey, and latterly to Bethk-hem, 
 a town about fifty miles from Philadelphia. 
 But he was little benefited by all these wan- 
 derings ; and his father who accompanied liim, 
 having been seized with sudden and severe 
 indisposition, they instantly bent their course 
 homeward. 
 
 Though Mr. Murroy's heolth was not much 
 improveil by his summer's excursion, it was 
 not altogether fruitless in gixxl. He found 
 that he was generally best when the weather 
 was cold, that Bellevue was too secluded, and 
 that the atmosphere was not sutliciently bra- 
 cing. In these circumstances he was advised 
 by his physicians to try the elFect of a change 
 of climate ; and Yorkshire, in England, was 
 fixed upon as the place of his retreat. Hav- 
 ing made certain arrangements, he embarked 
 with his wife in the close of the year 1784, 
 and reached that country in safety. When 
 he left America, he thought it would only bo 
 for a short season, and that he would soon re- 
 turn to his own country and spend the re- 
 mainder of his days with his early friends. 
 Two years was the utmost he had assigned 
 for his absence. But how short-sighted is 
 man, and how very little does he know of the 
 fuiure ! He never was able to return. His 
 health was never restored ; indeed, he never 
 left the village in Yorkshire which he fixed 
 upon as a temporary residence. He lived 
 there an invalid for tne long period of forty- 
 two years. «_ 
 
 It was not till the period of bis residence in 
 England that he became an author. Though 
 he was confined to the house almost the whole 
 of that time by bodily indisi)OMition, his mind 
 was active and vigorous. To prevent that 
 tedium and irritability which botlily infinnity 
 generally occasions, and also with the view 
 of being useful to others, he wrote and pub- 
 lished a work entitled, " The Power of Re- 
 ligion on the Mind." It ajjpeared anonymous- 
 ly, and his object in publishing it was purely 
 benevolent. He distributed five hundred 
 copies gratis among the inhabitants of York 
 and its vicinity. The publication was well 
 received ; when it reached the sixth edition, 
 he enlarged the work and put his name to it. 
 After this he disposed of the copyright with- 
 out any pecuniary recompense to an influential 
 bookseller in London, and under his auspices 
 it gained an extensive circulation. Ai he 
 
 tmm 
 
;clinc(l, every year 
 il his iVicnils nml 
 iiiM soon teriiiiniile 
 (•move, if i)(wsil)le, 
 his health, he was 
 rre of scene, ami to 
 itful retreat. Ho 
 n.sylvania, then to 
 ngs in the inimnt- 
 crly to Bethk'hem, 
 rom Philadelphia, 
 by all these wan- 
 aecompanietl him, 
 iuilden and severe 
 ' bent their eourse 
 
 lalth was not much 
 i excursion, it was 
 gmxl. He found 
 when the weather 
 8 t<K) secludeil, and 
 ot sufficiently bra- 
 ces he was advised 
 3 etfect of a change 
 !, in Enf^land, was 
 his retreat. Hav- 
 icnts, he embarked 
 of the year 1784, 
 in safety. When 
 It it would only be 
 t he would soon re- 
 and spend the re- 
 hia early friends, 
 it he had assigned 
 iw short-sighted is 
 Iocs he know of the 
 jle to return. His 
 ; indeed, he never 
 ire which he fixed 
 idence. He lived 
 ng period of forty- 
 
 j of Lis residence in 
 n author. Though 
 se almost the whole 
 lispoaition, his mind 
 To prevent that 
 ich bodily infirmity 
 also %vith the view 
 
 he wrote and pub- 
 rhe Power of Re- 
 ipeared anonymous- 
 ishing it was purely 
 uted five hundred 
 inhabitants of York 
 ublication was well 
 d the sixth edition, 
 
 put his name to it. 
 the copyright with- 
 ense to an influential 
 1 under his auspices 
 circulation. As he 
 
 LINDLEY MURRAY. 
 
 303 
 
 never contemplated any necuniury advantage ] Murray often expressed his delight that the 
 by the puoliciiiidn, but smiply the bcuctit of , coi>yriglUs had proved advantageous to Uio 
 others, it was p<'<;uliarly gratifying to him to, gentleman in Paternoster Row 
 
 receive from various (luurters tentimonics of | iiiude tjie purchase of them 
 
 approbation and assurances of the advantage " "" ^ "" 
 
 which hud been derived from its perusal. 
 This was to him the source of gifut delight. 
 Often did h(! ex|)res» his thankfulness to the 
 Author of his being that "he hud been the 
 instrument, even in a small degree, of dis- 
 seminating excitementjj to a pious and virtuous 
 course of life." 
 
 His secontl publication was his " '^tramniar 
 of the English Language." This work, which 
 has gained such celebrity, was completed in 
 (-SS than a year. It was comiiii'nccd in the 
 sjjring of 1794. and published in the spring 
 of 1 79.'). He was induced to write it by some 
 of his friends, who had estal)lishe(l a school 
 for young females in York. Tlu' first teach- 
 ers were but indiHerently qualilicd in this 
 respect. These young persons he kindly in- 
 structed in this i)articular branch of education 
 at his own house, and afterward, chielly at 
 their re(iuest, published the grammar. He 
 never designed it to be used beyond this school, 
 but it soon found its way into other seminaries. 
 It became in a short lime a standard book, and 
 for several years new editions of from 10,000 
 to 12,000 were published. The numljer of 
 copies sold of "The Aliridgmentof the Gram- 
 mar," which appeared in 1795, has been many 
 millions. 
 
 The great success which attended these 
 publications, together with the beneficial in- 
 lluence it had upon his mind, induced him to 
 publish several other works. In the year that 
 he published the "Abridgment of the (Gram- 
 mar" he published the " Exercises and Key." 
 Shortly after, there appeared the "English 
 Reader," the " Introduction to the Reader," 
 works which soon obtained an extensive cir 
 
 who had 
 As far aa he 
 himself was concerned it made no diircrere- , 
 for his views in writing and publishing were 
 never mercenary, his sole aim being to benefit 
 others, the young in particular. The profits 
 of his valuable publications he never a|>plied 
 to his own private use, but to charitable pur- 
 poses, and it was to him the source of the 
 purest satisfaction that, while he was the 
 means of doing much for the education of the 
 young, he at the same time was enabled to 
 give a considerable sum to religious and be- 
 nevolent institutions. 
 
 It is a singular fact that Mr. Murray should 
 have written all these works when an invalid. 
 During the forty -two years he spent in Eng- 
 land he could take little exercise, with the 
 exception of a drive in his carrioge, or being 
 drawn about his garden in a chair constructed 
 for that pur])ose. For the last sixteen years 
 of his life, he was entirely confined to his 
 room, and yet his mind was hale and vigorous. 
 He was a hard student ; and when his wife 
 or his friends expressed their apprehension 
 that his close a])plication might prove injurious 
 to him, he would pleasantly say, " It is better 
 to wear away, than to rust away." Not later 
 than eight o'clock, summer and winter, he 
 was rolled in a chair from his bed-room to his 
 study, where he spent the day in writing, 
 reuduig the Scriptures, and religious medita- 
 tion. Never was a murmur heard to escape 
 his lips. So far from this being the case, he 
 was uniformly pleased, freciuently cheerful, 
 and always resigned. He often referred to the 
 kindness of God, in preserving his mental 
 faculties, and in giving him such an amount 
 j of temporal wealth as made him comfortable 
 
 «.,.».= wi.iv,.. o^-.. .~™ -- and independent, in blessing him with such an 
 
 cJa!ti°M7iii\he"^'hooTsTiFBritain'as"wellasin|^ and beloved wife, and in the 
 
 America. Between the years 1802 and 1807 prospect which he had of a glorious immor- 
 
 " • ' -- ' - 1 tnlity when life'sjourney closed. Ihesewere 
 
 ' some of the things which cheered the heart 
 
 ' f this excellent man during the period of his 
 
 he published two French volumes, and a 
 spelling-book for the use of schools. In ad- 
 dition to these works, for which he is chiefly 
 celebrated, he wrote a short treatise " on the 
 Duty and Benefit of a Daily Perusal of the 
 Holy Scriptures," and edited " A Selection 
 from Bishop Home's Commentary on the 
 Psalms." 
 
 The copyrights of all these works were 
 sold to one of the first publishing houses in 
 London, with the exception of the " Duty and 
 Benefit of a Daily Perusal of the Holy Scrip- 
 tures," and the " Power of Religion," which 
 were presented to the booksellers without any 
 pecuniary compensation. The sum which he 
 received'for the whole scarcely amounted to 
 d£3,000. The price was considered liberal 
 by both the author and the publisher, and Mr. 
 
 l(jng confinement. 
 
 It is a singular circumstance, also, that his 
 nii'titul powers shouhl have continued unim- 
 paired to the very last. When fully fourscore 
 years his mind was as vigorous as ever, and 
 lie was fully better than he had been for some 
 years previous ; and what was not less singu- 
 lar, his hearing was good, his memory uncom- 
 monly retentive, and his sight was so little 
 injured that he could read the smallest print 
 without the aid of spectacles. But the longest 
 life must close, and the most useful man must 
 bid adieu to the present scene. On the 10th 
 of January, 1826, he was seized \"ith a slight 
 paralytic atTection in his left hand which was 
 
 
 
 ■wf- 
 
 -*j)il*i^ 
 
c.f ».J.,.rt .luiMtion. On thn i:itli of l- .•Unmry 
 he hiiil II n'tiiiii lit' thf smni- iiiuluilv. uIik'Ii. 
 l.v 111,. iHrofniraiM. vviwf..r!Mim'' iiiin',':ii';<l. 
 lii !!.,• ..vc.it.a 111' was MM/..-,l with Mci.l.. jmirl, 
 ,„.,,-„i|mui.Ml witl. viol-ut .icKin's-.. nii.l all ai- 
 tfinpu n. litll.nl r.-li.-f pr-v,-,! .nrllrcl iial. It , 
 ^vJ .U-utli, uml I... hu.nau >kill (MmM avprt , 
 ll„^ strnko. Ho iM.ic \\v' i-ain. v.' ifh was | 
 ,.xr..ssivo, Willi un-af i.i.-rkiirs-* an.! t...ntu.|p; 
 »,„1 „M the Ifilh nf Frl.rimrv lir .■x|.inMi. Ho 
 was int.Tr.Ml <.ti thr 'J-M "ftlii' sain.- iri.ailli in 
 tin- biirvin.'-sr.mii.l of tli-^ .jiiakfrs, in ihr 
 rity (if York, in the prcseM.'.' of a lari;,' ass.in- 
 l)lv' where his n'limin.s lie, " tar troin truMi.l 
 an'.! fallifcr.an.l," till the resurrection ot the 
 
 I Such is a brief slu-teh of Lin.llry Mwrray, 
 the .'raintnarian— an.l we iiiii.it aiM, the phi- 
 lantirroiiist an.l the Ciiristian. His .•n.i.iw- 
 ments. intollectuiil nn.l moral, wer.' ot n su- 
 perior or.ler ; ond few men h;iv.. lett lieliiii.l 
 them a hi.'her reputation for wis.loin, jiicty, ! 
 (in.l hcnev^ilence. His writings are a stan.l- 
 in? memorial of his literary anil inteli.'ctual 
 (lalilitieati.ms; amJ his con.liict in al! the re- 
 lations of life testifies that lie was a virtuous, 
 generous, anil noble-mindtMl man. He was 
 moilest and humble, free from everyihins,' like 
 literary egotism or pharisaieal boasting. He 
 was a warm friend to the p.mr; and h.! took 
 a deep interest in all religi.ms and chantalile 
 institutions. In his will, after making provis- 
 i.m for his beloved and alleclionate Hannah, 
 an.l giviiK' certain legacies to a number of 
 relatives and friends, he left £2o i'^cM tn 
 seven ditfercnt establishments at \ ork, .1.300 
 to the British and Foreign Bible Society, and 
 ^■200 to the African Institution. He directed 
 that the residue of his property, after the de- 
 cease of his wife, should be devoted to pious 
 and benevolent uses. 
 
 Mr. Murray was a member of the society 
 of friends, fic, QS might be expected, was 
 much estecme.l by them, and they greatly 
 mourned his loss. He was one of their 
 bri-rhtust ornaments. But though attached to 
 tha't highly respectable body of Christians, he 
 ^vas not a bigot : he had a great respect for 
 religious persons of every name ; an.l used 
 his Influence to heal the breaches which un- 
 hnopily exist in the Christian churches. He 
 " loved the brotherhood," ond he longed lor 
 the day when Christians would be of " one 
 mind." His testim.my on this point is so ex- 
 cellent, and 80 necessary to be rememiiered 
 in these latter days, that we must give it at 
 
 length: — ... • , • i 
 
 '• We are long m learning to judge wisely 
 of one an.ither, ami to make charitable allow- 
 ances for ditference of understanding, disposi- 
 tion, elucation, &c. Monkind are all breth- 
 ren, the children of one Father; they should, 
 
 thi'r('f.>r.', when we bcli.'ve lliciii to be Kiiicf re 
 tiiid upright, be r.'ci'iv.'.l us t'.llow-pariuk.'rs 
 oi'lh-. Slim.' |irivii.'gcs. . . . I respect pi. ly ^ 
 uii.l virt.i.' wh.Tcv.r I in.'i't tlii'in. It w.nild 
 L(' a proof of my own siiperti.iiility or ih- 
 pravity if I valur.l a truly rcliui.iMs man tli" 
 less fo'r tlie name an.l the professi.in wliii'h he 
 sustains. I trust that I shall ever be in- 
 lliience.l by the cheering sentiment that ev- 
 ery man w"lio sincerely loves (J.id and w.irks 
 ri'l'liteousness is accepted by him, an.l is en- 
 titled to universal esteem on.I regard." 
 
 We have seen a portrait .)f this interesting 
 and estimable man. He had a iiolde, a majes- 
 tic look; ho was tall, well pr.iportione.i, niiil 
 rather st.iut. He had an ojien, cheerful 
 coiinlenaiice, with a foreheail s.nnewhat ele- 
 vateil. His complexion was dark. 'I'hoiigh 
 l.ing contine.I t.) the house, he was not sickly 
 looking, but rud.ly. His hair towar.l the 
 close; of life became perfectly white ; an.l his 
 whole appearance was dignified and [inp.is- 
 scssing. A stranger in his j'resence felt a 
 mingled sensation of a.irniration, reverence, 
 on.riove ; and often the remark was ma.le 
 that he reali/e.I our conceptions of the aiiostlos 
 and holy men who, in the eariy ages of Chris- 
 tianity, dedicated themselves to the service of 
 God in advancing the religion of his Son. 
 
 SHIP ANCHORAGE AT WHAMPOA. 
 
 The engraving gives a correct view of the 
 island of Whompoa, lying in the Peari river, 
 about twelve miles east from Canton, in China. 
 At this place the foreign vessels all anchor, 
 and their 'oading is taken out by Ixiats and 
 carried to Canton, and their return cargo 
 brought down. At the bottom of our engra- 
 ving is representf a part of Dane's ishmil, 
 whrch is a small rocky hill, where sailors are 
 buried who die at this port. The price for 
 burial-ground here is sixteen dollars, and ten 
 more for permission to erect a grave-stone. 
 
 West from Dane's island, at the lefthanil 
 comer of the engraving, is represented a part 
 of French islaml, on which are the tombs of 
 many foreigners, residents, and captains. Th« 
 price of land here is very high. 
 
 Whampoa island is long and narrow. 1 he 
 ancliorage extends two or three miles m 
 length; the American vessels generally occn- 
 pyiii" the higher births, and the English the 
 lower. The river varies from fifty to one 
 hundred rods wide, and from three to eix 
 fathoms deep. The tide rises from three to 
 eight feet. The village on Whampoa island 
 contains several thousand inhabitants. 
 
 At the west end of this island is a petty cus- 
 
 sg-^.<B^«t^a«aaia 
 
•rrct view of the 
 I the Poarl river, 
 Canton, in Chino. 
 ssels nil anchor, 
 ut by boots anil 
 eir return carjjo 
 )m of our engra- 
 )f Dane's isluncl, 
 where sailors ore 
 t. The price for 
 n dollars, and ten 
 a grave-stone. 
 I, at the lefthaiid 
 •epresented a part 
 are the tombs of 
 nd captains. The 
 igh. 
 
 md narrow. The 
 ir three miles in 
 lis generally occu- 
 id the English the 
 from fifty to one 
 rom three to six 
 rises from three to 
 I Whampoa island 
 ihabitants. 
 land is a petty cus- 
 
U06 
 
 PROUHKSS. 
 
 tfimhousp, or pnanlliouw, whcro nil Chinese 
 Ix.BtH, l;'.viMK iinvthiii« to do with «or(i«n«r«, 
 are oIj1i>j:<m1 t.. »t(V) ami otitnin a prrinit. railed 
 a chop, ami tlui house is hence colled a ckop- 
 
 lioune. . 
 
 Three pagiHlas are ropresrntcd in our en- 
 craving. That on the left hand neor the 
 edL'c, the top of which only is visible, is «-nlled, 
 "the hulf-way paf-odu," it beinK halt-woy 
 from the onchoruge to Canton. It is much 
 decayed. This is the one from which some ^ 
 American suitors, some years a|i'). in a Irolic, , 
 t.M)k WW of the sinuU imujies wl ich are kept | 
 in the first ntorv, and. on beinn iiMiovered, | 
 they drown.'.l the idol in the river, wnith cost 
 the comiirador and others some hundreds ot 
 dollars. The lar^e pagmla, is colled, by 
 foreigners, the Wham|)oa pagoda. It is huUt 
 of brick, nine stories high, amounting to trom 
 two hunilred to two hundred and twenty teet. 
 It is said to be in good rejinir. It is unin- 
 habited, hollow, and octagonal. The dote ot 
 its erection is said to be preserved within it, 
 ' and to be about four hundred years ago. The 
 natives believe that, being very lofty, it has 
 an inrturnce on the air, and serves to avert 
 storms and tempests. 
 
 The other on the right side, is a small and 
 moileni.built i.agoda.lwo orthree stones high, 
 and was built, as is said, to commemorate their 
 victory ovnr the British navy in 1808. 
 
 From the anchorage, ot Whampou, to the 
 sea is about seventy Hve miles. Macao lies 
 neor the s.a. Lintin is an island w the nver, 
 bulf-wuy from Macao to Whaini>oa. Lvcnts 
 within a few yeors past, have open several 
 of the ports of China to the commerce ot the 
 world, oud given a now impetus to trade with 
 the celestial empire. 
 
 PROGRESS. 
 
 Motion or progress is a universal condition 
 of created' being. There is nothing in a srate { 
 of re.-l ; there is no standing still. 1 he plan- 
 ets ore in motion, and so are the suns round 
 which they roll. We speak of the restless 
 wind; it veereth about continually. 1 he 
 douds rest not , the rivers rest not ; the trou- 
 bled sea— it " can not rest." The i)roblem 
 of the perpetual motion is demonstrated every 
 day in the great workshop of nature. As- 
 cending from rude to organized matter, we 
 meet with the same law or condition ot being. 
 The fluids of living creatures, the juices ot 
 plants, are never altogether dormant. W hen 
 [hey cease to move, there are dissoliUion and 
 denih-a change, but still no rest. The ntia- 
 terial elements, set free from their wonted 
 channels, are thrown into the great laboratory 
 
 of nature. They are ditBolved— rcsolvwl 
 into their constituent el.inent»— and again 
 thrown into new eoniliinutions. It is not 
 
 mere whim of funev, to gup|)o»n that the 
 rose of last summer will reappear in the snow- 
 drop of next spring, and that we shall agom 
 m.M* t with the lily of the valley in the blmim- 
 iiig hiother-bell. 
 
 Passing from the nialerinl to the immatrria\ 
 world, the some renuirkuble fact meets us 
 In the regions of thouuht and consciousness, 
 there is no repose. Th.; man of to-day is dif 
 ferent from the mon of yesterday. On the 
 wings of restless thought, he has surveyed 
 ■ onew some provinces of tlie universe, which 
 he hod before visited, nnd seen thcrn, as he 
 hod never seen them t)efori' ; or has dived to 
 
 1 depths, or soare.l to heights, profounder or 
 ; higher than upon o.iv of his former wunder- 
 i in^s. In either ease, he returns changed from 
 ' what he was. Others of the shows and forms 
 
 of nature, hove been mirrored ximn Ins soul. 
 His emotions and atVections, his fee ings and 
 passions, have been stirred, agitated— tossed 
 it may hove been— into multitudinous commo- 
 tion He has been the scene of a moral 
 storm, and a cliange has passed upon his mora 
 nature. The body of the stout-limbed an.l 
 strong-armed man, whose "breasts are full of 
 milk, and whose bones are lull of iimrrow 
 is not more ditTerent from that of the red p'll- 
 pv infant, or light-hearted boy. than is the 
 Inind of the one from that of the other. 1 reg- 
 ress is a universal condition of infelieetual 
 existence— with one exce|.tion ; and that is in 
 the cose of Him who is " the some yesterday, 
 to-day. and for ever." 
 
 Looking more closely at this perpetual 
 moti.m, we find that it is very irregular— mjt at 
 all straight forward. This peculiarity of it is 
 as universal as is the fact itself. It prevails 
 in the rude unorgani/.rJ world ; in the world 
 of organization ; and in the world of nm.d 
 The spheres move in circles or el hpses. I lie 
 growth of the vegetable world is intermittent ; 
 and not less so is the growth of our intellect- 
 ual and moral nature. The ocean tides are 
 in perpetual flux and reflux, 1" rom singing 
 its hoarse t.'mpest-tune, the vvind procee.ls to 
 warble its breeze-melody. Frona racing on 
 the skvev plains across the face ot the moon, 
 the clouds as«eml)le together as if to celebrate 
 their sabbath in peace. And in the motions, 
 and progresses of mind we can appeal to the ex- 
 perience of our intelligent and reflective read- 
 ers, whether this flux and reflux, this circular 
 motion, this intermittent life, is not as strongly 
 marked there as in the external world. 
 
 There is a moral signihcance in this greot 
 natural fact, commensurate with the f^^f^^?^ 
 of the fact itself. Does it "»* «^i«''"7.*'3 
 the doctrine of human progress ? And is not 
 
Ived — rcgolvpd 
 t» — Biiil nunin 
 ns. It itt not 
 ])]ww<! tlint the 
 !ur ill the »iiiiw- 
 wp shall Ri;iiin 
 y in the l)l(M)m- 
 
 the immatpiia* 
 fact meets us 
 consciousness, 
 of to-Jay is ilif 
 ■rihiy. On the 
 ; has surveyed 
 iiniver»e, whieh 
 en them, ns ho 
 or hos (lived to 
 , jjrof'ouiKler or 
 former wtuidcr- 
 iis ehun^jed from 
 nhows nnd forms 
 (1 upon hi:* Noul. 
 his feeliiiRS imd 
 Q^'itatnd — tosned 
 ;u<linous commo- 
 5110 of n morul 
 d ajHrn his mornl 
 itout-limt)e<l nnil 
 irettsts are full of 
 lull of innrrow," 
 it of the red p'd- 
 )oy, than is the 
 he other. Pro?- 
 n of intelleetual 
 )n ; and that \t in 
 I same yesterday, 
 
 t this perpetual 
 ■ irreftulnr — not at 
 lenuliariiy of it is 
 self. It prevails 
 rid ; in the world 
 5 world of miiKl 
 or ellipses. The 
 Id is intermittent; 
 li of our int(>llect- 
 le ocean tides are 
 {, From singing 
 
 wind proceeds to 
 From racing on 
 face of ihe moon, 
 r as if to celebrate 
 nd in the motions, 
 in appeal totheex- 
 nd reflective read- 
 eflux, this circular 
 I, is not as strongly 
 •rnal world. 
 :nnce in this great 
 
 with the preatness 
 it not shadow forth 
 i'ress? And is not 
 
 FBOOftBBS. 
 
 307 
 
 ii'nKBnt 
 iiplsto 1 
 
 this one of the mo ,.;»rtant at. 
 
 ,|.„:tri«eH wl.i.'h ih. mml can con 
 We nee the whole i.mrenal umversc u. n oil. n. 
 
 The h w of proure.. ,. »• it. n."l g""'"' '7 
 
 t 1 w it 'novTs on toward some grand con- 
 1 inmiation. whi.h, thoush ever nearmg. it 
 
 av ver rea.h. In imagination's eye, we 
 Te t - worlds rising al.ovo the region ot 
 shadows, nn.l emancipating themselves Iron. 
 
 hose chn.aic inlluences hy which they a e 
 S partially bound; and we can untu-.pate 
 
 hJ ine win -Mhe light o the moon HhuU 
 l" as Ihe liuht of the sun. and the light ot the 
 
 sun fts the light of seven days. 
 
 Btl.vfarthe highest and '"""t 'le .g» J 
 .wpcct oV this law of l-rogress, is that which 
 Ta efer,.nee to rational life and its .lestinies 
 ilcr "l-"'. us in the material world, we mee 
 wh circular and intermittent motion, and 
 Onetimes with what ftl-pears t.. be retrogres- 
 si ul it is ii.ipossilde f.;r a man to m..ve 
 
 ou d a circle of Ihought without increasing 
 ds U.Ueciud vigor. His. .notion i.my not 
 bo direcly upward; hut in sp.ra circles, 
 each s .,T above the other. By this wind- 
 infsM i case he m..unts to higher regions of 
 iufe 1 '". e, and at every succeeding step has 
 
 a wlir range of vision; ""»'», "»^^.;;"« J; 
 
 1 1 f ..I inaf he "a/rs around him \Mtu 
 
 K;:; r;^S;U^And while the hori..n 
 
 wrde. ud the" future brightens u,Km his 
 
 rvo h le he descries the fur-oil mouutain- 
 
 X: ra iant with the suns of eternity, he .Iocs 
 tops, rauiuii. ,,,,,^,, 
 
 our bottles ; or when friends are around us. 
 Tnieallh dances in every vein, we weud 
 
 r„in cling to both, and rather make s.ire of the 
 oJswe'iave.thanriHktheloHsol.hem. lor 
 
 ;Uers which we know not ot. »"» "'f j) ?" 
 «K)n convinces us that there is no going l.a< k- 
 word; a littl.'.nore. thai there IS no standing 
 Htill; a.id yet a little more, that It is not le- 
 iJablo to ,i;, either the one or the other :bu 
 that the d.K.trii- of progress is as .les.rable a. 
 it is ennobling. , . . __ 
 
 Hat, after all, the human heart sympati/.ea 
 with this dwtrine of progress. ^'■''l' ':' » 
 I sublitne hymn upon l''M''^ '"" ^'•"'■.^''y.^l*^ 
 ' ngitale tumultuously yet delighttuUy the hu- 
 man breosl : — 
 
 S wt^ of th: .;:t ; but i,s j y. ...- 
 
 '"^H^ , .1 '" over-its brightness, still bright- 
 i^,l!;!jS:"on;>^of.gladne'ss attuned to more 
 
 msitiiing melo.lie8.or l>»V»""\"";/'~! Z | 
 its cares and sorrows mellowed by tl ^taiux i 
 i 8 Yesterdays, hallowed by to-dav. he treas- 
 u e^l iipin Viis memory and womlfer, a cease- 
 less muM", among his heartstrings. 
 
 uTsu - essed and bliss-giving doctrine, this 
 of hu. im, progress. Yet sometimes we rebel 
 01 nuiiiioi 1 6 , esteem the iiriceless in- 
 h?Hta;le' We woild blolit ou't from star 
 S'rm;.t,'X..msntiandm..n i^-^^^^^^ 
 whole host of heaven, which, in their c.ase 
 less motions, hymn it in our ears. We v^ou ] 
 blot it out from the million -fold <'^J«"s o 
 wHch it is written over all the earth. We 
 w\l bl. it out from our own heart and soul. 
 For We we not regrets and l<-g J^ -J^ ! 
 nast ? Do we imt 8.)met.ines suv o the pres 
 ^nt .' here would we make our .est louver ? 
 Ss iiotditticult .0 explain those f^J-^f ^^ "«;>. 
 SE'lt^l^ttllTt^o^Sii^ul^tes 
 
 sr uiut-we wiuM willingly take refuge m 
 
 • The future m mnn'« immemorial liymn, 
 
 In vBiii ruiiit Itio |>rf«oiit »-wB«linKi 
 To a Rol.ien g<'«l in ll'o ;liHt»i"'e <lim. 
 
 Tl e world -row- old. Biid yo.mK, 8'"1 " | 
 ycl tCauc'lcnt »tory -till bears to bo to d 
 . Hoi.0 -mile- on llie boy from the hour ol hi. birth. 
 
 To the youU. it Rive. bli». wi.hout limit j 
 It iilenm» for old aso a. a .tar on eailh. 
 
 Ami "e dttrk.,c.»of death -an not dim it; 
 lu i-ttV. will KiH even tiitliomle... k''.'"'",' . , 
 When tlTe pilgrim of life lie. down ... ibc .o.ub. 
 .. Never deem il a .hUd,oIelh ,.l.rn»e of the crowd. 
 Never cull il iho drean. o a 'H'"f-, 
 The ii...i.»'l of nature |.rocla..:.. it i.lo..d- 
 \Ve uru de.ti.ied for w.n.elh.nx .»bl.m.!r 
 Thin trull), whi.h 11,0 wii..eH>;wiH|in reveal., 
 The purest wor.hil'per diJupiuHt leoU. 
 
 Seems it not as if an angel hail sy.ng it ? "nd 
 nsl while he sung, another angel hn.l drawn 
 aside-thr..wn to right and l.-tt-the curtain* 
 of futurity, an.l a 1I.M..1 "f filorV tr-" '^e 
 ! an. hat -is afar otV had spr.-a.l around our 
 mth' Who wouhJ go backward no...' 
 ' Cwouhl stand still? What are the per- 
 ils that lie between us and those regi.ms wh.th- 
 cr he bright inhabitants are inv.ting us? 
 Thev are not "worthy to bo compared w th 
 the ghry which shall be revealed." It eclip- 
 ses the brightness of our midsummer sunlight; 
 i t Wots out all the stars. It «>raws us w, h 
 the cords of a sweet comi-^lsion towan its 
 ,wn f untains ; and we willingly leave behind 
 I Tour dearly-iherished earth, and go onward 
 
 '•'C^S^ine of progress is pniclaimed 
 
 trumpet-tongued. by i""""'"^ ^^^ £1 
 fLcts History instructs us that ttie human 
 rac^have gravitated, however little and how- 
 ever slowly, toward the centre "f P" -'>-: 
 i It is cncraven on the human heart— it is en 
 I [wine.! with our intellectual being; and hence 
 those loniings after i.nmortality, those asmra- 
 Ss Sm'ething holier an.l su hmer wh.h 
 we have oil experienced in our better nioous 
 That' which e'xtemal nature .'-l-£ -J 
 which our hearts long for, has had light shed 
 
 ItK 
 
 f ■ 
 
 
 9 
 
 ■••!*«•» 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
308 
 
 THR LAW or KINDNEMl 
 
 uiMiti It frnin tlic pncft "f revrlation. Thore 
 wi< lire inxtructiMl tn Iciivi! first iirinriplr* mid 
 go (in 111 iiiTli'ttiim— iirf tnii;;lit tn iA|trrt n 
 inilh-niuin lur tin: wnrM, ami KdiririhiiiK iin)r«* 
 Blori'iim tliiin t v« h«il> Hfcii, or tar lieiirti, or 
 hiiirt liiith ciHicriMil, bpvnnd it. 
 
 CiiitfiniilftHMl ill thr'liaht of iliin urunt 
 trulli III! (iillifullii'H viiiiish. Tlir> ciiinniii of 
 liuiunn lifi' liccomiH a lliiim wliiili a 'lulii rnn 
 unilrritiiii(l. W<' iirr siirniiiinl'il witli I'vil 
 and Hutli'rinu. A nmriil clinos ra^cs armnid 
 us, ill till! vurtirrsol'wliii'''. we arc r<i>nirtiiru'H 
 
 opt ii> lliiiiit, ail iM-nuty and n Im'n* urn in 
 
 dniiiiiT of lii'inu' xwullowcd up and lo-*t. TIliH 
 it liiis* liern for in'iirly »\\ lliousand y<'ar-<. 
 Nations Iwivf run liic circii! of criini! and siif- 
 fcrin;,' ; liuvo lived iinliappiiy and passed 
 away iii^loriou-ly. Others iiuvii mieiM'ciltsd 
 tlicin, liiit to run the same fatal circle, and to 
 reach the Hame inglorious ({oal. A» with na- 
 tions, sii with iniiividiials; only they have 
 played a briefer part. Ft in a dark and iiielaii- 
 eh(>ly pieture. But when surveyed in the 
 light of this law of prosress ; when we arc 
 ahle to bidievi' that in tliis moral elmcm there 
 has been a princiiile of order, ever tendinij to 
 mould it into an harmonious and orderly sys 
 
 I ihnt tho tliM'Iriun of human perfeetnbility is ft 
 ' fulilt , it will also tr. ' him of aiiotln r and 
 : more exulted <loctrii.L- ..lat of the eternity of 
 ' hamuli |irugrc««. 
 
 Ilioiaivt t\- III!"' »»•■ ••»>••••■•■••'-•-— "' — - - - ,/ ; 
 
 tern; and when we find from history, that 
 this prineiplii has not operated altoijriher in 
 vain — we seo the possibility of a millenium 
 for the world ; and when wu think upon what 
 inilividuul men have become — when wo re- 
 memlier that the law of profjress is ui)on all, 
 and that a moral gravitation attracts all to- 
 ward its centre of inconeeivable hapjiincss and 
 unseen beatitude — the seemiiii; chaos ceases 
 to send forth its discords; light flashes upon 
 its darkness ; it begins to rise, and soar, and 
 sing — onward, upward, without rest, for ever 
 and for ever ! 
 
 Our brief article is suggestive rather than 
 illustrative. But its leading idea radiates in 
 all directi(ms — backward, to the morn of liine ; 
 forward, through the cycles of eternity. We 
 must read history with a faith in this law of 
 progress ; and, with the same faith, we must 
 read the brief and feverish history of our own 
 life. Note its small and feeble beginnings. 
 LiKik at the ho()o in the cradle, the prattling 
 child at its mother's knee. Is it nut. some- 
 thing worth thinking of, that thot child has 
 imiilanted within it faculties capable of ex- 
 panding to the dimensions of those of the 
 archangel — afJijclions capable of loving with 
 a love pure and warm as that of the seraphim ? 
 Not only so, but also of reaching the height 
 to whicli those great and jmro beings have 
 nolo attained I Here the optimist can revel, 
 and luxuriate ; the great facts of nature, his 
 own reason, and revelation also, assuring him 
 that his faith and rejoicing are well founded. 
 And while a sound philosophy will teach him 
 
 THE LAW OF KINDNESS. 
 
 TiiK iKiwer which this law now hos U]x)n 
 •o''ietv IS one of the happiest elli'Cls of the 
 diil'ii^uMi (d' Christiun principles. With all its 
 pride, Hclf-sei'kiiig, and vice, it need not be 
 doubted that there is inori- kindness in the 
 world at present tliaii at any former period of 
 ; its history. The annals cd' antii|iiity, while 
 rccorchiig not a few insiances of he roism and 
 , devotion, seem to hold them up lallur as ex- 
 : ce|itii)ns to tho prevailing sclti'-luicss and cru- 
 ! city, than as examples of the y. neral tonetd'so- 
 ' ciely. Their heroes are exhitdted ns objects 
 of wonder rather than |mllerns for imitation. 
 Now-a-days, mankind ure graiUmliy gening 
 on niori! friendly terms with one another. 
 They seem to liave found out that there is 
 really more ph'u,ure, and profit too, in good- 
 nature and kindly intercourse, than in blus- 
 ' tering, iiuarrelling, ond liuhiing. Deeds of 
 ' alrocity, which in former times were looked 
 upiHi pretty much as matters of course, can 
 not now be committed with im|)uniiy. Any 
 one known to have done or sanciioneil an act 
 of wanton cruelly to a fellow-creature, or even 
 to an inferior animal, is from that moment a 
 marked man, and can not be tolerated in any 
 circle, even the lowest. Society has feelings 
 attuned to the great doctrine of hiimnii brother- 
 hood, anil will not submit to have them wan- 
 t(«ily outraged. " Ilypocrisv," says an il- 
 lustrious moralist, " is the tribute which vice 
 pays to virtue ;" and even the nidest natures 
 must uow assume at loost the apncarance of 
 civility and courtesy, if they would not dwell 
 altogether apart from their kind. 
 
 The time is not long gone by, when fighting 
 was hxjked upon os almost the only real work 
 men had to do upon the earth. Only a few 
 centuries ago, our own forefathers were much 
 more like worshippers of Thor and Odin, than 
 Christians, as they fancied themselves. Ev- 
 ery country in Europe — every province, dis- 
 trict, town, nay, family — had their "natural 
 enemies," with whom they deemed it (luite 
 right and proper to fight whenever the humor 
 seized them. Up to the middle of the fifteenth 
 century, hardly one of the kings of E^nglaiid 
 or Scotlond died a naturol death. Fathers 
 destroyed their children, children deposed and 
 murdered their fathers, without mercy or re- 
 morse. A man's worst foes were those of his 
 own household ; ond yet the jierpetrators of 
 these atrocities, so soon as t .loy had secured 
 
THB LAW OF KINI)NKS«. 
 
 309 
 
 ffi'inliilil y 'm ft 
 it niiiitlirr itiiil 
 the t'tcrnity of 
 
 )NKSS. 
 
 now ImH upon 
 ; «'lli'CN ol' the 
 t. Willi nil ittt 
 it nciiil not bu 
 .iiiiliii'SK in the 
 
 itMHT |)rrioii of 
 iiiti<|iiity. wliiln 
 iif hiriiimn uiid 
 ip niilirr iiM i;x- 
 sliiii'-.!( uikI ('ru- 
 iicriil toiicot so- 
 litcil on oiijccts 
 \H for iiiiitntion. 
 adiinlly K<'fliiig 
 1 Olio niiotlicr. 
 It tluit tll«TO is 
 tit too, in pood- 
 ', thnii ill lilus- 
 iiig. Deeds of 
 les were looked 
 a of coursn, can 
 nipiiiiiiy. Any 
 4m:lioiied an act 
 venture, or even 
 thut tnotnent a 
 tolerated in ony 
 iety hiis toelings 
 rhnmaii brothor- 
 Imve tliein wan- 
 IV," says an il- 
 ,l)utc which vice 
 I) rudest natures 
 npjiearniicc of 
 would not dwell 
 ind. 
 
 ly, when fighting 
 le only real work 
 til. Only a few 
 thers were much 
 ir and Odin, than 
 leinselves. Ev- 
 ry province, dis- 
 if their "natural 
 deemed it (|uite 
 never the humor 
 lie of the fifteenth 
 lings of England 
 death. Fathers 
 dren deposed and 
 out mercy or re- 
 were those of his 
 3 ])erpetrntors of 
 .Icy had secured 
 
 iheir own |N..ilion. went l^rth n huih . nto 
 
 ; , ,r.. .edar,n.to-uytl...yl.nd,b...e 
 
 " , .. .r■ilne^■.^.■u.l.•• t towenn« 
 
 mt'iou would utterly lull in ilM""l"""V'"' 
 
 „.M. Nun!ndene,.ii.-.-.M-.r.Mwb.. jno- 
 l!„U,l.i,d..ofl.ovvu.m.. llwuri-, d- 
 
 „.„,led. it i* cnrpelvoll .he |.b U nl Mdt I. - 
 
 ::_..„UoarHebulneee,M.rsk:.Hh 
 re.ul,..in.l.toeheek.heeuer...tn..enHot 1- 
 
 tvi.iiouM.e... ly runny, or n.pii. UN • ^^ ^ 
 „.,„.l. b»s about itH filoiMm., and a «rent .1. 1 
 
 ;;'..,., .,t it. usele,.,.e.*.. ...p.. u^V,.u.d.m.j 
 
 |),mll,nu.thut...o.tbarl...rouHle«„rvnt - 
 
 bunni. tune., i. fuM be.om n.4 ''"'''■>'',', 
 u„| ,.v. 11 ,mIiouh. I'eiiul law.-, about tl e h>< 
 " ,„.„ eaunouH ...en like t. m.d. le W..1.. are 
 l;;.i„: .n.duallv ainelioni.e,!. I'revui.ion o ; 
 crime, lulber'tban llie puhl»hl.ielit ot it. l-J 1 
 a ,w iW n.on.ii.ei.t teiidetiey ol our eriminal 
 e„a.t..J.v.auditHeem.tobelelttliatso,iie. 
 
 ,l,i„„ of pity for the eiiinmul may be roii.-ii«l- 
 ;.:U,tlibaLlofciime.m.dtbeoreHemj.on 
 of .00.1 order. For all thi. wc do not tin k 
 the world any better than it 4.nul.l be. or «. t 
 it one purtiii of credit. It is all P'-'^ ' ' 
 iu,t apparently because i.eople can not h. Ip 
 It; b, e,'u.se there is a power at work stronger 
 tluiii the bad passions of human iiiitur.! : De- 
 cau"e Christianity, in «pite of all obstacles, .s 
 beeomiii" the great law ot wKiety. 
 
 Ii.t\^llome«tic relations of life-those sim- 
 
 plest. .no>t spontaneous, yet ""«t . If •""""'' 
 „f ,,U institutions- these priueip e.- I mvt 
 achieved ..meoft^teir noblest triumph, ^e^ 
 
 actlieveubomeoi lilt;" •■"•'•■ "^ •-• , 
 
 sutVwieiitly rellect upon what has thus been 
 done for iL elev- .- .i- f—de character. 
 
 none lor u.« e.uvaiionof the female character 
 Yet that revolution which raised wmnau trom 
 the rank of man's slave to that o lus cm- 
 „ ,.;..„. which unfohled all the tenderness and 
 str. nglh of her nature, by proelamnng her an 
 heir of immortality ..m! a daughter ol heaven, 
 is ,me of the most mnmenlous ever aelncve.l. 
 U has made her a help meet for .iiau--h s 
 better genius, to wean him from vice and ol- 
 luil him to virtue. We hesitate not to say 
 that the true c.hur.-»cter ot Nvonianis u.ikn.mi . 
 h,.r ri^brs unacknowledged, bry.aid the bound- 
 uries of Christianity. Once step without the 
 soli.re of its operalions, and we hnd her de- 
 .rud.Ml and oppressed, a.id men by eonseiptenee 
 ten.u.l ui.d brutali/eu; uii<l esuetly in pro- 
 portion to the strength of its inlhiei.ce m any 
 ;,ua.ier. is the true dignity ..t woman estmm- 
 t,d. and her power uppi.-iinate y exert, d. 
 If as we devoutly believe, o.i; niul hers, wives, 
 ;idaughters.1tre.on the whoe. paterns 
 
 to their sex throughout the *..uld.. needs 
 
 tt penetration t.. see wbene. this o ty dis- 
 
 ....ion is derived. That u.iulc and dcvotd 
 
 kindness .,. which lies th.. secr..f. of their m- 
 
 nue ce , bu^ tU tellcct.on of the universal 
 
 bmievolenco which fhrfltuntiy ineulra .«. 
 
 „„.lwhiehliaswoi.t„ribemtr h. hauith.v 
 
 b.rds of creation somelbMvhkeuHe,pi:.lil>ot I 
 
 '"'lV.''the'r"<>'l" in wbieli the education .,f 
 ehildreii is now cm lueled. y; ly gi-at im- 
 .n.venien.sareperceptible. Weaou.Ml.ere- 
 l.V alludr to the more u^etulalld pi'i. Ileal na- 
 ture ol the knowb.lge m.parted Out to tlio 
 ,„„re kindly manner in win.' . ih.^ h dune. 
 Th.'storiesoururaiidlathers tell ii>. about their 
 
 Hehoohnaslers al st make our hair Mand on 
 
 1 ,.rd. 'IMiev seem to imv<' been the veriest 
 i tyrants in cMslenee. They taught .heir pu- 
 
 1 ,lu as bears are taught t" ''"'"■';-7''"l'\X, J 
 Hoa-ing; and ii.'ser dreamed that the little 
 h'arning they had to coiimiu.i.ei;le, coidd be 
 .driUed in byuiiy other process, lo.heaxn.in 
 ' .,f the wise man. " He tl."t sparetU .lie rod 
 hateth the child," they U"v.; .lie I "11-1 and 
 „,„st literal uiterpretation. 'I be teae hms ot 
 ,n,r day are discovering mii.h mil-ie. and 
 „„,re eileetual modes of imparting knowiMlg, 
 Children are coming to be regarded as beings 
 who have ulli-ctioiis to be won. and under- 
 s.andings to be appealed to; and ot course, 
 the birch and the strap are fast disappearing. 
 Now, we hold thi; state of things to be one 
 of the surest indications of an iiiip.'oyed mora 
 tone in siK^iety. No teacher who rellects that 
 the child co.mnitted to h.s charge is an im- 
 mortal creature like himself. -- man whose 
 1 mind is .■mbued with true ^^.l'"-'"" >'';7';;'- 
 I Iniee-and such only are entitled to hold the 
 ' hi-h iiosition of instructors of youth-will 
 seek to imimrt knowledge cnro-.tgh the m.M liutn 
 of cruelty. In fact, any one who should at- 
 tempt to do so could not com|)cte in thi; mar- 
 ket. His method would not work ; or it 
 would work so lamely in contrast with the hir 
 ,nore ciVeclual systems ot which kindness .s 
 the basis, that he would be c-mpelled 
 change it, or be driven fro.n the field. Who 
 can estimate the progress future generations, 
 trained up under these better 1"-"'^M";«. " J^ 
 yet destined to make in knowledge and virtue. 
 In many of the other relations ot s. lety, 
 , the same tendencies may be seen 111 operutioii. 
 ; There arc a great number of goo.l, kind people 
 ' in the worl.l just at this m.;n.en.. Ij<'t any 
 1 !;,.,, look around, anionu' his riends and neigh- 
 bors, and try to reckon up the various ,ic s o 
 ! realbeiievolence they have ,,erl.u.ned to^vard 
 I himself— the many obligations he has reeeiMMl 
 V^ persons wh.rhadn,.tliingt.M.x,H-e from 
 
 ' him except perhaps his thanks-nnd he will 
 " "priied'at thi largeness of the catalogue 
 S .h tieople may not be Chnstnins 1.1 the 
 hi .les selise of tliat high title: but the ,,ow 
 e "of Christianity constrains the.n notwilh 
 standi.!" Then\.oK at our benevolent in 
 stUu ons-.)ur hospitals, our infirmaries, our 
 
 »*:ii 
 
 
 **»e. 
 
 ii: 
 
310 
 
 THE LAW OF KINDNESS. 
 
 *lft 
 
 societies for the relief of the stranger nn<l 
 destitute, our bible and missionary associations, 
 to say nothing of the heroiem which insjurcs 
 hi"h-souled and disinterested men to go forth 
 to" distant regions, braving pestilence, and 
 famine, and the cruelties of savage tribes, to 
 communicate the "glad tidings ot great joy," 
 There are not a few philosophers who puz- 
 zle themselves to account by other causes than 
 the real one for the progress society has made. 
 They would seek these in the heights above 
 or in the depths beneath, rather than iti those 
 sovereign principles by which the diffused 
 spirit of Christianity speaks everywhere to 
 their own hearts. Some ascribe the improved 
 tone of manners and morals to a vague neces- 
 sity of advancement, impressed they neither 
 know how nor why on human aflairs. Others 
 look for its cause in the progress of commercial 
 intercourse ; and place the gradual regenera- 
 tion of the world to the account of mere self- 
 ishness. Others, again, think they have found 
 it in the diffusion of secular knowledge, and 
 regard intellect as the great ameliorator of the 
 world. Such persons are not perhaps wilfully 
 blind ; but they show how willing men are to 
 take credit to themselves for blessings which 
 they owe entirely to the bounty of Heaven. 
 There is in the world one power, omnipotent 
 and everlasting, and that power is love— the 
 gift of Christ. No social institution can con- 
 flict with it— no one based on it will ever per- 
 ish. It possesses a creative and sustaining 
 energy which nothing can resist. Pride, am- 
 bition, angor, all merely human passions, ex- 
 haust themselves, and leave desolation behind ; 
 but their eBects soon disappear, and on the 
 ruins they have ceased divine love rears new 
 structures which will last for ever. That si- 
 lent but sure progress of society, which the 
 atheist ascribes to an aimless necessity, the 
 Christian regards as the natural operation of 
 the principles of the gospel ; and he views 
 the extended intercourse and diffused knovvl- 
 edge of the times as vehicles whereby its 
 principles may be more widely communicated. 
 These principles go forth to an assured tri- 
 umph ; for their great law is the perfection 
 of all thiags— the law of benevolence — of 
 
 These remarks are thrown out chietiy as 
 hints for reHection, and not without the con- 
 viction that there is muck to detract froin t.ie 
 cheerfulness of the view we have taken. The 
 law of kindness, the obligation of continually 
 doin<r good, still reciuires to be far more uni- 
 versally felt. Even good men, who would 
 little relish to be called unchristian, must be 
 conscious of a frequent tendency to act as 
 thou-h it admitted of some exceptions and 
 reservations. There is current among the 
 French a legend of one of their early confes- 
 
 sors, which very quaintly embodies the ope- 
 ration of this tendency Craving the indul- 
 gence of the reader, we shall offer it in ilhis 
 tration, the more readily as it may excuse u? 
 from any seeming encroachment on the i)rov- 
 ince of the pulpit. Listen then to the porn- 
 
 ble of the Hermit of Gaul :— 
 
 At a time when the majority of the tribes 
 of Gaul were yet ignorant of the gospel of 
 Christ, there lived an old man called Novairp. 
 who had freely received the glad tidings, and 
 diligently sought to comprehend them thor- 
 oughly. Abandoning the pleasures of the 
 world, he retired to a solitary hill, near the 
 place where Lillebonne now stands, and there 
 reared a cabin of turf, where he dwelt alone, 
 alternately occupied in endeavors to expand 
 his own views and to communicate the truth 
 to the people round about. 
 
 Here it came to pass, after much meditation 
 and prayer, that the dark veil which shrouds 
 the invisible world from mortal view was lifted 
 from his eyes, and he was permitted to gaze 
 on the pathways of the sky, without losing 
 his ken of earthly things. He distinguished 
 at the same time the secrets of the visible and 
 invisible universe. His vision wandered over 
 the woods, the plains, the waters; then, 
 glancing higher, it embraced the region tra- 
 versed by the messengers of light ; while, 
 above all, it penetrated into the celestial hab- 
 itations. He listened devoutly to the music 
 of the spheres, the voice of the cherubim, and 
 the hosannahs of the blessed. Angels brought 
 his food, and freely discoursed to him on thrse 
 secrets which are hidden from the worid. 
 Thus his days passed in a perpetual and heav- 
 enly delight. Familiarized to the intercourse 
 of pure intelligences, he gradually felt all vul- 
 gar ambitions dying away within him, as the 
 lessening stars vanish before the sun; and, 
 proud of a knowledge thus lifted above the 
 earth, he wished still further to penetrate the 
 mysteries of God. While listening to the 
 living accents which composed the eternal 
 hymn of the creation to the glory of its Au- 
 thor, he constantly said to himself— 
 
 "Why can not I understand what the birds 
 utter in their songs, the breezes in their whis- 
 perings, the insects in their hummings, t\w 
 waves in their rolling, the angels in their ce- 
 lestial hymns ?— in these ought to be found ihe 
 great law which rules the world !" 
 
 But all the cllbrts of his mind to penetrate 
 so profound a mystery were useless : he aa 
 quired nothing by his endeavors save hardness 
 of heart and 'spiritual pride. His visits of 
 mercy to the plain became less freipient, and 
 his intercourse with its inhabitants moiehaugh 
 ty and su])ercilious ; for the growth of knowl- 
 edge by it««lf can only be likened to that of 
 the trees of the forest, which can not extend 
 
ies the ope- 
 ig the inilul- 
 br it in illus 
 ly excuse u? 
 on the })rov- 
 to the parH- 
 
 of the tribes 
 he frospel of 
 lied Novcire. 
 I tiihngs, and 
 I them thor- 
 sures of the 
 hill, near the 
 ids, and there 
 dwelt alone, 
 )r9 to expand 
 ;ate the truth 
 
 eh meditation 
 irhich shrouds 
 lew was lifted 
 nitted to gaze 
 t'ithout losing 
 
 distinguished 
 he visible and 
 trandered over 
 .faters ; then, 
 be region tra- 
 light ; while, 
 
 celestial hab- 
 r to the music 
 cherubim, and 
 ingels brought 
 ) him on thrse 
 m the world, 
 tual and heav- 
 he intercourse 
 ily felt all vul- 
 in him, as the 
 he sun ; and, 
 ted above the 
 1 penetrate the 
 itening to the 
 d the eternal 
 ory of its Au- 
 ielf— 
 what the birds 
 
 in their whis- 
 lummings, the 
 ;l8 in their ce- 
 to be found ihe 
 d!" 
 
 ,d to penetrate 
 seless: he nj 
 I save hardness 
 
 His visits of 
 5 frequent, and 
 itsmoiehaugb 
 BWth of knowl- 
 ;ned to that of 
 ;an not extend 
 
 THE LAW OF KINDNESS. 
 
 311 
 
 ,h.lr ro.,ts without drying up all ir"""'\tj^^,""- 
 Tlmt knowledge may be benehcent ami truit- 
 luljt is necessary it should be watered from 
 thu fountains of the heart. , , 
 
 One day, when the hermit had descended 
 from his mountain, which preserved a per- 
 peruul verdure,iuorder_to trave^ the wi uy er« 
 
 then be traced except that worn by the_foot. 
 steps of the unreclaimed beasts of the torest. 
 In his toilsome way he had to ford nvers, trav- 
 erse morasses, penetrate thickets, sonlelmies 
 finding, at wide intervals, a few poor habita- 
 tions, whose masters frequently refused him 
 But Novaire sutlered all these 
 
 vuUev below, he saw co.mng In.m another di- 
 rectum a numerous group of me", ^vho were 
 loading a criminal to the scatlold. 1 he peas- 
 ants gathered to see him pass, and spoke loud- 
 Iv of his crimes; out the doomed one smile.l 
 us he heard them, and, far from fZivmg any 
 .i.r„ of repentance, he seemed to glory in I is 
 p;rst misdeeds. At length, as he passed the 
 
 entrance. i^ui- a-<"'""" .•- — . 
 
 fatigues and privations with great serenity 
 Sustained by the hope of once more recover- 
 in" the lost favor of Heaven, lie opposed resig- 
 nation to grief, and patience to all obstacles. 
 
 In this way he at length arrived at the ex- 
 tremity of the peninsula, not fur from the sixit 
 where the celebrated abbey of Jumieges was 
 afterward built.* Here a forest then extend- 
 
 p^st misdeeds. At length, as he passed the ^^^«-^»- ;^^^ ^^-..^^ed shelter to pirates 
 
 'recluse, he all at once s^oppe.U and r ed .v^ , e^l, wh , e ^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^ 
 
 in a tone of raillery-" Come here, holy man, 
 and give your blessing and^the kiss of peace 
 to one who is going to die." 
 
 But Novaire indignantly repulsed liim, say- 
 incr, "Pass on to your fate, miserable wretch; 
 pare lips may not be contaminated by contact 
 
 with such as thee." „:,K„„t 
 
 The poor creature turned away w thout 
 further reply, and Novaire, still agitated, pro- 
 ceeded onward to his hermitage- 
 
 who, in light shallops of osier covered with 
 skins, attacke.1 the ships which nassed up and 
 down the river laden with merchandise. One 
 evening, as the traveller quickened his pace 
 to reach the banks, he came upon an open 
 glade, where f.mr of these outlaws were sedated 
 round a fire of dried brushwood. At sight of 
 him they rose, ran toward him, and brought 
 him near the fire, the more easily to despml 
 him. They seized his book, his cincture, his 
 
 
 eded onward to his hermitage. „arment • and, seeing that he had nothing else, 
 
 But when arrive.l there he P-^^f^JiSv- C deliberated whether he should then be 
 
 looked of consternation : the aspect "f. every 
 thing had changed. The trees which the 
 presence of angels had preserved in perennial 
 verdure, were become lealless as those of the 
 valley; there, where, a few hours before, the 
 blossoming eglantine had exhaled its delight- 
 ful fVagrancefthe white hoar-frost was glisten- 
 ing, and the scanty and withered moss reveal- 
 ed the bare rocks beneath. , ^ , 
 
 Novaire longed anxiously f^^r the coming 
 of the celestial messenger, who every day 
 brought him his food, to learn the cause of 
 this su.lden change; but the meBsengerap- 
 
 garmeni; aiiu, occu.g ,... — -- — - •■■ . 
 
 Vhev deliberated whether he should then be 
 
 set at liberty. But the oldest of them named 
 
 Toderick, suggested that he should be kept, 
 
 and made to row the boat, to which the others 
 
 "^Novaire was then bound with chains, and 
 became the slave of the four pirates. He was 
 compelled to cook for them, to clean their 
 arms, mend the boat, and sometimes to steer 
 it, receiving no other recompense for his labor 
 than blows and hard words. Toderick es- 
 pecially showed him little pity ; and, j.nmng 
 raillery to cruelty, constant y demanded of the 
 
 thislulden change; but the messenger "P- ;^„'^^;yrirne7Xra;;K;d\ power of his 
 
 peared not ; the invisible world was c o,ed to F>^r pri^ner ^^^^^^^^ ^^^ four. pirates as- 
 
 him, and he was thrown hack into the ignor- Uml ^,^^J^^^^^^ ^j geme. which 
 
 ance and miseries of humamty. He under s ^^ ^^^^^^ with nch merchan- 
 
 stood that God had pumshed him, » h"«|J J^f d Ue ; bu^^* ^ happened that she contained a 
 guessed notthefaulthehadcommitted. How- Ji«>' J n ^^^ ^^^^^^^, ^^ ,j ^ 
 
 Iver, he submitted without «?"/■""""?'«"?, Eer of arrows so well directed, that three 
 kneeling on the hill-" Since I have oflended J^" "^^j^ were killed on the spot, an.l the 
 thee, 0"my Creator," said he, "^ am worthy "J^^^^j^^ ^^, Toderics, received a wound 
 
 ot the utmosi, [juiiioui..>-"v J 
 
 From this day I shall <iuit my solitude; and I 
 vow to travel straight on, without other re- 
 pose than that of the night, till thou art g a- 
 ci.usly pleased to vouchsafe me some visible 
 
 t )kpn"^of thy forgiveness." . 
 
 ^^^aJthLw^rdsNovairetookup^sstafi^ 
 
 ir. the 'body, apparently mortal. 
 
 Novaire then turned the prow of the shal bp 
 toward the river bank which he succeeded in 
 gaining. He now at ength found himself a^ 
 liberty, and his first impulse was to fly from 
 a place where he had endured such misery , 
 .1 ,1 _ -.1. ..:»,, f.^r thnaf who had so 
 
 W & .™„1. Novi-e took .p 1,U .tad. Jj;-^Xl w h pHy »' >1>"»<= -!•» '■"'' ." 
 
 beloveii resiueuuc, nv ^.w^—- - - 
 
 ard the wild peninsula winch, at a ater time, 
 received the name of the " land o blossoms." 
 in this country, now covered with villages 
 farmsteads, and cultivated fields, no path could 
 
 M 
 
 
 N«i, 
 
 <Mr%«n 
 
318 
 
 ST. PAUL'S CHURCH, NKVV YORK. 
 
 tl.ree slnin iMrntos, and then appronchrd To.lc 
 rirk The nnhai)pv man, judging JNovnire 
 bv his own savage disposition, sujiposed that 
 \n- would now take vengeance for the crutdty 
 he had shown him, and said, " Kdl me, but 
 do not torture me." 
 
 But Novnire replied, "So far from takmg 
 thy life, my friend, I shall do all in my power 
 
 to snvv. it." , , , , 1 1 
 
 The pirate wa« astonished and .lepiil y moved. 
 " That is not in the power of man." smd | 
 ho '• for I f 'fl the chill of death crcopuig fast j 
 round my heart ; In.t if you iudee.l wish well 
 to me. notwith-^tanding all I have made you , 
 sutVer. give me a little wate; to ([ueiich my 
 
 thirst." . , 
 
 Novairc ran to the nearest spring, and 
 brou-dit water to t-ie wouiide.l mim. When 
 he had druidi. he raised his eyes now last 
 Ma/iu" in death, and looked steaddy on the 
 hermit"! " Thou hast truly returned good tor 
 evil." he ^aid, faintlv; "wilt thou do yet 
 more, and aceonl the kiss of peace to a guilty 1 
 and dviiig creature?" . 
 
 ••rwill, cheerrullv,"said Novaiie; "and 
 may it prove to thee a sign of pard-m from 
 that merciful God whose law th<.u hast so 
 Ion- broken, ami whom thou hast oliended 
 more .leeplv than thou coul. st any <jf his 
 1 creature^."" With these words he knelt be- 
 side the pirate, who received the kiss of peace, 
 and immediately expired. 
 
 \t the same instant, a voice resounding 
 thr: lU'di the air uttere<l these words : " Noyaire, 
 thv trial is at an end. God has punished thee 
 for hav,:^ ' refused thy i)ity to one who wn.-* 
 merely guilty : thou shalt now lie rewarded 
 fur having blessed him who was thine enemy. 
 All the treasure thou didst lose by hardness 
 of h.'art, thou hast regained by a victonous 
 charity. Raiae, then, thine eyes, and open 
 thine ears, for now again thou canst hear the 
 voices of the earth and of the heavens. 
 
 Novaire. who had listened to the voice 
 
 mute and tr.'mbling, raised his head. 1 he 
 
 trees, bliuhted by the blast of winter, seemed 
 
 all at once to have become verdant; the frozen 
 
 , brooks a^aiu flowed in their channels; the 
 
 birds' sung among the blossoming shruf).s; 
 
 while, high in heaven, he beheld, like Jacob, 
 
 die anoels ascending and descending on their 
 
 missions to the earth, the cherubim sailing 
 
 amid the clouds, the archangels llashmg their 
 
 swords of fire, and the saints ehuntiiig their 
 
 celestial hvmns! And all these several sounds 
 
 formed one harmonious anthem, of which the 
 
 ev.r-r.,-curring burden was—" Love one an- 
 
 " Tbi'u Novaire pressed his forehead to the 
 ground, and exclaimed-" Mercy, O t ather, 
 ever blesse.l ! This day have I indeed learn- 
 ed w hat is Ihe great law." 
 
 ST. PAUL'S CHURCH, NEW YORK. 
 
 EccLKSiASTicAi. architf.cturc in tlieTTnited 
 States owes much to the taste and lilarality 
 of the protostant episcopal church. In pro- 
 portion to Her numbers and wealth, sh»' has 
 surpassed all other denominatifms in the cost- 
 liness and elegance of her edifices for public 
 worship. Her churehes are among the most 
 adinireil ornaments of our large cities. She 
 has, for the most part, adopted the stylt; of 
 architecture be: t adapted to the iiurposes of 
 religion, and lier models have not niirie(iuent- 
 Iv be<'n selecti'd from the most chaste jmd 
 splendid structures of jiast ages. New York 
 lia-i from an eorlv period taken the lead in llie 
 beautv and graiiileur of her church edifices; 
 nud several of them are nnsur|)assed by any 
 similar structures in this country. Trinity 
 church is a magnificent building. St. Paul's 
 and St. .lohn's are universally admired ; and, 
 in point of beauty, Grace church has no su- 
 t i)erior. St. Paul's, though erected before the 
 I revolution, is one of the richest and most im- 
 i jHjsing ornaments of the city, and is universal- 
 1 Iv regarded with admiration. 
 ' " The accompanying beautiful engraving pre- 
 sents a view of this most ancient and venera- 
 lile of the episeo|)al churches in the city of 
 New York, taken from a i>ositiou near the 
 corner of Fulton street and Broadway. It of 
 course presents the south side, the eastern por- 
 tico, and the steeple of this beautiful church. 
 The plate shows also the junction of Broad- 
 way and Vesey street, and on the opposite 
 corner from -he church, the Astor house, one 
 of the largest, and the most costly buildings of 
 the kind in the Union. This immense pile 
 was erected by John J. Astor, of granite from 
 the eastern quarries, at the cost of half a 
 million of dollars, for the purjmse, as neorly 
 all his investments have been, of personal 
 emolument, combined with public utility. In 
 its imposing exterior, in the arrangement of 
 its various apartments, and in its general 
 adaptation to the object of its construction, it 
 is lielieved to be sujjerior to any similar estab- 
 lishment on this continent. The sjjace it oc- 
 cu|)ie3 in the engraving seemed to retiuire this 
 brief notice. 
 
 There are few, if ony, more chaste an<f 
 finished specimens of ecclesiastical architec- 
 ture in the United States, than St. Paul's 
 chapel. It is now the oldest edifice belonging 
 to the episcopal church in this city. The 
 first Trinity, of which corporation St. Paul s 
 has always been a chapel, was erected at an 
 earlier period— so also was St. George's, but 
 the former was destroyed in the great con- 
 flagration of 177C, and the latter, with the ex- 
 ception of the walls, was burnt in 1814. St. 
 Paul's was commenced in 17C4, and hnishca 
 
 Jj 
 
in tlio T'^iiitoil 
 1111(1 liliiTiiliiy 
 rch. In pio- 
 ■nltl), Af bus 
 ns iri iho cost- 
 i-es for i>nt)li(! 
 ions the most 
 I cities. She 
 1 the style of 
 le jiiirposes of 
 ot iiii(Vf>i|ii('nt- 
 )st rlinsto mill 
 I. New York 
 the Icud in the 
 luri'h eilitiees; 
 passed liy nny 
 ntrv- Triuitv 
 ij.. ' St. Piiul's 
 ndmireil ; and, 
 ch hns no sii- 
 cted l)ef<n'e the 
 it nnd most im- 
 nd is universul- 
 
 1 encrnvin,;; pre- 
 piit nnd venern- 
 ! in the city of 
 isition near the 
 oadwny. It of 
 the enstcrn por- 
 noutiful church, 
 ction of Bronil- 
 m the opposite 
 stor house, one 
 stlv huildings of 
 is immense pile 
 of granite from 
 cost of half a 
 rpose, as nearly 
 en, of personal 
 iblic utility. In 
 arrangement of 
 1 in its general 
 s construction, it 
 ny similar estab- 
 fiie sjiaco it oc- 
 ed to require this 
 
 more chabte and 
 iastical architec- 
 than St. Paul's 
 edifice belonging 
 this city. The 
 iration St. Paul's 
 ras erected at an 
 St. George's, but 
 in the great con- 
 itter, with the ex- 
 imt in 1814. St. 
 1764, and finished 
 
 ]m i'!!SSP''"'"a''^'- ^I' r, 
 
 ■*'?«^ 
 
 ■45^.1^ 
 
 M — j. Il,: 
 
314 
 
 ST. PAUL'S CHUHCH, NEW YORK. 
 
 in 17G6. It was then a beautiful edifice, but 
 there have since been niade some alterations, 
 which have greatly improved in general ap- 
 pearance, and given it the strikingly chaste 
 and harmonious proportions exhibited m the 
 en "raving. It was erected by the vestry ot 
 Trinity, and chieEy at the expense of that 
 
 corporation. . , .v c . 
 
 Divine service wm perfonnea for the tirst 
 time in St. Paul'* on th* 30th of October, 
 1776. The Rev. Samuel Amchmuty, D. D., 
 was then rector of Trinity; and the Rev. 
 Charles Inglis, since bishop of Nova Scotia, 
 «nd the Rev. John Ogilvie, D. D., were as- 
 sistant ministers. 
 
 St. Paul's chapel \a situated on the west 
 side of Broadway, near its junction with 
 Chatham street— the grounds connected with 
 it being bounded on the north by Vesey, on 
 the east by Broadway, on the south by Fulton, 
 and on the west by Church street. The 
 ground on which it stands, with the surround- 
 ing cemetery, is four hundred feet in length, 
 by one hundred and eighty in breadth, and is 
 enclosed by a substantial iron railing. The 
 material of which it is constructed is a dark 
 gray stone. The order of architecture is 
 chiefly Corinthian. Its thick and massive 
 walls form a parallelogram, containing eigh- 
 teen thousand two hundred and twelve square 
 feet, the main body of the edifice being one 
 hundred and twelve feet, six inches in length, 
 and seventy-three feet in breadth. Its east 
 end fronts on Broadway, and presents a hand- 
 some portico, composed of four Roman Ionic 
 columns, supporting a chaste and beautiful 
 pediment. The depth of the portico is eigh- 
 teen feet, six inches, and it is raised about 
 three feet above the surface of the ground. 
 
 On the west end of the chapel there is a 
 tower projection of seven feet, six inches, and 
 a tower portico of thirteen feet. These pro- 
 jections, added to the main building, make its 
 whole length one hundred and fifty-one feet, 
 six inches. In the place of the present ele- 
 gantly-proportioned and handsome steeple, 
 there was originally a small, ill-shaped dome, 
 which served rather as a covering for the 
 tower, than as an ornament to the edifice. 
 
 The feeling has generally prevailed among 
 churchmen, that the eastern end of their 
 churches was the appropriate place for the 
 chancel. In accordance wth this feeling, the 
 tower and dome, and afterward the steeple 
 of St. Paul's, were erected on the western 
 end, the east being reserved for the chancel, 
 as its proper position. The height of the 
 tower is one hundred feet, and it is construct- 
 ed of the same material as the main building. 
 Above the roof there are two sections. The 
 lower one, with the exception of what are 
 called rusticated comers, is perfectly plain. 
 
 The upper one has pilasters on the avgles, 
 and two Ionic columns in the centre. Th^e 
 columns sustain a small pediment, over which, 
 between two consoles, inverted, is placed the 
 dial of the clock. In this upper section are 
 two bells, which formerly belonged to Trinity. 
 The (juadrangular section immediately above 
 the tower, is of the Ionic order, with appro- 
 priate columns, pilasters and pediments. The 
 other two sections are octangular, of the Corin- 
 thian and composite orders, supported by 
 columns at the angles. The faces i)f the 
 highest section are well panelled, and taper 
 gradually to the largo gilt ball which crowns 
 
 the apex. , , , , r 
 
 The steeple rises one hundred and three teet 
 above the tower, to the top of the vane, ma- 
 king the whole height two hundred and three 
 feet from the ground. It is built of wtx)d, but 
 it is painted to resemble stone, and it has much 
 the appearance of being really so. It was not 
 erected until some time subsetjuent to the 
 revolution. The fine proportions and beauty, 
 which now render it scarcely inferior to any 
 other, in either the city or country, are owing 
 to its having been, with one or two unimport- 
 ant exceptions, an exact imitation of the stee- 
 ple of a church, which was designed by the 
 great architect. Sir Christopher Wren, gen- 
 erally known as St. Martin's in the Fields— 
 a church in London, much celebrated for its 
 architectural elegance. 
 
 The front of the chapel is generally more 
 admired for its harmonious proportions, and 
 general beauty, than any other part of the 
 building, not even the steeple Being excepted. 
 The portico is a superb specimen of science 
 and art. Four Roman Ionic columns support 
 a pediment, which is ornamented by fine pro- 
 jecting cornices. The effect is much increasec 
 by two circular windows, between which, at 
 an equal distance from either, in a niche, is 
 placed a colossal figure of St. Paul, leaning 
 on a richly carved sword. The altar-wmdow, 
 under the pediment, adds greatly to the beauty 
 of this part of the chapel. It has three com- 
 partments, the centre of which runs into an 
 arch, and is separated from the side ones, by 
 I two Ionic pilasters. This window, the glass 
 of which is colored, lights the chancel. From 
 the portico there are two entrances to the in- 
 terior of the chapel, one on either side of the 
 altar window; and over each of them is a 
 window, with an arch suitable to its position. 
 In the small vestibule at these entrances, a 
 spiral staircase leads to the galleries. 
 
 A splendid monument, m basso-relievo, 
 erected to the memory of Major-Gereral Rich- 
 ard Montgomery, by the Congress of the Uni- 
 ted States, occupies the middle of this win- 
 dow. The following is the inscription upon 
 the monument : — 
 
on the avftles, 
 centre. Th^e 
 ent, over which, 
 il, is placed the ' 
 ipcr section are 
 tiged to Trinity, 
 nediately iibove 
 ler, with appro- 
 ediments. The 
 lar, of the Corin- 
 supported by 
 le taccB of the 
 elled, and ta])er 
 Jl which crowns 
 
 ed and three feet 
 (f the vane, ma- 
 mdred and three 
 uiltof wood, but 
 , and it has much 
 Y so. It was not 
 t)sequeiii to the 
 tions and beauty, 
 y inferior to any 
 untry, are owing 
 or two unimport- 
 ation of the stee- 
 designed by the 
 jher Wren, gen- 
 i in the Fields — 
 lelebrated for its 
 
 3 generally more 
 proportions, and 
 rther part of the 
 e Being excepted, 
 jcimen of science 
 ; columns support 
 jnted by fine pro- 
 is much increased 
 etween which, at 
 iier, in a niche, is 
 St. Paul, leaning 
 rhe altar-window, 
 iatly to the beauty 
 It has three com- 
 hich runs into an 
 I the side ones, by 
 window, the glass 
 le chancel. From 
 ntrances to the in- 
 either side of the 
 ach of them is a 
 ible to its position, 
 these entrances, a 
 galleries, 
 in basso-relievo, 
 ajor-Gereral Rich- 
 ongress of the Uni- 
 liddle of this win- 
 le inscription upon 
 
 ThU monument t* erected by order of Conomss. 
 
 ■Uk January, 1776, to tran.mlt to poatority * grateful 
 
 remembrance of the patriotiam. conduct, enter- 
 
 Driae, and perievcrimce of Mmjor Oetural 
 
 RICHARD MONTOOMERY, 
 
 who, after « aeries of luccoiae^ amldat the moat 
 
 diacouraging difflcultioa, /til In the atuck on 
 
 QUEBEC, 31at Decbr., 1775, aged 37 year* 
 
 Underneath this, cut in a white marble slab, 
 fixed in the wall, is the following record :— 
 
 The S«o<« «/ Nf York 
 
 caused the remains of 
 
 JIajor Gtnl RICHARD MONTGOMERY 
 
 to be conveyed from Uuebec, 
 
 Mrf dtposiled litMtih (*'» moHummt, 
 
 the 8th da ' auly, 
 
 Ib.o. 
 
 IM MBMOIT or 
 
 THOMAS AD0I9 EMMET, 
 
 Who exemplified In his conduct and adornoa by hU 
 
 Int^Kriw rtie policy and principle, of the Un'.tat* xrlr,.-jon 
 
 -^■Toforwird «koli>erhoi)d of aftection, a community 
 
 cf riaht.. an identity of intere.ta, and a union of power 
 
 "•'_?_. i,i.v,.r,,n nf overv reliirioua persuasion, aa 
 
 among Irishmen of every religious persuasion 
 ■ ily means of Ireland's chief good, 
 
 rtU' 
 
 an 
 
 The interior of St. Paul's chapel has been 
 not much less generally adtnired than its ex- 
 terior. Though a period of eighty years has 
 passed since its construction, yet there are few 
 churches which present an interior finish, so 
 chaste and beautiful. . . i. 
 
 The chancel is raised one foot six inches 
 above the ground floor. It is fifteen feet deep, 
 by twenty-nine in length, and « enclosed by a 
 carved rafling. Agaiast the wall« which sepa- 
 rate it from the eastern vestibules, are two 
 Ionic pilasters, from the entablatures of which 
 an arch is thrown acrossthe body of thechapci, 
 
 forming u line of division be :en the chancel 
 
 end the nave. . , 
 
 The altar is placed under the altar wmdow, 
 and above it are the two tables of the law. 
 The whole seems to be ilbimmed by rays 
 from a representation of the visible manifes- 
 totion of the Deity on Mount Sinw. Ihe 
 walla of the chancel are entirely without or- 
 nament, but they contain six niural monu- 
 ments of beautiful design, and admuable 
 
 "^ In S' cemetery around the chapel, there 
 are numerous monuments, some of which are 
 fine specimens of art; but th». most remarka- 
 ble one, in its design and execution, 18 that of 
 Thomas Addis Emmet, standing near to the 
 chapel, on its south side, and to Broadway 
 The material is white marble, of thirty teet 
 devation, having on the face toward Broad- 
 way a bust of Mr. Emmet, sculptured m 
 baMO-relievo, and on three sides inscriptions 
 iuTe Latin, English and Irish languages; 
 the Latin by John Duer, LL. D., the Eng- 
 ish by the Hon. Gulian C. Verplanck, and 
 the Irish by the late Right Rev. Dr. England, 
 Roman Catholic bishop'of Charleston South 
 CamUna The inscription m the English 
 Wuage is in the finest'taste. and exceelm^- 
 rCtiful; and it should have a place in 
 e^yeiy Si description of St. Paul's chapel. 
 It is as follows : — • 
 
 the' only means of Ireland s ch.>. „---, .- 
 
 impnrtlHl and adequate representation In an 
 
 Irish Parliament" For Ihn (mysterious 
 
 fateof virtue 11 exiled from hU native land. 
 
 In America, the land of Ireedom. ho touod a «cond 
 
 country, which paid his love by reverencing hU 
 
 geniii. l-earlied in our laws and the lawa 
 
 of Europe, in the literature of our times, 
 
 and in ths' of antiquity, all knowledge 
 
 scomcd subject to his use. 
 
 An orator of the Hrst order, clear, copious. f^vid,a«ke 
 
 poweri-ul to kindle the imagiimt ..n, ouch th. affoo- 
 
 •^ tTon" and sway the reason and will. .Simple In 
 
 his tastes, untssuming in hi« manners, Irank, 
 
 generous, kind-hearted, and honorable, 
 
 his private life was beauiilul, as bu 
 
 public course was brilliant 
 
 Anxious to perpetuate the name and examples of such • 
 
 man alike illustrious by his genius lu, vrtu". and 
 
 his fate; consecrated to their aftections by hU 
 
 "'• vi'. Li ;i. .„.! th.. .i«.tK.r calamltie* 
 
 lis fate; consccratea u> iiicir ...t.^..""- -^j — 
 ,,criftMS,hi« perils, and the deeper calamltiei 
 of his kindred, in a just and holy cause j 
 hir. sympathizing countrymen erect- 
 ed this monument and cenotaph. 
 Bom .t Cork, IMth April, 1764. lie dfed in thU dly, 
 14th November, 18i7. 
 
 It is of sufficient interest to deserve record 
 here, that General Washington, during his 
 residence in New York, was a constant at- 
 I tendant upon the services, and a communicant 
 in St. Paul's chapel. That great and good 
 man was nowhere more highly appreciated 
 than by the citizens of New York, and no- 
 where did his death cause more sincere and 
 deep lamentations. His funeral obsequies 
 were performed in St. Paul's, with imposmg 
 
 *" ThU Si'urch has stood eighty years, a proud 
 monument of the taste of our ancestors; and 
 it is still one of the richest architectural or- 
 naments of this city, so much distinguished 
 for the costly elegance of ito churches, and 
 the magnificence and beauty of Us other pub- 
 lic edifices. 
 
 LKCTURES ON ASTRONOMY.-P. 6. 
 
 BY PJlOrESSOB O. M. MITCHELI.. 
 
 In the examination which I have thus far 
 made. I have confined myself exclusively to 
 our own solar system. I have announced the 
 great laws by which it is governed ; I have 
 Ittempted to explain the manner in which 
 these laws operate upon the various bod es 
 belonging to it, and to show you how worlds 
 arSvi^ng through space otedient to those 
 laws and yet subjected to the influence of each 
 other But wi are to leave this systom, 
 grand as it is, and traverse through regions 
 fTd over distances which we have not up to 
 
 

 •fUlx. 
 
 31« 
 
 LECTUEE8 ON ASTRONOMY. 
 
 the present moment dared to conceive. 
 know how dimcult i« the subject which I 
 
 ed, appreciated, and determined, then, know- 
 ing the distance which separates the two 
 points of observation and the amount of change 
 occasioned by the change of place of the spec- 
 tator, we find, without difficulty, the distance 
 of the object. When the followers of Coper- 
 nicus announced that the earth revolved about 
 the sun in a mighty orbit 200,000,000 miles 
 in diameter , moreover, that the axis of the 
 
 1 .1 „ — .i.:„u :» •^•#/t1iraa f\nnn. in twf^ntv- 
 
 I 
 
 am 
 know now uiiii*^"**' "■ •••" w— "J--- ^ 
 .bout to approach, and 1 approach it with em- 
 Wrassmem. I know how difficult it is to 
 comprehend these immense distanccs-these 
 yast periods, and these mighty and innumera- 
 ble objects, in such a manner as may be 
 presented intelligibly to the mind. Still we ^^^ ^^^_^^^^^ 
 
 uhall venture upon the attempt. j^. j^ ■ revolves once in twenty- 
 
 If it were possible to '^ JsUm Ind £hrs was ever parallel to itself , and suU 
 
 outermost limits of our solar •>'»»«"'•''"'' '^ZlC, .>,„, ,hj» .i;, nrolor.ecd to meet the 
 
 thpre restinu upon the body of the planet 
 
 Neptune. we^ouTd l.x.k backward over the 
 
 .p;^e we have traversed, we shoiild find the 
 ■un. which to us is so brilnant and so magnih- 
 cent, already diminished so as not to appear 
 larger than docs the planet Venus now appear 
 "us on the earth. 'But think not that this 
 diminution in apparent size will diminish in 
 lik" proportion the light which the sun throws 
 out; for if there be inhabitants there, they 
 will receive more light from this dinriinishcd 
 sun than could be tBrown out by a hundred 
 of our full moons; so it is still dayhght to 
 
 * Bkit if objects are diminished by accomplish- 
 ing this joimey through space 3,000,000,000 
 of miles, what do we see when we attempt 
 S cross ihat ™ighty|ulf which sti I seprn^s 
 us from the nearest fixed stars? It » across 
 this almost illimitable space that I ;«^8h to 
 carry vou. The unit of measure with which 
 we fiave gone through the examination of our 
 .ystem, has been tBe distance of the earth 
 ffom the sun-the radius of the earth's orbit. 
 In making our measurements, we must adopt 
 a different unit, for this is too small ; and we 
 propose to take as one unit of measure the 
 'dist^ce to the nearest fixed stare. With 
 that unit, if we can attam to the knowledge 
 of its value, we shall proceed to nieasure the 
 universe by which we are surrounded. 
 
 First, then, let us attempt to explain what 
 is meant by parallax; for this term I shall 
 employ frequently in the course of my remarks. 
 The parallax of any body is the apparent 
 change in the place of that body, occasioned 
 by a real change in tha position of the spec- 
 tator. If I change my position in this room, 
 occupying that of yonder individual, I hnd 
 every other person apparently to ha^c changed 
 his place; this is a parallactic change. As 
 you have, while sitting in a railroad-car pass- 
 fng through the borders of a forest, fastened 
 ytmr eye upon an individual tree, and have 
 Len tfie olhers apparently whirl rapidly 
 around it, so is th=s apparent change in the 
 position of the bmvenly bodies. Nowthe 
 Question is this: Is it possible to.«Je«rmine 
 
 -y <:»^-?^-.»»!L?ll'=!,l?lifrlhrc* 
 
 further, that this axis prolonged to meet the 
 celestial sj.here, was the north pole ot the 
 heavens, the objector at once said, "It is im- 
 possible ; because, if the earth's axis, b^ing 
 produced to meet the heavens, touches it in a 
 particular point, this jwint corned parallel to 
 Itself around a mighty orbit of 200,000,000 
 miles diameter, will cut in the heavens a 
 figure having also the same diameter; and 
 certainly this circle described in the heavens 
 will be visible to the eye." But it is not visi- 
 ble to the eye. If the whole diameter of 
 200.000,000 miles were filled by a globe as 
 brilliant as our sun, at the distance of the 
 fixed stars it would shrink absolutely into a 
 point which no micrometer ever made by man 
 could measure. Here there was a sort of 
 indicative knowledge with regard to the dis- 
 tance of the fixed stars. It must be so great 
 that the whole earth's orbit, viewed from 
 them, would shrink into an invisible point. 
 
 So soon as telescopes were perfected and 
 the division of the circle obtained in the most 
 accurate manner possible, by means of which 
 the most delicate observations could be made, 
 the human mind again returned to this grand 
 problem and attempted to pass these hitherto 
 seemingly impassable limits to measure the 
 distance of the fixed stars. And now let me 
 attempt to explain one of the methods adopted 
 to accomplish this grand obiect. , 
 
 Suppose it ware possible to erect m the 
 centre of this room a ro^ky pier, going down 
 through the base upon the solid rock itselt, so 
 as to be perfectly immovable. Now then 
 upon this rocky pier let me adjust a telescope 
 ofthe highest possible capacity, and let the 
 axis of that instrument be erected so as to have 
 a direction exactly vertical. Having accom- 
 plished this, let me screw it to this rock, so 
 ihat it shall never move, but be for ever per- 
 manent. Now to determine the exact axis 
 of this telescope and to make it appreciable, 
 let me fix in the focus two most delicate lines 
 of spider's web, which are so very fine that 
 they may be regarded almost as invisible 
 mathematical lines. Let them intersect each 
 other in the axis of the telescope and their 
 point of intersection upon lopkmg upward. 
 
 ' .„ _! „:.oi.r vArtirni direction. Plow 
 
 make 
 
 _ , in thj Pl«~ °; ."•'.""thenci «i riv. . mioMy »«nic.l ^'^<^«- 
 
 ^Zt^' Sclt £?:SI ?i!.;. . Aof ibi..„p«P«ed u, 
 
 ^*.., 
 
LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY. 
 
 317 
 
 3(1, then, know- 
 irates the two 
 nount of change 
 lace of the spec- 
 Ity, the distance 
 jwers of Coper- 
 1 revolved about 
 0,000,000 miles 
 the axis of the 
 once in twenty- 
 j itself; and still 
 god to meet the 
 )rth pole of the 
 said, " It is im- 
 rth's axis, b»^ing 
 8, touches it in a 
 irried parallel to 
 t of 200,000,000 
 I the heavens a 
 e diameter; and 
 i in the heavens 
 But it is not visi- 
 [lole diameter of 
 ed by a globe as 
 I distance of the 
 absolutely into a 
 ivcr made by man 
 re was ft sort of 
 regard to the dis- 
 ; must be so great 
 bit, viewed from 
 invisible point, 
 ere perfected and 
 tained in the most 
 ly means of which 
 ms could be made, 
 imcd to this grand 
 pass these hitherto 
 U to measure the 
 And now let me 
 le methods adopted 
 jject. 
 
 (le to erect in the 
 y pier, going down 
 solid rock itself, so 
 vMe. Now then 
 e adjust a telescope 
 pacity, and let the 
 jrected so as to have 
 1. Having accom- 
 ' it to this rock, so 
 but be for ever per- 
 line the exact axis 
 nake ii; appreciable, 
 3 most delicate lines 
 ■e so very fine that 
 almost as invisible 
 them intersect each 
 telescope and their 
 an lopkmg upward, 
 ical direction. Now 
 ;ry prepared to make 
 
 
 my examination of a few of the fixed stars, to 
 determine whether there be any change from 
 the fact that the earth is sweeprng round in 
 its orbit. Place the eye to this tube, and 
 watch till some particular star, that you may 
 hove selected and which lies exactly m a 
 vertical direction, passing through the /.et.>'h 
 8hull reach precisely the central point ot u.c 
 telescope, so thot tlie line of vision, like a 
 prolonged axis, pierces the star exactly. Now 
 we record the observation which is mode »' •» 
 particular hour, and when the earth shall have 
 rolled round its axis and brought it to the same 
 iM.int we observe it anain. and ao through the 
 whole year. Now ihcti il" there be no change, 
 that star will ever pa»s at the same momeTit 
 exactly through the same point across the 
 axis ot the telescope. But suppose it should 
 deviate a little from the point ot intej-section, 
 and at the end of the year it shall have de- 
 scribed a minute orbit, the centre of which is 
 the central point where the axis ot the tele- 
 scope pierces the heavens : the magnitude of 
 this little orbit, occurately determined, is the 
 amount of apparent change r^casioned by the 
 revolution of the earth in it-s orbit, and this 
 would be the parallactic motion of the star. 
 
 This method was adopted by one of the 
 distinguished astronomers who attempted the 
 resolution of the problem of the distance of 
 the fixed stars. He did not succeed : it dehed 
 his ingenuity; still, he was rewarded in his 
 etfortsT if not by the attainment of the object 
 to be accomplished, at least by others equally 
 important. He found the star uixin which 
 he fixed hi« eye moving, not as he supposed 
 it must move, in parallactic change, but taking 
 a difTerent course. For a long time the cause 
 seemed to be wrapped in impenetrable mys- 
 tery; but he finally found it to be due to the 
 fact that the earth was moving with a certain 
 amount of velocity, and light also was coming 
 with a certain velocity, and the two forces 
 combined gave to that star an apparent motion 
 which, when the cause was known, was per- 
 fectly explicable. He discovered m this way 
 the abJalion of light, and also a certain 
 other change, shown by the fact that the 
 earth's axis is not precisely parallel to itselt, 
 but owing to the influence which the sun and 
 moon exert upon the protuberent matter around 
 the equator, it is made to vibrate, as it were, 
 through a very minute arc in the heavens. 
 This IS called kutotton; and these two great 
 discoveries were made in the effort to reso ve 
 the problem measuring the distance ot the 
 
 fixed stars. , i.- ^ r »i,:. »» 
 
 I desire to trace up the history of this ex- 
 amination, to show how science has progress- 
 ed, and how art has been gaming one victory 
 after another, even when it seemed to be im- 
 possible to make the slightest progress. I 
 
 pass rapidly down to the second great effort 
 made to determine the jiarallax of the storM. 
 
 Galileo had even projected this plan, but 
 never found himself in piiusession of instru- 
 ments re<iuisite to make the examination. 
 The plan is simple and will be easily under- 
 sUhkI by oil who heor me. In examuimK the 
 heavens, we find among the fixed stars certain 
 ones that appear single to the common eye, 
 but when examined with a powerful instru- 
 mnnt they arc found to be composed of two. 
 three, four, and sometimes as many as six, 
 clustered together so closely that to the nuked 
 eye they appear as a naked object. Now, 
 after Herschel commenced his review of the 
 heavens, he found these clustered stars scat- 
 tered profusely, and the idea occurred to him 
 that the apparent near proximity of them was 
 occasioned by the fact that one was sunk in 
 spoce far deeper than the other, and the visual 
 ray passed near or exactly through the least 
 distant one. In case thishypothesis might be 
 received as true, these double stars, in which 
 one of the objects was double the size, and m 
 this sense appearing to be half the distance 
 of the other, would furnish a most admirable 
 means of determining whether any parallactic 
 change took place in consequence of the revo- 
 lution of the earth. Suppose I am so situated 
 as to occult any object in this room by one ot 
 the columns before me : by throwing my head 
 slightly to the right the object hidden will ap- 
 pear to come out on that side ; or, by throw- 
 ing my head to the left the same object will 
 appear to come out of the other side. Just so 
 in these minute double stars. If the observer 
 start from wne extremity of the earth's annual 
 orbit, and find this minute star on the nght- 
 hand side of the larger one— if he come round 
 and continue his observation till he reaches 
 one quarter of the whole circumference, when 
 he finds it is hidden behind the larger star— 
 if he reach the other extremity of the circuit, 
 and find how the minute star is coining out on 
 the opposite side— if, moreover, this change 
 occur every time the earth makes us annual 
 revolution— it will demonstrate most conclu- 
 sively that these changes are paral actic, and 
 occosioned by the fact that the observer is 
 sweeping around in the earth's orbit, and 
 viewing the objects from different positions. 
 
 Such is the nature of the investigation un- 
 dertaken by Herschel, and there seemed to be 
 every reason to believe he would be success- 
 ful. But did he succeed? No. He found 
 that these stars were moving; and here again 
 were his efforts rewarded by one of the niost 
 brilliant discoveries ever made. He tounrt in 
 these closely-united objects that there was a 
 motion, but not of the kin.l he anticipated ; 
 he found that the one was moving about the 
 other, and on a better view, that they were 
 
 
 
il 
 
 *. 
 
 LBCTUBE8 ON A8TE0N0MY 
 
 both revolving about tbe common c itre of 
 SivitJ Is it possible that these .'..t^nt orbs 
 were energized by the same kind ol inHuence 
 whch operates on the earth's surface, and 
 Ihat this law of gravitation extending over this 
 mmetuJable gulf, seized tljese suns and held 
 them obedient to it. control, causirg them to 
 revolve about each other i 
 
 The announcement that these motior« were 
 going on, filled the astronomical world with 
 Kishment. It seemed that . new held was 
 ^ddenly disclosed which promised to be nter- 
 minable. If these stars, so profusely scattor- 
 T^nd so closely united, were really double 
 suns then had astroninny only begun its ca- 
 reer: If to find the perfods and measure the 
 orbits of the planets had occupied the attention 
 of the human race up to the present time how 
 much time would ^enecewary to measure the 
 periods and determine the orbits of these 
 mighty suns, sunk so deeply m space? But 
 L effort has been made and it is progressing. 
 A solitary object, one of a beautiful system 
 waTtaking uj and measures made year after 
 year, till tiniliy a sufficient amount of data 
 are obtained to commence the computation of 
 the elements of the orbit. But what law sha 1 
 be adopted? The law of gravitation is ap- 
 plied, and, wonderful to relate, these far iis- 
 tant suns ;re subjected to the same law that 
 carries our earth about our sun. ^ . , 
 
 And now such is the knowledge attained 
 with reference to these various systenos, that 
 . . . ._ii .v„;. voru iinsi».\nn anil 
 
 undertake this i)roblem by the use of the 
 heliometer, hoping this way to obtain a series 
 of observations that might render it successful. 
 A few years since he commenced his obser- 
 vations. But the query arose : was there 
 among the myriads of stars, some one object 
 1 that would be more likely than all others to 
 yield U) his investigation? How could a 
 I choice be made ? What process could guide 
 him ? Let me tell you. , - , , , 
 
 By comparing the places of fixed stars de- 
 termined by ancient astronomers, with those 
 determined recently, it is found that th.«e ob- 
 iects which are called fixed, are not really so, but 
 are changing their places by slow and almost 
 imperceptible degrees, m that at the end of 
 two thousand years there is a manifest paral- 
 lax among them. In later times, after the ob- 
 servations of other astronomers were com- 
 pared, it became manifest that there was 
 scarcely a solitary star in the heavens abso- 
 lutely fixed in position. But if this were 
 true, inasmuch as the sun was ore of the fixed 
 stars, is it not jiossible that it too is sweeping 
 through space ? This was a wonderful idea, 
 truly. Now this apparent change among the 
 fixei e-tars might possibly be accounted for 
 uiwn the hypothesis that the sun swept through 
 space, carrying the earth and all the planets 
 with it, and thus caused these objects to change 
 their apparent places among each other. It 
 this hypothesis were adopted^ those objects 
 which were moving most rapidly would bo 
 
 :J^s^"^s!r^?:55== iS — - "^ °": "''^r 
 
 periods, a. we do with regard to the plane s 
 Llongikg to our own system. But up to this 
 time, recollect, we knew nothing from the in- 
 vestigation with regard to the distance of these 
 obfecta To fhis wonderful discovery I shall 
 again refer ; but for the present permit me to 
 Jfursue the history with reference to he de- 
 termining of the parallax of the fixed s ars. 
 mLn it was known that this method could 
 H not be successfully adopte^. it seemed that the 
 las^ hope was gone, amf there could be no 
 other plain mo?e likely to end in s-iccess. 
 But the skill of the artist had not yet been 
 exhausted. In all precedmg >n«t';»'"^"'JJ 
 Memed there was difficulty, owing to the fact 
 that the micrometer measured with accuracy 
 small distances, but failed in larger opes. 
 
 Finally, of late, an instrument was invented 
 by Frauenhofer, which measured with equal 
 precision both great and small distances, it 
 was called the heliometer. This new mag- 
 nificent instrument was placed m the hands 
 
 yield results. . , i » . i.. 
 
 Again, he choose to select a double star, be^ 
 cause if he could find a set wliich was united 
 in a particular way, he would be able to meas- 
 ure with more accuracy the change that took 
 place in the centre of the line that united the 
 stars, than in any other way. He selected 
 from the cmstellation of the Swan, double star 
 number sixty-one, and commenced nis meas- 
 ures ui)on the position of the centre of the line 
 joining the two. He referred the penual 
 iwint to the intersection of this Imejwith an- 
 other perpendicular to it. Here he had to 
 fix a point, to which with the utmost possible 
 precision he found it practicable to refer that 
 point, to. ascertain whether any change was 
 going, which should be due to the motion of 
 The larth in its orbit. A year rolls round of 
 unintermitted observation of the most accurate 
 kind. He forms his series of places, notes 
 every object, and finds to his mfinite delight 
 there is yet a certain amount outstandm^g, 
 
 nificent instrument was Pl'»«=«J„"> J.^.J'^^t wh ch u^ examination depends upon the 
 of a distinguished astronomer, on« of t°« "«»* ^i" n ^cupied in moving around the earth's 
 illustrious men that ever graced the earth, and P^ «°^ / ^^^^% ^ announce the 
 
 one better adapted to its use » ^«" ^/ ^o Ae \^^J^ ^ j^ ^u ^3^^ repeated these 
 critical examinationof the great problem, than ^»««;^^y^ ^^^ . ^],^ following year, wd 
 
 
'^ 
 
 he use of the 
 
 obtoin a series 
 er it successful, 
 iced his obser- 
 «e : was there 
 ome one object 
 in all others to 
 
 How could a 
 :ess could guide 
 
 P fixed stars de- 
 lers, with those 
 (1 that those ob- 
 not really so, but 
 slow and almost 
 it at the end of 
 I rnanifest paral- 
 les, after the ob- 
 ners were cona- 
 that there was 
 e heavens abso- 
 lut if this were 
 8 one of the fixed 
 t too is sweeping 
 & wonderful idea, 
 hange among the 
 be accounted for 
 jun swept through 
 d all the planets 
 5 objects to chanae 
 g each other. If 
 ted: those objects 
 rapidly would bo 
 nd roost likely to 
 
 t a double star, be- I 
 which was united 
 Idbeabletomeas- 
 i change that took 
 ine that united the 
 ay. He selected 
 ! Swan, double star 
 inienced bismeas- 
 te centre of the line 
 ferred the central 
 
 this line with an- 
 Here he had to 
 the utmost possible 
 ticable to refer that 
 sr any change was 
 ue to the motion of 
 year rolls round of 
 rf the most accurate 
 les of places, notes 
 I his infinite delight 
 imount outstanding, 
 
 depends upon the 
 ig around the earth's 
 ire to announce the 
 e has repeated these 
 
 following year, tad 
 jfaction he finds the 
 
 LKCTURK8 ON ASTRONOMY. 
 
 319 
 
 some series (wcurring precisely in the same 
 .rnler as before. Night after night, and month 
 after month, he watche^. this point, and again 
 cmiparcs the computation of the place and 
 finds the same changes precisely as in the 
 preceding year. The conclusion could no 
 .mger be resided : the mighty gulf had been 
 passed, the distance of that object is known 
 and its parnllax is determined. 
 
 And now how shiill I teJl you the distance! 
 If I speak of millions of miles it only confuses 
 the mind. Let me use a dilUrent unit of 
 measure. I have already told y.m that light . 
 flies with a vebx-ity of twelve millions ot j 
 miles in a minute. Now, then, in order to , 
 reach us from this star in the constellation ot the i 
 Swan, which we 6up|K>se to be the one nearest, | 
 it must in its flight take ten long years to 
 reach this planet. And this is the nearest of all 
 the fixed stars by which we are surrounded. 
 
 Here then is our unit of measure ; and it 1 
 have succeeded in carrying you to this point, 
 our course onward is easy ; for the moment ^ 
 we know the distance of one of the fixed stars, 
 we feel confident that we can attain to others, 
 and so onward and onward. Indeed, this has 
 been literally the case ; since I reached your 
 citv I have received iutelligence fromStruve, 
 
 ^'^ 
 
 that he has determined the (wirallax of seven 
 new stars. Although we find differences in 
 these distances, we have reason to believe the 
 average distance can not be less than that ot 
 number sixty-one in the Swan. 
 
 So soon, then, as we have ascertained the 
 sphere which is described in order to reach 
 the nearest of these bodies, the (luestion arises : 
 Are the stars scattered equally through all 
 space 1 la there any aggregotion of those 
 united by masses? Is there any law which 
 governs these exceedingly distant bmlies, so 
 L to make clusters in particular quarters or 
 regions of space ? If we look out upon the 
 sky, the eye is at once arrested by a beautiful 
 belt of light that sweeps over the whole heav- 
 ens, called the Milky Way. This, on exam- 
 ination, we find to be studded with millions 
 of objects extending entirely around, forming 
 a mighty rone of congregated stars which Ukes 
 this peculiar figure. Let us attempt to an- 
 alyze this figure and see whether it be possi- 
 ble to reach the uttermost limits, and know 
 pt«cisely the point by which it is circum- 
 scribed. To accomplish this we must make 
 use of what is called the space-pcnetrating 
 power. All I have to say on this ?<»«. wi" 
 depend upon the manner in which I shall be 
 able to tell you the meaning of that tenn; tor 
 when we have measured the distance ot the 
 fixed stars it seems impossible to go beyond 
 that distance accurately: yet it is done ap- 
 proximately by this space-penetrating power 
 of the telescope. 
 
 If the pupil of the liumon eye could bo ex- 
 panded to twice its present dimensions, it would 
 receive light sufiicient to enable it to penetrate 
 twice as deep into space. It is found that it 
 can now see a star of the sixth magnitude. 
 But this docs not give an exoct idea of the 
 space-penetrating power of the eye, because 
 the distances are not in the exact ratio to the 
 amount of light. A star of the sixth magni- 
 tude is twelve times more distant than one ot 
 the first. The luiman eye is capable of iien- 
 etrating into space twelve times as deep as 
 the line that joins it to the nearest fixed star. 
 If we could increase the diameter of the pupil 
 and moke it twice as large, it would see twenty- 
 four times as fur. Now if we aid the eye by 
 the telescope (it moy be approximately done) 
 how shall we determine the relative approx- 
 imative power ? I answer: By the diameter 
 of the pupil, or the object-glass, of the instru- 
 ment, we can arrive at a very accurate meus- 
 urement. with regard to that matter. Allow 
 me here to make a very familiar illustration. 
 Suppose upon a level plane, indefinitely ex- 
 tended, it would be possible to erect posts a 
 mile apart. On each of these posts I will 
 place a board which contains a sentence in a 
 given-sized letter. Now the first one is just 
 visible to the eye so that it con be reod ot the 
 distance of one mile, but to read the next one 
 is im|)os8ible. I, however, provide myself 
 with some assistance. I take a telescope and 
 find that with it I can just read the sentence 
 written on the second post. I take one with 
 a larger object-glass and read the third : anoth- 
 er larger still, and read the fourth. 1 hus I 
 will always know the sjjace-penetrating pow- 
 er of the instrument with which I read any 
 one of the distonces; and here is the principle 
 —it is in this way we are able to penetrate 
 from one to another depth, and to know whot 
 is the radius of the mighty sphere of which 
 we are making an examination. 
 
 The first question is: Whether it be possi- 
 ble to penetrate through the depths of the 
 Milky Way ? Herschel attempted this again 
 and again. He takes a spot just visible to the 
 naked eye, and with a low magmfying-power 
 begins his examination. He hnds this spot 
 showing hundreds of stars, and behind them 
 appears to be a milky whiteness which indi- 
 cates other stars more remote. He takes a 
 telescope of larger power and this causes the 
 spot to blaze with more stars ; yet still there 
 is a milky haze indicating that he has not yet 
 penetrated the utmost depths. He takes an- 
 I other still more ^Kiwerful instrument, and yet 
 he does not attain the outermost limits, for still 
 there is a haziness beyond. Finally he places 
 his forty-feet reflector in the direction, and 
 then finSs the whole to glow with beautiful 
 objects like diamond points upon the deep. 
 
 •t'-iU^ 
 
 f ■ « i»'i 
 
 *»*!»( 
 
 ^^ 
 
IBCTURE8 ON A8TBONOMY. 
 
 clear vault of heaven, without a a am beyond. 
 Now he knowa he haa penetrnte.l to the out- 
 «i, e an.l he knowa how much power waa re- 
 nu r'.Ml"o take him there, for he ha* gone on- 
 r :. ate . by atep .ill the laat ha/.e ,a removed 
 I have hod occnaion to go throufih the very 
 amo examination, and I can give not the 
 aSueat idea of the f.-eling. produced, when 
 
 u^m opening the. full P'-«' ''^ '^^f;7Th^; 
 1 looked entirely beyond the '.m.t. of U^e 
 Milky Way and aaw theae orba reatmg upon 
 the deep unataine.l blue "^ Heaven. . 
 
 Well, now. what ia th> depth of theae 
 atrara? We find it impo^ ble to gauge it 
 ^e throw out the a,mndmg.lme. aa Herachel 
 colls it. in every poaatble direction. He ha» 
 5o„e it and the^ominent part «( thi. pamc- 
 ular apot extends to auch o depth thot there 
 „u tie a aeries of five hundred atara. one 
 behind the other, and each p«nnt la remote 
 f;^,m the other as ia the neareat fi-^ 'tar from 
 us. Such ia the depth of these objects. Wow 
 we are able to measure Us figure oi.d tell ita 
 dimcnsioM. This hoa been done. I w'" ""' 
 delay the audience by going t^iro^Sh any ex- 
 planations of the manner in which it was ac- 
 
 ''''^ali'ng'determined the figure of the Milky 
 Way, thfnext point is this : When we stand 
 out upon the outer circumference ^f this 
 m" ghTdrcle. whot is bevond T Is it possible 
 there ts anything beyon/; or hove we reach- 
 ed the ultlmote limit? I answer, we have 
 not reached it. When we look out upon the 
 Teavena. we find not only hundreda, but thou- 
 sands, omi. with the aid of the telescope tens 
 of thousands of islands, all as magnificent oa 
 this mighty cluster with which we are united, 
 who^aun^s number hundreds of mdlions. 
 Now, can we tell anything about their dis- 
 fanre t Can we locate them in atrato, a« we 
 l,H:ate the atara belonging to our own ay a em? 
 I answer yea: it ia easy to estimate, with a 
 eiven-aized aperture to anv instrument, how 
 far It will discerna starof tlie fij't.'n'gn'.'^lj*: 
 In case it be removed till it la juat visible 
 through the great fifty-four feet telescope of 
 Lord^Rosse,Tt is ascertained that the dinance 
 
 is no great that ita light .^11 toke -"xty thou- 
 sand yeara to wine ita flight to us. Remem- 
 ber, tTiis ia one solitary ob ect-a single star. 
 Sanpoae it were possible to gather up the 
 coTsffition of nSes. which is another 
 universe somewhat like our own, and ao near 
 Tua that by the aid of the "r^'nary ins ra- 
 ments it is found to be composed of brilliant 
 ^:?; let us move it backward and b«k- 
 ward till the mighty eye of Lord Ros«>» 
 crcat telescope ust loses sight of it. W>iere 
 E YOU it wiil be ? I am almost afraid to 
 te YOU the distance; it actually overwhelma 
 the Snd; it gives auch on idea of infinity that 
 
 itseemsimpoasibletocomprehen t. Thirty 
 million, of yeara will it require for the light to 
 winit ita flight before it can reach thia earth. 
 
 Such are the distances we are permittul to 
 penetrate into apace. I have had the o,v,,or. 
 Lity of examining a large num»,er of th..»e 
 magnificent objects with one of the hne« ■,.- 
 strumenta ever mounted. We hn.l among 
 them every possible variety of f"'^'"- 7« 
 find theae clustera aometimes m a globular 
 figure, occasionally forming a nng of light, as 
 fb« Milkv WaY, and. in short, in every |)o«- 
 i"le fantLk s^ipe imaginable, and st^ they 
 ore all governed by one law-all subject to 
 the influence of gravitation, and their stability 
 
 " ThavS'apoken of the distance of the atara. 
 I intend now to carry you «1«"K J'»»».'^,"r 
 pve yon an idea of the period, of motwn 
 fmong these mighty objects. We know that 
 the stara which compose our own ayatem arc 
 not fixed, but are moving, and wr have reason 
 to believe that theae remote fjects are en- 
 ergized by the same pnnciple. >\ e find, 
 moreover, these mighty clusters seen™ to be 
 scattered through apace not ""lifTerently, but 
 by a certain law. It is strange that a certain 
 stream of them happena to occupy a position 
 nearly perpendicular to the direction of the 
 Milky WS itself. Now when we return 
 home again and commence an examination of 
 Srown ayatem, we have to start with more 
 minute, smaller periods. We find among 
 double stars some moving swiftly. , »« ""' 
 cules there is one whose »"»»'"" '»*" P"" 
 ceptible that you can observe the c^-""?? »"" 
 aVew nights. It performs lU revolution m 
 thirty-seven years only. There is another m 
 tSe northern crown, which completes lU rev- 
 olution in forty-two y*";."'.™ we are 
 carried by analogy atill further, to the coii- 
 St1o7of the fiion, where there i. a quad- 
 ruple set, formed by two '»«V^<^ V.-« »^« 
 one of these revolves in one thousand and the 
 Xrintwo thousand years; and, inasn^uch 
 as the whole four are awecning, by their 
 prop«»r motion, together through. a,,ace in rela- 
 Sve' company, there is ^^ery reason to believe 
 they constitute one system : and in case that 
 be true, the motion of one of the double sets 
 Lut the other can not be less tjan one .mil- 
 ion years. Thua immense are their penods , 
 but what is this compared with the vast cir- 
 cuit of our sun itself. , J r„-.»«.l 
 In the course of lectures previously delivered 
 in this city, I attempted to ahow to tW who 
 heard me'how it was that Maedler had re- 
 cently determined the central ?«•"* '" ««' 
 great%tratum, or the «,nrce about wh.ch^l 
 fhe stars, including ouraunitseinare perfom.^ 
 ing their mighty revolutton. Now, althougn 
 wl can not rely implicitly upon all hia deduc 
 
' it. Thirty 
 tr the light to 
 1 this earth. 
 
 permittfcl to I 
 id the oppnr- 
 riber of th"f»e 
 the finent in- 
 Hnil nmoDK 
 ■ form. We 
 in a jrlobnlar 
 ng of light, as 
 in every \m»- 
 
 and still they 
 all subject to 
 
 their stability 
 
 e of the stars. 
 ; with me and 
 odt of motinn 
 We know that 
 wn system arc 
 vp have reason 
 objects are en- 
 le. We find, 
 srs seem to be , 
 diflerently, but j 
 ; that B certain I 
 cupy a position 
 tirection of the 
 hen we return 
 examination of 
 itart with more 
 Vc find among 
 iftly. In Her- 
 rtion is so per- 
 the change after .. 
 its revolution in [1 
 ere is another in ' 
 impletes ito rev- 
 Then we are 
 her, to the con- 
 there is a quad- 
 I of double stars : 
 housand and the 
 ; and, inasmuch 
 !cping, by their 
 igh sjiace in rela- 
 reason to believe 
 and in case that 
 f the double sets 
 ess than one mill- 
 ire their periods ; 
 vith the vast cir- 
 
 evionsly delivered 
 ihow to those who 
 Maedler had re- 
 itral point, in our 
 :e about which all 
 itself, are perform- 
 I. Now, although 
 upon all his deduc- 
 
 PBACB B0CIBTIB8. 
 
 321 
 
 ti(.ns V«t that he has made a close approxi- 
 tmns, y"v . . ^^ adopt his 
 
 iHh n we r^re to have the measure of 
 II men w« . ^,i,ie almost to 
 
 And we may «•> «>"« •*«? f«"^"'''. ^^ "^J 
 .oM ha've anV.dea of the -"---"re'l 
 a.)d. let us for a moment reftfct that th. re s 
 not a ".litary particle of matter throushout 
 S unrverH,/.h'at is not operating, to .hnnub 
 
 romulete iu orbil about im. n— "• - ,»,« movements of every other purticle. ino 
 
 Ken we desire to have the measure of ^^^^^Tr has shown the most trnnscendent 
 terS,it.eem.thatitUpoM«ble»lm.^^^^ ,^, perturbai.on of a 
 
 accompH-h it even here in time. 1- ..r let «« «^"'""j:^.; ,!„,„' bcxlies belonging to h.s "wn 
 I^pS the hundred million, o sun. to i« r^y,^*",^ , ^^ Ood ha. compute, the vertur- 
 ur^ eTunder the -ti-m/.f that A lm.ghty|..w- Uy e^^^ ^ .^ ^^3 ,„,i „„..^r.e. 
 
 Z that started them in their orbits. ' »"'y "", . ),„„w» precise y how much nfluence 
 .weep on and one hundred and seventeen and he Km.wy y ^^^ ^^0 other 
 
 mSs of yeur. roll round bo ore the sun c^ » e«rted J y^ '""V^'rYCs, "' 
 
 coinplishes his mighty journey. ^"^3k„„^* f^U well that this mighty sy.'*! ««. 
 2 all back again to the •«";«X^^'^\.'::;: ^h "h he has calculated with .nhnUe wmdom 
 tuH., if the ratio is anything l.k^, wh«t ^.^^ ^^j .Kill, is so arranged that it shall be i«r 
 pose it to be. taking the »'"«'" 'fJ'S'^,. pctual-that it shall never end. 
 ,ur own sun and nolar -yst*-"" "1. „11 J to in 
 
 then indee<l will we run """"'.S'^'/J, Z ■ 
 
 finity and vhroaghouteiernity iUelf.b«-ior^^^^^ 
 shall have accomplished one great revolution 
 
 -i?r;.' t' r^hing. *», *« - '"jj «: 
 
 unward to the contemi)latu)i. of he attnbutes 
 • n'm who sustain, ail things by the m.gh 
 
 °^sr^::e'if^;otVou;rkt;:;'hf/g!o:5! 
 
 ii 
 
 PEACE SOCIETIES. 
 
 ' r.viLiXED nation, are evidently for a ocason 
 
 tired of war The universality of the change 
 
 l^arce less remarkable than its suddenneM. 
 
 thousands of other •^«^«- V^/ "you wo"uid 
 compute the result. B^J^;"'"^; ^^n ^omind 
 have an idea ot the eiernuy h°'"" m. 
 
 the thought that all J-;, -'J^^ wr^«;„ J^i: 
 
 nel cdtodon harness in self-defence— oi oeing 
 Summoned to the battle-field by the plea^ng 
 rs of sisters, chUdren and wiv. The 
 
 mmm 
 
 „p.e...on«r k» *"J, ,i„ .Hion «Uh .he 
 earth, which i« now ""/•" IJ ., .. ^^ j„. 
 
 hehitenu th.. •"' X^J^'^.'.T "Sh mw 
 
 ivr^;is;r.r^r;Wh»ii»,5^ni»o.^^^ 
 
 
 —the diffusion of intormauo.. ». " "- -.-- 
 of knowledge more stnctly "ff^"^"/" "' "^ 
 tnre mav have done aomething— the expe 
 "„rn/tKB national benefit consequent upon 
 
 EnIS -=;!»•« 
 
 any other we could specify, me i _ 
 J . ■ , ■ ^,.\ linvB beco 
 
 prehend it. ~~^ 
 
 »»t 
 
 
 '^"T' 
 
 %» 
 
 '«*» 
 

 III 
 
 322 
 
 FBACB 800IBTIKS. 
 
 i«Un.(i h«vo got tick of p««try. Bynm ef- 
 fcrtPil thp Utter change just aa Napoleon ac- 
 omplinhp.! the other. In Ixrth ca»ea the thing 
 was ovi'nirivin. and aatialion haa succeeded 
 in brgi'ttinK disgust. 
 
 Tired of war, men are now cultivating the 
 acicnci-s, studyinff politics, reailing boc>ks and 
 periixiicala in which useful information and 
 harmless amusement are delightfully com- 
 bined. This, however, will not of itself pre- 
 vent them eventually from relapsing anew 
 into the military mania of other days; the 
 old spirit will come back u|K>n the world un- 
 less something much more etVective is accom- 
 plished than that which the mere |H)litician, 
 philosopher, or sage, can at any time achieve^ 
 But it is obvious that the same cause which 
 at present facilitates the spread of merely 
 secular, facilitates also the diflTusion of that 
 more iin|>ortant learning by means of which, 
 men, by becoming wise for eternity, become 
 wise also for time. What then is ihe imme- 
 diate duty of all who wish well to the best 
 interests of the human roce 7 Is it to waste 
 time in merely guessing at the causes which 
 have contributed' to the change so often already 
 specilied ? This would not be wise ; it would 
 be at leasi a very questionable expenditure 
 of talents and of time. True philosophy 
 teaches us, previous to an investigation of their 
 origin, to take advantage of circumstonces as 
 they are. Now, one thing is certoin, mankind 
 have recently become fervent in their praise 
 of peace; they are inclined to listen with at- 
 tentive patience to any one who will take the 
 trouble of discoursing to them on the subject; 
 and the man who, possessing the ability, does 
 not avoil himself of the opportunity which 
 this state of things affords to advance the in- 
 terests of humanity by a judicious advocacy 
 of the "cause of peace," proves himself, if a 
 Christian at all. to be less wise in his gr.iera- 
 tion than thousands whose pretensions are far , 
 less high. After these observations it wj 
 scarcely necessary to announce the deciileil 
 pleasure with which we have recently it- 
 nessed the advantage which, in many ;)«rt8 
 of the world, genuine philanthropist!, and 
 Christian patriots are taking of th* improved 
 tone of public sentiment and fecliiig in refer- 
 ence to the evils of war and the advantages 
 of peace, to inculcate doctrines and deliver 
 maxima calculated, if sincerely imbibed and 
 followed up, to render permanent a change 
 which, but for this, vrxW assuredly prove 
 eqnaMv fallaciius and temporary. 
 
 Peace societies, our readers are aware, 
 have been in existence for upward of thirty 
 years. They started into organized being, both 
 here and in Great Britain (and what is very 
 aingular. almost simu'taneouslyV, a little after 
 the battle of Waterloo. They have since 
 
 •risen in some qoartera on the continent. 
 Without attracting much mtice, the membera 
 of these institutions prosecuted their philaii 
 thropic purpose for years; and they now hfcvo 
 their reward ; a tide of public approbaticm fa- 
 vorable to the grand object they are striving 
 to promote, is fast setting in. To the United 
 StatrN of America is doe the honor of the 
 actual formation of the iirst society, and to 
 the city of New York must be awanled the 
 priority in this noble cause. A peace society 
 WRS formed here in the year 1815, as also in 
 Massachusetts and Ohio. The London so- 
 ciety for the promotion of permonent and uni- 
 versal peace, was formally establishetl about 
 midsummer, 1816, exactly one year after the 
 awful events at Woterio«« It had, however, 
 been projected, and preliminary meetings had 
 been held so eariy as 1814; but the con- 
 tinuance of the war, and the intoxicotion of 
 national glory, appear to have impeded irt 
 public establishment. The meeting at which 
 the formation of the London society wojt/e- 
 solvctl on, was held at the house of Williom 
 Allen, the eminent philanthropist and philoso- 
 pher, lately deceased, in Plough Court, in the 
 city of London. It is not uninteresting to ob- 
 serve the names of the twelve men who were 
 then first appointed as the committee of the 
 infant society. The committee consisted of 
 the venerable and venerated Thomas Clark- 
 son, his brother John Clarkson, William 
 Allen, William Crawford, ChaHes St<.ke9 
 Dudley, Thomas Harper, minister, Icobert 
 Marsden, Joseph Tregellis Price, Evan Eces, 
 John Scott, Frederick Smith, and Tnomas 
 Stnrge. Since the fonnation of f .is society 
 in the United Kincdom, numerov association)! 
 have* i()rmei= for the sar.'fi oiyect. Tlie 
 num! , I tracts and publicavions printed by 
 tli«> society to the present time, is about two 
 millions; and these tracts have been circulated 
 in various languages, and in all the quarters 
 of the globe. But by far th most irnjiortant 
 labor of the society, was the summoning of a 
 convention of its friends from various piirts of 
 the worid, in London, in 1843. The object 
 of this convention was to deliberate upon the 
 best means of showing to the world the evila 
 of war, and of promoting peace. The num- 
 ber of delegates appointed was thrt e hundred 
 and twenty-four, of wh in two hundrei' nd 
 ninety-two were from Great Britain and ire- 
 land, twenty-six from the United S.ates of 
 America, and six from the continent of hn- 
 rope. The convention lasted three day-^. and 
 was attended by about one hundred and fifty 
 of the delegates, besides a number of visiter? 
 both ladies and gentlemen . The result of this ' 
 convention haa been to give an impetus to the 
 cause greater than it ever before receivpd. 
 The fnendaof peace have been stimulated, 
 
 vs 
 
 sns 
 
 ■«•. 
 
il 
 
 the continent. 
 I, the mcmbert 
 I their philaii 
 they now hi.vn 
 I p probation fa- 
 ly are ftriving 
 To the United 
 
 honor of the 
 ociety, and to 
 ; awanled the 
 L peace society 
 B15, o« bIho in 
 le London so- 
 lannnt and uni- 
 [alil'thwl about 
 ear after the 
 
 .jod, however, 
 y meetings had 
 ; but the con- 
 intoxication of 
 le impeded it* 
 eeting at which 
 wcietv was re- 
 use of William 
 list and philoso- 
 ;h Court, in the 
 iteresting to ob- 
 
 men who were 
 immittce of the 
 tee consisted of 
 Thomas Clark- 
 rkson, William 
 Charles Stokes 
 ninister, liobert 
 •ice, Evan liees, 
 h, and Thomas 
 \ of f lis society 
 roT associationd 
 •,>e object. Tl»e 
 lions printed by 
 ie, is about two 
 c been circulated 
 
 all the quarter* 
 most imiiortant 
 
 summoning of a 
 1 various parM of 
 43. The object 
 liberate upon the 
 a world ih«> evil* 
 ace. The num- 
 as thri e hundred 
 two hnndretl -ind 
 
 Britain and ire- 
 LJnited S'-ates of 
 continent of E«- 
 d throe days, and 
 tiundrcd and fifty 
 umbej of visiterc 
 
 The result of this ^ 
 an impetus to the 
 
 before received. 
 
 been stimulated, 
 
 and fresh energy \» infused into the.r opera- 
 Sm The nuuiber of public.t.on. and ner,- 
 2als has ben extended; l«c'"'« •»•;« 
 grcutly incr.a«Ml ; and new auxihanc. are 
 "onHti/ntly muking their appearance. 
 
 While, however, much good may have re- 
 .ultcl fr..m the agency employed by such la 
 .titutions to circulate tract, and P«"<-''"'* 
 favorable to their views, we can not he p 
 thinking that one of the chief blessings soci.-ty 
 ga ,.s from them is the amount ot .nduence 
 Lcrci.e.l over the popular mind by the speech- 
 es dfliver...! »n mu asion of their annual and 
 other meetingH. TracU and magazines are 
 all very well? we also decidedly appr<.vo of 
 the advice given from so many «l""'«» '" 
 reference to international addres«!s; but for 
 nnnlucing a general sensation, there is nothing 
 ^ cllcctive S. a ^ckA speech. Even the con- 
 vention referred to, but for the eh^quence "f 
 many of its public speakers, would have 
 K;arce achieved the triumphs it has subse- 
 quently gained. These speeches are not mere 
 aeclamatory harangues holding ^^P *«' ^^ «; 
 testation by a mere exhibition of "• »«>rro" . 
 nor .1.J they adv.Kjate peace merelv from the 
 temporary blessing it is inculcated to impart. 
 Se'^r tendency is to exhibit how utterly a 
 
 1 neir icnueiicjf m •" ^y — -- 
 variance with the pr.nciples of the gosp , 
 Christ are the exercise or cultivation of those 
 feelitiKS in which war originates. N«'W this 
 is what all along vre would be at. We may 
 no doubt idvance many ««f "* »8''"*' *"' 
 and in fav.^oi.pcace; but why "houkl ^ehev- 
 er. in a tiy^J.on from God not just begin at 
 the beginnirg f Why not »peak out wuh 
 feariess.r.so and fidelity T Why "ot ""y J^' 
 men u:e by nature lovers of war-that though, 
 from the ndluence of the same causes »ha» 
 rerid^r men tc. a time tired of any h ng, the 
 civilized human family are at present dispowd 
 to vote war a nuisance, they, notwithstanding, 
 vvhen the m<..d comes round, will be as much 
 inclined for it as ever ? If we be .verse to w a , 
 because we are l^e'^^'Chmtians than our 
 forefathers, it is good; but if the (eehng on- 
 ginate merely in being tired ^r a time of the 
 game, it will not be lasting. Now. however 
 fs the time f.-r the Christian philanthropist to 
 bestir himself. Christianity alone canrender 
 permanent a change whicti ongmated in a 
 mere satiotion of war as a trade. Let Chns- 
 tian ministers, therefore, bring the subject 
 prominently before the minds of the hearers, 
 giving distinct utterance to the truth, that, as 
 the gospel of Christ recommends pe^e, so 
 notning but the same gospel can render peaa 
 permanent. A better moment than the pres- 
 ent can not be supposed tor the '"culcation of 
 such doctrines, appalled and agonized as we 
 have been by the recent Mexican war. Let 
 therefore as many meetings as possible be got 
 
 UD for the puriKMM) of bringing out the views 
 
 „f tho«> wU believe that '"»"'*'"•• P''"''"'/! 
 b, kept from relapsing inU) their old martial 
 propensities by the inlluence of genuine Chris- 
 iaiity; for we can not conceal a suspicion 
 ha tK. little stress ha. been laid ufMrn this 
 view of things. To judge turm the lanRuaKe 
 which many use. we might •>•««;. f-'l^y/l"' 
 human nature « in'P"?^'"*"' ''^''-1*''^^,;" 
 are becoming pcacetul.just through the ditlu- 
 Mon of «:ience and literature ^^^vmthan 
 alas. i. not to b. no easily tamed ! 1 hey have 
 rcaa history to little purncMK. wh,. are no 
 aware that men naturally love to go to war, 
 that they must have s<imething to do--*ome- 
 thing to excite them ; and that the r.iamaot war 
 will never yie'd to the mere mtluence of peace 
 «)cietie. unless they recognise Christianity as 
 the only system that can ultimately regenerate 
 mankind. This, we are ^M to '»'««"ver. he 
 member, of peace institutions are almost uni- 
 versally doing: and this being the case. j-e 
 must. In the use of our influence, bid them 
 S-«P«ed- What so desirable a. peace- 
 what'so terrific a. war! And yet. alter all 
 our experience of these there ,. « pn"<= 1' « 
 in human nature which, un ess checked by 
 the gospel of peace, will again plunge us into 
 all iShorrors.' There is. we again repeat, a 
 danger that at present we mistake the mere 
 lull of the storm for a permanent calm; that 
 because men are clamorous fi.r peace now they 
 will be so alwnys. Nothing can reiider us 
 secure but the eradication of the principle, in 
 whkh war originates. This can be actiieved 
 by Christianity alone. Let it therefore be 
 distinctly announced that such is the fact. 
 Shillv-shally ■-.;«, while it does good at no time, 
 Ts utterly ruii^ue here. While the enemy 
 sleeps let us endeavor to eradicate the tares. 
 ..Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth, 
 and g.^ will to men !" ?ornied the b,.rden of 
 angelic song on the night of the hmh of the 
 PrLe of ^eace. The principles he taught 
 when universally embraced, will hanishwar 
 1 from the earth ; but nothing else will. Sci- 
 ' e^, philosophy, art, may be cf -ated whne 
 men are under the influence °f » /^"P^^ 
 satiation of the game of war, but these wiU 
 never eradicate tTie principle. The tendency 
 to war has its origin in elements with which 
 Se reli^'on of Christ onlv can •uccessfully 
 papplef This, we are glad to observe,!. 
 m,w distinctly recognised m the majority of 
 the speeches deUvered at peace meetmgs. 
 
 E:!i 
 
 I 
 
 Thb Object or Education.— The aim 
 of T^caS should be to teach -'"f /^ YoT- 
 to think than what to thmk-rather to im 
 Drove our minds, so a. to enable us to thinK 
 For ourselves, than to load the memory with 
 the thoughts of other men. 
 
iiWr 
 
 
 '%K 
 
 
 S 
 
 The Eom»n Standard!, B 
 
 I 
 
 s. P. a. R. 
 
 The Romans bor-. on their "'""^"^'J^ 
 letters S. P. Q. R-. meaning Senatus Popwf 
 qTRomanlL. It has been adopte^ by 
 certain religionists to e''F««« t^^^'J^S' 
 Sena populum quern redemish. An Italian, 
 S entfriSg Rome, applied it, Somjo^'^^ 
 nuesti Ronfani. The protestants of (Jermany 
 gave it. Suhlatopapd qutelum regnum, U^e 
 catholics, Salus papa quies regnu \ wit, 
 seeine it inscribed on the chamber wall ot t 
 pope, newly created, put this question to him, 
 
 Sancle Pater, quart "'^"J . ^^ITthl 
 head of the church answered by t^nimg the 
 letters the contrary way, Rxdto quia papa 
 lum. 
 
 WESTERN SCENERY. 
 
 Thk traveller who first visits the valley of 
 the west, advancing from the east to the 
 Ohio river, and thence proceeding westward, 
 • • lagnificenceofthevegetB- 
 
 is struck with the m.B.....^— ^- . 
 
 tion which clothes the whole wrf«ce. The 
 vast extent and gloomy grandeur of the forest, 
 the gigantic size and venerable antiquity of 
 the trees, the rankness of the weeds, th« 
 
 luxuriance and variety of the ''«'3e/brash. the 
 lone vines that climb to the tops of the tallest 
 branches, the parasites that hang in clusters 
 from the bougL, the brilliancy of the foliage, 
 iTthe exuberance of the fruit, aU show . 
 land teeming with vegetable lif«- JK'"^" 
 
 is seen in its majesty, »»>?/""? ""^reun- 
 the wilderness is here. Here » ""^"J^ "" 
 sDoiled, and silence undisturbed. A tewyears 
 .M this impression was more striking than at 
 Sei! for now. farms, villages, and even a 
 FeXge towns, ire scattered over this region, 
 
 diver Jving its landscapes, and breaking m 
 j3Xacteristicwildnessofitsscenery. 
 
 StUl there are wide tracts remaimng in a state 
 of nature and displaying all the savage luxu- 
 riance which first attrac^d the pioneer; and 
 u^^n a gSneral survey, its fe«t?'es f^ " 
 this day. to one accustomed only to thickly- 
 plopled co^^'ries. the same fresfine^ of beau- 
 [y.and the immensity, through rudeness of 
 outline, which we hu^e been accustomed to 
 iiate with the landscape of he west. 
 
 We know of nothing more splendid than a 
 western forest. There is a grandeur n the 
 immense size of the tree»-a richness in the 
 coSr'fdie foliage, superior to anything 
 that ".\nown in corresponding latitudes-a 
 wildness and an unbroken stillness that attest 
 Ae ab"nce of man-above all there is a vast- 
 iess. a boundless extent, an uninterrupted con- 
 
 ■ 
 
anderbrusli, the 
 ps of the tallest 
 lang in clusters 
 y of the foliage, 
 uit, all show a 
 ife. The forest 
 mp and pride of j 
 e is nature un- 
 d. A few years 
 I striking than at 
 iges, and even a 
 over this region, 
 md breaking in 
 ;88 of its scenery, 
 naining in a state 
 the savage luxu- 
 ;he pioneer 5 and 
 latures present at 
 only to thickly- 
 reshness of beau- 
 ugh rudeness of 
 in accustomed to 
 
 of the west. 
 5 splendid than a 
 
 grandeur in the 
 a richness in the 
 erior to anything 
 iding latitudes— a 
 tillness that attest 
 all there is a vast 
 uninterrupted con 
 
 nilvancing wMtwiinl as,ceiiu» _,__,(.„^„ 
 
 ut::^tJ;S; sS:rr The Mo..n,aheh. 
 Sng through a mountainous country, over- 
 hungwith precipices, ai.-l shaded .,y heavy 
 foreL with a current suffic.enlly gentle to 
 be ea:ily navigable, to steamboat, has Us .pe- 
 /-•' ...k;ok nrp mstanil 
 
 .f ii>i»ixi»<.<' — - - • , .-Up easily navigauits lu ov-"- • - j 
 
 „1 o,cenJ. 1.. Ih. level ot °'.f'!'il^,^,J, wh«h are in.iemlj l<»t »*«» 
 '■;■',";:;;« „lai...>.l.ich c,m,titut.. tin .-reee J™" 'Xr h«i pM«J »n llie bo«..n ..I li.e 
 
 '"'L' clitf ih re S; den of the rattlesnake ^^^^'J^Xr^^^^^^^^ ^J l"^ T'' 
 
 rocky cliH, wnerc ^^^^ til tne "vcr uc unbroken lorest 
 
 '^::!^s.riY'''«'^?'':»:'f£ 
 
 now beholds it in 
 
 Tint if we leave the gentle current of the Ohio. 
 ?„"]iTniXKenuckyortheCumel„^^^^ 
 WP aeain find rapid streams, overhung witn 
 nrecinices, and a country aboundmg ui the 
 d vers tTes of a wild and picturesque scenery. 
 ret:^e seen the rapid c^^^^^^^^ 
 
 '" ^'Uln^re't^rCsTbarE^sUte; but f:^^",^ ::r ^^oFr^l '^r..^ the tail 
 ""T W.ls it Hts festal gurb, reposing in «nde^^^^^ „bove in solitary grandeur. 
 
 %"£ di..i»«lo» « «« ™.6i!»'? •• " "; IS ItrSbimeSt from .b. eryj.l 
 
 sec, theettectot '^^"Xmeoio^xr primitive 
 1^ ^U'"a°Ey -iWneTs, that tUws a 
 lorests *,£«*."Vy the feelings; a some- 
 
 cast of '»")^""';i^:"adVlitude%hich sug- 
 thing m the wi»les?reau »» ^^^ 
 
 gestf to the «-«"!Litt,rn the companion, 
 habitations of m"n-^j^°"*';„d the presence of 
 t'?''^"^''"Cttp?^A;Tand\caJe awakens 
 his God. But tne P™"' „ jj^j pre- 
 a different tram of thought. H^^^/^ ^ ^f 
 dominates nstead of Bh^d^. and aj^^^J^^^ 
 
 hue instead of a weansome ^^^^^ 
 
 stenances to trees uuu u western 
 
 The scenery presented on the western 
 
 1 he scenery y ^ ^^^j different. 1 he 
 
 shore of the Ohio 18 auog ^^^ ^.^ ^^ 
 
 mountain, the rock, tne pr j traveller, 
 
 torrent, "««;/" "»,Sw over Indiana, Illi- 
 as he wander? ""^c^^^'^'y^^ wilderness lying 
 nois, Missouri, and "^ v as j ((the 
 
 beyond is "^""^i'^t^of ^^^^^^^^ """^ 
 fhrriS^^ArfS. the beauty, of Its 
 
 widespread meadows. ^^^ ^,j^ 
 
 I» "• .P^J^iT^'ri'rroLe which have been 
 
 dominates instead ot «'}'^"«'' »"" t ';„ee and It «. pe^^aps, n«_^"7.;;;~y,lch have been 
 hue instead of a wean-meexub^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^ ^^^ 
 
 monotony of verfure,wh,^etm^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^ .^ 
 
 landscape allows the eye to rom jj g | pUins ; for they nave u^^^ ^,„„^^ of Asia, 
 
 the imagination to expand, over an e 
 
 m the contour of the »"»"!=*;. "I^^^l d stricts. 
 Srr^^a^^^Ss^rj^the-e. 
 
 If the traveller .m>Kuo« ..".j.^---^^^^ ^ 
 
 Snd intersected ^^^^JL^P'i f Suckyrand 
 Pennsylvan^ y,rg -.^K^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 universally excitea "X "'Yr; j ;„ various 
 plains; for they have been found m ^^.^^ 
 
 Jarts of ^h^^^'fw^erica and the deserts 
 t.STeaUkeisSe of timber. B-f 
 
 whi e on^Xto 4" tation, and another snow- 
 to give birth to y^g""''";, ' x^* jn tempe- 
 clad and «^««Pr'^V^\S amazing fertility of 
 rate climates and "i"^' ^^"^ are va^ous 
 goil. These facU «Jow that the ^^^^^^ ^^^ 
 causes inimical to the growth 01 ^^^^^^^^ 
 
 ern Pennsylvania, V irgini«,iv--^»jj^- ^^^, i„;„,cal to tn^".?"^^,;- spontaneous 
 
 tWi 
 
w 
 
 f'S^ 
 
 326 
 
 VE8TERN SCENERY. 
 
 1' 
 
 1^ 
 
 wherever its surface is left uncultivated by 
 the hand of man. The vegetable kingdom 
 embraces an infinite variety of plants, "trom 
 the cedar of Lebanon to the hyssop that 
 growcth on the wall;" and the plan of nature, 
 in which there is no miscalculation, has pro- 
 vided that there shall be a necessary concate- 
 nation of circumstances— a proper adaptation 
 of soil, climate, moisture— of natural and 
 secondary causes, to produce and to protect 
 each • just as she has assigned the wilderness 
 to the Indian, the rich i)08tare to the grazing 
 herd, and the Alps to^the mountain goat. 
 
 We apprehend that the intense astonish- 
 ment with which the American pioneers hrst 
 beheld a nrairie. and which we all feel in 
 eazina ovut those singularly beautiful plains, 
 18 the Jtesult of association. The adventurers 
 who preceded us, from the champaign districts 
 of France, have left no record of any such sur- 
 prise; on the contrary, they discovered in 
 these flowery meadows something that re- 
 minded them of home; and their sprightly 
 imaginations at once suggested, that nothing 
 was wanting but the vineyard, the peasant s 
 cottage, and the stately chateau, to render the 
 resemblance complete. But our iin.'""^«ate 
 ancestors came from lands covered w .. '^ •>t<1, 
 and in their minds the idea of a wi.-^ >^ *«« 
 indissolubly connected with that t ■ -iest. 
 They had settled in the woods upon the shores 
 of the Atlantic, and there their ideas of a new 
 country had been formed. As they proceeded 
 to the west, they found the shadows of heavy 
 foliage deepening upon their path, and the 
 luxuriant forest becoming at every step rnore 
 stately and intense, deepening the impression, 
 that as they receded from civilization, the 
 woodland must continue to accumulate the 
 
 process of rearing the annual flower, or the 
 more hardy varieties of grass, and with what 
 ease a spot of ground may be covered with a 
 camet of verdure; and we know eijually 
 well how difficult it is to rear an orchard or a 
 grove, and how numerous are the accidents 
 which ossail a tree. An expanse of natural 
 meadow is not therefore so much an object of 
 curiosity, as a continuous forest ; the former 
 coming rapidly to perfection, with but few 
 enemies to assail it, the latter advancing 
 slowly to maturity, surrounded by dangers. 
 Hence there is to my mind no scene so im- 
 iiosing, none which awakens sensations of 
 such admiration and solemnity, as the for- 
 est standing in its aboriginal integrity, and 
 hearing the indisputable marks of antiquity 
 —where we stand upon a soil composed of 
 vegetable mould, which can only have been 
 produced by the undisturbed occumulation of 
 ages, and behold around us the healthful and 
 gigantic trees, whose immense shafts have 
 been increasing in size for centuries, and which 
 have stood during that whole time exposed to 
 the lightning, the wind, and the frcwt, and to 
 the depredations of the insect and the brute. 
 
 The scenery of the jirairie country excites 
 a different feeling. The novelty is striking, 
 and never fails to cause an exclamation of sur- 
 prise. The extent of the prospect is ex- 
 hilarating ; the verdure and the llowera are 
 beautiful; and the absence of shade, and con- 
 sequent appearance of a profusion of light, 
 produce a gayety which animates the be- 
 holder. . t I 1 
 
 It is necessary to explain that ir = m* i, 
 
 although preserving a general level in aspect 
 to the whole wiuntry, are yet in themselves 
 not flaU but exhibit » gracefully-wavmg sur- 
 
 woodland must «>™"« ^^ *^;^J,;;^^^^^^^^ facefwelu^g and sinking with ^n easy slope 
 
 burst uiKin their enraptured gaze, with its 
 widely-extended landscape, its verdure, its 
 flowers, its picturescjue groves and all its ex- 
 (jnisite variety of mellow shade and sunny 
 
 '^Had our English ancestors, on the other 
 hand, first settled upon the plains of Missouri 
 and niinois, and the tide of emigraton were 
 now setting toward the forests of Ohio and 
 Kentucky, climbing the rocky barrios of the 
 Allegany ridge, and pouring itself down upon 
 the wooded shores of the Atlantic, the ques- 
 tion would not be asked how the western 
 plains became denuded of timber, out by 
 vhat miracle of Providence, a vast region had 
 been clothed, with so much regulanty, with 
 the most splendid and gigantic productions of 
 nature, and preserved through whole centuries 
 from the devastations of the frost and the hre, 
 the hurricane and the flood. We have all 
 remarked how simple and how rapid w the 
 
 the unmeaning horizontal surface, and the in 
 
 terruption of abrupt or angular elevations. It 
 
 is that surface which, in the expressive lau- 
 
 guago of the country, is called rdhng, and 
 
 which has been sai'd to resemble the long 
 
 heavy swell of the ocean, when its waves are 
 
 subsiding to rest after the agitation of a storm. 
 
 It is to be remarked also, that the praine 
 
 is almost always elevated in the centre, so 
 
 that in advancing into it from either side, you 
 
 see before you only the plain, with its curved 
 
 outline marked upon the sky, and forming the 
 
 horizon, but on reaching the highest point, 
 
 you look around upon the whole ol the vast 
 
 The attraction of the prairie consists in ito 
 extent, its carpet of verdure aad flowers, us 
 undulating surface, it« groves, and the hinge 
 of timber by which it is surrounded. Ut all 
 these, the latter is the most expressive feature 
 —it is that which gives character to the land- 
 
r= 
 
 WE8TKHN 8CKNBRY. 
 
 327 
 
 lower, or the 
 id with what 
 vercd with a 
 now ei|ually 
 1 orchard or a 
 the accidents 
 186 of natural 
 1 an object of 
 
 ; the former 
 with but few 
 er advancing 
 
 by dangers. 
 
 scene so im- 
 gensations of 
 ', as the for- 
 integrity. and 
 s of antiquity 
 
 composed of 
 ily have been 
 icumulation of 
 
 healthful and 
 3 shafts have 
 lies, and which 
 me exposed to 
 e frost, and to 
 nd the brute, 
 iountry excites 
 ;lty is striking, 
 amation of sur- 
 rospect is ex- 
 he flowers are 
 ihade, and con- 
 'usion of light, 
 imates the be- 
 at tl" .■"ii*S 
 level ii. .aspect 
 ; in themselves 
 lly-waving sur- 
 1 an easy slope, 
 ^ually avoiding 
 "ace, and the in- 
 r elevations. It 
 expressive lau- 
 ed rolling, and 
 emble the long 
 en its waves are 
 :ation of a storm, 
 that the prairie 
 n the centre, so 
 1 either side, you 
 , with its curved 
 
 and forming the j 
 le highest point, I 
 fhole of the vast 
 
 rie consists in its 
 asd flowers, its 
 68, and the fringe 
 rounded. Of all 
 xpresrive feoture 
 rocter to the land- 
 
 KAxw, which imparts the shape and marks the 
 Cndary of the plain. If the pra.r.e be small, 
 its greatest beauty consists m the vicmity of 
 the surrounding margin of woodland, which 
 resembles the sLre of a lake, indented with 
 deep vistas like ba;>-s and inlets, and throwing 
 out long points, like capes and headlands; 
 while .^casionally these points approach so 
 close on either hand, that the traveller passes 
 through a narrow avenue or strait, where the 
 shadows of the woodland fall upon his path, 
 and then again emerges into another prairie. 
 Where the plain is large, the forest outbne is 
 seen in the far perspective like the d,m shore 
 when beheld at o distance from the ocean.— 
 The eve sometimes roams over the green 
 meadow, without discovering a tree, « shfub. , 
 or any object in ihe immense expanse, but the 
 wilderness of grass and flowers; while at an- ] 
 other time, the prospect is enlivened bv the 
 groves which are seen interspersed like islands, 
 or the solitary tree, which stands alone m the 
 blooming desert. j .t.» 
 
 If it bean the spring of the year, and the 
 young grass has just cov.red the ground with 
 a carpet of delicate green, and esoecially il 
 the sun is just rising from behma a distant 
 swell of the plain, and glittenng upon the 
 dewdrops, no scene can be more lovely to the 
 eve. The deer is seen grazing quietly upon 
 the plain; the bee is on the wing; the wolt 
 
 . . '. ■ . M J 1 :» «noo1rin>r nwnv tO hlS 
 
 the plain; the nee is on luc •.ri-.j^, ...-••---- 
 with his tail dropped is sneaking away to his 
 covert with the felon-tread of one who is 
 conscious that he has disturbed the peace of 
 nature; and the grouse feetling m flocks or in 
 pairs, like the domestic fowl, cover the whole 
 surface— the males strutting and erecting their 
 plumage like a peacock, and uttering a long, 
 loud, mournful note, something like the cooing 
 of the dove, but resembling still more the 
 sound produced by passing a rough finger 
 boldly over the surface of a tamborine. 1 he 
 number of these birds is astonishing. Ihc 
 plain is covered with them in every direction , 
 and when they have been driven from the 
 ground by a deep snow, we have seen thou- 
 tand*-or more properly tens of thousands- 
 thickly clustered in the tops of the trees sur- 
 roundfng the prairie. They do not retire as 
 the country becomes settled, but con mue to 
 lurk in the tall grass around the newly-made 
 farms; and we have sometimes seen them 1 
 mingled with the domestic fowls, at a short 
 distance from the fanner's door. They will 
 eat and even thrive when confined in a coop, 
 and may undoubtedly become domesticated. 
 
 When the eye roves off" from the green plam 
 to the groves or points of timber, these also 
 are found to be at this season robed in the 
 m^t attractive hues. The rich undergrowth 
 S in full bloom. The red-bud, the dog-wood. 
 tU crab-apple, the wild plumb, the cherry, 
 
 the rose, are abundant in all rich lands; and 
 the grape-vine, though its bloom is unseen, 
 fills the air with fragrance. The variety of 
 the wild fruit and flowering shrubs is so great, 
 and such the profusion of the blossoms with 
 which they are bowed down, that the eye is 
 regaled almost to satiety. , „• . 
 
 The uayetv of the praine, its embellish- 
 ments, and tlie absence of the gloom and 
 savage wildness of the forest, all contribute to 
 dispel the feeling of lonesomeness, wliich 
 usually creeps over the mind of the solitary 
 traveller in the wilderness. Though he nia;y 
 not see a house nor a human being, and is 
 conscious that he is far from the habitations 
 of men. he con scarcely divest himself of the 
 idea that he is travelling through scenes em- 
 I bellished by the hand of art. The flowers, 
 so fragile, so delicate, and so ornamental, 
 seem to have been tastefully disiwsed to adorn 
 I the scene. The groves and clumps of trees 
 appear to have been scattered over the lawn 
 to beautify the landscaiie, and it is not easy to 
 avoid t'lat decision of the fancy which per- , 
 suades the beholder, that such scenery has 
 been created to grotify the refined taste of 
 civilized man. Europeans are often reminded 
 of the resemblance of this scenery to that of 
 the extensive parks of noblemt; which they 
 have been accustomed to adroir. in the old 
 worid; the lawn, the avenue, the grove, the 
 copse, which are there produced by art. are | 
 here prepared by nature ; a splendid specimen 
 of mossy architecture, and the distant view 
 of villages, are alone wanting to render the 
 I similitude complete. 
 
 In the summer the praine is covered w th 
 long coarse grass, which soon assumes a gold- 
 en hue, and waves in the wind bke a npe 
 harvest.— Those who ha- e not a personal 
 knowledge of the subient would be deceived 
 by the accounts whicli are pub ished of the 
 heights of the grass. It « seldom «? t^H as 
 i travellers have represented, nor does it attain | 
 its highest growth in the nchest soil. In the 
 bw wet prairies, where the substratum of 
 clay lies near the surface, the centre or main 
 stem of this grasa, which bears the seed, ac- 
 quires great thickness, and shoots up to the 
 Light of eight or nine feet, throwing ou a 
 few short coamo leaves or blades, and the 
 1 traveller often finds it higher thanhis head as 
 he rides through it on horseback. The plants, 
 although numerous, and standing close togeth- 
 er, appear to grow singly and unconnected, the 
 whole force of the vegetative power expand- 
 ing itself upward. Butintherichundulating 
 priiries. the grass is finer, with le«yf « ^"^^ 
 and a greater profusion of leaves. The roots 
 spread and interweave so as to fonnacom. 
 pact even sod, and the blades expand into a 
 £e thick sward, which is seldom more than 
 
 
'•«ll 
 
 
 iiii 
 
 i*«^ 
 
 ^% 
 
 ^Sl 
 
 '"^ll*- 
 
 328 CO 
 
 NNEXION BETWEEN COMMERCE AND INTELLECTUAL EMINENCE. 
 
 eighteen inchcB high and often le«, ;jrtil late 
 in the season when the seed-beanng stem 
 
 ' 'The first coat of grass is mingled with small 
 flowers; the violet, the bloom of the straw- 
 berry, and others of the most mmute and deh- 
 cate texture. As the grass increases in siM 
 these disappear, and others, tal er and more 
 eaudy, display their brilliant colors upon the 
 ireen surface, and still later a larger and 
 coarser succession rises with the nsmg tjde 
 of verdure. A fanciful writer asserts, that 
 the prevalent color of the prairie-flowers is m 
 the spring a bluish purple, in midsummer red, 
 and in the autumn yellow. This is one of the 
 notions that people gst. who study nature 
 by the fireside. The truth is, that the whole 
 „f the surface of these beautiful plains is clad 
 throucrhout the season of verdure with every 
 imaginable variety of color, "from grave to 
 gayr" It is impossible to conceive a more in- 
 finite diversity, or a richer profusion of hues, 
 or tx) detect any predominating tint, except the 
 green, which forms the beautiful ground, and 
 relieves the exnuisite brilliancy of all the 
 others. The only changes of color observed 
 at the different seasons arise from the circum- 
 stance that in the spring the flowers are small 
 and the colors delicate ; as the heat becomes 
 more ardent a hardier race appears, the flow- 
 ers attain a greater size, and the hue deepens; 
 and still later a succession of coarser plants 
 rise above the tall grass, throwing out larger 
 and gaudier flowers. As the season advances 
 from spring to midsummer, the individual 
 flower becomes less beautiful when closely 
 inspected, but the landscape is far more vane- 
 gated, rich, and glowing. 
 
 In the winter, the prairies present a gloomy 
 and desolate scene. The fire has passed over 
 them, and consumed every vegetable sub- 
 stance, leaving the soil bare, and the surface 
 perfectly black. That gracefully waving 
 outUne which was so attractive to the eye 
 when clad in green, is now disrobed of all Us 
 ornaments ; its fragrance, its notes of joy, and 
 the grace s of its landscape, have all vanished, 
 and the bosom of the cold earth, scorched and 
 discolored, is alone visible. The wind sighs 
 mournfully over the black plain ; but there is 
 no object to be moved by its influence — not a 
 tree to wave its long arms in the blast, nor a 
 reed to bend its fragile stem — not a leaf nor 
 even a blade of grass to tremble in the breeze. 
 There is nothing to be seen but the cold dead 
 earth and the bare mound, which move not — 
 and the traveller with a singular sensation, 
 almost of awe, feels the blast rushing over 
 ktm, while not an object visible to the eye, is 
 seen to stir. Accustomed as the mind is to 
 associate with the action of the wind its op- 
 i eratinn upon surrounding objects, and to see 
 
 nature bowing and trembling, and the frag- 
 menU of matter mounting upon the wind as 
 the storm passes, there is a novel eflijct pro- 
 duced on the mind of one who feels the cur- 
 rent of air rolling heavily over him, while 
 nothing moves around. 
 
 CONNEXION BETWEEN COMMERCE 
 AND INTELLECTUAL EMINENCE. 
 
 BT ARCHIBALD ALISON, THE HISTORIAN. 
 
 TiiKRE is a natural connexion which has 
 made itself manifest in every age, between 
 commerce and intellectual eminence; and the 
 greatest steps in human improvement, the 
 greatest marvels of human exertions, have 
 arisen from their combination. It was to the 
 commercial city of Tyre thnt we owe the in- 
 vention of letters— that wonderful and almost 
 superhuman discovery, which first gave per- 
 manence to the creations of thought, and sends 
 forth the " winged words," of genius, to make 
 the circuit of the globe, and charm while it 
 endures. It was its fortunate situation on the 
 highway from Asia to Europe, since reopened 
 by British enterprise, which gave its early 
 celebrity and enduring fame to ancient Egypt ; 
 and we owe to the caravans of the desert, 
 more even than to the power of the Pharaohs, 
 those wonderful structures, the pyramids of 
 Cairo, and temples of Luxor, which after 
 1 the lapse of four thousand years, still stand 
 I ''erect and unshaken above the floods of the 
 
 Nile " 
 
 IU.m« herself, the mistress of the world, 
 owed her vast and enduring domination mainly 
 to the enerries of commerce; and we have 
 only to cast our eyes on the map, and behold 
 he/ provinces clustered round the waters of 
 the Mediterranean to be convinced that more 
 even than to the arms of the legions, her pow- 
 er was owing to the strength of the maritime 
 cities which glittered along its shores. It was 
 the caravans of the des-srt which raised those 
 wonderful structures which still, at Tadntior 
 and Palmyra, attest the niagnificence ot the 
 1 queen of the cast, and attract the admiration 
 of the European traveller. It was in com- 
 mercial Alexandria that alone a library was 
 formed, worthy of the vast stores of ancient 
 knowledge; and when the «'"™";°" "^ „^« 
 consuls had fallen, and the arm of the Roman 
 could no longer defend Italy fr*"" t^^!,^!^' 
 of the barbarians, the incomparable situation 
 end commercial greatness of Constantinople 
 perpetuated, for a thousand yeara longer, on 
 the frontier of barbarian wilds, the empire of 
 
 ■ !-~A li n J i> i. A Vi SR ifSWW?, 
 
ENCE. 
 
 1 
 
 itid tho frag- 
 the wind as 
 ul efl<:r,t pro- 
 eels the cur- 
 r him, while 
 
 COMMERCE 
 aiNENCE. 
 
 HISTORIAN. 
 
 on which ha« 
 
 age, betwetH) 
 lence; and the 
 roveinent, the 
 (ertions, have 
 
 It was to the 
 ne owe the in- 
 •ful and almost 
 first gave per- 
 ught, and sends 
 ;enius, to make 
 harm while it 
 lituation on the 
 
 since reopened 
 gave its early 
 ancient Egypt ; 
 
 of the desert, 
 f the Pharaohs, 
 le pyramids of 
 ir, which after 
 sars, still stand 
 de floods of the 
 
 I of the world, 
 mination mainly 
 ; and we have 
 lap, and behold 
 \ the waters of 
 inced that more 
 jgions, her pow- 
 of the maritime 
 
 shores. It was 
 lich raised those 
 still, at Tadmor 
 »nificence of the 
 t the admiration 
 
 It was in com- 
 ne a library was 
 stores of ancient 
 dominion of 'he 
 rm of the Roman 
 
 from the swcrds 
 parable situation 
 if Constantinople 
 
 years longer, on 
 ds, the empire of 
 
 ^fulV"«^«!''«'fXr"nce that a rival was 
 ufacturing cuy of I- oren« tnai 
 
 found in D'"«^''"'^^/,u"'? Venice that 
 etry; in the f "^^^f "^^^ Yustre oTthe c.n- 
 painting rose to ^« »^ f -\']f;,h that daring 
 vasof \'V''"-"f",t the boundaries of an- 
 spint, which first l'"^^;" . j,, European 
 c ent knowledge, an.l <v\P";X ^hemisphere. 
 
 Camoens to celebrate ^^ S'""j,g„„ „f '„en. , 
 aSd for ever enshr.nc it m the near j 
 
 Great as these ■><--l"«J„XVe It U in the j 
 Tttirc'lerce and .^-Uect «^ tc, i 
 Setera^SS:^^^ 
 
 a commercial <=''X-'" ,X TrnfRubens was 
 exniuiu". y^ storms ot na- 
 
 rics of W an, ot '"'^7'S' \l., [he arm. of 
 which arrayed ih. force, thjt me _ ^ 
 
 *'"l"'"^?Kr,SlrcL."hi=h..bjec»d 
 "; n "™ V Zi. SSbW the prodigy 
 
 &:td ?K^«^ Bhnix 
 tr^iiraJfJ^ferS'S; 
 
 RitoTctS.ilSS.»tcTn 
 region, of the sun- 
 
 inn i»uiiii». — 
 
 T»r naiTitar of huin.n being, on the earth i. 
 
 1 ,Xied at nearly one thou.and million. : all 
 calculated at neat y ^^ ^^^ ^^^ 
 
 theae are fed troin tne FV" „ro.Iuce of 
 
 for ...n ammal f;»- » '«; *" .^ „.„,,, 
 
 and drop. *" Sjc "a W <"f™'1" '>»■ 
 
 -rSs:ii:tiE»te.e»r." 
 F tSSiisr^- - ;^ 
 
 '"Syts'^eiS-r^is 
 
 '%'u?rhetffi does not come to its limit 
 
 S^^e=E5BB«« 
 The Sup d mXns range freely., and are 
 
 S'Tndafly, in -8--;- ^-^^Vng" 
 never struck a spade. We speaK |^ 
 
 of common ^no^^l^'^.f : ;eaUns of t^e New 
 
 Worid, to wuicn m ^ migration of 
 
 r^i^eds^hmyr^tjat 
 
 Afrtc J is almo/master of the bnd 
 
 Who feeds those millions ? 1 ^'^j^^f" Pf ,- 
 du« nothing for themselves Bu th-^^^^ 
 « spread upp the ground and their p^^ .^^ ^^ 
 
 l££-£SnS^"elSfur- 
 "'S fhfsiStT/man'^d'the quadruped 
 
 E3rofTSS:heinsectUes.are 
 all to be fed from the ground. 
 
 Another race ^J^" f °Se fow s of ^e ai?. 
 SrSp^f n-uteSn-ct cal^^^^^^ their 
 
 
.«•*»!» 
 
 330 
 
 MASSACHUSETTS 8TATEH0USB. 
 
 multitudes. The migration of a smgle tnbe 
 ""he wo<Kl-pigeon9 of the North American 
 forert^has covered the sky with a column 
 of fliEht, a living cloud, ten miles long and a 
 mile broad. In some instances the migration 
 U said to have lasted for days, continually 
 darkening the sky. Such ni^mbers defy a^l 
 countingT yet they are all fed from the prod- 
 uce of ?he ground^ Even the bird, of prey, 
 and the sea-birds, are fed from that which was 
 originally the produce of the ground. 
 
 ft is computed that the land of the ^lobe 
 would be equal W the support of hfteen times 
 the number of its present inhabitants, or might 
 sustain a population of fifteen thousand mill- 
 ions. But the ocean, three times the extent 
 of the land, probably contains even a much 
 larger proportion of life, from its being pene- 
 trable, through all its depths; and from our 
 knowledge, not merely of its surface, but trom 
 the strong probability, amounting almost to 
 certainty, that the mountains and valleys ot 
 its bed are filled with vegetation, fed on by 
 
 mighty God, The old statehourse, so rolled 
 from tiie time of building the other, was long 
 the place in which the general court of the 
 province of Massachusetts Bay was held. It 
 has lately been well repaired, and is the place 
 of the meetings of the city authorities and for 
 public offices. 
 
 The comer-stone of the present statcliouse 
 
 was brought to the si)ot by fifteen white horses, 
 
 at that time the number of states in the Union. 
 
 The building is seen at a great distance in all 
 
 directions, and is the principal object visible 
 
 when the city is first seen by those who visit 
 
 it. The form is oblong, being one hundred 
 
 and seventy-three in front, and sixty-one feet 
 
 deep. The height of the building, including 
 
 the dome is one hundred and ten feet; and 
 
 the foundation is about that height aboveithe 
 
 level of the water of the bay. " It consists 
 
 externally of a basement story, twenty feet 
 
 high, and a principal story, thirty feet hijjh. 
 
 This in t"^ -i centre of the front, is covered with 
 
 an attic sixty feet wide, and twenty feet high, 
 
 whi<-h is covered with a pediment. Iramedi- 
 
 those monstrous animals whose "ke etons we ^"^^'"»; ^^^, ,,,3 ,/„^,, fifty feet in diam- 
 «, constantly find embedded, and ''j^ l'-.^" ! ^^^^ ^ ^„d'th?rty in height; tie whole ter- 
 served in soils once evidently covered by the «^ '• f "\;i ^ -^^ elegant circular lantern, 
 «a. There probably exist miihmis of th^^^^^^ ri'hlits a pine cone. The basement 
 huge creatures, no more capable ot ascending 
 to the surface of the ocean than man to the sur- 
 face of the atmoc^here, yet enjoying their ex- 
 istence, grazing in their submarine forests and 
 prairies, ranging through an "tent of pasture 
 to which the broadest regions of the land are 
 tame and narrow : and, undisturbed by me 
 
 I hostility or the molestation of man, giving in 
 
 ' their provision and their enjoyment proots, to 
 
 higher than mortal eyes, of the spontaneous 
 and boundless beneficence of their Creatoi. 
 
 which Supports a pine cone. The basement 
 story is finished in a plain style on the wings, 
 wit>> i!<iuare windows. The centre is ninety- 
 four feet in length, and formed of arches which 
 project fourteen feet, and make a covered walk 
 below, and support a colonnade of Connthian 
 columns of the same extent above. , 
 
 The largest room is in the centre, and in 
 the second story, and is occupied as the rep- 
 resentatives' chamber : it will accommodate 
 five hundred memberu. The senate chamber 
 is also in the second story and at the east end 
 of the building, being sixty feet by fifty. On 
 the west end is a large room for the meetings 
 of the governor and the executive council; 
 with a convenient ante-chamber. 
 The view from the top of the statehouse is 
 
 the 
 
 MASSACHUSETTS STATEHOUSE. .^.^^ ^,^^ ,„„ ,„„ ^^ „. .. _. _ 
 
 TH.sele.antand.paciouaedifice.si...tedm verye,^^^^^^^^^ 
 Boston on elevated g-und adjmning^he^com- ^r^^^T^Uy aLd harbor of Bosto^ 
 
 interspersed with beautiful islands; and in 
 the distance beyond, the wide extended ocean. 
 To the north the eye is met by Charlestown, 
 with its interesting and meniorable heichts, 
 and the navyyard of the United States, 
 the towns of tJhelsea. Maiden, and Medford, 
 and other tillages, and the natural forests 
 mingling in the distant horizon. To the west, 
 U a fine view of the Charles nver and bay. 
 the ancient town of Cambridge, rendered 
 venerable for the university, now two centuries 
 old ; of the flourishing villages of Cambndge- 
 port and East Cambridge, in the latter ot 
 
 mon, and near the centre of this ancient and 
 flourishing city, was erected in 1795. 1 he 
 comer-stone was laid on the fourth of July, 
 by the venerable and patriotic Samuel Adams, 
 then chief magistrate of MassachusetU (as- 
 sisted by Paul Revere, master of the grand 
 lodge of aasons). He succeeded Governor 
 Hancock, who died in October. 1793. 
 
 The lot was purchased by the town ot Bos- 
 ton of the heirs of Governor Hancock, at four 
 thousand dollars. The building wasnot finish- 
 ed and occupied by the legislature till January 
 1798 ; when the members of the general court 
 walked in procession from the old statehouse 
 
 ,,..» , ITpwIT wh ch is a la gedass^iSa^ufacturing estab- 
 
 at the head of State street, and the new de - g^^'l "//tge fcighly-cultivated towns of 
 fice was dedicated by solemn prayer to Al- 1 hshment . 01 me u k 3 
 
 
 -*5 
 
irse, 80 called 
 ther, was long 
 i court of the 
 was held. It 
 nd is the ])lnce 
 orities and for 
 
 ent statchouse 
 n white horses, 
 8 in the Union, 
 distance in all 
 
 object visible 
 hose who visit 
 p one hundred 
 I sixty-one feet 
 ding, including 
 
 ten feet; and 
 sight above *he 
 " It consists 
 y, twenty feet 
 lirty feet hijjh. 
 is covered with 
 venty feet high, 
 lent. Inmnedi- 
 ty feet in diam- 
 ine whole ter- 
 ircular lantern, 
 
 The basement 
 le on the -wings, 
 lentre is ninety- 
 of arches which 
 3 a covered walk 
 ie of Corinthian 
 bove. 
 
 e centre, and in 
 ipied as the rep- 
 ill accommodate 
 I senate chamber 
 i at the east end 
 ■et by fifty. On 
 for the meetings 
 ecutive council; 
 ber. 
 
 the statehouse is 
 ] ; perhaps noth- 
 ,r to it. To the 
 larbor of Boston, 
 
 islands ; and in 
 5 extended ocean, 
 by Charlestown, 
 morable heights, 
 
 United States; 
 en, and MedforJ, 
 e natural forests 
 an. To the west, 
 ?s river and bay, 
 (bridge, rendered 
 now two centuries 
 ges of Cambridgc- 
 
 in the latter of 
 lufacturing estab- 
 iltivated towns of 
 
 
•<♦»»%! 
 
 332 
 
 THE SONS OF THK OCEAN. 
 
 nrv'hunu Brooklinc, nw\ N.-wt-n ; nivl to the 
 Mjudi is U..xl>urv. which scfti.s to U: dhW n 
 cntinuation ofH.Hton, .DorrhoslrT, a hno, 
 rich. ».'riculturul town, with Milfm nml On m- 
 cv bcv.m.l. a...l Ht.ll lurth.r n.-uth, tho Ulue 
 hills, nt th.i .listun.;o ..f eiRhl or tun miles, 
 whif.h B'-fm to bouiul the jinmiject. 
 
 pride, when hn i« lonvins or rotnnnnR to it ; 
 .' it i* th(^ joy of his Ht.)rmy lif.-." 1 hf r.Hirr.i 
 lonrliiK'ss 1111(1 the <lwp n-llrction whi.li iir.i 
 nt all tiiii.'s poculiiir to his Hituulioii, (Icvclop 
 in thfi soniiiiin that (Icjith of coiiteiniilntion 
 whifh rcRtinls li»V, from nii »-levtttf<l imsition, 
 ill nccoriluncc with thi- uiicoiisfions result ot 
 his imnticnl stmhcs, which hmd him into the 
 boundloss domain of astronomy. He con- 
 siders our planet as an imprrfcet, insignificant 
 thinp, ir. mathematical relation, to other plan- 
 i-t.^—the univer.se, as a region of etenial mo- 
 tion, where solar systems revolve around other 
 sohir systems. In sueh contemiilatums ot 
 creation (forced ujion him, ho to speak, '>y his 
 cnllins), he feels the nothingness ol earthly 
 life, while he recognises the dignity ol the 
 human mind. As a spirit in a body of clay, 
 he is able to fix the point of his momentary 
 existence upon the ocean, with mi)re or less 
 precision. Conversant with the oriuts of the 
 stars, he arrives at the elevated degree ot 
 colculating by seconds the distances ot con- 
 stellations, whose motions arc as iumdiar to 
 him as the course of his own ship. 1 hrougti 
 niatliemotical demonstration, faith becomes m 
 him the conviction that a higher power exists, 
 which directs the universe, and reveals itselt 
 uiion our planet, through its works as nature, 
 and governs the tides— the breathing of the 
 ocean, under the influence of the tn.«)n ; the 
 pulse-throb of a mysterious life. Ojiposed to 
 
 THE SONS OF THK OCEAS. 
 
 As men in everv station and condition of 
 
 life, generally fnirinto ^,articular .livisions. a 
 
 Bcafariii" life admits ot on arrangement (it 
 
 cuptuins^of vt^sels in three classes, distinct in 
 
 their character from each other. Tliere an-, 
 
 among sea-captains, as in all other kind of 
 
 business, men who, from vocation and inclina- 
 tion, and others, who, by chance, or a whim 
 
 of fate, follow the sea; and others, again, 
 
 who enter this path, bwause no other remains 
 
 open to them. For the designation ot these 
 
 three classes, particular generic names are 
 
 necessary, which we shall here make use of 
 
 for that purpose. There are. among ship- 
 
 cnptains, seamen, captains, and skippers. 1 he 
 
 seaman feels himself born for the "cenn. and 
 
 however the circumstances of his ehil.lhood 
 may shape themselves, he wears out his boy s 
 
 shoes upon ship's deck, and "l^^'^'l^^'J;^ „^,,^.^.,.„ „ ...^„ . . 
 
 boy, obtains, in a manner, an elevated m.w "'"""'7^ of the universe, worldly lirillian- 
 of life and of the wori. , from the mainrnast '»;« ^"[J' ,^^^^^ ^,, insi^mificant nothing- 
 top, where his commander sends hun in St rmcyapp^^^^^^^ V^^^j^ ^„i,.,, ^-.^ 
 
 and tempest. Accustomed o the adverM= ^^7;,^. J^'^,?^ ^^^Uive power, which re- 
 elements, deprived ol tran-iuilhty an con ort t"*"^' S^,j. ; ^J j^^ng elevation of human 
 S-d^r Xra^S SmS:^ I ^UelSecalculating theLationof the constel- 
 
 reliance,' and manifests itself as strength of 
 mind, in perseverance and endurance, m se 1- 
 Tenial and privation. This courage of the 
 seaman has nothing in common with the so- 
 called "courage" of the mercenary, which, 
 for a few pence, he manifests, as the blind, 
 wiUess instrument of absolute despotism. 
 The s,eaman passes through all grades ot ser- 
 vice, from cabin-boy to commander, and de- 
 ports himself in every station and situation, 
 as a born seaman. The oceaii is his element , 
 the storm is his companion ; the universe his 
 worid ; and the central point of his lite, his 
 shis;. The seaman, in his place as captam, 
 reo^irds the ocean os his home, his cabin as 
 his dwelling, his .piarterdeck as his promenade 
 his vessel as a part of his own being. Ihe 
 seaman on shore, longs to bo on board ogam, 
 as the youth longs for his beloved; all Ins 
 thoughts and cares hover round his vessel. In 
 conversation on diirerent subjects he is all the 
 while thinking of his ship, and loves to talk 
 of notiing Boiuch as of the dangers he has 
 gone through. He regards his vessel with 
 
 I 
 
 intellect, calculating the rotation ot the constel- 
 lations. He is emboldened to follow the path 
 of a comet— to enter the realms of infinitude ; 
 and shrinks hack, with holy awe, before the 
 impenetrable mystery of the magnet. 
 
 The seaman treats his crew as men, ami 
 his otlicers as friends. Not forgetting that he 
 has been a sailor himself, and borne the toils 
 and hardships before the mast, he endeavors 
 to liehten the lot of his crew. He observes 
 a rigid fulfilment of his duties as captain, 
 while he requires from each man equal ex- 
 octitude in service, and equal respect as a 
 man, on all occasions, and at all times. Ue- 
 holding in his otficers men who may become 
 to-morrow what he is to-<lay, he treats them 
 08 he desired to be treated by his commander 
 when in a similar position. More accustomed 
 to thinking than to talking, the seaman is 
 laconic in his discourse, and likes, least ot all, 
 the obtrusive speeches ond far-fetched ques- 
 tions of tedious passengers, which are os 
 strange to him as are life and the worid to 
 
 If accident brings him in conthct with a man 
 
1^ 
 
 THE SONS OF THE OCEAN. 
 
 n33 
 
 TtnrninR to it; 
 ." Till' rclircd 
 •tiim wliii'li iirt) 
 nutiiiii, il<'vcli>|i 
 ( contemiilntioii 
 evutfil ponition, 
 s<*itm» r<!siilt ot" 
 lad him into the 
 imy. He con- 
 ecf, insignificant 
 m. to nthiT )>l(in- 
 fi of t'trrnnl ino- 
 )lve nrounil other 
 intrmpiutions of 
 
 to speak, by his 
 gncss of earthly 
 c (lisnity of thfc 
 1 n body of clny, 
 f his momentary 
 ith more or h'ss 
 
 thn orbits of the 
 'vated degree of 
 distunres of con- 
 irc ns familiar to 
 > ship. Throujih 
 , faith becomes in 
 ;her power exists, 
 and reveals itself 
 ( works ns nature, 
 
 breathinfi of the , 
 of the m(M)n ; the 
 
 life. Opposed to ' 
 3, worhlly lirillian- 
 ignifieunt nothinjj- 
 
 itself allied with 
 
 [lower, which re- 
 levation of human 
 itioT) of the constel- 
 I to follow the path 
 alms of infinitude ; 
 ,y awe, before the 
 ic magnet, 
 crew as men, and 
 t forgetting that he 
 ind borne the toils 
 nast, he endeavors 
 rew. He observes 
 duties as captain, 
 ich man e()ual ex- 
 equal respect as a 
 
 at all times. Be- 
 n who may become 
 lay, he treats them 
 i by his commander 
 , More accustomed 
 ing, the seaman is 
 tKriikes, least of all, 
 id far-fetched ques- 
 icrs, which are as 
 fe and the world to 
 
 nconttictwithaman 
 
 ia whom he finds a harmony with hw own f. el- 
 ",r. whether it be with a passen^^er on board. 
 
 1 rnxual intercourse <«. shore, the pokr or ^* 
 :r"e which encloses his heart '-fy^f^ 
 and his inward nature cqiens. under tUc re 
 c ,r.K:al attraction, t.i unrestru.ued communion. 
 1 uutiful and generous, without extravagance, 
 a his intercourse on shore he displays hs 
 
 eculiar qualities in hospitality on b..ard h s 
 
 E He relinquishes the details o tprovi- 
 
 , din^ for the crew to those whose othce m- 
 
 V ves this duty, while he gives his part.cula 
 
 : Sou to thi'-uj,plying of pure water and 
 
 ' sullic.eut stores. T''" '"^'■>''«''"'t; v dear o 
 reouirud hv his vocation, are especially dear to 
 W anl 1"« l."*H-^i""^ "f t^'*! sort approach 
 a l'" ury which he displays n nothing else 
 lu his toilet he is neat and cleanly, -tswdl 
 as in his ship. He is less '•'•^«'7" < [ »£ 
 changes of fashion when on shore, than of the 
 chuH.'Csof the moon when on board, but takes 
 cSrelo have a wardrobe suitable to the varia- 
 tio's of climate. He is fond of reading on 
 b rd, and keeps on increasing a Uulc cabmet 
 library, though few authors serve him , he 
 I ikes Ly those that "sail deep." and carry 
 r^ch carLs. At sea, he longs to see his voy- 
 ' a-o speedily ended; on shore, he wishes him- 
 self a sea again. His manly character is not 
 only evinced in imminent danger, but more 
 ""'y_h, .>..!.;. „„„n,nm;t,v and patience in 
 
 s,.amnn. for the most part, ends his li e m ho 
 wuve*-wherebv the owners lose nothing, be- 
 ruseshipand cargo are insured. TI.e.K-can 
 o„ which his lite was 'i«-velo|.ed. most gen- 
 ..rally b.^comeshisurave. and tin- s on,, vsh.eh 
 
 erally liccomes ins ;;ik>' . " ■ . 
 
 rai'ed ab.mt his path, an.l provei his <ourag« 
 a,ul hardihood, bt'coincs the only witness ot 
 
 eso'eciallv by his e(iuanimity and patience in 
 especially y^^^^ i,i'„,rances. Familiar with 
 
 rnhns and other iiiiiiuuiiv.^" - 
 
 the daggers of the element from his youth up, 
 he b^omes ciually familiar with the thoughts 
 of dS wi h which he is threatened by 
 : -errd^ud that disturbs the hori.on. and 
 whic^i may bring about his last hour. Al- 
 £ugh attLhed ta life by the bonds o love 
 and friendship, he does not fear death in t^^^t 
 moment of da.'iger Feeling the re^-"^b >it^ 
 which rests upon him, by having the hvcs ot 
 other men confided to U charge, who arc 
 /acd under his unrestricted aut >ority, and 
 who, in a measure, are all involved m his 
 Se within a limited space, are m depend- 
 ence Co' !»■>•". ^'^ '"^i"'"!"^ ^^'^'T."^ ""? 
 
 irescnce of mind in decisive and cntical mo- 
 ments. Winhout expectiBg miracles ot a su 
 "Sural character,' where l>um«n help fails 
 he sustaius himself as a man, upon the eleva 
 tion of strength of mind, the ^--^^f "'^^f^. 
 on earth, since "man, revealed m the sea 
 man " dares to brave and contend against the 
 "e^" uctfve power of the elements ;, " a worm 
 Jlhe Just"' floating upon.the raging ocean 
 allied, as spirit, to the primitive power, who.c 
 breath pervades all nature, and roars in the 
 
 storm and the hurricane. 
 In churchvards and burial-places^ we seldom 
 
 see the memorial of a seaman. «^;" V.^^ 
 seashore-as a boy, growing up on boarcl-as 
 a youth, only on sLrc to go to sea agam-thc 
 
 hi7 death-hour. Hut stonu and K"'!"":'' >•»- 
 ging above him in bis lust monici.ts olbr no 
 r,rg;nofren..wn. The murinur ot . be wave 
 tells not to his people the l"«t stru.|: b- ot the 
 seaman. N.. whispering ot the '" ''' ^ '" » 
 calm on the shore ot his home, briniis Ins 
 last l^arewell to the objects of his atlec.ioii, nor 
 the last sigh, which, in the ;1>.^">«1 '"*':"; « 
 of the raging el.inents, or within sight ot ih. 
 coast of his .lestiuation, is lost amid the Imwl- 
 iuTof the storm, and the roani.g .. ibc break- 
 ers in wh..se companionship death ....braes 
 him. The fury of the tempest which cause. 
 his en.l, closing his bursting •'-V'-^ "'/-;;;'"'" ' 
 night, and his heart lu everlas ni.g «'b' '« «' '^ 
 appeased, an.l has .lie.l away. The sunbeams 
 Xh taiined the seammiVs ch...^k, shines up.. 
 
 no tt.iwer, sparkles in n.. -lew-drop, ui.on t • 
 grassy sod of the seaman's grave. His t i ^ 
 disappears as tracklessly as the wake wh 
 he leaves behind him in circumnavigatmg the 
 d„be, while his nam.) livs in the recollect... 
 ti kimlre.1 hearts, which ku.'W an.l ackmm - 
 edced him in his worth, as a man. I Ins is 
 2 "seaman," developed in «tru«gk^. brav.nR 
 every danger, in the consciousness of his men- 
 tal power and manly dignity. 
 
 Opposed to the s.-ama.i, we see the skip- 
 per." Theskipi.er has e.itere, upon a sen- 
 farin" life, bc<:ause he was go..d h.r nothing 
 on shore ; he ran away from his apprentice- 
 hii to a tail..r, and was not str.u,, en..ugh 
 for a blacksmith or carpenter. H-^ sails ten 
 years bef..re the mast, an.l at length becomes 
 f«ate,becausethereisno.>neelsewh..canwr. e 
 
 the accunt in a table o ^-konin. am c 1 
 "Stop '" when castmg the l..g. He Mn^^», 
 in twc ve years, as sec.n.l mate, s.i far that 
 he can kee^p a " l,.g-bo.,k," and -'- '< Ac-rab V 
 near the latitude by means ot t^^^ sextant, 
 when the horizon is not to., iii.c.-r an , or tlic 
 Th p too " crank." At length h.' hmls a cap- 
 S who makes him first mate, ""'l^tM-ps h,.. 
 in his employ f.jr years because he is as stupid 
 a Wlf, a^id tolerates him because he as 
 mate, take's no notice ..f tl^ecuptaui-^ blunders 
 He becomes captain by his good "a™, as a 
 manager, by his marriage with « wi. ..w by 
 r^irice!,fan.,ldw..n,an,.y|Aied.nih^ 
 
 a captain, or bv the lullueiK-c ol a s >t. i or 
 ^iStheseryice...fam.r..^.^un^ges 
 
 ship, to repair tlierigpi^-at lube siuU^^^^ 
 
 b^.:;""^S^-'^^-'y™"';^! 
 
 eKpecmions of the stingiest ot owners in tins 
 
 ^A 
 
 I 
 
 ]W 
 
 '^r^ 
 
"«I4. 
 
 **. . 
 
 
 TUB BEEN AND THE UNSEEN. 
 
 r..,pect. a better ve-nel, with a »noro nu nor- 
 m.« rn'w, i» cmli.lo.l to hw '• hunKtT cur«. 
 ilc U ■mV.-a,.tai.,, D.ul r.M.min, so. ami l«ya 
 u , ,n . V^ tl. it he .nay retire a. .«Hm a, ,.o»- 
 Zl lie tralVusatul cheatH.mboar.1 ami on 
 Sir. and ..-lU hi« own clothe, to a .a.lor tn 
 
 i^?:Xu^irA;;:S;Kar^^ 
 .? tte^r^co;:^:^ 
 
 u* no acnuuintanr., with any 8tar m the 
 
 lie .•nrried r.o chronometer, for he ilo. 8 not 
 k m.w l^" '^ t.. use it. On a h.n« course, he 
 n Is urn the acn-lental .neetu.« o a «h i. 
 wl:;.; llnows. he longitude am^ J... hoas^;; I 
 his n,ute of hi. ,.ree...on. it he a« not ma. e 
 
 ^rrtrirh^l- an? Kn<^. 
 k" ; r antH ; -kink., a glas« <.f w ne or gro« 
 
 K ration isHhort by ahalf p..und, he thinks 
 s u verv well! the next time n>ore can be 
 
 S sets hi. bloo<l in a ferment, and m a co,^- 
 trnrv wind, er even in a calm, he loses ma 
 Ss he raves about like a madman looks 
 u, he'cabin-boy. to find some fault w.th hitn 
 andlei/cs the nearest rope to cool his wrath 
 n\ fm If the wind becomes favorable, he 
 E "h tl . man at the helm and with the 
 cook, and promise. Uio mate hm mflucnce to 
 ZZJo him a ship. In the f gh''"^^"";* °f 
 
 Ic coast, he is thrown into a f^verot anxiety, 
 because he does not know where he is , he 
 
 flinibs the mast ten times a day, and msisis 
 f a salloJmust see land where t);^;^"- 
 
 If he should, at length l.ud « l»l"'-^^^"if ;> 
 
 gets intoxicated with J^^V P^'«, •";„%]''•„ lig 
 to the pilot, and lays himselt down in ms 
 
 '"on land he is a sea-hcro, and relates mira- 
 cles of his ability as a seaman. He is tonu 
 rf Ltdatin, wik the captains with whom 
 he once sailed before the ^"f'a'Ahe sS- 
 bim^elf to be treat.<l by them at tne smp 
 c "ndler's and at hotels. As the time ap- 
 proaches for him to put to sea again, he be 
 
 ^omes cross and 'l'^^'-'^'"'"'' J"',X'£ " 
 »Pa " as a mi9era\)lr inner doe» the ae%ii 
 He keens no mate with him for more than 
 one tova' e ami no sailor will hire with him 
 who has ever met with any one who has sail- 
 1 ■,h b m before. He cheats his owners, 
 i'knows howt'save, in provisions and m 
 
 the inventory, fort .-m nn. for h"n«''lf; «"; 
 retain- their r(m.1 . .nnion ..t h.m a. an able 
 captain - When he ha. raked money emmsh 
 toSer, hn retire, to re,«.H.. and becomes a 
 rS or tavern-keeper in «»;«"<■'»: f"''''^' 
 
 of a harbor, frn,"'-"^'! '-y "«''''"• n^'" "t 
 ie s at the thought of the sea. but nlb.wshnn- 
 Sneverthelest to be -Ib-^ •.co....m, and 
 keeps a Pictur.. of the ship .^^^"^'^ J '""^Z, '' 
 cha fie oh in a frame an.i p a«s. » »'•»''*''« 
 ' »kii.i»-r " as contrasted with the seaman. 
 
 T;i^hird...r properly.. he mi. lcc^^.» 
 renresented by the " cniuain." He » neitm r 
 'ZZ"L s^ip,.er, and then, is m.tlung fur- 
 ther to be said (rf him. than that he w cap- 
 tiiin of this or that ship." . , 
 
 it is elf-evident that the true seaman .« to 
 be" md n all rank«-. among the sailors of 
 t chant-vessels, as v 11 as amon« the mi. - | 
 Khinmcn of the navy; although mnn> a -.Kip- 
 r' and captain, favored by fortune commands 
 rfri%tc. which the seaman, ^hostunds nt the 
 helm as a sailor, would be nmre cnpaWe "f 
 g« id nir. In respect to the three oboye ap- 
 f,ellal.ons, we remark, in c"n<'l«r"; ^ ' ."r 
 
 'ZS nlmcJt from that of a g.Hxl sailor 
 frevery iipi-r and captain can bo a good 
 sailor— "if he has a good wind. 
 
 THE SEEN AND THE UNSEEN. 
 
 Thfrk is a spiritual element interfused 
 
 through the whole material world, and which 
 
 Sthe sourceof all action. /^ is Ji- wh^h 
 
 ft« the world out of chaos, and clothes it w nn 
 
 its the woria o ordinary act ^ i .rings 
 
 the sou . ?t.f r'f *" t "n. While on the 
 sp ritual origin is torgotien. y jj 
 
 commonplace. J^?V''"?'",,„ . cmmercial 
 
-m 
 
 himnflf, and 
 I n« an " alilo 
 lonry cnouph 
 1(1 hpromoi* a 
 ncidliborViofxl 
 s. Hi> ihu'l- 
 jt nllownhim- 
 cnptnii\," aritl 
 ;h hi; lii«t hiul 
 Such is iht! 
 he "scamnn." 
 li.Mlo class, in 
 llo is mitht-r 
 19 nothing fur- 
 it he is "cop- 
 
 (i scnman if ti> 
 the sailors of 
 monR the iniJ- I 
 1 mnny a nkip- 
 uiu'.<"rimmn'>'l» 
 lostunils at the 
 )ro capable of 
 ircp above ap- 
 lusion, that the 
 whore skipper 
 glinh may, per- 
 "fjailor." But 
 V is, evideiitly, 
 of a giwil sailor, 
 can be a good 
 d." 
 
 ] UNSEEN. 
 
 mcnt interfused 
 vorhl, and which 
 It is this which 
 nd clothes it with 
 lUnary act >• wrings 
 ts character from 
 only because its 
 . While on the 
 Im, it is startling 
 ' passion and af- 
 
 ve will hut open 
 no9t ordinary acts 
 spiritual clement ; 
 f can be tame or 
 'first siiiht, is more 
 inii a ci'inmercial 
 y with the afl'airs 
 al interests. Yet, 
 them, its driest de- 
 ,n hopes, and fears, 
 luminate what was 
 etter breathe with 
 paper of to-day, a 
 
 THB HEKN AND THE UNSEEN. 
 
 33fi 
 
 ,«i„ kind of busHM-HH. :^^'\^l''';i^C I w. uld he a,, the labor of l,rute». Hut nil -he 
 hn.. in .ubMance, b.-en the same J .^; ;,' ^^„,„,„ .,f nmnV labor are but symbol , n 
 For a time, he sought some place >*h ' » 1'' \ ^^^^,^,^^1 ,if,; b.^eath. To the outer eve. 
 ,„pn,.M.d the po..es.ion of busme« hab.t. n, «J.;''^ "» . ,,,^,, , ;, ..ftontimes the l.fe 
 
 ,.t,Vn.men... Then th. re 7" «.:,^»"f, J ^a „other of a fnn.ily ! She labors by day 
 Ih... clow of the advertnemrnt, 111 hcatinjj Itiai oi u '_,,__ ,^^, ^._,,,, .•' 
 
 as rmph.yment i^ «'.••"■ ... -^H « >oiiY .: i ,,,,,„„,,„ i,k.„dcd with them, 
 
 All this in uninteresting *^«""P''- .^^.*. "^ J,,, i hon.ewifelveare she goes from rrK-m to room, 
 
 dvpths of life may he ""<l;"'r'''»^ ™* r^^ " ' 
 • - ... • _ .i„.„;i ft w pnsv tor ine 
 
 ,.,. . lie underneath «'y* '^^y 1 XX hd... of herhnnds gr..w up, as «n- 
 
 (if this man 
 
 fancy to seek <)ut and 
 
 Coul.Uchut look through these long line, 
 of advertisements ir,to the hearts of those who 
 have published them, what a r.veh.t.on v.-oM 
 l^re be of Imniun life! Here are partner- 
 ships formed and closed ; young men en cnng 
 inti business, old men gon.g ''" V'tjV " v« 
 inveutions and speculnt.nm : «'l"^/» ' '',»;^^^ 
 of luntsehold furniture and dwclhngs. These 
 have been attended by the n.ost sauguu|e 
 hopes, by utter hopelessness, by «;];">' J^"^^, 
 of frar niixiety, and sorrow. This \oung 
 ;;Lu ii:ste;teri.^gbusiness,looksfc.rwardw.,^ 
 
 antiriimtions bright as the morning to his mar- 
 
 ringeilay. Thil sale of furniture sneaks of 
 
 d.>ath, ifminished fortunes, a srnttered family. 
 
 I There is not a sale of stocks which .1 .es uot 
 
 straiten or increase the narrow nieans of wid- 
 
 I ows and orphans. This long column of ship 
 
 i news— a thousand hearts are this moment 
 
 ' beating with joy and thankfulness, or are op- 
 
 ^eTe^bvanxVty.orcrusheddownby sorrow^ 
 
 because of these records which to others se.-m 
 so meaningless ! One rends here of his nrus- 
 ,*ritv; another of ruined fortunes; and he 
 wrecked ship, whose crew was swept by \l- 
 surge into the breakers, and dnshed on the 
 rocks-how many in their so lit. !™ T 
 mourning for those who saih;;. v.th bngh 
 hopes in that ship, but who shall never rt^tum ! 
 And more than this-could these lines wh ch 
 record the transactions of daily busmes,. tell 
 of the hearts which indited them, what tempt- 
 ationsand struggles would they reveal ! 1 hey 
 would tell of inexperience deceived or pro- 
 tected, of integrity fallen or made steadfast as 
 the rock, of moral trinls, m which noble na- 
 
 virtues of a hniipy hoiiiv , 
 
 Thus .-ver u.Mler the visible ii the invisible. 
 Thr.)ugh <lea.l mnterial forms circulnte the 
 currenrs of spiritual life. Deserts, rocks, and 
 seas, and shor.'s. are humani/.d by the pres- 
 ence of man. and become alive with memories 
 and niVectious. There is n life T^'"' '• "''1"," ."u 
 and under it. in evry heart, isnlif.' NMuh 
 does not appear-whrch is to the f-rnier as 
 the depths of the sea to the waves, and the 
 bubbl. s. nnd the soray. on its surface. 1 here 
 is not an obm , -e house among the mountains 
 where the wb le romance of life, from its 
 dawn 1o its sett., Z. through its '";:»""««'' ""J 
 throu"h its ghxim. is not lived through. 1 he 
 i™,nest events of the day are produces of 
 the same passions nnd aHeetions which, m 
 other spheres, decide the iate of kinf^h-ms 
 Outwaixlly, the ongoings of ordinary life nre 
 like the movements ot mnchinerj-hfeless. 
 meehani.^ol, commonplace repetitions of the 
 same trifling events. But thcv are neither 
 liHess. nor^ild, nor trifling. ^The passions 
 nnd ntfeetions make them ever "•"^v'lnd ori- 
 cinal. anrl the most unimportant acts ot tb., 
 day reach forward in their results into the 
 shadows of eteniity. •„ ,v„ ,r,;,kf 
 
 Open but the eye. and we live n the midst 
 of wonders. The enthusiastie ond ardent pine 
 ft^es of excitement They flv to s«d. 
 them in foreign lands; they bury ^^^^^-^^^^y 
 in the paces of poetry and romance ; the ev- 
 rvdav world aroun.l tliem seerasto them stale, 
 Hat. and unpr.-fitabk. But it is only in seem- 
 i„a At oar very d.xirs transpire reahties. by 
 whose side, were the veil taken away which 
 W es them, the fictions ..froniance.w^ud 
 
 the r,;k. of moral trials, in which noble na- lu.le^ tn^ , ^^ -^^^ ^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^ ,„ ^.„j^, 
 
 turcshavc been broken •l"'^n°r^^^''VT.\,„. wl fnd in darkness, is going on the mighty mys- 
 
 we the key and the interpretation of what we 
 here rend, this daily chronicle "f t!''«^«„'?'""^'' 
 be a sadder tragedy than any which Shaks- 
 pere wrote. It is the same with «ill human 
 labor. "The spirit giveth life." Were 
 not so earth wouhl he a dui, £on. If toil 
 
 fnd in^larkness, is going on the mighty mys 
 
 ?crY of life, and passing before^ us m sha.low 
 
 sThe .IrenJ m^ ery of death. Want and 
 
 ;^rer^l^eti;s^hi;hwearouttheV.an 
 nouthr passions which sink it *" .ff ^iist 
 hor8th;tlift it to theheaven--hid by the 
 veiW custom and the senses-these are alive 
 
 
I 
 
 iW^«w« 
 
 336 
 
 GOVEKNMKNT OF THK TKMVKR 
 
 (lOYKUNMKNT OF TIIK TKMPER. 
 
 in Hum.- cl.-«r.-.-. tneith.-r ,«.,...,.. ,h.-v,.).,m-.*. 
 
 rit' 
 nut 
 
 t^in^n-ihlotothi.; f-r the pewm ^ m W. 
 „.,t ai. injurv. most he mr-M-ul-lc '.t ...n^ 
 
 'wh.. treut y.m ill willn.ut ,,r..vo.nli.m. ynu 
 ,u.alni..m..mt>.iny.HU..vvn.h«nity. Hnf i».m- 
 ,U-rl.)(».>this while you «l»«.wnH.-nH.M. ftlKinm- 
 
 Vi,h r.,mr.t to .1..- tir.t. .t .h ;.. n.juno m 1 ^ '^,,"^ ,, ^j^j, ean-lor nn.J rimrity. -nd 
 
 „„.. ..^ . ... ;,.„„ i„ 1 rircuiiwtame with can-lor nn.l rlmrity. ana 
 
 ...n..,v, .....I *. '''i'^'^^r • »',ll Lk r S^r whether your nhowinK .l.o r.-^rnt- 
 th... (.••nml. rh.r«.;..;r. tlm on. ;'''' "^ '^"'N ^^i Jn-rve.! mxsmtvr,n\nc<,M conHrq-^- 
 
 v.mna lr>'v from K'vna «ny O i ; for n m m 
 ^.nbcn ..>..« hrr rl.uructer to W b.-troyml ...to 
 
 .he ouM.i to i.c ,xn\mn,ri\ <rt' th.- on« a. much 
 
 ,.n.i.n.v,ur.. hrr ,„-cuVmr.lmt..Ktu,..s; nn.1 an 
 !,nn.u..i w oinan i. .me of the nK«t .hsagrecQWe 
 
 siilhtH in natufe. . , 
 
 It is pluin from experience tT.nt the most 
 
 when they hi-ve a motive sunicietitly Hfro 
 -^uch OS the presence of tho^e they fe«r. or 
 to whom they imrticulnrly desire to re(s.m- 
 
 'r^e;;; the JvL It IB ^!-"''-^p:zz 
 
 I to permms, whom you have injure. »>y ™ 
 re, ron.:h.-«, an.l unjunt nsperHioiw. to t.;ll tht n 
 you wuHinapasHi-^n: the nl!..w.„R yourself 
 
 ' to speak to them in passi.m « e I'^""« "^ "" 
 
 e Clin comniimd tnemsenc» "■■ , . 
 
 motive surticientlv ntrong Utr.,y r.k,.)- -'^^ ' '\«- 
 
 riUMtilUT ■Willi"'' J'- r., .. .„ 
 
 ,.H..,it .»e«.rve.l mny i«.t l.r...lu.ee .11 ...nnr i'."/.- 
 f,.8 f. iimoeent ,«-r*m*-ns w alrn.wt ftU.'..^ 
 the case in family .pmrrel^-nn.l whe her .t 
 rn^vV-.t nc-nsion the l>r.-a..h ..f «.><«c .l.i»y '-r 
 „.i>.Hnry .•.H..«>M..n, to which v..u ou«ht t., 
 sacrifice evrn your just resent.n. nfs. A'...ve 
 nil thinus, take care that a particular . )He.ir- 
 tov.mri.K-sn.,.- •- youunjuHtto iU ^ej^ 
 
 erou» ange- --1..^. «>\ 'rtc\m\e esteem t r 
 
 whatever « re.lly e,Ut '''1"' p*!'''",*? '' Tt 
 
 m of Its oliject : it 
 
 even irrnvnen -V .it«n.- overcoming him by 
 benefits/ami w N. *. -itlictno other pumsh- 
 Intthan the . ^'ret of having "JJ-'^J "?«= 
 wh.> deserve,! his Kiwlnrss -, it is always pla- 
 cable an.l ready to be recuieilwl uj. 8.x.t. as 
 the otV.n.1er is onvince.l ..f his error; nor can 
 „„.,...-, — . . f .f ,„ anv subswiuent injury pmvoke it to recur to 
 
 j^v-rb Exrffo^ vo^ 5 "^^^^^ -" •»■• -' - ^■ 
 
 teiiow-creaiuris "•"•■>■ "-■ ,r. ", , ^,, r„, „- 
 When once you fin.1 yourself heatr.1 s. far as 
 to .lesire to siiy what you know w..uM be pr.>- 
 vokin« an.1 woun.ling .t.^ """th'^r, y-» ^^f^ 
 i,nin.-diate1v res-ilve either to be sil.nt .>r to 
 ""the rJom, rather than t.> give utterance 
 t, anything dictat.-.l by so bo.l an mdination. 
 Be aLred'you are th..i unfit to rea..n .jr o 
 reprove, or t.) hear reusori fr..in others. It is 
 thlrefore vour part to retire tr.,m sneh an oc- 
 casion of 'sin; nnd wait t,ll you n"' ^-^^ ^Z' 
 f.Ke vou presume to judge of what has jwissed. 
 W acculmin, yourself thus to e..n,,«er and 
 
 ROSES. 
 
 Thi: rose has been from time immemorial 
 rt/flower par exreUenee ; and it snll retains 
 rheU^rone^its early gL-ry. «;tw,thstan.hns 
 the multitude of new fkmers that have be.n 
 "e.l, or bred out of the old vanet.es by 
 art, and the extreme beauty of many of these 
 and in one or other of its van-.ties <.r m.Mles of 
 treatment, it is a flower of all civ.lize.l coun- 
 
 By accusioiiui.n J""'"- — .-, , •,„„,„„„ tries- it is a fl.iwer accessible to people oi 
 
 disappoi..t your anger y,m will, by degrees X^nks and generally possess.-.! bv them if 
 fi„.l it grow weak and •""""R'-'"''^'';,,'" "^ " "i ' hav; even the smallest plot of ground, 
 leave your r. usou at liberty: you will ^« »J'« Uf^y ^^^^'^ ;, i^jj^.t part won fr.,m grosser 
 to restrain your t.mgue from evd, ""f J"^/, ^^'j" 3s in his leisure hours bv attemhng 
 l.,oks and gestures fr.)m all «'^J'y'^''"o"« °M °f I'l „^^^^^ 
 
 ; Snce ami ill-will. Pride, which pro.luros to th<^ ^« f^/^ ,^^i„,., ^j.^ «il,l and luxu- 
 so manv evils in tho human mind, is the great ot gmum., ^ _ , ^,_ ^ ^.^ „>ttn-re. 
 
 stturce of passion. Whoever cultivates in 
 himself a proper humility, a due sense of hi. 
 o "n faults and insufficiencies, and a due re- 
 spect for others, will find bitt small tempta- 
 tion to violent or unreasonable anger. 
 
 In the case of real injuries, which ustify 
 and call for resentment, there is a noble ,and 
 ;:Serous kind of anger, a P-F^"-! " -„«; 
 surv part of our nature, wh.cli has nothing 
 ZUor degrading. I would not wi*h you to 
 
 riant .race upon the rude walls of his c..tt8!:e 
 maku.g the whole appear like a favonte w.. k 
 "f nature in one of the gayest of her sp.,rt.^e 
 mo.,ds. Then, if the man of rank and wea t^i 
 is in possession ..f a complete bed of ro , 
 with Iheir dwarfs, shrubs, f «'?^''''^'\;:"J ' '', 
 lars, all in the Inxnnance of bl.H.m. he han a 
 ;oi;ctionof beouty and a -hness of perfume 
 which no other production of art and nature 
 can equal. 
 
! ill (MmHfitivn* 
 alm<i>«t nlwov* 
 nnd whfthrr il 
 
 ' WiJIK! lluty 'IT 
 
 I vein oonlit to 
 iwnt*. A'Mive 
 irtiailor otlr.ir* 
 ust l(» tl»e «<•»»- 
 ; i)er«in. Orn- 
 iilc ftiteem tor 
 nor ()«)«« it ilc- 
 i)f its object ; it 
 •rairning him by 
 rvo othnr imnish- 
 ing injtirei! one 
 it is nlwnys pla- 
 cilwl as SO"" ■* 
 is error; nor eon 
 le it to reenr to 
 i) b«t'n once for- 
 
 Hmn in>nH»moriBl 
 mil it srill rctnins 
 r, notwithstanding 
 ■8 tbat have bp»n 
 ,e olil varieties by 
 of Bisny of these ; 
 fifties or modes of 
 all civilized conn- 
 (ible to people of 
 ssesscd by them if 
 >8t plot of ground, 
 t won from groeser 
 honrs by attending 
 orn his little patch 
 rith wild and luxu- 
 valls of his cottasr, 
 ike a favorite work 
 'est of her s])ortive 
 of rank and wealth 
 plete bed of roses, 
 standards, nnd jiil- 
 of bl(H)m, he ha» a 
 richness of perfume 
 n of art and nature 
 
 
 
 in 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 
 
-*^!;i * 
 
 W 
 
 r* 
 
 t'MH^ 
 
 
 
 338 
 
 OREGON. 
 
 OREGON. 
 
 That extensive portion of North America, 
 lvin<r west of the Rocky nnounmnis, and ex- 
 teniilng to the Pacitic, called Oregon, was for 
 a long period a subject of the rival claims of 
 Great Britain, and the United States. The 
 whole country extends from the Klamct range. 
 Snowy mountains, about the pafallol_ ot^ 
 
 or 
 
 or onowy iiiuuiii,ii...^-, - 1 . 
 
 fortv-two degrees, on the south, to hfty-four 
 decrees, forty minutes, on the north, and from 
 the Rocky mountains on the east to the 1 a_ 
 cific ocean on the west, comprising an area ot 
 about four hundred thousand s.jnare miles. 
 
 lished a trading post beyond the Rocky mount- 
 ains, on the hea.l-woters of Lewis river, the 
 first ever formed on any of the waters ot the 
 Columbia. In 1810, the Pacific fur company, 
 under John Jacob Astor, of New York, was 
 formed ; and in 1811, they founded Astoria, 
 pi^it miles from the mouth of the Columbia, 
 as their principal trading post, and proceeded 
 to establish others in the interior. A little 
 later in the same year, the Northwest com- 
 pany sent a detachment to form establishments 
 on the Columbia ; but when they arrived at 
 ^he ir-iuth of. the river, they found the post 
 occupied. In consequence of the exposure ot 
 
 about four hundred thousand s.piare mi^s --^-^ ;j^;^;7^f"r81o, the post was sold 
 The section more immediate y "'J'^P^^^^.";^ | ^^^to tl^Northwest company. At the close 
 that watered by the Columbia river and its , out to t^'^ ^ ^^^^ ^^^^^^^j, by order of 
 
 tributaries. But by a treaty conclucled «' '^IXnu.h ™ver: ment, to its original fonn ^. 
 Washington, on the fifteenth of June.1846, 
 this long-pending question, which at times se- 
 riously threatened to break the harmony exist- 
 incr between the two nations, was permanently 
 settled, by fixing the line of boundary between 
 
 the Brirish gover; ment, to its ongmal lonn 
 ers agreeably to the first article of the treaty 
 of Ghent. Various attempts have been rnade 
 since the war to renew the fur trade in Ore- 
 con. In 1821, the Hudson's bay, and North- 
 west company, who had previously been 
 
 serueu, ujr ..V...S ...- f .,nr.l, pnuntrv with west uim-p^.^v - — .- r, .- , 
 
 the respective por ions of «f '^ "^"fy' J^^ rivals, were united, and since that ti.ne have 
 some minor stipulations, a t^^' *'J[ y™ I greatly extended their establishmeni m the 
 parallel of latitude, giving to Great Uritainai b J Qreeon. 
 
 lying north of that line, and to the United '^^^"" °A ^^'f ",„itor^r is divided into three 
 Lti all south of it. Thelatterportio,i,wh^,ch TleOre^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^ ^,,^^^ ^^_ 
 
 is the subject of this article, extends trom lat- ■ [^"^'"/f.^f ^^^ir, „,ean and the President's 
 
 itude foriy-two to ^^"7 J'Xh^^h^yr^^^^^^^ 
 
 comprises about two hundred ami htt> '^^ "; ; '""^ ' ^-^^ . oA That between the Cascade 
 
 sand square miles. As the wil.l regions th s ^ e,n j^^^^^ ~r^^ „, „,,,,,{,, section ; 
 
 side of the Rocky mountains are becommg "'' Jf ^j^"^'' ™~ ,h^ 
 
 occupied and subdued, under the geinal influ- , 3 h J ^'^^'''^^ ;\!^ ^^^^^ section : and this divis- 
 
 ence of civili/.ati,.u, the ti. e ot .^"'V""-"'!';" f', ^m; ally apply to the soil, climate, 
 begins to surmount tli^at hitherto nnpassjl^^ ^ 1^ ^^^^^ ,,^,^ ,,, 
 
 barrier, and many a hardy settle., in s.rch Columbia river; the main 
 
 of a new home, now directs his -^^/^^ '^^ " , ! ^[^^^ J j, ^„n„ed, in the middle regi.m, by the 
 the distant Oregon, an.l settlernents. u.ul ev n ^"^^^ ]^ { branches flowing from the 
 
 cities, are already risng upon the Pacnh.^e^^^^ „„j ,,,,i,i„g i„ tl.eir 
 
 board. The discussion and hnal « ;. "^ '^ K tKy ^^^^^^^ ^^^.^^^^ ^^^ 
 
 of the Oregon boundary question having ot ^ ^'^^^ ^ ^ J^ ^ ' ^^^jj^,,,. The mountain ranges 
 itself awakened an interest m that re.note '™'''[^ \'^'f '„,,t part, in parallel lines 
 region, a^ brief ^histoncaljnd U.p^aphical j e^^^ „any 'places above 
 
 the region of perpetual snows (here o,C00 
 feet above the sea), which naturally produces 
 a difibrence of temperature between them am! 
 also affects their productions. 
 
 The Cascade range, or t-.at nearest the 
 coast, runs parallel with the seacoast, the 
 whole length of the territory, and nsing in 
 many places in regular cones, from 12,000 to 
 14 000 feet above the level of the sea. 
 
 The distance from the seashore to this 
 chain, is from one hundred to one hundred and 
 fifty miles, and the ridge almost interrupts the 
 communication oetween the first ^iid second 
 sections, except where the Ctilumbia river 
 forces a passage through it. The climate of 
 this section is mild throughout the year, ex- 
 periencing neither the extreme^cold of winter 
 
 may 
 
 sketch of the Oregon terntory 
 interest to our readers. _ , • r- i I 
 
 Captain Robert Gray, in the ship Coluin- , 
 bia, from Boston, discovered and entered the 
 mouth of the Columbia river, Mav .th, 17 J„ 
 and gave it the name of his vessel. He was 
 the first person that established t.ie fact of the 
 existence of this great river, and this gave to 
 the United States the right of discovery. In 
 lS0t-'5, Captains Lewis and Clark, uii'ler 
 the direction of the government of the Lmted 
 States, explored the country trom the mouth 
 of the Missouri, to the mouth of the Colum- 
 bia, and spent the winter of 180o-'6, at the 
 mouth of the Columbia. This exploration 
 of the river Columbia, the first ever made, 
 constitutes another ground of the claim oi the 
 United States to the country. In 1808, tne 
 
 United States to the country. ' ;"^; ^ „ * the heat of summer 
 Missouri fur company, at bt. Louis, estao i nor 
 
 The prevailing 
 
 i. 
 
Rocky mount- 
 wls river, the 
 
 waters of tlie 
 ; fur company, 
 L'W York, was 
 ided Astoria, 
 the Columbia, 
 and proceeded 
 rior. A little 
 orthwest com- 
 establishments 
 hey arrived at 
 iiound the post 
 ;he exposure of 
 e post was sold 
 . At the close 
 ed, by order of 
 original foun - 
 le of the treaty 
 lave been made 
 ,r trade in Ore- 
 jay, and North- 
 ireviously been 
 
 that time have 
 shmeiii in the 
 
 1,'ided into three 
 : Ist, That be- 
 the President's 
 called the west- 
 een the Cascade 
 mifldle section ; 
 id Rocky mount- 
 : and this divis- 
 he soil, climate, 
 ie divisions are 
 river ; the main 
 lie region, by the 
 lowing from the 
 leiving in their 
 inw, draining the 
 mountain ranges 
 in parallel lines 
 mv places above 
 o\vs (here 5,600 
 aturally produces 
 )etween them and 
 
 t'liat nearest the 
 ;he seacoast, the 
 iry, and rising in 
 es. from 12,000 to 
 of the sea. 
 seashore to this 
 o one hundred and 
 nost interrupts the 
 le first r.nd second 
 e Columbia river 
 , The climate of 
 liout the year, ex- 
 eme cold of winter 
 The prevailing 
 
 339 
 
 winds in the summer arc from the northward 
 nnd westward, and in the winter, from the 
 souti™l, and westward, and southeast. 
 whSri'tempestuous. T^e -niter W 
 ,vi«cd to last from December to ]? Lbruary 
 Cn u uuUy begin to fall in November, and 
 £ il Ma^ch; but they arc "ot heavy 
 hough frequent. Snow sometimes falU^bu 
 \t seldom lies over three days. The Irosts 
 Jre eib occurring in the latter part of Au 
 
 a rich heavy loam and unctious clay, to a 
 deep h avy^lack loam, on a trap-rock ; and 
 n the soutLrn (the Willamette valley .the 
 sdi is generally good, varying from a Uack 
 vegetable loam to decomposed basal ,^vlh 
 stiff clav. and portions of loose gravel-soii. 
 SSare gelierally basalt, and stone and 
 slate; between the tJmpqua "^^'^'J"'^..*;;' 
 southern boundary the rorks are prnnitn e 
 consisting of slate, hornblende, and gram e 
 which produce a gntty and P"""- ^"^ ;;^^^;' 
 are however, some places of rich praine, 
 overed with liaks. It is, for the mos -r , 
 a well-timbcred country. It '% "^'^^^^^J^^^ 
 with the sours, or o isets from the Cascarte 
 rLts:':hiW render its surface much 
 
 broken ; these are covered with » jJ^nse tor 
 est. The timber consists of pines, firs, spruce, 
 Ss (red and white), ash, -butus arbor, vi- 
 ue, cedar, poplar, maple, billow, cherry, ami 
 tew, with a close undergrowth of hazel, rubus 
 rores X. The richest and best soil is found 
 on h; second or middle Fairie. and is be,t 
 1 adapted for agriculture; tbe high and lo-^b- 
 ' ing excellent for pasture-land. Jbe climate 
 anil soil are admirably adapted for all kind 
 of ^rain -wheat, rye, oats, barley, pei^. «<?• 
 than corn .Iocs n/t thrive in any paj " th 
 territorv where t has been tried. Many iruiis 
 am ea 'to ueceed well, Particularly the ap- 
 p^ie, and pear. Vegetables grow exceedingly 
 well, and yield most abundantly. 
 
 The Bl.ie mountains are ^^'^^^}^' '^'^^ 
 course, and occasionally interrupted, but gen 
 Sw running in a northerly direction ; they 
 Zence in the Kla.net -ge. near the -uj^- 
 em boundary of the territory ; theyare oro 
 k^n rou-h by the Saptin or Lewis nver, 
 S Si off I hills of -derate eb^^^^^^^^^ 
 ,,nHl thev a-rain appear on the north siae oi 
 
 and the winter much colder, than m the west- 
 em sect on. Its extremes of heat and cold 
 a^more frequent and greater, the mercury 
 at thues, falling as low as eighteen degrees 
 below Tero, F all renheit, in winter and_ rising 
 to oM hundre.1 and eighty degrees in the 
 shade! in summer: the daily dirterenc^ of 
 empeiature is about forty ^^SJ^- .f^/^^t 
 renheit. It has, however, been iounU ex 
 remely salubrious, possessing a pure and 
 heaUhv air. No dews fall in this section 
 ThS is, for the most part, a light sandy 
 S^in the valleys a rick aH-al ; and the 
 hills are generally barren. The surtace is 
 about one thousand feet above the level of 
 he we^^rn section, and is general v a roling 
 nrairie country. In the centre ot this sec- 
 
 aUhough there are portions of it which might 
 
 be advantageously tarraed. i,„„n,iarv 
 
 The Rocky mountams form the boundary 
 of the eastern section, and of the territory. 
 Thev commence on the Arctic coast, and con- 
 S wi dmost unbroken chain until they 
 merL in the Andes of South America. The 
 Simate of the eastern section is extremely 
 variable In each day there are all the chan- 
 
 fnnwient to sprint, summer, autumn, and 
 ges incident to spnn, ^^^^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^ 
 
 TghTbe SS bVt they are few in nurn er 
 The soil is rockv and uneven, and presents 
 an almost unbroten barren waste. Stupen 
 dous mountain-spurs traverse it in all direc 
 thris aff-ording little level ground. Snow 
 es ^n the mountains nearly, if not quite 
 i! uLf tTip vear. It is exceedingly dry 
 
 Td'he in much.imVegnated with salt . 
 TliP Columbia is the great river ot tne lei 
 •r,v Its northern branch takes its nse in 
 Sck^otSi^^, in latitude fifty degrees 
 S Situde one ^-dred and ^^^^^^^ 
 thence it pursues a ^^l^'^J^^'^ZSs. 
 lVT'GilUvarv'8 pass m the R^'^'^y. '""V"',' . 
 
 i. 
 
"> ' 
 
 tsis 
 
 at 
 
 
 Jukes l.etoro it roaches ColviUe, where ic^is ^__'._»._^^ ^^^_, ^ntrnnr.R. The nio-ith ot the 
 
 two thousmi.l and forty-nine feet above the 
 kvfl <.f the ^OQ, havuig a full ot hve hundred 
 and iiltv feet in two hundred and twenty 
 miles. 'To the south of this it trerids to the 
 westward, receiving the Si.okan nver frorn 
 the east, which is not navigable, and takes its 
 rise in the lake of Cocur d'Alene. Thence '» 
 
 navi-'anon and entrance. The nio-ith ot the 
 
 Ctdunibia, however, is every diiy becoming 
 
 better known. A new and excellent channel 
 
 has recently been discovered. It is to the 
 
 ^i northward of "Peacock Spit," and at no 
 
 ts point in thi? channel is there less than three 
 
 it and a half fathoms depth of water. 1- rom 
 
 rise in the lake of Cocur d'Alene. /^ 'f "j^/M ""^radons i« ^^^^^^^^ '^'"'' '* "^'" "" 
 pursues a westerly course for aW s'^ ^^fi "Lth chLel, which, should it 
 miles, receiving several smanerst_ream^s,_anu a%ai^^ ^^ ^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^ ^^.^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^ 
 
 entrances to the great western river. 
 
 Fraser's river takes its rise m the liocky 
 mountains, about the fifty-third j.arallel, and 
 
 at its bend to the south, it is joined by the 
 Okana^an, a river that has its source in a line 
 of lakes, attbrding canoo and boat navigation 
 for a considerable extent to the northward. 
 The Columbia thence passes to the south- 
 ward, until it reaches Wallawalla, m the lat- 
 itude of forty-five degrees, a distance ot one 
 hundred and sixty miles, receiving the 1 is- 
 cous Y'Akuirn, and Point de Boise, or Knty- 
 atecoom, from the west, which take their nse 
 in the Cascade range, and also its great soutli- 
 eastorn branch, the Saptin or Lewis, which 
 has its source in the Rocky mountains, near 
 our southern boundary, and brings a large 
 (luantitv of water to increase the v 
 the principal stream. The Lewis is not nav 
 igable, even for canoes, except in reaches. 
 The rupids are extensive, and of frequent oc- 
 currence. Its length, to its junction with the 
 Columbia, is five hundred and twenty miles. 
 The Columbia, at Wallawalla, is one thou- 
 sand two hundred and eighty-six feet above 
 the level of the sea, and about thirty-tive 
 hundred feet wide •- it now takes its last turn 
 to the westward, rei-^-.r.ng the Umatilla, 
 Quisnel's, John Day's, and De Chute nvers, 
 from the south, and Cathlatate's from the 
 north, pursuing its rapid course of eighty 
 miles, previous to passing through the range 
 
 after receiving the waters ot several smaller 
 streams, breaks through the Cascade ran^e, 
 in a succession of falls and rapids, and emiities 
 into the gulf of Georgia, about the forty-ninth 
 parallel, its whole length being three hundred 
 and fifty miles. The Chikeelis is next m im- 
 portance. It has three sources among the 
 range of hills that intersect the country north 
 of the Columbia river. After a very tortuous 
 course, and receiving some small streams, is- 
 
 rt?.c:l.RwS =l»5e^^^^^^ 
 
 the head-waters of Hood's canal and Puget a 
 sound it disembogues in Gray's harbor. To 
 the south of the Columbia there are many 
 small streams, but three of which deserve the 
 name of rivers. Those are the Urapqup 
 Too-too-tut-na or Rogues' nver, and the Ki- 
 met, the last-named entering into the ocei. 
 south of the parallel of forty-two degrees. 
 
 The character of the great nvers ot Ure- 
 eon is peculiar : rapid, and sunken much be- 
 fow the level of the country, with peri)endic- 
 ular banks ; indeed, they are, as it-.-were, m 
 trenches, it being extremely ditficult to get at 
 the water in many places, owing to the steep 
 
 „,;ies, previous to passing through tne range -J^f^^V^iirai^d: during the rise, they are 
 „f Cascade mountains, in a senes of 1»1 « "«» "^t^"!)^'''^' f "' fi„ecf bv dalles, which 
 
 rapids that obstruct its flow, and forrn insor- 
 mountuble barriers to the passigeof boats by 
 water during the floods. These difficulties, 
 however, are overcome by portages. 1 hence 
 there is still-water navigation, for forty miles, 
 when its course is again obstructed by rapids. 
 Thence to the ocean, one hundred and twenty 
 miles, it is navigable for vessels of twelve teet 
 draught of water at the lowest state of the 
 river, though obstructed by many sand-bars. 
 In this paifl it receives the Willamette Irom 
 the south, and the Cowelitz from the north. 
 The former is navigable for small vessels 
 twenty miles, to the mouth of the Klackamus, 
 three miles below its falls; the latter can not 
 be called navigable, except for a small part ot 
 the year, during the floods, and then only tor 
 canoes and barges. The width of the Colum- 
 bia, within twenty miles of its mouth, is much 
 increased, and it joins the ocean between Cape 
 Disappointment, and Point Adams, forming a 
 
 in many places confined by dalles, which 
 back the water some distance, submerging is- 
 lands and tracts of low prairie, giving tho 
 appearance of extenswe lakes. 
 
 In the various sections of Oregon there are 
 many lakes. The Okanagan, Stuart's, Quis- 
 nell's, and Kamloon's, are the largest in tlie 
 northern section. The Flatbow, Coeur d Al- 
 ene, and Kulluspelm, in the middle section, 
 and those forming the head-waters of the large 
 rivers in the eastern section. The country is 
 well watered, and there arc but few places 
 where an abundance of water, from either 
 rivers, springs, or rivulets, can not be obtain- 
 ed. The smaller lakes add much to the pic- 
 turesque beauty of the country. They ara 
 generally at the head-waters of the smaller 
 
 streams. ,.•!.• 
 
 There are extensive fishenes m the nvers 
 and on the coast. They all abound in salmon 
 of the finest flavor, which run twice o year, 
 
OREGON. 
 
 !, anil causing 
 Y impoclps its 
 ino'ith of the 
 lay becoming 
 client clmnnel 
 It is to the 
 ," and at no 
 ess than three 
 water. From 
 ;rc is also an 
 ich, should it 
 11 make three 
 river. 
 
 in the Rocky 
 d jmrallol, and 
 severnl smaller 
 Cascade ran^e, 
 ds, and emjities 
 the forty -ninth 
 J three hundred 
 is is next in im- 
 ces among the 
 e country north 
 a very tortuous 
 null streams, is- 
 gh ground near 
 nal and Puget's 
 y's harbor. To 
 there are many 
 lich deserve the 
 3 the Umpqup- 
 er, and the K!' i 
 ; into the ocem 
 -two degrees. 
 It rivers of Ore- 
 unken much be- 
 with perpendic- 
 re, as it-,.were, in 
 difficult to get at 
 ving to the steep 
 he rise, they are 
 jy dalles, which 
 e, submerging is- 
 airie, giving the 
 es. 
 
 Oregon there are 
 ,n, Stuart's, Quis- 
 lie largest in the 
 tbow, Cceur d'Al- 
 e middle section, 
 vaters of the large 
 . The country is 
 c but few places 
 rater, from either 
 can not be obtain- 
 l much to the pic- 
 untry. They ara 
 iTS of the smaller 
 
 eries in the rivers 
 1 abound in salmon 
 run twice a year, 
 
 frequently captured by the InUians 
 
 fleurs, which are e^^'=" "iL! ,,esignated as 
 Tn the middle section, or that (lesifciia 
 
 ;;. X ?»"'. r frumrli. Tt 
 
 e..ter„ action *■: '"""'« »™' "number, 
 
 out regard to fason. x company 
 
 t sWan'dSl tte^s L literally c^ 
 tne spring a-"" „„,i ntlipr water-iiivi 
 
 dation of a town caiieu ^ „- jj jg jVom 
 view of which IS given on p. 337. J^ 
 a sketch taken on the spot. J'^^f P^^^.n^e 
 '"""' rer'aJ;^raltmlenc:d making 
 
 S themselves into a government for sel 
 
 ;" tection, and adopted » eon^^^™',^,:^'^^ 
 institution recogmzxsrehgou^nd CIV 11^ 
 
 Surl- ^S.;iS Shan be estab 
 
 i; l.pd for the "enerul education of the i.eoi)le ; 
 
 that ?he u n..^t good faith .hall be observ.,-d 
 
 ^Ird tie Indians; and that slavery and in- 
 
 iSlX « ».S The h»™ .,.,.».«. 
 
 »u= oVinll he entitled to a citi/en s \ni\i 
 Sef 'The curre'nJy laws are founded upon 
 leges. i» the importat on or manut:ic- 
 
 Lrt ardent rirUs "prohibited, by an act, 
 Xh imposes fines for Iransgressnig its pro- 
 
 ^^ The"upper colony from the United States, 
 is linS on the Villamette nver nmety- 
 
 [°- i;^:oSs of ruToLTunteJS 
 
 mmmm 
 
 .* ot .he Col«~hi. me. ft.» h _D.te 
 t„ Oregon city. "»"";„,° from the Blue 
 . o„»p..r....ely 'Syr'te Will™«» « 
 
 rr&nX»te.'Hep...«...or 
 Caumbi., ninety "''i !rB*iAfnr.trade. 
 
 .ire'ff=fiS3...A5-s 
 
 seaboard, the settlers >? ^rego^ arc ^ 
 
 attacks f-- Jj;'27;eatment of disease, 
 race, from their ruue ' ^ | Viits, are 
 
 and their reckless •^"'^^^'f ^^j fast dis- 
 rapidly. decreasing in nu™^^^^^^ ,,, 
 appeanng from the country ,^^^^^„j^ ii 
 
 s^"".ei £*3xvS«i; 
 
 rM.tWks«ttl'i»'»«8"»«- 
 
 *» 
 
 m 
 
 
 „*s 
 
•■T 
 
 11 
 
 ■ii 
 
 Portrait of Christoplier Columbus. 
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS: 
 
 AND THE DISCOVERT OF AMERICA. 
 
 The discovery of a new planet, so small 
 and distant, that to the greater part of nmn- 
 kind it must ever remain invisible, has lately 
 been exciting the curiosity of the public, and 
 will in all probability secure immortality to 
 the fortunate astronomer who first observed it. 
 Such are amonj; the greatest triumphs reserved 
 for science in 'the present day, when every 
 corner of the globe has been searched out, and 
 the very stars of heaven numbered as they 
 shine. Far dilferent was the state ot the 
 world in the middle of the fifteenth century, 
 when, awaking from the slumber of ages, men 
 set themselves to explore the laws regulating 
 the system of the heavens and the earth, and 
 when new or unknown worids remained m 
 both to reward their labors. 
 
 Amontr the successful discoverers ot that 
 period; the name of Christopher Columbus, 
 or, as he designated himself when he hxed his 
 residence in Spain, Cristoval Colon, is the 
 most iustly distinguished. Some obscurity 
 attaches to the place of his birth, but the hon- 
 or seems due to Genoa, where his father, a 
 
 poor but worthy woolcomber, was long resi- 
 
 dent AVlirn his name had become illustnous, 
 many noble families claimed kin.lrod with 
 Columbus, but on such uncertain grounds that 
 his son and historian was content to assume 
 him as the founder of the family; "for I am 
 of opinion," says he, "that I should derive 
 less dignity from any nobility of fcestry, than 
 from being the son of such a father." In the 
 ancient city of Genoa, then, in the year 143o, 
 or 143G, was Columbus bom. His education 
 seems to have been considerable for the pe- 
 riod, having been taught reading and writing, 
 arithmetic, drawing, and painting, with such 
 success, that, ns one of his historians observes, 
 by these acnuirempnts he might have earned 
 his bread. At Pavia, then a celebrated 
 school, he subse.|uently studied Latin ; and, 
 with more diligence, geometry, geography, 
 astronomy, and navigation ; to which ^rand^oH 
 his inclination so powerfully led him, that he 
 afterward ascribed it to a secret impulse from 
 the Deity, leading him to those studies which 
 should fit him to accomplish his hich destiny. 
 His birth in a maririme city like Genoa, at a 
 time when reviving literature was anew un- 
 folding the geographical knowledge and theo- 
 ries of the ancients, was no less fortunate, and 
 must have tended greatly to strengthen his in- 
 i clination for naval pursuits. 
 
:ome niustrioiis, 
 1 kinilroil with 
 nin grounils that 
 titent to assume 
 lily ; " fur I am 
 [ should derive 
 )f ancestry, than 
 Father." In the 
 (1 the year 1435, 
 His education 
 ahle for the pe- 
 ing and writing, 
 nting, with such 
 torians observes, 
 ght have earned 
 in a celebrated 
 ied Latin ; and, 
 ;try, geograjjhy, 
 3 which branches 
 led him, that he 
 ;ret impulse from 
 ise studies which 
 his hiah destiny. 
 ' like Genoa, at a 
 re was anew un- 
 iwledge and theo- 
 ess fortunate, and 
 strengthen his in- 
 
 CHRI8T0PHEE COLUMIlUS. 
 
 313 
 
 His life after leaving the university, is for 
 Bomc time involved in obscurity, P^r'^^l'^/^'" 
 the unwillingness of his son to disclose the 
 „,e«n conditinn from which he rose. It lie 
 "v..r followed his father's trade, us has been 
 usserted, it could only be tor a sh°" "^^'J^ 
 he Kuvs that he bouau to navmate when only 
 J:un.^.fn years of age. The ^'^f^"'^ 
 su.Tound.Ml by numerous independent states, 
 ,,,,r„,MMl not only in mutual commerce, but in 
 firmrent wars ami piratical excursions, formed 
 a .ood .hou.hiou.h school lor the young sa 1- 
 orTiu whuli he wouhl soon ac-iuirc those hab- 
 its of decision, boldness, and comman.l over 
 i;;:r:iil:!ciat.;s, ..essential to liisfuturesuc- 
 ' c.ss. In 1459, he was employed in the Gen- 
 ,,,..0 fleet, which assisted the duke ol Cala- 
 ;,ia in hi; attempts to n'eover the throne of 
 Nui-les for his father, Count R^ne of 1 ov- 
 cuce Under this king he had command ot a 
 vessel sent to Tunis, to capture a g^Hey ly'"f 
 there. His sailors, frightened by reports ot 
 e ciemy's strength, insisted on returning; 
 but Columbus, while seeming to ff^Jy 
 alterim- the card of the ^'""I'f «' ^''J.'^T,^, 
 the place he wished, and as he boasts ot his 
 CO "probably succeeded in his enterprise 
 The alte.npt on Naples, aft.r a four years 
 coMiM and dolumbus seems lor some 
 lime tohave bl-enoccupied in commercial vov- 
 a.^es in the Mediterranean in one ot which he 
 is known to have visited the '^l'' "^ ^7"; 
 Two admirals of his own name, or Colombo 
 us it is in the Italian, then commanded he 
 fleets of Genoa, which were usually under 
 the influence of France notwithstanding the 
 nominal independence of the republic, fhe 
 younger of these was so iamou-for his ex- 
 .loits" against the intidels, that it is said the 
 Moorish women use.l his name t<> quiet their 
 unruly children. Genoa being then at vvar 
 with Venice, this bold corsair on one occasion 
 IS.Z\. to'in.ercept four rich Venetian ga - 
 leys on their return trom I landers. The ves- 
 sels met on the coast of Portuga , and a des 
 perate battle ensued. The ^ssel commarided 
 ly Columbus, having grappled ^v'th her op- 
 ponent, according to the custom of that time, 
 both were involved in flames, and it heing irn- 
 possible to separate them, the crews had to 
 Sc into ihl sea. Columbus being an ex 
 pert swimmer, seized an oar, and hv means 
 of it reached the shore, though fuUy two 
 Sagues distant. In this strange fashion, hs 
 son'relates that Columbus fi'^ft'irrivecl in Por- 
 tugal, and repairing to L^shon, wherr he 
 foi^r^d many of his countrynrien, t^k up ;* 
 ab,>.!e for some time in that city. As th.. ,>-, 
 t,.: . . happened ui the summer of 148o, u 
 Commbui was a.:. ally ^ng^gf '".fj^^ 
 must have '.v.cn at a later period of h s h s^| 
 ry, after I'o i'.'id been some time -n ' '....ugai. 
 
 No couirry in Europe was at that time 
 better adapted for the future discoverer. 1 or- 
 tucal. mider the influence of Prince Henry, 
 was engaged in the full career ot maritime 
 adventure. Despising the fab ed dangers of 
 the ocean and the torrid zone, the Portuguese 
 were gradually extending their voyages along 
 the African coast, and the prince just men- 
 tioned already foresaw the time when, fol ow- 
 hi-'tho course of Hanno round the sou hern 
 ex"trcmity of Africa, a direct road should be 
 opened to the treasures of the cast. Colum- 
 bus arrived in Portugal in 1470. Ho_ was 
 then in the full vigor of manhood, and is de- 
 scribed by his contemporaries as tall well- 
 formed, muscular, and of an elevated, digni- 
 fied demeanor. His visage was long, his 
 complexion fair and ruddy, his nose nipuline, 
 his eyes light gray, but apt t<. enkii.de, n.ul 
 his hair, once of a light color, now white with 
 care and trouble. He ha<l subdued his natu- 
 rally irritable temper, and was amiable and 
 aflable in social intercourse. He was at the 
 same time strict in his religious observances, 
 and his whole character was tinctured with a 
 lofty, solemn enthusiasm, winch led him to 
 reganl himself as the appointed agent to work 
 out some great designs of Heaven. In ih.s 
 country, and with these feel.ngs, i required 
 but a slight impulse to direct the whole mind 
 and energy of Columbus, into the path of 
 maritime'^lliscovery. And t^.s he _ received 
 from an apparent accident which might have 
 rnther seemed destined to fix him at home. 
 When attendiug religious service in the con- 
 vent of All Saints, he saw and became enam- 
 ored with a lady of Italian descent, the daugh- 
 ter of a distinguished navigator in the service 
 of Prince Henry. Havmg married the lady , 
 he had access to the charts and papers ot her 
 father, now dead, and thus became acquainted 
 with the plans and routes of the Portuguese. 
 When on shore, he occupied himself in con- 
 structing maps and charts for the support of 
 his family, but occasionally joined in the ex- 
 peditions of his adopted countrymen to the 
 coast of Guinea. He also resided f..r some 
 time on the island of Porto Santo, the gover- 
 nor of which was married to his v-'ife's s s cr. 
 Here his son, Diego, was born: ami Colum- 
 bus hud frequent opportuni les of meet ng 
 with persons engaged in the discoveries on the 
 coast^of Africa.' ^ere rUo rumors oisknds 
 seen in the western ocenn were frequen ly 
 heard and revived the belief in the faWed 
 Atlantis of Plato. These tales, however 
 Me credit he might attach to them and Ins 
 trade of map-making, soon gave a deeded 
 bias to his miiid, and ripened into a grand 
 
 ^^ ThL^ were various grounds on which Co- 
 lumbus built hi. faith of new lands to be dis- 
 
.1*. ■» 
 
 I,,. 
 
 344 
 
 CHRlriTOrHKa COLUMBUS. 
 
 ,„vcreJ by sailing west in the Atlantic ocean. 
 The travels of Marco Polo had um.lc knovvn 
 to Europeans the vast emi.irc ol China, wi n 
 the Japines* islands in the a.ljoi.nn« sea on 
 excite/I muns cupidity by accounts of t eu 
 luxiUY o"J ^-calth. Columbus assumed that 
 the omt!. was ". sphere, and not a plane as 
 w«s at, that tm.e the orthodox belief, and 
 hence ir.ferrei tl at by sailing west he could 
 reach those a-.^n'rics to which a 1""^ «" 
 ..■eari..n.e ovcland journey l'"'!. ^ i '' 
 the Venetian i-avlhr. Tlie width of the 
 intervening uce.ui Columbus greatly underra- 
 ted, haviuR adopted very erroneous notions of 
 the true dimensions of the globe from the Ar- 
 abic «eograph.-rs. then the highest authorities 
 on scTentilic .ubjccts. He was conhrnied in 
 thir oiiui.m of land to be discovered m the 
 wcht, bv various passages in ancient authors, 
 „m ArW^Ue. Plmy, Strabo, and Senoca; ot 
 whom the l.v t in a remarkable passage proph- 
 ecies that the time should come when the 
 chains of ocean should be Ifwsened, and new 
 worlds expand to the astonished ga/.c ot men. 
 Columbus also collected various iiuhcations ot 
 unknown land in the west, some of them very 
 curious— as a piece of carved wood, evident- 
 Iv not labored with an iron instrument, tounil 
 far west of Cape St. Vincent; the unknown 
 trees, seeds, and immense reeds, driven by 
 currents on the Azores and coasts ot i!.urope ; 
 and especially the dead bodies of two inen. 
 with features unlike any known tribe, cast on 
 the island of Flores. His religious sinnt ol- 
 so led him to read his discovery as foretold in 
 Holy Writ, and dimly announced in the mys- 
 tic revelations of the prophets. These are 
 the grounds he himself assigned for his opin- 
 ion r but his enemies have ascribed his beliet 
 
 kinc at first was favorable to the proposition, 
 but finally refused it in conse(iuence ot lus 
 high demonds of honors and rewards An- 
 other authority states that the king looked ,m 
 Columbus as ivain-gloru.us boaster, and only 
 refened his proposition to a junto ol I. anie.l 
 men, 'in conse.pience of h's „n|.ortun.tH s. 
 This junto, as Was to be expected, treated the 
 
 1 project as extravagant a.ul visHmury. a d 
 'when it was brought before the roval n unc 
 I their decision was contirmed. J"'" "; ^"* 
 thus led to reject the i-roposal, but at the 
 same time, with a meanness unworthy ot a 
 i-reat and wise princ.;, endeavored to deprive 
 Columbus of the honor due to his genius. 
 Having obtained all his maps, plans, and ot - 
 er documents, a vessel was secretly htled out 
 and directed to pursue the n-ite indicated by 
 Columbus. However, a storm "ose, as it 
 .lesigned to defeot this treachery, and the sail- 
 ors easily frightened, and devoid of ^'Y'./f- 
 turned home, ridiculing a scheme which they 
 wanted courage to proseciU.. Disgusted n 
 this unworthy attempt. Columbus refused a 
 further negotiation ^^:th King John, and his 
 wife being now dead, he resolved to leave 
 P rtugal.^ In the end of Lia-Lhe eft Lisbon 
 secretfy, either fearing that the k"^S "i-? '^ 
 try to fletain him, or more probablv wi^hn g 
 occlude, his creditors. Next year U was in 
 Genoa, and probably then made that proposi- 
 Ibn to'his native cit'y which has V-n -rone- 
 ously placed at an cariier period, i he repuD 
 lie, exhausted by war, an<l with declining 
 commeSce, was in\o condition to accep this 
 otTer. Some afTirm that he then carried his 
 proposal toVenice,whereitwas.UoecW 
 
 Wt the national hostility of the nval repub- 
 
 ion r but his enemies have ascribed his be cf >^^tne m ^^^ . ^^ ^^^j^„^^^ 
 
 to a shipwrecked pilot, who died in his house, '^^^^'^^Z f^^, ^^^^ ^han doubtful. . 
 
 and left him written accounts of unknown '^"g^mbus's wanderings are for a time hid- 
 
 i__.i, ;„♦!,« wo it nr tn a man ot Martin _ \^v>»u" .V,„ ^ovt trnee 
 
 UUU K^ib mill YYUi,.^.. . 
 
 lands seen in the west, or to a map ot Martm 
 Behera, a celebrated contemporary cosmogra- 
 pher. A far more probable source ot mtor- 
 mation is to be found in Columbus's inter- 
 course with Iceland, to which he made a voy- 
 age in 1474, as its inhabitants are well known 
 to have discovered, and even founded a colony 
 named Vinland, on the coast of North Amer- 
 
 Uoiumuuss wuii">-i. ■■■,■' "-- -- . , . 
 
 den in obscurity, and the next trace of h.m 
 is in Spain, on Iiis way to the court oil trdi- 
 nund and Isabella. While offering the gift 
 of a new world to monarchs, he hunse f wa 
 in want of the merest necessaries. Near the 
 little seaport of Palos. in Andalusia, stood a 
 Franciscan convent. One day a stranger, ac- 
 
 >,f North Amer- Franciscan ^"""^'^- „^"^ "•'^topped at the 
 
 ie"arsome" centuries before. That Columbus -2'Zfa^cAiI2tLvoner SUo bread 
 
 never alluded to these discovencs may be a^ g^J;,°J„ f„, ,,;, child. In the meantiine the 
 
 cribed to his fear of thus lessenmg lus ovvn "^''J'JJ^^Verez, passing by struck with his 
 
 reputation, and to the fact that the description P"°^' ^'^'l" ^^j^r^d into conversatiori with the 
 
 reputation, and to the tact that ine description 
 given by the Northmen of the regions they 
 visited did not correspon.l with the brilliant 
 picture of Cathay and Cipango, by which lie 
 hoped to induce sonie sovereign to aid him in 
 liis splendid enterprise. 
 
 Columbus is reported to have first proposed 
 his scheme of discovery to his native city, and 
 on its r<>jection there, to have apphed to the 
 court of Portugal. His son relates that the 
 
 prior, Juan reru/;, i<o^=."e, -j — „ -f. ,i,- 
 appearance, entered into conversa ion with the 
 stransrer and was so interested in his story, 
 as toKn him as his guest. The stranger 
 it need hardly be said, was Columbus, on his 
 way to a neighboring town, to seek his broth- 
 er-in-law, married to a sister of his late wife. 
 The nrior though deeply interested m the 
 iiCt viewl of CoUmbus had too littb 
 confidence in his own judgment to give them 
 
 
proposition, 
 uciicc of liU 
 wurils. Aii- 
 iijr liKikcil on 
 trr. anil oiily 
 Id of liuniicl 
 iiiliortuuiiifs. 
 1, trfiitid llio 
 sioniiry, '""1 
 •oviil ('oun(;il, 
 John II. W119 
 1, but at the 
 iwortliy of a 1 
 c(l to (lr|)nve 
 1 liis genius. 
 Inns, and otli- 
 L'tly fitted out 
 
 iiulicatiHl by 
 I arose, as if 
 , anil the sail- 
 d of zeal, rc- 
 10 which they 
 
 Disiiustcd at 
 ms refused all 
 John, and his 
 )lved to leave 
 he left Lisbon 
 lie king mipht 
 ibablv wishing 
 year lie was in 
 e that jiroposi- 
 as been crrone- 
 I. The repub- 
 with declining 
 
 to accept this 
 hen carried his 
 IS ilso declined, 
 state of affairs ; 
 le rival repub- 
 press evidence, 
 Lbtful. 
 
 1 for a time hid- 
 tt trace of him 
 
 court of Ferdi- 
 offering the gift 
 he himself was 
 iries. Near the 
 idalusia, stood a 
 y a stranger, ac- 
 , stopped at the 
 ter a little bread 
 he meantime the 
 f struck with his 
 ersation with the 
 ited in his story, 
 ;. The stronger, 
 :;olumbu9, on his 
 :o seek his broth- 
 r of his late wife, 
 interested in the 
 bus, had too little 
 ncnt to give them 
 
 CHHISTOI'HEU COLUMHUS. 
 
 i,,n..dia,.. approval, on.1 ;etj 1^. ^ --J^ J 
 
 S'?rs:^n:;::;c::i^--a.-onsuita. 
 t"-"ySi;:n:v:^';;rc.t.S'un.andad- 
 
 ilecK e.l 1" '"y"^'. , c ,i„, Spanish ^n^-vx- 
 ^r'''''V^:S,m ^^lisFriJrJuanrere. 
 (iisns. lo ai.i 111 > rccmimcndation 
 
 to Fernnndo ' • ] "' ;;^,'^^ i,,,;^',^^., terms, but 
 s.,r, with wh;>.n \v V''^ ^ j ;, g„„ l)i,.g„. 
 
 •"''''''TTv'uiikhidneswthnevv hopes. 
 
 history, wh. n 'I'-' .'"""^^.f ; .„\ k Ifidoms of 
 Isabella. -^I^^^/^^;: ;.a" ho povv'er of the 
 Aragon and Cast e cxa x ^^ ^^^^^ 
 
 cent, .ri'' '' ."-^^^./..f Granada, with .I'.ni- 
 culty dj'fend. ;l tui. u „,,,inueen.thou^ 
 
 theories of a poor unfriend.'.! stranger met 
 
 Su slow h.-lmng. For s.j.m; f.ne. >;• "P; 
 
 „r. tn have n'-nin su|>p.>rle.l hnns.U by tbe 
 
 i; 1. m p'."vhiic following the movem^n.s 
 
 tl e.mrt Ilis earnest enthnsiiisn. how- 
 
 ?„ re fVi or with his sover...gns, who r.m 
 Isuh Ihmon all matters ef.;o„s,.,pnMK-.-. so 
 ' lie was n«nu.l'' the third knig..f^|-.^^^^^ 
 The eanlinnl, when once eonvin.'.d tl at t be 
 tl eorv C, ln,nl.us involvd notlnng hent, 
 onl Soeured hi.n an audien.-e at .•nurt, wli. e 
 ,■ ' In.t «plf-nos-^ession. and the ]inH-tu-«l 
 ;iem£^i^withwl,i.-h he supported his 
 hiitntinc ruis. . j Kerdiwuid, that he 
 
 rr the .luestion an<l make a r.-pv "> •""i- 
 This council m.'t in the l)o,nn„.-nn . onvent 
 
 e^lty defended f^^^^^--^^^^ ."-nwlnl. V.^^ Z.^^^^^-^^^^-'^^ 
 powerful empire. 1 1h «'"; " i,„lepcnd- hospitality, i'^^ ";;'^ , / f ,,j^rious .liL'nitu- 
 
 U-vingni,..rsepar^ n^itsas^.^^ ,^^^ 
 
 naruu; ii,'"— ••- • . 
 
 I . ,.o» made mutual cause against 
 
 ont Bover.;igns >e. ma ™ ^^.^^ ^ ^^-^^^ „„, 
 
 theunbel,evr,>. ' ^i^'"' . , n„,i artful sov- 
 
 l-':'""^;; i;;::?,Ser Ir tninion than glo- 
 ereign, biibtiii- nun , . (^„jn religion. 
 
 rv. and iu-pired more by >^ «""> ^ „f ,h(. 
 
 Ilisthre;. ^n^^t '''V«f ^T^ Je v , an.l the 
 Moors, the «''I'"V'"V^ J.i„ ,ve,e pursued 
 establishment of the "« '"Vei^ ,i^ith un- 
 
 from the ---:"-J"il^;" as much from 
 relenting -'.-r. > and perhap ^^ ^,, ^^^ ^^ 
 
 rclcniing <■"> '-1' ',. . ■ 
 
 motives of pi.lit.cs as '"'J'f °";,„,;;,"i;,art and 
 
 she exhiblte.1 much firnriness ona i i ;^ 
 but was >noro .li^tingujshed byher / 
 
 r ^^''^^^T. wh "l^n'rftia^s tl inflicted, 
 
 '^Tr'fosT rit ci e of literature and sc- 
 
 "" To these 'princes, Columbus now pro 
 
 ence. iotntsbpi» i .. j^,^,| 
 
 eeeded with his i:T„fex'neete.r Talavera 
 that ready access he '^^d fxpcc eu 
 
 regarded-his sch.>me ^^^^^xT^^^ -V^'^^^^' 
 iers contrasted the «P^f/^°; "j,, '!. l]ecause 
 tions with the poverty of h> ga.h i 
 he was a strang.-r and -v^nt h"Mn sun i^_ 
 pareh.nor otherwise cred^^J/, ^^^^.f y„, no% 
 
 in .'^«. ?I,*,^ .'V,^,,'' ,;rried away to preserve 
 
 ^ml; well believe, likely to reganl, el... 
 vvheti ^ 'l"'"7^;,\-tHe mostlennuMl convent, 
 
 s::iKr'¥i^^-'^-4''^-''^-"'^^ 
 
 ing with the r heus i ^^^^^ ^^^^ 
 
 „, r , f heresy while maintaining the truth oi 
 pcrot 'I'^rfj'y, , t^iat the language of 
 
 scujnce ; ^f^'^^^^^J^ „„,, adapted to pop- 
 scripture was figuratne. a ^ ^^^^^ 
 
 "^" '="rtE; li- rillrisl:; but pious 
 not writing P^' "^"P'"^ strongest argument, 
 
 ^''^rnUnh notion tiat Uie torrid .,.,ne 
 drawn liom i"\ " ,, . ^^..^ „s he 
 
 the moment when rt^t^^^-^'^f „,, 3„,iges. 
 
 „,„,i,,„vered ^^l^^" ^^/^ ;>;' utation, are 
 The argumen ...e P^^Mb .^ ^^^^^^ ^.^ 
 
 strikingly exhibited, nis i'b 
 
 
 
111 
 
 ^: 
 
 CHRISTOPHEn COLUMBUS. 
 
 eye ci.kin.lloa, an.l his whole expression ani- 
 mQt.«l. Around him are seen tlie jmlrres, with 
 pity, doubt, inercduliiy, and conviction, vari- 
 ously depicted in their countenances. 1 he 
 elooTiencc, truth, and .lovout enthusiasm ot 
 Coluuil.us, convincMJ i.mny ot his judj;es, but 
 the inuioritv remuined incredulous, conter.'n- 
 cos were multiplied without resu t, and a 
 (iiml decision was procrnstinuted till the re- 
 turn of 8uniinrr (1187) ngnin called the court, 
 to be-in the cuinpuign aguinst the Moors. 
 Durin" its conlinui.ncc there was no time to 
 li,U.n "to his suit, though Columbus followed 
 the court and took an active jmrt in the war, 
 leceiviu" occusioniil supplies of mor.-y. 
 
 ThesiT delays do not aiijicar to have ex- 
 hausted his hopes or i)atience, as in the spnng 
 of 1 1H8, he th.clined an invitation from King 
 John, to return to the court of Portugal, in 
 which ho was assured ot protection from all 
 civil or criminal suits pending against him. 
 
 1 Perhaps disgust at the conduct ol the king, 
 luul some inllu.nce on this refusal, as his 
 brother Barlholoin.w was now in England, en- 
 deavoring to prevail on Henry VII. to engage 
 i,. this pn.ject of discovery. From this mon- 
 ar.-h, he says that he received a favorable let- 
 ter thou'-h at what time, docs not appear. 
 In 1189 Columbus was commanded to attend 
 the court, in order to have a conference with 
 the kill", but the Moorish war and other 
 matters prevented him from obtaining an au- 
 ciience 1*111 the winter of 1491. . Tlie court 
 was then j.reparing f<.r the catnpaign in winch 
 Granada, the last refuge of the Moors, ell, 
 and the council had given m its report Miat 
 his scheme was vain and impossible. Ihe 
 most learned portion of its members were 
 however, in his favor, and hence probably he 
 undecided nature of the royal answer, tha 
 the care and exi.ense of the war, prevented 
 them engaging in any new enter|)nse, but that 
 on its co;cluJion, they would treat with him 
 about his i>rop(«al. Bitterly d'^appointed 
 with this cold and evasive answer, Co umbus 
 turned his back on the court where he had 
 wasted so many precious years. But, bouiitl 
 to Spain by attachment to a lady of Cordova, 
 he was unwilling to leave the country without 
 another attempt. He applied to ttie dukes 
 of Medina Sidonia, and Medina Ceh, botl. 
 possessing vast estates in the mantimc pr,.v- 
 inccsof Spain, which gave them the power 
 and revenues rath.T of princes than of sub - 
 iects The former, however, rejected his 
 proposal a.s the dream of an Italian visionary; 
 an.l the latti;r, though so much disposed to 
 engage in it, that he had actually three ves- 
 sels ready to sail, at length, dreading the d.- 
 pleasuie of the king, dismissed Columbus, 
 advising him again to apply at the cour . as 
 the undertaking was too great for a subject, 
 
 and fit only for a sovercisrn power. Thus 
 ballled anew in his hopes, Co!uitil)Us rcMilved 
 to proceed to France, but first returned to the 
 convent where he had, seven years lietore, 
 left his son. Here he meant to leave his sec- 
 ond son, whom the hidy mentioned abov had 
 bonie him, and whom, though illi'gitimate, he 
 alw.'ys treated with the same favor as his el- 
 der brother. 
 
 The worthy friar, Juan Perez, wos greatly 
 moved by the disajipointnient of his friend ; 
 still more so when he heard his determinulKm 
 to quit Spain, and carry his impoitaiit project 
 to another laii.l. He again consulted Ins 
 friend tin: physician, calling in olso Martin 
 Alonzo Pin/.on', the heod of a distinguished and 
 wealthy family of merchants in the nrighbor- 
 in" town. Pill/on not only approved the plon 
 of^Columbus, but otlered to bear the expense 
 of) a renewed application to the court. The 
 friar, who had formerly been conlessor to the 
 (lueen, undertook to write her on the subject, 
 and havin" persuaded Columbus to wait an 
 answer, de^spatched a letter by a trusty mes- 
 sen"er. In fourteen days he brought back an 
 answer, thanking the friar for his timely ser- 
 vices, and requesting Columbus to return to 
 court. On receiving this epistle, Perez 
 i mounted his mule, and set out secretly for the 
 court, passing through the newly-conquered 
 ' ierritoiv of the Moors. Ho found the queen 
 busy with the siege of Granada, but being 
 admitted to an audience, pleaded the cause of 
 Columbus with so much earnestness, that Isa- 
 bella a^ain requested him to be sent to her, | 
 and oriTcred him a sum of money to jiay his 
 expenses. This favorable result, was un- 
 doubtedly aided by the recomnK-ndution of the 
 duke of Medina Cell. On being informed 
 of this returning favor, Columbus again set 
 out for the court, and arrived there in time to 
 witness the surrender of Granada, the mourn- 
 ful departure of the Moors, and the triumjihal 
 entry of the Spaniards, into the mognificent 
 halls of the Alhambra. Amid the rejoicing 
 multitudeshe walked melancholy and dejected, 
 perhaps contrasting with secret contempt the 
 coiKiuest which swelled every bosom with 
 rapture, with that nobler and bloodless vieto- 
 ry which he felt destined to achieve over the 
 unbounded ocean, and musing on the vast 
 realms he was to subjugate to the cross. 
 
 The monarchs were faithful to their prom- 
 ise. Persons of confidence were appointed 
 to negotiate with him, but an unexpected dif- 
 ficulty arose. Columbus demanded princely 
 stipulations for himself, worthy of the vast 
 empire he had to bestow. He was to be in- 
 vested with the title and privileges of admiral 
 and viceroy, over the countries he should dis- 
 cover, and receive a tenth of the gains either 
 by trade or conquest. These tetms were at 
 
 *■•.•■.> 
 
z, wns grnitly 
 
 of his fVicinl ; 
 1 ilctcririiimlhm 
 pDitiiiit iirDJcrt 
 
 cousiilti'ii liis 
 ill also Mnitin 
 4iii'-;iii>>li<'il on'l 
 1 the lui'^liliiir- 
 irovcd tlif plan 
 •nr tliL" cxiicnse 
 le court. The 
 :()ni'oss()r to tlie 
 
 on the snlijcct, 
 Inis to wuit an 
 y a tnisty mes- 
 )rouj;ht bark nn 
 
 his timely ser- 
 ins to return to 
 
 epistle, Perez 
 
 secretly for the 
 invly-comiucrecl 
 found the queen 
 ladn, but bein"; 
 led the cause of 
 jstncss, that Isa- 
 
 be sent to her, 
 oney to jiny his 
 resiilt, was nn- 
 nK'ndntion of the 
 
 being informed 
 iimbus n,!;ain set 
 
 there in time to 
 lada, the moum- 
 id the triumphal 
 
 the magnificent 
 lid the rejoicing 
 iolyandd('jecte(i, 
 ret contempt the 
 ery bosom with 
 1 bloodless victo- 
 
 achieve over the 
 sing on the vast 
 .CI the cross. 
 ;ul to their prom- 
 I were ap])ointcd 
 n nnexpected dif- 
 ■manded princely 
 irthy of the vast 
 He was to be in- 
 vileges of admiral 
 ries he should dis- 
 if the gains either 
 !se tefms were at 
 
rf 
 
 ■ 
 
 i 
 
 P.f* 
 
 \:. 
 
 348 
 
 CHRI8T0PHKR COLUMBUS. 
 
 „„ec r...ic.ctod as degrading to the dignity ..f 
 the rn.wn, bnt Colun.l.us would O'." '^ 
 n thin" l.H,. und ngain mounlw.S »"« ."" . 
 Sk In. departure ft.r Cordova (I; e .rm.ry, 
 
 Franco. In this ^ ■ >rRciK-y. Lum do bt. An- 
 Ll receiver of ill- nvcnuca in Aragon, d.- 
 f Stoic on. bold ertbrt to ,,n^^^^^^^ 
 
 this irreparabk- lo»», an.l dishonor to the na 
 ,. ric < "Hined an audienr-- of the quee... 
 intedout ,„ h.-r how small ih.- nnk com- 
 S" to the or.bablc gain bow mucli th. 
 ent..rn..-<c mifiht advance the ^lory ot Go.1. 
 eS be church, and extend her own empire 
 a, 'vlmt cuune of regret it would .f"rn,«h o 
 he friends, of triumph to her enemie.. shou d 
 it be acc«mi,li«hed bv Home .ther l''! >^'/: J/,^ 
 ur'M'd these uud oth- r arguments. 1 11 iMibtJla 
 dec nred her resolution to undertake the en- 
 or, HscN but Ferdinand looke.l coldly on the 
 nS a ..represented the exhausted condition 
 ttttreLu'ry. Hm the queen's enthuMasm 
 wa« now roused, an,l he exclann.-d, " I unde 
 take this enterprise for my "^n/^^" 5" 
 
 Castile, and will pl«<g« '"y J"^f ',1" 'rfo 
 the necessary funds." St. Angel ollered to 
 ad van" the Lnev, but this was n- • requin. 
 an.l the fun.ls reallv camr^ from he venue o 
 Aracon. Ferdinand's own .ungdoni. A tnes 
 fen|er;,nho,.eback was sent after Colum -us. 
 who overtook bim two leagues from the c,ty, 
 Tmi with 80,n.>. difficulty persuaded him to 
 
 '^Columbus was now received with great 
 kindn' Z and in .n audienc w.' .he queer, 
 in. ^ted her deeply in his . -- fc^^^ 
 tiatu. _ on the opportunities ..'^'J^f^^Y,.^,^. 
 t. ndin. the Christir. ith. , ^J^f '^ 'ion^ 
 tmued cold as usu» ' snaded at the p ons 
 
 suggestion of Co' .ou.. that xe tre ^ures 
 won from his discu.cnessh. " co. ra 
 
 ted to recover the hu y sej. ' 
 
 power of the infidels. The "»Jy 
 
 agreed to were— that Columbus uud ... irs 
 
 should eVy t*'"- «» "f '^'^"'"'^^ "f ^T^' 
 r ° in We . mtnes he discos .red, and be 
 e, ti kd o a tenth of .11 the gold, silver pre- 
 cious stones, an.l other merchandise gained 
 Sin his ;dmu Uy ; or, - -nU ut^mg an 
 eighth of the cost, to an eigh h "? t^^^e '"f «; 
 This agreement was signed on the 17th o 
 pril, 1492. a' Santa Fe, near Granada, and 
 .nth, 30th.. that month, ail order was 18- 
 ,^ to the to. a of Palo., to have two cara 
 8 8 ready for sea in ten days, to be placed 
 under the^.-mmand of Col f -• _ «« «™; 
 ..as in the meantime appointed P"S? to the 
 young -ince. Thus.at last . icce.sf.d. aft_er 
 
 Sr^:-Ve-of"povc.ty.ne,l a^ 
 i.tter ridicule. C imbus returne, to P«J°« 
 in his fifty-sixth year, to prepare lor his great 
 enterprise. 
 
 nut his diflienhies v. c not yet at an end. 
 When the royal der <va» read nt i a om 
 universid terror pi. vaile.1, and the boldest 
 mariners refused to take part in an exp.dition 
 devoted, ns they believed, to rertain destruc- 
 tion. The royal mmidatr, the persuasions of 
 Columbus, the inlluenee of the prior, were 
 alike disregarded. On the '.'qih <d June, a 
 new order was issued, empowering the magis- 
 trates to press into this service uiiv vessels or 
 crews they might think proper ; but this ox- 
 „edient was no less fruitless. At last I iti/on, 
 aheadv mentioned as a supporter of Colum- 
 bus, came forwanl, and with his brother, not 
 only furnished one vessel, but oUcred to ac- 
 company the .expedition. The.r example and 
 inlluenee encouriiRed others, so that tliri*. 
 I small vessels wer.) rea.ly for sea within a 
 month. Only one of them was fully .lecke. , 
 the others w.>re op.n in the centre, but built 
 high at the prow and stem, with cabins lor 
 the accommodation of the crew Columbus 
 comm.m.ied tl..- largest v;esscl, Martin P.n/.on 
 the second, v. one of his brothers as p t 
 and a third I r had command of the third 
 
 vessel. The wli.ile company consisted ot one 
 hundr.d and twenty persons, of ^'l"''" "";P;y 
 were sailors. Before seti.ns sail, Columbus 
 confessed himself to the friar J""" /"''f' 
 an.l partook of the communion, m which he 
 was oine.l by most of his associates. 
 
 C) Friday, the 3d of August, 1492, half 
 an hour before sunrise, Columbus sailed irom 
 the bar of Salt, s a small island opposite the 
 town of Huelvn. on this memorable exped,- 
 tion. He directe.1 his course first f.)r the 
 Canaries, where he arrived on the 9th, anU 
 was detained for three weeks repairing one ot 
 his vessels, which was already injured, mob- 
 ablv by its owners. When sading past 1 en- 
 eritie, an eruption of its volcanic peaks terri- 
 fied his crew, ready to interpret every event 
 into a portent of disaster. Columbus reas- 
 sured them by pointing out its natural cause 
 being more concerned by a report he heard at 
 Gomern, where he had stopped to take ,u pro- 
 visions, that three Portuguese caravels, were 
 cruisintr about with an intent to capture hina. 
 On th. b of September, he left this island, 
 but was . layed by calms, so that it w . s > 
 9th of th..: .nonth before they lost sight ot 
 Ferro, u. farthest west of these islands. 
 Then it said the hearts of many of th« 
 er..w fail .1 them; tiiey burst into tears and 
 1 lo- 1 lamenlati. -, at thua taking leave, as for 
 ever, of horn m.ily, and friend^, and plun- 
 ' Lg hea.ibmg . be unknown .' "^sers of the 
 fjkhm an. Columbus enc. ^ged thein 
 by pictures of the wealth and ?!' "^or oft.he 
 regions they were abot^t < ,sit, nd promis- 
 es^o oh rewards. He , issued orders to 
 the c nnnderH of the oth vessels in case 
 
 -""WSK 
 
yet at an end. 
 (•ml nt Pttlos, 
 111 the bolilest 
 ti (in px|M'(lition 
 ortain ilfstruc- 
 
 pcrnuaui'ins of 
 he prior, were 
 lOth of June, n 
 ring the inngis- 
 ; any vessels or 
 •r; but thin ex- 
 At Inst rinzon, 
 irter of Cnlum- 
 his brother, not 
 X olVered to ne- 
 eir examj)le nnd 
 , «o that threi! 
 ir sea within a 
 as fully ilerked 
 centre, l>\it built 
 
 with enbins for 
 rew. Columbus 
 1, Martin Piii/.on 
 brothers ns i)ilot, 
 nund of the third 
 yr consisted of one 
 , of whom ninety 
 2 sail, Columbus 
 iiir Juan Perez, 
 lion, in which he 
 ssociaies. 
 Ufrust, 1492, half 
 imbus sailed from 
 iland opposite the 
 emorable expedi- 
 urse first for the 
 1 on the 9th, and 
 IS repairing one of 
 ady injured, prob- 
 I sailing past Teii- 
 Icanic peaks terri- 
 ■rpret every event 
 
 Columbus reas- 
 ; its natural cause, 
 report he heard at 
 )ped to take in pro- 
 ese caravels, were 
 ;»t to capture him. 
 he left this island, 
 , 80 that it w s •■ 
 they lost sight ot 
 
 of these islands, 
 ts of many of the 
 urst into tears and 
 taking leave, as for 
 d frien(' <, and plun 
 
 nown ' 
 
 ^ ngers of the 
 usenc raged them 
 and sp ndor of the 
 (> visit, id promis- 
 Ui ) issued orders to 
 ith vessels in case 
 
 Col-nTTlImng tl/uutmy on no.nUhe Santa Mari.. 
 
 of ceparation, t. .ail <^-7-i::::^;tSt t".". 
 en hundred leagues, ^^«"' ^ ','^ ^Xring .ho 
 \' ^"•'^l^l'^tii^'Yorei" t e;Xkept^wo 
 
 SonS^''Keship;s<^-:-S;:^ 
 for his own use, the "^^er m wU en 
 
 „f leagues were ''"''y "'^JXlns, ection of 
 
 t^"^oft£^S;f"'Si^'",':hUighto^^ 
 
 all. uninein" „' ,f„,i .],» terror of his 
 "'llT KXrafeThef'r'^he first time 
 £:;:;dS:varja...ofa.e^o.pas.w^^ 
 
 no longer pointed to the P^'^ ^'t^^' ^^^ He 
 
 ally varied ™°^^« ""f jXromenon'on. the 
 
 T':' "lo'^l^ot w th u eoson. feare.l that 
 pilots, who, not w"""""- , ij virtue, and 
 [he compass ^««f',"jVi in the pathless 
 to leave them without a gu de in i ^ 
 
 ocenn. Columbus, f"^;^^«««j'^;;i,^ed their 
 tronomerthey had great ;««f ^J'Jl^..^ ,,s re- 
 
 ^--^-pr^^^L^^nnotsatis- 
 
 '"Ve M^ -eTot in the region of the 
 .aie-wS which '^^"tSXvL -tt! 
 ^'^^^'r'1fra\rwa1edt£-lMyon 
 
 fo;7.:-Su:nS!^ 'The sk balmy air 
 
 U compared to the pure - - JJ-'^^H^/i" 
 An.lalusia, wanting only he -^ "»j.,,,„, «f,,, 
 
 'T'" '\Ttt r?e pa he. of floating sea- 
 sailors regar.kcltms ^^^^^^^^ 
 
 ^^"'t ; Vf^':ir t rf al!:>^;oiv^ to u. 
 
 TIL t mi"ht be found in that .luarter^ 
 cate that it in'n''"' , . ,,u,„o8e, steered 
 
 But Columbus, hrm »'' ^"*, '"'l';; ^os con- 
 
 * 
 

 i 
 
 '*'»^**, 
 
 350 
 
 CHUIS'lOIMIKK COM'MIIUB. 
 
 murinur«..f hi* crew. Evrr>-nrw.1.»<.l.p<Mnt- 
 in.-iit tMv.\ t(. thoir Jiwontci.t, on.l tbey wrrn 
 »lr.MiMv miking of c.tnpcllinR hit" t<> r.nirn. 
 „r if JiV wtt» |..«itive in r.-fuHin?, (-Bilting hirn 
 int.. these.. Th<m«h cm,, iou.of hm.UtiB.r, 
 Cohmil)U« remaincl -.iretic bii«I conh.l.'nt. 
 
 „therH with Bignal punislunent. One inri.lent 
 will bIuiw iI ■• .•xoit.inent j.revnilinn umiinfi! 
 the crew.. .e liKhtne,-. of the w.n|^s l-.r- 
 
 mitted the V, -.1. to »uil "0 rl.me. that the 
 eom.nnn.lersco,.hl fre.ju.ntly converse t..geth- 
 or On th. '.'.^ih «'f Hepteniber. Martin 1 in- 
 /on ulVinncl that they luuHf, b.' :><arthe island 
 
 of CinunK", which the u.iin.rul ha.l entered m 
 l,i, clnrr. This d..cument, -" - " —' 
 
 lied to B cor.i, 
 was flunK iruin the one vessel to the other, 
 and Columbus was busy examining it. when 
 Pin/on erie.l out, "Land, land, senor; 1 
 claim my reward :" and pointed to the south- ^ 
 west, where indeed there was on appearance i 
 of an island. Columbus fell on his knees, 
 thanking G.hI ; u"'l I'in/on, joined by the 
 .•rew^. rei)euted the " Gluna in excelm. 1 he 
 i(.V i the people could not be restrained, ami 
 ihe admiral was forced to sail to the south- 
 west, till the morning sun showe.! the land to 
 have been only an evenini,' cloiid. 
 
 Similar .Icceplions repeatedly took place, 
 btkI the crew, feuring that they had saile.! be- 
 tween two islands without observing them, 
 began to utter murmurs and menaces, when 
 r.mcwed signs of land revived their hopes. 
 Even Pinzon, however, on the Gth of Oct..ber, 
 pn.nused that they should sail south ; but the 
 admiral maintained his course to the west. 
 On the m.irninK of the 7th, land was again 
 announced in the west, but melted away be- 
 fore the evening ; and Columbus having now 
 reached the distam < where ho exported land, 
 or 750 leagues (2G00 irJlf s), consented to sail 
 to the 8.)uthwest to which he saw all the 
 smoU land birds directing their flight in the 
 ev.nin". They c'litinued thr.e days m this 
 direction, ihe indications of their approach to 
 land always increasing in number. On the 
 evening ./the third day, the cr.w broke ou 
 in open defiance, but dolumbus told them U 
 was in vain to murmur, as he was determine, 
 to persevere; and next day the signs of land 
 were so decisive, that every one was eagerly 
 on the watch. In the evening, after smging 
 the vesper hymn, and addressing the crew on 
 the prospect of tiiuling land that night, he 
 took his place on the high poop of the vessel. 
 Suddenly, about ten o'clock, he thought he 
 saw a light glimmering in the distance ; and 
 calling a friend pointed it out to him. 1 hey 
 called a third person, but it had disappeared, 
 though returning afterward at intervals. At 
 two In the morning, a gun from the F mta, 
 which, as the quickest sailjr, usually kept the 
 
 Irn.l, nnnounce.1 that land was in sight. A 
 snil.)r, K.Hlrigo de Trinnn. claim. .1 the rewnrd, 
 but it wa« subseipiently ndju.lu.'.l to (;..lum- 
 |„H, OH having previoii-.ly ne.'n the light. 
 Lam I was now dearly seen, when they jh.irl 
 cned sail ami lay to till the dawn. What 
 must have been the feelings of C.dunibus in 
 these few hours, when the vision that ha.l 
 1 haunte.l him f.)r m many years, for whi.:h he 
 had toiled an.l labore.l, iiiduring poverty, re- 
 ' pr.)a.h, an.l ridicule, was about to be rcaliz.'d 
 —when the barrier of the ocean was to b.- 
 broken .lown. and a new world laid open U) 
 civili/.ed man ! . r r» 
 
 On Ihe moniing of Friday. 12th of Octo- 
 ber, 1 49-->, Columbus first saw ihc New Worl.l. 
 \ h,w island, densely cov.red with trees, 
 among which numerous nake.l savages were 
 running to ami fro, as if lost in astonishment, 
 lav bef.ire him. He cast anchor, and with 
 the two Pinz.ms put olV f.)r the shore in their 
 boats. On landing, Columbus threw himself 
 on his knees, kisse.l the earth, and returned 
 thanks to CmI with tears of joy. He then 
 t.)ok iiossession of the islaml for his sovereigns, 
 and named it San Salva.ior. The crew had 
 now onsseil to the opixmite extreme of exnl 
 . ' 1 1 1 :„ ..r<.rnauii<n> nf nilehtv 
 
 r 
 
 tati.m, ami were loud in professions ot n''<'J|tyi 
 and entreaties of par.lon for the past. 1 ho 
 natives, meanwhile, watched them with trem- 
 bling anxictv. but at last ventured to approach 
 their guests", whom they fancied had come 
 down from heaven, while their shijis seemed 
 to them monsters inspired with hie. Ineir 
 coiiper-colored and painted skins were eciually 
 new to the Spanianls ; while their simphcity, 
 gentleness, and confidence, were not less pleas- 
 ing. Columbus examine.l the island, but 
 found no articles of commerce, and only a few 
 ornaments of gold, which the natives seemed 
 to intimate were procured in the south. On 
 the evening of the 15th. he sailed wuth, 
 atnon" the Bahamas, landing on several, and 
 everywhere treating the natives with great 
 kindness. The Spaniards were dehghted 
 with the rich vegetation, the beautiful cli- 
 mate, and the novelty of everything they be- 
 held, b.it disappointed at the scarcity of goW, 
 or other valuable metals. At last the admi- 
 ral reached Cuba, whoso lofty mountains and 
 fertile plains reminded him of Sicily, though 
 far surpassing that i-^land in the tropical lux- 
 uriance of the vegetation, and the brilliant 
 plumage of the birds that thronged its woods. 
 Columbus believed this island to be the Cipan- 
 go of Marco Polo, or perhaps the continent 
 of Asia, and was in constant expectation ol 
 find'ng gt^ld, or reaching the court of the 
 Grand Kl n. He sent messengers into the 
 interior, but they returned without discover- 
 ing gold or spices, or any trace of the great , 
 monarch. They however noticed the potato, 
 
(VBH in n\n)\t. A 
 »im'<l the rpwnnl, 
 w\iivi\ to ('idiim- 
 
 nion the lifilit. 
 
 whrn thpy »h<irt 
 le ilnwn. Wlmt 
 I of ('(ilnmliuii ill 
 ? vinion tliat liml 
 •nrn, for whii:h he 
 nr'wfi poverty, re- 
 joiit to be reali/.fil 
 
 Dci-an was to Im 
 rirld laid open t«i 
 
 lay, 12th of Octo- 
 (V the New World, 
 vtreil with trrcs, 
 kfd sftvaRfs were 
 It in antoninhment, 
 
 annlior, and with 
 r tht shore in their 
 lius threw himself 
 anil, and returned 
 
 of joy. He then 
 1 for his sovereigns, 
 ir. Th« crew had 
 3 extreme of exul- 
 ifemsions of fidelity, 
 For the past. The 
 
 ed them with trem- 
 entured to apjirfiach 
 fancied had come 
 their shijis seemed 
 1 with life. Their 
 I skins were equally 
 lile their simplicity, 
 were not less pleas- 
 ed the island, but 
 ;rce, and only a few 
 the natives seemed 
 1 in the south. On 
 ti, ho sailed south, 
 ling on several, and 
 natives with great 
 rds ■Wire delighted 
 1, the beautiful cli- 
 everything they be- 
 the srnrcity of gold. 
 At last the admi- 
 lofty mountains and 
 im of Sicily, though 
 1 in the tropical lux- 
 in, and the brilliant 
 t thronged its v/oods. 
 sland to be the Cipan- 
 erhaps the continent 
 istant expectation of 
 ig the court of the 
 messengers into the 
 led without discover- 
 ny trace of the great i 
 er noticed the potato, I 
 
352 
 
 "■■" '"*■■"*»-■ 
 
 
 \^>.. 
 
 and s,.on after were ast^sM;;y^;;7;;;;f 
 selling It on hre, an • ^ important 
 
 southeast, witn mfe" , , forests, 
 
 to the finest parts of the r nanv 
 
 im.pmate^eir heavjj/ g .^^^ ^^^^^ 
 
 i: r and, in the evening, the admiral retue< 
 no sooner had he e^tVedecK ^^ ^ ^^ ^^^ 
 
 man gave the "'j"* '"/^" ^,ch lay down to 
 
 ,h ^--f £ ta" bSe aJe by the 
 ^tTe^tsal^ruckonabankoverwhlchlhe 
 
 ™':;:elKeak..g;«thr^W;^,<£ 
 
 z-^:j::i;?^tSor^.vei,ie|.g 
 
 ihefr commander i"— their' i'rtiS, of 
 U.ey were reproached orjhe,'^.,^ ,„„,her 
 their vessel, and torceo w r< i 
 boat, but too late to save ^^^^ sb'P- ^Jj^» 
 carried more and more among ^e breaHe 
 The crew took refuge in the other esse 
 and next day. with the a-slonce of the In^ 
 dians landed all their goods l^e con^ 
 the natives was "' '"arable in the exUeni 
 nothing was a,,iis..ng r^^""":^ ^^Mue 
 oi.inion. ot ""^«f''"'*'^^^ 'T^-,„'uo console 
 vLited the admiral, and e"'l''''^«'^^'' » \^° , ,.,. 
 him for hismistortune.; ">>'l^^'^;;'^ .^J „" „ar- 
 tabli.hed with ;l'\""^ir?t,?nd other tri- 
 
 Mile life of the natives, entreated o be allowed 
 ; remain on the island ; an.i Columbus wil- 
 ne tT ay the foundations of a new colony, 
 cZ, he.i.^ He erected a fort from the wret« 
 ofThe caravel, receivirg eager assistance rom 
 the nat?ves-l ttle dreaming of the yoke they 
 were preparing for t.iemselves. Tfte cacique 
 Snued^to load Columbus with gifts, espe- 
 cially gold, having soon discovered the high 
 3a?k,n which was entertained for this 
 
 1 mS In ten days, the fortress na«ied La 
 ' Sad ortheNativity,inraemonal of their 
 
 fhSwreck on Christmas-day, was completed, 
 andrhTrty-nine men chosen to remain. Co- 
 lumbus cLrged them to maintain fnendly re- 
 
 crew to impress the natives with a due sense 
 
 of rtieSirowess. The thunder of the an - 
 
 i Wv and [rdestruction which the stone balls 
 
 'pr^'uced in the forests, struck them mute 
 
 with awe and admiration. , j „„ 
 
 On t^e 4th of January, Columbus sailed on 
 
 his return to Spain, and in a few days met 
 
 S Plnta. whos'e commander endeavored to 
 
 sttS'S^irSty,^ 
 
 Xr'ethTd collected --h gold, and sliare 
 
 irS£dX;r=!^w Ji^fS 
 
 ^^irSwSel^tRS^'^^f 
 V Hike race. In a quarrel severa^ of^em 
 
 Eli;'th:'mS-tLp.ofV^^^^^ 
 and anxious to secure the discove.ies he .-au 
 
 already made. . ,. , „.„ and 
 
 The favorable wind soon d ed away, auu 
 
 they experienced much opposition frorE the 
 
 Ses! t'ill they got so f- -f -, ,- '\^l 
 
 Spain '^'^".t^'Y^/^^yS aware of their 
 not un.leceive jj ■^' \*^Xif February, they 
 real position. /^ V^" \^;„,, which continued 
 
 !:;;^:^S;f^^-"V ^beynow 
 
 

 =-, ■ rr 
 
 ted to be allowed 
 I Columbus, wil- 
 )f a new colony, 
 t from the wrfitk 
 jr assistance from 
 of the yoke they 
 es. The cacique 
 with gifts, cspe- 
 covered the high 
 ertained foi this 
 irtress named La 
 memorial of their 
 y, was completed, 
 1 to remain. Co- 
 intain friendly re- 
 to keep united in 
 javor to obtain a 
 hich he had heard 
 tho 2d of Febma- 
 8ll visit to the ca- 
 lk fight among his 
 iS with a due sense 
 lunder of the anil- 
 hich the stone balls i 
 struck them mute [ 
 
 Columbus sailed on 
 in a few days met 
 nder endeavored to 
 involuntary. The 
 ent incredulity, not 
 y altercation, Pin- 
 time in Hispaniola, 
 uch gold, and shared 
 their silence. They 
 t, where fresh proofs 
 ppeared, which the 
 oticed. Some days 
 ilf of Semara, whose 
 y a bolder and more 
 irrel several of them 
 d shed by Europeans 
 but C')lumbus gained 
 lef. Some of the In- 
 m to a large island in- 
 and he set sail for it ; 
 rom t'>e west having 
 my direct for Spain, 
 temper of his crew, 
 he discoveries he had 
 
 soon d 
 1 oppositit)n 
 far north as 
 ■e they pre^ 
 »wledge of 
 lemselves mi 
 ' were. Col 
 though awai- 
 13th of February 
 
 ricane. wlr ■' "' 
 ireral days 
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 
 
 
 ward of a thousanu .^^ ^^^ ^^^^ 
 
 ered unope"ed He Uicn^p^ ^^^^^^ 
 centre of a cake . -^^^^^ ^ to the 
 
 whole m '^ J^fj^^-^l^na was descried; but 
 sea. On the 1 ;^ ' '? , ^^^^la reach it, 
 two days elap e.l betorc U J ^^^^^^^^ 
 
 when It proved, as ^"'""^ '"^ Marv's, be- 
 one of the A/.ores, named St. Mary s, 
 longing to the Portuguese ^^^^^^ 
 
 Columbus sen - >« "J^ ^^^,„, f,„„, the 
 
 "'""■ ^it tob" When he he.rd of .he 
 
 sit';S;»orc-™j».h.^be- 
 r„SJ.'t:e'p.i'^L>.sL.;^.. 
 
 '""='■'*' -•• -; ^^,,f ,.,,,110 of his men on siiu.v^, , .■-.-^ , , * severe 'and reproachful reply 
 wkh hi, "'»J; h"f X °ht. ."e» ».re "- "f "«*"»» ""yJhU'mpoS. »«« it 
 
 ■•■^ras'eixte-™^^^^ 
 
 i arose, which I to Seville, ^.'i'"; ;';;;;;nce at court, and de 
 
 shatterea nis ^'jpr'; T„a jread of the For- | siring "''" J" r|'''''.^u™rwas'now at hand. 
 
 l-eSS^Sgt'tS r.e^^^^ 
 
 soon after invited tot^^/r^J^y^; tempestuous state, and ^vhen he knelt ao j.^ 
 
 willingly h-^ve declineOut the temp^ ^^^ ^^ ^.^ ,^^^ ^Iw of rare Cor n that cer'emo- 
 weather would not /lUow »"™ l" jj .^^s ence-a mark of rare non ^ ^^ ^^^ 
 
 sea, and he was obliged to comply. ^i, J nious court, ^e was then requ s.^,^ 
 
 received -ith -uch rnagmfi^^^^^^^^^^ TcHh^ whoinsTmblylk on their 
 
 king was e'i'|«.""y,£^a enterprise had been of which the whole j discovery 
 
 -rrrrpr r fei.' »p-" r^"" S j^:;/=vs;: 
 
 had sufficient honor to/^J^fJ private arma- tation over t^« ™aa"n'" lendor of his dis- 
 SheffifheSrSA^HL 
 
 I 
 
 Igj IS ^^Vt'^ e yaH'.!'''^ ' 
 
'1^" 
 
 ' ■■■■ i- 
 
 «»i 
 
 354 
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 
 
 who granted a bull ceding to them all the 
 rights, privileges, and indulgences, which had 
 formerly been accorded to the Portuguese in 
 their African discoveries, on the same condi- 
 tion of planting and propagating the catholic 
 faith. Another bull was issued on the fol- 
 lowing day, containing the famous line of de- 
 marcation between the territories of the rival 
 monarchs, by a line from pole to pole, pass- 
 ing a hundred leagues west of the Azores. 
 This has been frequently quoted as a proof 
 of his holiness' ignorance of the true form of 
 the earth, but perhaps only shows that he 
 did not anticipate the possibility of the cir- 
 cumnavigation of the globe. The negotia- 
 tions with the court of Portugal were more 
 difficult and tedious, each of the princes en- 
 deavoring to deceive and outwit his rival. 
 After repeated embassies, the matter was, 
 however, arranged on the 7th June, 1494, the 
 papal line of partition being moved three hun- 1 
 dred and seventv leagues west of tbe Cape 
 Verd islands, an'd the territory on the west 
 assigned to Spain, that on the east to Portu- 
 gal." Meantime, Columbus was hurrying on 
 his second expedirion, afraid that the Portu- 
 guese should anticipate him by a secret at- 
 tempt. To aid him, a board was appointed 
 under Juan de Fonseca, archdeacon of Se- 
 ville, and afterward patriarch of the Indies. 
 Fonseca is represented as a woridly man, of 
 a vindictive disposition, f> grarify which he 
 did not hesitate to sacrifice the inttiests of his 
 master. He soon conceived a most rancorous 
 hostility to Columbus, which occasioned him 
 many vexations and delays, and proved highly 
 injurious to the interest* of their common 
 master. 
 
 A fleet of seventeen vessels was soon ready 
 at Seville, containing many skilful mechanics 
 and miners, and loaded with horses, domestic 
 cattle, grain, sugarcanes, and other plants. 
 The number of persons had been limited to 
 a thousand, but such was the eagerness of 
 volunteers, that fifteen hundred eventually 
 sailed, eager to engage in the new field of ad- 
 venture, end reap a portion of its golden 
 fruits. A.l the titles and privileges promised 
 to Columbus were confirmed, and his powers 
 in the new world even extended. Under such 
 altered circumstances did the admiral leave 
 Cadiz on the 25th of September, on his second 
 voyage to the Indies ; his companions, no 
 longer forced on board like condemned crimi- 
 nals devoted to sure destruction, but (jlad and 
 rejoicing in their good fortune in being per- 
 mitted to join the glorious enterprise. On 
 the 5th of October, the fleet anchored at Oo- 
 mera, one of the Canaries, and increased their 
 live stock by various purchases, among which 
 Las Casas mentions eight hogs, the fertile 
 parents of the innumerable multitude of swine 
 
 disjjersed through the Spanish colonies. After 
 being becalmed for some days among the Ca- 
 naries, Columbus kept further south, and thus 
 out of the region of seaweeds, which had so 
 much encouraged his sailors on their former 
 voyage. The tradewinds again bore thtm 
 gentiy along, till the end of October, when 
 they were awestruck by one of those tremen- 
 dous thunder-storms common in the tropics. 
 The electrical iduid, adhering with lambent 
 flames to the top of the masts, revived their 
 sjiirits, as the sailors, according to an old su- 
 perstition, thought it was St. Elmo with seven 
 lighted tapers— a sure proof that no danger 
 would befall them. On the 2d of November, 
 Columbus thought he saw signs of land, and 
 eariy next morning a lofty island appeared, to 
 which he gave the name of Dominica, as it 
 was discovered on a Sunday. This event 
 was celebrated by loud anthems of praise and 
 I thanks to God for guiding them in safety over 
 the mighty ocean. 
 
 Columbus had reached the Antilles, a beau- 
 tiful group of small islands shutting in the 
 Caribbean sea. After touching on one island 
 which was uninhabited, they landed on an- 
 other, named Guadaloupe, with a lofty mount- 
 ain, from which streams of water broken into 
 white foam descended. The natives had all 
 fled, but their tents contained orticles of earth- 
 enware, bows and arrows, plenty of provis- 
 ions, domesticated geese, and beautiful parrots. 
 Numerous human bones and skulls, appa- 
 rently used as vases, filled the Spaniards with 
 horror, and some women whom they took cap- 
 tive on the following day, informed them that 
 the natives, whom they named Caribs, were 
 in the habit of killing and eating their prison- 
 The captain of one of the ships, with 
 
 eight men, had lost themselves m the woods, 
 and Columbus entertained great ap prehen- 
 sions that they had fallen victims to die sava- 
 ges. Fortunately, however, the Carib war- 
 riors were all absent on some predatory expe- 
 dition, and the stragglers returned just when 
 the fleet was about to sail without them. 
 Columbus proceed- d to the nortb'vest, being 
 anxious to learn the fate of the colyny left at 
 Hispaniola, passing many islands on his way. 
 At Santa Cruz a boat was sent on shore for 
 water, and on its return intercepted a canoe 
 with a few Indians, who came stxldenly round 
 a point of land between it and the ship. After 
 a desperate resistmice, in which one ci the 
 Indian^ was killed, and their car.oe destroyed, 
 the others were ciptured and brought on 
 board the ship, where their fierce untamed 
 demeanor, so unlike the gentie manners of the 
 natives of Hispaniola, struck the Spaniards 
 with astonUhment. They passed many other 
 islands, among them Porto Rico, where they 
 landed, but saw none of the niktives, who 
 
» m 
 
 
 jlonies. After 
 mong the Ca- 
 3Uth, and thus 
 which had so 
 
 their former 
 in bore thtm 
 October, when 
 those tremen- 
 n the tropics, 
 with lambent 
 , revived their 
 
 to an old su- 
 mo with seven 
 hat no danger 
 of November, 
 8 of land, and 
 d appeared, to 
 )ominica, as it 
 . This event 
 s of praise and 
 
 in safety over 
 
 ntilles, a beau- 
 ihutting in the 
 g on one island 
 landed on an- 
 1 a lofty mount- 
 ,ter broken into 
 natives haS all 
 rticles of earth- 
 enty of provis- 
 mntiful parrots. 
 i skulls, appa- 
 Spaniards with 
 I they took cap- 
 rmeo them that 
 d Caribs, were 
 ng their prison- 
 the ships, with 
 s in the woods, 
 ;reat apprchpn- 
 ims to the sava- 
 the Carib war- 
 predatory expe- 
 irned just when 
 
 without them. 
 iortl"ve9t, being 
 le colony left at 
 inds on his way. 
 ■nt on shore for 
 rcepted a canoe 
 ; si'ildenly round 
 the ship. After 
 hi oh one cf the 
 canoe destroyed, 
 and brought on 
 
 fierce untamed 
 le manners of the 
 k the Spaniards 
 issed many other 
 Elico, where they 
 he natives, who 
 
 were always at war with the Caribs. The 
 ruuer poopl, «aid to have «Fea<l from the 
 
 ^ On the 22d of November the fleet reached 
 the''"eaicm point of Hispan b la a,^ th^ ad 
 miral hoped soon to arrive at the lort wnere 
 he had left his followers on the former vov- 
 On naasin" the gulf of Samana, the 
 Teue oth &r co4at w.th the natives 
 a Joung Indian, who ha.l accompanied him to 
 Snain was set on shore, as a messenger ot 
 p^ 'to his countrymen. No account was 
 ever received of him afterward, and he ^^as 
 
 r She? lI Na"dad,'but it was already 
 "dark 'approach the coast or discern the 
 f rt Two guns were fired as a signal to 
 £r comrades, but no answer was returned 
 no sU of life was to be seen on the coast. A 
 "c^nofsoon after appeared, and the Indians on 
 seeing Columbus, came on board. 1 hey tola 
 him that some of the Spaniards left in the 
 fort had died of sickness, that others had been 
 ki Id n quarrels among themselves, and he 
 remainder had removed to another part of the , 
 UW Next day none of the natives ap- 
 ared, and on lamling. a burned and back- 
 ^Cd ruin alone marked where the fort had , 
 sSl. Continuing their researches, they next 
 dSvered a grave containing^ eleven bodies J 
 'wWch, roved to be those of Europeans. At 
 Tas soille Indians were met with from wW 
 the fate of the garrison was ascertained. 1 he 
 TpIZZ werf hardly relieved fnnn the au- 
 thority of the admiral, than they began to 
 IbuShe poor natives, robbing ^l^em of the. 
 nrooertv and seducing their wives and daugh- 
 n %Ln they f arrelled « *^-: 
 selves, disobeyed the orders of their com- 
 r^ander, and "dispersed themselves over the 
 Tuntry. Eleven of them set out fi,r the do- 
 minions of Caonabo, a wariike chief of Canb 
 Sn, who ruled over the gold niountains in 
 the^nterior, where they expected to find m- 
 mense wealth. They were seized imniedi- , 
 TtelY on entering his dor inions and put to 
 deati and Caonabo resolved to nd the island 
 of S; strangers.. He -^ade a descent on the 
 fort and attacking it during the night, haa 
 Spossession beff the few men remaining 
 in it were aware of their danger. Th« ™ 
 of the Spaniards were ^1""' «"^*'' 3?^ 
 , of the neighboring Indians, who attempted to 
 defend them, bun.ed to the P°«"J;^ ^he h^ 
 tory of this first E.iro,>ean f,"!*"?"* »,?° 
 ! e,.ilome of many "mt have followed-of the 
 
 L 
 
 base vices and lawless abuse of their superior 
 J^wer by men boasting of their civilization 
 !!!^f the Lrce revenge of the savage, his mo- 
 mentary success, his final destruction. 
 
 The^cacique or chief of the Indians soon 
 after sent a' message excusing l^'^/^-"^^; 
 and stating that he was eo"fit.ed to his ten 
 by a wound received in defence of t'" SP"^" 
 iards. Columbus visited hiii.,. when he rela- 
 ed the misfortune of the g""^'-^' ^;'\^Jt\^, 
 in his eves, and convinced the admiral ot Ins 
 good fahh,'though some of his followers w-ere 
 ^f a different opinion. The cacique after- 
 ward visited the .hips, where he was lost in 
 astonishment amid the new and ^"1^™ "J" 
 jects that he beheW. The horses espeomlly. 
 {heir great size, their appore.- fierceness yet 
 perfect docility, filled with amazement men 
 ^hoknewonljthe most 'l"";"-'--;'"^^''™- 
 1 neds. The females rescued from the Caribs 
 were also a special object of attention, in par- 
 ticular one .li.tinguishe.i by her loity air and 
 manner, with whom the c, cique conversed 
 repeatedly. After a repast die chief begged 
 pTmtsio^ to return on shore, perhaps feeling 
 uneasy at the dark suspicious looks of the 
 Spaniards, some of whom advised Co umVms 
 to retain him jirisoner. Next day the brother 
 of he chief came onboard and conversed for 
 ' °,me time with the women. He was proba- 
 bly concerting their escape, as in the night 
 they all slipped overboard, and, though heard 
 and^pursued. swam to the land, three mdes 
 distant, and escaped. Next day, when Co- 
 lumbus sent on shore to reclaim -hem, he 
 found the village deserted and the na.v<^ fled 
 into the interior. Columbus left this place, 
 i where there was now no inducement to re- 
 I ma nTas the locality .eemed unhealtl^and 
 'unfit for a permanent settlement. W hen 
 Wking for a situation adapted for this yiur- 
 pose he was driven by adverse weather into 
 Tha^bo:. and being pleased with Us appear- 
 ance, and hearing that the ™;«'"«;/^at dis^ 
 containing gold mines, were at no great ais 
 an Che'rfsolved to found a "ty. named Isa- 
 bella from his royalpatroness. J planwas 
 formed, and preparations begun, when disease 
 broke ;ut among the ^V-^^-'^'^'^l'fjS. 
 fering from their long confinement on ship 
 board and unaccustomed to the climate of the 
 topes Disappointment, too, increased their 
 mXdies, whe'n'their golden breams meled 
 awuv, and the necessity ot hard labor ap 
 nrared. Even Columbus suffered from ex- 
 
 rrre to the climate and f « "«-XVoufih 
 Ptipq in which he was involved, tstill, tnougn 
 Sn^dt his bed. he continued to dire^^^^^^^^^ 
 affairs of the expedition and the hnHdmg oi 
 the towi. The ships had now dischoiged 
 
l-*«-. 
 
 ."«*■. 
 
 ■■»*psi{* 
 
 356 
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS 
 
 no ueasure even asncrtamed to exist. The 
 coMcn moJutains were, however, nt no great 
 flS unce, and Don Alonzo do Ojeda, one of 
 SZ^ adventurous of his f""o--,;et rm 
 with a party to explore them. They tonmi 
 Th nativ'e. friendly! the . sands of the mount- 
 ain streams glistened with i)articlcs ot goU), 
 and ragment! weighing several ounces were 
 collected. With these glad tidings he re- 
 turned to the admiral, who -^ -^^ '';™<: 
 twelve ships, retaining hve for further .lis 
 coveries. \ yet Columbus had only prom- 
 ises o wealth to give in return for the supplies 
 he re, nested to be transmitted from fel)a.n. 
 Till a Hclos of more value could be procured, 
 J lumbus proposed sen.linghome Caril, s avc.s 
 Tn return For live-stoek. '^'^t Isabdla re used 
 her consent to this inhuman project. /Ihou^d 
 no wealth was brought back by the fleet stil 
 ?^^e rem,rts of the gold mines prevented hat 
 dKpointment whose etleets the admiral so 
 
 ^"oil reroSng from his illness Columbus 
 was about to se? out to explore the in cnor 
 when he discovered a ph^t among a portion ot 
 Hs followers to seize the ships and return to 
 Spa n, where they hoped to find forgiveness 
 by accusing their chief of <lecepti<.n. The 
 rki-leaders were arrested, the chief, Bernal 
 Dii! conF.ned, in order to be .«e"t to bpain 
 for trial, and some others r|""^»'«l /''^^^ ^^- 
 verely than they deserved. This act of au- 
 thority formed a new ground of omM.CL^ and 
 excited the national feelings of the bpan- 
 iard against the foreigner, as they regarded 
 Columbus. On the 12ih of March how- 
 ever, he set out for the inten.,r, with about 
 four hundred men. leaving the command of 
 the town and fleet to his brother Diego, a 
 rnan of an easy and facile disposition. Ori 
 "achin" the summit of the hrst range of 
 mou tains, the Spaniards were lost in admi- 
 ration of the beautiful plain, M extended 
 like an earthly paradise before them. Through 
 thi, re'ion, which he named the Vega Real 
 or Roy al plain, Columbus continued his march 
 bein" everywhere hospitably received by the 
 Indians, wLn their first terror at the strange 
 spectacle was overcome. On the second day 
 he reached another chain of n.ountains, higher 
 and more rugged, but as they were nov in 
 the «, den region, Columbus, before penetra- 
 tKurlher, resolved to erect a fort and com - 
 Sice to work the mines which he believed 
 To exLt. The fort, named St. ^f — ' -'^,': 
 built on an eminence, protected by a sn ^^^ 
 nver. Here he left fifty-six men, and set -J 
 on his return to th. J:"^«t, haltmg some tu^^c. 
 
 however, in the Indian v^l^g^^Xlnf 4; 
 He thus acquired more knowledge ot l^. 
 manners of the native., some of -hose ';us- 
 roms and opinions are very cunous. Je at 
 
 first regarded them as atheists, but soon found 
 that, besides a belief in one supreme deity, 
 thev had also many inferior gods, some the 
 neculiar guardians of each tribe, others allot- 
 led to watch over every special department of 
 nature. They had also priests or magicians ; 
 and some imperfect notions of the cn-ation of 
 the world and universal deluge. They be- 
 lieved that mankind originally carne out ot a 
 certain cave ; large men from a large hole, 
 and the small men from a small one -, and that 
 thev had no women among them at hrst, but 
 I at last found them among the brnnchcs of a 
 forest near a small lake. The ladies were, 
 however, as slippery as eels, so that the men 
 could not for a long time catch any ot them ; 
 till some whose hands were rough with a kind 
 ' of leorosy, succeeded in securing four ot these 
 slippery females. The natives appeared an 
 idle, careless race, living chiefly on the spon- 
 taneous produce of their woods and "vers. 
 
 On reaching Isabella, Columbus found the 
 sickness continuing, the stores of provisions 
 almost consumed, and discontent and disap- 
 pointment very prevalejit. The last were 
 L atly increased wtien he required the cava- 
 liers to aid in erecting certain public works of 
 immediate necessity, the proud hidalgos con- 
 sidering all labor as a degradation. Ihese 
 circumstances greatly embarrassed Columbus, 
 who was desirous of jiroceeding on anotner 
 voyage of discovery. He therefore sent all 
 the persons who could be spared into the in- 
 terior, under the command of Pedro Marga- 
 rite, with orders to explore the country. He 
 cave strict charges to treat the Indians with 
 kindness, justice, and caution ; to respect their 
 property and persons, except Caonabo. the 
 Carib chief, whom they were to seize by 
 stratagem. An incident that now occurred 
 cmvinced him that there was little_ to fear 
 from the natives. A horseman, returning from 
 the interior, found five of his countrymen cap- 
 tive among a crowd of _ Indians. Though 
 more than four hundred in number, the sight 
 of his horse put them all to flight, and he 
 brought otr his friends in triumph.^ Leaving 
 his brother Diego governor m his absence. 
 Columlius sailed in the three smallest vessels 
 in search of new lands. , . ^ a „a 
 
 Ho first proceeded west, and in five days 
 came in sight of the east end of Cuba He 
 coasted along it for a short way. but learning 
 from the natives that a country nch in gold 
 was to be found in the south, he turried 
 ■'..t direction. The blue summits of Ja- 
 „u::a soon rose above the horizon, and on 
 d.,Awing near land they were met by a fleet 
 „r seventy canoes full of gayly-painted saya- 
 i ges, decorated with feathers, and hrandishing 
 'their wooden lances with loud yells. A few 
 presents pacified this, angry armada; butr*xt 
 
CHaiSTOPHER COLUMBUS. 
 
 but soon found 
 iuprcme deity, 
 jods, some the 
 !, others allot- 
 department of 
 , or magicians ; 
 the creation of 
 gc. They bo- 
 came out of a 
 I a large hole, 
 1 one ; and that 
 ?m at first, but 
 branches of a 
 [le ladies were, 
 ;o that the men 
 1 any of them ; 
 ugh with a kind 
 ng four of these 
 es appeared an 
 fly on the spon- 
 Is and rivers, 
 mbus found the 
 OS of provisions 
 itent and disap- 
 The last were 
 quired the cava- 
 1 putilic works of 
 md hidalgos con- 
 ■adation. These 
 ■nssed Columbus, 
 3ding on another 
 herefore sent all 
 nred into the in- 
 of Pedro Marga- 
 he country. He 
 ; the Indians with 
 I ; to respect their 
 ;pt Caonabo, the 
 vere to seize by 
 lot now occurred 
 was little to fear 
 lan, returning from 
 s countrymen cap- 
 [ndians. Though 
 number, the sight 
 to flight, and he 
 riumph. Leaving 
 or in his absence, 
 ee smallest vessels 
 
 ;, and in five days 
 end of Cuba. He I 
 t way, but learning 
 jountry rich in gold 
 south, he turned 
 ue summits of Ja- 
 he horizon, and on 
 ere met by a fleet 
 gayly-painted saya- 
 ers, and brandishing 1 
 I loud yells. A few 
 ■y armada; butr«xt ' 
 
 ""i" '''rs ii « »■" •'■• I'"" "" ''" 
 
 „,■ „„,„ ";■"" "X t■■^« "^*^^^ "'»'' 
 
 turned to Cuba, "'-^^''^^•^lan.is, which ren- 
 
 this way, which It appears « J ^^ ^„„. 
 the island, which ^^ ^^Ij^^^;; navigation he 
 
 reached a co.mnent, •»« '"'"fh.tteied con- 
 
 KS£|s,t^jKSSe 
 
 butr«xt I 
 
 east amon- the Caribbean 
 aships, exertions, and anxie- 
 lonths' voyage, had, howev 
 
 er, exh,u.sr.d hi, nu.ntalnndbodijy powers^ 
 he was struck ^vi.h a «u'l'l'."/""'"'',> „' ' is 
 
 ,h,- utmost confuson during his abM nc... 
 Co mis before departing on Ins voynge. 
 
 scheme by I nar Coy it, i ^^^^^_ 
 
 "C:r"S"er.ang hdi^^^^^^^ ,, ,,a 
 SSfVoi S :in: le^.ving the army -tLut a 
 head and without disciphne. The men be 
 
 death and success in these attempts led to 
 n«; undertakings. Caonabo resolved to at- 
 ^ J the fcrtres built without permission on 
 Sf t Storierand now g-isoned by only 
 fiftv men Thev were commanded by Aionzo 
 
 ened by the dispersion of the ".^"P* """ ' j^ 
 Sness of tho^e who remamej. He mack 
 a league for this P^^f ^; ^^'^ /'e ,a of the 
 
 apaniarus, »v. , . , r- i ^ ihem, and deln 
 r reTprHrttufbrought o.. himseU 
 tuS^o^f the confederate. Who pW^^^^ 
 
 iland, punishin,' some of the chiefs, a 
 
 t 
 
 is. 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
358 
 
 CimiSTOPHEIl COLUMBUS. 
 
 
 the chief on a pretended friendly mission, and 
 havin" by false representations induced the 
 simple Indian to mount behind him, nw\ sut- 
 fer himself to be adorned with polished shack- 
 les, bore him off in triumph from anriong his 
 astonished warriors. This deceit, however 
 contrnrv to our feelings, seen • to have been 
 viewed" in a different light by i . victim, who. 
 when a captive, always showed Me highest 
 respect for Ojeda, while he proudly refused 
 all marks of deference for Colum>)Us, thoufrh 
 well aware of his superior rank. Another 
 important event for the colony was th.- arrival 
 of Antonio Torres, with four ships loaded wi h 
 provisions, and accompanied with many work- 
 n,en and mechanics. The despatches from 
 court were still favorable ; insidious enemies 
 having not as yet pgisoned the ear ot the prin- 
 ces against Columbus. The admiral hastened 
 the return of Torres, sending with him his 
 brother Diego to support his interests at court, 
 and to give his advice in settling the boun.la- 
 ries of their respective discoveries y.nhl or- 
 tugal. In the fleet was sent not only all the 
 gold and other precious metals which he could 
 procure, but also above five hundred Indian 
 prisoners, whom he recommended to be sold 
 as slaves at Seville. Thus early was begun 
 that accursed trade in human flesh, which 
 has produced more misfortune to mankind, 
 than all the wars from that time to the pres- 
 ent ; and which is no less disgraceful to hu- 
 manity, than the cannibalism of the savages, 
 for which the Spaniards express such horror. 
 One of Caonabo's brothers, attempting to 
 .evenge his captivity, had been deleated by 
 Ojeda, but this did not prevent the ()ther 
 chiefs from collecting their forces for his res- 
 cue. Columbus learning from the fnen.lly 
 Indians that they had assembled in the Vega, 
 marched out to meet them, though his whole 
 army only amounted to two hundred infantry, 
 twenty liorse, and the same number of Idood- 
 hounds, not the least dangerous opponents to 
 the naked Indians. A battle, or rather mas- 
 sacre, took place in the Vega ; the natives, 
 who had trusted to their numbers, being at 
 once dispersed by the fire of the infantry, ami 
 then cut down by the cavalry, or hunted like 
 wild beasts by the savage dogs. Columbus 
 followed up his victory, by subduing almost 
 the whole island, and imposing a tax of a cer- 
 tain quantity of gold dust, or. where this was 
 not produced, of cotton, on each of the na- 
 tives. The chiefs remonstrated against this 
 grievous burden, but in vain. Their people, 
 seeing no hope of relief, deserted their fields, 
 and retired to the mountains, hoping that iam- 
 ine might drive away their persecutors. But 
 this onlv increased their seventies, and af^cr 
 a large 'part of the Indians had perished by 
 want and violence, the remainder returned to 
 
 linger under the yoke of slavery. Even the 
 friendly Guaranagari, and his people w« n- 
 subjected to the same impositions and cruel- 
 ties, till the chief, nnable to endure the re- 
 proaches of his miserable subjects, retired to 
 the mountains, nrd died in poverty— n victim 
 to the strangers whom liis hos])itality had more 
 than once preserved from destruction. 
 
 The malcontents who had returned to Spain, 
 were not wholly unsuccessful in prejudicing 
 the sovereigns against Columbus, who, as a 
 foreigner, had no influence to sujiport him at 
 court. Even the arrival of Torres, with news 
 of the discoveries made in the recent voyage, 
 and the specimens of gold which he brought, 
 did not restore Columbus to his former favor. 
 Juan Aguado, was sent os a commissioner to 
 investigate the alliiirs of the island, and though 
 formerly highly indebted to Columbus, soon 
 becnme'his bitterest foe. On arriving at Is- 
 abella, he found the admira' absent in the 
 interior, and immediately assumed high au- 
 thority to himself and interfered in all pub- 
 lic atlairs. When the admiral returned from 
 the interior, he received Aguado with all the 
 courtesy due to the royal messenger; and 
 when his inciuiries were finished, intimated 
 his intention of returning with him to Spain. 
 Their departure was delayed by a tremendous 
 hurricane, which swept over the island with 
 such awful fury, that even the Indians thought 
 it a divine judgment on the crimes and cruel- 
 ties of the white men. It destroyed all the 
 ve?f "Is in the harbor except one, left in o very 
 si utt fcil condition. While the vessels were 
 repaiJi.,,', t'ohimbus received news of great 
 import., H- . A Si)aniard, Miguel Diaz, in 
 the service of his broth' Bartholomew, had 
 wounded one of his coi,>radcs dangerously in 
 a (oiarrel, and fearing the co: ■^ j-iences, had 
 fled to the south side of the island. H re he 
 had won the heart o* n t •''lale cnciqiK', and 
 i lived with her some tirr,^ ve» ; hnppil:, B it 
 I at length he became desifx. o. returning to 
 his friends, and fell into ■cl > melancholy. 
 His Indian bride learning tht. c-anse, and de- 
 sirous of drawing the Spaniards to her part 
 of the island, that he might not thus be in- 
 duced to abandon her, informed him that there 
 were rich mines in the i eighborhood. Diaz, 
 having ascertained the ruth of the rejiort, 
 returned to his master, who was easily recon- 
 ciled to him, and set out personally to inves- 
 tigate the mines. He found them as rich as 
 was reported, and deep pits near them, as if 
 dug in former times, which gave rise to a 
 curious conje.;ture of Columbus, that he had 
 now discovered the ancient Ophirof Solomon. 
 The tidings were indeed highly gratetul to 
 the ad T.iral, both as decisive proofs of the 
 wealth of the island, thus silencing the cavils 
 of his enemies, and as an excuse for removing 
 
Even the 
 'oplc \v(-r(! 
 
 and cnufl- 
 re the xk- 
 , retired to 
 — « victim 
 y had more 
 on. 
 
 d to Spain, 
 prejuiiicinfr 
 
 wllO, Q8 a 
 
 lort him nt 
 , with news 
 >nt voyape, 
 lie broHifht, 
 rrncr favor, 
 nissioner to 
 and though 
 imbus, soon 
 ving at Is- 
 3ent in the 
 d high «u- 
 in all pub- 
 turned from 
 with all the 
 Bnger ; and 
 I, intimated 
 m to Spain, 
 tremendous 
 island with 
 ians thought 
 ;8 and oruel- 
 lyed all the 
 eft in a very 
 vessels were 
 ws of great 
 lel Diaz, in 
 3lomew, had 
 ngerously in 
 ■ ■leni'es, had 
 d. H re he 
 cnciquv.-, and 
 ippih B It 
 returning to 
 melancholy, 
 use, and de- 
 I to her part 
 : thus be in- 
 im that there 
 hood. Diaz, 
 f the rejiort, 
 easily recon- 
 illy to inves- 
 ;rr. as rich as 
 ,r them, as if 
 ive rise to a 
 , that he had 
 irof Solomon, 
 y gratelul to 
 proofs of the 
 ling the cavils 
 for removing 
 
 CHttlSTOPHEH COLUMBUS. 
 
 359 
 
 the colony from its unhealthy suuation. 
 Diaz was pardoned, and employed m various 
 •hities. all of which he discharged with fulel- 
 itv He also kept faith with his Indian 
 spouse, who seems to have become a Chris- 
 tian, and to hove been baptized. 
 
 On the 10th of Marcfi, 1496, Columbus 
 sailed for Spain, along with Aguado. Keep- 
 i„. too far south, within the tradewinds, his 
 passage was long and tc.lious, s., that he had 
 o touch at Guadaloupe for provisions. 1 he 
 shores were only defen.led by the women, 
 some of whom they took prisoners, but again 
 set free before their departure. One heroine, 
 however, refused her liberty, and clwse rath- 
 er to accompany Caonabo. whorn Columbus 
 was taking with him to Spain. But the Oa- 
 ril) chief was destined never to arrive there ; 
 his Droud heart was broken by his misfortunes, 
 and he died on the voyage. During this voy- 
 age, the Spaniards were reduced to great ex- 
 tremity, some even proposing to kill and eat 
 their Itidian pris..ners. On the 11th of June, 
 Columbus at last reached Cadi/,, after a weary 
 ..assage of three months. His hopes and re- 
 ception were very ditlerent Irom what they 
 had been on his former return, three years 
 before; and the miserable emaciated ligures 
 1 of his sickly companions, and their yellow 
 countenances-a mockery, says an old writer, 
 of that gold they had gone to seek-was no 
 untit emblem oF the public disappointment. 
 He however, received a friendly letter irom 
 the court, and on his arrival there met with a 
 kind reception ; his great merits not being yet 
 wholly forgotten. He proposed t.) un.lertake 
 a nevv vovage of discovery, which was read- 
 ily agreed to -, but numerous delays were des- 
 tinetl to intervene before its acfomplishmen . 
 Aflairs of more immediate neces> "n demand- 
 ed all the care and resources .h the king, 
 while envious councillors insinuated to hun 
 the great cost an.i small proht of the b.)a^ U^d 
 discoveries. At length th^ influence ot the 
 (lueen procured certain measures favorabU to 
 Columbus, and adapted to promote the ,.ros- 
 perity of the colony ; but the management ot 
 Indian affairs was committed to his cold- 
 blooded enemy. Fonseca. who persecuted him 
 and embarrassed his proceediar.i by the mean- 
 est and most despicable artihces. ^ ;' Absent, 
 envied, and a stranger," as he saw in a letter 
 to the king, every one was against him, and 
 it was only his gratitude to the queen that in- 
 duced him to persevere. i40« Pn 
 At length, on the 30th of May. 1498, Co- 
 lumbus sailed with six vessels on his third 
 voyage to the New World. He proceeded 
 «,^th to the Cape Verd islands. Thence he 
 continued southwest, till his ship was involved 
 in the region of the " calms," near the enua- 
 t^r Here the wind fell, and a dead, sultry 
 
 I 
 
 air. us from a furnace, hung oyer the shins, 
 wasting their stores, and destroy-ng the hca th 
 and spirits of the men. He then altered his 
 course more to the west, and reached land 
 with his provisions nearly exhausted, and only 
 one cask of water remaining in each ship. 
 It was the island of Trinidad, which Colum- 
 bus named from a vow he made to consecrate 
 the first land he should reach to the Trinity. 
 He coasted along the southern shore ot tlie 
 island, and was surprised at its fertility, at 
 the coolness of the uir, and the fair complex- 
 ion of the natives— all so unlike the tropical 
 character of Africa. He was now sailing m 
 the stroit between Trinidad and th<^ mainland, 
 on some parts of which he touched in the 
 gulf of Puria, but without knowmg that it 
 was in reality the continent he had so long 
 80U"ht. The strings of pearls worn liy the 
 nati'vcs highly interested him as a now' source 
 of wealth, and a confirmation of his theories. 
 His time, however, would not permit ot fur- 
 ther researches, so. retracing his way, he 
 sailed through the narrow jiassage between 
 Trinidad and Cape Boto in Farm, where the 
 sea was raging and foaming, the currents be- 
 ing swollen by the large mass of fresh water 
 then poured into the gulf. He passed through 
 it. however, in safety, and examined part ot 
 the north coast of Paria, when he was corn- 
 pelled to sail for Hispaniola. He reached it 
 considerably north of the point he wished, 
 having been carried out of his reckoning by 
 the strong currents. Sending a message on 
 shore to his brother, he sailed for the nver 
 Ozema. and was soon met by his brother liar- 
 tholomew, who came oft' in a caravel to meet 
 him. In a letter to the sovereigns, relating 
 his voyage, Columbus enters into various 
 speculations-some of them wild and fanci- 
 ful in the extremv;— concerning his new dis- 
 coveries. He however rightly conjectured 
 from the quantity of fresh water flowing into 
 the gulf, that it must come from some conti- 
 nent of vast extent, which he still ma.ntained 
 I to be a part of Asia. 
 
 ' From his brother, who had governed the 
 island under the title of Ade.lantado, Colum- 
 bus received an account of the events which 
 had cccuried during his long absence. Bar- 
 tholomew had proceeded to found a fort near 
 the mines of Hayna. discovered by his ser- 
 vant, but. from want of provisions, the work 
 had made slow progress. He then laid the 
 foundation of San Domingo, on the harbor at 
 the mouth of the Ozema nver, and leaving iv 
 small garrison there, set out to explore the 
 western region of the island He was well 
 received by the cacique of that district, who 
 readily agreed to pay an annual tnbute ot 
 , cotton, alfeging that no gold was produced m 
 his part of the island. On retummg to Isa- 
 
 4u 
 
 MMM^-^v^ae 
 
CHUISTOl'nER C0LUMI1U8. 
 
 .^ 
 
 b,nn, he foun.l nothing but tniscry <^}j^- 
 „ii,.r. The provisions receivea Irom 1m rop.. 
 ^■e?e c.m.u.m.l. .he Spaniards .ntcnt only on 
 nrocurina "oM, would not con.lesceml to u.l- 
 llvute .hrgrouna, ami yet l.y tl'o.r cruelties 
 ha.1 .Iriven the natives to the mountains. 1 ht 
 A,iulantu.lo sent all the men that couUl be 
 spared into the interior, where the climate 
 vvu« more salubrious, and provisions in great- 
 er ubundanee. He then established m.htary 
 po*tH to overawe the natives, whose mdisna- 
 lon was rouM-d anew by fresh indignities. 
 Two friars had labored with small success, to 
 cnvert the Indians, who could not be per- 
 Huaded that a religion was true, whose to- 
 lowers perpetrated such atrocities. In one 
 place, tie Iruirshad built a small chapel, 
 i with erucitix, images, and altar, for the use ot 
 ' a taiuily of converts. Some o her Indians 
 had, however, entered the chapel, and broken 
 tile iina"es. For this crime the ignorant sav- 
 u,-es were tried by the ecclesiastical law, con- 
 d"n,n.-.i, and burnt. This cruel treatment ex- 
 cited the indignation of all the natives, and a 
 rebellion, to commence by a general massa- 
 cre of their oppressors, was concerted. u 
 was betrayed, as usual to the Spaniards ; and, 
 bv a successful stratagem, the Adelantado 
 seized fourteen of the assembled caci.iues. 
 and carried them prisoners to a fortress. 1 wo 
 of the principal instigators of the insurrec- 
 tion wete put to death, but the others vvere 
 released-au act of clemency which for a time 
 restored tranquillity to the Vega. Bartholo- 
 mew then set out to the western extremity ot 
 the island, where he received for tribute sut- 
 ticient cotton and provisions to load a caravel. 
 A new trouble arose from the machinations 
 of one Francisco Roldan, who, raised from 
 low rank to be chief judge of the island, now 
 turned his inQuence against Jtt^ ^^enefactor. 
 During the absence of the Adelantado, he 
 excited mutiny against him among the Span- 
 iards at Isabella, and, on his return, set out into 
 the interior, where he had formed a friendship 
 with the native chiefs, and hoped to seize one 
 of the forts. Disappointed by the vigilance 
 of the commander, he now endeavored to ob- 
 tHiiu possession of it by force. The A.lelan- 
 tado marched to its relief, but distrusting the 
 loyalty of his men, durst not attack Rol< an. 
 He had an interview with him which led to 
 no result, and Roldan, taking advantage ot his 
 absence returned to Isabella, entered it by 
 surprise, and breaking open the royal ware- 
 house, supplied himself and his followers with 
 arms and clothing. He then returned t,. the 
 Vega, endeavoring to seduce the foUower^ot 
 the"" Adelantado from their allegiance. iNot 
 succeeding in this, he again endeavored to 
 stir up the natives to a revolt, and continued to 
 1 sow discontent among the Spamards. ihe 
 
 whole island was reduced to a stateof anorrhy, 
 when two vessels arrived at San Domirigo, in 
 February, 140H, with RUi)plii-8 ot i)rovi>inns, 
 trwiis, and what was of more importance, a 
 royal conlirinntion of the authority ot the 
 Ailelantudf.. RoWan had however, gone, too 
 far to hope for pardon, and feeling too weak 
 for resista- . retired toward the west end ot 
 th.' island. '• .le Indians in the Vega, seduced 
 by his machinations, had taken up arms, but 
 being defeated by the Spaniards, their ehiet 
 lied to the mountains of Ciguay, where he 
 found shelter with a brother cacupie. 1 liither 
 I he was f.jllowcd by the Adelantado, who, not- 
 withstaiKling the ditlicultics of a mountain 
 warfare, with savage foes, soon dispersed the 
 Indians, and captured both the chiets, who 
 hatl sought sheUcr in the recesses of the 
 mountains. Such was the state of the island 
 when Columbus returned thither from Spam, 
 and such the immediate results of that imvvise 
 policy, which the Spanish monarchs instiga- 
 ted by his private enemies, pursued toward 
 him The productiveness of the colony w-as 
 ruined; discontent, disloyalty, and crime, fo- 
 mented among the white settlers, and the 
 poor Indians led into rebellions, m which they 
 iither perished miserably by the sword and 
 famine, or were reduced to a state of cruel 
 slavery, to which death in almost any form 
 was preferable. . ^ • t ti- 
 
 Such was the condition of atTairs 5n His- 
 paniola, when Columbus returned from Spain, 
 instead of the paradise which it seemed when 
 the white men first set foot on its eoil. it had 
 become the abode of war, and ^^'--^"'01 
 strife, famine, and Pestilence. The native 
 population was melting away before the bale- 
 ful presence of the stranger; and their once 
 hospitable towns were desolate and silent. 
 The Spaniards, too, were now reaping he 
 fruit of their crimes; vice had produced dis- 
 ease ; indolence, poverty; while cruelty and 
 oppression had turned the once fnendly In- 
 diansinto deadly foes, and the thickly-peopled 
 country into a lonely wilderness. 
 
 Columbus endeavored to restore matters so 
 far as it was still possible. He denounced 
 Roldan as a rebel, but at the same time, of- 
 fered him pardon on immediate submission. 
 Roldan had, however, strengthened his party, 
 by the accession of many criminals who had 
 been sent from Spain at the same time as Co- 
 lumbus, but had arrived m the island before 
 him, and now refused to submit. Columbus, 
 1 surrounded by treachery and disaffection was 
 I too weak to enforce comphance, arid could on- 
 ' lY write home an account of the rebellion, and 
 ask further aid. After various negotiations, 
 an agreement was made with the rebels Lv 
 which they were to return within a hmited 
 Se to Spain ; and the admiral set out to m- 
 
 "■^WKJ^si.^ 
 
 Bl 
 
CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS 
 
 ■f)f nnnrrliy, 
 Dunlin;;!), in 
 
 |)r()vi>intis, 
 riporluncp, Q 
 iriiy of tht! 
 ,(!r, R(in(; too 
 ng too weak 
 west cml ol 
 cgn, reduced 
 up nrni!«, Imt 
 , their diicf 
 ly, whrrp he 
 ue. Thithrr , 
 do, who, tiot- jl 
 
 n mountnin 
 dispersipd the 
 5 chiefs, who 
 lesscs of the 
 I of the island 1 
 r from Spain, 
 )f that \uiwise 
 archs instiga- 
 rsued toward 
 he colony was 
 and crime, fo- 
 ;lcrs, and the 
 in which they 
 ;he sword and 
 
 state of cruel 
 Tiost any form 
 
 iffairs In His- 
 ,ed from Spain. 
 it seemed when 
 its soil it had 
 nd sediw-jn, of 
 I. The native 
 jefore the bale- 
 and their once 
 ate and silent. 
 ovr reaping the 
 (1 produced dis- 
 hile cruelty and 
 nee friendly In- 
 thickly-peopled 
 
 ;ss. 
 
 !store matters so 
 
 He denounced 
 1 same time, of- 
 iiate submissiion. 
 thened his party, 
 iminals who had 
 same time as Co- 
 the island before 
 mit. Columbus, 
 
 disaflTcction, was I 
 ice, and could on- 
 the rebellion, and 
 ious negotiations, 
 th the rebels, by 
 
 within a limited 
 liral set out to in- 
 
 I 
 
 1 • i„„,l rifpiimstanres dehw^ t^" 
 ,prct the mland. C. c^^^^^^^^^^ Columbus soon 
 
 his periil< xitii », u** '^ ^. J ^ I i,e 
 
 Uis .■...■.niv« ll'ff^-' r' r He had thus to 
 
 treatnieui ot I' ;;'''" ' .^f (:„la,„bu«, and 
 est stums "" ^^; "" y, .,f u„,nanity and 
 
 r --"^ 1 ^;= "- =;- 
 
 purt nt lire '-'"'■"„„,,, ,1,,. i,„l,| ,.,,.lii.t 
 
 ii-om l-.mseea, I but tnt vt:,', 
 to the gulf of I ''"^- /\^pri„o' Vespuceio, 
 
 ;S;"rsirf i^Hh^'whoic of .,,i. 
 
 , V Tfnlilnn were settled, inthe iiiii" 
 
 Bomin,of,rhisli..nji^-luct;V.«t^ 
 
 S.r:tiri.x:t"^H-.-^'Sirib 
 
 l,v,.with a .trtuahterot Cuo.iul.o, t u. ta > 
 hi ef and intended to innrry her. when Uol- 
 1„ iris sni.l. from ieulousy, mterfer.'d. 
 
 Rodm r^ts l.in.touM.,therplnee,buthc 
 
 ;^^!;;-j.andoni;s.;,mi..^^ 
 
 „r put out his eye^; liut tlie < "1 < . 
 
 ol was beforehand with them, "'•'/■'"'"'/» 
 . adeis. and sent them prisoners to the nil. i - 
 .1 C uevara's uncle. M..xiea, a former co.n- 
 : ie , ioldun, ineensed at this aetiun. be 
 
 t ..nll.el his old fo lowers to tree his 
 ^;:;;i,evt\vi!fantieipatedbv Columbus 
 
 2eon'le.lbyR..ldun,s.,on.reduccd.thevvhole 
 
 island to tt state of tramiuiUity. 
 
 Ti however, was not to continue long^ 
 The enemies of Columbus were busy at 
 rourr where his friends were few and pow- 
 erress. F rdinand had undertaken these dis- 
 cove ies from no high or generous mot ve 
 but moved only by hopes of -^aU^'' J^^ 
 he now found greatly disappointed. Jnsteau 
 i^c'iling sii^ppliejfrom them, • W J-,^^ 
 
 ty t: i^e dissolute men who returne JJ>orn : 
 
 rnte'"ctw1^llly>--^^ P?tm X 
 Their insolence rnay be pgd of fro- th^ 
 
 IS rxcltimi'^X sonsof the admi.l, the 
 
 whelps of him who ;^>«<="^«'l'=i;i'' Shi- 
 vanity and delusion, the R'"^;'", "^ ^l^™ J , 
 ,lnl.To-i" The (lueen had long been m» 
 
 he sought to cover one act "f '"//"^"'"."^^ 
 
 H 
 
 it 
 
 'ii 
 
 1 
 
 <4 
 
 J 
 
 ■tmr^ifliawitf^ssyvw" ■*■' 
 

 ill,. 
 
 if' 
 
 '"■«!V. 
 
 -'--»■ ilj.^ 
 
 CHalSTOl'iiBH C.-I.UMBU!*. 
 
 nono«t «n.l religion. ""»"• "t^""' ri,"""' ' 
 Komblance of truth. ■- ..ody, l'";*" "»*«' ".^^ 
 Bmbiti..u», He was emi).)wer.Ml to «xarni. 
 into the late rebellion, an-l the r ' '"^ ,n. 
 tho B.lmiral an.l his broth.-rs; uml .., h int 
 them KuiUy, to supersede them in tl. a.l.n,. 
 
 '" w' V the latter part ot f.hi« commissirm. 
 Bobad.lb> wn. not long •''«=""»«''>■'"?; , "^ 
 reached >an Domingo on the •-'■Id «'f Ao i»t, 
 1500. and having 1 '.d-d the -^^ «'"''''"?' 
 order.vi hi» commission to be .cad. uuthon- 
 7: u him til inx»-8tigate the late rebellion. 
 ( Aumhm was ab.-nt in th.' inti-nor ; but \m 
 brother Diego refused to giv-e «, 1: ' I-ri^n- 
 pr» till b s return, and n«ked for u opy ot this 
 leir.r t.. send to him. ' ' Nadilla reJuscd this. 
 uui next morning read a second roN ul patent, 
 investing iiim with the government ot the is- 
 land, and ai;ain demanded the prisoners. Vi- 
 ego replied, that he he'd the prisoners ,., 
 obedieiice to the admiral vbo was m- -a<d 
 vv irh higher p..wers, on whu -badilla pro- 
 duced n third mandate from the i wn, oriler- 1 
 inc (^.l'^rab1lK 1 his brothers to deliver up 
 to hi'i' *" .esses, ships, ai.! other royal 
 proiier ; and a fourth mandate, ering 
 him U) i' > all arrears of wages to p m 
 
 the royal service, which was recei m 
 
 sh,, f.f applause by the multit . _> . tie 
 aeaui .iei mled the prisoners, and wher they 
 were refused, repaired to tlu< t»rt where they 
 were confined. The alcade. Miguel Diaz. 
 had the gates closed, and appearing on the 
 wall, declared that he would only obey his 
 lord the admiral. Enraged beyond (neosure, 
 BobadiUa assembled his followers in order to 
 storm the fort, which, having no garnson, he 
 entered without resistance. He then took 
 possession of the house of Columbus, and 
 seized upon all his elTects, books, and private 
 papers. When information of these events 
 reochcd the admiral, he considered them 
 merely as the acts of some private adventurer, 
 and moved toward San Dommgo. He was 
 met by an alcade. who proclaimed Bobadilla s 
 accession to office ; but the new governor took 
 no notice of him, and did not even answer a 
 letter he had written. Columbus was in great 
 uncertainty how to act, when two messengers 
 arrived with a royal letter of credence, com- 
 manding him to give imidicit faith and obedi- 
 ence to Bobadilla; and presented at the same 
 time, a summons from the latter to appear be- 
 fore him. Columbus at once obeyed, but on 
 reaching the town was seized, put in irons, 
 and confined in the fonress. When the irons 
 were brought, no one was found to put them 
 on him, till the task was undertaken by one 
 of his own domestics, " a graceless and shame- 
 less cook, who riveted the fetters with as 
 much readiness and alacrity, as though he 
 
 were serving him with choice and sav. v 
 ands." I lis two brothers met the soiri'^ f' 
 ing als. lut in irons, and confined sepi. 
 aboard. 'avel. Bobadilla never can 
 ..eo them, u, five them any account ol 
 •rimes with « hirh thoy were charged, so tli 
 iti tho BdMiiral'^ own words, they "w»i 
 thrown into a ship, h.oded with irons, with lit- 
 tle clothing, and mucl: ill treotment. without 
 1,1-2 H nninoned or convicted by jur-tice. 
 S h was the reward Columbus received from 
 li,. unworthy sovereign, whom it is in vmn to 
 defend by throwing the blmne on the misera- 
 ble instrument <if his mali- ■ '>nd 1, 'at'tude. 
 To justify his conduct, h' blla cnllectcd 
 evidence from all (lunrters aj-ainsr tht mtrol 
 
 .... . 1 . nil »llA In... 
 
 acV Ot 
 
 1 to the 
 .rnfully. 
 •To the 
 
 and his brothers, to whom all the Int.- i rb- 
 ances in tho island were imjiuted. ^\ 
 was completed, he sent Cc iim 
 charge of Alonzo de Villejo. 
 officer. When he came to cot 
 board. Columbus knowing the 
 his enemies, thought it was to I 
 scafTold. "Villejo." said li. 
 "whither -vve you raking me -- -;- 
 
 ship. yourexcelL-ncy. to embark," replied the 
 other. " To embark !" repeated the admira 
 earnestly ; " Villejo, do you speak the truth? 
 » By the life of your excellency, it is true, 
 replied the honest officer. With these words 
 the admiral was comforted, and felt as one re- 
 stored from death to life. Such is the account j 
 of this touching incident, which Washing on ,, 
 Irving has taken from Las Casas who j.roba- 
 bly received it from his fnend Villejo himself. 
 Columbus left the island eariy in October, 
 " shackled like the vilest of culprits, amid || 
 the scoffs and shouts of a mi'-creant rabble. ,, 
 Vllleio would have removed his irons, but M 
 Columbus would not consent; they had been 
 imposed by the authority of their maiesties. 
 and said he. "I will wear them until they 
 shall order them to be taken off"; and I will 
 preserve them as relics and memonals ot the 
 [eward of my services." " He did so, adds 
 his son ; "1 saw them always hanging 111 his 
 cabinet, and he reciuested that when he died, 
 thev might be buried with him. 
 
 When Columbus bt ,ved m irons at Cadiz, 
 from the world that ^ ,0 had discovered, a uni- 
 versal burst of ir. nation wa^ ^'^"^ ^^3' 
 out Spain, and ^^ as responded to by the whole 
 of the civilized worid. Even the cold heait- 
 less monarch quailed before it, and had to ex- 
 press his reprobation of such ^n^of j^y ^^'?^^^ 
 ment. Columbus was ordered to be set free, 
 was received with many marks of 'f^J « 
 court, and the charges against him were never 
 listened to. But the true vmdication ot his 
 conduct, that which justice strongly demand- 
 ed? was withheld, notwithstanding repeated 
 solicitations. He was not restored to his 
 
 t 
 
» atu! MV( -V 
 the some fn; 
 icdsepii. I 
 never can 
 ncount 1)1 
 arcerJ, bo thi 
 
 tney "w(i> 
 irons, with lit- 
 ment, without 
 I by ju^-tice." 
 received from 
 it is in vriiri to 
 on thi- niisera- 
 1(1 ii ratitude. 
 
 lilla cnllected 
 nsl tht "lirnl 
 lelnt' '■ 
 
 [1. ■ 
 
 on 
 , , of 
 1 1 t('t the 
 
 I. irnfuily, 
 
 e ( • "To the 
 rk," replied the 
 ted the aihniral 
 icak the truth?" 
 ncy. it is true." || 
 ''ith these words II 
 id felt Qsone re- 
 ■h is the account | 
 ch Washington i 
 isas", whoproba- 11 
 
 iVillejo himself. 1 1 
 rly in October, 
 f culprits, amid | 
 screant rabble." i 
 I his irons, but |l 
 ; they had been 
 
 their mBJesties, 
 them until they 
 1 off; and I will 
 Tipmorials of the 
 He did so," adds 
 rs hanging in his 
 It when he died, 
 im. 
 
 n irons at Cadiz, 
 Jiscovered, a uni- 
 18 heard through- 
 d to by the whole 
 in the cold heart- 
 it, and had to ex- 
 1 unworthy treat- 
 red to be set free, 
 larks of f'ivor at 
 8t him were never 
 vindication of his 
 
 strongly demand- 
 stanching repeated 
 t restored to his 
 
 CHaWTOPHBa COLUMBUS. 
 
 363 
 
 v-rnvaltVJ and Ferdinand, while disowning 
 
 Cabra, a i "rj ^ 1,500. the coast of 
 
 Ijf' 'r'Frrdtandt .iwhi, new dotnin- 
 Bra/.d. 1- •^, '•'"", '„un,iie8S extent, and m 
 :irg:r':^'Sn;V:c;rhed..bv£erna- 
 • TI« had hmir repented of the pow- 
 
 ITara. ted S, C lumbus, and every new d.s- 
 
 •™holly inca*;^^^^^^^ P- '»-• 'rrZ' 
 TLT^ZI a.^Higned to Columbus, and a prona- 
 ^T^v^n him of being restored to his othcc in 
 rwryrrs' wh.. all^ngry passions w^r.J- 
 
 Si^S":nssr=-rp,:u 
 
 WhTe these events were taking place, Co 
 lumbu remained with the court at Grana 
 Seavoring to S^so'•e^Sr;r?iSake 
 re\pSorrrfcrr"tKoly sepu^^^^^^ 
 
 Seat Sveries were only prepara^ry- but 
 tion, *"^ "°JTL,^ee„ the countries already 
 
 vented his expedition to the holy »^V^^f[^ 
 Heal.tra.>Iitted. o copies ot «^l the let- 
 "r. and grants he had -ccrved fr.m. .he - 
 
 ereigns,. with an ^VV"'^ '\,^^;V X" i» 
 >n<l n vmdicatton oi bis rignis, ly ■» • 
 
 Ekr^^iraT^xs-i^i! 
 
 Lir He had four small ^e.^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 ;-:::;ft^:nyEr:ndf^;f^i 
 
 SlVru/aS-portoRico for S- I)omingo 
 
 where he wishe.i t<. '=^'^^'''^f^?,"'''r^^^''„l^^ 
 srls which saile.! extremely ill. This course 
 was c. ntrary both U) his own plan and the or- 
 was •:""",,./ i.i„„ i,v which he had been for- 
 ders oi the King, "y 21. . , fv,i,imhii« 
 
 Sj ScckJ l.y Ih. op|..o..io» or the ... 
 W.T« .ho h..W »d .cglej«d lj» rep^^^^^^^^ 
 
 rhSrhS„ts;rr.--'^; 
 
 .„ .w .rh.,™». : .ho .hip «■»"»;"« J^; 
 
 Sr^re-'^or^isEfH 
 5 ±=srro^7;o i;i"Th. 
 
 :e'';rjnV4ShrilsSofo's.s 
 
 
4- 
 
 
 304 
 
 CHEWTOITHBR COLUMBUe. 
 
 blv Yucatan or Mexico, but Cdlumlms turnrd 
 east. l.H.kinR for th« .up|.o«n<l .trait. He 
 ma.lc but slow progrew. btnnR "I'l-"""' ^X, ''"= 
 wiml. an.l c.rrcnts. an.l a fm|..;Ht which he 
 gays surpassed in vi-lrnco and duration any 
 he had ever seen. At iant they doubled a 
 cane, which he mm> . <Jracms a Dios, as the 
 coast turning direct south gave tVm a trcj 
 navigation and favorable wind. They sf.pped 
 at a river to take in wood and water, but 
 the sudden swell of the sea in the estuary 
 swamped one of the boats, whose whole crew 
 perished. Leaving this n>«l'»"«^y>y,. l'"'.' • 
 bolumbus next anchored near an In.lmn v 1- 
 lace named Cariarri, where he was kindly 
 en'tertained, and remained sotnc time to re- 
 frenh his men. He next sailed «1""? t'^'l ff- 
 Eion afterward named Costa Rica or the Kith 
 Coast, from the mines of the precious metals 
 found in its mountains, and in his tratTic with 
 the natives procured, for the merest trifles, 
 several largo plates of gold which they wore 
 as ornaments. 
 
 Their various arrangements were soon com- 
 ,,l,.ted. but the riv.-r, lately swollen by rain, 
 in the mountains, was now so shallow that 
 his vessels could not poss over the bar at 
 its mouth, and he wos detained till another 
 inundation should set them free. Meantime, 
 Quibian, the caci.iue of the In.lians, resolve, 
 to expel the unwelcome guests, and collected 
 his warriors. Diego Mende/., notary to the 
 fleet, susp.cted their designs, and, venturing 
 boldly into their camp, had his suspicions con- 
 firmed. A native, too, revealed the plot of 
 his countrymen to the admiral. Ihey inte^nd- 
 ed to attack the fort by n.gR set it on firo. 
 and kill all the white men. Tho Adelantado 
 resolved to anticipate them, and marching into 
 their camp with seventy-five men, seized 
 Quibian. and sent him away .-aptive in a boa , 
 but the wilv savage contrived to free himselt 
 from his b.m,ls, j.lungcd int<. the sea. and es- 
 caped. Returning to his dwelling, he found 
 it wosted and his family carried into captivi- 
 
 tes of gold which tney wore - «"-■•' "— ^ ^^,, „;^ .^ ..^t to sea. 
 Many reports of countries in ty -^^he adn ral ha^ ^ ^J^.^^^ ^^^^^^^ 
 
 ind 
 
 us ornuiiu;"!"-'' i.*—j .~^---- 
 the west, rich in gold and silver, were com 
 municated to him, and probably had reference 
 to Mexico or Peru; hut instead of following 
 these, he continued east, looking for the ima- 
 einarv strait that was to open up a possoge to 
 the east. He next touched at a harbor nomei 
 Puerto Bello, from its beauty, and afterward 
 was forced to take shelter in a sma 1 jwrt, so 
 deep that there was no anchorage till the ships 
 almost touched the land. The sailors used to 
 leap on shore during the night, and so pro- 
 voked the Indians by their bad conduct that 
 they assembled in great numbers to attack the 
 ships, but were dispersed on the first dis- 
 charge of artillery. Here Columbus despair- 
 ing of finding any passage through the main- 
 land, turned back to explore the nch country 
 he had left behind. 
 
 The wind, which had opposed their cast- 
 ward progress for three months, now suddenly 
 changed to the west, and they were driven 
 out tS sea by a tremendous storm, which con- 
 tinued for nine days. The sea boiled like a 
 caldron, and at night its waves resembled 
 great surges of flame; the thunder and light- 
 ning were almost incessant, and the rain 
 poured down in torrents into their open ves- 
 sels. One day a waterspout posscd close by 
 1 . _ 1^1 » :„:....;»» tViom nni! alter 
 
 was only waiting for a fair wind. Before he 
 rould sail, however, the Indians had attacked 
 the fort, and though repulsed, had again assem- 
 bled in great numbers, massacre.l ii boat s 
 crew, which had been sent on shor,; for wtwd, 
 and shut the .Spaniards up willnn their deten- 
 ces The admiral was in great onxiety tor 
 his brother, the high surf prev.nting any com- 
 munication with the shore, when during the 
 night he hoard a mysterious voice reproach- 
 ing him with his want of faith in God, who 
 had given him the keys to unlock the gates 
 of the ocean sea, shut by such mighty choins. 
 Immediately after this vision tlie sea became 
 calm, and the Adelantado, willi Ins followers, 
 embarked onboard the vessels, leaving the set- 
 tlement deserted. The family of the cacique 
 confined in the ships had partly escaped and 
 partly destroyed themselves in despair at 
 leaving their native land. . 
 
 Columbus now sailed for Hispaniola, but 
 the winds and currents earned him far west 
 of his appointed port. One of the caravels 
 had been left in the riv, Helen, another w- 
 80 wasted that it had to be deserteu r. the 
 voyage, and the two that remaimd w.re so 
 honeycombed by the ti^redo a- to bo -scarcely 
 seaworthy. Columbus 'rjed to beat v 
 
 i'els: One day a waterspout P-ed close by s^awor^hy ^^J^ -^^ ^^^^ ^^^ . 
 the ships, but without injuring them and after j "7™' j-^^^ y, vessels might founder 
 great difficulties they atlas. reach..d the rive. ; -'-l "Jl^«J'^,*^^o^un them aground on the 
 lelen, or. the coast °[}"''S:^''\'^llh^ \ Sast of Jamaica, where they soon filled with 
 niained some tim- .tUl his "7^^«„^- '^-« ^^^^^^^ 
 ^tft.irn3:.Sr5r\^^| P -d stem fbr ^crew. and remained 
 
 very rn-.i >" a'J'"- v.w. ....--" -o - "„ , 
 
 he ha<'. fo'?n! one of those places whence bol- 
 omon had procured his unbounded wealth, and 
 resolved to f^'jnd a new colony. Eighty men 
 were to ren;ain with the Adelantado, while 
 Columbua returned to Spain for supplies. 
 
 castled in the sea. His trusty follower. Die 
 ao Mendez, went on shore and arranged with 
 L Indians to supply them with provisions, 
 and then offered to proceed to H.«pam^a m 
 an Indian canoe to ask rehef. With hira Co- 
 
 s^l-^. , 
 
mm 
 
 wprfl ioon com- 
 8W()ll)-ii by rains 
 mt tthullow that 
 ovrr the bar at 
 ineil till another 
 Vrfi. Meantime, 
 Tndinnn, rpmilved 
 8t», and collected 
 fz, notary to the 
 i«, and, venturing 
 liH suspicion* con- 
 enletl the plot of 
 ■al. They jntend- 
 jjlit, net it on firo, | 
 " Thf Adclantado 
 and marchinp; into 
 five men, acized 
 r.-nptive in a boat, 
 /fd to free himself 
 
 the sea, and e»- 
 Iwelling, he found 
 irried into captivi- 
 put out to HPa, and 
 
 wind. Before he 
 dinns had attacked 
 d.had apain assem- 
 lassocreil n boat's 
 on shoro for wixxl, 
 williin their defen- 
 n preat anxiety for 
 ireventing any com- 
 e, when during the 
 )us voice reproach- 
 faith in God, who 
 ;o unlock the gates 
 such mighty chains, 
 lion the sea became 
 , with 111* followers, 
 isels, leaving the set- 
 amily of the cacique 
 partly escaped and 
 lives in despair at 
 
 for Hisponiola, but 
 carried him far west 
 One of the caravels 
 r Belen, another w 
 
 be desertevl ti the 
 at remaini;d w^re so 
 "do a" to bo scarcely 
 •ried to beat v; ' - 
 ..rfrorta were 'n vain, 
 vessels might founder 
 them aground on the 
 
 they soon filled with 
 hatcned cabins on the 
 
 crewa, and remained 
 
 1 trusty follower, Die- 
 ore and arranged with 
 them with provisions, 
 ceed to Hispaniola in 
 relief. With hira Co- 
 
 
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IIR 
 
 r-*-^(^* „. 
 
 CIIRISTOPHKR COLUMBUS. 
 
 365 
 
 lumbns sent letters to the sovereigns, giving a 
 n mo-'t glowing description ot the Inml now 
 di-;covere(l, nnil imlulging in romantic visions 
 c.ntrasting strangely with his actual condition 
 _"liH)ke"n 'lown by oge and infirmities, 
 racked with pain, confined to his bed, and 
 «hut up i>i a "vrcck on the coast of a r(;mote 
 
 and savage 
 
 n„ ^u>»s- islond." Mendez set out on his 
 (■xncdition, accompanied by one Spaniard and 
 MX Indians. He reached the end of the 
 i«imid, but was taken prisoner by some hostde 
 L'diuns who determined to kill them. He 
 contrived to escape in his canoe, and returned 
 to the ships, where he oflercd to make a sec- 
 ond attempt. He was now accompanied m 
 another canoe by a Genoese named t lesci), 
 while the Adclantado guarded them along the 
 coast. T&king advantage of a calm day, the 
 canoes set sail and !*oon lost sight of land, but 
 on the second day the water was almost ex- 
 liaustod, and one of the Indians died under 
 the heat and labor. In the evening even the 
 leaders had begun to despair, when the rising 
 moon showed them the island of Navassa, a 
 mere barren rock, but containing water in the 
 hollow clefts. They remained here a day, 
 livincr on shell-fish, and on the fourth day 
 reached Hispaniola, distant about a hundred 
 miles from Jamaica. Mendez proceeded along 
 he coast for San Domingo, but hearing that 
 the governor ^^as in Haragua, he left his ca- 
 noe and proceeded overland to meet him. 
 Ovando promised to send immediate relief, but 
 delayed from day to day and month to month. 
 A. new misfortune had in the meantime 
 fallen on Columbus. Part of the crew, led 
 bv a person of the name of Porras, rose in 
 m'utiny, and seizing some canoes that Colum- 
 bus had bought from the natives, deserted 
 him and the sick, and resolved to sail for 
 Hispaniola. They took what arms and pro- 
 visions they chose, and proceeded along the 
 coast plundering and abusing the Indians. 
 They made two attempts to leave the island, 
 but were driven back by the wind, and tl en 
 wandered about the country, supporting them- 
 selves by robbing the natives. Columbus, ov 
 skilful arrangements, had recruited the health 
 and spirits of those who remained with him, 
 but the Indians began to relax in supplying 
 him with provisions, and as the toys given 
 in iiayment became more common, asked a 
 far higher price for what they brought. In 
 this extremity Columbus, knowing that on a 
 particular night an eclipse of the moon would 
 take place, resolved to use it to intimidate the 
 natives. He assembled all the caciques, and 
 told them that the God of the heavens, whom 
 he and his people worshipped, was angry with 
 the Indians for refusing them supplies, and 
 meant to punish them with famine and pesti- 
 lence. As a token of this they would that night 
 
 see the moon become dark and change its color. 
 Some of the Indians derided the prediction, 
 but when they saw the dark shadow stealing 
 over the moon, they were seized with terror, 
 and hurried to the ships with provisions, en- 
 treating Columinis to intercede to avert the 
 threatened calamity. Columbus rctiicd to 
 his cabin to commune with the Deity, while 
 the Indians filled the woods with their wild 
 lamentati<ms ; and when the eclipse was afc^at 
 to diminish, Columbus came forth and void 
 that he had prevailed with God in their bo 
 half, and that they would be pardoned (m con- 
 Jilion of fulfilling their promises, in sign of 
 
 which the darkness would now withdraw Irom 
 the moon. Columbus was thenceforth re- 
 garded by the Indians with owe, as possessed 
 of supernatural powers, and from that time nc 
 want of provisiims was felt in the ships. 
 
 EiMit months had now passed oway, with 
 no i)rospect of relief, and a new mutiny was 
 about to break out, when one evening a ves- 
 sel was seen oil' the harbor. Next Jay a boat 
 came from it to the ships, in which was Es- 
 cobar, one of the former rebels against Colum- 
 bus. He hud been sent by Ovando, probably 
 as a spy, for. after a short convtrsation with 
 Columbus, and giving him a letter from the 
 governor, he departed. The crew were much 
 disappointed at this desertion, but were reas- 
 sured by the admiral, who m'iA that Escobar's 
 vessel was too small to take the whole, and 
 that he had sailed for larger ships. Columbus 
 afterward sent a messenger to the mutineers, 
 offering them a free pardon and passage home, 
 provided they would return to their obedi- 
 ence. Porras rejected all conditions, and to 
 render his men hopeless of forgiveness, re- 
 solved to attack and plunder the ships. Co- 
 lumbus sent his brother to meet them, who 
 agoin offered them pardon, but, confident in 
 their numbers, the rebels would listen to no 
 terms, and attacked the Adelantado. fhey 
 were well received by this experienced sol- 
 dier, who took Porras captive with his own 
 hand, when his followers fled, leaving several 
 slain. Next day the fugitives sent a petition 
 for ])ardon binding themselves to obedience 
 by horrid imprecations. Columbus granted 
 this request, and at length, after a year of de- 
 lay, two vessels arrived, one fitted out by 
 Mendez at the admiral's expense, the other by 
 Ovando, whose long neglect had roused the 
 public indignation so that even the clergy 
 were condemning it from the pulpit. On tlie^ 
 28th of June, 1504, Columbus took leave ot 
 the wreck which had been so long his home, 
 amid the tears of the Indians, who regretted 
 the departure of their celestial visitants. On 
 the 13th of August he anchored at San Do- 
 mingo, where he was received with the high- 
 est marks of distinction by the people, in 
 
 •iiisiwi^ 
 
 '^^ 
 
 ■ M 
 
 
 rtk.-j 
 
 '%M 
 
 
 u4l 
 
366 
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 
 
 which the governor saw fit to Qn;ree, There 
 was, however, no friendly feehngs between 
 thum, and Columbus found reason to com- 
 plain of the way in which the island, where 
 he had so strong an interest had been gov- 
 erned. 
 
 The condition to which Hispaniola had 
 been reduced during the absence of Colum- 
 bus, is the best refutation of the calumnies 
 of his enemies. Ovando had been accompa- 
 nied to the island by a large band of adven- 
 turers, who on their arrival set out for the 
 mines, but. unaccustomed to labor, and ignor- 
 ant of the method of collecting the precious 
 metals, sewn exhausted their store of provis- 
 ions without any result, and returned in utter 
 poverty to tlie town, where more than a thou- 
 sand of them died of want and disease. Isa- 
 bella had ordered the Indians to be set free, 
 when they, of course, refused to labor in the 
 mines. A new decree was then obtained, by 
 which they were to work a short time for 
 hire, and in order to aid in their conversion. 
 On this pretence they were anew portioned 
 out among their former masters, who treated 
 them with the most brutal cruelty. Las Ca- 
 sas, an eyewitness, says : " They were com- 
 pelled to labor by the lash, fed on unsubstan- 
 tial cassava bread, and so si)aringly that they 
 scrambled like dogs under the table for the 
 bones thrown to them by their masters ; and 
 when at last dismissed, they were found dead 
 on the road home, or lyinp gasping under the 
 trees, faintly crying 'Hunger, hunger!'" 
 Many fled to the mountains, others killed 
 themselves in despair, and before twelve 
 years from its first discovery was over, sev- 
 eral hundred thousands of its once hap.'y na- 
 tives had been sacrificed to the lust and ivar- 
 ice of the white men. A more striking fate 
 was reserved for the people of Xaragua, still 
 independent, and governed by Anaconda, the 
 wife of Caonabo, formerly mentioned. Ovan- 
 do marched thither with three hundred men, 
 and was received in tho most friendly maimer 
 by the natives. On a Sunday afternoon he 
 assembled the chiefs and people to witness a 
 mock fight among his soldiers, but at an ap- 
 pointed signal took all the caciques who had 
 met in his lodgings, to the number of eighty, 
 prisoners, forced from them by torture a con- 
 fession of guilt, and then consumed them in 
 the flames r.f the house. His troops, mean- 
 while, massacred the naked and defenceless 
 Indians, shut up in a square whence they 
 could not escape. The excuse for this treach- 
 ery was an alleged conspiracy of the natives, 
 for which Anaconda was subsequently hang- 
 ed, and the fertile country reduced to a deso- 
 late wilderness. Another orovince, Higuey, 
 was still independent, but the Spaniords soon 
 penetrated there ulso, and after an obstinate 
 
 but unavailing resistance, massacred or sub- 
 dued the people, and taking the cacique pris- 
 oner, hanged him like a common felon. In 
 this war the Spaniards committed deeds of 
 horrid and atrocious cruelty, such as can not 
 now even be related, so that their country- 
 man. Las Casas, says: "All these things, 
 and others revolting to human nature, my 
 own eyes beheld, and now I almost fear to c- 
 peat them, scarce believing myself, or wheth- 
 er I have not dreamed them." 
 
 Such was the state of the once rich and 
 happy island, when Columbus returned to it 
 after his long absence, more like a region giv- 
 en as a i)rey to evil spirits, tbon the eurthly 
 paradise he originally imagined it. He left 
 It for Spain, on the 12th of September, 1.504, 
 after assisting from his private funds many of 
 the companions of his misfortunes, some of 
 whom had been the most violent among the 
 rebels. His vessel suH'ered much from tem- 
 pests, and he himself was confined to bed by 
 the gout, but arrived in Sjjain on the 7tV of 
 November, and took up his residence at Se- 
 ville. Trouble followed him even here, the 
 revenue he should have received from the Iri- 
 dies being withheld by the governor, and his 
 remonstrances to the king unheeded. The 
 calumnies of his enemies prevailed against 
 him, though he had, in his own words, " serv- 
 ed their majesties with as much zeal and dil- 
 igence as if it had been to gain Paradise." 
 His best friend was now gone, Isabella hav- 
 ing died on the 26th November, of deep mel- 
 ancholy caused by the death of her favorite 
 children. Columbus remained in Seville du- 
 ring the winter, his health not permitting him 
 to proceed to court, where the king received 
 all his applications for justice with cold indif- 
 ference. In May he was able to travel to 
 Segovia, where he had an interview with 
 Ferdinand, who received him with cold pro- 
 fessions of kindness and evasive promises. 
 The king never meant to keep his word—-" a 
 little more delay, a little more disappoint- 
 ment, a little more infliction of ingratitude, 
 and this loyal and generous heart would cease 
 to beat; he should then be delivered from 
 the just claims of a well-tried servant, who, 
 in ceasing to be useful, was considered by 
 him to have become importunate." 
 
 And this event was now at hand. Tortur- 
 ed by disease, and despairing of justice, Co- 
 lumbus having made a will settling all his af- 
 fairs with scrupulous exactness, and perform- 
 ed the pious offices required by his religion, 
 expired with great resignation, on the 20th of 
 May, 1506, in about the seventieth year of 
 his age. His remains were first deposited in 
 the convent of St. Francisco, whence they 
 were transferred in 1513 to a monastery at 
 Seville, and in 1536, along with the body of 
 
nossacred or snb- 
 ; the cacique pris- 
 ominon felon. In 
 umitted deeds of 
 ', such as can not 
 lat their country- 
 All these things, 
 umnn nature, my 
 [ almost fear to e- 
 myself, or wheth- 
 fi." 
 
 the once rich and 
 bus returned to it 
 3 like a region g^iv- 
 , than the eurthly 
 ^ined it. He left 
 September, 1.504, 
 ate funds many of 
 sfortunes, some of 
 violent among the 
 J much from tem- 
 confined to bed by 
 loin on the 7th of 
 is residence at Se- 
 nim even here, the 
 reived from the In- 
 governor, and his 
 I unheeded. The 
 i prevailed against 
 own words, " serv- 
 much zeal and dil- 
 to gain Paradise." 
 !one, Isabella hav- 
 mber, of deep mel- 
 ath of her favorite 
 lined in Seville du- 
 not permitting him 
 e the king received 
 tice with cold indif- 
 s able to travel to 
 an interview with 
 him with cold pro- 
 l evasive promises, 
 keep his word — " a 
 J more disappoint- 
 ition of ingratitude, 
 us heart would cease 
 be delivered from 
 -tried servant, who, 
 was considered by 
 irtunate." 
 
 ff at hand. Tortur- 
 iring of justice, Co- 
 ill settling all his af- 
 ctness, and perform- 
 ired by his religion, 
 ation, on the 20th of 
 ! seventieth year of 
 ere first deposited in 
 neisco, whence they 
 3 to a monastery at 
 ing with the body of 
 
 his son Diego, were transported to Hispanio- 
 la, and interred in the cotliedral of San Do- 
 mingo. Even there they were not destined 
 to rest in peace, but in 1795, when the island 
 was given up to France, were removed to 
 Havano, in Cuba. Ferdinand erected a mon- 
 ument to his memory, or rather of his own 
 in'Ttttitude, inscribed thus : " For Castile and 
 Leon, Columbus found a New World." 
 The true monument of the great Genoese is 
 the vast continent he made known to man- 
 kind — his true reward, the gratitude of pos- 
 terity, and the fame that will attend him to 
 the latest ages. His actions show his char- 
 acter in its truest ond noblest light, especiully 
 when contrasted with those of his contempo- 
 raries, with whom he came into immediate 
 contact. His imagination was ardent, and 
 apt to lead him astray, but regulated l)y a 
 knowledge of science rare in those days. 
 His ambition was lofty and soaring, and thus 
 the source of much misfortune to him. He 
 was not satisfied with common rewards, but 
 sought others which the haughty dignity of 
 the Spanish monarch felt degraded by grant- 
 ing, and the very imi>ortance of his services 
 became a reason for withholding from him his 
 due reward. Avarice sci "is to have influen- 
 ced his mind leas than ' r. it and dignity, and 
 he ivas always more disposed to maintain his 
 authority by mildness than severity. His 
 conduct to the poor Indians is the darkest 
 spot on his character, and when we read of 
 thf misery and destruction his discovery en- 
 ta\Ied on that unoffending race, we almost 
 feel as if his own suffe.-ings wjre demanded 
 by justice. Though he often triet" lefend 
 the natives from the oppressions i j T 1- 
 lowers, we can not forget that it wa^ h(i :■. n- 
 stant appeals to the low avarice of the Span- 
 ish court, and the visions of gold and precious 
 stones, by which he endeavored to prove the 
 value of his discoveries, that drew to the 
 New World that horde of lawless rutfians 
 who were the great cause of all his trials. 
 He led out colonies by the hope of gold, 
 wrested from the hands of weak and defence- 
 less savages, and his reckless followers, balk- 
 ed of their prey, turned on him as a deceiver. 
 This curse of the greed of gold, has adhered 
 to the Spanish colonies even to the present 
 day, like a malignant pestilence, wasting their 
 strength and never suffering them to take root 
 in the land. It is but justice to this great 
 man to remark, that many of his errors were 
 those of his time, and that even the church 
 justified his treatment of the natives. His 
 l)ftiest imaginings also fell short of the won- 
 derful reality. " How would his magnani- 
 mous spirit have been consoled," says his elo- 
 quent historian, " amid the afflictions of age, 
 and the cares of penury, the neglect of a fickle 
 
 public, and the injustice of an ungrateful king, 
 could he have anticipated the splendid em- 
 pires which were to spread over the beautiful 
 world he had discovered ; and me nations, 
 tongues, and languages, which were to fill its 
 lands with his renown, and to revere and bless 
 his name .to the latest posterity." 
 
 It may not be uninteresting to mention the 
 subsequent fortunes of the family of Colum- 
 bus. He was succeeded in his rights as vice- 
 roy of the New World by his son Diego, 
 described as a man of great integrity, of re- 
 spectable talents, and of a frank, and gentle 
 dispos'.tion. He came forward to claim the 
 r(!stitution of the family offices and privileges; 
 but Ferdinand was not inclined to bestow on 
 the son what he had withheld from the higher 
 merit of the father. After two years' vain 
 solicitation, Diego only obtained leave to pros- 
 ecute his claim in the ordinary courts of law. 
 The suit, commenced in 1508 and continued 
 for several years, was decided in his favor, 
 but the court had no power to enforce compli- 
 ance on the monarch. At last, Diego having 
 married a niece of the celebrated duke of 
 Alvn, the chief favorite of the king, the mon- 
 arch yielded to this powerful influence what 
 he had denied to justice. Ovando was re- 
 called in compliance with a promise lor.g be- 
 fore made to the queen on her deathbed ; and 
 Diego appointed with the same powers. He 
 went out to San Domingo in 1509, with his 
 wife, his two uncles, and his brother, and 
 ruled with a degree of splendor hitherto un- 
 known. But he could not reform the abuses 
 that had cre|)t into the colony ; factious men 
 still disputed his authority, and the oppression 
 and destruction of the Indians continued. In 
 1.519, Cuba was colonized, and the mines in 
 Hispaniola being exhausted, the culture of 
 the sugar-cane, a more certain source of rich- 
 es was introduced. On the representation of 
 the Dominican friars, the labor of the natives 
 was diminished, and negro-slaves from Afri- 
 ca employed instead, but treated with a bar- 
 barity surpassing even that infli.ted on the 
 Indians. In 1515, Diego repaired to court to 
 answer charges brought against him; but 
 though his innocence was admitted, he con- 
 tinued involved in long and troublesome liti- 
 gation with the fiscal officers of the crown. 
 He returned to the island in 1520, but was 
 recalled about three years afterward, and 
 spent the rest of his life i.i the vain endeavor 
 to obtain justice from the court, having died 
 near Toledo in 1526. His wife claimed the 
 inheritance for his son, Don Luis, who, find- 
 ing his dignities and privileges sources of vex- 
 ation to himself, resigned them to the empe- 
 ror Charles V., and in return was created 
 duke of Veragua, and received a fixed sum 
 of money for his claim to a tenth of the prod- 
 
 .....^ 
 
 "%m 
 
 'htH->-. 
 
 
 
 
3fl8 
 
 KXKHCISK OK THE EYES. 
 
 ,Ke of thn In.lies. In 1578, all the bsUi- 
 .urm«l" hou:,of C..luml.u.w,.r. oxnnrt 
 „ M." lawsuit c..Trun.>.H-e.l. wh,,-h wn. «r, 
 
 ,,.11... u l,r«r,ch of tl.o r..rtu,2«ose h-use f 
 Bra"nn/.i, and the gront-sranilson of Dicgo, 
 tli<^ el.l.'st son of Columbus. 
 
 Columl.us's l.rother. the A.l.lnnta.lo s.u^- 
 vivr.l lii.n several yenrs, but wns never em- 
 ;:;:ainanyom/eofin.port«nce.U.ok^^^^^ 
 
 !,.ini- irulou. of the t.«. great '""->'^"" ' J J^" 
 famil V . Femnmlo. the .econ.l son of Colurn- 
 bus. umdv several voyages to the Now Wor d. 
 nn.l also travelled over many parts of Lurope, 
 Asia, an.l Africa. He p..sses9e.l S""'' "» »- 
 ral abilities and studious habits, and collected 
 a library of more than twenty thousand vol- 
 umes, which he left to the cathedral of Se- 
 ville, where he died in 1539. aged about <ifty- 
 „ne years. He wrote several vvorks, the on- 
 ly one of which that is known being his h s- 
 tory of his father the admiral. It 19 singular 
 that this history only exists in Spanish, a re- 
 translation from an Italian translation ol tht 
 original. This has grven rise to rnauyj:""'^ 
 in names and dates, but the work is sti 1 en- 
 title.l to great credit, and forms the iounda- 
 ion of aU the biographies of Cdumbvs; one 
 of the best and fullest of which is th . , ro- 
 duction of Washington Irving. It;\'"f'^ 
 work that we have been chieHy 'nJ«>"f '" 
 drawing up this account of the fortunes ot the 
 illustrious Genoese, whose merits have sur- 
 vived all calumny, and are indelibly inscribed 
 on the history of the world. 
 
 EXERCISE FOR THE EYKS. 
 
 BT DR. W. A. ALCOTT. 
 
 come, the eyesight of the race th<'n on earth 
 would be far better than it is likely to be. as 
 things are now going on. This is nit saying 
 ilint"spectaclps may not in some instances, be 
 udvanta'-eouslv used, but only nt the extreme 
 to which we have alluded, would be tar more 
 tolerable than that which now exists. Nine 
 in ten, perhajis ninety-nine in a humhed who 
 use glasses are injured by them m(«t uixiues- 
 
 tionably. „ . . ». r 
 
 The grand point after oil m the worK of 
 improving the eye--iusl os it is in the work 
 of improving any other organ— is to give it a 
 proper amount of healthful exercise. In one | 
 word, it must be used. ; 
 
 Exercise of the eye, to be useful, must be 
 varied. We must not reod always, nor al- 
 ways refrain from reading. We must not al- 
 ways read the coarsest print nor must we go 
 to the other and worse extreme, that of always 
 using small print. We must not use a strong 
 light always ; nor must we resolve not to use 
 a strong light at all. We must not read too 
 much by artificial lights, nor need we refuse 
 to use a lamp or candle in any circumstance. 
 We should not read much when the mind or 
 the body is in a state of considerable fatigue; i 
 nor need we go to ihe other extreme, of never 
 reading at all in such circumstances. 
 
 The course which science, experience, and 
 observation, would seem to point out, is the 
 following. Keep the eyes c(K.l.~Use them 
 much, generally in a full stron- light, and in 
 the open air; but at any rate, use them. Ac- 
 custom them on occasions, to almost every 
 degree of light, every kind of artificial ar- 
 rangement : taking care, however, especially 
 in reading small or bad type, and in using a 
 light badly constructed or in a bad position, 
 not to go so far as to induce fatigue. We 
 believe that with these latter cautions, the eye 
 will always improve by use ; and that, on the 
 contrary,' more it is favored and nululged— 
 babied as it were— the worse will be its con- 
 dition. We believe that thousands tend or 
 baby their eyes into chronic or deep-seated 
 disease, when constant and vaned exercise, 
 and a due attention to light, air. and water, 
 would have rendered them as strong as our 
 We have no more use for spectacles 
 
 It has been very generally supposed, that 
 in order to strengthen the eye, above all, it 
 debilitated or diseased, it must be little used. 
 From this mistaken view have arisen a thou- 
 sand errors. To it in no small degree, we 
 
 owe the mighty deluge of «Pf \»';^^,^ °J„"^' ;;^,;;\han wriiad 7t tw^^^^^ ""^ 
 
 sorts, of which we have «l'-«»'ly,^»"^XXl Twe mert^^^ use any for twenty years to 
 plaincl; together with a host of me'^han cal do we mean to ^.^^ im,;„nity-for 
 
 Utrivances for favoring weak T„^' "^^^ H.tie while at once_in all sorts of light; 
 proving th<«e already strong. To it, more ^ '"{'^^^'^ ^ , h,j^,„ years— And yet 
 over, we owe in no s""'" J^/l"'. •""'''' "1',°' I ^ ..E to c„m,„o„ appearances no man 
 superHcialityinlearning^vhich.s ^.m^^^^^^^^ ---^,, b% him, so far as 
 
 eyesight was concerned, fifteen or twenty 
 years ago, than ourselves, and though we 
 could not lay too much stress on the experi- 
 ence of one individual, we must be permitted 
 to believe that it is worth something. 
 
 r which IS so common QiMinuiig v" ..w. ........ -,, 
 
 to regard spectacles as a sort of substitute for 
 thought and solid knowledge. 
 
 Nmv we are of those who believe that if no 
 person in the world would use any sort of 
 spectacles or glasses for a thousand years to 
 
rnr.n then on enrlli 
 t is likely to be, hs 
 
 This is nt t snyiiii,' 
 
 soine infctnni'os, he 
 mly nt the nxtrenie || 
 , would he far more J 
 
 now exists. Nine ! 
 le in n hundred who 
 
 them most umiues- \ 
 
 I 
 
 1 
 
 all in the work of I 
 ts it is in the work I 
 rpon — is to give it a ! 
 ul exercise. In one 
 
 ) be usefnl, must he 
 end always, nor al- 
 ii. "We must not al- 
 irint nor must we go 
 retne, that of always 
 mist not use a strong 
 kve resolve not to use 
 c must not read too 
 I, nor need we refuse 
 ill any circumstance. 
 ;h when the mind or 
 considerable fatigue; 
 her extreme, of never 
 •cumstances. 
 ence, experience, and 
 1 to point out, is the 
 yes cool. — Use them 
 ill stn)ii ' light, and in 
 / rate, use them. Ac- 
 ions, to almost every 
 kind of artificial ar- 
 ?, however, especially 
 type, and in using a 
 or in a bad position, 
 induce fatigue. We 
 latter cautions, the eve 
 r use ; and that, on tne 
 avored awl indulged — 
 worse will be its con- 
 hot thousands tend or 
 :hronic or deep-seated 
 t and varied exercise, 
 1 light, air. and water, 
 them as strong as our 
 lore use for spectacles 
 venty years of age; nor 
 ly for twenty years to 
 •ad with impunity— for 
 
 • in all sorts of light; 
 
 fifteen years.— And yet 
 1 apiwaronces no man 
 t before him, so far as 
 •ned, fifteen or twenty 
 selves, and though we 
 ch stress on the experi- 
 1, we must be permitted 
 orth something. 
 
 flttit 
 
 Fint Governor of Connecticut 
 
 JOHN WINTHROP, OF CONNECTICUT. 
 
 John W.nthrof, riRST Governor or 
 CoNNECT.cUT.-This distinguished gentle- 
 man for many years the governor of Connec- 
 ac"t. "h^ eldest son of John Wmthrop, 
 the first governor of Massachusetts, and found- 
 er of the city of Boston-that famous pattern 
 of piety ana justice, as he is called in the 
 early cLonicks of New England-whu emi- 
 gmted to America in 1630, and brought with 
 him the confidence and respect of the g<)vern- 
 mL he had left, and the. most exalted and 
 upright faculty for the d«l>ef t'e^"™^ *«„ f " 
 ,ume. Graham, adopting the thought of a 
 .lassie historian, says of him that be "ot on y 
 performed actions worthy to be >^'ntten,but 
 produced writings worthy to be /e«d. His 
 Lm John-the subject of this brief memoir- 
 was warcely less distinguished. He was the 
 E of idl l» father's talent, prudence, and 
 
 virtues, with a superior shore of hum^n le^™" 
 ing-much addicted to philosophical study 
 
 and especially to pl^y^x^^V fiJ'Tn'ndo^ VIv- 
 one of the euriy patrons of the London Kxjy- 
 al Society . sfr feans Sloane, and three otli- 
 er members of that society, some fifty years 
 afterward, in commending the grandson of 
 this gentleman to the notice of tjieir assoc^ 
 ates, bear honorable testimony to the good 
 repute in which the ancestor was held. They 
 speak of the learned John W.nthrop, as "one 
 o? the first members of this society, and who 
 in conjunction with others, did greatly con- 
 tribute to the obtaining of our char er; to 
 vvhom the Royal Society in its eariy days 
 :;rnot only indebted for various ingenious 
 communications, but tl»eir museum snU cm 
 tains many testimonies of !>'» f "''/"^"{v":!: 
 1 pecially of things relating to the natural hi8- 
 torv of New England." , 
 
 iJohn Winthrop was elected governor of 
 
 
 
 ^hr ■ ■ •-■»* Hh 
 
 ,•*:'■ «i^ 
 
370 
 
 INDEPENDENCE AND ACCUMULATION. 
 
 Connecticut for several yenrs, in which sta- 
 tion his many valuable (lualities as a gentle- 
 man, a philosopher, and a public ruler, pro- 
 cured him the universal respect of the people 
 under his government ; and his unwearied at- 
 tention to the public business and great un- 
 derstandins; in the art of government, were of 
 unspeakable advantage to them. 
 
 He was twice married, his second wife be- 
 ing the daughter of the celebrated Hugh Pe- 
 ters. By this marriage he had several chil- 
 dren, two of whom were sons. The elder, 
 Fitz-John, followed in the fcnitsteps of his 
 father — was elected governor of Connecticut, 
 and held that post for nine years, commencing 
 in 1698, and continuing till the day of his 
 death. Thus father, son, and grandson, died 
 in the highest office to which the afllections 
 of the people could exalt them. The young- 
 er son was a member of the Massachusetts 
 council, under the new charter granted by 
 William and Mary, and afterward chief-jus- 
 tice of the superior court of thot state. His 
 name was Wait Still, a compound of two 
 family names— the middle name being deriv- 
 ed from the intermarriage of Adam, his great- 
 grandfather, with the family of Still. 
 
 Wait Still Winthrop, the chief justice, ap- 
 pears to have left but two children, of whom 
 John, the only son, resembled his grandfather 
 in an ardent devotion to science, and like him 
 became a distinguished member of the Royal 
 Society ; his introduction to that body being 
 greatly facilitated by the respect in which 
 the memory of his ancestor was yet held. 
 Attracted by the love of his favorite studies, 
 and his attachment to the society of learned 
 men, he. removed to England, and died in 
 1747. He had seven children, of whom two 
 were sons, John Still and Basil. On the 4th 
 of September, 1750, the former married Jane 
 Boriand, of Boston, whose daughter Ann 
 married the late David Sears, Escp,* of that 
 place. 
 
 • Of thU gentleman a note will hardly allow u» 
 the proper suaco to speak of his cliaracter and vir- 
 tues. He was bom on the 12th ol August, 1752. 
 He removed from Chatham to Boston in 1770, and 
 visited angland in 1774. He became acqmnnted 
 with Dr. Franklin in London, and took letters to his 
 friends in France and Holland. He remamed on the 
 continent nearly two years, and with difficulty made 
 hii way beck to Boston. In various modes his ser- 
 vices were useful to his country. During the presi- 
 dency ot the elder Adams, he was one of a commit- 
 tee of the citizens of Boston, for building a fngate 
 (the Boston), toward which he snhscnbed three 
 thousand dollars, and presenting it to government. 
 He was largely interested in the India and China 
 trade, and added much to his fortune. He was dis- 
 tinguished as an intelligent and able financier-— a di- 
 rector in the first "bank of the United States, mm 
 its commencement to its termination— often a referee 
 in intricate cases of mercantile equity ; and his 
 whole career was marked by the most incorruptible 
 integrity, which never for the sake of a paltry advan- 
 
 The name of Winthrop will bo remem- 
 bered as long OS nations exist. It will rank 
 with Newton, Boyle, and Locke, and those 
 philanthropists of every age, who are an or 
 namcnt to human nature, and whoso lives 
 have been devoted to the cultivation of the 
 moral graces, and the advancernent ot social 
 and religious happiness ; enlarging the circle 
 of the human mind, and adorning the princi- 
 ples of philosophy with the precepts of piety. 
 Their fame is identified with the progress of 
 knowledge and the diBusion of virtue. The 
 history of such men sheds a bright and undy- 
 ing lustre upon their country, and will call 
 forth the grateful recollections of unborn gen- 
 erations, so long 08 truth shall triumph over 
 error, and the influence of Christianity bo 
 felt in removing vice and superstition from the 
 hearts of men. 
 
 I 
 
 INDEPENDENCE AND ACCUMULATION. 
 
 There is a remarkable harmony between 
 the moral and physical laws of the universe. 
 The laws of the unwritten revelation of na- 
 ture may be said to give their sanction to the 
 laws of the written revelation of the Bible, 
 They never clash, they always run parallel ; 
 indicating a common source, and ]K)inting to 
 a common issue. We might find a familiar 
 illustration of this great truth in the moral 
 precept of temperance. We shall find the 
 laws of health and orgonization co-operating 
 with the laws of our spiritual being, to bless 
 the man who obeys this moral law — to punish 
 him who disobeys it. We shall find the tem- 
 perate man, other things being equal, in the 
 enjoyment nf vigorous health; we shall find the 
 
 tage violated that ponctilious delicacy which is in- 
 dispensable to the character of a gentleman. 
 
 " An easy mien, engaging in address, 
 Looks which at once ench winning grace express, 
 A life where love and truth were ever johied, 
 A nature erer good and ever kind, 
 A wisdom solid and a Judgment clear, 
 'ITie smile indulgent, and a soul sincere. 
 
 Mr. Sears was the proprietor of a large estate in 
 Waldo county, in Maine, the settlers and tenantry of 
 which honored and revered him, and as they became 
 proprietors of the soil, testified their gratitude for 
 his patriarchal treatment, by naming their towns in 
 iiis honor. He was generous and charitable — the 
 founder of the widows' fund in Trinity church--and 
 a contributor to numerous charities. He died in front 
 of his house in Beaconatreet, struck instantly dead 
 by a stroke of apoplexy, as he was getting into his 
 carriage to make an afternoon visit, on the 19th of 
 October, 1816. " By this affecting event, this town 
 [Boston], has lost an eminent merchant and excel- 
 lent citizen; an only child, an affectionate parent; 
 this church [Trinity], a distinpuisbcd benefactor; 
 society at large, a well bred and hospitable gentle- 
 man. 
 
■"r^ 
 
 p will bo rcmom- 
 ist. It will rank 
 Locke, ond those 
 e, who nre an or 
 and whoso lives 
 cultivation of ih<> 
 ncctncnt ot social 
 ilarging the circle 
 jrning the princi- 
 prccepts of piety, 
 h the progress of 
 1 of virtue. The 
 I bright and undy- 
 itry, and will call 
 ns of unborn gen- 
 hall triumph over 
 f Christianity bo 
 perstition from the 
 
 CCUMULATION. 
 
 harmony between 
 8 of the universe. 
 1 revelation of na- 
 leir sanction to the 
 ition of the Bible, 
 ways run parallel ; 
 ;e, and jxiinting to 
 B;ht find a familiar 
 ruth in the moral 
 We shall find the 
 sation co-operating 
 tual being, to bless 
 )ral law — to punish 
 I shall find the tem- 
 being equal, in the 
 th; we shall find the 
 
 delicacy which ia in- 
 r a gcutlcmau. 
 
 dress, 
 
 lining grace express, 
 
 ■ere ever joiiied, 
 
 kind, . 
 
 ent clear, 
 
 lul nncere." 
 
 tor of > large estate in 
 lettleri and tenantry of 
 m, and as thejr became 
 ed their gratitude fi)r 
 naming their towns in 
 IS and charitable— the 
 in Trinity church— and 
 itiei. He died in front 
 , itnick instantly dead 
 e was getting into his 
 n visit, on the 19th of 
 Bcting event, this town 
 It merchant and excel- 
 ■n affectionate parent; 
 tintniished benefactor i 
 and hospitable gentle- 
 
 INDEPKNDKNCB AND ACCUMULATION. 
 
 371 
 
 intemperate man old in middle life, the victim 
 of low si.iritH, headache, pout, dyspepsia, and 
 delirium tn.ne.m. We might find an illua- 
 traliou ciuully striking in the moral precept 
 of chastity. Terrible are the sanctions with 
 which th/physical laws of health, and organ- 
 izaticni have hedged round this divine statute. 
 The violation of it is indeed tollowed by rot- 
 tenness in the bones. 
 
 Our ourpose in this orticle is to endeavor 
 to show that this harmony b(;tween moral and 
 physical law. prevails most strikingly as rc- 
 ganis the vice against which the tenth com- 
 mandment is directiM. Many and solemn are 
 the denunciatio..s of the spirit of covetousness. 
 We are told that the love of money is the 
 root of uU evil : that we can not serve God 
 and mammoii ; that a rich man can not enter 
 into tlu. kingdom of heaven. We are taught 
 that a man's life consisteth not in the abun- 
 dance of the tilings which he possesseth ; antt 
 commanded to take no thought for the mor- 
 row. How does external nature respond to 
 these doctrines and precepts? Most emphat- 
 ically and uneciuivocally. It sanctions the 
 nrccept, "Take no thought for the morrow, 
 by declaring, that by taking ever so much 
 thought we can not be rich. Whde we sigh 
 for independence, and pursue it with our 
 whole heart, nature declares that we can not 
 be independent. While we accurru ate, ad- 
 din.r house to house, and held to held, nature 
 dectares that there shall be no accumulation 
 of real riches in all her wide donriam. 
 
 Palpable facts seem to contradict these as- 
 sertions. Men do become rich, accumulate 
 property, and attain to that sort of indepeno- 
 ence which enables them to dispense with the 
 necessity of earning bread by the sweat of 
 their brow. These arc but exceptions to the 
 great general rule. The millions of the hu- 
 man family are poor; they have always been 
 poor; they shall always be pwr. AH the 
 riches in the world were no more to the , '>v- 
 erty than a drop of rain to the sand c. • x 
 desert. All the accumulated property in t .e 
 world would not sustain all the men in the 
 world in ladependent idleness for one month ; 
 an<l it is written in the law of the seasons 
 that it shall never be otherwise. 
 
 The principal riches in the world, ana 
 that without which all other riches were 
 worthless, is grain, which is emphatically 
 firmed the staff of life. But the primeval 
 curse is upon the earth, and it does not/"ng 
 forth double harvests. We are told that 
 seedtime and harvest shall never cease , and 
 in this it would appear to be i'}»«"»t«d, gat 
 the annual harvest of the world shall suffice 
 only fur the world's annual rations. At all 
 eve^nts thus it is : nature declares that there 
 shall be no accumulation of grain; hut that 
 
 ll'tttt 
 
 yearly as the seasons revolve we must sow 
 
 our fields and reap our harvests. It is not at 
 
 all probable that there was ever a year nnd a 
 
 halPs 8up|)ly of the first necessary of nte at 
 
 one time in the world. Two thousand years 
 
 agt) a Roman poet thus wrote : — 
 
 " The sire of pods and men, with hard decrees. 
 
 Forbids our ri'fiity to be bouglit vvith case, 
 
 And wills tli.it mortal men, inured to U)il, _^ 
 
 Shall cxorciie writh pains the grudging soil. 
 
 ' It is still the same in these days; though 
 the science of agricdture is probabljr better 
 understood and more successfully reuuced to 
 practice now than at any former period. 
 
 Clothes, which come second in our ist ot 
 necessaries, are suliject to the law which reg- 
 ulates and limits the supply ot food. An er- 
 roneous opinion prevails, that by means ot our 
 mechanical power and machinery, we can 
 produce clothing studs in unlimited quantity, 
 and with as much facility as bank-notes. It 
 were as correct to suppose that millers can 
 produce an unlimited (luantity of Hour, or 
 that bakers can produce loaves in unlimited 
 numbers; whereas it is cleor that the loaves 
 must be limited bv the quantity of flour, and 
 the flour by the "quantity of wheat in the 
 world. It is the same with the raw material 
 of our clothing. The sheep's wool, the cot- 
 ton wool, the flax, the raw silk, which are the 
 materials of our principal textile manutac- 
 tures, are as difficult to produce as grain. 
 They are equally subject to the law of the 
 seasons; and there is as great o difficulty m 
 the way of their rapid increase. Indeed, 
 there are peculiar difficulties in the way of 
 an increase of our clothing matenals. Oram 
 1 can be grown in many countries where cotton 
 and silk can not; and it will be seen at a 
 Clance that there are pecuhar difficulties in 
 fhe way of a rapid increase of the quantity 
 of sheep's wool. .... .v • r 
 
 So as regards food and clothing, the indis- 
 pensable necessaries of life, a nation can nev- 
 er be said to be rich or independent. It can 
 never say with the fool in the parable, Thou 
 hast much goods laid up for many years. 
 But yet there are truth and meaning in such 
 expressions as " the wealth of nations, "the 
 increase of national wealth." In a most im- 
 portant sense, nations may be nch, either as 
 compared with each other, or with themselves 
 at different periods of their history. 
 
 The elementary idea of the wealth of a 
 nation is exceedingly simple. It consists in 
 I the facilities it possesses for performing that 
 ' work which must be performed every year. 
 More particularly, it consists m the nunaber 
 and completeness of its tools, and m its ekiU 
 to use them. Moral law commands, "Lay 
 Lup treasure, on earth," and the pW 
 cal kw of the seasons effectually prohAits 
 
 '"^m 
 
 
 
 ;■ ■;■-".,.. 
 
 ■Ik- 
 
372 
 
 INDEPKNDENCE AND ACCUMULATION. 
 
 nations from breakirg it. as roprds thr r in- 
 ,li,m.tmal.lo riches; but neither moral nor 
 ,M»ka\ law intcrposrs to prevent nations or 
 {.ulividuals from performinR ilxir work w.th 
 as much facility and (luicknensas they please. 
 Accordingly, men have souj-ht out many in- 
 ventions, in which wo find the secret of their 
 riches. The fertile lands of a country. Us 
 aariculturul imidcments. its roads and canals, 
 its .mays and harbors, its shii.s, its factories 
 and muchinery-theHO. and I lie skill to use 
 them, are the elements of a nation s wealth. 
 They are Kk.Is and instruments for the jiro- 
 duction and distribution of its annual supiily 
 of fo<Hlaiid raiment; and aeconlins to their 
 number and i)erfection. and the skill to handle 
 them, is a nation rich or poor. But all ibeso 
 thinjjs are rather the potential m.'ans ot ; 
 weulth, than wealth itself. A nation may be , 
 possessed of all these means and app imiccs , 
 of wealth, an<l yet be pcK.r as regards that in- 
 dispeiisublu wealth of nations, food aii(l cloth- 1 
 inc. If it were possible to multii)ly all these ' 
 thinirs a hundredfold, still the nation that pos- , 
 sessed them might be only a little way n<-arer , 
 to independence than the most untutored tribe 
 of savages. , ,., ,. . , 
 
 But sull there is a noble liberality in the 
 hand of nature. Although the terms on 
 which nations holil their lease of life arc un- 
 remitting toil and labor from year to year, 
 vet provision is made for the support ot two 
 large classes who, from diflerent causes, are 
 incapable of toil. We allude to the young 
 and the old— the wards and the pensioners ol 
 society. Nature makes ample provision for 
 these two classes. While she sternly de- 
 mands that her strong young men shall iollow 
 her as she walks majestically through the 
 seasons, and live by submitting to the prime- 
 val destiny, she pours from her lap an abun- 
 dant supply, not only for her immediate hil- 
 lowers, but for their old men and their little 
 ones. Here we have the first glimpse of a 
 retiring pension fund in the economy of i.a- 
 ture. We shall now briefly trace the process 
 by which men write their names upon the 
 list of pensioners, and become independent, 
 long before nature gives them their discharge 
 from the ranks of labor. . . 
 
 The social compact is a fable ; but it is 
 founded upon enough of reality to warrant us 
 to reason upon its prescriptive laws. One ot 
 the most universally acknowledged of them 
 has reference to the institution of property. 
 Men generally submit to labor as to a neces- 
 sary evil, and long to escape from it t° '"^ 
 imaginary elysium of independence. Such 
 an escape is possible only by mutual accom- 
 modation. In a simple state of society men 
 could not be rich. They would soon reach 
 the liraiu of that accumulation which the 
 
 physical laws of the world permit. They 
 might protluco in one yoor as much grain, and 
 weave as much cloth, as would le.il and 
 clothe them, sav for seven years ; but their 
 independence ot labor would still extend over 
 only sis years; ond before the end of thot 
 time, the rats and the moths, and the wearing 
 elements, would have .. ade inroads upon 
 their stores. But the independence which 
 man can not win singlc-haiKled from nature, 
 he secures by a compact with his brethren. 
 Tht! general jirocess is as follows : He labors 
 hard, anil priKlures more than is reijuired by 
 his immediate wants. He gives the surplus 
 to soriety, and receives in return a bond tor 
 the amount U|.on its nrmliictive powers. All 
 that he produces, whether of corn, rloth, or 
 other less-necessary commodities ot daily use, 
 as well as the ag,';regate pr.Mluco of the cntiro 
 community, is consumed during the yeaf ; but, 
 ut the end of it. the hard-working man holds 
 a mortgage upon part of the next year's prod- 
 uce, even before it exists. He repeats the 
 process. He goes on working hard, or wnrk- 
 lua skilfully, or persuading others to work tor 
 ' him, disiHwing of his surplus protluce, and in- 
 I creasing the number or amount of his bonds 
 upon society, by which wc simply mean mon- 
 ey. At length he is sotisfied that his ac- 
 knowledged claims upon society are suthcicnt 
 to keep him independent of labor all his lite, 
 and then he retires upon a competence. 
 
 An independence thus won does no violence 
 to that natural law which forbids the inde- 
 penilencc of an entire community. It is won 
 by an honest and honorable process ; and the 
 subject of it con comfort himself with the re- 
 flection, that he is only receiving back from 
 society that with which he had intrusted it, 
 or for which he hud given it value. While 
 he was bearing the heat and burden of the 
 day, others who had borne it before him, as 
 well as the little ones who were to bear it at- 
 ter him, were living upon the fruit of his im- 
 mediate labor. All parties were accommoda- 
 ted. They 
 
 » Held their being on the term*, 
 Kach help the othet»." 
 
 One would fain hope, that the time will come 
 when this much-coveted prize of independence 
 will be held out by society as within the reach 
 of all its members ; when the honest, indus- 
 trious man, instead of being haunted all his 
 life by the fear of poverty in his old age, 
 shall have the consolation of knowing, that 
 after a certain period of labor he shall receive 
 his discharge, and be admitted m virtue of his 
 services, into the great hospital of society. 
 
 This were a consummation devoutly to oe 
 
 wished ; but after all, how precarious is the 
 
 I independence of the most independent ! AS 
 
llAMiaiNO KS3AY «;PON UOOMS. 
 
 373 
 
 pcniiit. They 
 mui'h grnin, and 
 voultl i'fcil anil 
 ,rcQr» ; l)ut their 
 ■itill cxtfiiil nvfir 
 ihi) riid of that 
 and thit wearing 
 e inroads upon 
 jendenco which 
 ed from nature, 
 th his brothrtn. 
 ows : 1 lo hibors 
 n is ri'(|uirod l)y 
 fives the surplus 
 cturn a bond for 
 ve powers. All 
 )f corn, rloth, or 
 ities of daily use, 
 lucoof the entire 
 nu the yciif ; but, 
 )rkins man holds 
 next year's prod- 
 
 Ile repeats the 
 ng hard, or wcirk- 
 rthers to work for 
 9 produce, and in- 
 )unt of his bonds 
 imply iiKun mon- 
 lied that his ac- 
 ;iety are sufficient 
 
 labor all his life, 
 :otnpetence. 
 n does no violence 
 forbids the inde- 
 mnity. It is won 
 
 process ; and the 
 nself with the re- 
 leiving back from 
 
 had intrusted it, 
 
 it value. "While 
 ind burden of the 
 I it before him, as 
 were to bear it af- 
 he fruit of his im- 
 were accommoda- 
 
 ;he termi, 
 m." 
 
 the time will come 
 ize of independence 
 Eis within the reach 
 the honest, indus- 
 ug haunted all his 
 ty in his old age, 
 1 of knowing, that 
 3or he shall receive 
 tted in virtue of his 
 ipital of society, 
 tion devoutly to be 
 V precarious is the 
 independent ! As 
 
 w.. apprnn.h the wcekn of harvest, we a e 
 
 wi,biuu thortwoofalisolut.-.tarval.on. 
 
 W.Tf the winds ,oininwMon.Ml f. thrash <> ir 
 |i,.l,lM, <.r the iP.il'-cw to l.hMh' thvn.. "r '" 
 cuter. ni.Mtud.-^ our them, the rwh an. lie 
 H.r. the nobleman and .be l'"«.^"r. « j'"'''' 
 Llike be «went into a e.mnnon ruin. All Ibe 
 otber ri.heH In the world, Uu\uv' the riehe-J ot 
 ur K"l'l''" harvo.t-fiel.U. were u. worthless 
 US th,. llaslM.o.e. of ll..> former. H.U. us re- 
 t-ar.ls this indispei.siible treasure, we lavi 
 MM.n that neither individuals nor nations have 
 Wen or ever can be rich. «'"'"'';".'/ '>;-'; 
 is measure.l out to us. and our < lady bna.l 
 „„ly. IW lakiiifl thou-ht. we could as easily 
 a.bl a cubit lo our btuture, or wash the htm- 
 „,,iun white, as wc c.uld make the nations in- 
 depend..nt of labor for a smyle year. And 
 vet, this independence is one ol our heroic 
 words. We sins songs in its praine. An it.i- 
 DorluMt section of our social in.Htituiions, insu- 
 rance societies, in all their varieties, is louml- 
 ed upon our de»i.»- of it, and may be rcgardei 
 ■ . , . .1,,,....., ,!,> luiiiinst 
 
 I i^s 
 
 \ iiANinuNii KssAY vm mm. 
 
 Wr are inclined to think that the romance 
 
 of lite li''>* U|'<"' '"* '"""l*!"''- S<"-i''»y '* ''."' 
 heman natur.' seen ihrougli a prism, with its 
 rim only fringed with the tints ot poetry, in 
 a liiil.) seaeoast town in Massachusetts, we 
 foun.l more of the pure spirit ot romume tlinn 
 we have ever m.-t in the most crowibul cities 
 „r the most fashionable society. It was o 
 ubMuny morninu, and a driz/ling rain rougJi- 
 cned the air. wh.;n we set out upon our expe- 
 dition. But, seated in a high-backeil cbair, 
 in an old weailier-beatm and timeworn room, 
 we deti.Mj the day, and plotted the writing ot 
 this essay on rooms. 
 
 On lii-st entering, we knocked our head 
 auainst the low rafters, which j)rojeeIe<i Irom 
 tiie c.iiling. We lor«ive the injury in con- 
 siderali.m of the eoiui.liment to our stature. 
 The oreupMit of the r.M)m. an old withered 
 woman, rose at our entrance, gre-ied us cor- 
 dially, ami gave us the old-fashioned, high 
 
 ed uixm our de»ii»- ol it, ami may "« ..s"-'. ■ " V-'. ,, „i,,,i. ,„. ^,^^r g,.nt 
 as s!. .nany breakwat..rs thn^n up again^ -^ ^.^^ 1J;^. an.l 
 
 "We had now 
 
 tl.e dremlJd waves of uncertainty, in th. 
 midst of which we, are destined to lead our 
 lives. After long years of incessant toi ; al- 
 ter the limbs have been stillened with labor. 
 or the brain wasted with thought, or the lieart 
 sbrivelled with feverish longing, one in a 
 tlu.usand attains to an independence which is 
 built upon the world's riches. Society is 
 ple.lged to find him in h.od ami raiment, 
 thoush thousands should be in want of both. 
 But society can discharge its obligations to 
 him only if the seasons are favorable; or, it 
 it does so in unfavorable seasons, it is at the 
 expense of hunger and nakedness to many ot 
 its members. For, we repeat it, the world, as 
 a whole, is poor; there is no accumulation ot 
 real wealth in the richest nation. Poverty is 
 the constant companion of the millions ot the 
 human family. Starvation is olten withm a 
 day's march of countless multitudes of theiri , 
 once a year is within a month of them all. 
 But God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb , 
 and the providence which gives to this large 
 Tamily ite daily hread, while it presents a 
 sublime fact upon which faith, which is be - 
 ter than independence, can rest in peace, ad- 
 ministers a severe reproof to that faithless 
 faintheartedness which is too often the prin- 
 ciiial motive to the pursuit of the phantom 
 independence. 
 
 JuD0i«ENT.— The most necessary talent in 
 a man of conversation, is a gootl judgment. 
 He that has this in perfection is master ot his 
 companion, without letting him see it; an<l 
 has the same advamage over men of other 
 qualitications, as one that can sec would have 
 over a blind man of ten times hia strength. 
 
 L 
 
 leisure to look about us. and make an accurate 
 survey of the room. The unplastercd. r^m^h 
 walls; an.l the bold, out-jutting ratters ot the 
 ceiling, were imbued with a brown rich color, 
 which the smoke of many years ha.l lent. A 
 small tire was burning on the board hearth, 
 I over which swung a simmering kett e, while 
 ' the taint line of blue smoke curled up the 
 deep black throat of the chimney. Ihe 
 chimney was of no moilern date, and con- 
 structed on no utilitarian principles, its 
 breadth and depth were so great, that, with- 
 out inconvenience from the heat, three or 
 four could sit within its wide arms, and en- 
 liven a long winter evening with cossiping 
 tales. Bending forward, we could look out 
 into the sky and ^ee the lazy clouds trailing 
 overhead. The un painted floor was thinly 
 spread with scattered patches of carpet ; and 
 on the faded rug, which covered the hearth, 
 sat an old gray, purring cat. Through the 
 diamonded panes of the narrow windows, the 
 eve looked out upon the leaden gray ot the 
 ocean, fringed with white foam, where the 
 surge kept beating upon the ragged line ot 
 rocks. An old oaken chest of drawers stinxl 
 in the comer, crowned with a row of ol.l cups; 
 and the high mantal-piece was covered with 
 bits of china, and dingy broken glass, i hese, 
 with the rusty bluish-brown coverlet, thrown 
 over the bed in the comer, and strangely 
 harmonizing with the general colorof the room, 
 completed its contents. Opposite i.s sat our 
 aged hostess, with her mob-cap tied snugly 
 under her chin, and sitting m a stulTed high 
 chair, from which to the wall ^y"« ^""S «" 
 old gieen cloak, to protect her l^ack^ from the 
 cold air which whistled through the chinks 
 
 ''■fj" 
 
 
 t*itl^4 
 
 
 
 Wi 
 
 
 
374 
 
 A UAMBLINO E8BAY UPON aooM8. 
 
 iif a clonet-floor Iwhinil her. In a low, trcm- 
 uldUH voice, iriit'rrii|itoil by OHthrnatic imuMrM, 
 Him went on crooning to us of th« old IcucncU 
 o( the |ilncc. Shn told u« of drijadful kIiohIh, 
 niiil Hi«iis, nnd otni'ns, niithi>nticatin^ thftn all, 
 uriil throwiiia the wfii^ht of her own lidinf 
 iiitr) tin- Imlnnce — of dead m«'M, lost at neu, 
 who Clime, ull driiipinp, up the rlK«inR of oth- 
 er xhips nt nisht — ot fiailors, who returned, 
 lifter death, to their wiilow». while itittiiig 
 over their lonely lire* nt niidiiii;lit, listeniiin 
 to the howling of the storm— until the air 
 Srew minty, nnd a sort of thrill came ov.r im, 
 and we waited to Hce some Hupernnturol fchiipe 
 rixe up liefore us. Nowhere clue tlimi in thut 
 old, dun room, eoulil such Ntorien have hren 
 told with ellect in the n(«)n of the day. Hut 
 thi- pliice wnn weathnr-heuten nnd rusty, the 
 light was deprived of its cheerfulnesH liy the 
 diiiKV puneg, and the hoarse unih'r-tone ot the 
 surge kept up a ghastly nccompuniment to her 
 quivering voice. When we left her, the dny 
 seemed unnatural and loo bright. So we 
 wandered to the shore to hear the l>iTiiking 
 surf, and accustom ourselves to the daylight. 
 
 We are all pieces of furniture. As the 
 trees across a stream prow toward each other, 
 and interclasp their boughH, grow these na- 
 tures of ours to that which is next them. 
 The invisible tendrils of aH'eclion spread out 
 on every side, and, like the innumernble 
 threads that bound Gulliver t(» the ground, 
 thoy fasten us to places, and things, and per- 
 sons. No one can separate himself from his 
 r(Hn.n. His home is a sacred jjlace, and a 
 sacred feeling. The young spirit seems to 
 have left some traces of itself there. In our 
 room, the spirits of our friends are around us. 
 The old conversations that once moulded the 
 air into music are there still. The conscious- 
 ness of having been happy in a place, lends a 
 reflection of light to cheer our overshaded 
 mmids. All our thoughts have a dwidlin,--- 
 place in our room. What an old, familiar 
 greeting do the chairs, books, and tables, give! 
 They seem to invite us to them. The sun- 
 light there is appropriated ; it is not common 
 sunlight, but the same that slanted through 
 the windows years ago; it comes back every 
 morning laden with the freight of all preceding 
 mornings. All the joys of the summer-days 
 of our youth are in the breeze that stirs 
 through the room, ami ruffles the leaves of 
 our books. It seems as if joy was a perfume 
 that time could never efface from the places 
 wherein the spirit exhaled it. 
 
 Man is as much a thing as a thinker. We 
 are uneasy nt writing in a foreign place. It 
 takes weeks and months ere we can become 
 accustomed to a new room, and then it is but 
 a poor substitute for the old, time-hallowed 
 one. The mind can not break away from the 
 
 thraldom of piacc. The boy who eouM not 
 spell his word liernuse he had not got the 
 " hnng" of the new school-house, was not 
 altogether in the wrong ; anil the world niiiy 
 have done injustiee to the old traveller, who 
 had jumped r great jump in the island of 
 Rhodes, but could do it nowhere else. We 
 seem made up of little sym|)athie», which take 
 a l)iaH from the most trivial facts and oeeur- 
 rences. The strongest tide of thought is turn- 
 ed aside by a featli<'r. Even thinking seems 
 to lie but a consta.. series of impulses from 
 external facts and incidents, nnd from reeol- 
 leetions and reminiscences. Goethe woulil 
 have no luxurious furniture in his rmiin, for 
 fear thut his thoughta would h)8C their mascu- 
 line vigor and force, by receiving an insensi- 
 ble inlleetion from them. His study is bar- 
 ren of ornament, and studiously simple; so is 
 his style. Some people write their lives by 
 tables, and chairs, and sofas ; others with 
 pen, nnd ink, and thought. We think that 
 we may see the peculiar character of certain 
 of our writers, expressed quite distinctly, by 
 their rooms. The hard, nervous strength of 
 Luther was begotten of that mine in which 
 his youth was spent, and his emergence into 
 day a])lly tyi)ifiesthc part he played in after- 
 life. Tennyson's '• little rtxim so exquisite," 
 necdiints for all the defects in his stylo. .So 
 is Walter Scott's room, with its tuits of ar- 
 mor, nnd claymore, and shield, and antlers, 
 and sfnghoumi, and its thousand old curiosi- 
 ties, the happiest illustration of his style nnd 
 (•hnracter as a writer — both a curious piece 
 of grotes<pie patchwork — the bold energy and 
 endurance of the age of chivalry still keeping 
 a place among the refinements and efTemina- 
 cies of miKlern life. No comer of his mind 
 was destitute of some quaint bit of a story 
 and linllad, and his collection of facts was a 
 jierfeot "curiosity-shop." The grand back- 
 ground of his room is nature bold and strong, 
 but distant and in perspective. The same is 
 the fact in his writings. Nature is boldly 
 sketched, but its minute traits and workings 
 are lost bv distance, and are subordinated to 
 the love of costume and tradition. 
 
 By a room, we mean a room par errellenee, 
 not a general rendezvous of rha wh.^lc family, 
 but the private room' of the individual — the 
 library of the literary man — the studio of the 
 artist — the inmost shrine — the appropriated 
 spot. The parlor is no room at all — it is a 
 com promise of all the tastes of the house. All 
 the arrangements are referred to the standard 
 of fashion, and there is almost no scope for 
 the individual fancy of the owner. 
 
 We would always have a room in one of 
 the upper stories, if we lived in the city. 
 In the country, it is not of so much import- 
 ance. There, one may have vines curling 
 
A UAMllt.IN(* E88AY UPON BOOM9. 
 
 ho couli! not 
 not ^i)t t)u! 
 i*n, will* not 
 B W(irl(l miiy 
 ■nvclIiT, who 
 lin iNlnixl iif 
 e rUf. Wn 
 I, which tuko 
 :8 nnd (MU'ur- 
 niRhtiH tiirn- 
 itikitig Hrcnii* 
 ijiiilgpH from 
 I from riTol- 
 Dotho would 
 his rcKun, for 
 their ninscti- 
 p; an inMi-rmi- 
 itudy is Imr- 
 timph;; mi i» 
 heir livps by 
 others with 
 e think that 
 cr of certain 
 listinctly, l>y 
 s 8trenKth of 
 ne in which 
 lerpence into 
 lyed in ofter- 
 10 exquisite," 
 is style. .So 
 t tuits of Br- 
 and antlers, 
 1 old curiosi- 
 his style and 
 ;uriou8 piece 
 d energy nnd 
 still keeping 
 nd etTemina- 
 of his mind 
 it of a story 
 ' facts was a 
 grand bnck- 
 d and strong, 
 The santio is 
 ire is boldly 
 and workings 
 lordinated to 
 1. 
 
 •ar errellence, 
 wholi: family, 
 dividual — the 
 studio of the 
 appropriated 
 it all — it is a 
 le house. All 
 I the standard 
 no scope for 
 
 ST. 
 
 wm in one of 
 in the city. 
 Tiuch import- 
 vines curling 
 
 about the window-iilU, and peeping into the 
 roo,n-thc greca tree* waving their broa.l 
 arm. in the air, an.l the dancing shadows on 
 the Kreen sward beneath you. Then, in the 
 eoimtry, and in summer, one can make the 
 whole sky his roof. and. embowered in a 
 .. plae.. of nestling green." almont forget hm 
 wulled-iii r.M)in. But in the city, that world 
 of liriek and .mortar, ^ive us the topmost r.M.m. 
 It is u wearisome trmlge up over three ( i«ht« 
 ,)f stairs, but you get your recompense. 1 here 
 is les. ,luHt an.1 Moise-peojde are not h.r ever 
 tramping bv yourd.M.r; it is tiH. hig li to make 
 it a eonvetueht lounging-pl«''« f;>r idlers; and 
 if friendship is not a sutlicient in.lucem. nt to 
 your friends, they are not worth regretting. 
 You see the diminished people walking noise- 
 lessly through the streets, m in a panorama. 
 If you have a lower room, yur sunset is the 
 li«lit shining fiom the opposite wall ot brick, 
 llavin- become thoroughly tired o» this, we 
 have a room in the fourth 8t(,ry. We can 
 sit now above the city, and be "alone wi h 
 the nicht." Beneath us gleam the lumps in 
 the sleeping chambers; all around "« « t^"«- 
 snnd hearts are beating, and a thoimn.l heads 
 rest upon their pillows ; the mighty shadow 
 of sleep is upon the city; the silent moon- 
 light glances ui-on th.; vai.es and the skylights, 
 and freckles the distant, slowly-glid.ng river ; 
 the noise of revelry comes dim an.l Jaint from 
 the streets; now an-' ihen, «'""«, "^S"^;! 
 whistling by, and the sharp ring ot his bed 
 upon the pavement echf.es through the de- 
 Zicd courts. In the -laytime. a thousand ] 
 r.H,fs send up their thin, curling lines of smoke 
 
 that, minglliig. hang a '^I'-^-'y y^* "V;^' t 
 city. Overl.K.king the tops of the housts. 
 we can see the rim of the ocean; countless 
 ships, with lithe spars and fluttering strearners. 
 lie sleeping at their posts; vessels, with their 
 ails widespread, ar.. co.i.ing «P the hori/.oru 
 and, as the sunlight strikes flat agamst the 
 white canvass, they look like sea-gulls spread- 
 rngthJ^^rwing;for^ight. Lookin^ginjothe^r 
 
 direction, we see the undulating line .f b, s 
 shrouded in a bluish haze, and melting into 
 the sky. Is not all this worth coming up two 
 more flights of stairs to have ? 
 
 A room should have a picture in it; eithtr 
 an ideal head, or some dreamed landscape. 
 ApStureis like a beautifu window to the 
 blank wall, which the sunshine never leaves 
 whereon the eye, weary with reading, may 
 Tuxuriate Ld b^the. in/new and exhilarat^^^ 
 atmosphere. They refine us, »n«e'»«'Wy; Jey 
 help thinking, and arefuUof sug^ert.on; they 
 are neacefuf, unobtrusive friends, who wait 
 JourCure they are the cherished thought 
 
 Tsome human "V"'l-'^«/''^^lfTrd7re 
 «,me passing sentiment and cmotion-and are 
 
 transcripts of the happiest moments. We I 
 
 woulil have flowers, tixi, in our fiH.m ; they 
 are s<i full of the warmth of huninniiy; noth- 
 ina is so like a human being as a flower. 
 Then what an air of delicacy and refinement 
 is lent tr- a r.K,m. by pictures and flowers! 
 .Snrcly wo rea.l the clear, kind nature, ariu 
 ttenial humor of Jean Paul, when wc saw the 
 rose in his button-hole ! Here was the tokea 
 that he wus a poet. 
 
 The influences under which wn are bred, 
 d..mineer over us. We arc like soft wax, 
 taking the impression of all about us. ine 
 country ghild, who&e room is nature, whose 
 
 ^m% 
 
 country gniio, wnosr ■.<..... .^ -— . 
 
 roof is the sky, whose curtains are the j.urple 
 
 elouds of sunset, and whose carpet is the 
 
 crass, is free, vig.uous. and healthy, in her 
 
 movements and tliou«lits. as the air that siic 
 
 breathes. The city belle, who grows up un- 
 
 .ler the shade of brick wolls. irlialing noisome 
 
 vapors, deprived of the healthy exercise ot 
 
 her limbs, nnd " cribbed, cabined, and con- 
 
 (i,,,.,!- in narrow streets, becomes puny and 
 
 sickly, and failes early. The eyes of the 
 
 one see the cows and sheep feeding for out on 
 
 the distant hills, while those of the other 
 
 hardly distinguish a face across .ho room. 
 
 The thoughts of the <ine arc bold, tree, ami 
 
 untrammelled, like the flights of the eagle- 
 
 those ' the other, forced ond conventional, 
 
 like the feeble hopjiings of a caged conary. 
 
 One inoy easily trace the rise and nrogrcss 
 of a nation out of its liarborism, by the sim- 
 ple observation of their rooms, b rom the 
 rude hut of the savage, which was common 
 to all the occupants, to the rmxlern con..not.i- 
 ,)us house with its appropriated r"'""".-- 
 ' what a distance ? So out of a general clanish 
 nature, grows slowly the indivi.lual nature. 
 Society, at first one mass, becomes articulated 
 into persons, as the body separotes into fingers 
 at the extremities: eoch man has his oeculiar 
 employment, according to his individual ge- 
 nius; and thus the huge machine of society 
 becomes gradually perfected in all its par s 
 Amons savages these is one general trait and 
 employment, and therefore, there is one com- 
 mon room. In civili/.ed life each has a dif- 
 ferent part to perform; all work is apportion- 
 ed, and each has his own room. . 
 
 As we can tell the size and f .rmation of 
 the tort..ise from the shell which remains, so, 
 were all history washed away, and the ancient 
 cities left, we could easily tell the naanne^ s 
 habits, and geni . of the people who built 
 and hihabitJl th .• - WitWn one century. 
 the city of Pompt has been excavate-l- 
 that crumbled shell of a dead F".pl«- ^^^^ 
 nerfect preservation of this onecity ans thrown 
 aS of light over the Roman institutions 
 aniUharacter, as well as given us tlie pnrfe t 
 knowledge of the habits and gcmus of the 
 Pompeiians. The soul of it has, indeed, 
 
 "*?f« 
 
 
 
 »i.'i 
 
 mm 
 
 ■ ii "'4iniiiii ii i i im igi 
 
r 
 
 passed awav; but the natnrahs easily tolls 
 
 u. psyche/from the chrysalis that remans. 
 
 )),sorve how perfectly the genius of the 
 
 •O eHan age, nn't evenof its. litVerent districts 
 
 is devcl.n)ed in its architecture-the graceful 
 
 and orna e Corinthian, with its curling leaves 
 
 °n!l (luted columns-the delicate and chaste 
 
 Innic, and the more stately and sober Done ; 
 
 llu.„, the transplanted composite order ot 
 
 Rnnan architecture; and last, that splendid 
 
 stone flower of the middle ages, the Gothic 
 
 "'^Wliat ijut a narrow room, wherein the 
 spirit dwellelh, is this body-this frame ot 
 |,'or.es, this covering of muscle, but a moving 
 house ' The soul sits looking from the win- 
 dows of the eyes, and can not h'de itse f from 
 observation, 'out of the mouth -hich is its 
 ,l„or, issue the softly-coined words, that tissue 
 „f melodious air, whose ^^^^>}^'^\'"'\'?;^ 
 woven around the soul ot him who hears. 
 Within th.> brain lie stored, as in a magazine, 
 the curiously-elaborated thougl;ts, the wild 
 project, the Hreams, fancies, experiences, and 
 acts, hat we have gathered fn.rn foreign 
 sources, or that have had their birth m our 
 own soul. Then, how strangely out of order 
 seem these materials in some brains, how 
 perfectly and precisely arranged in others 
 How gracefully and easily does one spirit 
 move about this strange house, while another 
 ran never tit himself to his home, but is ever 
 awkword and ungainly! I« ^h- natura 
 house, the soul makes its marks and leaves 
 its im .ressions, moulding and moditying con- 
 tinually, until the strong soul_ draws his out- 
 ward covering closely around it. and hts * to 
 itself, as perfectly as the kernel of the nut to 
 its intersected shell. . 
 
 For all our friends our wish is, thot they 
 may possess the chamber wherem thepilgrinti 
 lo.lged, according to the allegory of old John 
 Bnnvua. Somehow tbe passage has a sweet 
 flavor and delicious quaintness, which he, 
 among those earnest and sincere old English 
 writers, most especially possesses : The 
 pil-rrim they laid in a large upper chamber, 
 whose window opened toward the sunnsing. 
 The name of this chamber was Peace, wliere 
 he slept tin break of day, and then he awoke 
 
 anil sang." . , r »i,„ 
 
 How'full of character is the room of the 
 nainter' All there is dim and hazy vi-itli 
 ietniment. From the moment that you close 
 the door behind you, you feel as if you had 
 shut out the world. There, rank takes no 
 pro-eminence. The artist is the monarch. 
 Here is the true luxury of work-the intel- 
 lectual married to the mechanical, and love 
 of the art prompting each motion of fhe Pen- 
 cil. The light streams m, deprived of its sun- 
 shine, through the partly closed blind. Slant- 
 
 in<r toward it. stanils the easel, upon whi.h 
 
 lies a half-Hnished picture. The painter^ 
 with his palette and brushes in one hand, nnd 
 his magical wand in the other, moves tins 
 way and that, lends a tint here and a shadow 
 there, all the time throwing in, carelessly an 
 observation. The outhnes are all dim and 
 rounded, and there is a smell of paint in the 
 room. Here stands the velvet chair, on its 
 slightly elevated platform-the throne of the 
 sitter; there stands the graceless draped li.y- 
 fi -Ture. There are no harsh noises— no bust le ; 
 all is quiet, and has a secluded air ot silence. 
 The noise of the passing wagons in the streets, 
 if it attracts attention, seems foreign, anc a 
 consciousness that you are alone seems dif- 
 fused through it. the painter talks much of 
 his art; tells an anecdote of this artist and 
 that ; speaks of such and such a picture, and 
 illustrates his remark by turning round to you 
 one of the faces of those canvasses which 
 have piqued your curiosity ever since your 
 entrance: and thus in his studio lives the 
 artist. The painting-room must be nke hden 
 before the fall: no joyless turbulent passions 
 must enter there. 
 
 Time out of mind, the garret has been ap- 
 propriated to genius, perhaps from on occult 
 nun. Whether attic wit has received, latter- 
 ly, a difTerent modification or not, we leave 
 to the opinion of our readers. But the strug- 
 gles of genius under the weight of poverty 
 Ind sickness, and " all the ills that flesh is 
 heir to," have made it, in some respects, a 
 sacred place. Sorrow and misfortune, and 
 the fierce flame of longing, and the illumina- 
 tion 01 hope, blend into an aureole to crown 
 it. From its sill, the winged bird of poetry 
 has flown— on its hearth the flame of humor 
 and wit has bumed-from its wmdows the 
 stinging arrows of sarcasm have been shot— 
 and within its walls, the souls of men have 
 become mailed and armed by misfortune. 
 
 If we iudged correctly of human character, 
 we should admit that the mechanic who made 
 the chair in which Xerxes sat, when he re- 
 viewed his mighty host, or witnessed the sea- 
 fight at Salamis, was a more useful member 
 of socief than that great king-ami, that the 
 artisans who constructed the drmking vessels 
 of Mardonius, and the brass niangers in which 
 his horses were fed, were really more worthy 
 of posthumous fame, than that general, or the 
 monarch he served: and, if it be more virtu- 
 ous, more praiseworthy, to alleviate human 
 sufTerings than to cause or increase thenn, 
 then that old mechanician, who, when Mar- 
 cus Sergius lost his hand in the Pumc war, 
 furnished him with an iron one, was an in- 
 comparably better man, than that or any oth- 
 er raere warrior. 
 
!';'' M 
 
 :l|illi;:' !i 
 
 "iiiii 'i 
 
 1 ^i 
 
 liillll 
 
 I, upon whiili 
 Thfi painter, 
 one lifinfl, nnd 
 r, moves this 
 nnd a shadow 
 
 cnreUjssly nn 
 ■ all ilim nnd 
 f pnint in the 
 t elmir, on its 
 
 tlirone of the 
 83 draped Iny- 
 les — no hustle; 
 
 air of silence, 
 lin the streets, 
 foreign, and a 
 me seetns dif- 
 
 talks much of 
 this artist and 
 
 u picture, nnd 
 g round to jrou 
 nvosses which 
 ver since your 
 ;udio lives the 
 St be like Eden 
 l)ulent passions 
 
 ;t has been ap- 
 
 from an occult 
 received, Intter- 
 • not, we leave 
 
 But the strug- 
 ght of poverty 
 lis that flesh is 
 ome respects, a 
 misfortune, and 
 nA the illumina- 
 areole to crown 
 
 bird of poetry 
 flame of humor 
 ts windows the 
 ive been shot — 
 la of men have 
 
 misfortune. 
 
 luman character, 
 dianic who made 
 at, when he re- 
 itnessed the se'a- 
 3 useful member 
 g — and, that the 
 drinking vessels 
 nangers in which 
 illy more worthy 
 It general, or the 
 it be more virtu- 
 alleviate human 
 
 increase them, 
 who, when Mar- 
 1 the Punic war, 
 
 one, was an in- 
 i that or any oth- 
 
 'ill 111] 
 
 ii 111 i|!l !;i 1 l:!!i ! 1 
 ' I Pill tiiP i ''illii w ' 
 
 '^ilil|liil'iiki'l!!i|l 
 
 ity'li'iiiiiiii* 
 
 ^'.istt 
 
 ""'^vS ' 
 
 mm 
 
 
 tip*"* *(Ml^B*- 
 
 ^i":'2^_ 
 
I 
 
 378 
 
 WEST POINT. 
 
 WEST POINT. 
 
 Thk engraving we have presented on the 
 previous page may give to those of our read- 
 ers who never beheld the original, some idea 
 of the picturesque beauties of West foint. 
 To be fully realized, however, it needs to be 
 seen ; for it is not within the utmost scope ot 
 the limner's pencil or the graver's art to do 
 full justice to the magnificent river and moun- 
 tain scenery there displayed. There, indeed, 
 does the Hudson appear " an immense mirror 
 in its mountain frame." All that is grand m 
 the prospect of rock and mountain, or beauti- 
 ful in the waves of a broad, deep river, or 
 venerable from the associations of history 
 and patriotism, may be seen combined in the 
 landscape of West Point. To the left of our 
 picture may be seen— eloquent in its very 
 simplicity— the monument to Kosciusko, the 
 brave Polander, who fought in our revolution, 
 and afterward battled, martyr-like, for the 
 freedom of his native land. 
 
 Indeed, the spot is as remarkable for mem- 
 ories of the past, as for its extraordinary 
 prospect of " mountain and fl(K)d." Hallow- 
 ed by the footsteps of Washington and Kos- 
 ciusko — consecrated by a nation to the Spar- 
 tanlike training of a few devoted sons— nor 
 less sacredly secluded by nature as the scene 
 of retirement and study— it seems alike cal- 
 culated to please the pensive sage and the as- 
 piring youthful soldier. 
 
 « Bright are the memoricg linked with thee. 
 Boost of a glory-hallowed land ; 
 Hope of the valiant and the free, 
 Home of their youthful goldierband. 
 
 If each bright spot on earth is indeed be- 
 nignantly shone upon by some " bright, par- 
 ticular star," in night's splendid canopy, then 
 may we hope that one interwoven in " mem- 
 ory's web," with such glorious associations, 
 is under no despicable influence. 
 
 West Point is situated upon the west 
 
 ine chief, for the traitor Arnold had already 
 fled to the " Vulture," then anchored in ilie 
 channel, and his wife was alone in her deso- 
 late home, on the opposite shore. Washing- 
 ton stepped on the shore of West Point, ac- 
 companied by La Fayette, and Hamilton— 
 the fortress was silent and almost untenanted. 
 Everything was ready for the work of treason, 
 but the hand of Providence was over all, and 
 the schemes of the traitor, ended in his own 
 diagrace. and the death of his friend, .John 
 Andre, a distinguished young British officer, 
 whose sad fate has been regretted by many, 
 among both friends and foes. 
 
 The United States Military Academy, 
 which was contemplated at an eariy period 
 of our national existence, with a view to the 
 acquisition of scientific and military knowl- 
 edge, and the enforcement of a uniform dis- 
 cipline in the army, was established here in 
 1802. It is situated on a plain one hundred 
 and fifty-seven feet above tide-water. The 
 old buildings, first occupied by the Academy, 
 Ihave long since gone to decay, and been 
 replaced by the present structures. They 
 consist of two stone barracks ; a building for 
 exercises in winter, two hundred and seventy- 
 five feet long ; a building of Gothic architec- 
 ture, one hundred and fifty feet long, with 
 three towers for astronomical apparatus and 
 an observatory j a chapel, hospital, mess-hall, 
 seventeen separate dwellings for the officers 
 of the institution, several workshops, and 
 storerooms, cavalry stables, a magazine, lab- 
 oratory, soldiers' barracks, a st»re, and about 
 twenty-five dwellings for families connected 
 with the establishment. There is also an ex- 
 tensive hotel situated on the bank of the nver. 
 The annual expense of the academy is 
 about $120,000, averaging about $425 for 
 each cadet. This is one fourth less than tho 
 average cost of each cadet, prior to 1817, 
 which was not less than $550 per annum. 
 The library is well selected, of military, sci- 
 entific and historical works, containing ncariy 
 
 Wkst Point is situateu upon me wcsi ciimii- auu ...=v«w^-m. — , .; — ,. i" 
 baS; ofthe Hudson, where the' riv.r makes 10,000 vdumes._ The phiW^^^^^ 
 
 an angle forming the point from which it de- 
 rives its name. It was strongly fortified dur- 
 ing the revolutionary war, and on Mount In- 
 dependence, elevated five hundred feet above 
 the level of the river, still stands Fort Put- 
 nam, venerable in its ruins, stem monument 
 of a sterner age, which survived the assaults 
 of the minions of tyranny from withotit and 
 the insidif)us attempts of treason within. It 
 was here that Washington, while gliding over 
 the river in his barge, observed the mountain 
 tinged on its summit by the rising sun, ex- 
 claimed : " It is strange that General Arnold 
 does not salute us. The effect of the cannon 
 would be very grand among these mountain- 
 gorges !" But no salute greeted the approach- 
 
 tus lately received from France is extensive 
 and constructed with the latest improvements. 
 The chymical laboratory, and mineralogical 
 cabinet yet require enlargement. 
 
 The months of July and August, in each 
 year, are devoted solely to military exerci'ses ; 
 for which purpose, the cadets leave the bar- 
 racks and encamp in tents on the plain, under 
 the regular police and discipline of an army 
 in time of war. They return from camp to 
 barracks the last of August, and the remain- 
 ing ten months of the academic ye" are de- 
 voted to their arduous studies. The cere- 
 mony of striking the tents and marching out 
 of camp, is so imposing as to be well worth 
 an effort of the visiter to be present on that 
 
 L 
 
old had already 
 anchored in »lie 
 )ne in het deso- 
 lore. Washing- 
 West Point, ac- 
 and Hamilton — 
 nost untenanted, 
 work of treason, 
 vas over all, and 
 nded in his own 
 his friend, John 
 g British ot!icer, 
 ;retted by many, 
 
 Ijtary Acadeniy, 
 an early period 
 ith a view to the 
 1 mihtary knowl- 
 )f a uniform dis- 
 tablished here in 
 ilain one hundred 
 tide-water. The 
 by the Academy, 
 lecay, and been 
 tructures. They 
 18 ; a building for 
 dred and seventy- 
 F Gothic architec- 
 y feet long, with 
 :al apparatus and 
 lospital, mess-hall, 
 gs for the officers 
 I workshops, and 
 , a magazine, lab- 
 a store, and about 
 Families connected 
 i'here is also an ex- 
 e bank of the river. 
 f the academy is 
 g about $4'25 for 
 ourth less than tho 
 et, prior to 1817, 
 $550 per annurn. 
 d, of military, sci- 
 i, containing nearly 
 iiosophical appara- 
 'rance is extensive, 
 itest imj)rovement8. 
 , and mineralogical 
 jment. 
 
 nd August, in each 
 (military exercises; 
 dets leave the bar- 
 on the plain, under 
 scipline of an army 
 etum from camp to 
 ist, and the remain- 
 idemic year are de- 
 studies. The cere- 
 ts and marching out 
 as to be well worth 
 be present on that 
 
 «asion. On the previous evening, the camp 
 ^: brXntlv illuminated, and enhvened with 
 Ls^dancl^g, and bevies of beautiful stran- 
 gers • it P^^'^ents quite a fairy scene. 
 ^ The 8tu.lies of the first year, are algeb a, 
 «ornetrv, descriptive geometry, trigonometry, 
 fndT French language. Afl the mathemat- 
 S stuJies are practically taught and applied 
 to numerous problems not m the books; on 
 Se resolution of which greatly depend the 
 renutat on and standing of each rival candi- 
 date '"^ pre-eminence. The studies of the 
 seSnl year, are the theory, of shades, shad- 
 ows and perspective, practically lustrated ; 
 analytic geonletry, with its application to 
 conic secti<,ns; the integral and dilferential 
 calculus, or science of fluxions; surveying 
 an mensuration; the French language and 
 the elements of drawing, embracing the hu- 
 man figure in crayon. This completes the 
 Turse of mathematics, and also ot Irench; 
 which the cadets learn to translate freely, as 
 Tkey to military science, but which few of 
 them speak fluently. r 
 
 The third year is devoted to a course of 
 national philosophy, including mechanics ; 
 oDtcs electricity, magnetism, and astronomy; 
 toother wth ch;mis'ry, and sketching land- 
 2nes with the pencil, and topography with 
 ?he FnTwhich complete the course of draw- 
 
 '"^The fourth and last year is appropriated to 
 the study of artillery and infantry tactics; 
 he scieiiL of war, an^l f-rificati.« or mi^ 
 tarv engineering; a course of civil engineer 
 n/ embracing the construction of roads and 
 bifdgeT railroads and canals, with the in.- 
 pSfement of rivers and harbors ; a course of 
 KTlogy and military pyrotechny; togeth- 
 ™th Ihe elements of rhetoric, mora phi- 
 losoThv, and national and constitutional law. 
 The graduates of the military academy are 
 entitled^y law to a preference over other ap- 
 pUcants for commissions in the ^rmy- /«J« 
 averaae number of vacancies is only about 
 tSy-five annually, the army -"^J «o-^e 
 ' more than filled, did not a considerable num- 
 ber of the graduates voluntan y resign, n 
 or^er to embrace other professions^orticu 
 larlv that of civil engmeenng. Al^l»o"Sf 
 feenng under a moral obligation, to ofTer thc.r 
 servic'es to the country in any emergency as 
 mnnv dii^ in the late war with Mexico, tney 
 Tei^ : ri,ht, as it is freely permit^c^^^^^^ ' 
 time of peace, to embrace other professions 
 nwhih they may seek to be still more use- 
 ful Those who remain in the army are at- 
 tached as brevet second lieutwants to the dit- 
 fe em corps, until they may receive higher 
 rank on the occurrence of vacancies 
 
 It is the great distinction of the academy ai 
 West Point that it has contributed largely 
 
 ill I 
 
 and effectually to the elevation of the charac- 
 ter of the military establishment. And it has 
 accomplished a nobler service, by sending 
 forth numbers annually, competent to super- 
 intend the construcrion of those chains of in- 
 ternal improvement, which are to be the eter- 
 nal bonds of our national union. The rail- 
 roads which connect the interior with the 
 seabord— the improved facilities oi communi- 
 cation afforded to the whole country-the new 
 roads which have augmented the wealth ot 
 the West, by opening new channels of com- 
 munication-and the secunties extended to 
 the internal and foreign commerce of the na- 
 tion, bv the river and harbor in-.provements— 
 these arc some of the enduring memorials of 
 the usefulness of the Military Academy, and 
 of the returns it has made for the care and 
 time, and money, which have been bestowed 
 unon it. Other tesdmonials and o her re- 
 wards have been accorded to it, by the liter- 
 ary institutions of our country which have 
 invited its graduates to fill important profes- 
 sorships. No words can demonstrate with 
 one half the force and impressiveness, the 
 beneficial influence of the Military Academy, 
 upon the characters of its rnembers, and upon 
 the national reputation. Withm the short 
 period of forty years, this institution, whose 
 own high reputation is now sustained by pro- 
 fessors, most of whom, 1^V%^«™ ^"^".^^^ f, 
 within its walls, has not only furnished to the 
 army gallant and accomplished officers, and 
 to the country skilful engineers, but has sent 
 forth principals, and professors, to ornament 
 and sustain colleges and literary seminanes. 
 
 But while we would thus award honor, 
 where honor is due, and show that, estimated 
 according to her contribution of national sci- 
 ence the Military Academy takes a high 
 stend, far be it from her sons to monopolize 
 Sction, or to say that she has done more 
 than a Military Academy ought to have done, 
 in return for all her advantages. 
 
 HABITS OF THE ROMAN LADIES. 
 
 It has been remarked that " a fondness for 
 adomin" the person for the sake of obtaming 
 admTranon from men, is natural to all wo- 
 mc^ '• Now allowing this to be true, surely 
 ^o one can condemn so laudable a desire of 
 Xasing on the part of the fair sex, whatever 
 £y be its ulterior object. The female mind, 
 Khe most part, has so few "nt'o;^"^^; 
 siderations wherewith to occupy tself, and so 
 few opportunities of publicly '^^^V^Wj' 
 u^^ment and taste, except m 'Patters of dress, 
 lihat we can not wonder at seeing so much at- 
 
 •f«! 
 
 I 
 
 ""^m 
 
 
 i3iiy. 
 
 "■'•"*., 
 
 ^Mg«| 
 
r 
 
 380 
 
 HABITS OF THE ROMAN LADIES. 
 
 I 
 
 tention paid to it by women "f ^ve-^^^f 7^; 
 hpsi.les when t 19 remcmbcreil that tne 
 anit expe: >'! by ladies in art.des of dro.s 
 o.,,! h;\n„tp-n bv far exceeds that oi me 
 fqInK he creLon" for the same purpose 
 a female fondness for ftshion must always be 
 ^"ed as a nation., blessing, an one 
 
 produce a curl; the two Intter were made of 
 sold and silver, and ..mamente.l with pearls; 
 it was probably with one of these^ bodkins 
 that Cleopatra gave herself a death-wound, 
 and not, as is commonly supposed, with an 
 
 adder. . i i -.i 
 
 The use of perfumes, cosmetics, and depU 
 
 considered as a nationnl blessing, and one o '^^ailed to a great ex'ent among the 
 
 the many a.lvantages derived J""™ ''^Pl;"''^^^ iJ,,^,^^^ the first were obtau.ed at a c,,ns,d. 
 « * \H- would, however, by no means oe ^^^^^^ expense from India. Greece, and Per- 
 sia; there are still in existence a few recqes 
 for making the cosmetics used two thousand 
 VearagoT and which will be found to have 
 many ingredients iu common with similar 
 preparations of our own time. Ovul gives 
 Ihe following, and adds that those who use it 
 will possess a complexion sm.K.ther than the 
 surface of their polished mirrors : " Take two 
 pounds of Lybian barley, free from straw 
 and chaff, and an mpial quantity of the pea 
 of the wild Tetch, mix these with ten eggs, 
 let it harden, and pound it, add two ounces of 
 hartshorn, and a dozen roots of the narcissus 
 bruised in a mortar, two ounces of gum. and 
 
 court We would, however, by no means 
 
 uSsto^l OS advocating that excessive bv 
 
 of dress which is indulged m by sonie, reck 
 
 °es9 of aU consequences, and which would 
 
 ilmo^t induce the'm, Tarpe a-l.ke to sacrifice 
 
 thfir country for a bracelet. Ihe opening 
 emark wasUe on the R^'^f^iE 
 thousan.1 years ago, and it is of theu d fler 
 ent dresses that we now propose to Yeat 
 these, in splendor, richness, and gracefulness, 
 were not surpassed even by those of the pres- 
 ent day, if we may udge from he litt e in- 
 sight a^TI^rded us by old Latin writers into the 
 
 immediltly etioyed the '"-^ "J ^J,^';t'• | ^oTunce: 7 m^alVreduce the whole to a 
 which was sometimesof perfumed water rt^e^ ^.^.^ . ^„^j ^^^ ^ ^imes the ,iuan- 
 
 then underwent a process of P'J'i"S T7'M fity of honey." Some used poppy juice and 
 pumice-stone for the purpose "f ««^?°th ng y ^^^^^^ ^ „, p,,^,^, „f bread 
 
 thp «kln and after being anom ed with rich ""^^ '.„. „^,^ ^y,-^,, ^1,^^ comnletely cov- 
 nerfumes, they threw around them a loose 
 ^S aTl ;etire^ to their dressing-roorns. where 
 they received morning visits from their fnends, 
 ffifscussed the merits of the last elcjent 
 sneech delivered in the senate, or the proba- 
 bL conqueror in the next gladiatorial combat. 1 
 After the departure of their visiters com- 
 menced the bu'siness of the.toilet, which occu- 
 pied a considerable portion of ^""^ , the 
 Lids were summoned, to each of whom a 
 diflerent duty was assigned: some formed a 
 Sd o? coun^cil, and only looked - to direct 
 and assist the others by their afvice and ex 
 perience ; one held the minor before her mis- 
 tress; while others there were to whom it 
 
 was tt J g, - - -_, 
 
 The boakin. co:b, and e.°en^. to prepare;- the constanj ™f^,,- , bottle of the per- 
 With the exception of the looking-glass, ^^ p^estum, and there a box of rouge, 
 
 the articles of the toilet were much the same ^^ ^^^.^ . „ „„„ther part lay 
 
 those in use at present. The glass, or ""," __:,_. v,-„;,i ^ffnUn hair, made up by 
 mure properly speaking, mirror, was composed 
 ol a high V-polisbed plate of metal,' generally 
 silver riciily chased around the edges, and 
 
 oiivt>i, 'J . t\^.a Mina Tint 
 
 and milk, with which they completely cov- 
 ered the face, and kept on in their own hou- 
 ses ; this, when removed, left the skin smooth 
 and fair. Depilatories were used to form anc 
 adorn the eyebrows, which it was considered 
 elesant to have joined across the nose. 
 
 On one part of a Roman lady;s dressing- 
 table might be seen her small silver tooth- 
 bnish, which, with the assistance of a httle 
 pure water, and occasionally a powder of mas- 
 tic wood, formed her only dentifnce; near it 
 stood a paper containing a black powder, 
 which when ignited sent up a volume of thick 
 smoke, and had the valuable property of re- 
 storing the eyes to their former brilliancy, if 
 weakened by the gayety of the preceding 
 evening, or by a sleepk - night occasioned by 
 the constant serenades o, her lover boneatti 
 
 adorned with precious stones; this was not 
 fiVed in a frame like the modern glass, but 
 held by a slave. The combs were formed of 
 ?voy/nd rosewood. Curling-tongs, bwlkins 
 and hair-pins, were also known; the former 
 was a simple bar of iron heated in the hre 
 around which the hair was turned in order to 
 
 • I n'.Xwa-slioxefVfcre known to the R<)niaiw,ai>a 
 l,i>jKiiKfei< •„;„„- i.ni- tlipv were not in 
 
 a large coil or braid of false hair, made up by 
 a male hair-dresser, and near it were the 
 bodkins, the chains, the rings, and hard by 
 the richly-studded bands of white and purple 
 which attorned the head ; this braid was worn 
 on the crown of the head, the ha, r fnim he 
 nape of the neck being all pulled out by the 
 roots. Continual changes were taking place 
 in the fashion of wearing the hair; at first it 
 was cut ofT as a votive otTenng to the gods, 
 but the Roman la.lies soon discovered that a 
 • L,«lunKff/'/«.'<e»were knowntoti.e i«...mM», -.;.. luxuriant head of hair was * Powerful auxi - 
 obtained IVmB the PhajniciuuB, but they were not in j .^^^, ^^ j^^^^j^ beauty," and allowed it to 
 general use. . 
 
■"^-V: :■<-.■. 
 
 ntter worn tnoile of 
 lentcd with jioarls ; 
 [J of these liodkins 
 elf a (Inath-wounJ, 
 supposed, with an 
 
 israetics, and depil- 
 it ex'ent amonp the 
 ibtair.ed at a eonsid- 
 n, Greece, and Per- 
 stence a few reci] es 
 used two thousand 
 1 be found to liiive 
 mmon with similar 
 time. Ovid gives 
 lat those who use it 
 n smoother tlmn the 
 rjirrors: " Take two 
 !y, free from straw 
 quantity of the jica 
 hese with ten epRS, 
 it, add two ounces of 
 ;)ot9 of the narcissus 
 ounces of gum, and 
 duce the whole to a 
 line times the (juan- 
 used poppy juice and 
 or poultice of bread 
 liey completely cov- 
 on in their own hou- 
 I, left the skin smooth 
 vere used to form and 
 ich it was considered 
 cross the nose, 
 omnn lady's dressing- 
 er small silver tooth- 
 assistance of a little 
 lally a powder of mas- 
 nly dentifrice ; near it 
 ling a black powder, 
 it up a volume of thick 
 luable property of re- 
 nr former brilliancy, if 
 rety of the preceding 
 ; - night occasioned by 
 o, her lover l)etieatri 
 as a bottle of the per- 
 there a box of rouge, 
 e ; on another part lay 
 false hair, made up by 
 and near it were the 
 he rings, and hard by 
 ids of white and purple 
 id ; this braid was worn 
 head, the hair from the 
 ig all pulled out by the 
 mges were taking place 
 ring the hair -, at (irst it 
 ive offering to the gods, 
 soon discovered that "a 
 r v.'as a powerful nuxil- 
 ty," and allowed it to 
 
 HAHITS OK THE llOMAN LADIES. 
 
 381 
 
 i-row; ut one tiinr it was worn high in bows 
 with n n.Mgc of curls in froiu ; at aunt i.r u- 
 l,t.o,rrnur; lli.Mi idlowd to llniit in tli.' air 
 i„ a di-iu'Vfllcd Mate, and again a-l,i-»iiUlaue 
 i„ ilu. fonii of a helmet. VvM l«';'f ^^as 
 K,mi.'tiin<'s worn over that of a naturally dark 
 shade, nullum beinir the color most eslc'inci 
 u,„| ftdmir.Ml l.v both sexes; those who had | 
 white or dark'huir used sallion as a dye to , 
 i;iv.' if an auburn tinge. S..tnc adies used | 
 %M dust as a hair pow.ler. " whu'h shed such | 
 tt rnv (if "lory aroun<l thciii as da/./.lcd all be- 1 
 holders and "gave their heads an apiiearauce 
 „f hoin" on tire." When the ladies (hd not, , 
 .•w<-Mr1h<- hair," they wore a kind ot veil, 
 and a turlian or bonnet, called mitra ; ihisj 
 ' was like a bishop's mitre in sliape but not so i 
 hi.h. and with a lajipet hanging over each 
 rheck. somelhin:;, in short, like a modern 
 mob-euo, which elegant head-.lress owes its 
 „ri-in, no doubt, to »he classical mitre; thus 
 has' the Roman female head-dress descended 
 to our times, not only us one ..f the uisignia 
 of tlic members of llie right reveren.l beneli, 
 but also in the shaiie of a covering bir the do- 
 mestic matrons. ,,.,,• 1 1 
 After having performed their ablutions, and , 
 gone through all the little .lelicate offices ot } 
 maUiii" the complexion, pcrfutmng the per- j 
 son, and endeavoring by art to excel nature, 
 the Roman ladies were prepareil to put on 
 1 their costly garments, which were duly pro- 
 duced liy "the slave who ha.l the honorable 
 post of "mistress of the robes." In the eariier 
 a.rcs the under garment— which in other re- 
 sm-cts dltrered little from the modern— was 
 worn as high as the chin and down to the teet, 
 so us to leave no part of the person visible 
 except the face ; in time, however, it was cut 
 lower and shortened ; over this was worn the , 
 tm'ica, a dress composed of many folds, open at i 
 the sides and with sleeves ; these sleeves were I 
 left open from the shoulder to the wrist, and fas- 
 tened with clasps of gold and silver; one end ot 
 the tunica wis lixed to the left shoulder, while 
 the other was carried across the breast and 
 fell negligently over the right shoulder till it 
 touched the ground ; this train was generally 
 cariidd over the arm when walking, «o as to 
 show the right ankle; but it was considered 
 nesU"e and graceful to allow it to drag on the 
 ground instead of holding it up, and conse- 
 mKnitly was a custom much in vogiie among 
 the dlllin^uees of ancient Rome. 1 Ins was 
 the dress worn during the republic, but it is 
 difficult to obtoin a correct description ot it 
 from the very vague accounts handed down 
 to us ; probablv, as in most republics, little 
 attenti(m was 'paid to dress, at all events it 
 was plain and sunple. It was not until 
 the time of the emperors that the goddess 
 of Fashion reared her head in the capital 
 
 I 
 
 > J. 
 
 of the world, when, though considerable 
 alterations took i)lace in dress, yet a few 
 traits of the former style were ri'tamed. J lie 
 numl'cr of Ljarments worn varied uccordmi; to 
 the tfiniiemlurc of the wearer; they were 
 generally three : the first was the simph; , 
 vest; the second a kiml of petticoat ncliiy , 
 worked in front and surrounded at the waist 
 ' by a belt, whi.di .iiiswercil the purpose <it a , 
 I corset and was fi.rrned in front like a sKuu- 
 acher, richly studded with. jewels; then came 
 I the third garment, the slula, which entirely 
 i super-cded the use of the ancient tunica ; \ 
 this was a rol)e with a small tram, trimmed , 
 I at the bottom with a deep border ot purple ; 
 I anil "old ; it was confined at the waist by a 1 
 ' belt,"and the uj.iier part thrown back so us to 
 discover the embroidered front of the mcoikI 
 garment or (lettieoat ; on this front was worn 
 the latiflai-c, an order or dccorution of the 
 empire granted to distinguished men, and 
 ■-ometimes assumed by females in right ot 
 their husbands.* Over all thesis was worn 
 the valla or cloak, with a train of some yards 
 in length, which fell from the slMulders, 
 where' it was fastened by two richly orna- 
 mented filulfe or clasps; this train was trim- 
 I med with gold nnil silver, and sometimes with 
 I iirecious ston<!s. and was usually earned over 
 the left sh(Hilder in the manner of the ample 
 I roqudaure worn by gentlemen. It will be 
 I seen from the above description that there is , 
 1 a considerable resemblance between the an- 
 ' cient Roman dress and the modern court 
 dress, the former (lerhaps exceeding the latter 
 in gracefulness and elegance of ai)iiearance, 
 from its numerous folds and flowing outline. 
 The materials of which these dresses were 
 composed were silk, cashmere, and linen. 
 Embroidery was procured from the 1 hwni- 
 rians an.l Assyrians; the fonner was most 
 esteemed as if was raised, while the latter 
 was smooth with the surface of the cloth. 
 The only color used for robes was white 
 trimmed "with purple, colored clothes not be- 
 ing considered "rommc il faut" among the 
 higher orders at Rome. 
 
 'I'he Roman stocking was of silk, generally 
 iiink or (lesh-colorcd, over which was worn a 
 shoe or rather boot reaching above the ankle, 
 turned up at the iioint like a Chinese shoe, 
 and laced uj) from the i; stei> tight to the h-g. 
 This boot was made of white leather or the 
 napvrus bark, ornamented with gold, silver, 
 and iewels. Sandals wre also in us(^ ; thev 
 consisted of a simple sole with nl.aiid attached 
 to it, and was laced \i\) like a modern san.lal, 
 
 « Orders were sometimes oonforro,! on •« l''''- ^ « 
 sennt.! ^'r,mte.l a ril..u,.l of b i.coulyir l'»tlru t t " 
 w "nn.l motl.er of Coriolnnus to t.e won, by tl em 
 
 i h, eon^.leration of valuable sers.ces pertormed to 
 
 I the state. 
 
 
 "''^P: 
 
 
 IwH 
 
 •jsr 
 
 
382 
 
 INFANT EDUCATION. 
 
 I 
 
 at the same time sup,.1y>ns th^ plnco of a 
 garter by kecpiuR the stocking u . . Wt a e 
 informe.tthat co.iuettes used cork-mes a 
 false insteps of cork, but never (tishpurcd 
 thefr per9.]ns by the barbarian ornannents of 
 
 "tt «ir; ialvf -baa completed her 
 toifet she sallied out. followed ^y; ^l^^'/ 
 a promenade beneath the porticoes of the b o- 
 rL, where she could not only cheapen g.xds^ 
 but also hear what was going on in the law 
 courts ; after continuing !.er walk un the gen- 
 tle ascent of the gay and "owded Suburra 
 street she returned to her own house, the 
 threshold of which (if she happened to be un- 
 rnarried) was adorned with garlands of flow- 
 ers, placed there by her young patrician ad- 
 mTer ; some of tliese (lowers her attendant 
 ^kct;.' to mi the splendid vase which stood 
 in her chamber, and preceded her to <iriv, 
 aside the curtain which supplied the place of 
 a d(K,r into the tapestried and perfumed a art- 
 ment • here she enters, and sinking softly 
 "own" into an ivory and gold adorned chair 
 she is welcomed by the chirping notes of her 
 ivorite bird which hangs near >" a gdded 
 ca-e. By her side stands a beaut ful page, 
 who gently wafts a plume of peacocks' feath- 
 ers arouni herhead, while a slave present a 
 small stick wrapped around with, apparent W 
 a roll of straw-colored riband, but n reality 
 it is a letter from the young Emilms, who 
 adopts this mode of wrfting in preference to 
 tha^usual waxen tablet not only becau e it is 
 a fashion introduced from .Oreece, but be- 
 cause it preserves most inviolably those se- 
 crets which are only meant to meet the eye 
 of his lovely mistress; far be it from us to 
 pry into these secrets, so let us now bid adieu 
 [o the fair Lucretia, who begins anxiously to 
 unrol the folds of her papynan epistle. 
 
 INFANT EDUCATION. 
 
 To those persons, yet too numerous, who 
 hold secular education to be limited to read- 
 ing, vmting, and counting, the eJucation of 
 inLts has' appeared a practical absurdity 
 How can hahies be taught to read, to wnte. 
 or cast accounts? Wc answer whatever may 
 be effected in theseaccomplishments with the 
 older children of infant-schools-and much is 
 effected— reading, writing, and counimg, torm 
 no essential parts of infant (ducation. In- 
 hnitelv higher cares demand the infant-train- 
 er- s stud vT The germ of mind is in his hands. 
 That mind, which he is presumed to know in 
 its future full development, is before him in 
 its first feeblest manifestalions-nmnifestations 
 which l>e can recognise, and mould, and direct 
 
 ari"ht, to the incalculable good of the individ- 
 ualand societAr ; or leave undiroctod to all 
 the chances of^ incalculable evil. His posi- 
 tion is not merely important-it is awful; and 
 he is unfit to occupy it whom it fails so to 
 impress. The function of the highest and 
 latest academical chair shrinks into insipnih- 
 cance when compared with the behest ot him, 
 who, in the person of a Wilderspm, was 
 taunted as the " baby-professor." 
 
 Education begins almost with birth. W hat 
 is called an infant-school is really an advanced 
 stage, strange as it may sourid to many ears. 
 The infant-school is physically impracticable 
 with children in the nurse's arms ; they must 
 be able to stand alone and walk, or, as a rule, 
 to have reached the age of two years. 1 here 
 are then two precious valuable years to be 
 accounted for ; how have they been bestowed 7 
 The future man may have been made or mar- 
 red in these two years, according as they liave 
 been devoted, ^he infant can not read or 
 write, but he can perceive, and feel, and act. 
 It is born with some mental faculties, in lull 
 capacity to act. It speedily _ sees, hears, 
 taites, smell, touches, mechanically, moves 
 and resists, and shrinks when support is with- 
 drawn for an instant. It feels pam. It knows 
 how to act in obedience to the 'nstinct of 
 food. It cries when unsupplied, and otten 
 manifests violence and passion. _ It is soon 
 engaged in perceiving and examimngrnatenal 
 objects, and when gaining a knowledge of 
 their (lualities, is occupied more importantly 
 than it will ever be in its years of mature ac- 
 complishment. Is there no field for the edu- 
 cator in all this? There is, and one of the 
 most delicate and skilful cultivation. Keep- 
 in" in view that education has two great ends 
 —"to train all the faculties to proper action, 
 and to instruct the intellectual, let us make 
 the attempt to describe the beau-ideal ot 
 secular education, commencmg. as it ought, 
 with cradle-education, soon after birth, n 
 has been said that we can imagine a niount- 
 ain of pure gold, and a sea of wme; let us 
 then conceive what as yet is almost as unre- 
 alizable, a series of educators, ready for a for- 
 tunate human being, from his birth onward 
 to his maturity, who are quahfied, by pnnu- 
 ple and practice, to conduct every step of his 
 Training and instruction aright. To his nur«e 
 -and iell for him will it be that that func- 
 tionary is the nurse of nature, the mothcr-is 
 assigned the deeply responsible f'^nctitm o 
 commencing the course ; and we are entitled 
 toZuire that the child shall not be subjected 
 to any counteracting influences from the ig- 
 norance of others around him. We presume jj 
 
 norance oi uuucio tx.^""" — ■— . „i,,,a; 
 
 1 that the mother knows infant nature physi- 
 
 I cally and morally, and that the conditions of 
 
 ' bodily health and right mental developirtnt 
 
ml of the individ- 
 undirnctpd to all 
 
 evil. His posi- 
 -it is awful; anJ 
 om it fails so to 
 
 the highest ami 
 iks into insifrnifi- 
 ;hR behest of him, 
 Wildcrspin, was 
 isor." 
 
 vith birth. What 
 enlly an advanced 
 ,nd to many ears. 
 nUy impracticable 
 
 arms ; they must 
 kralk, or, as a rule, 
 wo years. There 
 table years to be 
 jy been bestowed ? 
 jeen made or mar- 
 irding as they have 
 t con not read or 
 
 and feel, and act. 
 il faculties, in full 
 edily sees, hears, 
 3chanically_ moves 
 en support is with- 
 elspam. It knows 
 to the instinct of 
 applied, and often 
 ission. It is soon 
 examining material 
 g a knowledge of 
 I more importantly 
 years of mature ac- 
 10 field for the edu- 
 ; is, and one of the 
 cultivation. Keep- 
 1 has two great ends 
 ;s to proper action, 
 jctual, let us make 
 
 the heau-ideal of 
 encing, as it ought, 
 oon after birth. It 
 m imagine a mount- 
 sea of wine ; let us i 
 5t is almost as nnre- 1 
 itors, ready for a for- 
 ira his birth onward 
 
 qualified, by prinei- 
 uct every step of his 
 iright. To his nurse 
 it be that that func- 
 iture, the mother — is 
 iponsible function of 
 ; and we are entitled 
 shall not be subjected 
 luencea from the ig- 
 i him. We presume 
 , infant nature physi- 
 that the conditions of 
 t mental developn ent 
 
 are both perfectly understood, and kept stead- 
 ily in view by her. She is fully instruct... 
 S^infnnt treatm.-nt, ami has tally abjure.l all 
 the ,nischiev..us absur.lities which peril in- 
 fant h.M.Uh. an.l multiply infant graves, ^he 
 kn,iws the grn.lual and successive develop- 
 ment of the'' human faculties ; the watcm's 
 with int.'nse inter.-st the first bud.bngs of the 
 intu.it min.l ; sh.- nccnpies its wakuig moirn... s 
 Skill in this occuputi.m is itselt a t-vt ot tUt 
 merits .>f a nurse. It hns two mmTtant r.- 
 ^Uts: it ex..rcis..s and thereby lu.^ov.- th.^ 
 senses an.l observant p..wers, and «.t cUrah 
 from the inr.-ssant importunity .^t the anunn 
 feelings, less,.nin}. th.-r.-by their intensity, and 
 luvinu the f.mn.lati.m of virtuous habits. A 
 wide dillerenc; is obse.'val>lo ,.>no„!i nurses ,n 
 ,..,wernnd .lispositi.m t.) amuse mtants; l)ut 
 even the best .rnrrlfr w.iuM gam y.-t gr.-utcr 
 purchase, if, fr.mi kn..wl.Misc' ot tl... nature 
 and m.xlcof a<ni.mof the sens..san.l ...s.Tv,ng 
 
 •s she otr.Tc.l amusement winch w.)ul.l 
 
 l?f 
 
 tend to their improvem.M.t. 1- mms. si/es. 
 colors, arran^.MncMt, number, relative p.isiti.m. 
 an.l resistunee, may all be >'""'«/';;"" 
 amusements, less.)ns, ami exercises, t- tlK; ," ; 
 fanf, while the sevral senses, through which 
 their perception gains a.lmittan.-e t.. their ap- 
 pn.priatc cerebral ..rgans, may all be p. sn,g 
 hr. ugh a curse of improvei.uMM: by various 
 judicious trials of their vigor. The relati.ms 
 if musical tones arc often v.Ty early per- 
 ceived. We have heard a part of a mel.Mly 
 hummed, in imitati.m..f its nurse, by an ii.iant 
 scarcely a year ol.l. A sinjimg nurse ,...sses- 
 ses a grand additional .pialihcuti.m tor her 
 office; there is no excitement more wholc- 
 s.,me to the infant's spirits than a lively song, 
 no diversion tV.im excess of animaliMU more 
 powerful. Animalism is pre-eminently pres- 
 ent in the infant, for the wisest en.ls. Un- 
 ,,ualified selfishness, in the matter «'*/'!'»';« 
 essential to an infant's existence; "^''-l .'' «^" 
 not, in its sphere, more benefit the s.)c e y of 
 which it has become a member th'in by just 
 such self-seeking. But even the infant may 
 ly the gluttonrand form a hatnt thus ear y 
 which will unfav..rably characterize the a.lult. 
 Or"anizati.m will .iirect the phrem.logica 
 m,.'therin this particular; f''^ «f ''^^.XT^J 
 matiifests itself a few h..urs after ^irth "s 
 cer.'bral in.lication is early developed. JNext, 
 in .Kder of time, to the alimentive, t^"^"'"" 
 bative and destructive mstincts show them- 
 selves. The plaintive wail of pam gives 
 
 imnression. Then is the habit of irascibility 
 
 firit f..rmed,to bec.mc m..re and more delia.it 
 
 of eontr..l, till its strength in aflcr-lile may 
 
 ,listurb .louiostic and public peace, br.mk out 
 
 in acts of violence and homici.le, or tonninate 
 
 in dangerous insanity. The enlightened 
 
 m,.ther knows all this, an.l watches cl..s dy 
 
 the incipient signs, connecting them with the 
 
 rvi^^sorganizati..n. Then will he, powers 
 
 o .fivert bt calle.l f.jr. For every paroxysm 
 
 ' of temiirr which she succeeds in averting, 
 
 will b.'so much gained to the mo.lcration of 
 
 the faculty's activity-of its uture strength 
 
 „„,1 ,l,tiance of c.ntrol, ti I. like the sk If. 
 
 physician, wh... by mitigating the peruKhcal 
 
 L,t-acks..f disease, lessens at ""'^e '.ei fre- 
 
 MU.ncv and severity, she has succeeded in 
 
 t'ormirl.T a character of patience, am even 
 
 g . Uleness, compared with what would have 
 
 i:esuUed from leaving, as IS yet t'- ^''^ ^^« 
 
 course to do, the coml)ative and destructive 
 
 Lnpulses to their own wil.l way-and s..ciety 
 
 to niakc fruitless laws for "-e^'f «"","- /J^'";'- 
 
 In the course of the two y.jars of what may 
 be called the nursery period, other fact. lies 
 still of the inferior an.l sellish class, will n 
 various degrees, but always according t< or- 
 ;anl,ation,%ucc..ssiv.ly exhibit themscdves 
 The .rermsof faculties, which in excess are 
 cov.tousness. cunning, pride, vanity, an.l ..b- 
 stiiiacv. will be found t.. answer to organi/a- 
 ti.m; and the well-prepare.l mother wdl .le- 
 t.^ct them, when to c.thers, they would remain 
 invisible; till, at a later peno.l, they become 
 unmistakable. fV..m the .l.unest.c ann.,yance 
 which thev occasion. These are the mani- 
 festathms of faculties planted "> t^'^Tnot 
 constituti.m tor wise and g.....l ends, when not 
 in al.use, of which abuse the above series are 
 he nau,;s. The skilful nurse wil guide them 
 a.i.bt. an.l present them with their i^ropcr 
 "bCctk She kn.,ws that she will hnd the 
 laniest organs certainly the m.)st temling t.. 
 exc^'.'ssive and unfavorable manifestation, ami 
 "these her corrective attention will be chiefly 
 
 .lirected. Her powers of Ji^'^--^'"" ^^'(f ""^.^ 
 er fail her. As with passi.m, so with obsti- 
 nacy she must .tivert the infant from Us ex- 
 cS causes, and never conten. with it; and 
 s., of all others; she will avoid an unwise or 
 th.-ughtless purveyance of their objects. 
 
 Having succcded, as she will not fail to 
 do, if there be no .n.ire than an average en- 
 
 dowment of the animal Vr^'^^^'f^t^y'l' 
 
 ducincT at least the negative quahties ot pa- 
 
 seivcs. me i>m....... ..-..-- ■ ,„^" „_ 1 tipnce". moderation in foot!, and absence oi 
 
 phiccin ™any_ mfatits 1. Je ^la^ r ^ --^^^ ^ °^---y'rt;^::^ 
 
 place, m many iiii.»..^=-, v.- -■-- - ., . 
 
 ot temper, and very young >"f''"%^;"^J''f^^ 
 and strike, and kick, ami roar, till they are 
 well nigh black in the face. PhreTiological 
 physiologists can tell the ertect of this over- 
 
 exercise on the pl«»ti« \nf''"V^''''"'L,*' "n 
 later period of life will it make so deep an 
 
 cunning, gree.liness, °"*V \b, si^rns of 
 vanity and self-esteem, shoul.1 the s gns oi 
 the last two appear, she will - -mejie h^^^^^ 
 (.learns of the higher unselfish leeimg oi 
 Colence. Thi's will first ap.jear in th 
 passive and negative form of a gentle sweet 
 
 S** 
 
 
 

 iins!«, but nm\ l'< 
 i t , lnm.-s,i.- a.nn.als ,.ro„rn.... t- ...<r.' s 
 
 rx r.^..- ll.us far. xviH Ln ot .nrstnnal.l. am, 
 ami w 11 t.ll for life m-n .1- "'^l^^^^^ 
 u-T Hv tlx- tiin.^ ot the sccoial anniv( rsary 
 f ;.ur Jfe-''.s l--.rtl..la.- arriv.H-l.r.-smn,ng, n« 
 ot our <>(«" .■< ,,„•.. ntive pownrs have re- 
 ""'"■ { n ta ■< 'x • -ir- as to he strcngth- 
 
 :;;::rln:r^Siv:;,hk..owi..i,o of things and 
 
 tl . r " ."litifH ^vhich present thenme vos in 
 „,V,.i -there will h. intro.luc..lt..lhc 
 
 f„{ the .nore ailvance.l course vh.eh « 1 he 
 mil in that valuahle seminary. With Ji'« 
 f, i It a. 1 hope the excellent nwther will han.l 
 e ch . over to the infant-school teacher. 
 ShetldoncadiUyofhighJ.«n,ty- h 
 
 rS;;::n«^heSJS;afs^^^^ 
 
 t^ conformity, than l-^tory has^ever r - 
 cor.le.l him, with the image '« J^"^,;' ,,^;;, 
 created. But, a as ! when shal such things 
 be -When shall we see such clnklren-when 
 
 "gj'ii^ris now introduced to the little 
 w.Sd of the infant-school, where he will en- 
 ;; advantages denied to the -I't-le of he 
 nursery. He minijles with numbers, ol ^v hicn 
 Tment the importance ^^^^n iTiSow- 
 h» character is obvious. He hnds his ttUow 
 „:„ in a variety of -peots. -th a -nety 
 of characters resembling <»nd JiHen.ig t«^in 
 h 8 own, in his intercourse with whom he will 
 find use for all the faculties he possesses 
 whiehTmp y social existence as man's destiny. 
 Some of llLe, in their n--f-|f-- 't"o hi 
 -"11.-!'-. -7.^^^rrl°" i" "fo'l'mav 
 
 reallv I'e eulleii, ■■■ ■■ i - . , , 
 
 tv the hi-di moral standard which guides the 
 i;,tVrcourse of the little comu.unity. 
 
 It is unnecessary to d. toil at engtV. the 
 curriculum of u good "''»"'-'"=^"'"'-„,. :,, ,,? 
 „„ the subject are numerous. Those ot 
 Wilderspin. the great imi.rover ol tl>'JJ«^" - 
 inaries, are well known. The number ot 
 Cltamher^'i, Eclucatiomd Course ent.tle.l "In- , 
 fant Education.- is itself a concise SU''''; f"'-" ] 
 whi<-h a judicious person might establish and 
 ;; luet an infant-school. '{I'f nf"! »>7"«!' 
 of the svst.m must ever he held the most im- 
 portant." It. order to direct this branch aright, 
 }h« teacher, like the mother, must intimatelv 
 know the faculties, both animal and moral, 
 ^vhich all act blin.lly, as l^'-^. f^;"'"'?;: ^f;/, 
 cuided by an improved intellect. Ihe liest 
 1 infant-sch.K,! teachers we have met ^v^th arc 
 practical phrenologists. Such easily ascer- 
 ' iuin the diversities of organization. But they 
 possess other advantages. Aware ot tl^ 
 fn.^ultie8, they observe and distinguish the^ 
 marked manifestations, and know well how 
 to meet them with restraint or encourage- 
 ment, as respectively reMUired. The anin^al 
 or selfish faculties generally recpure the rem 
 _lhe moral or social thes,.ur; and delicately 
 and judiciously, will an accomplished mftn 
 teacher use either. His mora lessons ^^Mll 
 inculcate how the selfish ^^-^^^ ^^^^^ 
 abused, and how invanab y, by t^,- ^^"''L, 
 moral laws, such abuse, besides deteatingU 
 own end, is followed by su lenng-and not 
 less certainly how the exercise of mercy and 
 truth bring not only delight in their exercise, 
 but reward in their consequences, i.cssons 
 of temperance tell admirably on the pupils 
 of infant-schools. A horror of drunkenness 
 and a knowledge of all its evil consequences, 
 are most satisfactorily prevalent in many an 
 infant-school ; and ot'ten has a .-liild. with Us 
 
 oome .u V....... - , , . ... .,, }-:, impressions lisped forth at home, shamed a 
 
 comiianions, may encroach on his right to his ^ ^ '^ i„f„ sobriety, and been 
 
 a others on his little F"P"^y ' .Xh.vl known to brin'g him from the ale-bench when 
 touch his self-esteem, others mortijrhm love K p„,,eavors have been brutally re- 
 
 „f approbation, and n o^^V^jV/y. ^ r;;ii,a. Mercy and kindness to animals, pro- 
 forbJarance : such feelings it will be the J m J PJ ^^^ ;,,,k and ""becile respect for 
 
 forbearance: sucn ieeiiiis=>.^ - , .- 
 
 ess<m and exercise of the place to control m 
 S elf. and forgive in ^i V^^^-^f J '^ 
 mates and he will be led to love his litt e 
 "nSs if so they.may be called and requie 
 them good for evil. Such, he will »earn. is 
 theT-ractice of good and great men; and no 
 man is creat who is not also good. 
 
 The training of the faculties, begun m the 
 nursery will proceed in the infant-sch.Kil, 
 nursery, "" i ._„..,, „„i„. Thev will be 
 
 lection to the Weak and imbecile respect for 
 Sn mate .lesiructible things-delicate atten- 
 ,"^ to avoid annoying others by troublesome 
 rieanly l-ctices-willing obedience^ to 
 rules and regulations-punctual.ty-respect 
 fulness and atlection to superiors— love to 
 JJuals, and kindness to all. have all been re- 
 al zed in well-conducted infant-schoo s. 
 The intellectual branch of infant education. 
 
 infant-sch<Ki1, The mteiiectu^. :" „ot „ealected in a school 
 
 nur»i;iY, ""' I -- , rru^v will be ' though secondary, IS not negietieiii" » 
 
 and on a more extended scale. They wi 1 be in j^ j ^^ ^^^_ rp^g^g ,g „« 
 
 ^r ngthened by much -^X''VTotZZ'^tZ^^-^ ^-^ overLrking the knowing or 
 
 _, l„ nr.,1 pxercise. The etiect ol an m- i.r»'""" h ,•,,•„ rpUo too<.Vipr knows the 
 
 ;:c"^ riv^lryTu bebg and doing good willlreflectingfacult.es. 
 
lin i^ (•<ii)Vf'r''niit 
 nt of wliiit "iiiy 
 lit' 'ifiicriil siir'w- 
 ivliich nuiilM t)\e 
 iHinity. 
 
 W at" lcn^;tl> ili" 
 -schiiol. W rks 
 miH. Those of 
 vcr iif these scm- 
 Tli«! niimluT of 
 ursf entitled "In- 
 iticisi! gui'le. from 
 iulit establish 011(1 
 rhe moral brunch 
 held the most iin- 
 this branch ariKhti 
 r, must intimiitelv 
 luimnl and niornl, 
 ■re fcolinps, utdess 
 ;clkct. The best 
 hove met wth ore 
 inch easily uscer- 
 izutioii. But they 
 Aware of the 
 1 distinguish their 
 (1 know well how I 
 aint or oneourage- 
 ired. The animal 
 lly require the rein 
 |mr; and delicately 
 ccomplished infant 
 moral lessons will 
 I fncultirs may be 
 ly, by the Creator's 
 besiiles defeating its 
 sullering:— and not 
 crcise of mercy and 
 ht in their exercise, 
 lequences. Lessons 
 rnbly on the pupils 
 rror of drnnkenness, 
 ts evil consequences, 
 •evnlent in raany an 
 has a ehild, with its 
 at borne, shamed a 
 sobriety, nm\ been 
 the ale-bench, when 
 ve been brutally re- 
 Iness to animals, pro- 
 imbecile, resjiect for 
 jjfigs; — Llelicate atten- 
 thers by troublesome 
 ivilling obedience to 
 punctuality— respect- 
 
 superiors — love to 
 all, have all been re- 
 
 1 infant-schools. 
 
 ch of infant education, 
 t neglected in a school 
 to be. There is no 
 •king the knowing or 
 'he teacher knows the 
 
 .UuncT as well as the fruitfulness of such Q 
 
 rC lie, is well aware ..f the prernaturo 
 
 ::;:;ofpn.oeiouschUdp,^gn.jranUyn.^ 
 
 v,,;„..in'iously ov.'rworked. Uo knows ti at 
 
 S. the ,n.ir«l organs are '^rcn^'^Ahy 
 
 Tx 'rcise, the intellectual arc '"J"""' '"y ," ;^- 
 
 w,rk His lessons addressed to the latter 
 
 :rbeneidental, having much. ..the nature J 
 
 ,davH"d never too long continue.l at a 
 i:-Mmd. may be insensibly c-mimunum-l 
 , ;., this -viiv. Lessons on objects and their , 
 
 . i '':;;l. rendered intensely attramve 
 i we 1 as instructive, till a great amount ..t 1 
 ":J: elementary knowledge is requ.re.l -, 
 .'experience has shown that many ch. dren, 
 ?n the r....r years, from two to six, duruig 
 
 of Arithmetic, and geography l^';-!'; '^«; ^ 
 
 .. All this imparted to your ^l'^-'''^^"^^,l 
 single rr//AW»«.v lesson!" will probably be the 
 Xna.ion of tnany. We answer^ ^nu 
 „/• it without religious essons.", ^ ^"^ J^ 
 of the young, who is himself imbed w.h 
 he eli.f that nature's laws arc of God s ap- 
 o n.rnent. in their most stupendous and mn- 
 Ltest, relations-that he !^''^-""^;\?^J>^'^," ', 
 anil not li'ss the moral world, by hx a laws, 
 wh ch h is intelligent creatures are bound to 
 Wm anTobeV-that the exquisite adnpta- 
 01 " «d hese laws, when obeyed, to the hap- 
 Alof sentient beings demonstrate a bcnev- 
 u au the sullerings hehas attached to 
 ttft.ce,a^stBeu^-nisj^^^ 
 
 ^:ti'\Z:t Sh:rphysical or moral 
 truth without discerning the present God in 
 hi^ own mind, and loving hirn in his own 
 heart and imparting that knowledge and that 
 love by instruction and sympathy, to his pu- 
 is When a teacher's attention was con- 
 
 fants. while the whole ^<=l?f "" '^^.^^^^^^ 
 revelation, unknown as it was to the instruc 
 or was a sealed book to the instructed, buch 
 
 discover, so to spean, " t ttiP aim- 
 
 good God, in his own e'^'*'''"^^' ''"^^ Tr- 
 i.le and intelligible arrangeirients, ^hich sur 
 ound lim and" give him - oyment an^ ha^ 
 niness • till a practical conviction that uou is 
 
 !«| 
 
 I tudo for his g.x..lnes«. wouhl e-iunlly sreure 
 ' h.ve. A^deep feelitifi ol ,Me,y nn.V Ih= 
 
 ' kindled in the infant bosom by uumeomplish- 
 ' ed infant-school teacher. ,. , , ,.,, 
 
 inlrlwol, where are assembled the children 
 ' „f narents of every variety ol (lin-iimi doc- 
 i, e aud of some perhaps whose behel is no 
 •Christian fuilh. our pertect svst.n. w.mh 
 ruidlv r^r.^yuU; the introduction ol the intant 
 mi rto -hat must be the tea.her's own 
 "::;'al reUgious beli.;f on, "I-;;'--, ^ 
 I 1 uve presumed an enlightened moth rut home, 
 who will have well considered and conscien- 
 ' isly ix d her own faith, and care u ly se- 
 "Jher religious pastor. She atid^h^^ 
 best determine the lime and the way of her 
 be ov'^1 child's introduction to the pall, which 
 lendeth to o kingdom not ot this wurld-to 
 " nil salvation." Who will dare to antic.- 
 1 ,ate the sacre.l teachings of this inner school 
 r inculcate faiths and forms which that schoo 
 may repudiate, nay, it may bjN » -1"" ? »"* 
 •w.vfuUv will the t«vor..l child be receive 
 
 to that sacred sanctuary, i.nbued. as he w 11 
 bo. as a foundation for other instruction w, h 
 a kn..wledge and h,vc of God as revealed in 
 
 his natural creation. , -i i „,. ,>„„, 
 
 We should perhaps have described s.K)ner 
 
 the provisions made in the mfant-school for 
 lyi^cal education. A playground .s not otilv 
 . ?ential for such a seminary, but is the chief 
 
 department of it. Bordered with the neatest 
 
 o,j tivation, stocked with the ch.ncest flowers. 
 
 a. orned wilh tasteful and even fragile erections 
 
 aiornedwitniasieiui •»•"'-•■',■ r-- - 
 
 of taste, all to practise in rchnement and care, 
 it as an ample space for exerc.ses, be .tting 
 he g.^.f the pu .ils. In this p ace. with Us 
 fres^air, more' than half their tune at school 
 s 8 ent, their sittings in schm,! at one time 
 being short; and here their intercourse is free, 
 imlfheir social feelings the l-^tter ex..c,sed 
 
 No child arrived at six years "f "S*-'; ^ " « 
 not unfortunately or};anr/.ed, a 8">y'=t '''»'« 
 watched in after-life, can leave an infant- 
 Thol without much of that mprovement. 
 that formation of character, which education 
 tSa at once trains and instructs must neces- 
 sarilv produce. Our supposed cxpnunent 
 having joine.l the school ^vUh the best mate^r- 
 5al pre .aration. and reaped all ttshenehts the 
 more easily and perfectly because of that 
 preparation, all the school lessons and the 
 school execises seconded and enforced at 
 home the health and strength improved, he 
 itTs hat ^vill do most credit to the second 
 stage of his education, the infant-school, and 
 prove its incalculable advantages. 
 P Ve are prepared to hear that ;."ch viewB 
 are visionary and Utopian. We^' ^^^ ,^',' " 
 r^v are emmentlv practical— nay more, tney 
 are^iraSle, a^d^extreme as tf.ey may ap- 
 pear, they will yet be universally lealued. 
 
 '^ IS 
 
 
 
 ■i-^ 
 
 f^ii*- 
 
386 
 
 BUHNINU A I'lUKST AT TAVOY, SUM. 
 
 BURNING A PRIEST IN SIAM. 
 
 TiiK death of a ronghnr. or presulent of a 
 kyoung \» ruganlo.! as a gn^at ev.-nt. an-l the 
 funcrttVis conducted with pomn and c<rern..ny. 
 The l)o.ly, being .■ml)0W(,-l.Ml, uml it« juices 
 preL.l out, ■» filled with hon-'V. ".-d swathed 
 Fn many fol.l.of vnrni.l.od dutt,. Tho who e 
 is coated with beeswax; that which covers 
 the face and feet being »« wrought as to re- 
 semble tl>e deceased. These parts are then 
 Cilded. The body often lies in state many 
 months, on a platform highly ornamented with 
 fringes, colored paper, pictures, ficc 
 
 Durin.' my stay at Tavoy, occurre.l the lu- 
 neral of a .lintinguishcl Ponghee. If'^.ty, 
 and the great j.reparalions which hud been 
 made for it, attracted almost the entire impu- 
 luce. The boily had been lying in state, un- 
 der an ornamental canopy for seyvral month*, 
 embalmed in Burman fashion. The face and 
 feet, where the wax preserved the original 
 shai)e, were visible, and completely gilded. 
 Five cors on low wheels had been prepared, 
 to which were attached long ropes ot rata,,, 
 and to some of them ot each end. 1 l»ey 
 were constructed chiefly of cane, and not oniy 
 were in pretty good taste, but (luite costly 
 withal, in gold leaf, embroidered mushn, &c. 
 Wh<'n the set day arrived, the concourse 
 assembled, tilling, not only all the /.ayats, but 
 all the groves, dressed in theu best clothes, 
 and full of festivity. Not a beggar or ill- 
 dressed person was to be seen. Almost every 
 person of either sex, was dressed in silk ; and 
 many, especially children, had ornaments ol 
 gold or silver in their ears and round their an- 
 kles and wrists. Not an instance ot drunken- 
 ness or nuarrelling come under my eye, or, 
 that I could learn, ocnirreil on either day. 
 The body in its decorated cortin was removed, 
 amid an immense concourse, from its place in 
 the kyoung to one of the cars, with an exces- 
 sive din of drums, gongs, cymbols, trumpets 
 and wailing of women. When it was prop 
 
 and wuUing ot women, w ncn n wa, ,,..,,, ---^ distance 
 
 crly adiusted in its new location, a number of ^' ™,,i"^^t~' 
 
 men niounted the car at each end, and hun- 1 nvrotechmc, long 
 
 dreds of people grasped the ropes, to draw it 
 
 to the place of burning, halt a mile distant. 
 
 But it had not advanced many paces bctore 
 
 those behind drew it back. Then came a 
 
 prmligious struggle. The thousands m tront 
 
 exerted all their strength to get it iorwanl, 
 
 and those behind with e(|ual energy held it 
 
 back. Now it would go ten or twelve paces 
 
 forwaril, then six or eight backward ; one i)ar- 
 
 ty pretending their great zeal to perform the 
 
 last honors for the priest, the other declaring 
 
 they could not part with the dear reniains . 
 
 The air was rent with the shouts of each pp'- 
 
 ty tt) encourage their side to exertion. 1 
 
 bark and forth in the same manner, hut less 
 vehemi^ntly. This frolic continued tor a t. w 
 hours, ttiul the crowd .lispersed, leaving the 
 cars on the way. For several doys the pop- 
 ulace amuse themselves in the snmo mannei ; 
 but I attended no more, till intormiid by tho 
 governor that at thr.-e o'clock that day, tho 
 burning would certainly take place. 
 
 Repairing again to the si)oi, I found tii«fd- 
 vuncing porty had of course succeeded. 1 he 
 empty curs were in an open lielil, while that 
 which bore the body was in the place ot burn- 
 ing, enclosed by a light fence. The lu'ight 
 was about thirty feet. At an elevation ot tit- 
 teen or sixteen feet, it contained a sort ot fco- 
 puichrul monument, like the Hquun: tombs in 
 our churchyards, highly oraainented with 
 Chinese |)ui)er, bits of variously colored glass 
 arranged like flowers, and variously mylho- 
 lo.ncal figures ; and tilled with combustibles. 
 On this was the body of the priest. A long 
 spito decorated to th<! utmost, and festooned 
 with flowers, comi)leted the structure, boon 
 after the appointed hour, a procession ot 
 priests approached, and took their seats on a 
 platform within the enclosure, while m onoth- 
 er direction came " the tree of life," borne on 
 the shoulders of men, who reverently placed 
 it near the priests. It was ingeuiously and 
 tastefully constructed of fruits, rice, boxes, 
 cups, umbrellas, stall's, raiment, cooking uten- 
 sils, ond in short, an assortment ot all the ar- 
 ticles deemed useful and convenient in Dur- 
 mau housekeeping. Women tollowi.d. l.eor- 
 iii" on their heads baskets of fruits ami other 
 articles. All these oflerings, I was told, 
 were priaarily for the use ot the deceased. 
 But as he only needed their spiritual essence, 
 the gross and substantial substances remained 
 for the use of the neighboring monastery. 
 
 " The priests, with a small audience ot el- 
 derly persons, now mumbled over the ap- 
 pointed prayers, and having performed some 
 tedious ceremonies, retired. Immediately, 
 sky-rockets and other fireworks were let oil. 
 
 ^^ ^ From the place of the 
 
 pyrotechnics", long ropes extende<t to the fu- 
 neral cars, to which were fastened horizontal 
 rockets bearing various pasteboard fi iiros, as 1 
 may be seen in the engraving. I'le.-ently, 
 men with slow matches touched oil one ct 
 these ; but it whizzed forward only a little 
 way and expircil. Another failed m the sarne 
 manner, and shouts of derision rose from the 
 crowd. The next rushed forward, and broke 
 a portion of the car, which called forth strong 
 applause. Another and another dashed into 
 the Uttering fabric, while several men were 
 seen throwing fagots and gunpowder into it, 
 .ar- 1 till finally, a furious rocket entering the midst 
 of the pile, the whole blazed up, and the poor 
 
 Sl^; Z:ThT^^^'^^^<^^ 1 ;^- ^^-pWed to heaven Y Fancy fire- 
 
ivith oi)niuu»lil)lc8. 
 he prictit. A lone 
 lost, niiJ festooned 
 e structure. Soon 
 , a procession ol 
 )ok their seats on a 
 ire, while in nnoth- 
 16 of life," borne on 
 ) reverently jilaced 
 as iiiyi'iiiously and 
 fruits, rice, boxes, 
 tnent, cooking utcn- 
 tinent of all the ar- 
 conveuient in Bur- 
 men followed, beor- 
 
 i)f fruits and other 
 irings, I WHS told, 
 so of the deceased. 
 3ir spiritual essence, 
 substances remained 
 ^jring monastery, 
 irnall audience of el- 
 nbled over the ap- 
 injj performed some 
 red. Immediotely, 
 reworks were let ort', 
 )m the place of the 
 
 extended to the fu- 
 e fastened horizontal 
 msteboard fi -iirps, 08 
 graving. I'lesently, 
 ) touched otf one tf 
 forward only ii little 
 her fulled iirtliesiime 
 lerision rose from the 
 id forward, and broke 
 ich called forth strong 
 
 another dashed into 
 ile several itien were 
 d gunpowder into it, 
 ket entering the midst 
 lazed up, and the poor 
 heaven I Fancy fire- 
 
Ea*, 
 
 it 
 
 388 
 
 THE H0U8B OF ROTHSCHILD. 
 
 work. c..nclu.l.'.l tlio crromony, nnd ih'" /';' 
 ,.f„w.l .'.. .iu'r».c.l. Ii> the horkKMund i.f llw" 
 «i,.»ur(f nr.- huck«ltr« vrn.lit.K I'ruitN tec. and 
 in rV- I nitre «J">" inu»u;nl lnill.Mmi. 
 
 llov. H llaliimi •< Tr»voli. 
 
 THE HOUSE OF ROTHSCHILD. 
 
 ili... to iouv MU.it rxi-loit. or m..n« lucky 
 arci.lent, whic h .ud-l.i.ly ru.scd t\m anrpstor 
 of thn house; fr..tii (.l)KCUnly, m"! providrd 
 him ut tlip R-imn lirnr with n lcp<-Tid to hm 
 ront of urii... The ri-|)r.-H<->>tat.ve8 of »uch 
 fntnilii's nrr horn porsouQHcs "f history ; tli.'ir 
 namo, titin, and cHtatc— th<iir posilKMi in the 
 thfi country— <lrsn<mdins to ilwtn l.y inhrnt- 
 nnri!, omrHO conliiiuinK from <;.'nfTnti(m to 
 crneration. till wur or n-volution .hmmsef. or 
 removes the ohl liinchnnrks of society. Hut 
 there ore other origin* wliich U wouhl he 
 vnin to endeavor to arrive at hy a sinular 
 proreBs ; the ori)rins of houses that rise oten.l- 
 Ih . not suddenly, in their peculiar career, 
 ai I the duccess of which is not, secured hy a 
 sinMo incident, hut distrihuted evenly over 
 tho'lifetimo of one or more generations. In 
 such cases, the uerm of prosperity must he 
 eouaht for in the family mind— m the idumyti- 
 crasy of the race— in the theory hy which 
 their conduct in the world is governed ; and 
 not the first accident, which attracts the at- 
 tention of the vulgar as the orisin of their 
 fortune, is merely a point d'apvm aelecte^d hy 
 forethouRht and resolution. The rise of the 
 house of Rothschild presents a very remark- 
 ahlc illustration of his view of a question 
 which will never cease to ho interesting, and 
 atlords a striking instance of the natural and 
 simple means hy which those vast results are 
 ohtained which it is customary to ascrihc to 
 chance or miracle. , 
 
 . In the middle of the last century there 
 lived, in the n)wn of Frankfort -on-the-Mame, 
 ft hushand and wife of the Hebrew persua- 
 sion, who lavished all their cares upon a son, 
 whom they destined for the profession of a 
 schoolmaster. The hoy, whose name was 
 Meyer Anselm Rothschild, and who . 'r , botri 
 at Frankfoi» in the year 1743, exhiu.itd si.rh 
 tokens of capacity, that his parent i ni vIt 
 every efl'ort in their power to give )iin. thf 
 advantage of a good education; ami WjIu this 
 view he spent some years at Firth, going 
 through such a curriculum of study as ap- 
 peared to be proper. The youth, however, 
 had a natural bent toward the study of anti- 
 quities, and this led him more especially to 
 the examination of ancient coins, in the knowl- 
 
 rdgi' of which he attained to ronsitlrrahle pro- 
 ficiency. Here was one step onward in thn 
 world ; for. in after years, his anii'iuarian 
 researcheh proveil the means of exliiiding 
 and ratifying his connexions in Hociety, as 
 well BH of opening out to him a source ol mi- 
 mediate suiiport. His parents, however, who 
 were noted as pious and upright eharncters, 
 di<'d when ho was yet a hoy, in his elevenlh 
 year, and ->ti his xlurii to Frankfort he set 
 himself to learn practically the routine ol the 
 counling-hoUHC. . 
 
 After this we find him in Hmiover, in the 
 employ of a wealthy bankiiig-house, whose 
 ullairs he conducted for several yi iirs with 
 care ami fidelity ; ami then we see opening out 
 umlerhis auspices, in his native city, the gerni 
 of that mighty business which wuh desiincd 
 to act 8(1 powerfully ujion »he povimrnents of 
 Kurope. Before eslabli.i.p g hi' little 1 unk- 
 iiig-house, Mever Anstdin Rothschild pre- 
 pared himself fV>r thi; advciiluie l.y marrying; 
 ami his prudent cIkm' , there is no doubt, con- 
 tributed greatly to hi" eventual success in the 
 world. . . 
 
 About this time a circumstance is said to 
 have occurred, to which the rise of the Roths- 
 childs from obscurity is ascribed by those 
 who find it necessary to trace such brilliant 
 etlects to romantic and wonderful causes. 
 The prince of Hesse-Cassel, it seems, in fly 
 
 ing from the approach of the republican arm- 
 ies, desired, as he passed through Frankfort, 
 to get rid of a large amount in gold and jewels, 
 in such a way as might leave him a chance 
 of its recovery after the storm had passed by. 
 With this view he sought out the humble 
 money-changer, who consented reluctantly to 
 take charge of the treasure, burying it in a 
 comer of his garden jst at the moment when 
 the republican troops entered the gates of the 
 city. His own property ho did not conceal, 
 for this would have occasioned a search ; 
 and cheerfully sacrificing the less for the 
 preservation of the greater, he reopened his 
 office as soon as the town was quiet agoin, and 
 recommenced his daily routine of calm and 
 steady industry. But he knew too well the 
 value of money to allow the gold to lie idle 
 in his garden. Ho dug it forth from time to 
 time as he could use it to advantage ; and, in 
 fine, made such handsome profits upon his 
 f Mpital, that on the duke's return in 1802, he 
 |..,.ored to re'iiu' the whole, with five per 
 I at. interesi. This of course was not ac- 
 ' cepted. The money was left to fructify for 
 twenty years longer, at the almost nominal 
 interest of two per cent.; and the duke's in- 
 fluence was used, besides, with the allied 
 sovereigns in 1814 to obtain business for 
 "the honest Jew" iu the way of raising pub- 
 lic loans. 
 
=H« 
 
 m»iilrrnMp pro- 
 
 I otiwnril iti tlin 
 
 hU iiiiti>|imrian 
 
 » (if t'xti'iiilin); 
 
 in Hdi'ifiy, us 
 
 n Hiiiirrf ot' ini- 
 
 H, liiittcvtr, who 
 
 iylu chnrnrtorH, 
 
 in liix ricvi'ntli 
 
 •'rniikfort hi' snt 
 
 ho routinn of tho 
 
 Ilmiovrr, in the 
 ii;;-h()usc, whime 
 crnl yvuTH with 
 •. N«'(' ii|i('iiing out 
 VI'. city, till! perm 
 i:\\ wiH ilc'siinctl 
 ) p.vi rtiiniMitH of 
 jr lii' littli- I iink- 
 KipthKchild |)ro- 
 luc l,y mnrryingi 
 is no iloubt, con- 
 aol success in the 
 
 Rtnncp H "lid to 
 rise of tlir. Roths- 
 scrilicil by those 
 ICC Kiich brilliant 
 ondcrful causes. 
 I, it Beems, in fly- 
 e ropublifon nrm- 
 irouph Kriinkfort, 
 in goM and jiiwels, 
 avc him a chance 
 •m had possed by. 
 t out the humble 
 ited reluctantly to 
 3, burying it in a 
 tho moment when 
 ed the gates of the 
 did not conceal, 
 tsioncd a search ; 
 
 the less for the 
 •, he reopened his 
 vast quiet again, and 
 utine of calm and 
 knew too well the 
 iie gold to lie idle 
 
 forth from time to 
 advontage ; and, in 
 e profits upon his 
 
 rrturn in 1 802, he 
 lole, with five per 
 :ourse was not ac- 
 
 left to fructify for 
 the »lmo8t nominal 
 
 and the duke's in- 
 Ds, with the allied 
 obtain business for 
 way of raising pub- 
 
 THK iiorrtK OK uoTiw«;mi.n. 
 
 3H9 
 
 ,Sv:r»hv.U,n' ,hi,dutr. ... IM- ; Imt lb.' 
 wl.oL.,ry would app..ar, .... ..■....;.;■ 
 
 ;;':n,;::;:.^-:-Kn-ii^iy.;x,.««.r.u.d. it..i. 
 
 .{. .Lnt h..v^.lr.«dv b....n ...nu,...t .... 
 Ikor, .The would bi.r.fly huvc b..,. «.d.-'t -d 
 .1 r ,. .if HesiiP-Cii^^'d OS tl..' dcpoHit- 
 
 Jy of tt .u.n a.no.i..ti.»«. .t .» .•«'». to «-'•'>.""'. 
 
 w.^ in ll/year IHOl h.' was ai.po...to.l ug.-nt 
 r tl 'c Itt .dgrave, afterward . hrtor of Hc.se ; 
 '.'.'"., next year (indicated in the story 
 
 1 that of tho p. ice's r-'turn) a loan ol f » 
 ^iSltascoLtracteclw^hth,. Junsl^m 
 
 tl.rouiih the house of Roih-hild. Uttore 
 r^^J ,.1 necessarily so n.. .ju,.bt_h.s '..now l- 
 e «e, a...l the tried rectitude ..t h.^ e„.,duct, 
 hud «.a..ed hi.n general conh.lence •, h,s wealth 
 la i.rr.-use.l. a...l an enor.nous extensum of 
 th 11. of hsoperatious had taken place. 
 Sot ppears lobe, that by this t..„cth._ 
 
 b....ker of Kr....kfort was .nore •" tl'O '-';'' j; 
 ren.lering assistance than of ro.iu.r.ng it, a id 
 h «ru.ul duke of the Jay, to whom the Is- 
 raelii owe,l their civic and P"'"'- ."S*^ «i 
 nominated him a me.nber ol the elect ai 
 coU.'ge, expressly as a reward for his generous 
 services t.i his fellow-cituens. 
 
 The personal character of Meyer Ans. n 
 Rothschild is not of small conse.,uencc m ■ 
 history of the house-for their den.l tutl . . 
 nuv be said to direct to this hour the op.'ra 
 S .Vhi. children. In every imp..rta.u 
 crisis he is calhid into their counsiils; m tv 
 crv dilUcult .luestion his judgtncit is i.iv.Aed , 
 a^wh... the br..thersmect in consulta um, 
 ,1... naternal spirit seems to act as president. 
 The ex. anati. n of this well-known a.i.l mos 
 remurkible trait i.i the faini y is "ot d" 
 to those who are in the Imbit of pn;^'» "« 
 through the veil of the romantic, in order o 
 urriv.^ at the simple realities ot life. IDe 
 Z Rothschild w'as obviously a -- of c:o,n. 
 prehcisive intellect, who did ""' ^<^ ""u e 
 Lur of chance or necessity, bu »ff«'- 'nature 
 relh.ction, and on rules distinctly !«;; ! ''^^ ' 
 and he must have brought up his children in 
 a certain theory, which survived his mortal 
 ;art a..;; Scam^:: identified with his me.n.ry 
 'riiis is the only idolum conjured by the piety 
 of his descendants. His bearing, we «;« toU 
 W.1S tra.i.,uil and unassuming; and alth.iugh 
 a devout man. according to his views of rr- 
 h-ion, his .levotion was so c.mp etdy untinged 
 wi h bi.n.iry, that in his charities he made no 
 dii iiic ion between the Jew and the Christian, 
 i." 812, Rothschild left to the mighty 
 fortunes of which his wisdom had la.d the 
 ou...lation. ten children-hve sons am hve 
 dauuhters; laying upon them, with his hist 
 rea'th. th^ injunction of an inviolab.e u.. .m. 
 This is one of the grand principles to which 
 
 tho .ucce»H..f Ih.- f.....ily ..."v b.' in... d. The 
 
 .!l,l.lw,.,k..ptby.h.......w..br.^hu-^^^ 
 
 li.lelilV. The e..purt...T>hil. ... whi. l b. y 
 
 wer-'left, remai I .......frmpl.. ; and t...m 
 
 Z .. ..."V,.t ..f thfir fu.l..r;s .leu.b. .-v.-ry 
 
 .,,H.s,.lofm.m- nt wn,Hubm....-l to 
 
 .,i,.t .r.M<ussi..n. ami earrie.l ..ut up.-n u.. » n-. > 
 ,|„n, each ol .he brothers shur...«.'.|U..lv 
 he result The oiner great pr...e.pe ot t ..■. 
 ...Xl -one which actuate, .dl pr...l.'nt 
 uTond isonly d..servi..g ot spec... r...... k 
 
 i,^ them, fr...n the almost m..h«n.cal r. g.ih.r- 
 Vwthwbchitwa, act,.dup...,.th.s was 
 
 ,1m, .letermiimtion nevct to run thj ^''^''"'^ ,"J 
 n pursuit of great profit.. Tlu.r ::.und ob- 
 cc was to J de«r\y each tr«. .s«. . .on to jt 
 
 erminatio..-. to secure tV"*!':""'.. . Lv.n 
 «. , ,do..Uth«t human forethought - ^» »J' ' • 
 and to be satisfied w th a reusonm, - and or- 
 
 
 1 tho 
 
 liUt t.) 
 
 - path 
 
 they 
 
 ofl'ers 
 
 e.r de- 
 
 ' en- 
 
 less 
 
 .. of 
 
 tlttirs 
 
 hat 
 
 i.ed 
 
 rMire 
 
 mZer! By huslumdU their cap., they 
 were enables to take advant,. -^ of a tl .^and 
 recurring commissions, so as ■ r x e„ , ,eir 
 connexion day by-day ; wh.l.. ^r hu j un 
 caution earned for ihejo . repu. ■ " "« ^" 'J;', 
 tv which, united will 'h. ir rei, eal h, * ar- 
 S;:d^heircredittoa,,.chwhicl, vo..ld^hnve 
 been dangerous, if not h.tal, to lo. si. ady 
 teller.ts. ^Credi^ however. -^^Y^u Z-no 
 them. They aflected no master-tr. es-^no 
 \ coups d'etat. They wouhl hav 
 lainp of Aladdin, not to summon ( 
 ' li.du their steps as they toiled on 
 of genii. The only secrets by 
 obtained their choice of u.nu.....ra 
 ,f business, were the rnoderutioii ot 
 „ands-the punctual fumiment o 
 ^ „,ne„ts-and the s.niplicity find 
 /their system. In short, tho u 
 1 ..thschild became great because u 
 Nvre conducted upon th- most per e. 
 ol mercantile tactics, and because th.' 
 
 te- of its members. P«fJ«V"\7fr .m.h 
 oi -he original banker ot Frankfort, con 
 ny. :.y of those amiable qualities which . 
 ,„ uflarity without f'-rfc^ting respect. Th-V 
 1 o, ,ht to make money by ^l^ll »"•!,' £^',; 
 no; parsimony ; they gove a hbcral share 
 Z profits to all wfiose serv.ces were of u.,.. 
 ina ainingthem; and their hand- 
 
 » Open as Aaj to melting cl.ority"— 
 dou '^l the value of the gift by Uie grace 
 will which it was presented— the grace \m 
 pros' I Con the external man.ier by a simple 
 
 ""^^'ml^S-ntion another circumstar^ 
 whie« on various occns...ns, must have con 
 Tr bur -d lar-rely to the .nercantile su.-cess of 
 thel .iy Although their re.il unmncon- 
 
 tinu indissoluble, their I'l-J'^'^-/ ;,;',^toS 
 were : .r asunder, each member of the house 
 
 "vr>j« 
 
 
 
 
390 
 
 THE HOUSE OF KOTHSCHILD. 
 
 (Idmiciliiig himself in a different country. At 
 this moment, for instance, Anselm, bom in 
 
 1773, resides at Frankfort ; Solomon, born in 
 
 1774, chiefly at Vienna; Charles, born in 
 1~78, ot Naples ; and James, b(.'m in 1792, at 
 Piris. The fifth brother, Nathan, bom in 
 1777, resided in London, and died at Frank- 
 fort in 1837. The house was thus ubiquitous. 
 It was spread like a network over the na- 
 tions, and it is no wonder that, with all other 
 things considered, its operations upon the 
 money-market should at length have been felt 
 tremblingly by every cabinet in Europe. Its 
 wealth in the meantime enobled it to enjoy 
 those advantages of se))aration without the 
 difficulties of distance. Couriers travelled, 
 and still iiavel, from brother to brother at the 
 highest speed of the time ; and these private 
 envoys of commerce very frequently outstrip 
 the public expresses of government. 
 
 We have no means of giving anything like 
 the statistics of this remarkable business ; 
 but it is stated in the " Conversations Lexi- 
 con," that in the space of twelve years from 
 1813 — the period, we may remark, when war 
 had ruined all Europe, and when governments 
 were only able to keep themselves afloat by 
 flinging the financial burden upon posterity 
 — from eleven to twelve hundred millions of 
 florins ($500,000,000 to $600,000,000) were 
 raised for the sovereigns of Europe through 
 the agency of this house, partly as loans, and 
 partly as subsidies. Of these, 500,000,000 
 florins were for England ; 120,000.000 for Aus- 
 tria; 100,000,000 for Prussia; 200,000,000 for 
 France; 120,000,000 for Naples; 60,000,000 
 for Russia ; 10,000,000 for some of the Ger- 
 man courts; and 30,000,000 fir Brazil. And 
 this, it is added, is exclusive ' ' of those sums 
 for the allied courts, of several hundred mill- 
 ions each, which were paid as an indemnity 
 for the war to the French, and likewise of 
 the manifold preceding operations executed 
 by the house as commissioners for difTcrent 
 governments, the total amount of which far 
 exceeded the foregoing." This, however, 
 may already be considered an antiquated au- 
 thority ; for, in reality, the vast business of 
 the fimi can hardly be sold to have com- 
 menced till after the dozen years referred to 
 had expired. Since the year 1826, the house 
 of Riiihsohild has been the general govern- 
 ment bankers of Europe, and if it were possi- 
 ble to compare the two circles of transactions, 
 the former would seem to dwindle into insig- 
 nificance. 
 
 In 1815, the brothers were appointed coun- 
 sellors of finance to the then elector of Hesse ; 
 and in 1826, by the presen*- elector, privy 
 counsellors of r nance. In 1818, they were 
 elected to the royal Prussian privy council of 
 commerce. In Austria, they received, in 
 
 1815. the privilege of being hereditary land- 
 holders: and in 1822, were ennobled in the 
 same country with the title of baron. The 
 brother established in London was appointed 
 imperial counsel, and afterward counsel-gen- 
 eral; and in the same year (1822) the same 
 honor was conferred upon the brother resident 
 in Paris. The latter, the Baron James, has 
 the reputation of being the most able financier 
 in France; and it is mainly through his assist- 
 ance and influence with the other cnpitalists 
 that railways are now intersecting the length 
 and breath of the land. 
 
 Nathan, the brother who resided in Eng- 
 land, left four sons, three of whom rank among 
 the most distinguished aristocracy of the Brit- 
 ish capital ; the fourth, Nathan, residing in 
 Paris. The eldest. Lionel de Rothschild, is 
 privileged, as a British subject, to bear the 
 title of an Austrian baron ; his brothers being 
 barons only by courtesy. The uecond has 
 been recently created a baronet of f^iigland, 
 as bir Anthony de Rothschild ; and the third. 
 Baron Meyer, is now high sheriflT of Buck- 
 inghamshire. Baron Lionel de Rothschild 
 was invited by the reform association to stand 
 as a candidate with Lord John Russell for 
 the representation of London in the present 
 parliament, and was returned third on the 
 list. 
 
 Most of the members of this family have 
 married, and live in great splendor; and it 
 must be observed, as something characteristic 
 of the race, that their choice of wives has 
 usually been a good one. In London, where 
 we know them best, the widow of Baron 
 Nathan is held in great esteem for her inex- 
 haustible charity, in the course of which, we 
 observe by the newspapers, she has contribu- 
 ted largely toward the formation of an educa- 
 tional institution for children of the Christian 
 faith. Her sister, the lady of Sir Moses 
 Montefiore, is popularly known as a suitable 
 helpmate for her philanthrojiic partner. The 
 sister of Baron Nathan, widow of the brother 
 of Sir Moses Montefiore, is likewise well- 
 known for her liberality, and more especially 
 for the large funds she has bestowed on the 
 establishment of schools for all religious de- 
 nominations 
 
 But there is another female of this remark- 
 able family whom we must mention in a 
 special manner, and with her name we con- 
 clude. She is the widow of the banker of 
 Frankfort, the mother of the five brothers, 
 and grandmother of those flourishing men who 
 are now rising proudly among the aristocracy 
 of Europe. The following notice of this ven- 
 erable and venerated lady we take from " Les 
 Matinees du Samedi" of G. Ben Levi: "In 
 the Jews' street at Frankfort-on-the-Maine, 
 in the midst of Gothic facades, black copings, 
 
 '^?^^^^>T^'i^3?Sr^:i.^^5g5n^-r^,SR;^i^*,MM^ 
 
'm-* 
 
 ig hereditary lunJ- 
 •e ennobled in the 
 le of baron. The 
 don was appointed 
 word counsel-gen- 
 .r (1822) the same 
 he brother resident 
 
 Baron James, has 
 most able financier 
 
 through his assist- 
 le other capitalists 
 rsecting the length 
 
 resided in Eng- 
 whom rank among 
 ocracy of the Brit- 
 Bthan, residing in 
 
 1 de Rothschild, is 
 bject, to bear the 
 his brothers being 
 
 The oecnnd has 
 ronet of England, 
 ild; and the third. 
 1 sheriff of Buck- 
 lel de E-othschild 
 issnciation to stand 
 John Russell for 
 Ion in the present 
 rned third on the 
 
 ■ this family have 
 ; splendor; and it 
 bing characteristic 
 jice of wives has 
 [n London, where 
 
 widow of Baron 
 teem for hor inex- 
 urse of which, we 
 , she has contribu- 
 lation of an educa- 
 n of the Christian 
 [ly of Sir Moses 
 lown as a suital'le 
 pic partner. The 
 low of the brother 
 is likewise well- 
 id more especially 
 
 bestowed on the 
 r all religious de- 
 
 ile of this remark- 
 ust mention in a 
 her name we con- 
 of the banker of 
 the five brothers, 
 nirishing men who 
 ing the aristocracy 
 notice of this ven- 
 ce take from " Leo 
 T. Ben Levi: "In 
 Fort-on-the-Maine, 
 les, black copings, 
 
 TEAR8. 
 
 391 
 
 and sombre alleys, there is a house of small 
 exterior, distinguished from others by its lux- 
 urious neatness, which gives it an ajjpearance 
 of singular cheerfulness and freshness. The 
 brass on the door is polished, the curtains on 
 the window are as white as snow, and the 
 staircase, an unusual thing in the damp at- 
 niiisphere of this dirty quarter, is always dry 
 ami shining. 
 
 " The traveller who from curiosity visits 
 this street — a true specimen of the times when 
 the Jews of Frankfort, subjected to the most 
 intolerable vexations, were restricted to this 
 infected (juarter — will be induced to stop be- 
 fore the neat and simple house, and perhaps 
 ask, ' Who is that venerable old lady seated 
 ill a large nrtn-chair behind the little shining 
 sijuares of the window on the first story?' 
 Tills is the reply that every citizen of Frank- 
 fort will make : ' In that house dwelt an Is- 
 raelite merchant, named Meyer Anselm Roths- 
 child. He there acquired a good name, a 
 great fortune, and a numerous oir<pring; and 
 when he died, the widow declared she would 
 never quit, except for the tomb, the unpre- 
 tending dwelling which had served as a cradle 
 to that name, that fortune, and those children.' 
 
 "Continued prosperity has attended the 
 sons of the pious and modest widow. Their 
 name is become European, their wealth pro- 
 verbial. They inhabit sumptuous palaces in 
 the most beautiful quarters of Paris, London, 
 Vienna, Naples, and Frankfort; but their 
 mother, persevering in her admirable modes- 
 ty, has not quitted her comparatively humble 
 house, where those sons come to visit her with 
 respect and reverence, and discharge their 
 duties in memory of their estimable father, 
 thus presenting bright examples for the pres- 
 ent time." 
 
 TEARS. 
 
 The connexion between laughter and tears, 
 is so close that the latter is often the natural 
 sequence of the former — an ovcrllowingof the 
 eye being an u'ifailing accom^)animent of the 
 convulsion of mirth. In the midst of life we 
 are in death ; in the midst of laughter we are 
 in tears! But the strange association does 
 not end here ; for weeping produces joy, by 
 relieving and solacing the wounded heart; 
 and through the gloomy portals of the grave 
 we pass into immortal life. 
 
 WeepingisanearUor affection than laughter. 
 The former comes to us with our first inflation 
 of the lungs by atmospheric air; but we are 
 not sufficiently reconciled to the world to laugh 
 at it for some little time. Crying is easy : 
 
 we take to it by instinct the moment we arc 
 bom; but we reipiire a month or two, and 
 sometimes more than that, to find out the jest 
 of life. We do not know all at once what 
 people mean by poking us in the ribs, pinch- 
 ing our cheeks," throttling us with their kisses, 
 and addressing us in an unknown tongue. 
 But the fun of the thing at length dawns upon 
 us, and then becomes clearer and clearer, till, 
 lipginning with a smile, we get in time to a 
 downright crow. Weeping is not only first, 
 it is likewise last. The tears of infancy are 
 renewed in old age ; and the same salutation 
 we give the world at meeting sufificcs for our 
 farewell. But midway between these two 
 points we are freer from the emotion. Equi- 
 distant from the softness of youth and the 
 weakness of age. the " mortal coldness of the 
 soul" comes down over our manhood like 
 death : — 
 
 " That heavy chill hai frozen o'er the fonntain of onr 
 tears, 
 And though the eye may sparkle BtiU, 'tis where 
 the ico appears !" 
 
 Weeping is not only first ;nirl k'jt, it is a 
 necessary condition of ])erfect liiV. Laughter 
 no doubt is wholesome, from its effect upon 
 the lungs and the circulation ; but tears are 
 indispensable to the sight. Some people get 
 on very well without laughing ; but we must 
 all look at the world through our tears, or else 
 not look at all. Without this moisture, the 
 eye would lose its brightness, the cornea would 
 wither and dry up, and we should become 
 blind. Laughter is an accident, an exception, 
 a liberty taken with nature ; and after the 
 convulsion is over, our features recompose 
 themselves into deeper gravity than before, 
 as if in remorse for their extravagance. Tears, 
 on the other hand, are a normal suffusion that 
 is necessary to the organ of sight ; and after 
 their effusion in weeping, we feel refreshed 
 and thankful — the grief that has called them 
 forth being softened by the shower, just as 
 any acrid matter that may enter the eye is 
 diluted by its protecting tear". 
 
 But although grief may be the most com- 
 mon cause of weeping, it is by no means the 
 sole cause. Joy, surprise, sympathy, and 
 other emotions, affect us in the same way. 
 When long-severed friends meet again, they 
 not nnfre(iuently weep. Thus Joseph was 
 so affected by the meeting with his brethren, 
 that " he made haste, and he sought where 
 to weep ; and he entered into his chamber, 
 and wept there." Among savages there is a 
 great difference in this respect. The Ameri- 
 can Indian would think his manhood foully 
 stained by a tear; while among the New- 
 Zealanders, weeping is practised as an ac- 
 complishment by the chiefs, who consider it 
 
 
 
 I 
 
392 
 
 TEARS. 
 
 still more necessary to be able to cry well than 
 Hf;ht well. The western strangers, they re- 
 irrark, ini'et their friends like so many dogs 
 — civilized dogs of course they mean — giving 
 each other a paw. As for themselves, they 
 not only embrace, and rub noses, but then sit 
 solemnly down face to foce, p.nd drawing their 
 mats over their heads, weep for joy, as if 
 their hearts were breaking. 
 
 Triumph, after severe suspense, moves 
 man to tears as commonly as the joy of meet- 
 ing. Laughter is said by some writers to be 
 a manifestation of thi? proud feeling; but the 
 same thisig might be said more correctly of 
 weeping. We remember, when visiting the 
 church of Notre-Dame at Mantes, being much 
 struck with the loftiness of the vault of the 
 nave, from which some men, engaged in 
 whitewashing the roof, swung in barrels, hwk • 
 ing like so many spiders. When this vault 
 was built, and the supports were about to be 
 withdrawn, Rudes de Montreuil, terrified at 
 the boldness of the arch he had constructed, 
 did not dare to look on, but went home, and 
 there awaited the result in the agony of sus- 
 pense. Judge pf his feelings when he heard 
 at length the hasty steps of his nephew, whom 
 he had deputed to witness the operation. 
 " It stands ! it stands !" cried the young man, 
 bursting into the room, " an immortal monu- 
 ment of your fame !" At the words, the 
 architect fell to the ground, as if struck down 
 with a blow, and burst into a passion of tears. 
 
 The constructor of the first Menai bridge 
 had more nerve than Rudes. He looked on 
 while the kit chain was fastening, when in 
 another moment the fate of his remarkable 
 work would be determined ; but success had 
 the same effect upon him as upon the French 
 architect, and when he saw that all was safe, 
 he burst into tears. A feeling somewhat dif- 
 ferent from this, united with home recollec- 
 tions, affected Bruce when he saw the object 
 of his adventurous wanderings completed ; 
 and his full heart saluted the source of the 
 Nile, not with exclamations of wonder aad 
 exultation, but with silent tears. 
 
 N(' more than thii I Whitt geemed it now 
 
 First by that ■priiig to stand 7 
 
 A thousnnd streams of loTelier flow 
 
 Bathed his o\7n mountain land ! 
 
 Thence far o'er waste and ocean track, 
 
 Tlieir wild sweet voices called him back. 
 
 Ho wept — the stars of Afric's heaven 
 
 Beheld his bursting tears, 
 
 K'cn ou that spot where fate had given 
 
 The meed of toiling years ! 
 
 O happiness ! how far we flee 
 
 Thine own iweet paths in search of thee." 
 
 But tears are not only called forth by op- 
 posite feelings, they are likewise the cause 
 of opposite phenomena. 
 
 " I saw thee weep — the big bright tear 
 
 Came o'er that eye of blue I 
 And then methougfit it did appear 
 
 A violet dripping dew : 
 I saw thee smile — the sapphire's blaze 
 
 Beside thee ceased to shine ; 
 It could not match the living raj's 
 
 That tilled that glance of thine." 
 
 It did not perhaps occur to the poet that 
 these two eH'ects were protluced by the same 
 cause, and that his mistress's eye owed its bril- 
 liance, us well as its softness, to a tear. The 
 power attributed to the eye in itself is in 
 great part a delusion. It is not a kind of soul, 
 as i)eople are fond of representing it, but a 
 mere body, owing its greater or less brightness 
 to the greater or less adaptation of it's color 
 for reflecting light through the lachrymal 
 li(iuid. Its expression is determined, in great 
 part, by the other features, but more especial- 
 ly the mouth. Look at the face of a blind 
 man, and you will see that it expresses the 
 passions pretty nearly as well as that of a 
 man endowed with s"; ,ht — wanting only the 
 effect of moisture in the eye, the quantity of 
 which is to a certain 'Jegree indicative of the 
 emotion. 
 
 We tried recently an experiment on this 
 question, the converse of that of the blind 
 man ; putting out the other features instead 
 of the eye, and leaving that alone to tell its 
 story. This was accomplished by means of 
 a paper mask, which hid the whole face with 
 the exception of the eye; and our subjects 
 being chiefly young ladies, it may readily be 
 supposed that we obtained as much expression 
 as nature intended to give. But what an ex- 
 pression! If you have ever witnessed the 
 unnatural effect of a glass eye, think of what 
 tieo would have. While the paper-mask was 
 quivering, and the whole frame convulsed with 
 suppressed laughter, there stood the eyes, 
 staring straight forward, cold, stony, mute, 
 spectral, destitute of feeling and of life. 
 There was something strange, almost shock- 
 ing in the contrast ; but when the mask was 
 torn off, and the young and mirthful face dis- 
 closed entire, the expression at once returned 
 in a flood of light, and the rekindled eyes 
 laughed till they wept. 
 
 The lower animals bear testimony to the 
 same thmg. In them we often meet with an 
 expression of either amiability or moroseness; 
 but this is without variety, except in those 
 species gifted with mobility of feature. The 
 cat, for instance, who has no such mobility, 
 except on extraordinary occasions, looks in- 
 variably grare, even in the midst of her 
 wildest gambols. The dog, on the other 
 hand, having the power of imitation, has a 
 decidedly human smile when he chooses, and 
 can easily be moved to tears by soft and 
 melancholy tones. But we were once very 
 
 T jB i mMiuui i iu iWB 
 
jright tear 
 
 10 I 
 appear 
 
 )liiro's blaze 
 iiie ; 
 ig rajT 
 f thine." 
 
 to the poet that 
 ced by the same 
 eye owetl its bril- 
 , to a tear. The 
 e in itsclif is in 
 ot a kind of soul, 
 senting it, but a 
 ur less brightness 
 ition of its color 
 I the lachrymal 
 ermined, in great 
 ut more especial- 
 face of a blind 
 it expresses the 
 ell as that of a 
 ranting only the 
 , the quantity of 
 indicative of"^ the 
 
 periment on this 
 liat of the blind 
 
 features instead 
 ; alone to tell its 
 led by means of 
 I whole face with 
 and our subjects 
 t may readily be 
 I much expression 
 
 But what an ex- 
 5r witnessed the 
 fe, think of what 
 3 paper-mask was 
 ne convulsed with 
 
 stood the eyes, 
 )ld, stony, mute, 
 ng and of life. 
 ;e, almost shock- 
 en the mask was 
 mirthful face dis- 
 . at once returned 
 e rekindled eyes 
 
 testimony to the 
 ten meet with an 
 ty or moroseness; 
 , except in those 
 
 of feature. The 
 10 such mobility, 
 casions, looks in- 
 he midst of her 
 )g, on the other 
 ' imitation, has a 
 n he chooses, and 
 ears by sofi; and 
 5 were once very 
 
 TEA.R8. 
 
 intimat.W anpiftinted with a lady's lapdog, 
 
 7^XX■n^ uL u long absence, thejoy 
 ws overpowering, and poor Fanny fmnt.d 
 Twuv Tl'i'' '^""""* manifestation of sensi- 
 K^vn havo rn.c> ^^»y ^vitnessed a though 
 
 liy'in the .M.se oi the same individual of our 
 
 '^ Whlwl'S'l t" t^« ^"'"''" «pe"e9,it is not 
 onlv in Iho important circumstances and grea 
 emerK.-ncics of life thnt tears come uncalled 
 W ihev are produced by a thousand sym- 
 "ath.'ic emotions, so slight and evanescent, 
 C we can liurdly trace their nature or their 
 rack. A truit of generosity or nobleness of 
 feeling-a picture of hopeless devotimi-a 
 seen" of humble happiness-a breath of mu- 
 sic-a wonl-a look, associated with our 
 early recollections-all may cause a sud len 
 Ssioa in the eyes, wanting on y opportu- 
 nitv to overllow. A deep tragedy affects us 
 Si i^tY''ss«l.an a little touch of senti- 
 ment ocurring in a comedy. Our taste may 
 ZarnMrA by the pictured gnefs of princes 
 ami irocs, but our .e.rs rise morr free y in j 
 "id nc-e to so.no thrill of the chord of our 
 e e '. ay feeling's an,l sympath.es. Among 
 fr ,-dii, those are the most "uccessfu n 
 mu-hi,.' us which the heart can translate into 
 common language, and remove into the hum- 
 ble snhere of its own atlections. 
 
 I is impossible that a comedy can make us 
 laugh\Xch does not here and there make^us 
 sad and tearful. No one can laugh through 
 several acts, any more than he can refrai^ 
 from yawnii'ig alter the fi;«'/-£f-^f^ 
 iest-book. We want contrast to give reiiet, 
 Tcarry us on from point to P-nt, U, ^ve 
 piiiuQiicy to the entertainment. The min I 
 Sleds no repose, but it must have variety. 
 When "red of one thing, it applies itself to 
 Tther of a totally different kind-^i^t as a 
 tailor gets up to rest himself by stan.nng. 
 Tears and laughter, besides, are natural as- 
 so^Utes ia fact which was impressed upon 
 uT man; years ago by the admirable actmg 
 rf the eL? Mathews.^in a trifling lute-m.c 
 nipce called " My Daughter's Letter. tie 
 
 was ronstantly calling at the postoffice for a 
 ktter from his daughter, and was as ..ften 
 u"a, ,.oi..te.l. Here were slight mater.als- 
 'but 'Sews was a man of genius; and he 
 so contriv.-d, wiih his pathos and absurdit cs, 
 his French broken by Knglish. and English 
 broke by French, and the universal language 
 o n are ..ver all, to keep the audience in a 
 cm u uous alteration of sobs and laughter. 
 Nev.^ did we hear such manifestations of 
 
 „rief_never behold such enjoyment of fun. 
 On., moment everybody was .Irowned in tears, 
 and nothing washeard but catching of breath 
 and bL.wing of noses; the next a gen ral 
 burst of laughter swept round the house like 
 
 " A'Ttng poet desires of chymistry to turn 
 a tear into Q gem, that he may wear U on his 
 
 bosom : — 
 
 ifti 
 
 " oil tlmt the chvmist'a mnk'ic art 
 
 Couia crjstallize this siicrod treamre, 
 LonK shoufa it glitter nenr my heart. 
 A secret source of pensive pleasure ! 
 
 But as the great bulk of tears consists of 
 water, with only a v^ry small portion o 
 saline substances, it might be dilTncult to ob- 
 tain from them in sufficient (puuititv (unless 
 perhaps in New Zealand) even ^"^.^''vanes- 
 cent crystals as are left by evaporation. The 
 ordinary use of tears is to wash and moisten 
 the eve, for which a small (piantity suffices; 
 but nature is never found wanting m great 
 emergencies, and accordingly, in the case ot 
 an accidental injury, the li.pnd pours upon 
 the coniea in sucli abun.lance as may be 
 re.,uisitc for its protection. It guards the eye 
 from cold, screens it from liglit.assuages its 
 sutl-erings from smoke or other ucid vapor, and 
 breaks Ihe harshness of contact with a ioreign 
 body, which it dissolves, or floats away m its 
 beneficent stream. Finally, in a» "ions of 
 the mind, and more especially p at, tears 
 pour in until they overflow. " . A,ars,'a8 
 Metastosio tells us through Mrs. .mans— 
 
 •« In tears the heart opprest wil^ grief 
 
 Gives lancnaRe to its woes ; 
 In tears its iulness ," Is reliel, 
 
 W hen rapture's tide o erflows ! 
 Who, then, uucloude.l bliss would seek 
 
 On this terrestrial sphere, 
 When e'en delight can only speak, 
 
 Like sorrow, in a tear I 
 
 In such emergencies as we have mentioned 
 the operation of nature is spontaneous. When 
 the eye is wounded, she rushes like a watch- 
 ful mother, to the rescue, and v'lthou. a„y 
 solicitation on our part, pours bountifully out 
 the curative waters of her fountain. But 
 when it is the heart that is torn by &re,xtfr^ei 
 or su.lden emotion, although she is equally on 
 the al.Tt to sooth and heal, there is th-s dif- 
 ference, that in the former case we are passu e 
 patients in her hands, while in the ^ \" 7t 
 Lre often able to exercise control, and defy at 
 „„ce the doctor and the disease. Person of 
 stron.r nerve can arrest the torrents of their 
 ear reven when the big drops are trembling 
 on tli^ir lashes, and compel the nsing waters 
 to sink and disappear. Mariy J ^e J'oks 
 cold and calm when the fountain of its hot and 
 1 Ser tears is boiling beneath. Many a pale, 
 smooth brow is raised erect, as if to look down 
 
 .■,"1 jV 
 
 '•^i 
 
 
 lintWMMfflWI 
 
394 
 
 THE MALAYS. 
 
 the misery that besets it in society, when the 
 proud man would fain, like him of old, hide 
 himself in his chamber to weep unseen. 
 
 But pride, being in itself unholy, can not be 
 expected to produce good fruits; and accord- 
 ingly, wherever the dread of tears prevails 
 habitually, and in an excessive degree, we find 
 coldnessof heart instead of manliness of charac- 
 ter, and an incapacity to extend to others that 
 sympathy which we shrink from ourselves. 
 Abstractedly, there is nothing more unmanly 
 in a manifestation of sensibility by tears than 
 by smiles. The one is no more a proof of 
 weakness than the other; and generally 
 speaking, the former have their origin in the 
 hicher and more refined emotions. When 
 reading anything ridiculous, we smile openly; 
 but when the subject awakens bur better sen- 
 sibilities, we either repress our tears, or hide 
 them as something shameful or criminal. Why 
 is this ' We have heard in conversation va- 
 rious reasons assigned for the odium into which 
 tears have fallen. Their hypocrisy, for in- 
 stance, since so many people have the New- 
 Zealand faculty of producing them at will ; 
 and the constitutional feebleness they betray, 
 since women and children are the greatest 
 weepers. But is the opposite phenomenon 
 more rare in women and children ? Is the 
 " sapphire blaze" always a natural produc- 
 tion T Does the silver laugh invariably come 
 from the heart ? Have we never heard that^ a 
 man may " smile, and smile, and be a villain f 
 There are, of course, sensibilities for which 
 weeping would be as unsuitable a manifesta- 
 tion as laughter; and there are likewise 
 
 " IhonghU that do often lie too deep for tear* ;" 
 but we suspect that our dread of betraying the 
 softer emotions is a remnant of the same un- 
 reflective pride which keeps the western In- 
 dian in a state of savageism to this day. 
 
 THE MALAYS. 
 
 The original country of the Malays is not 
 known. The evidence is in favor of Su- 
 matra. Both at Celebes, and Sumatra, 
 there are prevalent ttaditions, which assign 
 the period of their origin to the middle of the 
 twelfth century. About that time, a cele- 
 brated chief of Celebes, went on an explo- 
 rin<' and trading voyage to the vvestward, 
 wh'ence he had occasionally seen natives. In 
 the course of the expedition, he put into a 
 river of Sumatra, where a large number of 
 his followers absconded in a body ; and, pas- 
 sing into the interior, settled the region of 
 Men-an-k&-bo. Obtaining wives from the 
 
 adjacent tribes, and possessing more civiliza- 
 tion, they gradually formed a new rnce and 
 rose to dominion. Most of them had been 
 slaves, obtained from the Moluccas, and em- 
 ployed as woodcutters, ond drudges to the 
 fleet. Hence, they were called Malays, from 
 Mala, to bring, and aya, wood. Sir ritam- 
 ford Raffles affirms, that to this day, the 
 people of Celebes look with greot contempt 
 on the Malays ; and are in the habit of re- 
 peating the origin of the name. A general 
 similarity between the Malays, and the in- 
 habitants of the Moluccas, has been often re- 
 marked. And what is more remarkable, the 
 Malay language is spoken more \mrc\y in the 
 Moluccas, than on the Malay peninsula. 
 
 If this origin of the Malays be true, it ac- 
 counts for the similarity which has been re- 
 marked between them, at.d several of the 
 tribes of the archipelago, such as the Eida- 
 hans and Dayas of Borneo ; the Sabanus, of 
 Magindano; the Tagats and Pampangoes, of 
 the Manillas; and the Biscayans, of the 
 Philippines. 
 
 On the arrival of the Arabs m Sumatra, 
 the Moslem faith rapidly supplanted pagan- 
 ism, and this by proselytism, not by force. 
 Whether their language had before been re- 
 duced to writing, is not clear ; but it now was 
 written in the Arabic characters, which con- 
 tinue to be used. Since the introduction of 
 European influence, the Roman alphabet is 
 becoming prevalent, and the larger part of 
 those who can read, do so in that character. 
 
 The new nation extended their conquests 
 and colonies, till all Sumatra yielded them 
 feudal homage. In the thirteenth century, 
 they passed over to the peninsula, and took or 
 built Malacca and Singapore. Gradually ex- 
 tending their dominions and colonies, the chief 
 seat of their power was transferred to the 
 new territory ; and the chiefs of Sumatra, 
 began to throw off their yoke. Proceeding 
 to acquire power and numbers, they at length 
 not only regained Sumatra, but conquered 
 the Sunda, Philippine, and Molucca islands, 
 with many smaller groups, and are now found 
 in dl these regions, as well as Borneo, and 
 Luconia, and many other islands ; but with- 
 out any centre of unity or power, without 
 literature, freedom, or civilization. They 
 have sunk to insignificance, and are apparently 
 still sinking in national character. 
 
 The Malay peninsula (called by the natives 
 Tanah Malayu, " the land of the Malays") 
 is the only great country wholly occupied by 
 this race; and is now divided into the king- 
 doms of Keda, Perak, and Salengore, in the 
 west; Johore, in the south; Pahang, Inn- 
 gano, Calantan, Patini, and Ligore, ir ^ 
 east. There are states in the interior 
 known; viz., Rumbo, Johole, Jompole 
 
 ,»-hiSUl 
 
 uimmm 
 
^>r^ 
 
 ng more civili/a- 
 
 a new rnce and 
 
 them had been 
 
 jluccas, and em- 
 
 driulgcs to the 
 
 led Malays, from 
 
 Bod. Sir Stam- 
 
 :o this day, the 
 
 1 great contempt 
 
 the habit of re- 
 
 ime. A general 
 
 ays, and the in- 
 
 as been often re- 
 
 1 remarkable, the 
 
 ore i)urely in the 
 
 y peninsula. 
 
 ys be true, it ac- 
 
 nch has been re- 
 
 l several of the 
 
 ich as the Eida- 
 
 the Sabani,3, of 
 
 1 Pampangoes, of 
 
 iscayans, of the 
 
 rabs in Sumatra, 
 upplanted pagan- 
 >m, not by force, 
 d before been re- 
 ir ; but it now was 
 icters, which con- 
 le introduction of 
 .ornan alphabet is 
 ;he larger part of 
 n that character, 
 ■d their conquests 
 itra yielded them 
 tiirteenth century, 
 insula, and took or 
 ■e. Gradually ex- 
 colonies, the chief 
 transferred to the 
 hiefs of Sumatra, 
 yoke. Proceeding 
 )ers, they at length 
 ra, but conquered 
 1 Molucca islands, 
 and are now found 
 bU as Borneo, and 
 islands ; but with- 
 er power, without 
 ivilization. They 
 , and are apparently 
 aracter. 
 
 ailed by the natives 
 id of the Malays") 
 wholly occupied by 
 dded mto the king- 
 d Salengore, in the 
 th; Pahang, Trin- 
 ind Ligore, in the 
 in the interior less 
 ihole, Jompole, Qo- 
 
 THR MALAYS. 
 
 395 
 
 minchi, Sungie-Oojong, S^jmenanri, Nan- 
 nine Ulu, C alang, Jellye, Jellaboo, Segamnt, 
 Kemoung, &c. Some of these are divided 
 into separate tribes ; as for instance, Jellaboo 
 consists of the tribes of Bodoanda, Tannah- 
 Dottar, Muncal, and Battu-Balang. Scnme- 
 nanti embraces twelve tribes, though the pop- 
 ulation does not exceed ten thousand. t>un- 
 cie-Ooiong, Johole, Scrimenanti, and Rumbo, 
 are called, " Mcnangkabo states." The en- 
 tire population is very small ; some of the 
 states numbering no more than two thousand 
 souls. The whole peninsula, except Rumbo 
 and Johore, is claimed by Siam ; but many 
 of the tribes are indrpendent, and of others, 
 the subjection is but nominal. 
 
 Scattered over the peninsula, without spe- 
 cific districts and locations, are several wild 
 tribes of whom almost nothing is known. 
 East of Malacca are Udai, Sak-kye, and Ray- 
 at-Utan, and some negro tribes. Ihese all 
 go under the name of Orang-Benua, or coun- 
 try people. These have each a language or 
 dialect, but laigely tinctured with Malay. 
 Further north, on the mountains are negro 
 tribes ; but evidently distinct from the Mn 
 
 not prevail among the intenor tnbes, either 
 on the peninsula or the islnnds of the Indian 
 archipelago. Over these ti.bes they may 
 claim some authority, and take precedence 
 by superiority of civilization, but their lan- 
 guage, manners, and government, remain un- 
 
 *^ 'a general character can hardly be assigned 
 to a people scattered over so many countries, 
 and intermingkd everywhere with indigenous 
 tribes. They have generally been set down 
 as disringuished for vileness and treachery. 
 This opinion has doubtless neen derived from 
 mariners ; for till recently, few others knew 
 much about them, and the piratical tribes 
 alone have brought themselves into general 
 notice. It can not be denied, however, that 
 European and American captains on the coast 
 of Sumatra, and elsewhere, have, by their 
 frauds and oppressions, contributed not a ht- 
 tle to drive those people to make reprisals. 
 
 Disregard of human life, revenge, idleness, 
 and piracy, may perhaps be considered com- 
 mon to Malavs. The universal practice of 
 going armed,'makeR thoughts of murder fa- 
 miliar. The right of private revenge is uni- 
 
 evidently distinct from the ^'n- ™ • ^— ^^ even by the chiefs, and the 
 Of these tribes we hope s-nt^^^^ J„ed for by a small 
 
 can race. — , ,i • .. 
 
 know more. They seem to be a distinct va^ 
 
 riety of the human race ; differing from both 
 
 the African and the Papuan of New Guinea ; 
 
 and inferior to both. The average height of 
 
 the men is about four feet eight inches. 
 
 These Malay negroes are thinly spread over 
 
 a consideralile district, in and in the rear of 
 
 Malacca, and thence northward to Meigui ; 
 
 amounting in the whole to but few thousands. 
 
 There are at least five tribes of them— the 
 
 Joc-oons, Sa-mangs, Oo-dees, Sak-ais, and 
 
 Ry-ots. All of them are much below the 
 
 Malays, and some scarcely above the apes ; 
 
 dwelling in trees, and clefts of the mountain. 
 
 A few have learned a little Malay, and occa 
 
 taking of life may be atoned for by a small 
 sum of money. Treachery has been consid- 
 ered the leading trait of Malay character; 
 but probably the idea is exaggerated. Their 
 religion teaches them, like other Mussulmans, 
 to use treachery and violence toward infidels. 
 But there is full reason to believe, that, in 
 intercourse with each other, domestic and 
 private virtues prevail to as great an extent 
 as among other heathen. As to piracy, it is 
 dromed not only a pure and chivalrous occu- 
 -.ation, but religiously meritorious. It is car- 
 ried on by prince, people, and priest, and is 
 not less a matter of pride than of rapacity. 
 In the arts of peace, they are greatly inte- 
 
 A few have learned a litt e Malay, and occa- . y' "''^^ ; neighbors of Java, Japan, Co 
 sionally venture among adjacent tribes to pur "^J" J^ ;„"| ^.,„, They have e%en les 
 
 chase tobacco and utensils ; but of letters they 
 know nothing. Nor have any religious ob- 
 servances been discovered among theni. 
 Their only weapon is the sumpit, a small hol- 
 low cane, about eight feet long, through 
 which they blow short arrows, often poisoned 
 
 at the tip. , ,, . 
 
 The Malays arc everywhere Mohamme- 
 dans. The period of their becoming so, must 
 be placed near the commencement of their 
 existence as a nation on Sumatra, but it is 
 not known with exactness. Wherever they 
 have spread, they exhibit a vigorous spirit ot 
 proselytism ; and even where force has never 
 been attempted, they have drawn many thou- 
 sand pagans to the worship of the true God. 
 
 Commercial and piratical in their character 
 and aims, they have seldom settled far from 
 coasts ard harbors ; " '*"'■ **"" '"""•"'"° 
 
 chin-China, and Siam. They have even less 
 mechanical ingenuity and skill than the Bu- 
 gis. No portion of the Malays are much 
 civilized, and some are truly savage. The 
 feudal system prevails everywhere, in all its 
 integrity. The whole mass of the common 
 people are virtually slaves. Every chief not 
 only consumes the labor or the property of 
 his people at pleasure, but sells the services 
 or the persons of his vassals to any persons 
 who will purchase them. 
 
 The Malay language is pronounced, by all 
 who attempt it, an easjy language to acquire. 
 This is doubtless true, to a certain extent. It 
 has no sounds difficult for Europeans or 
 Americans to pronounce; its construction is 
 exceedingly simple, and its words are tew. 
 There is no change made in words to express 
 
 ! seldom settled tar trom mere w "o uuaue- ."»«- '"V „"j .:„„ -qJ 
 so that the language does! number, person, gender, mood, and time, and 
 
 t;^; .» 
 
 .|IMfi# 
 
 •^ . . 
 
 my 
 
 26 
 
r 
 
 w 
 
 396 
 
 THE BOSTON CUSTOMHOUSE. 
 
 the same word is often used ns Q noun, adjec- 
 tive, verb, and ndverl). Even the tenses to 
 verbs are seldom varied. Hence, so much 
 as is necessary for common purposes is soon 
 learned. But, whoever would speak "!> '"er- 
 ary or religious subjects, finds Kfeat ditti;:ul- 
 tieM. The absence of grammatical mllections 
 and particles creates great ambiguity, and 
 makes the meaning so dependent on the jux- 
 taposition of words, as to make great skill 
 necessary to propriety in discoursing on any 
 critical or novel subject. Besides this, the 
 language is so p(K)r in abstract terms, as to 
 make it impossible to avoid using a host ot 
 new words. These are adopted by one trom 
 the English, by another from the Arabic, by 
 another from the Greek, and by another irom 
 the Portuguese, occording to the learning or 
 fancy of his teacher. 
 
 THE BOSTON CUSTOMHOUSE. 
 
 This costly ard imposing edifice, one of the 
 most striking of Boston's architectural orna- 
 ments, is situated on India street, nearly op- 
 posite the foot of State street, a hwation more 
 convenient than commanding. The artist has 
 selected the head of Central wharf, as the 
 point of view, thus giving us the east side, 
 which however, corresponds Ffcwely J^"" 
 the west or front side. It would be difficult 
 to find words to convey an ade<iuate idea ot 
 the effect imwluced by an inspection of this 
 building, either within or without; but we 
 give our readers the following description ot 
 the vorious parts. 
 
 The laying of the foundations of the new 
 customhouse commenced in 1837. About 
 three thousand piles were first dnven. cover- 
 ing an area of nearly fourteen thousand feet. 
 On these was laid a jdatform of granite, a 
 foot and a half thick, and well cemented to- 
 gether so as to be impervious to water. On 
 the east, south, and west margins of this plat- 
 form, is built a ten-foot shield-wall, and with- 
 in the enclosure thus formed, stand the walls 
 proper of the customhouse. 
 
 The cellar story is much cut vip by arches, 
 and walls of vast thickness, required to sup- 
 port the immense weight of ths internal stone 
 work above. Numerous rooms, however, 
 twelve feet high, are secured for storage, and 
 also an apartment for the furnaces for heating 
 the whole establishment. The first story 
 open to the light of day is the basement. In 
 addition to the thick wall partitions separating 
 the rooms, two granite columns, four feet in 
 diameter, and eight, two feet in diameter, are 
 distributed through the rooms as supporters. 
 
 Besides two rooms for the night-inspectors, is 
 a nmm ten feet by thirteen, for the engine for 
 carrying the fans by which 'he heated air is 
 to be forced up. The remainder of the rooms 
 are for storage. They are ten and a half feet 
 in height. . . , 
 
 In the second story, the main feature is the 
 grand entrance vestibule, or rotunda, nfty- 
 eight by sixty, formed by twelve granite col- 
 umns, four feet in diameter. From the north 
 and south sides rise two grand stair-cases, fif- 
 teen feet wiile at the bottom, and seven at the 
 top, terminating in smaller vestibules above, 
 which connect with the various offices in the 
 third story. On the northeast side of the 
 grand vestibule are the assistant treasurer's 
 apartments, nineteen feet by twenty-two, six- 
 teen by twenty-five, and ten by twelve, the 
 latter being the vault, or Uncle Sam's strong 
 box. On this floor are two measurers' apart- 
 ments, superintendent's room, two for weigh- 
 ers and gangers, two for inspectors, and one 
 for the markers and approvers of spints. In 
 one of these rooms are four fourteen-foot gran- 
 ite columns. In most of the rooms the ceil- 
 ing is orched. „ , , ^ . • 
 In the third story, we find the great busi- 
 ness r(M)m under the direction of the deputy- 
 collector. It is sixty-two feet by fifty-eight, 
 and lighted from the dome, and by six side 
 windows opening on lighted passages. Ihe 
 dome is supported by twelve fluted columns 
 of marble, twenty-nine and one halt teet in 
 height. Above them rises the dome thirty- 
 two feet more. The lower circumference of 
 the dome is one hundred and ninety-five feet. 
 The circumference of the eye of the dome is 
 fifty-six and a half feet, and it is furnished 
 with beautifully-variegated, stained glass, 
 which sends down a flood of mellowed light. 
 This is said to be the .::;ost perfect and superb 
 hall, in the Corinthian style, to be found in the 
 United States. There are some twenty large 
 desks in this elegant hall. On this floor are 
 ' also two rooms each for the collectors, navy- 
 officers, surveyors, and public store keepers. 
 In the attic IS an extra room for the marK- 
 ersand twofor the storing of par)ers. Through- 
 out the building the flooring is stone, llie 
 roof and the unglazed part of the dorne are 
 also covered with tiles. The furniture in ev- 
 ery part is new, and of the most thorough- 
 made and substantial kind. ^ 
 
 The material of this costly edifice is hain- 
 mered Quincy granite. The architecture is 
 the Grecian Doric, which style is preserved 
 throughout, as far as is consistent witli the 
 site, and the business to which the building is 
 devoted. The extreme length of the build- 
 ing is one hundred and forty feet, and its 
 depth, omitting the porticoes, seventy-tive 
 feet. The height from the basement floor to 
 
 <a^- 
 
ight-inspectors, 5§ 
 for the engine for 
 •he heated air is 
 inder of the rooms 
 en and a half feet 
 
 lain feature is the 
 w rotunda, lifty- 
 welve granite col- 
 , From the north 
 ml stair-cases, fif- 
 I, and seven at the 
 vestibules above, 
 ious offices in the 
 heast side of the 
 isistant treasurer's 
 y twenty-two, six- 
 ten by twelve, the 
 ]ncle Sam's strong 
 ) measurers' apnrt- 
 )m, two for wcigh- 
 nspectors, and one 
 /ers of spirits. In 
 fourteen-foot gran- 
 the rooms the ceil- 
 
 ind the great busi- 
 tion of the deputy- 
 feet by fifty-eight, 
 tie, and by six side 
 ed passages. The 
 Blve fluted columns 
 nd one half feet in 
 ;s the dome thirty- 
 er circumference of 
 ind ninety-five feet. 
 
 eye of tne dome is 
 and it is furnished 
 ted, stained glass, 
 I of mellowed light. 
 it perfect and superb 
 le, to be found in the 
 e some twenty large 
 . On this floor are 
 the collectors, navy- 
 )ublic store keepers. 
 
 room for the niark- 
 ofpajiers. Through- 
 (ring is stone. The 
 jart of the dome are 
 
 The furniture in ev- 
 
 the most thorough- 
 id. 
 jostly edifice is ham- 
 
 The architecture is 
 :h style is preserved 
 
 consistent with the 
 which the building is 
 
 length of the build- 
 d forty feet, and its 
 jrticoes, seventy-five 
 
 the basement floor to 
 
 '^m 
 
 'A. 
 
 
398 
 
 CURIOSITIES OF AUT. 
 
 the top of llio ilome is ninety-five font. Ex- 
 tirnully, thirty-two fluted columns ore pre- 
 scntcil, each five feet four inches inchometcr, 
 ami thirty-two feet in heijht. Of these, six- 
 teen are thrce-qunrter columns, ami form port 
 of the walls, the spaces between them being 
 devoted to windows. There are four on each 
 end of the building, and two on each side of 
 the porticoes. Then ot each corner is n ncor- 
 ly full column, bo that eoch end of the build- 
 ing presents the ai)pearancc of six of these 
 line columns, and the sides, including the por- 
 ticoes, severally exhibit twelve columns. 
 Four ontsc, or miuare pillars, stand at the in- 
 tersections of the porticoes with the bcxlv of 
 the building. The porticoes are ten feet deep 
 by sixty-six in width, with six columns eoch. 
 of the dimensions stated above. The entab- 
 latures are ornamented with triglyph friezes 
 ond multule cornices, on a li^e with the cor- 
 nices of the building. The porticoes are 
 reached by eleven stone steps, on the front 
 ond sides. 
 
 Something over a million of dollars wos ex- 
 pended on this building. Notwithstanding its 
 immense size, such is the increosc of business 
 and population in Boston, that it is nuestion- 
 able whether in a few years it will not be 
 altogether too small for the occomplishment 
 of the amount of business which it will be 
 desirable to transact beneath its roof. 
 
 Ammi B. Young, Esq., was employed as 
 architect in the erection of this edifice, and 
 we need not odd that it is a noble monument 
 to his taste and skilL 
 
 CURIOSITIES OF ART. 
 
 The interest excited by any product of 
 ingenuity or skill must ever be comparative. 
 The musket of the sailor is a matter of won- 
 der to the savage, the steam- vessel a marvel 
 to the Chinese, and the electric telegraph a 
 curiosity to all. Five hundred years ago 
 our forefathers would hove been as much 
 struck as the South Sea islander with the 
 feats of the musket; forty years ago steam- 
 boats were subjects of wonder to our country- 
 men ; and ten years hence we -shall be as 
 familiar with electric telegraphs as we ore 
 now with spinning-machines, gas-light, loco- 
 motives, and steam-frigates — all of which 
 were marvels and curiosities in their day. 
 Since invention is thus ever-active and pro- 
 gressive, we can regard as permanent curiosi- 
 ties of art only such products as exhibit 
 vastitude or boldness of design, great inge- 
 nuity and perseverance in accomplishment, 
 intricacy and complication of parts combined 
 
 with harmony of execution, rninutpnpsR()f 
 proportions with delicocy of finish, ond sim- 
 ulation of living agency by inanimate mcch- 
 
 aniam. 
 
 The earliest elTiirts of mechanical ingenuity 
 in Europe were chiefly directed toward the 
 construction of clcx ks, watches, ond outornnta. 
 In oil of these, weights and springs were the 
 prime movers, and the skill of the mcchoT.ic 
 was expended in rendering the movements of 
 his work as numerous ond complicated as 
 iwssible. They had no idea of Applying their 
 art to the great monufacturing operations so 
 charocteristic of the present ago ; not that 
 they were unskilful workmen, but thot they 
 were ignorant of thot agency which has 
 developed our steom-engine, spinning-mills, 
 printing-presses, and other machinery. Steam 
 force wos to them unknown. Their sole great 
 moving jKJwer wos falling water— a power at- 
 tainable only in a limited degree, ond, when 
 attoinoble, not often in o situation to be avail- 
 able. It was thus thot ingenious workmen so 
 frequently devoted a lifetime to the construc- 
 tion of some piece of mechanism, which, after 
 all, was only valuable as on amusing curiosity. 
 
 BPEAKine MACHIIfES. 
 
 From the time that the statues of Memnon 
 emitted their mysticol tones on the bonks of 
 the Nile, and the oracular responses were 
 delivered at Delphi, through the period when 
 a speaking head was exhibited by the pope, 
 toword the end of the tenth century, and oth- 
 ers afterward by Roger Bacon and Albertus 
 Mognus, vorious surprising efforts have been 
 made to produce a machine capable of articu- 
 lating human words and sentences. The rec- 
 ord left us concerning the Egyptian statues is 
 by far too sconty to afflird basis even for a 
 probable conjecturf , and with respect to the 
 oracle at Delphi, the cave of Trophonius, and 
 the like, we have every reason to suppose thut 
 the sounds emitted were merely those of some 
 confederate, rendering more surprising by call- 
 ing in the aid of acoustic principles m the 
 construction of the oracular temple. Agoin, 
 the speaking instruments of the middle oges 
 were simple combinations of pines and stops, 
 concealed by an exteniol semblance of a hu- 
 man head, and capable of uttering only a few 
 simple syllables. 
 
 It is but recently that ingenuity, aided by 
 the numerous mechanical facilities of the 
 present day, has been able to complete a 
 machine capable of simulating the human 
 voice in a tolerable manner. Of the three or 
 four which hove been constructed during the 
 present century, we shall only shortly odvert 
 to that of Faber, which created considerable 
 sensotion four or five years ago. It is thus 
 
■^\ 
 
 jmnxnencM of 
 finish, and »im- 
 nanimate mech- 
 anical ingcniiity 
 ^teJ toworti th(! 
 s, and automnta. 
 springs were the 
 of the mcchovic 
 le movements of 
 
 complicated as 
 jf applying their 
 ng operations so 
 t ogc ; not that 
 n, but that they 
 incy which has 
 , spinning-mills, 
 chinery. Steam 
 
 Their sole great 
 ter — a power at- 
 sgree, and, when 
 ation to be avail- 
 lious workmen so 
 ) to the construc- 
 ism, which, after 
 musing curiosity. 
 
 INES. 
 
 atues of Memnon 
 ) on the banks of 
 ' responses were 
 I the period when 
 ited by the po|)e, 
 century, and oth- 
 icon and Albtrtus 
 eflTorts have been 
 capable of articu- 
 ences. The rec- 
 gyptian statues is 
 basis even for a 
 ith respect to the 
 F Trophonius, and 
 on to suppose that 
 rely those of some 
 surprising by call- 
 principles in the 
 temple. Again, 
 f the middle ages 
 f pipes and stops, 
 ambiance of a bu- 
 ttering only a few 
 
 genuity, aided by 
 facilities of the 
 le to complete a 
 ating the human 
 . Of the three or 
 ructed during the 
 nly shortly advert 
 eated considerable 
 ! ago. It is thus 
 
 CURI0.SITIK8 or ART. 
 
 309 
 
 ! known thot in cafculotions involvinj^the pow- 
 
 of 
 
 Athcriinim: — 
 
 .. You are aware that the attemjits 
 Cncninrd b» Tour, Biot, MuUer, and Stemle. 
 to iVrodiu-e articulate sounds, or even to imitate 
 the huinnu voice, have not been very success- 
 ful • in fact, our knowledge of the j.hysiology 
 „r the Inrynx and its api)endices has been so 
 limite.l. that we have not even an cxpluriution 
 „f the mode in which the falsetto is produced. 
 Mr. Fuller' •< instrument solves the ditfieulties 
 
 ers and nnits of numbers, progression, eiiua. 
 tions, higorithms, and the like, it not only re- 
 quires great expertness, but accuracy— an 
 accuracy which is scarcely aummble unc er 
 the strictest hutnan attention. .Such calcula- 
 tions areof indispensable utility in astronomy, 
 navigation, and geography, as well as in gen- 
 eral mathemutics; mid, for op|>liculion- are 
 
 Mr.Kaber's instrument solves the ditticulties. ""' ';";';V ^^,, ;, ,„,,„,„r f„„ns, embracing 
 I ,.,„. only give you a very '-"l":'*^;'^ '''«""/ ^1"" L. led .ages of thick-set figures. To 
 the instrument. To underHtaml the mechan- ^^^ ^.ch tables with perfect accuracy 
 ism perlVctly. it would '"V''''-'''''*"^ • n I 3l re.n ire the life-work of several caf- 
 
 ^zr:^^:^^r: sSf ; ; i ; »» >;.,:s -l:=;'r 'lis 
 
 cessury tor sucn a purpisc. x m, ..."...-■— | - 
 consists of u pair of bellows, nt present only i ^^Vr; '" 
 worked by a pedal similar to tlmt ol an organ, ] 1 h m 
 
 most extensive 
 
 of tt caoutchouc imitation of the liiryiix, tongue, 
 nostrils, and of a set of keys by which the 
 springs are brought into action. The rnpiditv 
 of utterance depends of course upon the rapid- 
 ity with which the keys are played ; and 
 though mv own attem|)ts to make the instru- 
 ment si.eak sounded rather ludicrous, Mr. 
 Faber was most successful. There is no 
 doubt that the machine may bo much im- 
 proved, and more especially that the limhre 
 of the voice may be agreeably modified. 1 he 
 Nvpather naturally allects the tension of the 
 Inuiu rubber; and although Mr. Faber can 
 raise the voice or depress it. and can lay a 
 stress upon a particular syllable or a won I, 
 still, one can not avoid feeling that there is 
 room for improvement. This is even more 
 evident when the instrument is made to smg ; 
 but when we remember what difficulty many 
 people have to regulate their own chorere 
 vocales, it is not surpnsmg that Mr. t aber 
 has not yet succeeded in giving us an instru- 
 mental Catalan! or Lablache. I aber is a 
 native of Freybourg. in the grand duchy ot 
 Baden ; he was formerly attached to the ob- 
 
 ^,n. „.,„„ . -. ._ and ingenious of cal- 
 culating ma.'hines arc undoubtedly those in- 
 vented, and so far perfected, by Mr. Bubbn^'e. 
 That constructed at the expense of tlie Untisli 
 eovernment for the calculation of astronomical 
 and nautical tables, is, we believe, not yet 
 completed, in cousetiuencc of some misun- 
 derstanding which caused a suspension of Us 
 progress in 18.13. This employed one hundred 
 and twenty figures in its calculation. At a 
 later period. Mr. Babboge began another on 
 his own account, intended to compute with 
 four thousand figures ! Of the former inven- 
 tion. Sir David Brewster, in 1832, sj.eaks in 
 the following terms : " Of all the machines 
 which have been cimstrueted in modern tunes, 
 the calculoting machine is doubtless the most 
 extraordinary. Pieces of mechanism for per- 
 forming particular arithmetical operations 
 have been long ago constructed ; but these 
 bear no comparison, either in ingenuity or in 
 magnitude, to the grand design conceived and 
 neariy executed by Mr. Babbagt. Great as 
 the power of mechanism is known to be, yet 
 we venture to say that many of the most in- 
 telligent of our readers will scarcely admit it 
 
 Baden; he was formeriy at ached to tne oo- -';«;;"";„;, hat astronomical and naviga. 
 servatory at Vienna, but owing to an affection ^Pj-^ P^;'^;/'^,^ accurately computed by 
 of the eyes, was obliged to retire ,7°" H ^^ ^"^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 small pension: he then devoted himself to the machinery thatii ,„^,„;t_and that 
 
 study of anatomy, and now offers he result he errors J^h ch t y ^^^^^ ^^^^i^^.j 
 of his investigations, and their application to ^^f/^. ^^ ^ ;J ;,„„ ^e printed off wi 
 
 mechanics, to°the world of science." 
 
 CALCnLATINO MACHINES. 
 
 free from error, can be printed off without 
 the aid of human hands, or the opern' on of 
 human inlelligence. All this, however, Mr. 
 Babbage's machine can do ; and as 1 have 
 had the advo-ta-c of seeing it actually cal- 
 
 Various machines have from time ^^^^^^jf^JSt^'^^^^^^ 
 been invented to lessen the drudgery of long rt^^emvent^^^^^^ ^ observation. 
 
 and continuous calculation. The P""/'Pl^M ^\°^ ^.^nTcon^ists essentially of two parts 
 upon which the increase and decrease of num- Th'> rn^me co ^ ^ . ^^^^ 
 bers depend, are as fixed as Nature herself , -a calculating p, t Mfiiment of 
 and tlJse once known, wheel-machinery of rf which are ^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^,^^^^^ ^^. 
 determinate proportions may be constructed to 1 Mr. Babbage s views^^ 
 
 
 *•<,. 
 
 Tm 
 
 
 '*^«« 
 
 
 
viintngc would \>c. lost if the computatiimn 
 inailt; l>y the machine were copied by human 
 hands, and transferred t types by the com- 
 mon process. The grc . r part of the calcu- 
 lating machinery is already constructeil, and 
 exhibits workmanship of such extraordinary 
 «kill and beauty, that nothing approachmjj to 
 it has been wunessed." At a later perioil, 
 wt! h'nd Dr. Lardner stating that the princi- 
 ple on which this machine wa» founded was 
 one of a perfectly pcneral nature, and that it 
 wua therefore appliciible to numerical tables 
 of every kind, and thut it was capable, not 
 only of computing and printing, with perfect 
 accurnry, an unlimittjd number of copies of 
 every numerical table wl h has ever hitherto 
 been wanted, but also tin it was capable, of 
 iiriiiling every table that lun ever be recpiired. 
 It ap|it!or8 thot the front elevation of the 
 calculating mochinery presents seven upright 
 columns, each consisting of eijjhteen cages of 
 wheelwork, the mechanism t)t each cage be- 
 ing identically the same, and coiisislinjj ()f 
 two parts, one capable of transmitting aildition 
 from the left to the right, and the other capa- 
 ble of transmitting the process of carrying 
 upward ; for it sc-ms that all calctilations 
 ore by this mochinery reduced to the process 
 of ad'dition. There will, therefore, be one 
 hundred and thirty-six repetitions of the same 
 train of wheelwork, each acting upon the 
 other, and the process of addition with which 
 the pen would be going on successively from 
 figure to figure, will here be performed si- 
 multaneously, and as the mech.x'asm can not 
 err, with unfailing accuracy. The results 
 of the calculating section are transferred by 
 mechanical means to the printing machinery, 
 and the types are moved by wheelwork, and 
 brought successively into tne proper position 
 
 MI.NIATURE MACIil.NEHT. 
 
 to leave their impressions on a plate of cop- 
 per; this copper serving as a mould from 
 which stereotyped plates without limit may 
 be taken. 
 
 It has been hinted at in the al.vsve descrip- 
 tion, that various calculating machines have 
 been invented — all, however, of inferior pre- 
 tensions to that of Mr. Babbage. Thus, 
 Louis Forchi, a Milanese cabinet-maker, con- 
 structed a machine capable of performirig the 
 simple rules of arithmetic with exactitude. 
 This invention is of recent date: its author 
 was awarded the gold medal of the Milan 
 Institute for his ingenuity. In 1838, an in- 
 strument called the Surveyors' Calculator was 
 invented by a Mr. Heald, for the purpose of 
 avoiding the necessity of long calculanons in 
 surveying estates. This instrument, which 
 is 8(3mewhat ujion the principle of the sliding 
 scale, can also be used in extracting the roots 
 of numbers, and in ordinary operations of 
 niultij)licalion and division. 
 
 Much skill and perseverance have been 
 displayed by the ingenious in all ages in the 
 construction «)f miniature olyecis — the pur- 
 poses to be gained being niinuteness of pro- 
 portions with delicacy of finish. Veritable 
 watchea have been set in finger-rin:;« ; a 
 dinner-set, with all its ap|)urtenunres, placed 
 in a ha/.el-nut ; and a coach and four enclosed 
 in a cherry-stone. Beyond the mere training 
 of the hand and eye to the accomplislmient 
 of delicate work, tnere can be nothi'ig gained 
 by such exhibitions of ingenuity, end were 
 it not for this acijuirement, we mighr safely 
 pronounce all these tiny inventions as ti.e 
 otisiiring of ingenious trilling. 
 
 Cicero, according to Pliny's report, saw the 
 whole Iliail of Homer written in so tine a 
 character that it could be contained in a nut- 
 shell ; and jElian speaks of one Myrmecides, 
 a Milesian, and of Callicrates, a Lacedamo- 
 ni'TJi, the first of whom made an ivory chariot, 
 so rtmall and so delicately framed that a fly 
 with its wings could nt the same time cover 
 it und a little ivory shij) of the same dinien- 
 8!oas ; the second formed ants and other little 
 animals out of ivory, which were so extreme- 
 ly small that their com|H)nent parts were 
 scarcely to be distinguished with the naked 
 eye. He states also, in the same place, that 
 one of those artists wrote a distich, in golden 
 letters, which he enclosed in the rind of a 
 grain of corn. 
 
 The tomb of Confucius, a miniature mr»lel, 
 of Chinese workmanship, is considered as the 
 most elaborate, costly, and beautiful specinien 
 of oriental ingenuity ever imported into Eu- 
 rope. It is chiefly composed of the precious 
 metals and japan-work, and adorned with a 
 profusion of gems ; but its chief value consists 
 in the labor expended on its execution. Its 
 landscapes, dragons, angels, animals, and hu- 
 man figures, would retiuire several pages of 
 description, which, after all, would, without 
 a view of the model, prove tedious and unin- 
 telligible. The late Mr. Cox of London de- 
 clcred it to be one of the most extraordinary 
 productions of art he ever beheld, and that he 
 could not undertake to make one like it for 
 less than c£l500. 
 
 Among the many curious works of art pro- 
 duced by the monks and nuns of ecclesiastical 
 establishments, none have been so much ad- 
 mired as their fonts, real and in model. On 
 these were often lavished vast sums, and all the 
 ingenuity which the sculptor, carver, or work- 
 er in metal, could command. The font of 
 Raphael has long been known and admired ; 
 that executed by Acavala in 1562, and pre- 
 sented by an emperor of Germany to Philip 
 II. of Spain, may be considered, however, 
 
lll.tKHT. 
 
 i-rance huvc beon 
 I in all u^i-H in tint 
 
 objcctit — I lie pur- 
 niinut(.'ni'H8 of |iro- 
 
 HmInIi. Veriluble 
 in fin«i'r-rint;» ; n 
 lurtcnunres, (ilnced 
 h Hnd lour oncloned 
 (I llie mere lrniiiinj{ 
 he arrornpliHliintnt 
 1 be nothi'ig ^aineti 
 genuity ; oml were 
 tit, we mi({br eul'ely 
 
 inventions an ii.c 
 ing. 
 
 iiy's report, saw tbe 
 written in so tine a 
 contained in a «ut- 
 jf one Myrmcrides, 
 ates, a Loceda'mo- 
 ide an ivory chariot, 
 
 framed tiiat a fly 
 le same time cover 
 of the same dimen- 
 ants and other little 
 ;h were so cxtreme- 
 i|)onent parts were 
 led with the naked 
 the same place, that 
 
 a distich, in golden 
 ed in tbe rind of a 
 
 , a miniature mo<icl, 
 is considered as the 
 d beautiful specimen 
 r imported into £u- 
 osed of the precious 
 and adorned with a 
 9 chief value consists 
 t its execution. Its 
 ;l9, animals, and hu- 
 lire several pages of 
 all, would, without 
 ve tedious and unin- 
 , Cox of London de- 
 e most extraordinary 
 r beheld, and that he 
 make one like it for 
 
 aus works of art pro- 
 nuns of ecclesiastical 
 k-e been so much ad- 
 I and in model. On 
 vast sums, and all the 
 ptor, carver, or work- 
 mand. The font of 
 known and admired ; 
 la in 1562, and pre- 
 if Germany to Philip 
 considered, however, 
 
 criuosn «*■ i*" akt. 
 
 401 
 
 1 
 
 ., the mo-t elaborate of these perfi.rmances. 
 
 X :„?:;.l >. .ontained in a --"^ -;-«':', 
 
 a„ld and isitoclf of hoxw,HH\. The geru, ol 
 
 ''i In n,av l)c r.«aarded as architectural. « n- 
 
 13.^1 wi ^veral comparimentsof s. ul,. 
 
 S o cSlnR. consisting of vanou. grn^ps 
 
 ,f Lures in alto and ba.«. rcl.ey.,e». Thc«e 
 
 HolttV dillerent events in the hie of Chnst. 
 
 frm the annunciation to hi. cruc.hxum on 
 
 M » r«lv,irv The croups are dispersed 
 
 Mount ^7"'y;i /.",,„\he' outHule.and in 
 
 1 1;;,,':;:::: ;rl.rwithin. some ..f the figure. 
 
 * e los: than a .,uarter of «n -J !" J^K*^ , 
 I b..t though thus minute, are «[' f " ^Jj'^Xt 
 I the oreatpst precision and skill; sn-i wnai 
 
 l..fulHrs his execution still more curious and 
 
 wnitn in. ...ULB. , J twelve inches 
 
 are executed, rhouuh on y .^^^^^ 
 
 tectural ornaments, in t^«/^'^;**^i''y„%„d 
 Gothic, an.l also figures of the Y"?" ""^^ 
 rh\\.\ a nelican with its young, six lions m 
 
 1 he wors. IS ^ microscopic 
 
 ^'' J,io„ U was ortlred for sale in England 
 St "biny ;er ago, but wo are ignorant 
 
 "'wVw "e'en Tat Arnold, the Won 
 Jlh-nllki; rstructed a -tch for George 
 UL, which was set in a finger-nng . but tm. 
 
 r rr^asTTaTTamlrL^o? EngC 
 Charles v., as w.u »» i-v,,.!. of their 
 
 i..,i .imiUr ornaments in thejeweiBut 
 had »'""'* V;"'..:„8 of mechanism is some- 
 
 Barcelona filbert shell. p,.u completed 
 
 In 1828, a "^•^^'•'"'^^^SJarriaBeVthT whole 
 a miniature cannon and carnage, t 
 
 of which on%--£„X bore and touV 
 teS^et?:lheT«a was of steel, the car 
 
 riaee of B->IJ. •nA th« wh'-fil* • »ilv"r. 
 wtfrkmaiMhit; was -.aid ' >- *-ut.f«l. 
 
 C;Sfo?lHS:^'enti..n . -fe;. ah^h^ 
 
 p essure steam-engine-, m l'^'" ""^ "" "f.' 
 watchmaker wh.. o<:cup,e. a stand at the 
 Polytechnic Institution -so sn^all that Jt 
 Btands u,H,n a fourpenny piece, w'th ground U^ 
 
 ""•" ■'' ^icrnof min"i"'-kman! 
 r^rren K" .art bl." g made accord- 
 i to "ale. and the whole occupying so 
 Imal a^mce that, with the exception ./the 
 flv-wheE might be c.vered with a thimble. 
 ' &s n. t simply'a '".Kiel outwardly ;.tjrfc. 
 
 with the greatest activity l-Y '««""V"\''Vl 
 msnhenc pressure (in Heu of steam); and 
 7ewoZ> of the little thing, as its part, are 
 en" boring and heaving ""J" ^^f'f ^'=""' 
 is indescribably curious and beautiful. 
 
 OIOANTIC AND CURIOUS CAKN05S. 
 
 We n..tire a few of the remarkable field- 
 „-Zs which have been constructed in va- 
 ?^u countries since the invention of gun- 
 « wder Such instruments are often regard- 
 ed with interest, either on account of thei 
 fupelus size, or the ingenu.tv dismayed 
 in their construction and mo.le of aPl?""""' 
 The largest known guns are, we believe, to 
 be fouX India, where they were cast dur- 
 SgE meridian of the Mohammedan power 
 One of these brass pieces, known as ihe 
 I ord of the Field," now lies on the bastions 
 If the walls of Be apoor, and is not less than 
 fourteerfeet and nine inches long, wuh . 
 borf of two feet and five inches in dian«eter 
 bore 01 iwo .« thousand six 
 
 —thus requinng a onu »• <■ 
 
 nendous g'ln ^^^^ ,jg 
 
 ed some fourteen or fifteen years ag . 
 incT destroyed by. an overcfia^^ of pow 
 der during an expenmental exV.^^^^^^^^^ ^^ ^^^ 
 hupe instrunrientof destrucnon^^ ^^^ 
 l3L"'ga"nte. the Belgian minis- 
 
 
 %# 
 
 m 
 
 ' i^' 
 
 "^^ 
 
 ^. .»^'p!-^^ :'.''4" .%^ ^S :' 
 
r 
 
 402 
 
 CUBI08ITIK8 OF ART. 
 
 ter of war. It was five fert long, and three 
 feet an<l four inche* in .linmeter, having a 
 bore of twenty-four an<l a half inchri, and 
 wiiahina fourfinn thi>u«on(l ami seven hun- 
 ,lre(I pound.. The weight of the cmntjr .hell 
 fitted for it wan nine hundred and »ixtecn 
 pound. ; of the powder contained in the shell, 
 ninety-five pounds ; and of the shell, when 
 fu/ly charged, ten hundred and fifteen oounds. 
 Tne powder-chamber was made to hold thirty 
 pounds; but a considerable less (piantity than 
 this sufficed to discharge the shell when the 
 range did not exceed eight hundred or nine 
 hundred yards. The weight of the wo,Klen 
 bed which contained the mortar was sixteen 
 thousand pounds. "The name of • Monster 
 Mortar,' " says the United Service .Journal, 
 " was well selected, for it is scarcely possi- 
 ble to conceive a more ugly or unwicldly im- 
 plement. With the exception of the mortar 
 at Moscow, the bore of which is thirty-six 
 inches in diameter, and which, if ever used, 
 must have been employed for projecting mas- 
 ses of gronite. the Antwerp mortar excee<led 
 in magnitude ony other engine of the kind 
 hitherto known. The immense pieces called 
 karthauns, which were common on the con- 
 tinent in the early part of the eighteenth 
 century, rorely exceeded between seventy 
 and eighty hundred weight, and projected a 
 ball of not more than sixty pounds weight. 
 
 The largest gun ever made in Britain was 
 one cast a few years ago for the pacha of 
 Egypt. It weighs nearly eighteen tons, is 
 made on the howitzer principle, and is about 
 twelve feet long, with on immense quantity 
 of metal at the breech. The diameter of the 
 bore is about sixteen inches, and the vveight 
 of the ball with which it will be shotted four 
 hundred and fifty-five pounds. Immense 
 ficld-piecea have sometimes been constructed 
 ■){ malleable iron, by fashioning the body of 
 oars, as a cooper forms a pail, and then hoop- 
 ing them closely round by other bars of great 
 strength. The old piece known as " Mons 
 Meg," and exhibited as a curiosity on the 
 uuuer parapet of Edinburgh castle, is made 
 on this principle. It is now a wreck, and 
 wl long the only piece of the kind; but 
 80iv.e years ago the United States govern- 
 ment gave orders for several of the same kind, 
 of much larger dimensions. The largest of 
 these was placed on board the " Princeton 
 steamer, measuring sixteen feet in length, and 
 copable of carrying a bull weighing two hun- 
 dred and thirty pounds. During one of the 
 experimental trips with the new vessel, this 
 monster gun was shotted, and fired, when un- 
 luckily the breech exploded, causing the death 
 of two members of the president's cabinet, 
 Messrs. Upshur and Gilmer, besides killing 
 and wounding a number of others on board. 
 
 Among the curiosities under this heod, we 
 may justly notice the »(fam-ifun of Mr. Per- 
 kins, invented (Mime thirteen or fourteen years 
 ago, and which many of our rea<lers may 
 have seen exhibited in both London mid Kdin- 
 burgh. It consists of an ordinary metal tube, 
 of any calibre, connected with a compact 
 steom apparatus of proportionate power, ami 
 movable at pleasure, in any direction, by 
 means of a universal joint. With one fourth 
 
 additional force to that of gunixiwder, it will 
 propel a stream of bullets, whether musket 
 or cannon halls, nt the rate of eighteen ()r 
 twenty a second, for any length of time during 
 which the steam-iHiwer may be kept up. One 
 gun is in itself a battery in perpetual and iri- 
 cessant motion, movWig horizontally or verti- 
 cally, sweeping in a semicircular range, nn.l 
 pouring all the while a continued volley of 
 balls with unerring precision when directed 
 point-blonk. Two of these guns in a ship 
 would sink any vessel instantly; and wliot 
 lorce could pass by such a battery on land ? 
 In the models generally exhibited, the noiso 
 mode in firing is little more than that coused 
 by the rush of a column of steam from a nar- 
 row aperture. It is curious to see a small 
 tube of polished steel spitting (for that term 
 is most expressive of its action) forth a show- 
 er of bullets and steam without the least ap- 
 parent eflbrt. 
 
 OPTICAI. 1MTR0MENT8. 
 
 To the uninitiated, a common convex or 
 concave lens is a curiosity. Why o bit of 
 transparent glass so fashioned should magnity 
 or diminish the objects seen through it, is a 
 marvel until the optical principle is explained. 
 The same remark may, with greater justice, 
 be applied to convex and concave mirrors; 
 to the telescops and microscope— instruments 
 with which every schoolboy is now less or 
 more familiar. Common as optical instru- 
 ments of every description may have become, 
 there are still a few, the ingenuity, beauty, 
 or magnitude of which, must strike every re- 
 flecting mind with curious interest. 
 
 Among these, we may mention the curious 
 metallic mirrors of the Chinese, in which the 
 figures stamped on the back ore clearly re- 
 flected from the polished surface, as if the 
 metal had been a transparent, and not a dense 
 and opaque substance ! These mirrors ore 
 generally from five to ten inches in diameter, 
 have a knob in the centre of the back by 
 which they con be held, and on the rest of 
 the back ore stomped certoin figures ond lines 
 in relief. It is these figures which ore re- 
 flected by the polished face— a fact, the cx- 
 plonation of which at one time greatly amused 
 I and perplexed the savam of Europe. One 
 
(!rr thi« licnd, we 
 -nun of Mr. Prr- 
 
 or fourtcrri ypors 
 (lur rcailrrn may 
 Ldiicloii nncl Kiliii- 
 liimry rii( till tube, 
 
 with a cdinimrt 
 onato power, aticl 
 iny direction, l>y 
 
 With one fourth 
 {unpowiler, it will 
 
 whtthi-r inuskct 
 tc of eiKhti'cn or 
 Rthdf time during 
 I be kept up. One 
 I perpt'tnol and in- 
 rizontally or vcrti- 
 lircular rancr, ami 
 ntinued volloy of 
 ion when dirpcti'd 
 30 Runs in a tihip 
 (tantly, and what 
 1 battery on land ? 
 xhibiti'd, thn noisn 
 e than that cansted 
 
 gtcam from a nnr- 
 )U9 to see sninll 
 ting (for that term 
 tion) forth a show- 
 ithout the least ap- 
 
 UMERT8. 
 
 :ommnn convex or 
 y. Why a bit of 
 nod should magnify 
 en through it, is a 
 inciple is explained, 
 'ith greater justice, 
 J concave mirrors; 
 >8Cope — instruments 
 boy is now less or 
 
 as optical instru- 
 1 may have become, 
 
 ingenuity, beauty, 
 lUst strike every re- 
 s interest. 
 
 mention the curious 
 hinese, in which the 
 lack are clearly re- 
 i surface, as if the 
 rent, and not a dense 
 
 These mirrors are 
 1 inches in diameter, 
 itre of the back by 
 , and on the rest of 
 tain figures and lines 
 gnres which are re- 
 ace — a fact, the ex- 
 ! time greatly amused 
 714 of Europe. One 
 
 CUUlOaiTIES OF ART. 
 
 403 
 
 individual IngrnUraily conjecture«i that the 
 £n m' • "v have their origin m a d.ir.-r- 
 i,S f .le.. . . m ditll-rent part, of the metal, 
 ^^ . nl.i by the.tam,nMgof th«flgure» on 
 ?he back, the light being rcttected more or 
 ..s tro, gly frnin parts tilat have been more 
 r le.» c*!.mpreHJ.I. Sir Davi.l IJrcw^tcr 
 however, is of opinion that the •l'«ctru,n m 
 the luminouH area is not an .mage of the 
 figure, .m the back ; but that the Hgures a e | 
 a cony of the picture which the artist has 
 draw.^,« the face of the mirror, «"' •"> coa- 
 realrd by polishing, that it is invisible in r- 
 linary hghts. »..d can be brought only in the 
 8un'H rays. " Let it be re.|Uired, for exum 
 X •• Huvs he, "to produce the drogon whieh 
 I often exhibited ly these curious mirrors. 
 When the surface of tho mirror ,s rea.ly for 
 iiolishiMB. the figure of the dragon n.ay I"- 
 ::l&upon!\inextre„ielyHhaJw^ue. 
 
 or it nmv be eaten out by un ocid much (iilutcd. 
 so as to^remove the sm^dlest I""«"'' « r'"be 
 „f the metal. Tho surface »""«' ''l'^" ^ 
 hiuhlv polished, not upon pitch, ike glass 
 aliTs^ecula. because t>.\would polish away 
 ,1„, fjgure, but u,K>n clmh, m the way hut 
 lenses are sometimes polished. In this nv ay 
 M sunk part of the shallow lines will be 
 a. aighly polished as the re.t, and the ligure 
 wil only be visible in ver strong lights, by 
 Te lee i the sun's rays from tlje meta he 
 surface.^ When the space occupied by t e 
 figure is covered by lines or by etching, t 
 f^fmre will appear in shade on tlvo wall ; but 
 ff'^thTsrpace\lleft untouched, and the parts 
 round it^e covered by lines or e ching he 
 figure will appear most luminous. \V hich 
 ortheae surmises is the true explanation of 
 the phenomenon, we can not determine; but 
 Sther way. the construction of these curious 
 m ?rors is^confinod alor.e to the Chinese, no 
 Xr people having as yet hit upon the secret 
 nf oroducinc the deception. 
 
 Sf late years, wonderful . improvement^ 
 
 have been efTectcd on the '"•"o*';??^^^ '" 
 
 in the common compound a.jiromatic and m 
 
 the oxv-hydrogen. Of the tormcr, we lla^'e 
 
 now tL TO08t%eautiful and perfect mstru- 
 
 meTits magnifying .objects in nature niany 
 
 thousand times their real sue, and ena UnL 
 
 Se observer to view them not ""Jy J" '' f^ 
 
 all false lints, but to measure an<f ascertum 
 
 at the same time the comparative sr/.es of 
 
 the r several parts. Of the latter, some have 
 
 been constructed of six and eight iiowers, 
 
 tviour million times; as, for example, the 
 one inadrby Carey for the Polytechnic In- 
 srimoninLndon. Thus, the second power 
 of h sinstrumentmagnifiesthewingsofalocust 
 
 to twenty-seven feet inlength; the fourth pow- 
 er magnTfies tV . sting of a bee to twenty-seven 
 
 feet; and by the iixth jKiwer, th« hunion hair 
 it maunilied to eighteen inches in diameter. 
 
 A. wc have gigantic mierosc.pes, so olw 
 have wo Bigoiilie tcleseopos; that of Karl 
 Ro.sc, comiHeled about four years ago, being 
 as yet by far the large.t ever emmtrueted. It. 
 1 completion in 1H44 was thus described by Dr. 
 lp.,b{nson the astronomer: "The speculum. 
 which weighs three tons, and has a diameter 
 Lf six feet, with a renecling surface of fi.ur 
 'thousand and seventy-one s.iuoro inches, ho. 
 been ground to Figure, and can be polished in 
 a dav. The tube, partly a cubli' chamber, 
 where the mirror is tixcf, and partly a cyl- 
 inder of inch deal, strongly hooi»;l. «•'<' »''K/" 
 fret in diameter at its centre, is complete. 
 The massive centres on which the teles.ope i. 
 to tun. are in their place, and the iron on- 
 pnratus which supports the speculum is olso 
 complete. The tc'.'sropc is not to be turned 
 to any part of the sky. Ut limit.-.l to a range 
 of half an hour on each side of the meridian, 
 through which its motion is given by pow- 
 erful clockwork, independent of the observer. 
 For this purpose it stands between two piece. 
 „f masoi'iry of (J'-thic architecture, which 
 harn..^i/c^well with the castle. One of 
 these pillars will sustain the ga leries for the 
 observer, fti ". the other th. eOck work and 
 other .nach!fle/y. An extremely eUgant ar- 
 rangement of counterpoises is intended to 
 balance the enormous mass, so that a compara- 
 tively slight force only will be re-iuired to 
 elevHtrt or depress it. The arrangement will 
 not permit the examination of an .^)ject at any 
 time, but only when near the m.»rtMan, when 
 iris best seen. So large a tel«*t..ve will 
 always require the most favorable cucum- 
 1 stances of air. &c.. and there will, always be 
 enough of objects at any given time to em- 
 nlov it ^u!lv. The aperture is six fe_et. the 
 lJ\ lenK 'a fifty-eight. <""' the reflecting 
 surface ft'ur thousand and seventy-one s^uara 
 inches" Herschel's celebrated telescope 
 had only a focal length of fortv fuet. and a 
 reflecting surface of eighteen huntlrcd and 
 eleven inches: dimensions, the bare mention 
 of which will enable the reoder to form some 
 conception of this new and wonderful instni- 
 ment. Herschel's telescope worked wonders 
 in the starry field ; whot. therefore, may we 
 not expect t?om that of Earl Rosse, of more 
 ample' dimension, and of much "^''^f r'-'-J^' 
 finish ? Indeed its wonderful reve ations have 
 already commenced, and nebuhe which baffled 
 the instrument of our greatest astronomer are 
 now resolved into clusters of stars. 
 
 MANUrACTORES. 
 
 The weaving of damasks and otlur figured 
 fabrics, whether in silk, worsted, or linen, 13 
 
 
 "?«« 
 
 s# 
 
404 
 
 CURIOSITIES OF ART. 
 
 ;(Js 
 
 undoubtedly one of the most ingenious de- 
 partments of art, though famihonty with the 
 process has long age abated our wonder. 
 There are still, however, some rare achieve- 
 ments in tapestry, weaving, and the like, which 
 will ever be regarded as curiosities. 1 hus 
 »he weaving of certain garments without seam, 
 even to the working of the button-holes and 
 the stitching, is no nieari feat, requiring not 
 only considerable dexterity and skill, but a 
 greater amount of patient labor than the gen- 
 erality of people would be inclined to devote. 
 Portrait-weaving, but recently attempted in 
 Great Britain, is also a cunous and dehcate 
 
 It has been long known that glass can be 
 drawn into threads of extreme fineness, but it 
 is not many years ago since it has been sue 
 cessfully woven with silk; a fact especially 
 curious, as its brittle nature would appear to 
 render such a method of manufacturing it im- 
 possible. " The fact, however," says the Lon- 
 don Times of 1840, " is indisputable, the new 
 material being substituted for gold and silver 
 thread, than either of which it is more durable, 
 possessing, besides, the advantage of never 
 tamishinl. What is technically called the 
 warp, that is. the long way of any loom- 
 manufactured article, is composed of silk, 
 which forms the body and ground on which 
 the pattern in glass appears as the wett or 
 cross-work. The requisite flexibihty of glass 
 thread for manufacturing purposes is to be 
 ascribed to its extreme fineness, as not less 
 than fifty or sixty of the ongmal threads 
 (produced by steam-power) are required to 
 form one thread for the loom. The process 
 is slow, as not more than a yard can be manu- 
 factured in twelve hours. The work, how- 
 ever, is extremely beautiful, and compara- 
 tively cheap, inasmuch as no similar stun, 
 where bullion is really introduced, can be 
 purchased at anything like the price at which 
 this is sold ; addfed to this, it is, as far aa the 
 glass is concerned, imperishable.' 
 
 Besides glass, many other inaterials— at 
 one time regarded the most refractory and 
 unlikely— have been adopted m the manu- 
 facture of textile fabrics, as well as in the 
 fabrication of article* of economy and orna- 
 ment. Thus, caoutchouc dissolved in naptha, 
 and spread between two layers of cloth, con- 
 stitutes the waterproof fabric of Macintosh ; 
 cut into threads and ribands, it is woven into 
 elastic ligatures and bandages; pecuUarly 
 prepared, it is employed in the formation of 
 life-boats, as well as in the flooring of apart- 
 ments ; it is used in the manufacture of btwts 
 and shoes. The new substance gutta-ptrcha, 
 is already being applied to innumerable m- 
 eenious purposes. The same may be said of 
 papiei mache, of which many articles of do- 
 
 mestic use and ornament are now fabricated, 
 and which is daily being adojjUAJ by the carver 
 and cabinetmaker as a substitute for their 
 most difficult panelling and fretwork . Leather 
 also has recently been pressed into the same 
 service ; and so tough and endurable is this 
 material, when property prepared and mould- 
 ed, that it is likely to be very extensively 
 adopted as a substitute for carvings in wood, 
 castings, compositions, metal, or even papier 
 mache itself. There seems, in fact, to be no 
 limit to the economic application of every 
 substance which comes within the reach of 
 man. We have now before us a fair speci- 
 men of writing-paper made from the straw 
 of the oat and bariey. 
 
 Several years ago an American patented a 
 mode of making cloth by a pneumatic process, 
 without spinning, weaving, or any analogous 
 machinery. The mode is as follows : Into 
 an air-tight nhambiT is put a (juantity of 
 flocculent particle of wood, which, by a kind 
 of winnowing-wheel, are kept floating equal- 
 ly ; on one side of the chomber is a network, 
 or gauze of metal, communicating with an- 
 other chamber, from which tb" air can be ab- 
 stracted by an exhausting syringe or air- 
 pump ; and on the communications between 
 the chambers being opened, the air rushes 
 with great force to supply the partial vacuum 
 in the exhausted chamber, carrying the floc- 
 culent particles against the netting, and so 
 interfacing the fibres that a cloth of beautiful 
 fabric and close texture is instantaneously 
 made. The only objection to cloth of this 
 kind was its rawness, or liability to shrink 
 after being wetted ; and for this reason, we 
 believe, it has never come into anything like 
 use for clothing. 
 
 As an appropriate sequel to this, we notice 
 another American machine, which has been 
 recently constructed for facilitating the pro- 
 cess of sewing and stitching. Its capabilities 
 are thus described by a correspondent of the 
 Worcester Spy : " llie machine is very com- 
 pact, not occupying a space of more than 
 about six inches each way. It runs with so 
 much ease, that I should suppose one person 
 might easily operate twenty or thirty of them ; 
 and the woik is done in a most thorough and 
 perfect manner. Both sides of a seam look 
 alike, appearing to be beautifully stitched, 
 and the seam is closer and more uniform than 
 when sewed by hand. It will sew straight 
 or curved seams with equal facihty, and so 
 rapidly, that it takes but two minutes to sew 
 the length of the outside seam of apajrot 
 men's pantaloons. It sets four hundred 
 stitches a minute with perfect ease, and the 
 proprietor thinks there is no difficulty in set- 
 tinff seven hundred in a minatc. The thread 
 is less worn by this process than by hand- 
 
 
CURIOSITIES OF ART. 
 
 405 
 
 re low fabricated, 
 iplul by the carver 
 jbstitute for their 
 "retwork. Leather 
 96(1 into the same 
 einlurable is this 
 epared and mould- 
 very extensively 
 carvings in wood, 
 al, or even papier 
 8, in fact, to be no 
 plication of every 
 thin the reach of 
 re us a fair speci- 
 le from the straw 
 
 tnerican patented a 
 pneumatic process, 
 , or any analogous 
 s as follows : Into 
 put a <|uantity of 
 1, which, by a kind 
 kept floating equal- 
 imber is a network, 
 lunicating with an- 
 h th« air can be ab- 
 ng syringe or air- 
 unicBtions between 
 led, the air rushes 
 the partial vacuum 
 r, carrying the floc- 
 the netting, and so 
 a cloth of beautiful 
 s is instantaneously 
 ion to cloth of this 
 r liability to shrink 
 for this reason, we 
 le into anything like 
 
 lel to this, we notice 
 ine, which has been 
 facilitating the pro- 
 ing. Its capabilities 
 correspondent of the 
 nachine is very com- 
 space of more than 
 ly. It runs with so 
 1 suppose one person 
 nty or thirty of them ; 
 a most thorough and 
 jides of a seam look 
 
 beautifully stitched, ] 
 ud more uniform than 
 
 It will sew straight 
 iqual facility, and so 
 It two minutes to sew 
 ide seam of a pair of 
 ; sets four hundred 
 perfect ease, and the 
 IS no difficulty in set- 
 1 minate. The thread 
 recess than by hand- 
 
 spwina, and r..n8«<iuently retains more of its 
 sm-S 1. The simplicity of the construclion 
 Sis machine, and the accuracy, rupi.-ty. an- 
 perfection of its operation. wiU place it in tUe 
 Ee rank with tlie card-machine, the straw- 
 braider, the pin-machine. and the coach lace- 
 h om-mach ncs which never fail to comuiand 
 he admiration of every intelligent beholder. 
 
 MIScrXtANKOOS ECONOMIC MACHINERY. 
 
 Under this head we mean to allude to some 
 of the more wonderful invention, which occur 
 amcmg the vast assemblage- of machinery t at 
 is now everywhere employed to lessen the 
 amount of human labor. A century ago, such 
 apparatus was of a simple and scanty descrip- 
 aonT agriculture could boast of nothing ike 
 machinery ; spinning and weaving were done 
 Whaud, ships were wafted by the breeze, 
 or lay at rest when there was no breeze to 
 
 waft them; printing, P''P«';-""'''"-?,\ ^jmi" 
 fact almost every art. was done w"h 1 " " ; 
 tive hand-machines ; the jomer, blucksmilh. ad 
 
 mason, toiled on with patient >ng«":" ^'X^ 
 dreaming that the time ^''» ^I'l'^^.^'^'^S^when 
 a machine, guided by a single hand would 
 accomplish with ease the work of fatty. 
 Those'things which we now regard as rude and 
 primitive, were look upon as marvels: a com- 
 mon damask l.«m. or a thrashing machine, 
 was a curiosity worth a fiftv miles' journey. 
 Now all this i's changed, an.f there ,s scarcely 
 a single manual operation which is not less or 
 more facilitated by mechanical aids. 
 
 In agriculture, the flail is superseded by 
 machinery driven by horse or steain power ; 
 Sowing, planting, and raking machines, of 
 ianume able variety, are becoming of almost 
 universal use, doing the r work w, h such 
 nicety, that we might "Imost ascertain the 
 number of grains necessary to the planting of 
 a field. Ploughing has, in some instances, 
 been executed by steam apparatus ; and 
 draining has also come under the ««m« «m- 
 nipotent sway. Even reaping, one ot the 
 nicest Lid 1st careful of all agricultural 
 operations, has been successfully accomplish- 
 ed by machinery, which does all but fasten 
 the sheaf and arrange tne corn in shocRs. 
 Thus one of the homeliest of all pursuit^ has 
 its curiosities of art in the thrashing mil , m 
 the ploughing apparatus, and in the more deli- 
 cate and complicated reaping machine. 
 
 In operations little removed from agnculture 
 as regards nicety of manipulation or Jelicacy 
 rf finish, the potent arm of invention has also 
 been ex'ercisilig its control. An excava ing 
 machine has been perfected in the United 
 States, capable of performing the work of 
 twent^-fivl ordinary laborers, and that in all 
 sorts 6f soils unincumbered with rock. Ma- 
 
 chinery now presses peat into fuel, and fasli- 
 i, s iLks by myriads; it breaks stones tor 
 Tcadamising^ roads, and dresses their sur ace 
 for pavement; it sweeps streets with a pre 
 cision and rapidity which the scavenger can 
 nl' equal; \t saws and polishes the marble 
 of the sculptor, and converts the most relrac- 
 tory granite into the most beautiful ornamenls. 
 The joiner calls in its aid to saw and plane 
 his timber; the cartwng lit to f.nisli Is 
 wheels ; the cooper to buil^l his barrels ; the 
 carpenter to fashion and fanisli hw block, , 
 and the worker in metals makes the same 
 power roll his material into sheets, square it 
 nto bars, fashion it into nails-makes it pierct. 
 holes, fasten rivets; directs it, '".l"^' 
 cut. file, polish, or stamp, with a rapidity and 
 precision which are all but miraculous. 
 
 Ajiain, if we turn U. more delicate arts, «e 
 find iw aptitude still more marvellous and 
 universal. The sculptor and engraver per- 
 form their most delicate touches a-jJ hn«»t 
 tints by its aid-a few hours produc ng a 
 delicacy, complexity, and regularity ot lines 
 . • , -ii.. u.. „ lon.l ran never possibly 
 
 m^ V 
 
 delicacy, corapiexiiy, nnu ^y-a j 
 
 ^•hich the human liaiid can never possib y 
 Accomplish. The jeweller and goldsmith 
 nakesSt perform his most del cate operations 
 in chasing and embossing ;. the wfitchmake 
 calls in it! power and precision to ashion the 
 nicest parts of his machinery ; and the phil- 
 osophical instrument-maker forms by its aid 
 a screw, or divides a scale m propo"'"-- 
 which the microscope alone can d<-^'P""- 
 In printing, we see its triumphs in the steam- 
 press and the composing machine; and also m 
 [he kindred apparatusfor stamping, enibossing. 
 and coloring of paper, cloth, ""^ other orna- 
 mental fabrics. The paper-mill, in which 
 mgs are cleaned, converted into P"lP; -[- uced 
 to paper, and that paper sized, smoothed, and 
 cut into perfect sheets, s mdeed a curiosity ; 
 I and vet it is only one of a thousand such m- 
 ventLs. Is it in spinning ?-then, here we 
 have the numberiess improvements and com- 
 plications of Arkwright's invention as applied 
 to cotton, silk, linen, or wool-these machines 
 r^ol only cleaning and carding the material, 
 but drawing it out in delicacy fane as ic 
 slenderest gossamer. Allied to these are the 
 thread, cofd, and cable-making inachinery 
 scltteredove our land; as well as the curious 
 
 Sntions for braiding and plaiting s r a v^^ 
 working network, lace, braid, caoutchouc 
 Tbric^and the like. As i" «P"'"'"f:,- ; ' 
 weavincr we have a vast number of machines 
 which, "though in every-day operation around 
 r must ever be regarded with curious in- 
 te eTt The Jacquard. damask, and carp. 
 Ks either worlled by ^team or by nianud 
 I Inl.or are. in real ty, greater marvels than tnc 
 automa a with wh^h our forefathers puz^cd 
 ItSelves, and would be so esteemed, did 
 
 In .mf 
 
 ^i 
 
 my 
 
 Wl™ 
 
 .''^is^SSiiT 
 
406 
 
 THE KU8SIAN EMPIKE. 
 
 ii 
 
 not frequency and familiarity banish our '.v(>n- 
 der. To these we may add such recent in- 
 ventions as the machine for the fabrication of 
 card-web. This ingenious piece of mechanism 
 unwind* the wire from the reel, bends it, cuts 
 it, pierces ihe holes, inserts the tooth, drives 
 it home, and hstly, gives it, when inserted, 
 tiie re(iuisite angle, with the some, or rather 
 with greater precision and accuracy than the 
 most skilled set of human fingers could ; and 
 with such astonishing expedition, that one 
 machine performs a task which would require 
 the labor of at least ten men. An engine of 
 five hundred horse-power would drive, it is 
 calculated, one hundred such machines. 
 
 Though wind, falling water, and animal 
 power, may be, and are m many instances ap- 
 plied to the movement of such machinery as 
 we have above alluded to, yet there can be 
 little doubt that, without the aid of the steam- 
 engine, many of them would have never been 
 thought of, or at all events never brought to 
 their present perfection. It is to this, the 
 most powerful and most uniform of all known 
 motive forces, that the modern world owes its 
 astonishing advances in the arts of civilized 
 life ; to this that we still look for further and 
 still greater advances. It is in our mines and 
 beside our furnaces; in our factories and work- 
 shops; in our mills, bakehouses, and brew- 
 eries : it is on our roads and our rivers ; and 
 on the great ocean itself, bringing, as it were, 
 the most distant and inaccessible places into 
 close comtnunion and reciprocation of produce. 
 Exerting the strength of one man, or the 
 power of one thousand horses, with ecpial in- 
 difference, the steam-engine, in all its variety 
 of form, is the most powerful auxiliary 
 which man ever called to his aid. In all its 
 forms, whether atmospheric, double-condens- 
 ing, high-pressure or low-pressure, rotary or 
 otherwrise, it is a curiosity of art, as is the 
 apparatus with which it is connected. Per- 
 haps the most wonderful forms in which its 
 power now manifests itself, are the railway 
 locomotive, shooting along at the rate of sixty 
 miles an hour, and in the giant iron steamer 
 of three hundred and twenty-two feet long 
 and fifty-one broad— a floating mass of be- 
 tween three and four thousand tons weight. 
 
 Had our limits permitted, we would have 
 gladly particularized several of the curious 
 machines to which we have merely alluded ; 
 for whether in the making of a pin, or the 
 forging of an anchor — in the spinning of n 
 CO! tuu°thread, or in the twisting of a cable- 
 in the framing of a button, or in the weaving 
 of the most costly fabric— in the fashioning 
 of a curt-wheel, or the construction of a loco- 
 motive, the most ingenious machinery is now 
 in re(iuibition. Time, however, will blunt 
 thi! edge of our curiosity. Locomotive en- 
 
 gines, atmospheric rnilwavs, electric tele- 
 grajihs, steamships, and otlier present won- 
 ders, will become as familiar as spinnini- 
 wheels were to our grandmothers, or as sttuin- 
 engines are to ourselves. 
 
 THE RUSSIAN EMPIRE. 
 
 It is scarcely possible that the space whidi 
 the Russian empire occupies on tiie map of 
 the world should not force itself upon the at- 
 tention. It forms the ninth part oi'the liiihit- 
 able iK)rti()n of the globe, and far excceils in 
 extent the empire of Rome when its dominion 
 extended from the Euphrates to Britain. On 
 the frontiers of China the Russian boundary- 
 line is above three thousand miles in lei-gih, 
 which is as h)ng as a line drawn from the 
 southwestern extremity of Portugal to the 
 nortiicastern extremity of Europe, while from 
 the most southern point of Greece to the 
 shores of the Frozen ocean is not more than 
 two thousand ami four hundred miles. The 
 distance from Riga, on the Baltic, to the haven 
 of Peter the Paul in Kamschatka, is above 
 eleven thousand five hundred miles, and in 
 the Russian " Post-Book" a line of road is 
 marked out in stages to a distance of eight 
 thousand one hundred and thirty-fimr miles. 
 A courier from St. Petersburg to Kamschatka 
 is above a hundred days in performing the 
 journey, and tbough for the hitter part of it 
 the rate of t ; •elliiig is not very rapid, yet 
 the usual rate is one hundred and sixty miles 
 a dav for the first forty days=. 
 
 When, however, we begin to examine the 
 available strength and resources of such an 
 empire as that of Russia, we find temtorial 
 magnitude is one of the causes which least 
 contributes to substantial national power. 
 The population of the empire amounted, in 
 1836, to 61,000,000, or about one fifteenth 
 of the huinan race, but it consists of many 
 different races of people, some of whom are 
 still in a nomade state, and wander with tiieir 
 flocks over the immense plains or stepjies of 
 Asiatic Russia, while others obtain aliveHliood 
 otdv by fishing and hunting. The plains jws- 
 sess the ordinary qualities of fertility which 
 are usually found in so extensive an area, 
 the soil in many parts being extremely rich, 
 but in others its properties are less promii-ing, 
 and districts occur which offer no inducements 
 whatever to the agriculturist. Between the 
 river Ob and the Frozen ocean, immense 
 marshes and swampy forest prevail. The 
 " government" of Tobolsk, though a thousand 
 miles in width, contains but about five hundred 
 thousand inhabitants; and in the northeastern 
 
 L 
 
V9i rlrctric tclf- 
 :1ipr jircscnt wun- 
 niliur ns s|iimiiiv!.'- 
 jlhers, or OS stiiiin- 
 
 EMPIRE. ! 
 
 at the space wliitli , 
 ies on the iiiii|i of 
 itsplf upiin tlic ot- 
 1 port oi the Imbit- 
 uni) far exceeds in 
 
 when its dorniiiion 
 tes to Britain. On 
 Russian boiimlary- 
 d miles in ler^'in, 
 le drawn from the 
 F Portugal to the 
 Europe, while from 
 
 of Greece to the 
 n is not more than 
 ndred miles. The 
 Baltic, to the haven 
 mschatka, is above 
 (Ircd miles, and in 
 " a line of road is 
 a di^>tance of eight 
 I thirty-four miles. 
 )urg to Knmschatka 
 
 in performing the 
 the latter part of it 
 not very rajiid, vet 
 red and sixty miles 
 iys=. 
 
 gin to examine the 
 sources of such an 
 
 we find teiTitoria'i 
 causes which least 
 il national power, 
 npire amounted, in 
 about one fifteenth 
 it consists of many 
 
 some of whom are 
 d wander with their 
 >lains or steppes of 
 rs obtain alivelihood 
 g. The plains pos- 
 } of fertility which 
 
 extensive an area, 
 ling extremely rich, 
 s are less promii-ing, 
 jfTer no inducements 
 irist. Between the 
 en ocean, immense 
 ;)rest prevail. The 
 L, though a thousand 
 It about five hundred 
 ] in the northeastern 
 
 extremity of the Russian empire, Captain 
 cSne travelled four hundred miles with- 
 „u? meeting a single inJividuol. and m the 
 "ur e o a thoutund miles he saw c»,ly 
 one habitation. In the "government" of 
 Archangel, which is three times as large as 
 Geat^riuin, and equal in e.te.it to the 
 M of the Austrian domimons, the popula- 
 " scarcely amounts to one for each s-iuare 
 me Almost the only uccomm<Mlat.on winch 
 Xe traveller fm-ls in ttie inhospitable regi.ins 
 o Eastern Siberia, are the "chanty yourtes 
 erec^d every twenty-five miles by the pub-ic 
 authorities. They are simply umnhabited 
 W houses, about twelve feet s.,uare, unP/- 
 v^deJ with windows, and m which shelter 
 « dy U obtained. This, however, is the leas 
 Srable picture of the Russian empire, and 
 is t^ue in Reference only to us northern j.arte. 
 iSaLg from thirty-eight to seventy-eight 
 deuces. It presenu every variety ol climate, 
 from thit ot'^Spain and l^ortugal to the rigors 
 o^The arctic circle. The provinces ot the 
 iTal and southern parts are thinly .nhabU- 
 Tlhough the soil and climate are highly 
 avorSto the I'-S^esB "» >»«l.-"y ""^ 
 population; but in the south there is less o^a 
 nafioual spirit than m the ""j"' " '^ ^^^ 
 reach the disputed territory of Georgia onU 
 Stsiia, wh!=re the author.WotRus.ajs 
 oouosed bv force ot anns. i he progress oi 
 cunvSng the various people under the Rus- 
 couvtruiig II p •• jjaiiits and ideas is 
 siau domimoK to Kussian iiuui 
 however proceeding as rapid y as couia ue 
 Sorted. In the centre and m the south, 
 Sol- the thick fogs which brood over the 
 Ihores of the Frozen ocean, and a climate 
 wS drivesmentrom agriculture to the rivers 
 
 maKiug w n . forty-nine and hlty- 
 
 S the Bci.ei.1 .ummerJiet cun.uteJ of 
 
 m§ 
 
 I the commencement of the last century. Soon 
 after the accession of the empress Catherine, 
 she invited foreign colonists to settle, and 
 ten thousand Germans, Swiss, t rench, ad 
 Swedes, were placed m above a hundred m1- 
 loues. ciiieny situatc.l between the Volga an.l 
 the Don. These villages appear to be very 
 prosperous, and are rapidly ."creasu." in 
 population; the births to the deaths are tli.ee 
 o one. There are besides, elsewhere, many 
 other colonies of foreigners, particularly ot 
 Germans; and settlers are encouraged bv 
 exemption from taxes. The land unoccup.ed 
 is still of immense extent. Captain Jones, 
 who travelled through various parts of the 
 Russian emoire in 18-26, speaks ot extens.ve 
 districts in tL neighborh.HKl ot Taganrog, n | 
 the sea of Azof, possessing an extremely nth ^ 
 soil, "in many parts perfect garden "'o«ld^^ i 
 and capable ot |.roduc.ng any or every thi. g, 
 but the population was scanty, and no suffi- 
 cient for the cultivation ot the land. He 
 passed over several tracts of sixty miles of 
 desert in this fine region. 
 
 From the preceding statements we may 
 fonn some idea of the endless diversity of 
 circumstances under which man exists in re- 
 gions so varied as those comprised in the 
 Russian empire. In one -luarter the vege a- 
 tion is of a'tropical character. A ano h r 
 (Nijnei Kolimsk. on the Frozen ocean), "the 
 „habita..ts manage, with great labor t« feed 
 a couple of cows: hay is brought e.g^ y 
 miles distant for them." H.irses "ccos o.ially 
 reach this place, but they never spend m.Te 
 han a few'days here, during which they are 
 obHg^d to li/e upon the tops an.l bark ot 
 bushes, or on moss. If we select any pnK^ess 
 of agriculture, we shall find a variety ot 
 mea.t» practised to attain the same object, 
 each inlluenced. in a great degree by loea 
 causes. Take the emi.loyment of an. nal 
 ?K,wer for instance, and wh.le. south ot To- 
 bolsk we find the sledges drawn by horses, 
 no th of that place only the reindeer or dogs 
 are used. In 'the Crimea the two-humped 
 ' eld is emnloyed. In the "CghborhocM of | 
 Taconrog. the plough may be seen at work 
 drawn by ten oxen.^.f the color and almost 
 '"the sL of elephaiits I" other ?-«. 
 oxen from the steppes of the Volga, the Uon. 
 Td the Caucasus! are used n t-n.^orting 
 goods, but not in tilling the land. Winter, 
 
 Ihicllin some P^oyi"'^^^ '« VTufe l.u tie' 
 tivitv ond repose, is a period ot life. I ustle, 
 and animation, in others. The wheels are 
 Sen otr vehicles, and merchandise is trans- 
 ported with extraordinary ease over the ro/^n 
 ^irface of the snow. At thi« reason the fa-^ 
 by the diligences are lower than ot "t''" « 
 'ruKlsof the year. In a country of smaller 
 exfent. such Liking diversities So not exist; 
 
 41 
 
 ^- 
 
 
 I 
 
u ♦ t^ mvB anv satisfactory account of all 
 
 Sve application of animal and mechanical 
 nTwer which is foun.1 in this country. In 
 Ey p'ovbces the towns "e few, and the 
 
 Si^e^;;trs^o/^£tirryoflS 
 ffy Sons of people are of course very 
 
 ^"X' Petersburg is the principal seat of 
 fordV commercl as MoscU is of the vas 
 n terfal trade of the empire. The fojeri 
 the ereat maritime outlet of the gnlt ot t- in 
 Sndfand has an extensive commumcagon 
 with the interior by fivers and anai O^^^ 
 
 n the B.Uic. and i. al» the k"'"'?' f'- 
 P.ter.but, .Ithou.h *,r.y^<::,^»'S^^^^^^^^ 
 
 r«"v£ mile, long .nd on. b^J, .n J the 
 month ot the h.rW, ,. .ttongly ""''•J,;^ 
 Jtl'r.n.wfwer.n'S J^T^Iw^^K Se 
 
 tSirndXe 5t... .«.»"-- SS 
 nrfi reauisite in fittin'^ out a fleet and Keep 
 ng Krepair and fit for service^ .nchxding 
 foundries for cannon, rope walks, &c. Canau 
 „e constructed which enable a ship- of- the - 
 \iL t/, take in her stores close to the ware- 
 housed The Military canal, capable of con- 
 St thirtv-five sail-of-the-line. besides 
 TaKr JesSsI Has become so shallow as to 
 bTincapable of admitting large ships. Cron- 
 «ta dt was founded by Peter the Great. In 
 ?703, "slip from H^and wa« the first mcr- 
 
 chaniman that had ever aPP«"f " ^^^^j^^^fn 
 and the captain and crew were t'^-J^J/^j; 
 
 SSrani^f-^iHii^eS^^^^^^^^^^ 
 fin^hundre'd now dear inwar a„nuaU^. 
 
 contains many good ^^^^^'''.'^"'fV' ublic 
 naved, but, with the exception of the puniic 
 
 mer all is life and animation, for thfi nativity 
 "the year is crowded into the space .,1 a f.w 
 months^but as the winter approaches, and 
 Z last ships of the season take their depart- 
 ure. feJrfJof being locked up by the ice. .he 
 arene changes, and all becomes dull. 1 he 
 1 summer population of Cr.mstadt amoun s to 
 
 1 ZutVtJ thousand. e-^'Tr hi' S'ckl 
 1 sailors, and persons employed in the docK 
 
 I yards. 
 
 YOUTH AND AGE. 
 
 HUMA5 life is a series of c'evelopments, and 
 attach new peri.xl, some r -power is un- 
 ?M I . llw Lxoerienccs a.o likewise added; 
 ti'lLrmeanrnotonly are old prejudices 
 frlrruentfy corrected, but the errors of our 
 Ker colluct. exposed condemned, ami pun- 
 
 ,.r reflecnon-a tune howler at length ^r^ 
 
 r;v:rt:'£c n e^tion on the pU which 
 reverts ni» ' e,l. How much, in the 
 
 Si"*.f .£ tSShn. been „v.,l„.W end 
 
 P°"'VSar.s;vri"»mS:t 
 ?r::^roVr::i".^r,,mJe'g 
 
 t,me were wi ^ ^ , .j. ^^ ^^ j^tg 
 
 :Zt M. so Semnn commences again his 
 
 %; .ar.pr hurrying afresh onward, and suU 
 
 SXiS^r ■"'" - "••■ """' "•' 
 
 '"^tllllnr'h- S: we ..e ~«.e,™e» 
 
 ! :feisrhjre.'f4q%"" 
 
 ^'.« not only aged, but also good and vvise, 
 
 "•>SH -ir^in^ure » ; 
 i5%tsrX-"-'« »* hut « ?. 
 
 1 
 
 I 
 
 'If 
 
 'm 
 
 <«kjM 
 
410 
 
 YOUTH AND AGE. 
 
 t*„, 
 
 amounts to coercion, even in the sliKhtest de- 
 gree, it can not fail to have evil conse(|Ui'rce8. 
 If, instead of iicrsuoding or guiding the judg- 
 ment, it should substitute n control upon the 
 volition of the young, it will fatally preclude 
 action, stopjiing it at its very source. We 
 have not, in such a case, combination, but 
 mere displacement; young impulse is alto- 
 gether put aside, and anti(iue prudence takes 
 exclusive possession. 
 
 The caution of age should be used for the 
 regulation, not for the annihilation, of the 
 impulsive instincts of the ardent and juve- 
 nile. Another danger, too, arises. Anti(|ue 
 prudence may be ohsolet'. jjrudence ; circum- 
 stances may so have changed, as to make it 
 the reverse of jirudence at all. The world 
 of commerce allbrds abundant instances of 
 this, particularly in firms of long standing. 
 A young man of good abilities, full of vigor, 
 becomes for instance, by right of l))rth, a ju- 
 nior purtnor in an old established business, 
 and deems his fortune made. But in a few 
 years, the concern, to the surprise of all, sinks 
 perishes, 
 
 and perishes. The surprise is the greater, 
 because in the world's estimation, the house 
 was always considered particularly safe. It 
 meddled not with mixlem speculations. It 
 relied on an exceedingly old connexion, it did 
 no business that it was not sure of — yet it 
 failed. In foct, thinigh it risked no losses, it 
 achieved no gains ; and thus in the end suf- 
 fered more than it would hove done from bad 
 debts or mistaken speculations. Meonwhile 
 let us imagine, or rather simply state — for we 
 record facts— the position of the junior in the 
 firm. What was it? Anything more dis- 
 tressing could scarcely be conceived. From 
 the first he was powerless. He found an es- 
 tablished method— a system of routine to 
 which he was compelled to adhere. Of an 
 enlightened understanding, and an enterpri- 
 sing spirit, he at first attempted innovation, 
 and aimed at those sources of profit of which 
 more youthful firms availed themselves ; but 
 was met so uniformly by the fixed habits and 
 riKJted ijrejudicesof the older partners, that 
 at length he sticcumbed to necessity, and fell 
 himself, for the sake of peace, into the cus- 
 tomary channels. Had he commenced busi- 
 ness on his own account — thrown himself en- 
 tirely on his own energies and resource.', and 
 been at once inspired by hope and controlled 
 by prudence, he would m all probability have 
 achieved brilliant success. 
 
 Youth is proverbially rash, but the aged 
 may show an ecjuully dangerous rashness in 
 holding doggedly to old and wornout notions. 
 Accustomed to venerate what has existed for 
 generations without challenge, the older class 
 of persons are prone to oppose the slightest 
 attempt at modification, and they suffer ac- 
 
 cordingly. Many a woming, in the course of 
 events is received; yet age is obstinate, and 
 persists in the old course — not because it is 
 right, but because it is old. The association 
 of ideas, sympathy, determination of charac- 
 ter, a sense of pnde, while it recognises the 
 peril, and other like motives, induce age to 
 disregard the symptoms, and inspire it with 
 courage to endure martyrdom, rather than in- 
 cur the shame of a submission to change. 
 Thus the inveterate controversialist will not 
 confess a proven truth though convinced ; 
 falsely apprehending as a defeat wJ)Bt, if cari- 
 didly acknowledged, would be really a tri- 
 umph, he v.'ins a ruinous conquest, and wears 
 a counterfeit laurel. Can we take up a 
 newspaper without being made conscious of 
 the hideous train of disasters which have en- 
 sued in various European countries from a 
 rash and unphilosophic persistency in what 
 ought to have been long since mo<lified and 
 accommodated to the spirit of the age? The 
 energies of France, outgrowing the routine of 
 old dynasties, require a new electoral system ; 
 being refused, the nation indignantly dissolves 
 the partnership between her and the sover- 
 eign. Such are the evils v/hich flow from 
 the substitution of the merely regulative for 
 the dynamic forces themselves. 
 
 The last illustratifm presents the topic un- 
 der a graver aspect than it was our intention 
 to have considered. Thus drawn, however, 
 to the subject, we can not refrain from re- 
 marking how often we hear that said with 
 pride regarding institutions and systems, 
 which, rightly regarded, should be otherwise 
 spoken of^ " Thus long has stood this sys- 
 tem without one iota of change — here, as we 
 stood centuries ago, do we yet stond — what 
 was thought and professed then, is still thought 
 and professed. Change has often been called 
 for, but never granted ; so that here, at least, 
 we have one monument of the past that has 
 never bent to the inconstont wind of human 
 caprice." If such a thing really exist in the 
 world — which is gravely to be doubted — as- 
 suredly this is a questionable boast. The 
 minds of masses of men being liable to a con- 
 tinual, though it may be slow and impercep- 
 tible change, it is impossible for any institu- 
 tion to go on unchangingly, without filling 
 out of relation with the world. Its vital is 
 changed for a nominal existence ; and so far 
 from deriving strength from its anti(piity, it 
 derives weakness and danger. Institutions of 
 this kind may be flattered up to the last day 
 of their existence, with the external homage 
 which they have been accustomed to receive, 
 and ere four-and-twenty hours pass, they may 
 be trompled on as noxious weeds, or quietly 
 consigned to universal forgetfulness. Such 
 catastrophes are clearly traceable to the error 
 
, in the course of 
 lit obstinnte, and 
 ot because it is 
 The association 
 lation of charnc- 
 it recognises the 
 s, induce age to 
 1 insiiire it with 
 I, ratner than in- 
 wion to change, 
 ersialist will not 
 lUgh convinced ; 
 eat'wjjat, if can- 
 be really a tri- 
 juest, and wears 
 we take up a 
 ade conscious of 
 \ which have en- 
 lountries from a 
 sistency in what 
 ice modified and 
 f the age ? The 
 ing the routine of 
 electoral system ; 
 gnantly dissolves 
 f and the sover- 
 v/hich flow from 
 ily regulative for 
 es. 
 
 nts the topic un- 
 vas our intention 
 drawn, however, 
 refrain from re- 
 ir that said with 
 IS and systems, 
 )uld be otherwise 
 s stood this sys- 
 nge — here, as we 
 yet stand — what 
 len, is still thought 
 I often been called 
 hat here, nt least, 
 the past that hns 
 nt wind of human 
 really exist in the 
 I be doubted — as- 
 jble boast. The 
 ing liable to a con- 
 ^w and impercep- 
 le for ony institu- 
 y, without falling 
 'orld. Its vital is 
 tcnce ; and so far 
 in its anti(piity, it 
 ST. Institutions of 
 up to the last day 
 B external homage 
 istomed to receive, 
 ars pass, they may 
 I weeds, or quietly 
 rgetfulness. Sncn 
 iceable to the error 
 
 THE CROTON AaUEDUCT. 
 
 411 
 
 of setting up persistency as the law of the 
 world, the real law being change. Man con- 
 tinually changes, and everything that would 
 wish to live with him must consent to change 
 •00 ; everything must partake of his eternal 
 rejuveaesctnce, or take the consequences of 
 becoming too old. r .v. . 
 
 It is the instinct and tendency of youth to 
 tran-scend the limits of its actual experience. 
 It presumes, assumes, ideali/cs, colors trom 
 its own rich heart, the outlines and forms ot 
 things, and nnti*ipat<;8 results with a prophet- 
 ic power that sometim-s imluces their reali- 
 zation, but moie fre.iuently clothes the distant 
 prosijcft with those enchantments which hope 
 pictures as belonging to the future. \ outh is 
 the season of at-nal castle-building— ()i count- 
 less projects— of boundless aspirations— ot 
 infinite possibilities. But a [)eriod of limita- 
 tion at length arrives— of aims more and more 
 positive, objects more definite, an arena more 
 contraclc<i, and labors more special. 1 He 
 man has become the clossman from home— 
 the cosmopolite, or the patriot— the general 
 lover, or an attached husband and father— the 
 acquaintance of all, or the friend ot a few— 
 the wanderer or the domestic man, whom 
 nothing can tempt from his chimney-corner on 
 a winter's evening. Much has been gained, 
 but evidently much has been lost. While the 
 diflftculty of blending in one individuality, the 
 advantages of both conditions is freely ac- 
 knowledged to be great, we are far from h(,ld- 
 ing it to he insuperable. There is much need- 
 less waste of wealth, much extravagance ot 
 anticii)ation, much borrowing on the credit ot 
 the future, and much excess of all kinds on 
 which it would be well that vouth should be 
 timeously admonished. With all the regula- 
 tions of experience, however, it is of equal 
 importance, individually, and for ^o^al well- 
 being, that the middle-aged and old should 
 cultivate as far as possible youthful feelings 
 Let not " the glory and the freshness of the 
 dream" of youth depart with the dream itselt , 
 some glimpses of the vision may surely sur- 
 vive in memory. "Once more," exclaims 
 Bvron, "who would not be a boy? io 
 "carry the feelings of childhood into the pow- 
 ers oi" manhood is," says Colendge, "the 
 prerogative of genius." And what a preroga- 
 tive it is 1 Yet it is not one so e''cl"«};'^-^; 
 that all men may not share m it, each in his 
 desrree We would warn, therefore, the man 
 of middle a'^e from becoming the victim ot 
 fixed habits and ac<iuired routine, to he ex- 
 clusion of new impulses, and the pleasure 
 that constantly attends them. Every day is 
 a new dav, every hour a new hour ; the 
 Ud is alLys bLoming new. and -ef-n 
 is renewed every moment, so that nature is 
 
 lo I cue V> '.-'-» •-''■"•J 
 
 atill in travail with fresh generations. 
 
 ing, if we rightly consider it, is really old— 
 not even age itself. To insist on guiding 
 ourselves by the prejudices of yesterday, is 
 merely to resist the progress of growth. 
 Judgment, in its maturity, has nothing to 
 dreail from concession to increased knowledge. 
 Its tendency is to deliberate— to move slowly 
 —to stand still ; and it indeed needs the agi- 
 tation of new ideas, interests, and ojnnions, 
 to iireserve it in a healthy state ot life and 
 action. An old man of our aeciuoiiitance, 
 who as solicitously sought the instruction of 
 new impressions, as others ore anxious to re- 
 ject them, declared to us that, as his under- 
 standing became more and more illuminated, 
 he felt as if he was growing younger every 
 day : it was, moreover, evident to all that lii8 
 intellect, owing to the freedom with which he 
 had permitted 'it still to operate, was constant- 
 ly to the last receiving fresh develo)imeiit and 
 expansion. Happy the man thus united to 
 an aged body, who yet owns a young mind ! 
 His are at once the security of discretion, 
 and the ropture of imagination— tins sobered 
 in its tone, and that vivified— and both coex- 
 isting in beauty, like light and shade in the 
 picture of a great master. 
 
 THE CROTON AQUEDUCT, NEWYORK. 
 
 On the 14th of October, 1842, the city of 
 New York, held holyday— and well it might; 
 for on thot day, for the first time since its 
 foundation, did its inhabitants enjoy the bles- 
 sings of a cheap, copious, and permanent sup- 
 nlv of pure water. Hitherto, that essential 
 requisite to existence was obtained trom immps 
 and drawwells ; now, it flowed through the 
 streets in the form of a fresh and sparkling 
 river, spread out into extensive lakes, gushed 
 forth in every square and park, and dissemi- 
 nated itself in living rills of health and com- 
 fort to the remotest alley. The accomplish- 
 ment of such a purpose was, in truth, a tri- 
 umph worthy of a civilized people— a feat 
 more glorious and enduring than the squande 
 in<T often times the amount of capital m gu. 
 powder and bayonets. Those who are ac- 
 customed to sneer at the " utihtarianism of 
 the age," may regard the watering of a city 
 as a mere ordinary incidc.it, a fit-en.-ugh topic 
 for the newspapers and small-talk ot a weeK, 
 and nothing more ; but to the individual who 
 can take an enlarged view of hunian progres- 
 sion, and who knows how much of public 
 health, comfort, and prosperity, depends upon 
 a plen iful supply of pure water, it will ap- 
 pear in its try light as a great national 
 ach evement. In such a light was the com- 
 
 1«* 
 
 Si*-" 
 
 ...M^f 
 
412 
 
 THK CROTON AQUEDUCT. 
 
 pletion of the Croton aqueduct regarded by ] 
 the citizen of New York ; and, viewing it 
 through the wme medium, we proceed to lay 
 before our readers some account of this mag- 
 nificent undertaking. 
 
 Like most modem cities which have rap- 
 idly increased in population and importance, 
 New York, so early as the end of last ceti- 
 tury, began to feel the necessity of a plenti- 
 ful supply of pure and wholesome water. As 
 with most modem improvements, too, depend- 
 ing upon the consent of the many, there was 
 a world of preliminary palaver and delay. 
 In 1774, when the population amounted only 
 to twenty-two thousand, the necessity began 
 to be fpit ; in 1799, iJ was the subject of much 
 talk, and even consultctions with engineers ; 
 and again, in 1822, after a lapse of twenty 
 years, a committee " sat upon" the subject, 
 obtained a survey, drew up a report, and had 
 the same approved of. Still, however, noth- 
 ing was done ; the inhabitants of New York 
 continued to drink impregnated waters when 
 they could obtain them ; when they could not 
 it is hu.Moroiis'ly supposed they betook them- 
 selves to " gin-sliKg." In 1824, the yellow 
 fever committed fearful ravages; being all 
 the more severe, that the inhabitants had not 
 the indispensable element of cleanliness, to 
 abate its effects. This roused the authorities 
 to a keener sense of the importance of water ; 
 hence 1825, and 1826, are remarkable for the 
 numberof speeches, reports, prosjiectuses, &c., 
 which the water-question gave birth to. SuU 
 there was no actual movement. In 1831, a 
 new committee talked of "more decided 
 steps," and besought the munici])al authori- 
 ties, "no longer to satisfy themselves with 
 speeches, reports, and surveys, but actually 
 to raise the means and strike the spade into 
 the ground." These, it must be confessed, 
 were bold words; but they bronijht no water. 
 However, a more urgent monitor now a|)- 
 peared; and in 1832, the plague of the chol- 
 era ravaged the filthy and unwatered city. 
 This so stirred the inhabitants und authori- 
 ties to a sense of their danger, that the latter 
 now set about in absolute earnest to remedy 
 the defect. Surveys an<l reports were execu- 
 ted anew ; and after a few more last words 
 and deliberations, the work was commenced m 
 reality. In May, 1837, the spade was struck 
 into the ground ; in July, 1842, the waters of 
 the Croton traversed the wiueduct, and in 
 October of the same year, were distributed 
 througliout the city of New York, whose in- 
 habitants hailed the event, " with unrestrained 
 enthusiasm and joy !" , , t. 
 
 How this result was accomplished, at what 
 cost, and with what success, we shall now 
 endeavor to describe. The modes of supply- 
 ing modern cities with water, are either by 
 
 means of Artesian wells, by pipes which m- 
 duct and distribute some distant spring. () by 
 the engine pump applied to the water o/' some 
 river, if luckily, such a source be available. 
 The aqueduct, urKin its ancient and gigantic 
 scale, is rarely if ever resorteil to, and here- 
 in consists the novelty and interest of the 
 mmle adopted by the city of New fork. 
 An aqueduct, in its primitive sense, means 
 simply a watcr-leoder, a familiar instance of 
 which is afforded in the common mill-course. 
 The water is diverted from its nutural chan- 
 nel at the requisite height, and then led along 
 in an artificial course to the poi;it desired. 
 Now this artificial channel may be siinply a 
 ditch, or it may be constructed of solid ma- 
 sonry ; it may be open or covered ; it may 
 wind along the sides of hills, so as to preserve 
 the proper level, or it may be carried stroight 
 forward through hills and across valleys. 
 The ancient aqueducts of Rome were gener- 
 ally constructed uixin the latter principle, be- 
 ing carried through heights by tunnels, and 
 across valleys and rivers upon arches — the 
 arched portion of the structure originally giv- 
 ing the name of a<iueduct, just as the range 
 of bridges which carry a railway across a 
 valley is called a viaduct. The ancient prin- 
 ciple was that adoj.ted by New York ; the 
 Croton river is dammed up near its source, 
 its pure and undefiled waters are conveyed in 
 a channel of solid masonry through hills by 
 tunnels, and over rivers and valleys by arches 
 or embankments ; and after a cou»»#)f forty 
 miles, administers to the health and comfort 
 of four hundred thousand human beings! 
 The reasons for adopting this species of 
 structure are obvious ; an open caiml would 
 have been liable to receive innumerable im- 
 purities from the v ash of the country ; a clo- 
 sed one not only prevents waste by evapora- 
 tion, and preserves cleanliness, but adds to the 
 strength and durability of the structure. 
 The inequalities of the country between the 
 source of the Croton and the city of New 
 York, were such, as entirely to preclude the 
 idea of a plane, or continuous water-courst, 
 awl the (piestion to be decided was — whether 
 the layine of pipes, or the construction of an 
 aqueduct^after the plan of the ancients, would 
 be more economical, efficient, and permanent] 
 After due consideration it was decided in fa- 
 vor of the latter. 
 
 Beginning with the Croton river, its sources 
 are principally in the county of Putnam, at a 
 distance of fifty miles from New York. 
 They are mostly springs, which in that ele- 
 vated and uneven country, have formed many 
 ponds and lakes, never failing in their supply. 
 There are about twenty of these lakes which 
 constitute the sources of the Croton river, and 
 the aggregate of their surface areas is about 
 
!ini 
 
 THE CnOTON AUUEDUCT. 
 
 413 
 
 f pipes which m- 
 stant sprinj;, o liy 
 ) the water of some 
 uree be available, 
 icient and f^igantic 
 irtcd to, anil here- 
 rid interest of the 
 y of New fork, 
 itive sense, means 
 amiliar instance of 
 immon mill-course, 
 n its niuaral chan- 
 and then led along 
 the point desired. 
 :1 may be simjjly a 
 uctod of solid ma- 
 r covered ; it may 
 Is, so ns to |>re8erve 
 ' be carried straight 
 nd across volleys. 
 Rome were gener- 
 latter princi|)le, be- 
 hts by tunnels, and 
 J uiHjn arches — the 
 cture originally giv- 
 t, jnst as the range 
 a railway across a 
 The ancient prin- 
 i)y New York ; the 
 up near its source, 
 ters are conveyed in 
 iry through hills by 
 nd valleys by arches 
 ter a coui»««)f fi>rty 
 health and comfort 
 ind human beings! 
 ing this species of 
 n open canal would 
 ve innumerable im- 
 f the country ; a clo- 
 8 waste by evapora- 
 lincss, but adds to the 
 \f of the structure, 
 country between the 
 nd the city of New 
 irely to preclude the 
 inuous water-courst, 
 ecided was — whether 
 he construction of an 
 af the ancients, would 
 :ient, and permanent] 
 it was decided in fa- 
 
 •oton river, its sources 
 lunty of Putnam, at a 
 } from New York. 
 58, which in that ele- 
 ry, have formed many 
 failing in their supply. 
 i of these lakes which 
 f the Croton river, and 
 surface areas is about 
 
 three thausand eifiht hun.lr.-d acres. From 
 
 those sourre. to the mouth o» the Cr..to.., ut 
 
 the lu-ad of Tnp|.an buy in the Hudson, the 
 
 distance is about twenty-hv.^ mdfs. 1 be 
 
 country bord.'ring upon the Cmton is gener- 
 
 ftllv eli'.viit.-<l and uneven, not su^taiumg a 
 
 ,l,.ns(' population, and clear.-d sufficiently to 
 
 prevent injury to the water from d.'cay.d ve- 
 
 uetable mutter. The river bus a rapid de- 
 
 srciit, and Uows over u l>ed of gravel and 
 
 masses of broken nwk. From these advan- 
 
 tui'es, there is good reason to nuppos.', that 
 
 ,1,7. 'vntcr will receive very litile i.npuriry 
 
 from the wash of th.^ country ihrou-h which 
 
 it Hows, and there is no doubt that tlie sour- 
 
 es furnish that which is pcculmriy ndui>ted 
 
 % 
 
 ■'> 
 
 to all the purposes of a large city. The wa- 
 ter is of such uncommon jiunty, that m ear- 
 lier days, th(! Indians gave 0, name to the riv- 
 er which signified "d.^ar water." 
 
 A"uin, us to the flow of water into tht; 
 Croton, the capacity of the fountain reser- 
 voir, the dischurge of the n<pifduct. and the 
 snffic-ienev of 8ui>ply, w.- are presented with 
 the following details : " The m.-dium (low of 
 wuter in the Croton, where th.' fountain res- 
 ervoir is formed, exceeds lifty ini lions (d 
 gallons in twenty-four hours and the iiiiiii- 
 inum How, after a loug-contiuu. d dnmglir. is 
 about twenty-seven millions of gallons in 
 twenty-four hours. The dam on the Croton 
 river is about thirtv-ei-ht feet above the lev- 
 el which was the surface of the natural (low 
 of water at that jduce, and sets the water 
 back about six miles, forming the fountain 
 reservoir, which cover* an area of about tour 
 hundred acres. The country forming the 
 valley of the river was such us to give bolil 
 shores to this reservoir generally, an.l in cases 
 where there was a gentle slope or« level ot 
 the ground near the surface of water, exea- 
 vations were made, so thnt the water should 
 not be of less depth than four aii<l a hull feet. 
 The available capacity <^f this reservoir, down 
 to the level where the water would cense to 
 (low off in the aqueduct, has been estimated 
 ut six hundred millions of gallons. Could we 
 I suppose that the Croton river will ever, 111 
 any season of drought, fail to furnish a sup- 
 nlv greater than would be carrie.l o F irom 
 this reservoir and the reservoirs at the city 
 by evaporation, we have still a supjily of wa- 
 ter which would be sufficient for ""e million 
 of inhabitants during the space of thirty 
 days (estimating the amount necessary for 
 each inhabitant to be twenty gallons for every 
 twenty-four hours). But we may assume 
 the number of inhabitants at present to be 
 one third of a million, and therefi.re we have 
 a sufficient store of water in this fountain 
 reservoir to supply them for the space ot 
 niuety days, iu the emergency before suppo- 
 
 sed. In addition to the (piantity in the foun- 
 tain reservoir, we have Kulliirieiit in the res- 
 ervoirs of the city t.) supply one third of one 
 million nt inhubilunts for about tweiity-hve 
 davs, at the rate of supply b.dore menti.med- 
 Tims we find, should such a limit as we have 
 supposed ever happen to the supply from tile 
 river, the season of drought can not eertuinly 
 be supiiosed to continue during the length ot 
 time (about four months) that would be re. 
 (luired for the present po|)ulnti(m ot the city 
 to exhaust the (luaulitv in store when all the 
 reservoirs are lull. The minimum flow of 
 water in the river, where the dam is con- 
 structed, has been state.l to be twenty-seven 
 millions of gallons for every twenty-four hours. 
 This would be a suflicient supply for one 
 million of iiihabitnnts ; and should the popu- 
 lation of the city increase to one and a halt 
 millions, this supi.ly, together with the quan- 
 tity in store, will probably be sufficient dur- 
 ing anv s.'asim of drought. There is, there- 
 fore, no fear in regord to the supply for the 
 ..resent, and should the time arrive when the 
 citv will re.piire more than the present tacil- 
 ities alVonl during low stages .)f the river, 
 other streams may be fouiul which can b-i 
 turn.Ml into the upper branches of the Cnitou, 
 or into the a.iueduct along its course. Other 
 reservoirs may olso be constructed further up 
 the Croton, to draw from in seasons ot 
 
 drought." . , , , -v,- f 
 
 Sucli are the wonderful copabilities of 
 what may be terme,l the " feeders" of the 
 Croton auueduct, which is calculated to dis- 
 ehur"e no less than sixty millions of gallons 
 in twenty-four hours! S.une idea ot this 
 mugnificent supply may be formed from the 
 fact, that the daily consuiniition ot the pnn- 
 cipal Lon.lon water-companies (eight in num- 
 ber) amounts only to twenty-one millions of 
 gallons. Of thJ urchitecturul structure of 
 the Croton a.pic.luct, it would be impossible 
 to convey anv clear idea without the aid ot 
 sections and diagtauis. A general sketch ot 
 the undertaking may, however, be presented. 
 As already stated, the fountain reservoir cov- 
 ers about Your hundred acres, and is fonned 
 by a dam thiitv-eight feet in height, thus 
 creatine a source one hundred and sixty-six 
 feet higher than the city of New \ ork. At 
 this dam are sluices or gates tor regulating 
 the discharge of water, and of course uniler 
 the superintendence of u competent manager. 
 The Ulterior of ilie aqueduct is, througliour, 
 of an arched or elliptical form, founded uiion 
 hydraulic concrete, built of squared stones. 
 In crossing flats slightly below the intended 
 level, it is raised uiion solid embankments; 
 in crossing valleys or rivers, it is supported 
 upon arches; and in passing through hills, 
 these are tunnelled, to admit the mason-work 
 
 fife 
 
414 
 
 THE CKOTON AUUEDUCT.; 
 
 I 
 
 &; 
 
 it 
 
 in 
 
 „(• the anueiluct, Roa.ls am] other tliorough- 
 fart's are of course it-ft ui:ob»tructcd l)V the 
 erection of bri.Igos, just as tbcy nro when a 
 railway is lai'l 'l<>wn. A» the inoKtiihcence 
 of aciueUucts depemls upon the height and 
 number of arches re-iuisito to carry them 
 across valleys, it may give some ideao t m 
 un.ler consideration, when it is stateil that 
 Harlem river is crossed by hfteen arches, sev- 
 en of which are fifty feet spun, oml eight, ot 
 eiuhty feet, the greatest height being one hun- 
 dred and fifty feet from the foundation to the 
 top of the mason-work. This, it is true, is 
 the chef-d'auvre of the aiiuedu.;t, but there 
 are other bridges and embankinents ot no 
 ineon mognitu.le, the design ond construction 
 of which do credit to American engineering. 
 No essential change occurs in the form ot the 
 channel-way from the fountain reservcnr on 
 the Croton, to the receiving reservoir on the 
 island of New York, a distance ot thirty- 
 eight miles, except in crossing Harlem river 
 to reach the island, and in jjassing a ileep val- 
 ley on the island, where the iron pipes are 
 used instead of masonry, to provide for the 
 pressure conseciuent '.Km a dejircssion from 
 the regular plane. Thus the source ot this 
 artificial streain may be sold to combine two 
 prinriplefr— that of the ancient a<)ueduct, and 
 a descent and ascent as in ordinary pipes. 
 Should it ever be resolved on to remove the 
 tubes from these depressions, and to substitute 
 arcades to maintain the regular inclination ot 
 the channel-way, a second tier of arches wil 
 be required in crossing the Harlem nver, and 
 a bridge of great elevation to span the ravine 
 
 of the island. 
 
 Havingby the means now ('escnbcil, reached 
 
 the receiving reservoir, at the rate of one and 
 a half miles an hour, the surface-level, ot the 
 .vttter is still one hundred and nineteen feet 
 above the level of mean tide. From this it 
 is conducted (a distance of two miles), to the 
 distributing reservoir, where the surtace- 
 height falls to one hundred and fifteen lect, 
 this last being the height to which the water 
 can be made availoble in the city. The receiv- 
 ing reservoir covers about thirty acres, and 
 contains one month's supply! while the dis- 
 tributing, which is entirely built of stone, is 
 four hundred and thirty-six feet square, torty- 
 five feet deep, and contains twenty millions 
 of gallons. This lust reservoir may be con- 
 sidered the termiiiatioa of the Croton aque- 
 duct, and is distant from the fountain reservoir 
 forty and a half miles. The whole cost of 
 the work wa« about nine millions ot dol- 
 lars -. and aldfcg to this the cost of pipes, aiid 
 arrangements for distributing the water m 
 the city, it will make the total cost of supply- 
 ing New York oity with water, twelve mill- 
 ions of dollRTB. 
 
 Commenting on the comforts and bleiwings 
 of this suiiplv of pure water, Mr. Tower re 
 
 marks : " Tne time is not far distant, when 
 New York will regard it as a trrosure which 
 was cheaply imrchased, and will proudly 
 |M»intlothe noble work which she has achieved 
 not only as an example of her munificence, 
 but us «n illustration of what art and science 
 can uccoiiiplish. With cleanly streets, and 
 the juiblic iiarks beautified with the fountains 
 which send forth r.H)ling and refreshing va- 
 iiors uiH)n the air. the citizens will forget to 
 leave the city iluring the warm months of 
 summer ; and the seosliore, the mountain- 
 tops, and watering-placcH, will fancy their 
 beauty has faded, since they . fise to be visit- 
 ed, hut health is no less promoted by the 
 internal thun by thi: external use of water; 
 an<l it is to be hoped, that but a short jieriod 
 will elapse before free baths will be provided 
 at the public expense for the use of the poor, 
 OS well as the public generally. Doily ablu- 
 tion should be regarded as necessary os daily 
 f'jod or sleep. * * The lime contoine(l in 
 the previous well-water rendered it inapplica- 
 ble to the purjiosesof brewino, tanning, wash- 
 ing, bleaching, and many other processes in 
 the arts of domestic economy : ond, we be- 
 lieve, the calculation would not be found ex- 
 travagant, if we would say, that by the use 
 of the Croton water, over $100,000 would 
 be saved to the inhabitants of New Yor'. in 
 soap and soda, ond on equal amount in tea and 
 coffee. To this may be added the superior 
 cleanliness of the streets, the diminution of 
 danger from fires, and the conseouent reduc- 
 tion of the rates of insurance ; the improve- 
 ment of the public health, and the con8e(iuent 
 saving in medicine and physicians' fees; the in- 
 crease of working days, ond the extension of 
 the overoge period of*^ working ability among 
 the laboring classes ; and lastly, the inorol and 
 intellectual advancement of tlie entire popu- 
 lation, attendant upon the improvement of 
 their physical condition; each of which is 
 not an unimportant item in the aggregate of 
 public prosperity and hoppiness. The value, 
 however, of an abundant supply of pure wa- 
 ter to the city of New York is not to be es- 
 timated by dollars and cents ; if it were, it 
 could be easily shown that it has not been 
 purchased at too dear a rate, even were the 
 expenses attending it increased to double the 
 actual amount." 
 
 Several of the public squares of New York 
 are already adorned with beautiful fountains, 
 mentioned by Mr. Tower as among the bles- 
 sings which would result from the completidh 
 of this aqueduct. Some of them throw the 
 water a hundred feet perpendicularly, not af- 
 ter being raised by machinery, but by the 
 force of the natural head alone. 
 
nfortM and bleMing* 
 itor, Mr. T(iw» r ri- 
 it for (lislBnt, whon 
 OH u trpftHuro which 
 
 and will proudly 
 irh »he hn« ftchicvt-d 
 iif hrr iniinifK'onci', 
 d>at art and scictici! 
 cleanly strcpfs, and 
 d with the fountain* 
 
 and rrfreshing va- 
 izens will forprt fn 
 e warm tnontlm of 
 lorr, the tniiuntain- 
 '», will fancy their 
 icy . nse to be visit- 
 ss [irdiriotrd by the 
 ernal use of water; 
 t but a flhort pericHl 
 thu will be provided 
 the use of the ])iior, 
 iTuUy. Daily nblu- 
 iH necessary as daily 
 ie lime contained in 
 endered it inapplica- 
 winp, tanning, wash- 
 t other processes in 
 innmy : and, we be- 
 uld not be found ex- 
 gay, that by the use 
 ver $100,000 would 
 (Its of New Yor.'. in 
 lal amount in tea and 
 ! added the superior 
 3, the diminution of 
 le conseouent reduc- 
 rance ; tne improve- 
 I, and the conseciuent 
 ysicians'fees; thein- 
 and the extension of 
 Drking ability among 
 lastly, the moral and 
 t of tiie entire popu- 
 the improvement of 
 i; each of which is 
 I in the aggregate of 
 pinness. The value, 
 t supply of pure wa- 
 if ork is not to be es- 
 cents ; if it were, it 
 that it has not been 
 1 rate, even were the 
 creased to double the 
 
 squares of New York 
 h beautiful fountains, 
 3r as among the bies- 
 t from the completirti 
 e of them throw the 
 rpendicularly, not af- 
 ttchinery, but by the 
 d alone. 
 
 ALLSTONB aPHOUISMS. 
 
 41ff 
 
 OUIl PAUENTS. 
 
 RKivr.cT to aged pnronf« we conHi.l.-r one 
 nfV"Bn-ntr«t4tn's. There .s no pen,.. 
 in life, when .>ur fathers an.l mothers do not 
 , claim our attention, our love, and <-'r wnrm- 
 ' tMt atVection. Vum youth t<. manh.M.d. from 
 mid.lic age to rip.'r ycar«. if our 1. .red pa- 
 rents survive, it sh..ul.l be our .nn.tant study 
 how we can best ,.romote their wellan- an.l 
 hni.pine*s, an.l sm.mth th- p.lL.w of th.>.r .1.-- 
 clining years. N..thing b.-tter r...;..nnnends 
 an imlivi.lual. than his alt.-nti..n fohm par.t.ts. 
 Permitting them t.> nhnr.' in hir* proHp.ritv 
 nn.l his honors. with..ut bur.lenmg them with 
 bin nerplexities nn,l trials, is a mark ..t true 
 otliction. an.l will Ih^ a s..urcn ..f c,...s..lati..n 
 through life. There are sn.-h iluliful chil- 
 dren f men whose highest nmlntion s.'.-ms to 
 
 .. days have dwin.lle.l f.. the shortest span, 
 think n.. care t.M. great f..r you t.. bestow up- 
 on them. .... m..ney f.-.li-'bly spent that wUl 
 i,ur.h.>H.' fb.ir .'..mfort, an.l n.. i.nie tlm.wn 
 Lay that H d.-v..lrd to their happiness 
 Iloimr. r.'sp.Tt. an.l l..ve ihrm. Spare no el- 
 fort in th.Mr b.dialf, ami d.. nothing fbat wi 1 
 Kive th.m pain <.r gri.-ve them iti the leas . 
 I)., thus, an.l y..ur rewar.l will be grrn . 
 Y..ur..wn ..iVspnng will h..nof you. y..u will 
 |„. reKp.ct.'.l wherever y<M are known, and 
 gain the approbation of Heaven. 
 
 ALSTON'S APHORISMS. 
 
 In presenting an account of the late Wa^h- 
 ' . 11 . .u_ n .!.,.«■» II in nlncps bet. ire 
 
 .IrenTinen whose highest aml.it...n s.'.-mo .^^ •'':,; ;;*^,^;' Athen.eum places ber..re 
 be the i.mmoti..n ..f the lu.i.|.in.s9 ..t their ingt..n Al st o.n '"r. ^_ " aphorisms of which 
 fathers all m.ithers. They w-atch over tlu-tri | its -^^^^^^ "v^XJuM that Mr. 
 
 AUston wrote tli.'m on fragments of paper, 
 which he stuck up aroun.l his room, as ai.ls 
 to reflection before he began his day s work- 
 
 intnersanu iii.Mif in. ^ ..j ■ - 
 with unwearied care-supidy them with a U 
 their wants, an.l by their att.-ntion an.l kin.l- 
 ness, rem<.ve all care an.l sorrow fr..m their 
 hearts. On the contrary, there are others 
 wh.)scem never to bestow a th..ught up..n 
 their parents, an.l to care but little whether 
 thevare comf.Ttably situated or otherwise. 
 Bv'lheir cmiluct they increase their cares, 
 nnbitter their lives, an.l bring their gray 
 hairs with sorrow to the grave. Selfishness 
 has steeled their hearts t.. the whisperings ot 
 artection, and avarice denies t<. their parents 
 those favors which woul.l materially assist 
 them in the down-hill of life. (Jthers fm, by 
 a course of profligacy and vice, have draiinMl 
 t..the very dregs, th.-ir pan-nts <'M' "/ *"»1'- 
 piness and ma.lc them anxmus for d'-a " t. re- 
 ..asethem fr..m their sulVenngs. Oh ! how 
 fearful must be the d.K.m of those children 
 
 to reiieciii.il iiiiwk; in- ■■• »- 1 -^ r 
 
 Copied int.. ..ur pages they may be of use in 
 lowering self-esteem in others besi.le painters. 
 1. The painter who is c.ntent with tne 
 praise <.f the world in respect to what d.ies 
 not satisfy himself, is n..t an arti«t, but an ar- 
 tisan; for th..ugh his n^ward be only praise, 
 his pay is that of a mechanic for his time, 
 
 und ii.it for his art. , . . » „i„.„„ 
 
 o He that seeks popularity in art closes 
 the d.K.r ..n his own genius, as he inust needs 
 puint for other mimls and not f.ir his own. 
 
 3 Reinitnti..n is but a synonyme ot p..pn- 
 larity. .lep<n..l.'iit ..n sutrrage. to be mcreased 
 or .ifminished at the will of the voters. I is 
 the creature, s.. t.) sji.-ak, .if its particular 
 
 iVarfulmust be the d.K.m ';^ ' ^-^ ^^"^ K^ o n - a p^ 
 
 wh.. have thus embutered the lives otl. «« - "| ;;,;,. ,^ L^„ ..^h that which sus 
 
 parents ! If there is a " worl.l of wo," beyon.l 
 the precincts of the tomb, surely they con not 
 escape its horrors. . 
 
 There can be no happier reflection than 
 that derived from the thought of having con- 
 tributed all in our jKiwer to the comfort ami 
 the liap[.ines8 of our fathers and mothers. 
 
 ace, ..r ruiin • <" >■ j.... ..--■-■ - , ■ i 
 
 ami c<.nse.pi.Mitlv, dying with that which sus- 
 taine.1 it. Hence, we can scarcely go over a 
 pace ..f history, that we d.) not. as in a church- 
 yard, tread up..n s.ime buried reputatu.n. 
 liut fame can not be vt.ted down, having its 
 immediate f.iun.lation in the essential. It is 
 the eternal shad<.wof excellence, from which 
 
 the happiness of our fathers and ^^''"""^-{ll'l^'""^^^^^^^^^^ 
 When called away from "«^ 1'^^"''% i • n J^f.^t in the^ S 
 s H,neror later they^.iay be the thought w, 1 be ;\«>^''«^^^^y'^;,\Vt,^r that light which 
 
 sweet, that our ettorts and our care smoothed with that ot "^ »"'"", ^^^ ; ^^^„ „f ^y,^ „„]- 
 heir decline of life, so that they 'leparted m [^ f ^^f "iere a and reverenced, 
 comfort and peace. If U were otherwise^if j titude, to De w.m^ „,„„„„.h^n.led. as to be 
 
 comtorr ami peuc»;. n. ....■-•- - 
 
 we denied them what their circumstances and 
 necessities required— and our hearts were not 
 like the nether millstone, it must prove a 
 thorn in our flesh to sprinkle our days with 
 sorrow ami regret. 
 
 Ye wh.) are blest with parents, now be 
 careful of your treatment to them. Receive 
 mil.lly thefr reproofs, listen to their counsels, 
 and obey them. If they arc aged, and their 
 
 lliuiie, ii> "'^ ........ , 
 
 even while so little comprehemled, as to be 
 often confounded with the substance— the 
 substance being admitted fronri the shad..w. as 
 a matter of faith. It is the economy of 
 Provi.lence t.. provide such lights ; like nsmg 
 and setting stars, they foUow eac i other 
 through successive ages; ami thus the monu- 
 mental form of genius stan.ls H.r ever relieved 
 against its own imperishable shadow. 
 
 II 
 
 m0 
 
 ■f 
 
 
 
410 
 
 ALLBTON H APHOUISMi. 
 
 4. All iitcollcncB of every kiml i* but va- 
 
 ri.'iy «•(■ tnitli. if wu wi»li. thiii, lor h.iiic- 
 thiii'a lieyiiiiil I'.e triii'. Wf wi^li lor tliut wliirh 
 u tills.-. Atr irtliiiK to tlii» l>tt, Imw littli- 
 tniih Ik tlicrn in nrt ! Littli-, imlicil. Imt lutw 
 iihu'li ift ilmt lltt.f to liiiii wliii tn'U it ! . 
 
 .">. l''iiin<; ili't'n not iIi'ih'ihI oh liif leill ot 
 any iniiii, but ri'imtntio" iiiny lif Kiviii or ta- 
 ken Bwuy. Fiiinc i» tin- f.yin|mtliy ut kin- 
 ilrcil inlflli'clH. iiml syni|iutliy i^ imt ii wiib- 
 y'cl it( wiUin/f ; wliili' n|.utulinn, Inivinn its 
 siiurce in the |>o|)ulur viiicf, i>t a Kintrnce 
 wliich niiiy III! uttiTi'il or nupiiri'stiril iit plciis- 
 Mtf. Rrpnliition, brin;; iwsfiiiiiilly ronifiii- 
 |>iiri>m'ou«, is ulwiiys ut tlic mercy of tin; I'ti- 
 vinuH mill the ifjiioriint. Hut tiiini', Willi's.' 
 very birth in nodtiiutiious, iiml which is only 
 known to exist by the echo of its fuotsti ps 
 through conK<'ni«r rniiiiis, con be neither iii- 
 creiiseii niiriiitiiinisheil liy niiy ileKree of will. 
 
 fi. What li),'bt i8 in the iiuturnl worlil, such 
 i<i fnine in the intellecluiil, both re(|uirin;: iin 
 atinimphere in onler to become peiceiitilile. 
 Honce the fume of Michuel Aiigelo is, to 
 some minils, a nonentity ; even ns the sun it- 
 self woulil be invisible in vacuo. 
 
 7. Fame has no necessary conjunction with 
 praiPK ; it may exist without the breath of a 
 word ; it is a recognition of excellence which 
 must be felt, but v jed not be 8|ioken. Kveii 
 the envious must feel it ; feel it, and hute it 
 in silence. 
 
 8. I can not believe that any man who de- 
 served fume ever labored for it — thut is, di- 
 rectly. For, B9 fame is but the coiitinijent 
 of excellence, it would be like an uttemjit to 
 project a shadow before its substance was ob- 
 tained. Many, however, have so fancied. 
 " I write, 1 paint for fame," has often been 
 repeated ; it should have been : " I write, 1 
 paint for reputation." All anxiety, therefore, 
 about fame should bo jdaced to the account 
 of repututii.-x. 
 
 9. A man nmy be pretty sure that he has 
 not nttuiiied excellence, when ii is not all in 
 all to him. Nay, I may add, that if he looks 
 beyond it, he has not rcaclud it. This is not 
 the less true for beinj gfx'd Irish. 
 
 10. An original miiul is rarely understood 
 until it has been redeeted from some hall- 
 diizen congenial with it; so averse are men 
 to admittinu the true in an unusual fonn ; 
 while any novelty, however fantastic, how;- 
 ever false, is greedily swallowed. Nor is 
 this to be wondered at; for all truth demands 
 a response, and few people cure to think, yet 
 they must have some'thiii!,' to supply the place 
 of thoujiht. Every mind would appear ori- 
 ginal, if every man had the power of project- 
 int; his owni into the minds of others. 
 
 11. All ertbrt atorisinality must end either 
 in the ([uaint or the monstrous. For no man 
 
 knows himself an an oriRinai ; he eon only 
 iielieve it mi the repiirt of others to whom he 
 \i made known, a> he is liy the projecting pow. 
 er before npiikeii ot. 
 
 Iv!. There is an essential meanness in the 
 wish to Kit the better of any one. The only 
 coiiipetitiim worthy n wise man is with him- 
 self. 
 
 1,3. Reverence is an ennobling sentiment ; 
 it is felt to be de){radiiiK only by the vulvar 
 mind, wiiich would escape the sense of its 
 own littleness, by eleyatiiif; itself into the an- 
 taj{nni-t to what is aliove it. 
 
 14. He that has no pleosiirn in looking 
 up, is not fit to liMik down. Of such minds 
 are the mnnnerists in art; in the world, ty- 
 runts of all sorts. 
 
 15. A witch's skitr can not more easily 
 sail in the teeth <if the wind, than the human 
 eye can lie against fact ; but the truth will 
 often (juivcr through lips with a lie upon 
 Ibem. 
 
 It). It is a hard matter for a man to lie ah 
 over, nature having provided king's eviden<e 
 in almost every member, Tiie hand wil' 
 sometimes oct us a vane to show which way 
 the wind blows, when every feotnrc! is set tlie 
 other woy ; the knees smite together and 
 sound the alarm of fear umicr a fierce coun- 
 tenance ; the legs Hhake with anger when all 
 above is calm. 
 
 17. Make no man your idol ! For the best 
 man must liavc faults, and his faults will usu- 
 ally become yours, in addition to your own. 
 This is as true in art as in morids. 
 
 18. The devil's heartiest laugh is at a de- 
 tracting witticism. Hence the phrase, " dev- 
 ilish gixid," has sometimes a literal meaning. 
 
 19. There is one thing which no man, how- 
 ever generously disposed, can give, but which 
 every one, however poor, is bound to pay. 
 This is [iraise. He can not give it, because 
 it is not his own ; since what is dependent for 
 its very existence on j^oniething in another, 
 can never become to him a possession ; nor 
 can he justly withhold it, when the presence 
 of merit claims it us a consequence. As 
 jiraise then can not be made a gift, so neither 
 when not his due, can any man receive it ; 
 he may think he does, but he receives only 
 words ; for desert being the essential condi- 
 tion of jiraise, there can be no realii . in the 
 one without the other. This is no fanciful 
 statement ; for though praise may be with- 
 held by the ignorant or envious, it can not be 
 but that in the course of time, an existing 
 merit will, on some one, proilucc its eBects ; 
 inasmuch as the existence of any caii-e with- 
 out 'its eirect is rei impossibility. A fearful 
 truth lies at the bottom of this, an irreversi- 
 ble justice for the weal or wo of him who 
 rfinfirnis or violates it." 
 
 » 
 
H iiu I h % 
 
 iiini ; he nnn only 
 otlirrM to whom hn 
 the |>r(ijrctill3 pow- 
 
 inl nirnnni'M in flip 
 iiy (Uii-. TIlH only 
 u iiiiin in with hini- 
 
 nobling ^fintiment ; 
 mly liy the vulvar 
 |)e thi( HfiiHK of itit 
 ig itself into the an- 
 it. 
 
 ileaitiirn in looking 
 ri. Of »m:h mimts 
 ; in the world, ty- 
 
 nn not more easily 
 mil, tlmn the hiimnn 
 hut the truth will 
 IS with a lie 
 
 for a innn to lie all 
 ilfd king's eviileme 
 r. The hand wiU 
 to show which way 
 •rv feature is set tlif 
 smite topethef and 
 amiKr a tierce coun- 
 with anger when all 
 
 idol ! For the best 
 (1 his faults will usu- 
 Idition to your own. 
 n morals. 
 
 est lau<;h is at a de- 
 ce the phrase, " ilev- 
 es a litrral moaning. 
 
 which no man, how- 
 I, can give, but which 
 iir, is hound to pay. 
 
 not give it, because 
 ivlmt is dependent for 
 iiii'thing in another, 
 m a possession ; nor 
 t, when the presence 
 a consequence. A« 
 mile a j>ift, so neither 
 any man receive it ; 
 but he receives only 
 r the essential condi- 
 n he no realii*. in the 
 This is no fanciful 
 
 praise may be with- 
 envious, it can not be 
 ! of time, an existing 
 >, pnxluce its etTects ; 
 ice of any cau'f with- 
 ossihility. A fearful 
 1 of this, an irreversi- 
 al or wo of him who 
 
 4. 
 
418 
 
 CINCINNATI. 
 
 **.., 
 
 
 CINCINNATI. 
 
 Whkn Columbus discovered the new world 
 he was in search of a western route to Cath- 
 ay, and India, whence he expected to bring 
 back, if not treasures of gold and gems, in- 
 telligence of the wonderful lend Marco Polo 
 had described. It was not until long after the 
 discovery of the continent of North and 
 South America, that it was ascertained that 
 a new region, broad as the Atlantic, lay be- 
 tween the ocean and the Indian sea, as the 
 Pacific was then called. So deep-rooted was 
 this belief that the French colonists in Cana- 
 da, long after they had begun to be formida- 
 ble to their English and HoUu'.idish neighbors, 
 in spite of many disappointments, followed 
 the tracery of the Ohio and Mississippi in the 
 full confidence that this mighty current could 
 end only in the Western sea. They could 
 not realize that nature in America had always 
 acted on a grander scale than they were used 
 to, and would have laughed, if told that not 
 far above the mouth of the Ohio, was anoth- 
 er great artery, which, by its tributaries wa- 
 tered one valley, the superiices of which was 
 larger than all Europe. 
 
 They, with their limited views, were the 
 discoverers to Europe of the Ohio, which, in 
 the language of the tribe that dwelt on the 
 bank from which the white man first beheld 
 it, signified Beautiful Water. This the 
 French translated into their own language, 
 and by the term of La Belle river, it was long 
 known in the histories of the Jesuit and Fran- 
 ciscan missions, which, until the land the 
 Ohio watered, became the property of the 
 second North American race, were its only 
 chronicles. Not until a later day did it be- 
 come known to the English colonists and then 
 80 slightly, that even in the reign of Charles 
 II. authority was given to the English gover- 
 nor of Virgmia, Sir William Berkley, to cre- 
 ate an hereditary order of knighthood, with 
 high privileges and brilliant insignia, eligibil- 
 ity to which depended on the aspirant having 
 crossed the Allegany ridge, and added some- 
 thing to the stock of intelligence of the region 
 beyond, the title to all of which had been 
 conferred by royal patent on the colony at 
 Jamestown. 
 
 Possessed of Canada, with strongly-defend- 
 ed positions at Fort Duquesne (Pittsburg), 
 and Fort Chartres, near the confluence of the 
 Ohio and Mississippi, with the even then im- 
 portant city of New Orleans, the wily states- 
 men of the reign of Louis XIV., conceived 
 the plan of enclosing the English colonies in 
 a network of fortifications, and ultimately of 
 controlling the continent. So cherished was 
 this policy that treaties made in Europe, be- 
 twpeu the crowns of France and England 
 
 never extended their influence to America, 
 and for almost a century continued a series 
 of contests, during which Montcalm, De Levi, 
 Wolfe, and Braddock, distinguished them- 
 selves and died. The result is well-known, 
 Canada became English, the northern jwint 
 d'appui of the system was lost, and the Ohio 
 was no longer under their control. This pro- 
 logue to fill' beautiful engraving of Cincinnati 
 is given, because, though Pittsburg and Lou- 
 isville are important cities, Cincinnati is the 
 undoubted queen of the river. 
 
 It was not, however, until the war of the 
 Revolution, that serious attention was gener- 
 ally directed to the Ohio, for the brilliant ex- 
 pedition of Clarke against Kaskaskia (which 
 18 almost unknown, though in difficulty and 
 daring it far exceeded Arnold's against Que- 
 bec) was purely military. Immediately on 
 the termination of the war, emigrants began 
 to hurry to the Ohio, and by one of the hard- 
 iest of these, Cincinnati was commenced in 
 1789. By the graduol influx of population 
 into the west Cincinnati throve, and soon be- 
 came the chief city of the region. 
 
 For a long while Cincinnati was merely the 
 d6p6t of the Indians and fur trade, the most 
 valuable of the products of which required 
 to be transported across the mountains, and 
 through forests to the seaboard. At that time 
 Cincinnati presented a strange appearance ; 
 the houses were of logs, and here and there, 
 through the broad streets its founders so jirov- 
 identially prepared, were seen the hunter, in 
 his leathern jerkin, the Indian warrior in full 
 paint, and the husbandman returning home 
 from his labors. Almost from the establish- 
 ment of the northwest territory, Cincinnati 
 had been the home of the governor; and it 
 was the residence of St. Clair, long the only 
 delegate in congress of the whole northwest 
 — a wilderness then, but now teeming with 
 three millions of inhabitants, and seiuling to 
 Washington thirty-four rejiresentatives. 
 
 Cincinnati was the point de depart of many 
 of the expeditions against the Indians between 
 the revolution and the war of 1812. When 
 that war broke out it acquired new import- 
 ance. Military men replaced the hunter and 
 the Indian, and every arrival brought a rein- 
 forcement of troops. From it Taylor and 
 Croghan marched with Gen. Harrison north- 
 ward, and to it the victorious army returned 
 from the Thames. When peace returned, a 
 new activity was infused into Cincinnati ; the 
 vast disbursements made by the government 
 had attracted thither many adventurers. Then 
 commenced the era of bateau navigation, and 
 the advent of a pecuhar race of men, of 
 whom now no trace remains. Rude boats 
 were built and freighted with produce, which 
 descended the river to New Orieans, where 
 
OUR PlLQllIM FATHEK3. 
 
 419 
 
 lence to America, 
 continued a series 
 iontcalm, De Levi, 
 stinguished them- 
 ult is well-known, 
 he northern point 
 
 lost, and the Ohio 
 ■ontrol. This pro- 
 ving of Cincinnati 
 'ittsburg and Lon- 
 
 Cincinnati is the 
 er. 
 
 til the war of the 
 tentinn was gcner- 
 brtlie brilliant ex- 
 Kaskaskia (which 
 n in difficulty and 
 old's against Que- 
 Immediately on 
 , emigrants began 
 y one of the hard- 
 as commenced in 
 flux of population 
 rove, and soon be- 
 region. 
 
 ati was merely the 
 ur trade, the most 
 sf which required 
 le mountains, and 
 ard. At that time 
 ange appearance ; 
 id here and there, 
 s founders so ])rov- 
 een the hunter, in 
 lian warrior in full 
 n returning home 
 rom the establish- 
 rritory, Cincinnati 
 
 governor ; and it 
 !lair, long the only 
 ! whole northwest 
 low teeming with 
 ts, and seiiding to 
 iresentatives. 
 de depart of many 
 16 Indians between 
 - of 1812. When 
 uired new import- 
 ced the hunter and 
 'al brought a rein- 
 )m it Taylor and 
 n. Harrison north- 
 )us army returned 
 
 peace returned, a 
 ito Cincinnati ; the 
 ly the government 
 idventurers. Then 
 au navigation, and 
 
 race of men, of 
 lins. Rude boats 
 ith produce, which 
 3W Orleans, where 
 
 the cargo wn-i dis^posed of, and the boat itself 
 broken up and sold. The crew, after a sea- 
 son of dissipation, returned homeward by 
 land, through the country inhabited by the 
 Choctaws, and Chickasaws, and the yet wild- 
 er region infested by thieves and pirates, xt 
 was no uncommon thing for the boatmen nev- 
 er to return. Exposure to dr.nger made them 
 reckless ; and they were often seen floating 
 down the liosom of the stream, with the vio- 
 lin sounding merrily, but with their nfles 
 loaded, anu resting against the gunwales, 
 readv to bo used whenever any emergency 
 arose. All the west even now rings with tra- 
 ditions of the daring of this race ; and the 
 traveller on the waters of the west, often has 
 pointed out to him the scene of their bloody 
 contests and iiuarrels. 
 
 The era of steam began, and this state ot 
 thin-'s passed away. The mighty discovery 
 of Fulton created yet more activity m the 
 west ; and a current of trade, second to none 
 on the continent, except perhaps, those ot 
 New York, and Philadelphia, sprung from it. 
 As the states of Kentucky, and Ohio, began 
 to fill up, the farmers and planters crowded to 
 Cincinnati with their produce, and the f:har- 
 acter of the population changed. The day 
 of the voyageur was gone, and hues of steam- 
 boi^ts crowded its wharf. The peculiar char- 
 acter of the country around it, teeming with 
 the sustenance for animals and grazing, macje 
 it the centre of a peculiar business which, 
 unpoetical as it may seem, doubled every 
 year, until in 1847, it amounted to more than 
 the value of the cotton crop of the whole At- 
 lantic frontier. 
 
 Other branches of industry also grew up. 
 Shipyards lined the banks of the nver, and 
 more than one stately vessel has first floated 
 on the bosom of the Ohio, in front of Cincin- 
 nati, been freighted at its wharves, and sailed 
 thence to the ocean, never to return to the 
 port of its construction. 
 
 Long before the reign of merchant-pnnces 
 began, stately churches, colleges, and commo- 
 dious d\ flings had arisen, and replaced the 
 hut of the early settlers, so that Cincinnati, 
 with the exception of Philadelphia, is become 
 the most regular and beautiful city ot the 
 Union. The scene of the accumulation ot 
 larce fortunes, cultivation has followed in 
 their train, so that it is difficult hr one who 
 first visits it from the east, to realize that he 
 is seven hundred miles from the seaboard. 
 
 Fulton had by his discovery, overcome the 
 difficulties of communication, and opened a 
 market for its immense products ; but yet an- 
 other discovery was to contribute to its pros- 
 perity. By means of the magnetic telegranli, 
 communication between the seaboard of the 
 Atlantic and the lakes, is more easy than be- 
 
 tween New York and Brooklyn, and with the 
 whole west Cincinnati has acipiired new im- 
 portance. It can not but continue to advance 
 and acquire yet more influence than it new 
 has. 
 
 OUR PILGRIM FATHERS. 
 
 The settlement of New England forms an 
 epoch in the history of colonization. Never, 
 until that time, had such high principles, and 
 such noble minds, been engaged in the great 
 work of extending the bounds of the civilized 
 world. Most of the founders of new states 
 have been driven abroad by necessity ; while, 
 in others, the spirit of adventure was kindled, 
 sometimes by restless ambition or jiolitical 
 discontent ; sometime- by enlightened views 
 of commercial profit ; but oftener by dreams 
 of sudden wealth. But in the iuthers of 
 New England we behold a body of men who, 
 for the liberty of faith alone, resolutely and 
 deliberately, exchanged the delights of home 
 and the comforts of civilized lile for toil and 
 danger, for an ungenial climate and a rugged 
 soil. They were neither desperate adventu- 
 rers nor ignorant fanatics; on the contrary, 
 there is every evidence that they generally 
 possessed a mufli higher degree of mental 
 cultivation than was common, at that period, 
 among the English people. Indeed, the aus- 
 terity of the moral habits of their immediate 
 descendants, and the remarkable freedom of 
 their language from the provincial dialects of 
 England, afford ample evidence of the gener- 
 al character of their ancestors. They were 
 men 
 
 " who apako tlie tongue 
 That Shakspere «pako, the faith and morals held 
 That Milton held.'* 
 
 Nay, even if, in the pride of a vain philos- 
 ophy, we should choose to suspect the praises 
 of this portion of our English ancestry, as 
 being but the delusions of national vanity, 
 and to dwell more upon their faults and follies 
 than on their virtues, still it is impossible to 
 refuse some share of ;idmiration to the talents 
 and couroge of these voluntary exiles, if we 
 regard them merely as a bold and honest pov - 
 tion of that party, in church and state, whicn. 
 to borrow the coarse but strong language of 
 Warburton, had outfought the cavaliers, out- 
 prayed the puritans, and outwitted the par- 
 liament. The period at which ihey lived, is 
 very remarkable for having been fertile in 
 every form of irregular greatness, and they 
 partook largely of the characto^r of their 
 times. In every great exertion of genius, m 
 
 *:i. 
 
 ft ■■- 
 
 m 
 
 5«* 
 
 wm^J^ 
 
that ago, whether in noetry, in clwiueiice, m 
 moral 'and theological speculation, or in ac- 
 tive lite, there was on ineongruous and unac- 
 countable mixture of the pisantic and child- 
 ish of fjlorious truth and miserable l)re)u- 
 
 dice. Pope's criticism on the poetry of Mil- 
 ton may serve for a universal description of 
 the talents of that day :— 
 
 " MilKmii atronu pinion now not henvpn cnn bound ; 
 Now, serpent-like, in puna, he sweeps tht grouud. 
 
 To tra(!c the rise and iirogrcss of commu- 
 nities, to follow the fortunes and elucidate the 
 chura(;t(;r« of those who have loiil broad and 
 deep the foundations of new OAsociations, may 
 seem perhaps to lielonj; to the province ol 
 history, rather than to that of a brief article 
 of the present character. We will, however, 
 attempt the task, and casting our eyes back 
 for two centuries, contemplate the ancestry 
 from which we have sprung, and the events 
 and causes which were connected with their- 
 enter|)ri8e and achievements. 
 
 It is a dillicult thing to give a correct nar- 
 rative of events which happened long ago, 
 and concerning which there is either a defi- 
 ciency or a great variety of contradictory tes- 
 timony. But for us the tusk is not so labori- 
 ous or uncertain in its results. The story of 
 our origin as a people is not obscure. We 
 are not compelled to trace bock our race 
 through the confusion of barbarism, or to free 
 it from the obscurity of fabulous narrative. 
 The institutions of New England need no 
 painful research or learned commentary; they 
 have written and published themselves to the 
 whole worhl, both by the lives and acts of 
 those who esial)li8heti them and by the fruits 
 which they have not ceased to bear since the 
 time of their formation. 
 
 It is rehiteil in the old mythology that the 
 Grecian goddess of wiedom sprung from the 
 head of Jupiter completely armed and every 
 way mature. Quite as complete did New 
 England spring into existence. From the 
 first she was endowed with all the attributes 
 of society, with free institutions, with civil 
 order, with just regard for property and pro- 
 tection for the rights of persons. 
 
 The day on which New England dates 
 her origin ought never to be forgotten nor 
 disregarded. If the Fourth of July, 1776. 
 in the estimation of the venerated John Ad- 
 ams, be a day to be for ever commemorated 
 •with meerings of the people, with bonfires 
 and all the signs of general rejoicing, so ought 
 the 22d of December, 1620, to be held -.r. 
 perpetual remembrance. By our observance 
 of those days, let us say to those who have 
 gone before us, if perchance such communi- 
 cation can be held with the departed, that we 
 have not forgotten their labors, their suffer- 
 
 ings, their dangers, or their sorrows. Yes, 
 their children are grateful for the sacrifices 
 they made, and the trials they endured, 
 proud of their descent from such illustrious 
 progenitors, and jealous of the goodly inheri- 
 tance they have received. Let us keep 
 alive in our hearts the recollections of our 
 homes, recall the great features of past cen- 
 turies, and take care that our fathers' names 
 be not forgotten among us. 
 
 The children of New England, as such, do 
 not arrogate to themselves any superiority 
 over the inhabitants of any other part of the 
 country, either as to origin, or social progress 
 thus tar accomplished. Conceding to all 
 parts of the Union an origin as reputable and 
 a progress as honorable as their own, they 
 still may c' 'ti the right, as an individual 
 family of the great community, to speak and 
 v/rite, concerning those firm and patient spir- 
 its who laid the foundations of law and omer, 
 of constitutional freedom and rational prog- 
 ress, so broad and so firm that they can sus- 
 tain unmoved the weight of any superstruc- 
 ture which moy be elevated upon them. 
 
 If we look at the origin and first settlement 
 of New England, ui what annals do we find 
 the history of a people to be compared to 
 this ? Uninfluenced by motives of am" , 
 unswayed by love of conquest, thf/ ; - 
 
 doned all the attractions that home s lu 
 ty could offer, for the sole purpose of enjoy- 
 ing liberty of conscience, of^ thinking and act- 
 ing according to their own convictions, unre- 
 strained by the control of old ecclesiasti- 
 cal and jHjlitical insritutions. Behold them 
 setting forth on their new and dangerous en- 
 terprise ! Whose cheek blanches, what eye 
 grows dim at the perils in their way ? And 
 what dire necessity drives them forth ? It 
 is not like the poverty which urges the star- 
 ving Irishman to quit his native island ; not 
 like the Pole are they fugitives from the 
 stem requirements of a military tyranny; 
 nor, like the blue-eyed German of our day, 
 do they go to escape the burdens of unrequi- 
 ted labor ; theirs is an impulse more power- 
 ful and more sacred. It is the still small 
 voice of conscience, bidding them go forth in- 
 to the wilderness to worship the God of their 
 fathers in freedom and in peace, according to 
 their own convictions, and in their own way. 
 And who compose this devoted band 7 Are 
 they fiery and ignorant fanatics, or educated, 
 and well-informed men of large experience, 
 sagacious and wise ? The early settlers of 
 Plymouth and New Haven, numbered men 
 dis't nguished for learning and personal stand- 
 ing. We might illustrate the assertion by 
 referring to the characters of Winthrop, 
 Carver, Bradford, Cotton, Brewster, Thatch- 
 er, Winslow, Hopkins, and others, whose 
 
ir sorrows. Yes, 
 for the sacrifices 
 Is they endured, 
 tn such illustrious 
 the goodly inheri- 
 I, Let us keep 
 jcollectious of our 
 itures of past cen- 
 our fttthera' names 
 
 igland, as such, do 
 '8 any superiority 
 ' other part of the 
 , or social progress 
 
 Conceding to all 
 n as reputable ond 
 8 their own, they 
 , as an individual 
 inity, to speak and 
 n and patient spir- 
 ts of law and omer, 
 and rational prog- 
 that they can sus- 
 of any superstruc- 
 ;d upon them, 
 and first settlement 
 
 annals do we find 
 to be compared to 
 lotives of am' ' n\ 
 iquest, thf?" -( - 
 lat home euu ^ .' 
 ! purpose of enjoy- 
 of thinking and act- 
 
 I convictions, unre- 
 of old ecclesiasti- 
 >n8. Behold them 
 
 and dangerous en- 
 blanches, what eye 
 
 II their way ? And 
 es them forth? It 
 liich urges the star- 
 native island ; not 
 
 fugitives from the 
 military tyranny ; 
 Jerman of our day, 
 burdens of unrequi- 
 mpulse more power- 
 it is the fitill small 
 ng them go forth in- 
 ihip the God of their 
 peace, according to 
 id in their own way. 
 devoted band ? Are 
 anatics, or educated, 
 jf large experience, 
 'he early settlers of 
 ,ven, numbered men 
 I and personal stand- 
 ate the assertion by 
 .cters of Winthrop, 
 n, Brewster, Thatch- 
 I, and others, whose 
 
 OUll PILGRIM FATHERS. 
 
 '' Z" U Ind we cann..where find names .move the P'^P^^^^^j^j „^,^ institution, lar 
 t„ New l''."!il\"^';„^^*;:,,,„,e. steadfastness, I design of ^'^^'"'^ f " r, . , • .,, „,„„„,, ^av- 
 
 ,, New Hn.lan^'; -« - — --^.^afastness, 
 
 ,nore <-'"""■"' '"^„ J,' ?f Lord Chatham 
 
 '""•rf \'vi he h'aJ never read of a body 
 could say that ne ^, assembled at 
 
 of men «"l"^""'^°,"'l^, we to say of a b.xly 
 Philud..lpjna,^J.aoug^^^^^^ 
 
 r^,^;;:it:;;il^?a;::eraiiawtv.r,v.^ov- 
 
 e n ne,'t of their future commun.ty In what 
 1. ..r Uwf.irv do we nnu evj( 
 
 moved the nigrims to leave xi....".- ■ 
 
 de iu of establishing new institutu.ns lar 
 
 iwav frl the land of their birth,.among sav- 
 
 1 alu brand on rock-bound and inhospitable 
 
 r I J The relieious motive was the con- 
 
 S n. onlno .hmbt- They left England ior 
 
 his "au.e, but joined with, that, there were 
 
 other causes for this new migration. 
 
 F rst!"here was a feeling of human misery. 
 S . „„ra n astrance laml, yearn- 
 
 II 
 
 till thev had framca a gencru. .a- ... ■■■~^. pi,gt, there was a leeiiiig .« ..-.."■■ ""^■' 
 
 ,..nt of their future community In what r ^ strangers in a strange lam . > earn- 
 f hiW d«^« ^'"^ evidences "U .;;'7;^^Ynjred associations, and wi.h a love 
 StlelniS o^purpose, such courage, and ir^ t.>r^k.ndr ^ ^^ .^^ /fliduf and"".: d^l 
 
 the r regard U^ \»'« £ /.m.I'erty protected of poverty, f J^y/^^j'^^'iiolland they saw 
 «,^jety IS ^^;^ ,/°^f S, Lh'ed ind secured. U.er pl^<=«"fj';;"/t^ey must be extinguished, 
 and the rights "f "'^ *'7'^"jte' than they the that >» » ^^^ y^^'J.lV^v.as a task-matter 
 No men ever underJ^Ml J^nment. or more Moreover, as neces^ty was ^^ ^^ ^^^^ ^^ 
 
 England ^a^ ^,?f " J« f ^er and influence "^'"^^/«„S' And last, but by no means 
 enterprise. ^ ^^J^^ Vgupremacy. an.l the become extinct. An ^_^' ^^ advancing the 
 had been «»'«»'«" i'^f.'Ifrto in.lependent ac- east, they W 
 
 S^lheTa the"e o7;d^ancing the 
 
 Tiiuue, oil" i- view were good, their 
 
 '^n'"'''lawfu^l and urg nZ and that though 
 £% ufd Sse^thei^ lies^et their endeav- 
 ors wouU be honorable. Honorable indeed 
 ors wouia " susta ned by such high 
 
 ;SX ^ndSd out with such indomita- 
 
 u„.a«U.r..ed .pm. of Chn«» J „, ,, 
 •un to prevul. *»",''', '„„■; yet n- 
 
 nablic •entinu , "" f8°" ,™.i,ij|, when 
 itaw Ihw th. n . •'■' 'PPS. When 
 
 nZpfe.: S Sl^ S'S ^3"rrSie.>,.o, .dne«3 
 
 ,hc p..rrlrrs:!r«;Uon £ i 
 
 siderations. acts ^^^^'^Sard & responsi- 
 divine and eternal, and holds itseii i~ 
 
 ble only to its God. . f ^'^^ 
 
 Thi/ sentiment forms ^^/J'^^^ngiand. 
 characteristic mBtUutions "ff;^^;^,^ enjoy 
 But it was not solely that «ey m.g"i^tfcal 
 this sentiment uumolesed by J'^^^f „^,h 
 control, that the first settlmot ^^^^^„, 
 sought this side of the Atlantic 
 
 not their only ^^''^^Z^^S^mtches- 
 Not long after the refomajo^, J^^^ ^ 
 
 tablished freedom for all ™ "^ / %, con- 
 tli,it as far as liberty of conscience w 
 c ri." they had no cause..f complam • Jhe 
 church of Robinson might havt remai 
 
 .^"wUreTas they had been educated 
 
 li^^ thev would be Englishmen still; their 
 
 king. t^^X, r; -ame- exiles no more, but 
 country st^U the Ba^e^ ex ^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ 
 
 a part of the Bntisn empire fathers' 
 
 that waved over the fields °y''^^ i,emof 
 
 fame would flo^hYv t,^';^^?':i the na- 
 it'i protection. 1 hey were ^ jj 
 
 not suflei the ties iub^ pntirelv severed. 
 
 SSSluSTherv.-''"""-'^"^'- 
 
 f f 
 
 
 
 tu ^i 
 
 r. .,f 
 
 Bassspgs'eS?;'" 
 
422 
 
 OUa PILGRIM FATHERS. 
 
 «**•■* 
 
 ill a distant loiul, preserving both their nation- 
 ality and the language of their youth. And 
 whiel) of us is not ready to thank them for 
 this grout gift of this noble language, which 
 our mothers first taught us to speak ? How 
 grateful we may be that it was not lost in the 
 jargon of Holland ? Who that ])eruseE this 
 would not rather have first spoken its accents 
 than, as Dr. Johnson expresses it, to have 
 been trained to " babble French" ? Who 
 would change it for the soft voice of Italy, or 
 the sonorous dialect of Spain ? It is the lan- 
 guage of Shakspcre and Milton ; it is the 
 language of the Pilgrims ; and having sound- 
 ed alarms in the cause of freedom through 
 the tongues of Burke and Chatham, it has 
 come to discharge the same office in the voi- 
 ces of Clay and Webster. It is the language 
 of free born men, destined to spread out over 
 hill-top and valley, nor will it cease to vibrate 
 till liberty shall cease to have an abode upon 
 the earth. 
 
 We might here disprove the charges some- 
 times brought against the Pilgrims, that they 
 took land already partially occupied by the 
 Indians. As a question of morals, we are 
 not altogether clear that savages have a right 
 to shut out from culture and improvement, a 
 large portion of territory. The axe of the 
 wotxlman rings quite as jjleasantly in his ears 
 as the warwhoop of the sovage. Besides, it 
 is well known and admitted, that the Pilgrims 
 always were regardful of the rights of the 
 natives. The world may be challenged to 
 show one instance in which the first settlers 
 disregarded the rights of the Indians. In 
 their personal and political relations they 
 were always on good terms with them, and it 
 was not till more than half a century after 
 the arrival of the May-Flower, thot peace 
 with the savages was disturbed. 
 
 After the first struggles of the Pilgrims for 
 existence were over, we soon view them 
 marching forward in the establishment of the 
 new state. Having the power of making 
 laws they entered on the business with clear 
 conceptions of what they had to perform. 
 They formed statistics suited to their own 
 conditions, not based on any traditions. They 
 evidently had a due respect for the English, 
 but yet their reflections on the subject were 
 entirely original. With bold defiance of cus- 
 tom they commenced the course of legal re- 
 form from the first. They exhibited no blind 
 disregard of what was already in existence, 
 while they instituted the most rigid inquiry as 
 to how much of antiquity was suited to pres- 
 ent exigencies. They were the pioneers of 
 Law Reform, and in fact nearly all the im- 
 portant alterations made in the laws of our 
 free states within fifty years, were directly 
 borrowed from New hngland, and especially 
 
 from Connecticut. There was not a s-uggj-s- 
 tion in the statement of Lord Urougham of 
 the rtfonns needed in the English law which 
 was not anticipated in the legislation of the 
 eastern states. Imprisonment for debt was 
 abolished there two hundred years ago. 'J'he 
 act of the state of New York abolishing im- 
 prisonment for debt '.fas almost exactly a 
 transcript of the law of 1620 in Connecticut. 
 The chief diflerence between the two stat- 
 utes was that this primitive one was clear 
 and explicit, while the modem was so confu- 
 sed and uncertain that totally dillerent con- 
 structions were put upon it by diti'erent per- 
 sons. 
 
 If we contrast the laws of New England 
 with those of Great Britain, they will show 
 the vast improvements made by the Pilgrims 
 in the registration of land, the laws of mar- 
 riage, dower, divorce, inheritance, and in 
 criminal law. To the clear understanding 
 of civil and political rights which prevailed 
 in New England from the beginning, may be 
 attributed the ease with which the colonies 
 in that quorter passed into the new form of 
 government after the revolution. 
 
 False notions have been very generally 
 entertained with regard to the early legisla- 
 tion of the colony of New Haven. The 
 " Blue Laws of Connecticut," as they are 
 called, have become bywords of ridicule and 
 reproach ; and yet, there is nothing more 
 solemn, nothing more grave and dignified, 
 nothing more imposing to be found in the rec- 
 ords of history, than the first acts of that col- 
 ony. To the illustration of this point, had 
 we the recjuisite room, much argument might 
 be devoted. That colony adopted the Old 
 Testament polity, and their chief re(]uire- 
 ments in their rulers were that they should 
 be men fearing God, lovers of truth, hating 
 covetousness — and if we could have such 
 men for our candidates now, every good man 
 in the Union would identify himself with 
 that party. 
 
 The charge of religious intolerance is of- 
 ten made. The Pilgrims did not come to 
 New England for the purpose of establishing 
 universal toleration ; they came to preserve 
 their own faith. And what if they were 
 misguided and over-zealous ? We are not to 
 judge them by the light of this age and this 
 country. Besides, this theory of unlimited 
 tolerance, which, even at the present time, 
 finds little favor, except in this free and 
 charitable laml, did not originate in minds 
 filled with religious ardor ; the most tolerant 
 man was not apt to be the most devout. 
 
 We condemn their conduct in the case of 
 the Baptists and the Quakers ; and desire 
 to make out no strong defence for the 
 Pilgrims, or to palliate persecution in any 
 
IS not a .luppi's- 
 J BrimgLuin of 
 jlisli law wliich 
 :gis)ati{iri ot" the 
 t for debt was 
 carcajjo. The 
 : abuh.shitiK iin- 
 Tiost exactly u 
 in Connecticut. 
 n the two stat- 
 one was clear 
 n was so confu- 
 y (liilerent con- 
 y (liilerent per- 
 
 ' New England 
 they will show 
 by the Pilgrims 
 e laws of mar- 
 ritance, and in 
 
 understanding 
 fc-hich prevailed 
 tinning, may be 
 eh the colonies 
 he new form of 
 sn. 
 
 very generally 
 le early legisla- 
 Haven. The 
 It," as they are 
 of ridicule and 
 1 nothing more 
 
 and dignified, 
 ()und in the rec- 
 acts of that col- 
 this point, had 
 irgument might 
 dented the Old 
 
 chief re(iuire- 
 hat they should 
 of truth, hating 
 )uld have such 
 svery good man 
 y himself with 
 
 itolerance is of- 
 id not come to 
 of establishing 
 ,me to preserve 
 ; if they were 
 We are not to 
 lis age ond this 
 iry of unlimited 
 le present time, I 
 1 this free and I 
 ginate in min<l8 j 
 he most tolerant I 
 ost devout- 
 It in the case of 
 ers ; and desire 
 lefence for the 
 rsecution in any 
 
 OUR PILGRIM FATHERS. 
 
 423 
 
 form ; and while all intelligent persons admit 
 that the glory of having first set an examide 
 of a practical and extensive system of reli- 
 gions freedom, %vos reserved for the puritans 
 of Knglnnd, who landed on these shores; 
 v.'t the first legislator who fully recognised 
 Mie ri<'hts of conscience, was Roger Will- 
 I \Ms » a name less illustrious than it deserves 
 tl) l)e ; for, although his eccentricities of con- 
 duct 1111(1 opinion may sometimes prov<)ke a 
 smile, he was a man of genius and of virtue, 
 „f admirable Hrmness, courage, and disinter- 
 est Mlncss, and of unbounded benevolence. 
 
 The most that can be said in juslihcation 
 is, that the Pilgrims came esjicciallv to enjoy 
 their own opinions, and to establish a com- 
 monwealth of their own; and. therefore, it 
 was considered by them no injustice to pass i 
 laws to l)aiiish sctiism. " Besides," says the 
 apolocist, "Williams' banishment was ot his 
 own seeking, and the time was chosen by 
 himself; and further, though his view oi the 
 matter of toleration must now bo ailniitte(l to 
 be right in the abstract, we can not justly hnU 
 fault with the fathers of New Kngland for 
 not adoiiting it then. . ,. • i i 
 
 " As to the Baptists, only one individual 
 was punished, and that one not for heresy, 
 but for being a scandalous person, much giv- 
 
 en to idleness and lying. The Quakers who 
 were punishe<l, were no more like the gentle 
 and orderly Friends of the present day than 
 the laner are like the Mormons. 
 
 "With regard to all these things, we 
 should not use the eyes which have seen the 
 improvements of two centuries, but judge 
 from the sentiments of that time. It was 
 easy to condemn the laws of Massachusetts 
 B-'ainst witchcraft; but had England no such 
 laws? Whv, seventy years after Bluck- 
 stone spoke (if witchcraft as a thing recogni- 
 sed evervwhere, both by history ond by law, 
 and under Sir Matthew Ilale, who lived to 
 1776, more persons were put to death in a 
 single county of England than ever suflered 
 in all New England together. In New Eng- 
 land there were no executions after l(i'.)3, but 
 in England death was indicted for witchcraft 
 
 1 as late us 1722."t , , 
 
 We might here dwell at great length on 
 the freedom of the New England fathers from 
 personal ambition, and truthfully set forth 
 their conduct during the revolutions of Crom- 
 well and 1688. as well as the part they took 
 in our own revolution ; but the limits assign- 
 ed to this article will not allow us to enlarge 
 on these instructive and profitable themijs. 
 Their deeds of patriotism and bravery will 
 
 %B 
 
 -Hr was a native of Wales, «nrt emigrate.! to 
 NewKnf,'lRnH.inlfi30. He was '1'^'";, y""".'^ ™''" 
 of a.istere lilo and popular nmm.erc, i<ill ol r^adini,, 
 .killed in controversy, and gifted with « r"!"''. coP>^ 
 ous, and vehement elo<iuenee The ^nors of those 
 days represent him ns beins? full ol turl.ulent and sm- 
 RuW opinions, "and the whole country, sn-'h 'he 
 ounint Cotton Mather, "was soon !|H« to he se on 
 L". by the rapid motion of a windmill, in the 1 ead o 
 this one man.'' The heresy, which ,"PP'"'f«J "°fj 
 ^mevous to his brethren, was his zeal for ""'l""' ^ ^ 
 reU^^ous liberty. In the warmth of Ins chanty, he 
 contended for " freedom of conscience, even to 3 a- 
 nUts and Amiinians. with security of civd peaco to 
 I!ll." a lioctriLO that filled the Massachusetts clergy 
 
 with horror and alarm. l i -♦ 
 
 With a spirit of resolute independence, he depart- 
 ed, no one knew whither, accompanied by » f«w ot 
 his people, who. to use their own languaf^e, hod gone 
 with their tc'-nved pastor, " to seek their providen- 
 res/' After «or.,e wanderings, he pitched his tent 
 a^ a place, to which he gave the name of Prov'dence 
 and her^ became the founder and legislator of te 
 colony of Rl.odo Island. There he continued to rule 
 sSn.cs as governor, a.id always as the guide and 
 faar. of the stttlcment. for fortj-eight y^ar., em- 
 nlov ng himself in acts of kindness to his former rn- 
 e mics afibrding relief to the distressed, and oflermg 
 rasWum tothe persecuted. The govenunent of 
 hi»cobnv was forlned on his favorite pnnc.pte, that 
 in ma ters of faith and worship, every citaen sliould 
 walk according to the light of his own conscience, 
 wkhout restraint or interference from the civil magic- 
 rtate During a visit, which Williams made to Eng- 
 k?»l,'in lfi«, ?or the purpose of procnnng a colonial 
 
 cWter.ho ^ublishccf 5 f°T\"H.^f" The 'b1«7v 
 tion of his doctrine, under the title of " The Bloooy 
 TVnPt or ^Dialogue between Tnith and Peace, 
 hi "ws'woV written with his usual boldness ondde- 
 cisiouf irauricipated most of tho argumonts, which, 
 
 rift:v vears after, attracted so much attention, when 
 they were brought forward by Locke. His cvn con- 
 duct in iKiwcr, was in pcri-ect accordpce with his 
 speculative opinions; and when, m his old age, the 
 order of his little community was disturbed by an ir- 
 nmtioii of Quaker preachers, he combated tlicm only 
 in pamphlets, and public disputations, aiid contented 
 himself with overwhelming their doctrines with a 
 ' torrent of learning, sarcasms, syllogisms, and puns. 
 It should also be remembered, to the honor ot 
 Hoger Williams, that no one of the eariv colonists, 
 withoLt excepting William Penn himself, equalled 
 him in justice and benevolence toward tho Indians. 
 He labored incessantly, and with success, to enlipbt- 
 enand conciliate them: and, by this means, acquired 
 a personal influence among tliem, which he liad fre- 
 nuontlv the enviable satisfaction of exerting in be- 
 half o( those who had banished him. It is not the 
 leoflt remarkable, or characteristic incident of Ins va- 
 ried life, that, within one year after his exile, and 
 while he was yet hot with controversy, and indiimant 
 at his wrongs, his first interi"erence with the attairs 
 of his former colony, was to protect its frontier settle- 
 ments from an Indian massacre. From that timo 
 fomard, though he was never permitted to retnni to 
 Massachusetts, he was freqnen% employed by he 
 government of that province, in newtiations with the 
 Indians, and on other busfiess of the highest import- 
 ance. Even Ccitt^'n Matlier, in spite cl his steadlast 
 abhorrence of WiUitms' heresy, seems to bnve been 
 touched will, the magnnniraity and kindness of the 
 man ; and after having Btigmatieed hini. as lb" in- 
 famous Korah of New England," he confesses n little 
 reluctantly, that, "for tho forty years alter Ins exile, 
 he acquitted himself so lau^ly. tfist ni»'>.v J"! •" 
 cions people judged him to have had the root nftla 
 matlA- in him. daring the long Winter of his retire- 
 
 ""t Address of J. Prescott Hall, Esq. 1817, to which 
 WO are indebted for the substance of this article. 
 
 If 
 
 ti 
 
 
 if 
 
 %n 
 
 
424 
 
 POPULAR TASTE. 
 
 he |)rc prved nml transmitted to the latest 
 gcnrrntioiis. The descendants of the Pil- 
 fjrims hint! spread themselves over every 
 section of this widespread continent; ihe 
 prophecy made hy Mr. Webster, in a speech 
 dclivereil at Plymouth twenty-seven years 
 u«o, tl-.at the sons of New Lnjstland would 
 stop only with the shores of the Pacitie, 
 has already become a poriioi. of the history 
 of the world. 
 
 The followinR beautiful lines, from the 
 gifted pen of Mrs. Sioourni-.y, may be so 
 appropriately intrmiuced here, that we be- 
 lieve our readers will, notwithstanding the 
 length of this article, be pleased to see them 
 in this connexion : — 
 
 THE PILGRIM FATHERS. 
 How slow yon lonely vessel ploughs the main! 
 Amid the heavy billows now she seems 
 A toiling atom ; then from wave to wave 
 Leaps madly, by the tempest lashed, or reels 
 Half wrecked through gulfs profound. . Moons 
 
 wax and wane, 
 But still that patient traveller treads the deep. 
 
 I gee an icebound coast toward which she steers 
 
 With such a tardy movement, that it seems 
 Stern Winter's hand hath turned her keel to stone. 
 And scaled his victory on her slippery shrouds. 
 
 Tliey land ! they land ! not like the Genoese, 
 
 With glittering sword, and gaudy train, and eye 
 Kindling with golden fancies. Forth they come 
 From their long prison, hardy forms that brave 
 The world's unkindness, men of hoary hair, 
 Maidens of fearless heart, and matrons grave, 
 Who hush the wailing infant with a glance. 
 Bleak Nature's desolation wraps them round, 
 Eternal forests, and unyielding earth, 
 And savage men, who through the thickets peer 
 With vengeful arrow. What could luro their steps 
 To this drear desert 1 Ask of him who left 
 His father's home to roam through Haran's vnlds, 
 Distrusting not the guide who called him forth, 
 Nor doubting, though a stranger, that his seed 
 Should be as ocean's sands. But yon lone bark 
 Hath spread her parting sail ; they crowd the strand. 
 Those few, lime pilgrims. Can ye scan the wo 
 That wrings their bosoms, as the last frail ludi, 
 Binding to man and habitable earth, 
 Is severed 1 Cun ye tell what pangs were there. 
 With keen regrets ; what sickness of the heart. 
 What yearnings o'er their forfeit land of birth. 
 Their distant dear ones 1 Long, with straining eye, 
 They watch the lessening speck. Heard ye no shriek 
 Of anatuish, when that bitter loneliness 
 Sank down into their bosoms 1 No ! they turn 
 Back to their dreary, famished huts, and pray ! 
 Pray, and the ills that haunt this transient life 
 Fade into air. Up in each girded breast 
 There sprang a rooted and mysterious sUengtli, 
 A loftiness to face a world in arms. 
 To strij: the pomp from sceptres, and to lay 
 On Duty's sacred altar the warm blood 
 
 Of slain affections, should they rise l«tween 
 The soul and Oon. O ye, who pniinlly boiiHl, 
 In your free veins, the blood of sires like llicso, 
 Look to their lineaments. Dread lest ye lose 
 Their likeness in your sons. Shou'dMuminon cling 
 Too close around your lieurt, or wealth lieget 
 That bloated luxury which eats the core 
 From manly virtue, or the tempting world 
 Make faint the Christian purpose in your soul. 
 Turn ye to Plymouth rock, and where they knelt 
 Kneel, and renew the vow they breathed to God. 
 
 POPULAR TASTE. 
 
 Iti reading the lives of eminent literary 
 men, we are more prone to look at the influ- 
 ence of their works upon the public, thun at 
 the reflex influence of the public uixin them. 
 Vast as is the influence, for weal or for wo, 
 of the productions of genius upon the multi- 
 tude, there is a refluent power from the peo- 
 ple, no less mighty ; so that it may bo said, 
 every community has within its control, the 
 character of its literary productions, and con- 
 sc(|uently, the moulding of its own moral 
 character. 
 
 To trace the influence of popular taste up- 
 on literature, and to point out the true iiolicy 
 of the author, who would write for immortal- 
 ity, is the object of our remarks. The jiub- 
 lic, however much disdained and calumniated, 
 in the intercourse of authors with each other, 
 really has more of their regards, and " shapes 
 their ends," to a greater extent than they 
 might be willing to allow. As much as they 
 may affect to despise it, it is the popular taste 
 that moulds the character of their writings- 
 makes them favorable to virtue or vice, ond 
 elaborote with the graces of rhetoric, or bar- 
 ren of the ornaments of style. We are far 
 from supposing that there are no exceptions to 
 this rule ; on the contrary, there are some, 
 who have withstood the debasing influence of 
 the public, content with the neglect of their 
 own age, if they might live with posterity. 
 Among authors, the desire of fame, or of 
 gain, are the two great incentives to exertion. 
 Few are the men, that have devoted them- 
 selves exclusively to literary pursuits, with- 
 out one or both of these objects in view. 
 The influence of their writings upon the mor- 
 als of the communitAT, has too often been lost 
 sight of. Content if they could catch the ap- 
 plause of the multitude, the moral tendency 
 of their works has been little regarded. Of 
 course, whether the author desired to hear his 
 name on the lips of thousands, or to reap a 
 large fortune from his exertions, it was for his 
 interest to study the tastes of the people. 
 
idp In'twiTU 
 pniiidly Ixmst, 
 lires like these, 
 1 Ir.sl y»' li)!* 
 'itMaminoiirling 
 wraith lieget 
 the core 
 ing worlJ 
 ! ill your soul, 
 iviiere tiicy knelt 
 l)reuthe(l to God. 
 
 Tiinent literary 
 ok at the indu- 
 public, than at 
 blic U|)on them, 
 weal or for wo, 
 U])on the niulti- 
 ir from the peo- 
 it may l)e saiii, 
 its control, the 
 ctions, and con- 
 its own moral 
 
 opular taste up- 
 ; the true policy 
 te for immortal- 
 irks. The pub- 
 ind calumniated, 
 ivith each other, 
 ds, and " shapes 
 ttent than they 
 ia much as they 
 he popular taste 
 their writings — 
 tue or vice, and 
 rhetoric, or bar- 
 ». We are far 
 no exceptions to 
 there are some, 
 sing influence of 
 neglect of their 
 
 with posterity. 
 ! of fame, or of 
 tives to exertion. 
 1 devoted them- 
 f pursuits, with- 
 sbjects in view. 
 ^8 upon the mor- 
 o often been lost 
 uld catch the ap- 
 
 moral tendency 
 B regarded. Of 
 esired to hear his 
 ds, or to reap a 
 )ns, it was for his 
 f the people. 
 
 ii| 
 
 ^r^SrlcLs style, de,.njv.y^^^^ 
 u|.,m the. tnunners an.Uas^te o h^ . ^^^ 
 -'"'•' ^^;3■littratur;'a.ror,l^,abu^^ 
 V'"""-^-.,,,; 3 this ixmition. In the re.gn 
 '^^'n'' n K i- be h. hmrished "the witty, 
 "^ ^^'7 and n a « bled John LilUe." a;he 
 comical, «'''""'., R«<r,.ssors. By his " Ku- 
 was frme 1 by ''^ "" ,. „ „„,, , ,,her works 
 '•''"'■''" r "^'TILS fl wit which charac.r- 
 !"• r'Sr' .r " ic us "f that age. A rnuc 
 1Z(!(1 all tlu I'f'"' '"^ ,. ^ m,a was ncces 
 for punning uil.ctr.l "i' '""^ ; ,j,, ,i„,ru,i 
 sary f. g<.".l ^ta.iding at c. mrt. 1 li' . ^^^ 
 
 '^■•'^''■•'^''''';Cie"iS^vS.-ach,.:ber 
 .IramatHton ^''*- ,^^''K ' .y' ,,.it, „„,! torturing 
 in hatchinjr unnatural ^""^jfyj^^^ ,,,. ,U,i 
 
 ''''■'' '""^'".he'"'."!-"'; the pLvniling 
 not escap.! /»^% " "".^"^.T^.j^ from the ma es- 
 taste, sinc.^ h,' olfn 'l«»^' ." "^ , „uibbling 
 
 artihces of ^l^^ '""*;; ,,^,,ner<.iis in the plays 
 cburnctor are ''t' '"";,""' „.,,:,g ,iiey abound 
 of B..au.nont !'"' , ); ,S;, w o ^ ^'"^^ 
 
 i„ those i"'l''""^,7 ' "' ;i,t ,i,e predominant 
 ..riginal.ty at all -. n.^ 1^^^^^ ^ „,„, 
 
 „,„.... During the f^'.^"" , , , , another 
 Ui.>on, P-;':^„;:r\,::'^mMyr^nny was 
 species ot uir. ana i" j^eformer age 
 
 exercised over t<leas. ^ "^^ " ^'"\„„„g the 
 
 ha,l l'7"/-7;;;; ;^^:; w're «en Jonson, 
 ,,„et.s t..sterod by ^^^^\'. enntemporaries, 
 Dotjne, LowU-y. ami ^^^^ , ieal poets, 
 distinguished as »»>«",, ig voice of the 
 
 These held 'll^'^,«?''y; yl,r ,us of the civil 
 mnsewns hushed '\^''"S;';,.„tv years' 
 wnr. When she <^^."^;^f'ZT\s tfie^ame 
 .lumber, she was '^ 'X' amo Jber ..f the 
 "t'C'VheVbttst: however, had un- 
 schools. I ne pu""^ „nder the reign ot 
 
 dergone a S^^''^ .[^f !:f:; e.nnpara^^ 
 the Protector, and " J' «' T"'„„„atural con- 
 for Dryden to throw f ;*>f J "j^ce u new 
 ceits o/his P^-l^-^-^^^/Jate had it been for 
 Bchool ot poetry. J " ""*^„;„„,tion of mor- 
 English literature, if ^e co^-'M ^^ 
 
 al8 under the l^^r^" 'r l/ovtr the writings of 
 ha.l not thrown Its bhght over the .^ ^ 
 
 this illustrious '^"th'"'' ;; "'^,„7succes.sors. 
 ,x,odel by his c""te.npo a «s «nd s 
 
 But for this, J;,i;[;;f;;S ad-Ued the age 
 ag.;. 
 
 W u, Milloi. oiul *'■?„?« e.necially in W» 
 
 Se wrtnss •»• -"t^"^^' »'" '^"" """' /""'^ 
 
 frerrii:;':;;"'-""^'^- 
 7'*r:.?£r";SsS*n!itnilhti^-ir 
 
 rt. he wi::ie 'would have been one mass 
 
 "'ThelileSTeof other nations illustrate, 
 the same truth. France, distinguished above 
 
 S;bllU"an. SCSs '''A'*^-^'- 1--, 
 
 n il^,\ their writings he fairest images of 
 
 f S i h hTm" St re'volting "b-enity , atid 
 
 bus reare.l a monument to their infamy, 
 
 l^il/thev have immortalized their genius. 
 
 7} I w I>ance • Who can look at the long 
 
 ^atS- o/Ty illuBtrious dead-thy ,>oets 
 
 ^n 1 „hilos.M)her8-without mourning over the 
 
 rici^^ ndowments of intellect F"f tuted- 
 
 ritrarch or a Metastasio. Germany, the 
 
 pcets and "".%'f^- " ,j,„ i^fty conceptions 
 T^SX a-ui the ' S-y 'splendors of 
 IkSc and SchilU.. Whut is true o m d- 
 »rn literature is e<iuallv t"ae ot the < lav 
 
 audience, contributed "f '''f '•'{yith k less 
 and elegance of /heu J^^' ™ ^ 
 fastidious public for their juug . l^^^^.^^^ 
 
 KjSctL';? in tftt which has made 
 
 1 
 
 
 1^ 
 
426 
 
 niOOKAPHY OF THK HON. R. C. WINTHaOP. 
 
 their works the triDilcl of all succpeiling agi's. 
 Thus literature, ever, to o certain extent, cim- 
 fortns til the popular taste. 
 
 This deference of the author to the opinions 
 of the public, while in rare instances it may 
 have its ndvantnges, has generally deprecia- 
 ted both the intellectual ond moral excellence 
 of literature. If we look into the private 
 history of some of the brightest names among 
 the British poets, we shall find melancholy 
 evidence of this truth. There is many a fear- 
 ful page in the record of their lives, but none 
 more sad than the struggle between their true 
 interest, and a desire to gain the npprol)Btion 
 of the public. 
 
 But this deference of authors to the public, 
 exerted u bad influence upon the style of their 
 writings. Familiarity with vice weakened 
 the powers of their minds, and substituted a 
 sickly elVeminacy for sterling thought. Be- 
 sides, when thev were no longer guided by 
 their own tastc,"^they set up a false standard 
 of excellence, and "sought not so much to 
 crowd their works with thought, and make 
 them polished and ornate, as to make them 
 popular. Of course, as the taste of the pub- 
 lic was far less refined than their own, by 
 seeking only to eijual so mean a standard, 
 their works went forth to the world far less 
 perfect than they otherwise would have been. 
 Regardless of the tribunal of [losterity, which 
 alone can give a man immortality, they 
 sought thatephemerol popularity which pass- 
 ed away with their setting sun. " There is 
 nothing," says Irving, " for which a man 
 pays more dearly, than for his popularity 
 while living." It was this inordinate thirst 
 for immediate renown that committed the six 
 thousand productions of Hans Sachs, and the 
 teeming progeny of Lope de Vego, to an 
 early oblivion, leaving their names as warn- 
 ing beacons to future authors. 
 
 Popular taste, moreover, has generally 
 guided authors in the choice of their sub- 
 jects. If works of imagination be most ea- 
 gerly sought ofter by the reading public, au- 
 thors will turn their attention to fiction and 
 romance. It is this that has fl(X)ded modern 
 literature with puling sentimental novels. 
 Another incentive to this species of writing, 
 was the speedy rise of reputation. The man 
 who pondered to their base appetite, soon 
 rose to favor with the public ; while the phi- 
 losopher iind the historian toiled on, perhaps 
 unknown while living, leaving to a \yiser age 
 to admire the monuments of their labor. 
 While this was the case, few turned their at- 
 tention to the more solid branches of litera- 
 ture. Hence, where we have one Bacon, or 
 Newton, we have scores of Smollets and 
 Fieldings, Congreves and Otways ; and for 
 one " Novum Organam," or Pnncipia," the 
 
 language is floixled with " Aurelias," " Pere- 
 grine Pickles," "Old Bachelors," and "Or- 
 phans." Many of this class of authors, once 
 favorites with the public, have passed away, 
 with little else than their names surviving on 
 the page of history. The names of Bncon 
 and Newton, will ever be among the first to 
 meet our gaze, as we enter the temple of 
 knowledge, while the great mass of poets and 
 novelists will only be found after long search 
 in by-corners, and amid the dust and mould- 
 ering ruins of its voiceless hulls. New aspi- 
 rants for their fame will press them aside, and 
 occupy their place in the public favor; so 
 that those who seek for the poet's or novel- 
 ist's fame, need not wonder if the jialmy days 
 of their reputation pass away with them to 
 the tomb. 
 
 If the view we have taken of the subject 
 be correct, literature will not attain its high- 
 est excellence until authors are freed from 
 this servility to the public. They must be 
 so far independent, as to make their own taste 
 their guide, and to regard the decisions of 
 postenty, rather than those of their own age. 
 Those only, who have shaken from their 
 minds the fetters of this slavery, have attained 
 the most desirable fame. Milton committed 
 his great work, the result of years of cease- 
 less toil, to the world, and though it fell si- 
 lently from the press, unregarded by that age, 
 he had reared in the Paradise Lost u fabric 
 enduring as adamant. The waves of Time 
 may dash around it, but it will stand for ever — 
 a monument of the truth, that he who writes 
 for immortality must free himself from the 
 bondage of Popular Taste. 
 
 BIOGttAPHY OF THE 
 
 HON. ROBERT CHARLKS WINTHROP, 
 
 8PSAKXR OF THB H0U8K OF RKPRJtSKNTATlVES. 
 
 We have much pleosure in presenting to 
 our readers, a portrait of the H^n. Kohkrt 
 Charles Winthrop, speaker of the house 
 of representatives of the present (thirtieth) 
 Congress ; ond the following interesting bio- 
 graphical sketch, condensed princiiially from 
 an able article in the American Review. 
 
 This gentleman, whose preferment to the 
 high official station which he now holds is a 
 well-deserved and appropriate tribute to his 
 personal worth and public service, has won a 
 not less eminent place in the esteem of the 
 whig party of the Union, by the fidelity with 
 which he has devoted his talents, throughout 
 an active political career, to the advancement 
 of the good of the country. 
 
 ^■f- 
 
urc'lins," " Pere- 
 ilors," mill " Or- 
 i of authors, once 
 ivc pass'Ml away, 
 imcs surviving on 
 
 nnitu's of liiicon 
 inong the first to 
 ir the temple of 
 innssof poets anil 
 
 after long search 
 (lust ami tnould- 
 lalls. New nspi- 
 is tlicm aside, and 
 
 pultlic favor ; so 
 3 poet's or novel- 
 if the palmy days 
 .■ay with them to 
 
 en of the siihject 
 ot attain its high- 
 
 9 are freed from 
 . They must be 
 ke their own taste 
 
 the decisions of 
 of their own age. 
 iiaken from their 
 er\', have attained 
 Milton committed 
 f years of cease- 
 though it fell si- 
 arded by that age, 
 disc Lost a fabric 
 
 10 waves of Time 
 ill stand for ever 
 hot he who writes 
 
 himself from the 
 
 F THE 
 
 KS WINTHROP, 
 
 KEPKKSiCNTATIVKd. 
 
 e in presenting to 
 he Hon. Rohkrt 
 ttker of the house 
 present (thirtieth) 
 iig interesting l)io- 
 d princi])ally from 
 rican Review, 
 preferment to the 
 lie now holds is a 
 riute tribute to his 
 service, has won a 
 the esteem of the 
 ly the fidelity with 
 talents, throughout 
 to the advancement 
 
 
 J 
 
 ■li 
 
 ihi 
 
428 
 
 BIOGRAPHY OF HON. E. C WINTHROP. 
 
 *trk>: 
 
 
 Mr Wintliroii's jmrticipntion in the pub- 
 lic a)uns.-ls is uttc.M(i.Ml l.v u lorlun.if prrHtiRC 
 „f,minc on.l Yxnvti'A". In but h ..t Uh-hc lie 
 nmv I"- »tt'<l t" l'« i.l«'"t>t.-a with the history 
 „f "that portion of thr country v;h.ch ho rrp- 
 rosints ; nn.» if thrrc bo nny truth in the on- 
 ci.'nt notion timt m honorable ancestry con- 
 HtitutLH a pliMlifc to pntriotisni nn.l virtue, he 
 han an especial reason to acknowledge its 
 „bli"atioiH, r.n.1 to fiiul in thr.n an incentive 
 to the faithful and /ealous perl irmancc ol 
 everv public duty. I le has descended throusU 
 a Km.' line ..f hishly respectable ancestors, 
 and stlu.d. in the nixth degree ot lineal do- 
 Bcent from that worthy and justly celebrated 
 chora.tur .loiis Wr.NTiiRop, the hrst go-, ernor 
 (if Massachusetts, whoso biography wc have 
 alreail', '...gpnted to our readers. 
 
 Robii I C. Winthrop was the younficst son 
 of Thomas L. Winthrop, tbc late lieutenant- 
 uovernor of Massachusetts ; and was born in 
 IJoston on the r?th of May, 1809, and was 
 educated nt Harvard; whertf, in \82H, he 
 received his diploma, and with it, one ot the 
 three hi"hest honors awarded to his class. 
 He studied law under the direction of Darnel 
 Webster, and was admitted to the bar of Bos- 
 ton in 1831. He devoted but little attention 
 to the practice of his profession, the bent of 
 his mind inclining him much more to the 
 study of puldic alluirs than to the labors ot a 
 vocation which few men pursue but under the 
 sjiur of a necessity, which, in the jiresent 
 instance did not exist. _ . 
 
 Mr. Winthrop entered into public lire in 
 1834, being then elected to the legislature of 
 Massachusl'tts, and has since continued in the 
 public service. He was the representative 
 of Boston in the state legislature tor six years, 
 during the last three of which, he was the 
 speaker of the popular branch of that body ; 
 discharging the arduous duties of this post 
 with an address and judgment which elicited 
 the most honorable contidence and approba- 
 tion from the body over which he presided. 
 
 The house of representatives of Massa- 
 chusetts at that time numbered between tive 
 and six hundred members. We moy suppose 
 the duties of the speaker in such a boily to 
 exact the highest degree of iiarhamentary 
 skill anil tact in their administration. In this 
 school the incumbent found full ond aderpiate 
 experience; nud he left it after his three 
 years' service, with the reputation of an ex- 
 pert and cH'ective p'oticient in the rules of 
 legislative procecdi.igs. 
 
 Mr. Winthrop first became favorably known 
 beyond the limits of his own state, when, in 
 1837. he visited the city of New York, at 
 the head of the Massachusetts delegation, 
 which assembled there with the delegations 
 from the Whigs from many other states, to 
 
 celebrate the great triumiih of the whigs of 
 New York, in the elections then recently 
 held. It was a gr<'ttt meeting of congratulo- 
 tion, and intended toeonreri measuns tur ihc 
 co-oneration of the whig party in the presi- 
 dential convass which was soon to open. It 
 was a brilliant prelude to the election ol IH'JO, 
 of which I he results were at once so glorious 
 and so <lisastrii«s. 
 
 On that occosion, no one drew more obser- 
 vation in the large crowd tliere assfmblid, 
 than the subject of this memoir. His spenh 
 in the Mosonic hnll, where the congratula- 
 tions of the occasions were proilered and re- 
 ceived, is still remembered by those who w( re 
 present, as one of the most felicitous am at- 
 tractive incidents of that memorable cxhil)i- 
 tion. His vivid ond animated eKxpiciice 
 siimulatcd the already excited feeling ot the 
 assembly to the highest key of exultation, 
 and old and young left the scene of this event 
 with common prediction of future ciiunenro 
 to the orator, and more extended renown 
 among his countrymen. 
 
 His congressional career began m 1810. 
 The resignation in that year, of the rei.rest il- 
 lative from Boston, Mr. Abbott Lawrence, 
 led to the choice of Mr. Winthrop, by a ma- 
 jority so decisive as almost to deprive tae 
 election of its title to be called a contest. He 
 thus took his seat in the house of representa- 
 tives at the second session of the twenty-sixth 
 Congress. He was a member also of the dis- 
 tinguished twenty-seventh Congress, where, 
 among many worthy, ho maintained a posi- 
 tion with the best. A personal and iinvute 
 affliction compelled him to resign his seat in 
 the summer of 1842, his place being 8ui)pliei] 
 by the Hon. Nathan Applelon, who relin- 
 quished it at the close of that session, to ena- 
 ble his friend to resume his former seat at 
 the commencement of the following winter ; 
 which the latter did after nn election almost 
 without opposition. Mr. Winthrop has con- 
 tinued ever since to represent the city of Bos- 
 ton, by a sufl'rage equally honorable to him 
 and to the constituency whose ccnihdence ho 
 has 80 signally won. . 
 
 His seven years' service in the national 
 counsels have brought him very prominently 
 before the nation. One of the most accom- 
 plished debaters in the house of representa- 
 tives, he has participated, to some extent, in 
 the discussion of all the great questions which 
 have been presented to that body, durinu his 
 connexion with it. Habitually abstoining 
 from an obtrusive pre se nation of his opinions, 
 he has never failed tosi.y a right word at the 
 right season; he has, therefore, always spo- 
 ken etltictively, and in such a manner os to 
 win the esteem and confidence of the house. 
 A steadfast whig, his position has ever been 
 
 
BlOOllAPllY OK HON. 11. C WINTIIllOl'. 
 
 4t:o 
 
 iiih of the whigs of 
 tidiis then rrcciiily 
 titiiva of ci>iij;riitula- 
 -crt nx'iifiirrH fur ihc 
 
 party in tli<' iin-si- 
 QS HOOIl to oiicii. It 
 
 the rleiHioii of 1840, 
 re at once «« glorious 
 
 no drew more ohsi-r- 
 V(l there asuciiililid, 
 iiemoir. His niuiiU 
 here the coiiRrutulu- 
 ore prDllcred miil re- 
 ed by those who were 
 lost 'felicitous nnd nt- 
 tt memoriihle exhilii- 
 aniinatetl iKxiuence 
 ixcited feeliii}; of the 
 8t key of exultution, 
 he sceno of this event 
 ti of future eminence 
 are extended renown 
 
 ireer began in IHIO. 
 year, of the reiires( n- 
 fr. Abbott Lawrt nee, 
 . Winihrop, by a nio- 
 dinost to deiirive tiie 
 ; called a conloNt. He 
 e house of rei)rcsciita- 
 ion of the twenty-sixth 
 member also of the dis- 
 [;nth Congress, where, 
 ho maintained a posi- 
 . personal and iirivutc 
 m to resign his scut in 
 is place bcin>i8U])plied 
 
 A|)plnton, who relin- 
 of that session, to ena- 
 me his former scut at 
 
 the following winter ; 
 ifter on election almost 
 ^Ir. Winthrop hus con- 
 [iresent the city of Bos- 
 lally honorable to him 
 ;y whose C(nifulence he 
 
 service in the national 
 t him very prominently 
 )ne of the most uccom- 
 le house of reprcseiita- 
 iteil, to some extent, in 
 le great questions which 
 to that body, durinu his 
 Habituolly abstaining 
 seiitaticm of his ojnnions, 
 ) say a right word at the 
 I, therefore, always spo- 
 in such a manner as to 
 confidence of the house. 
 3 position has ever been 
 
 ron-'ervHtive. Htn.nR in the ndvorary of the 
 nulional instituli..n«. eureful to «imrd aiinmst 
 mcrou.hu.ents .m the eonstitulion. j.alous ol 
 the ambition of purlv leaders, and prompt h> 
 .Irnonn.e the excesses into which purti-jan 
 zeal has often threatened to plunge the policy 
 1 „f the state. Looking with an enh.-htene. 
 view to ih.^ cupubililies of the country, and 
 ■usilv estimalii.'^ the elements of national 
 litrriikh and huppincss .mbraeed ^vlthln the 
 Union as it is. he has always cnntributed his 
 nid I., promot.' their d.vel.ipment through the 
 uppropriute action of the eoiislilution, and by 
 the wise policy of protection and eneouruge- 
 
 ment. ... i 
 
 In the attempts of the administration ami 
 its sui.porters to embroil the country in a wur 
 upon the Orefjon question, he was tlie triend 
 of concilin-)rY adjustment an.l pi'nee, and hail 
 th.t grutilu a ion to lind the labors ol his eom- 
 p,.,.rs and himself in that instance sue<-ess(ul. 
 We may take the ormsion to observe hero 
 that, in the prosecution of this object, he was 
 tbe first to propose in Congress a mo<le .)t «et- 
 tlin- the question, which, highly equitable 
 aiufhonorable in itself, was sP<uiided by tlie 
 ap|)iobation of the most judicious persons 
 blah at home and abroad. The following 
 resolutions, n»oved by Mr. Winthroi) on the 
 19th of December, 1845, contain the earliest 
 su-'cestion of an arbitration by eminent civil- 
 ians. This resort xvas afterward iortiudly 
 
 
 proposed by the British government, and if t 
 had not been most unwisely— we must think 
 —refused by the administration, would have 
 established a happy precedent for the settle- 
 ment of int. rnational diirerenees, and have 
 placed the p. ace of the world, so far as the 
 example of two of the most powerful nations 
 might tend to establish it, upon the lounda- 
 tion of cahn counsel and right reason, instead 
 of leaving it at the mercy of tempestuous 
 passion and the bitter supremacy ot tno 
 
 sword. . , 
 
 The resolutions referred to are m these 
 
 words : — 
 
 " PeaolvcJ, That the cliffercnces between the Ui.i 
 tcl States and Great Hrifiin, on tlio subject ot th. 
 oU'on To "it<.r>',ar.- still . lit subject lornoRoUnt.ou 
 an 1 Wi-romise, and that satisfactory evidence b, 
 not yet l..H>.. nttbrded that .,o compromise wl i< 1> 
 the United States oiivlit to accept can be eHo< ttd. 
 
 " i "«;/ml, That it would bo a .lishm.or to the ntre 
 m which we live. au,l in the bi.'lust '^tf^r^'^'r^, 
 itablc to l«)tb the nations concen«Ml, il they shoul.l 
 sft W t hen so ves to he .Ir.wn into a war, upon a 
 ';i"stionof no immediate or pructicaJ interest to euher 
 
 "' ■■J^J'salml That if no other mode for tho amicable 
 ndjuMn-ent o. this question romau.., it is -h.e to the 
 prim iplcs of civilization -J'-'^ '"«""" >",'',,,'v- 
 lort t<l nrhitrntion should he had ; and »•"''"' ^(\. 
 emment call not relicv. itsclt iron, all .^"l ^f'^'^J^^^ 
 Nvhicb n.av loUoW the failure to settle tho contiu.c, 
 ty, while this resort is stiU untried. 
 
 ■ Vcmhfil. That nrhltrnlioii do.>« r"<f iii--i's«nri1.v 
 
 involve a ri r.Tciici' n. crowii.'d I dm and llint, il ii 
 
 icHlnii«v cif .uch a r.'li.n.me is ciitcrliiMMd in niiv 
 Munitcr, a ccmnniHKioii of iihle ami iliHi.n^iiorpiitc citi- 
 
 /.(lis, cllher IVoin ihc two niuntnc n.'.'r 1 cr licm 
 
 tint wnrld lit hircc, oir<TS itHelf us i.u oIimhus and iiu- 
 objortionahle ulternalivo." 
 
 In the more rerent extrnv sjances "f those 
 
 in power, who have commitieil the i.i'.on to 
 
 nil the responsibilil'icM of the ndioiH M.xicnn 
 
 war. he has acted v, ilh the m'>st eidiuhteiicd 
 
 whigs to give it a direction as tavorable to hu- 
 
 maiiity and justice n« the phreusy of the iid- 
 
 ininislrntion'will idlow. Utterly opposed to 
 
 the grounds up. ii which this war liiis b. on 
 
 waged, and coiidciniiing the iisinpMiinn ol au- 
 
 thi>rity, by which the piesidnit cominenced 
 
 it. he nevertheless, did not sciiiple to vote 
 
 with the great bodynf the whig- in ronuns.!, 
 
 the first supplies (if men nnd luoncy. which 
 
 eeemeil to l)e indispensable to the reiiitorce- 
 
 mcnt of (Jenernl Tavh>r at tlint innincU ot 
 
 supposed exigency, of wirudl the ucbiiiinstra- 
 
 tiont(H)k such artful advantage. lie hiis been 
 
 ronsistentlv, ever since, an eiirne't advocute 
 
 for peoce on terms compatiljlo with the honor 
 
 nnd justice of a mngnaninious and Christian 
 
 The same moderation of opinion whidi 
 appears in this npeeeh. in regard to the irr'-at 
 and c'v.iting subjects there relerred to, is cmi- 
 sistcntly preserved by Mr. Winthrop upon 
 other t(q)ics which have agitntcd tb" public. 
 A sincere fr'end of the constitution, and ear- 
 nestly desirous to maintain the harmony ■ T 
 the Union, he has conscientiouslv, we may 
 sav refrained from those ultra vuws on the 
 subi. ct of slavery, in either the iKirth.rn or 
 southern nsiiect of tll" (piesli.-n. which liave 
 so unhappily and so nnprofitablv distracte, 
 some sections of the cnintry. I.ib.'rul and 
 tolerant upon that subject, he has tirmly main- 
 tained his own opinion against those on either 
 side, who we mav hiqie will ncknowlei^'e, in 
 their calmer reflections, the wisdom and jus- 
 tice of his moderation. 
 
 The recent election of this gentw m to the 
 honorable po.st h(! now fills in the hous_c ol 
 representatives, is an expressive tidvcn ot the 
 good opinion he has won on that tluatie where 
 his talents have been most profitably exerted 
 for the benefit of th.^ country, ^o niember 
 of that house might better deserve this dis- 
 tinction. His inte-rity as a man. his nccoiii- 
 plishments as a statesman, and hi* hdehty as 
 a whi.', render the choice nt the hou.-e an 
 honor ti) boti 'he giver and receiver ; while 
 his parliameiitarv skill in the appropriate 
 functions of his oftice enable him to repute 
 the favor he has received, by the usefulness 
 of his service. , 
 
 The address he made to tho h."j-- m the 
 
 ti 
 
 V4 
 
 
 ■m 
 
'ife-Mii 
 
 rtPl' 
 
 
 
 St 
 
 orrn«iim of tiikinj); thr rhnir. cxliili'it* n .in''t 
 n|i|>r( I'intion "f thf fliiticH rotnmittril to liim, 
 uri<l (ilIliriN nn fxninplf of f;rnrct'iil (lij.'iiity(>f 
 ttylo which iriny hv. coinmi'tuli"! to llif iinitii- 
 ti.'pii of hin Huwt'<<m)rs. It ii wortliy of hfinj; 
 priworvftl, anil we thcn.'fori! huhmit it to thd 
 juilKincrit of niir ri'udrrH: — 
 •■ (liiitlcmni nf the lloitic of Reprcttntativtt of 
 
 tlie I'lii/nl Stdlfn— 
 
 " I mil ili'i'iily »i'iiiiililnnf llio liiinor which yon h«ve 
 coiiliTriMl ui'Mii mil liy lli' vnto whkli lia» ju«t li.-cii 
 Htiiii.imii'il, hikI I |prii} U iivn t<i i'xiiri„s niv moiit 
 Kniti'liil mkiiii\vli'ili;niiMit« tci tlidmi wfmlinvf thouKht 
 IIII1 worthy ol mi dittiiiijuighuJ n mark of their con 
 tiilimri'. , . , . , , 
 
 " VVhcM I rcmi'ijihi-r liv whcmi this chnir hai licni 
 flHiMl ill (itlicr yriirn, iiinl, mill iiniri', wheii I rL'llfit 
 
 (III 111" cimstlnitioiinl cliiiriicliTiil llioUidy lirliirn n\v, 
 I I'liii mil Iml li'fl tlmt ymi lii»vi! lll^lli^■lllMi iiic ii ixisi- 
 tiiiii worlliy III Hiiy hiuii'i BUil'itniii, ami lur ohovo llie 
 rinhtliil ri'i'ii li 111 iiiy dwii. 
 
 " 1 ii|i|ii'iitu'h till! ili.tchnrgo of it* ilutioi with a 
 pnil'iMiii.l liii|iri'«ilon at oiioo of thoir dignity and of 
 tht'ir ililHi'iilty. 
 
 " f<i^vi}ii yiMira of Burvico iia a mombcr of this 
 hrniich ol' ifm Niitiiiiiiil Lrtiiiliituro hiivi' miiro limn 
 ■iiltlfi'd to li'iich mil tliiit this is i"' liUco of iiiero 
 fiirmiil r(iiniiiiMir(i'ri'iiioiii(itisri'|>(Wr Scvcro laliurs, 
 lieriilixiiii; ciiri'B, trying' ri'siiiiii»iliiliti''«. await any 
 oni- whii is nilli'il to it, even iiinlcr '' most auspi- 
 tiims mill liiviirahlo (■irciunstiiiiiis. iw, then, rim 
 
 1 liel|i tii'inhling lit the task which y.u liavo iiiipdm ! 
 on nil', ill till! uxiKtiufj rondition of this houau and ol 
 till' riiiiiitry 1 
 
 " 111 H tiiiii- of war, In a time of hish i«ilitioal ox- 
 rltvmi'iit, in r. timn of iii(iini.'Ulous nutioniil controver- 
 sy, I see bciiiro ini' the reiirnsontalivcs of tliu pcdplii 
 aiinust pijinilly dividcil, not m«rely, as tho votes of 
 this nioriiini,' hnvo alrnudy in.iifiitid, in their pri'lor 
 eiioo lor persons, hut in opinion ami in prineiple, on 
 many of the most important ipiestions on which they 
 have Bssenihled to deliherali!- 
 
 "May I not reasoimhly elniin, in advanco, fn)m 
 you all, somrl hill!,' more tliiiii an ordinary measure 
 of forlHiiriiiiee and iiidult-enee, liir wliiitevor of in 
 aliility I niiiy nninifent, in nicetiiiif the exieeneies 
 and einlmrrHK-iiients wliiili 1 eiiii not hope to escape 7 
 And may I not reiisonalily implore, with soinethinR 
 more than eoinmon fervemy, upon your lalnirs anil 
 u|ion my own, the hlessintf of tlmt Almighty power, 
 wliose recorded nttrihulo it is, that 'He mukctli men 
 to he of one mind in a house' I 
 
 " Let us enter, ^rentlemeii, upon our work of Icgis- 
 hition with a solemn sense of our responsibility to 
 (joil niid Id our eounliy. However wo may he di- 
 vided on (Hicstlonsof iiiimediate policy, wo are united 
 hy the closest tics of permanent interest and perma- 
 nent olili;.'nlioii. Wc are the representatives of 
 twenty millions of people, hound together hy common 
 laws and u inmmon tiherty. A common flni; floats 
 daily over us, on which there is not one of who would 
 SCO n stiiin rest, iind from which there is not one of 
 us who would Bi e a star struck. And we have n 
 couiinon constitution, to which tlio oaths of allepiance, 
 which it will he my first duty to administer to you, 
 will he only, I am iicrsuaded, the formal cxiiression 
 of those sentiments of devotion which aro already 
 cherished in nil our hearts. 
 
 •' There may he difl'erenceg of opinion as to the 
 powers wh'ch this constitution confers upon us; hnt 
 the purposes for which it w;!-! created are iriscrihcd 
 upon its tiice in lanu'UHj-'o wliicli can noi- he miscon- 
 strued. It was ordained and established ' to form a 
 more iierlect union, esl:ihli.sli justice, insure domestic 
 tramiuillity, jiravide for the common defence, promote 
 
 thn ffcnrrsl wrlfarp, and scctire the bleislnm of lib- 
 erty to ourselvci siid our ^losterity.' 
 
 " Union, (iistii'e.iloinrslu' tranijnillity, thonimmon 
 ilelriicc, the K'Hirid wi'll'iiri', and the »eciirity nf 
 liberty fur us and Hir ihosn wliiisloill come after us, 
 are thus the Kreat objects (iir which we are to exer- 
 lisii whatever powers have been intrusted to in. 
 And I lia/.ard nothinq in say iiitf that tin i. have been 
 few iieriinls in our imtioiinl history, when the eyes 
 of the whole peoph: have been turned more iiif-iitly 
 and more mixiously tiiwnril the rapitol, thnii they 
 lire at this moment, to sen what Is to be do.'.e, hero 
 and now, liir the vindication and pinniotion of these 
 lolly ends. 
 
 "Let HS resolve, then, that those eyes shiill at 
 least witness on our part duties ilincjiiiru'ed with 
 ililil,'ence, deliherationi conducted with diiiiity, ami 
 rlliirts honesllv and raniestly niiidii for the pu«c»>, 
 prosiierlfy, anil honor of the Hepiihlic. 
 
 " 1 shall esteem it the lii«liest priviliL-eof my imb- 
 lie life if I shiill be p.'rmitted to coiilrilpiite nnvlliiiii? 
 to these results hy n faithful and iiiipiirliiil ndniiuis- 
 tratiou oi 'lo olllce w hiih 1 have now accepted." 
 
 Mr. \Vinthro))'8 talents nrc of tho )ii;;lirst 
 oriltir ; w U ami nhly has he improved thi; ini- 
 Iiortant ailvantngc!* ulliirded him. Modest and 
 retiriiig in his habits, kind and courti'ouH in 
 his iiiunners, easy of access, stronp nnd endu- 
 ring ill his friendships — n man jii-enliurly aim 
 able ill nil the amenities of private life. 'J'o 
 do a kindness to anollu'r, without iho knowl- 
 edge of thf! world, constitutes his greatest 
 happiness. No selfish or restrieted |irinci]ilo 
 issiitfered to lurk in his heart. II(! is a man 
 without guilo or deceit, and a faithful and 
 ohle adviser. Possessed naturally of a strong 
 understanding, ho seldom fails forming a cor- 
 rect judgment on every importnnt (|iiestioii, 
 and in ciisca of difficulty his advice and opin- 
 ion aro invoiuablc, and to the benefit of his 
 counsels hii> frie.iiis aro always -welcumo. 
 The sijcoker is fony yeors of age. He may 
 be presumed lo hav! a lengthened career of 
 great public usefulness before him. As u 
 general prineiple, it will always hold true, 
 that men who throw aside the consideration 
 of selfish aggrandisement, who put nwny the 
 
 1)ut nwny tne 
 _ , .^ ieir_ youth — 
 
 who dedicate themselves from the first dawn 
 of manh(K)d to their country, and the cause 
 of political and religious freedom — whose vir- 
 tues render their lives one scene of solicitude 
 and onxiety for others' happiness, will sooner 
 or later enjoy the confiutsnce and love of all 
 whose good ojiinion is to be appreciated. In- 
 deed, di-sguiso it as wo may, th(*e can bo no 
 real hapjiiness enjoyed, or public usefulness 
 promoted, unless we adopt and pursue those 
 objects calculated to enlarge the mind, mcli- 
 orote the disposition, and promote the best in- 
 terests of mankind. 
 
 We conclude this brief and imperfect 
 sketch with the sincere expression of the hope, 
 that his constituents may long enjoy his ser- 
 vices, and open the way for him to yet high- 
 er distinction. 
 
 J 
 
rriirc tlin l)lni»lliij« (if lib- 
 infi-rity." 
 
 • triiiii|nillify, tlio rnmnioti 
 iiri', iiimI llii' «i'(iirily iil" 
 vsliii nliiill riiriii' iil'trr iia, 
 liir wliii'li we iiri' to cxi-r- 
 vi> lirrii intniKlril In nn. 
 yitiK iliut till it linvi' \wvn 
 nl liinliiry, wlicii tlii' ryrl 
 )t>i'Ti tiiriicil iniirr iiif'iitly 
 rd tlin rHiiitiil, limn tln-y 
 wliiit in til In" (joi-.f, liirp 
 
 II Ullll pllillllltioll ul tlll'DO 
 
 tlint tlidiii' oyi'K "'lull nt 
 iliitirK ilini'linru'i'il with 
 uilui'tol with illriiily, iiinl 
 Htlv iiiiiilii liir tiiu puiii'e, 
 t! l{i'|iiililir. 
 
 4lMiit iiriviii'L-nofmy [mil- 
 I'll to ciiiilriliiitc niivlliiiiir 
 I'lil mill iiii|iiirtiiil nilniiuiit- 
 I liuvii iiiiw m rr|itril.'' 
 
 iitM nro (if flin lii;;lii'»t 
 OH ho itiiprovpil thi! im- 
 rdcil him. MiMltst orul 
 kind and court:'oun in 
 jccss, stronf; mid cndii- 
 -a man iMiculiariy qiiu 
 >« (if private life. 'J'o 
 «r, \viihi)ur tho knnwl- 
 onslitutes hi^ grcatrst 
 I or rcstrirtod jirincijilo 
 s hcurl. II(! IS II innn 
 •it, and n faithful and 
 od naturally of u strong 
 I nil foils forminf! a cor- 
 ry important (incsfion, 
 Ity his advice und o]iin- 
 \ to tlio benefit of his 
 aro olvvays wclrmne. 
 'cars of nge. II' may 
 a lengthcniMl carter of 
 :s9 b(!for<! him. As a 
 will always huld true, 
 aside tho consideration 
 lent, who put nwny the 
 isure in tneir yotith — 
 Ives from the first dawn 
 country, and the cause 
 us freedom — whose vir- 
 I one scene of solicitude 
 i' happiness, will sooner 
 ifitience and love of all 
 to lie appreciated. In- 
 e may, tn*e can be no 
 d, or public tisefulnesa 
 idopt and pur-<ue those 
 enlarge the mind, meli- 
 and promote the best in- 
 
 3 brief and imperfect 
 e expression of the hope, 
 may long enjoy his ser- 
 k-ay for him to yet high- 
 
 WA8n'\aT0IT NATIONAL MONUMRNT. 
 
 4.11 
 
 WASHINGTON NATIONAL MONUMENT. 
 
 Os the seventy-second anniversary of Amer- 
 
 iriui indn|i€ndeiice, the introductory move- 
 ment was made in an ( iiterprise, the record 
 of which, when successfully cnrric 1 throuiih 
 t(j ciiiipletiou, will form a bVight |iage in the 
 histi.rv (if our country. On that day, asMun- 
 liled thousands at Washington city, many of 
 thcin (icpuiali(»iis from distant sections of the 
 Union, wilueesed or participated in the au- 
 gust aud impressive ceremonies attending the 
 laving of the corner-stone of a national mon- 
 uiioettt to the luemory of Geobge Washing- 
 ton and \iis compatriots in the Revolution. 
 Although nearly half a century has elapsed 
 since the death of Washinglon, the enthusiosm 
 with which this magiiiticent design has been 
 
 entered info. U proof, if nny indeed wcro 
 wanting, that his metrmry is still green in the 
 hiarts (if his counli ymrti. We fervently 
 hope that the f»(ililr uiidcrttikmg wi!i tie Mrged 
 forward, until the tofimn^t liUmn is ^.lae(■l| 
 upon its < liiud-eniiped Miimmil, iind the mon- 
 ument Htands fortli ii traifi'didcii' and endu- 
 ring memorial of a nali m's gratitude ui liim 
 who was emphalically ■ 'iie foiir.dir of nn 
 empire, the marvtd of the world ;" — 
 
 " Who b(ir«t thi' fi'ttiTu of the land, 
 \ii(l biiile lis Id t>o I'rec ; 
 Who rnlspd iho di«nilv of man, 
 And budo a N'lttiuii ue," 
 
 The most proniiiii'tit and imposing part of 
 the i)ropiised iiionuuient will be s, , n to be the 
 obelisk shaft, rising Iroin llie diiire to tin- 
 height of fiix liiiiid'-eil feet, M-venfy feet 
 gipiarc ut the bas,' n"! forty at the top. 
 Around this sliaft, el. vpti d on a terrace or 
 platform, tw<'iity f<. •■ i i, '> and three hun- 
 dred feet s(|uare, is to be erecled a vast ro- 
 tunda, supported by thirty massive columns, 
 of twelve fe<a diumeter. und forty-(i-e feet 
 high ; enclosing a gallery tifty feet wide, six- 
 ty feet high, and five hundred f -t in circum- 
 ference. Aliiivc the colonuudc sill lie an en- 
 tablature twenty feet high, sunn untid by a 
 balustrade, fifteen feet high, niaki.ig an ele- 
 \.ili(in of one hundred feet fur the rotunda or 
 colonnaded building. On thi^ too over the 
 gnat gallery, and ciichised by thi^ linlustrnde, 
 will be a grand terrace around the great 
 liafl, s<!vrii hundred feet in eircumfereiice, 
 and outside the bidustrude a walk or gallery, 
 ix feet wide and seven hundred and tifty in 
 |e rcumfereiwe. The entrance and passage to 
 I be grand terrace will be by means of a rail- 
 way of easy ascent encircling the great shalt. 
 If the above plan und dimensions are enriied 
 out, this noble structure will be nearly three 
 times us hiidi as the monument on Bunker's 
 hill. Within the rotunda it is designed to 
 place niches for the reception of statues of 
 the signers of the Declaration of Independ- 
 
 The corner-stone, presented by a citizen 
 of Baltimore, is a massive block of granite, 
 weighing about twenty-five thousand iiouiids. 
 
 The site of the monument was granted by 
 Congress. It is on the banks of the Poto- 
 mac? near the location of the Smithsonian 
 iiistiiiit-on, west of the capitol, and about 
 midway between it and the president's house. 
 
 A committee having been -ippointed to 
 make the necessary arrangements, stands 
 were built for ti.ose engaged in the ceremo- 
 nies, and also for spectators. Trmniphal 
 arches were erected, on one of which \yas 
 placed a live eagle, forty years old, which 
 had hailed the advent of General Lafayette 
 
 ii 
 
 1- 
 
 ■i - 
 
 T 
 
 ti 
 

 fK'i 
 
 Uk. 
 
 432 
 
 WASIIINOTON NATIONAL MONUMENT. 
 
 to Alexnn.lriM, n.vl wliicli lins B>nce been, 
 c. ........1 to M. Vattomurn. to he '^'^^^ 
 
 „K,nhi.vcl,>n. to Franrc. m the Natioiml 
 
 J::Sir'arwlu.^S-.lc,,d,oairana 
 
 u^l e .!> sf, mwl the l$cncKceMt Dp.ty sco.n.. 
 l::r',;Il,;L:u.,h.ionsl, upon the, nteresnn, 
 
 nroco'^s (m, winch was (Iceidcilly the most 
 
 , ml ever witn,.sse,l in Washington, was 
 
 £:;,:» hour in reuchin. the svte^^he^-n- 
 
 uvncnt. where everylhnig was n rea.lnitss to 
 
 hvS; s,one, which f..T^^^%'^"™"r uu'l 
 ;-ntofa strneture whu-h, It « W-'- -' 
 endure till lime shall he no more. 1 he scene 
 Resented, after the j.roeessu.n had reach j 
 the cround, was magnihcent. It. ^"om^ 
 ,; rf he inest subjects for the pencl that 
 airartist could desire The wln.le ijatn wa 
 covered with human bemgs. Ihe yst so 
 ,. amphitheatre of seats exh.bite,! an un- 
 .roken sheet of human countenances, ex- 
 nres.ins a deep interest mthe imposing cere- 
 no, isf while over the whole the banner rf 
 the Union, spread and displayed by the wil- 
 •„,. breez; seemed proudly to extend its or- 
 ament and protection Tl^ere were present 
 dele-rations of the Cherokee, Chickasaw 
 thoctaw. Creek and Sawbndge Indians who 
 brought with them silver 'n^'Jal^' ~ ^" 
 178t-\ representing Wr-^hington m the ac of 
 shakn-T hands with the red man, and under 
 who "Administration their forefathers made 
 some of the earliest treaties of peace. To 
 h ^e Indians were assigned seats on the plat- 
 form near the orator, to whom they listened 
 V h ^ n,found attention, as did the immense 
 assembly he addresse.l. During the advance 
 of th" pnicession the bells (,f the city contin- 
 '4d to toll solemnly. The ceremonies oom- 
 nienced with an appropriate prayer to the 
 Throne of ^.race, by the grand etia,, -n of 
 the grand lodge of Maryland the R^'V. M^' 
 M'.TiLro>., which was succeeded by a p.ahn, 
 o I. un^ of "Old Hundred,- sungby the 
 n' ,1 le,i multitude, with due solemnity and 
 teeling. The Hon. R. CW^nturop. orator 
 of the day, then arose and delivered an ad- 
 dress w: ich was received with universal and 
 ni rUed a '.lause. When Mr. W..thbop 
 Z\ concluded, Mr. B. B. Frknch .gra,j[ 
 master of the grand lodge of the chstn t of 
 C.lumbia, delivered an apnropnnte a ress 
 after which he descen.led trom the platform 
 on which he h»d stood to the corner-stone 
 and preceded to dep.,site the articles selecul 
 U> bi placed in the cavity, and to perform the 
 usual appropriate Masonic cremomes ot lay- 
 h 2 it. A patriotic song was then sung by 
 Mr Eddy, and the benediction pronounced ; 
 and thus terminated these interesting and 
 
 solemn ceremonies. The |.rocess„in now re- 
 turned to the Pennsylvania ay.nne, where 
 the military part of it was reviewed by tlie 
 president oVthe United States, and afterward 
 
 ' The ""interest felt by all in this^ patriotic 
 undertaking had been so intense, that it was 
 found difficult to preserve the marble chips, 
 taken from the cavity of the corner-s one. 
 Thev were seized upon with the utmost ea- 
 gerness, by visiters, and borne away to be 
 ilreserved as mementoes of the event. 1 he 
 board of managers ordere.l s(iuare pieces of 
 the stone to be wrought, labelled, and pre- 
 sented to the several state delegations, to be 
 deposited in the library or museum of eaih 
 sta^te and territory. T^ey bore the follov>.ng 
 
 inserintion: "To the state ot -• tms 
 
 pilceK; comer-stone of the Washington 
 National Monument, laid July 4, 1818, is 
 presented by the Board of Managers. 
 ' In the earlier arrangements for the cere- 
 monies attending the laying "^ '^^^'J'^''"- 
 stone, the late venerable John Qui-^cr Ad- 
 ams was invited to deliver the address. His 
 eminent ability, and intimate acquaintance 
 tvTth our national history, from Hs earl e t 
 days, and withal having possessed the per- 
 sonal friendship of Wash.ngton-bemg th. a 
 connecting link between the Present ami the 
 generations that have passed «way-- « kred 
 it neculiarlv appropriate that he should per- 
 form that service. But the ircreasmg phys- 
 caHnfirmities of the " old m-n eloquen , ' 
 -and which, alas, so soon closed his hing ca 
 reer of usefulness on earth-comi>elled 1 ,m 
 to decline. The Hon. Robert C. Win- 
 THROP was then solicited to . ischarge that 
 duty. He complied, and the able Tn«""." " 
 which he performed the service speaks h ./hly 
 for the iud-rment exercised in his seleci on. 
 For purHy oT sentiment, graceful expression, 
 ;„d L anLinent tribute to the lofty and s h- 
 sacrificing character of the PaUr Palrm 
 we do not believe this oration l'»« <=ver been 
 TurDassed. We present our readers with it 
 enlfrein full confidence, that they will be 
 nrSed to possess this eloquent prm action, 
 Kerusll n'ot only but for Foserv-ation tds. 
 among the choice literary gems that adorn 
 Teir libraries. ^lay it. existence be coeval 
 with that of the monum.mt, the "itiatoo^ 
 step in the erection of which, called it tortti 
 S while the one, to the latest pc^ enty, 
 will speak impressively and symbohcally to 
 
 :il Xare pe^itted to look -l--^^-^" 
 proportions, coming generations to the ■remo 
 est bounds of this widespread U";™' "7. 
 read in the other of, and ^%''l'-}''\X„Zls 
 late, the exalted virtues of l"-" ;J? ^^^ 
 " fi^st in war, first in peace, and fir.t m the 
 hearts of his countrymen.' 
 
ORATION BY HON. E. C. WINTIIROP. 
 
 433 
 
 |)r(icr-ssion tkiw rr- 
 lia iivcmn', wlirre 
 s revifwcd by tlu' 
 ite3, ami nrterwaril 
 
 11 in this patriotic 
 liitniso, that it was 
 
 the inarhle chips, 
 
 the cDrner-stone. 
 ith the utmost ea- 
 
 bornc away to be 
 ,f the event. The 
 ■i] 8(pmre pieces of 
 
 laljelleil, and pre- 
 e delegations, to be 
 or mnseum of caeh 
 y bore the following \ 
 
 tate of -: t^''s 
 
 of the Washington 
 d July 4, 1848, is 
 if Managers." 
 ments for the cerc- 
 ying of the corner- 
 : John QuiJfcr Av>- 
 er the address. His 
 itimate acquaintance 
 ry, from its earliest 
 I possessed the per- 
 iington— being thfis a 
 1 the present and the 1 
 ;ssed away— rendered 
 ; that he should per- 
 thc increasing phys- 
 »old wn eloriuent," 
 ion closed his long cn- 
 nrth— comi^elled him 
 . Robert C. Win- 
 ted to (fischarge that 
 nd the able manner in 
 I service speaks h'./hly 
 ised in his selecuon. 
 It, graceful expression, 
 'c to the lofty and sclt- 
 )f the Patn Patriee, 
 oration has ever been 
 •nt our readers with it 
 lice, that they will be 
 s eloquent protluctton, 
 ut for preservation also 
 ^rary goms that adorn 
 its existen'.;e be coeval 
 mument, the initiatory 
 which, called it forth— 
 to the latest, posterity, 
 ;lv and symbolically to 
 to look uixm its majestic 
 encrations to the remo- 
 Yidesprend Union, may 
 and be incited to emu- 
 rtues of him who was 
 1 peace, and first m the 
 rmen." 
 
 ORATION 
 raoHouNciD bt the 
 
 HONORABLE ROBERT C. WINTHROP. 
 
 Fk.i-low-citizens of thkUmted States: 
 We are assembled to take the hrst step 
 toward the fulfilment of a long-deferred on- 
 gaticn. In this eight-and-iortieth year since 
 l,i"s death, we have come together to lay 
 ,ho corner-stone of a national monument to 
 
 ^^Other mi°mments to this i"««tnous person 
 have Ion- ago been erected. By not a few 
 of the great states of our Union, by not a evv 
 of the great cities of our states tiie chiselled 
 
 8 atue or the lofty column has been set up " 
 his honor. The liighest art ot the old wo Id 
 -of France, of Italy, and o i".f '»"i;;"«- 
 cessivelv— has been put in requisition for the 
 purm Hoixdon L Virginia Canova for 
 & Carolina, Sir Francis Chantrey fo 
 Massachusetts, have severally ^g^-^l-fe;' 'X 
 cenius by portraying and perpetuating the 
 KL andla'iuresof the Father oi hi. country. 
 Nor has the Congr, of the nation alto- 
 eethcr failed of its duty in this respect, i he 
 1 SLlve and majestic 'figure -hich presides 
 ' over the precincts of the capi ol. and wrhich 
 seems altogether in the ants of challenging a 
 ^'w vowol- allegiance to the constitution and 
 the Union from every one who aPP™'^?^'^"^ "; 
 is a visible testimony-and one no the le.s 
 grateful to an American eye, "s being the 
 masterly production of a native artist»— that 
 ^go^^mment of the country has not been 
 unmindful of what it owes to WAsmNOTON. 
 One tribute to his memory » . Ift to 
 be rendered. One monument remains to be 
 beared A monument which shal bespeak 
 he gmtitu^le, not of stotes, or of cities, or of 
 eovemments not of separate communities, 
 fr of official bodies, but of the people, the 
 whlpe!,ple of the nation :-a national mon^^^ 
 
 ment, erected by the citizens of the United 
 States of America. , 
 
 Of such a monument we have come to lay 
 the corner-stone here and now. On th s day, 
 on this spot, in this presence, and at thi» pre- 
 c se e 10 oh in the history of our country and 
 orthe world, we are about to commence this 
 crownin" work of commemoration. 
 
 Tl c day, the place, the witnesses, the 
 perltl in t^; worlds history and >" our ovvn 
 lustory-all, all are most appropriate to the 
 
 "'The day is appropriate. On this 4th day 
 • Horatio Qreenough. 
 
 connexion with the immortal act of the 4th 
 of July, 177G. His signature did no attest 
 the Declaration of Iiidui-emlence. But the 
 sword by which that indcpundcuce was to be 
 achieved, was already at his side, and already 
 had he struck the blow which rendered that 
 declaration inevitable. . „ , . 
 
 »' Hoslihus primo fu^atis, Boslomum re- 
 cuperatum," is the inscription on the mcda 
 which commemorates Wushii.giui s earliest 
 triumph. And when the British lorces were 
 compelled to evacuate Boston, on the 17th 
 day of March, 177G, bloodless though the 
 victory was, the cpiestion was irrevocably 
 settled, that independence, and not the mere 
 redress of grievances, was to be the moment- 
 ous stake of our colonial struggle. 
 
 Without the event ot the 4lli of July, it is 
 true. Washington would have toand no ade- 
 quate opening for that full career of military 
 and civil glory which has rendered h.m illus- 
 trious for ever. But it is equally true, that, 
 without Washington, this day could never 
 have acquired that renown in the history ot 
 human liberty, which now, above all other 
 days, it enioyii. We may not say that the 
 man made the day, or the day the man ; but 
 we may say that, by the blessing ot God, they 
 were made for each other, and both tor the 
 highest and most enduring good of America 
 and of the world. , 
 
 The place is appropriate. AVe are on the 
 banks of his own beloved and beautitul Po- 
 tomac. On one side of us. withm a few 
 hours' sail, are the hallowed scenes amid 
 which War.hington spent all of his mature 
 life, which was not devoted to the public 
 service of the country, and where still repose, 
 in their original resting-place, alUhat remain- 
 ed of him when life was over. On the other 
 side, and within our more immediate view, 
 is the capitol of the republic, standing on the 
 site selected by himself, and within whose 
 walls the rights which he vindicated, the 
 principles v hich he established, the institu- 
 iions w-hich he founded, have been, and are 
 still to be, maintained, developed, and ad- 
 
 The' witnesses are appropriate, and such 
 as eminently befit the occasion. _ 
 
 The president of the United btates is here , 
 and feels, I am persuaded, that the othcial 
 distinction which he lends to the «cene has 
 no higher personal charm, if any higher pub- 
 Tc dfgnity.than that which it derives frotn 
 its aslociations with his earliest and mosil- 
 ustrious predecessor. "I hold the place 
 Xch Wa^shington held." must be a reflection 
 capable of sustaining a chief magistrate under 
 any and every weilht of responsibility and 
 care, and of elevating him to the pursuit of 
 the purest and loftiest ends. 
 
 'I 
 
 « 
 
 
494 
 
 WASHINGTON NATIONAL MONUMENT. 
 
 fit'' 
 
 Representatives of foreim nations are here ; 
 ready to bear witness to tne priceless exam- 
 ple which America has given to the world, 
 in the character of him, whose fame has long 
 since ceased to be the property of any coun- 
 try or of any age. , ,. , 
 The vice-president and senate ; the heads 
 of departments ; the judiciary ; the authorities 
 of the city and district ; the officers of the 
 army, and navy, and marines, from many o 
 field and many a flood of eariicr and of later 
 forae ; veterans of-the-line and volunteers, 
 fresh from the scenes of trial and of triumph, 
 with swords already wreathed with myrtles, 
 which every patriot prays may prove as un- 
 fading as the laurels with which their brovvs 
 are bound : all are here, eager to attest their 
 reverence for the memory of one, whom state- 
 men and soldiers have conspired in pronoun- 
 cing to have been first alike in peace and in 
 war. 
 
 The representatives of the people arc here ; 
 and it is only as their organ that I have felt 
 it incumbent on me, in the midst of cares and 
 duties which would have formed an c.mple 
 apology for declining any other service, to 
 say a few words on this occasion. Coming 
 here in no otRcial capacity, I yet feel that 1 
 bring with me the sanction, not merely of the 
 representatives of the people, but of the people 
 themselves, for all that I can say, and Tor 
 much more than I can say, in honor of Wash- 
 ington. 
 
 And, indeed, the people themselves are 
 here; in masses such as never before were 
 seen within the shadows of the capitol — a 
 cloud of witnesses— to bring their own heart- 
 felt testimony to this occasion. From all the 
 states of the iJnion ; from all political parties; 
 from all professions and occupations; men of 
 all sorts and conditions, ond those before whom 
 men of all sorts and conditions bow, as lending 
 the chief ornament and grace to every scene 
 of life; the people — as individual cinzens, 
 and in every variety of association, military 
 and masonic, moral, collegiate, and charitable, 
 Rechabites and Red Men, sons of temi)erance 
 and firemen, united brothers and odd-fellows 
 — the people have come up this day to the 
 temple-gates of a common and glorious re- 
 public, to fraternize with each other in a fresh 
 act of homage to tho memory of the man, who 
 was, and is, and vill for ever be, " first in the 
 hearts of his counuymen !" Welcome, wel- 
 come, Americans all ! " The name of Amer- 
 ican, which belongs to you and your national 
 capacity," I borrow the words of Washington 
 himself, " must always exalt the just pride of 
 patriotism more than any appellation derived 
 from local discriminations." 
 I Nor can I feel, fellow-citizens, that I have 
 ' yet made mention of all who are with us at 
 
 this hour. Which of us does not realize 
 that unseen witnesses are around us ? Think 
 ye, that the little band, whose feeble forms 
 ore spared to bless our sight once more, are 
 ail of the army of Washington, who are uni- 
 ting with us in this tribute of reverence for his 
 
 memory? Think ye, that the patriot soldiers 
 or the patriot statesmen, who stood around 
 him in war and in peace, ore altogether ab- 
 sent from a scene like this? Adanris and 
 Jetlerson, joint authors of the d'c-laration, by 
 whose lives and deaths this day has been 
 doubly hallowed; Hamilton and Madison, 
 joint framers of the constitution, present, visi- 
 bly present, in the venerated ])ersons of those 
 nearest and dearest to them in life ; Marshall, 
 under whose auspices the work before us was 
 projected, and whose classic pen had already 
 constructed a monument to his illustrious com- 
 peer and friend more durable than marble or 
 granite ; Knox, Lincoln, and Green ; Frank- 
 lin, Jay, Pickering, and Morris; Schuyler 
 and Putnam, Stark and Prescott, Sumter and 
 Marion, Steuben, Kosciusko, and Lafayette ; 
 companions, counsellors, supporters, friends, 
 followers of Washington, all, all: we hail 
 them from their orbs on high, and feel that we 
 do them no wrong in counting them among 
 the gratified witnesses of this occosion ! 
 
 But it is the precise eiioch ot which we have 
 arrived in the world's history, ond in our own 
 history, which imparts to this occasion an in- 
 terest and an importance which can not easily 
 be over-estimated. 
 
 I can make but the merest allusion to the 
 mighty movements which have recently taken 
 place on the conrinent of Eurojie — where 
 events which would have given character to 
 an age, have been crowded within the changes 
 of a moon. 
 
 Interesting, intensely interesting, as these 
 events have been to all who hove witnessed 
 them, they hove been tenfold more interesting 
 to Americans. We see in them the influence 
 of our own institutions. We behold in them 
 the results of our own example. We rec- 
 ognise them as the spontaneous germination 
 and growth of seeds which have been wafted 
 over the ocean, for half a century past, from 
 our own original liberty-tree. 
 
 The distinguished writer of the declaration 
 which made this day memorable, was full of 
 apprehensions as to the influence of the Old 
 Worid upon the New. He even wished, on 
 one occasion, that " an ocean of fire" might 
 roll between America and Europe, to cut off 
 and consume those serpent foscinations and 
 seductions which were to corrupt, if not to 
 strangle outright, our infant freedom in its 
 cradle. 
 
 Doubtless, these were no idle fears at the 
 time. Doubtless, there are dangers still, 
 
s does not realize 
 round us ? Think 
 fhose feeble forms 
 ght once more, are 
 gton, who ore uni- 
 if reverence for his 
 the patriot soldiers 
 who stood around 
 are altogether ab- 
 lis? Adams and 
 the d"(;laration, bj^ 
 this day has been 
 ton and Madison, 
 ution, present, visi- 
 ;cd persons of those 
 n in life ; Marshall, 
 work before us was 
 ie pen had already 
 his illustrious com- 
 jblc than marble or 
 ind Green ; Frank- 
 Morris ; Schuyler 
 rescott, Sumter and 
 ko, and Lafayette ; 
 supporters, friends, 
 , all, all : we hail 
 jh, and feel that we 
 inting them among 
 this occasion ! 
 ;h at which we have 
 ory, and in our own 
 this occasion an in- 
 (vhich can not easily 
 
 erest allusion to the 
 have recently taken 
 of Eurojje — where 
 s given character to 
 d within the changes 
 
 interesting, 
 
 as these 
 I'ho have witnessed 
 fold more interesting 
 n them the influence 
 We behold in them 
 example. We rec- 
 taneous germination 
 ;h have been wafted 
 a century past, from 
 tree. 
 
 :er of the declaration 
 morable, was full of 
 influence of the Old 
 He even wished, on 
 ocean of fire" might 
 d Europe, to cut off 
 >ent fascinations and 
 to corrupt, if not to 
 nfont freedom in its 
 
 ! no idle fears at the 
 e are dangers still, 
 
 OEATION BY HON. 11. C. WINTHEOP. 
 
 435 
 
 which might almost seem to have justified 
 such a wisli. But it is plain that the currents 
 of political influence thus far have run deep- 
 est and strongest in the opposite direction. 
 The inpience. of the new world uf)on the old 
 is the greiit moral of the events of the day. 
 
 Mr iTcff.Tson's "ocean of fire'" has, indeed, 
 been almost realized. A tremendous enginery 
 hns covend the sea with smoke and flame. 
 The fiery drnaon has ceased to be a table. 
 The in^pir.-d description of Leviathan is lul- 
 filled to the letter: "Out of his mouth go 
 burning lamps, and sparks of fire leap out. 
 Out of his nostrils goeth smoke, os out ot a 
 seethin " pot or caldron. His breath kindleth 
 coals, and a flame goeth out of his mouth. 
 He mnkcth the deep to boil like a pot ; he 
 maketh the sea like a pot of ointment." 
 
 But the Saint George of modern civiliza- 
 tion and science, instead of slaying the dragon, 
 has subdued him to the yoke, and broken him 
 in to the service of mankind. The ocean ot 
 fire has only facilitated the intercourse wmch 
 it was invoked to destroy. And the result is 
 before the world. 
 
 New modes of communication, regular am 
 more rajjid interchanges of information and 
 oi)iiiion, freer and more frequent comiiarisons 
 of principli>s, of institutions, and of conditions, 
 have at length brought the political systems 
 of the two continents into conflict ; and pros- 
 trate thrones and reeling empires this day 
 bear wiluess to the shock ! 
 
 Yes, fellow-citizens (if ' be allowed 
 
 the figure), the great upwar -m downward 
 trains on the track of human freedom have at 
 last come into collision ! It is too early as 
 vet for any one to pronounce upon the precise 
 consequences of the encounter. But we can 
 see at a glance what engines have been shat- 
 tered, and what engineers have been dashed 
 from their seats. We can see, too, that the 
 great American built locomotive "Liberty 
 still Isolds on its course, unimpeded and un- 
 impaired -, gathering strength as it goes ; de- 
 veloping new energies to meet new exigencies ; 
 and beanng along its imperial train of twenty 
 millions of people with a speed which knows 
 no parallel. 
 
 Nor can we fail to observe that men are 
 everywhere beginning to examine the model 
 of this miirhty engine, and that not a few have 
 alrea ^ ,- biv'^un to copy its construction and to 
 imitate its machinery. The great doctrines 
 of our own revolution, that "all men are 
 created eipial ; that they are endowed by their 
 Creator with certain inalienable rights ; that 
 among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit 
 of happiness; that to secure these rights gov- 
 ernments ore instituted among men, deriving 
 their just powers from the consent of the gov- 
 erned ; that whenever any form of government 
 
 becomes destructive of these ends it is the 
 righ^ of the people to alter to or abolish it and 
 to institute a new government, laying its found- 
 ation on such i)rinciples and organizing its 
 iiowers in such form as to them slmll seem 
 most likely to effect their safi-ty i\w\ happi- 
 ness;" thcsefundamentalmaxiinsofth(! rights 
 of man are proclaimed as emphatically ',liis 
 day in Paris, as they were eeventy-two years 
 ago this day in Philadelphia. _ 
 
 And not in Paris alone. The whole civil- 
 ized worid resounds with American oimiions 
 and American i)rinciples. Every vale is vocal 
 with them. Every mountain has found a 
 
 tongue for them. 
 
 -Soiiitum toto Germania ccbIo 
 
 Audiit, et iiisolitU tremuerunt motibus Alpes. 
 
 Everywhere the people are heard calling 
 their rulers to account and holding them to a 
 just responsibility. Everywhere the cry is 
 raised for the elective franchise, the trial by 
 jury, the freedom of the press, written con- 
 stitutions, representative systems, republican 
 
 forms. , , 1 
 
 In some cases, most fortunately, the rulers 
 themselvp<< have not escaped some seasonable 
 symptoms of the pervading fervor for freedom, 
 and have nobly anticipateil the demands ot 
 their subjects. To the sovereign pontiil of 
 the Rome : states in particular, belongs the 
 honor of having led the way in the great 
 movement of the day, and no American will 
 withhold from him a cordial tribute ot respect 
 and admiration for whatever he hos done or 
 designed for the regeneration of Italy. Glo- 
 rious, indeed, on the page of history will be 
 the name of Pius IX., if the rise ot another 
 Rome shall be traced to his wise and liberal 
 policy. Yet not less truly glorious, it his 
 own authority should date its decline to his 
 noble refusal to lend his apostolical sanction 
 to a war of conquest. 
 
 For Italy, however, and for Y ranee, and 
 for the whole European wo. 1 alike, a great 
 work still remains. A rational, practical, 
 enduring liberty can not be acquired in o par- 
 oxysm, can not be established by a proelama 
 tion. It is not— our own history proves that 
 it is not — 
 
 "The 
 But the well-ri 
 
 hasty product of the day, _ 
 ipened fruit of wise delay." 
 
 The redress of a few crying grievances, the 
 reform of a few glaring abuses, the banish- 
 ment of a minister, the burning of a throne, 
 the overthrow of a dynasty, these are but 
 scanty preparations for the mighty under- 
 taking upon which they have entered. New 
 systems are to be constructed ; new forms to 
 be established ; new governments to be in- 
 stituted, organized, and administered, upon 
 principles which shall reconcile the seeming 
 
 15 
 
 M% 
 
436 
 
 WASHINGTON NATIONAL MONUMENT. 
 
 ■ PM'W 
 
 
 
 U>. 
 
 condict between liberty mid law, and secure I 
 to every one the enjoyment of regulated con- 
 stitutidiinl freedom. 
 
 And it is at this moment, fidlow-citizcn'', 
 when this vast labor is about to be commenced, 
 whin the files of the Old World are searched 
 in vain for iirccedcnts, and the fdc-kaders of 
 the Old World are h)oked t(; in vam for 
 pioneers, and when all eyes are stramed to 
 find the men, to find the man, who is sufficient 
 for these things, it is at such a moment that 
 we are assembled on this pinnacle of the 
 American republic— I might almost sav by 
 some divine impulse and direction— to hold up 
 afresh to the admiration and imitation of man- 
 kind the character and example of George 
 Washington. 
 ' Let us contemplate that character and that 
 example for a moment, and see whether there 
 be iin vfhing in all the treasures of our country's 
 fume,' I do not say merely of equal intrinsic 
 value, bat of such eminent adaptation to the 
 exigencies of the time and the immediate wants 
 of the world. 
 
 I will enter into no details of his personal 
 history. Washington's birthday is a national 
 festival. His whole life, boyhood ond man- 
 hood, has been leorned by heart by us all. 
 Who knows not that he was a self-made 
 man? Who knows not that the only educa- 
 tion which he enjoyed was that of the common 
 schools of Virgiiiia, which, at that day, were 
 of the very commonest sort T Who remem- 
 bers not those extraordinary youthful adven- 
 tures, by which he was trained up to the 
 great work of his destiny 1 Who remembers 
 not the labors and exposures which he en- 
 countered as a land surveyor at the early age 
 of sixteen years? Who has forgotten the 
 perils of his journey of forty-one days, and 
 five hundred and sixty miles, from Williams- 
 burg to French creek, when sent, at the age 
 of only twenty-one, as commissioner from 
 Governor Dinw'iddie, to demand of the French 
 forces their authority for invading the king's 
 dominions? Who has not followed him a 
 hundred times, with breathless anxiety, as he 
 threads his way through that pathless wilder- 
 ness, at one moment 'fired at by Indians at 
 fifteen paces, at the next wrecked upon a raft 
 amid snow and ice, and subjected throughout 
 to every danger, which treacherous elements 
 oi- still more treacherous enemies could in- 
 volve? Who has forgotten his hardly less 
 miraculous escajie, a few years later, on the 
 bunks of the Monongahcla, when, foremost in 
 that fearful fight, he was the only mounted 
 officer of the British troops who was not either 
 killed or desperately wounded ? 
 
 Let me not speak of Washington as a 
 merely self-made man. There were influ- 
 ences employed in moulding and making him. 
 
 far, far above his own control. Bereft of his 
 father at the tender age of eleven ycnrs, he 
 had a mother left, to whom the world can 
 never over-cstimtte its debt. And higher, 
 holier still, was the guardianship so signidly 
 manifested in more than one event of hi^ life. 
 "By the all-powerful dispensations of Provi- 
 dence," wrote Washington himself to his 
 venerated parent, after Braddock's defeat, "I 
 have been protected beyond all human iirob- 
 ability or expectation; for I had four bullets 
 through my coat, and two horses shot under 
 me ; yet I escaped unhurt, although death 
 was leveling my companions on every side 
 of me." Well did the eloqueur pastor of a 
 neighboring parish, on his return, point out 
 to the public that heroic youth, Colonel Wash- 
 ington, whom (says he) "I can not but hope 
 Providence has hitherto preserved in so signal 
 a manner for some important service to the 
 
 country." 
 
 And not less natural or less striking; was the 
 testimoriy of the Indian chief, who told Wash- 
 ington, fifteen years afterward, that, " at the 
 battle of the Monongahela, he hod singled him 
 out as a conspicuous object, had fired his rifle 
 at him many times, and directed his young 
 warriors to do the same, but that, to his utter 
 astonishment, none of their balls took eilect; 
 that he was then persuaded that the yoiithful 
 hero was under the special guardianship of 
 the Great Spirit, and immediately ceased to 
 fire at him ; and that he was now come to 
 pay homage to the man who was the particu- 
 lar favorite of Heaven, and who could never 
 die in battle." 
 
 Our revolutionary fathers had many causes 
 for adoring the invisible Hand by which they 
 were guided and guarded in their great strug- 
 gle for liberty ; but none, none stronger than 
 this providential preparation and preservation 
 of their destined chief. Be it ours to prolong 
 that anthem of gratitude which may no more 
 be heard from their mute lips: "The grave 
 can not praise thee ; death can not celebrate 
 thee; but the living, the living, they shall 
 praise thee, as we do this day !" 
 
 Of the public services of Washington to 
 our own country, for which he was thus pre- 
 pared and preserved, it is enough to say, that 
 in the three great epochs of our national his- 
 tory he stands forth pre-eminent and peerless, 
 the master-spirit of the time. 
 
 In the war of the revolution we see mm 
 the leader of our armies. 
 
 In the formation of the constitution, we see 
 him the president of our councils. 
 
 In the organization of the federal govern- 
 ment, we see him the chief magistrate of our 
 republic. 
 
 Indeed, from the memorable day when, un- 
 der the unheard but by no means inauspicious 
 
 ■ rwntrw^^iWW^f-ir?*^"^ 
 

 ORATION BY HON. R. C. WINTHUOP. 
 
 )1. Bereft of liia 
 eleven ycnrs, he 
 n the worlil can 
 n. Anil higher, 
 mship si> si;;iiully 
 ! event of lii^- life, 
 isations of Provi- 
 1 himself to his 
 Iiloek'sJefeat, "I 
 1 all human ]>r()l)- 
 [ hail four bullets 
 
 horses shot under 
 t, although death 
 ms on every side 
 iquenr poster of a 
 
 return, point out 
 ith, Colonel Wash- 
 '. can not but hope 
 iservcJ in so signal 
 int service to the 
 
 ss strikinp;wa3 tho 
 uf, who told Wash- 
 ard, that, " at the 
 he had singled him 
 ;, had fired his rifle 
 Jirected his young 
 It that, to his utter 
 ir balls look eiloct ; 
 d that the youthful 
 il guardianship of 
 lediately ceased to 
 was now come to 
 ho was the particu- 
 id who could never 
 
 'ta had many causes 
 [and by which they 
 in their great strug- 
 
 none stronger than 
 ion and preservation 
 ie it ours to prolong 
 which may no more 
 1 lips: " The grave 
 th can not celebrate 
 e living, they shall 
 sday!" 
 
 of Washington to 
 ch he was thus pre- 
 i enough to say, that 
 
 of our national his- 
 minent and peerless, 
 ime. 
 olution we see hira 
 
 I constitution, we see 
 councils. 
 
 the federal govem- 
 lief magistrate of our 
 
 orable day when, un- 
 10 means inauspicious 
 
 i.J 
 
 — , • r.n;,! K„" rei.lied Washington, when asked 
 
 .„l„te of both lUilish and Americcm batten. J ^ ;^ ^^ 1 ^^^, ^^.^^ ih„t there was sorm^ung 
 fu<m".diunoholydaycxcrci.conBuuk<il^^li. J ,,,,^,,„„,, ^^f ^ .vhisllu.g bullet, 
 
 i ; a. unar,imuusly resolved, ^^^;^ll^'^^^_ ?^f' " ver sai.l so. it was when I -as y-'ung." 
 Washington having been el..sencjmmu^tr I • ^^ ._^^^^ f^,^ «""" ■'^''A''""!;,„S 
 
 in-chief of such forces as are or shall be raiseil ii ^^^^^^^^^^^ reputation lu the cannon s 
 
 tW the nmu.tiimnce und preservation of Amer- sou^n ^_ ^^ ^^^.^.^ .piestioned, 
 
 S^tlirn;i^a-^^^^ »^ .en, did the ,ower of Wa..ng^ 
 
 a r«) Providence kept an even balance with hom« ^"JJ ^.j,„ ^,, ^^, eatest man in that 
 tie cLe, and while it took from "^''.^"■^^7 he replied: -If you speak of eloquence, 
 r n srav^'us a Washington-to the 14th f-'X ^^J^RuUcXe, of Soutfi Carolina, is the great- 
 ^D^ce nber, 1790, when he died, we shall ^\^- f^'/j^^'^^'^j jf ,u speak of solid ..iorma- 
 
 Irch the annals of our f.'^ J^raS -^«^^^^^ i-^^"""'' ^f ^-,-8^- '« 
 
 i„,portnnt scene, i.i winch he was anjtUmg ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^^^^ ^^^„ ^„ ^^^^ a , 
 
 less than the principal figure. ^„,, • „. \vhen, fifteen years earlier, Washington, 
 
 It is, however, the <^^'<'\^''?l?^ ^fZl at the close of the French war took his seat 
 ton, and not the mere par which he playey ai .^ ^^^^ ^^^^^^ ^j burgesses of 
 
 wh eh I would hold up this day to the ^"^^ tor tie ^f ^^^^^^ .vas presented 
 
 as worihv of endless and universal commem- ^ '[^ "'? "^j, ^jiitary services to the colony, 
 Tratil ^Thehighestofficialdistinctionsniay olinnjo^^^^^^^ embarrassment were re- 
 
 be 5 y«J' ""^ '>'<= '"'"' "T'T ''^v 11 1 eved by the speaker, who said, " S.t down, 
 
 services^endered. by •»«" -^^"^,^^Xrv <^f Mr ™^^^ y"'^' "^''^^ ''^"'^%Cv' 
 
 not eiulure examination. It is the glory «' ^^ , i^,„, „;'„„„,^p, the nower of any 
 
 not eiulure cxammti""". -~ - -— ° ■- , 
 Washington, that the virtues of the man out 
 shinic even the brilliancy of his ac s. and that 
 eresuls which he accomplished were only 
 lie egitimate exemplifications of the pnnci- 
 „les w^hich he professed and cherished. 
 ^ In te whole history of the world it may 
 be doubted whether any man can be found, 
 who has exerted a more controlling innuence 
 Tver men and over events than George Wash- 
 inoton. To what did he owe that \nHuence 
 How did he win, how did he wield, that 
 Sa^c power, that majestic authority, over 
 Enin'ds and hearts ot his countrymen and 
 of mankind] In what did the power of 
 Washington consist 1 
 
 '■|i*liin"ton consist, i , • „. 
 
 It was not the power of vast learnmg or 
 
 for extensive reading. „„„,.,.i:_„ „,;t or 
 
 It was not the power of sparkling wit or 
 ". , . •- 'rru.,,,^! Inn? associated 
 
 Mr. Wasmngton, yu"' ...^...--v -i- ,.•'„„., 
 valor; and tliat surpasses the power of any 
 
 language that I possess." . 
 
 , Butltwasnot solid information, or sound 
 
 . iudgment, or ev.m that rare combination ot 
 t surging modesty and valor, great as these 
 
 - quaCes are, which gave Washington such 
 a hold on the regard, respect, and confidence 
 of the American'people. , I l>'>-^'^'-J"" '""«'" 
 saving that it was the high moral elemenU 
 ofTiis character which imparted to it Us pre- 
 ponderating force. His incorruptible honesty, 
 Cuncomjromising truth his devout reliance 
 on God, the purity of his fife, the scrupulous- 
 ness of his cons/ience, the disinterestedness 
 of his purposes, his humanity, gcp«7«";y: ?"^ 
 . __.• i .V„»= «.prA the insredients .which, 
 
 ot his purposes, ms uu...-...v - «-:— - -',,•. 
 justice-these were the ingredients .which, 
 blending harmoniously with solid mforma ion 
 and sound iudgment and a valor only equalled- 
 by Wsliest'y, made up a character to wh^^^^^ 
 t^e world may be fearlessly challenged for a 
 
 gJii^rhllS TS/C'a^ciated para^^^^^^^^^ ,„ ^_ ,., 
 
 g'»^^ A.. .. ,_ ,,,..,;„= i,„ n.ver made a set ^^^^^^^ ,,festial fire, conscience,' was 
 
 o"e of rseries of maxims which Washington 
 framed or copied for his own use when a boy. 
 HTrigid adherence to principle, his stem fas 
 discharge of duty, his utter abandonment of 
 self, his unreserved devotion to whateve n- 
 
 elowng rhetoric, auuus.^ —e — , „ „„f 
 w th deliberative bodies, he never made a set 
 Ipeecht his Ufe, nor ever mingled m a stormy 
 
 ■^'iTwis not the powcrof personal fascination. 
 Therrwas little about him of that gracious 
 alfaWlitv which sometimes lends such resist- 
 SalSctUintomenofci^m..^ 
 
 Saracrir;:, men of commanding posing 
 
 His auoust presence inspired more ot awe ler yigiknce with which I'e ob- 
 
 S 1 of%fl-ection, and his friends, "^'"'^V;^^ ^/^.i^that maxim^. He kept alive r b t 
 a^d devoted as they were, were bound to him -^ • vea tn .^ ^^^.^^ ,,^^.^^ ^ 
 
 bv ties rather of respect than of love. ' ;!''«. r ^^^.^j^ -aiuramea his 
 
 ^^It v^as not the power of a daring and des- ^^l, J fj.^J/"^,. .....asion was so momentous. 
 
 perate spirit of heroic adventure. ''I* I«^^^ ;'^^°Jf,cu,,,.tances were so minute, us to ab- 
 - By Edward Everett. ' 
 
 m 
 
 i^rwi^ !i± ,«iM<ni. c-Tir^ " 
 
<(f1l 
 
 438 
 
 WASHINGTON NATIONAL MONUMENT. 
 
 solvi' liiin frotnfollowingits guiding ray- The 
 inar^;iiial uxplanation in his account-ufxik, in 
 rt'garti to the expenses of his wife's annual 
 visit to the camp during the revohuionary war, 
 with his passing allusion to the " self-denial" 
 which the exigencies of his country had cost 
 hiirj, furnishes a charming illustration of hi i 
 holiituiil exactness. The fact that every tKrnel 
 of ;i>ur which bore the brand of "G'Virt;e 
 Waiiiington, Mount Vernon," was cxenjrued 
 from the customary inspection in the West 
 India j)orts — that name being ? :,aarded w^ rn 
 ample guarantee of the quality and quantity 
 of ony article to which it was afTixed — sUj 
 plies a ijot less strikinp proof that his exact- 
 ness was cverywherf iin i-rstood. 
 
 Everyb'.iiy saw tii^a Washington sought 
 nothing ior himself. Everybody knew thot he 
 sacrificed nothing to pers(ii'alor ,'. party vuls. 
 Hence, the ii'-ghty influi'nci?, t'le mi.';chle.js 
 awoy, which he exercised over al? aro.iiKl him. 
 " He was the only man in the TJuite i States 
 who possessed the conhdence of aii," said 
 Thomas JefToison, "there was no othiu- one 
 who wa-i considered as anything more than a 
 party leader." 
 
 Who ever thinks of Washington as a mere 
 politician ? Who ever associates l.i.a with 
 the petty arts and pitiful intrigues of p-irtisan 
 ollriceseekers or partisan officeholders ? Who 
 ever pitfures him canvassing for votrs, deal- 
 ing out proscription, or doling out patn.r-.age? 
 
 " No part of my duty," wrote Washiiii^ton 
 to Governor Bowdoin, in a letter, the still un- 
 published original of which is a precious in- 
 heritance of my own : " No part of my duty 
 will be more delicate, and in many instances 
 more unpleasant, than that of nommating and 
 ajipointing persons to office. It will undoubt- 
 edly happen that there will be several can- 
 didates for the same office, whose pretensions, 
 abilities, and integrity, may be nearly equal, 
 ond who will come forward so equally sup- 
 ported in every respect as almost to require 
 the aid of supernatural intuition to fix upon 
 the right. I shall, however, in all events, 
 have the satisfaction to reflect that I entered 
 upon my administration unconfined by u single 
 engagement, uninfluenced by any ties of blood 
 or friendship, and with the best intention and 
 fullest determination to nominate to office 
 those persons only who, upon every consid- 
 eration, were the most deserving, and who 
 would probably execute their several functions 
 to the interest and credit of the American 
 Union ; if such characters could be found by 
 my exploring every av. nue of information 
 respecting their merits and pretensioi'Si rliat 
 it was in my power to obtain." 
 
 And there was as little of the vuL i.oio 
 about him, as there was of the mere pi. dcian. 
 At the liead of a victorious ariii/, • wui-jh he 
 
 was the idol — an nrmy too often jjrovoksil to 
 the very vcrgeof mutniy by the neglect of an 
 inefficient government — we find him the con- 
 stant counsellor of subordination and submis- 
 sion to the civil authority. With the sword 
 of tt c-ou(jUPror at his side, wo find him the un- 
 cuasirig ft !i ocatc of pepce. Repeatedly in- 
 V :»ted wi.h iiiorv Ihan a power of a Komun 
 ■lietutor, r,o see litii receiving that power 
 "'ith reluctance, .^u ,).'iying it with the utmost 
 mix'erntio.n, nnd ! s;; -riy embracing the eariiest 
 pj'^ortunivy lo rr^ :,!, n it. The ofl'er of a crown 
 could not, did net, tt mpt him for an instant 
 from his allegiance to liberty.* lie rejected 
 it with indignation and abhorrence, and pro- 
 ceeded to devote all his energies nnd all his 
 influence, all his popularity and all his ability, 
 to the estrii.il)Nhineiit of that republican sys- 
 tem, of whinls he was from first to Inst the 
 uncompiomit.in'^ advocate, and with the ulti- 
 iniue M.ccessof which he believed the best 
 jnteresis of America and of the world were 
 . !>fparably connected. 
 
 it is thus that, in contemplating the charac- 
 ter of Washington, the offices which he held, 
 the acts which ho performeil, his successes as 
 a statesman, ii.s i.iumphs as a soldier, almost 
 fade from our sight. It is not the Washing- 
 ton of the Delaware, or the Brandywine, of 
 Germantown, or of IMonmouth ; it is not 
 Washington, the president of the convention, 
 or the president of the republic, which we 
 admire. We cast our eyes over his life, not 
 to be dazzled by the meteoric lustre of partic- 
 ular passages, but to behold its whole i)uth- 
 way radiant, radiant everywhere, with the 
 true glory of a just, conscientious, consummate 
 man ! Of him we feel it to be no exaggeration 
 to say that 
 
 " All tlie ends he aimed at 
 Were his Coantrj''s, bis God's, aiul Trnth's." 
 
 Of him we feci it to be no exaggeration to say, 
 that he stands upon the page of hi>itory the 
 great modern illustration and example of that 
 exi|uisite and Divine precept, which fell from 
 the lips of the dying monarch of Israel — 
 
 " He that rulelh over men must be just, 
 ruling in the fear of God ;" 
 
 "And he shall be as the light of the morn- 
 ing when the sun riseth, even a morning with- 
 out clouds!" 
 
 And now, fellow-citizens, it is this incom- 
 parable and transcendent character, which 
 America, on this occasion, holds up afresh to 
 the admiration of mankind. Believing it to 
 be the only character which could have car- 
 ried us safely through our own revolutirnary 
 struggles, we present it, especially, this day, 
 to the wistful gaze of convulsed and distract- 
 ed Europe. May we not hope that there 
 may be kindnd spirits over the sea, upon 
 * Sparks' Lite of Washington, pp. 354-'5. 
 
ftcn provoked to 
 tlio lu'^^lcct of nn 
 In'l him tlio con- 
 tiriii mid suliwis- 
 Witli the sword 
 I find him the un- 
 Rcjicutpdly in- 
 ver of u lioiniin 
 irig that power 
 with the utmost 
 acing the earliest 
 3 olT'erof a crown 
 m for an instant 
 .* lie rejected 
 rrence, and pro- 
 rgies and all his 
 lid all his ability, 
 republican sys- 
 first to last the 
 111 with the ulti- 
 ?licved the best 
 the world were 
 
 iting the cbnrac- 
 i which he held, 
 his successes as 
 a soldier, almost 
 >t the Washing- 
 Brandywine, of 
 luth ; jl is not 
 the convention, 
 iblic, which we 
 iver his life, not 
 lustre of partic- 
 ils whole ])alh- 
 •hcre, with the 
 lus, consummate 
 no exaggeration 
 
 ed at 
 
 I, 011(1 Truth's.' 
 
 ^gerationtosay, 
 3 of hi>itory the 
 example of that 
 
 which fell from 
 
 of Israel — 
 1 must be just, 
 
 [ht of the mom- 
 a morning with- 
 
 t is this incom- 
 laracter, which 
 lids up afresh to 
 Believing it to 
 could have car- 
 'ti revolutirnary 
 cinlly, this day, 
 ed and distract- 
 lope that there 
 r the sea, upon 
 
 1, pp. 354-'5l 
 
 ORATION BY HON. R. C. WINTHUOP. 
 
 439 
 
 whom the example may \m\ncs9. itself, till they 
 sliiiU be iiillnmed with a noble rage to follow 
 it ' Sliidl w(> not cnll upon them to turn tioni 
 a vain rrliuum upon their own idols, and to 
 behold bnv. ill th(! mingled moderation and 
 ,.,.ur:i"e, in ilie .•oiiibiued piety and patnotisin, 
 ill ilie^bieiideil virtue, iiriiiciples, wisdom, val- 
 or, self-d. uiul, and self-devotion ot our Wash- 
 inston, the express image of the man, the only 
 man, for their occasion ? 
 
 "Daplini, <l'"'l nntiiiuos lipiorum snspiois ortus, 
 
 Keee Diiiiuin piocessit Ca'Siins aatrum ! 
 Let us rejoice that our call is auticipateA 
 WashiMufoii is no new name to Europe, liis 
 star bus' been seen in every *ky. fiid wise men 
 everywiieie liav.' done it homage. To what 
 other meielv human being, indeed, has such 
 homage ('vrr lieforc or since been rendered ? 
 " Thave a large uopiaintance among the 
 most valimble and exalted classes of_ men," 
 wrote Erskiue to Washington himself, "but 
 you are the only being for whom I ever felt 
 an awful M.'vcrence." . 
 
 >• Illustrious man !" said Fox of him, m the 
 Brit:.-.h house of eominoiis in 1704, "deriving 
 honor less from the splendor of his situation 
 Ihun from the diunily "»' 1"'' 'n'"'l i. '^''"."■^ 
 whom all borrowed greatness sinks into in- 
 sigtiiticance, and all the potentates of Europe* 
 become little and contemptible." 
 
 »' Washiu-'ton is dead !" jiroclaimed Napo- 
 leon, on hearing of the event. " This great 
 man loui;ht. against tvranny; he cstabhshed 
 the liberty of his couiitrv. His memory will 
 be always dear to the French peojile, as it 
 will be to all free men of the two worlds." 
 
 '• It, will be t'^e duty of the historian and the 
 sage in all ages," .-ays Lord Brougham, "to 
 let no occasion (.ass of commemorating tins 
 illustrious man; and. until time shall be no 
 more, will a test of the progress which our 
 race has made in wisdom and virtue be derived 
 from the veneration paid to the immortal name 
 of Washington." 
 
 "One thing is certain," says Guizot—" one 
 thing is certain; that which Washington did 
 —the founding of a free gov(.'rnment by order 
 and peace, at the close of the revolution- 
 no other policy than his could have accom- 
 plished." „^ , . . 
 And later, better still: "EfTace henceforth 
 the name of Machiavel," said Lamartine, 
 within it few weeks past, in his reply to the 
 Italian association—" etFace henceforth the 
 name of Machiavel from your titles of glory, 
 and substitute for it the name of Washmgton; 
 that is the one which should now be proclaim- 
 ed ; that is the name of modern liberty. It is 
 no longer the name of a politician or a con- 
 • It was not thnuirht necessarj- to disfigure the 
 text, by iusertins the loyal parenthesis, " exceptmg 
 the members of our owu royal tamily. 
 
 nucror that is reijuirod ; it is that of a man, 
 the most disinterested, the most devoted to 
 the people. Tiiis is the man reipiired by 
 liberty. The want of the age is a European 
 Washington !" 
 
 And who shall supyily that want but he 
 who so vivi.lly realizes it ! Enthusiastic, 
 eloipieut, admirable Lamartine ! Though the 
 magic wires may even now be trembling with 
 the^tidings o- his downfall, we will not yet 
 quite despair of hiin. Oo on in the high 
 career to which you have been calleil ! 1< oil 
 in it, if it must lie so; but fall not, falter not, 
 from it ! Imitate the character you have so 
 nobly appreciated! Fulfil the pledges you 
 have so gloriously given ! Plead still against 
 the banner of l)lood ! Strive still against the 
 rei'm of terror! Aim still 
 
 ' By winiiiiii.; words to (■(mcpicr willinp hearts, 
 And make persuasion d(j the work of lear!" 
 
 May a gallant and generous people second 
 you, and the Power which jircserved Wash- 
 iiigt(m sustain you, until you have secured 
 peace, order, freedom to your country ! 
 " Si qua fata aspera runipas, 
 Tu Maroellus eris.'"* 
 But, fellow-citizens, while we thus com- 
 mend the character and example of Washing- 
 ton to others, let us not forget to imitate it 
 ourselves. I have spoken of the precise pe- 
 riod which we have reached in our own his- 
 tory, as well as in that of the world at large, 
 as giving something of peculiar interest to the 
 proceedings in which we are engaged. I 
 mav not, I will not, disturb the hnnnony 
 of the scene before me by the slightest allu- 
 sion of a party character. The circumstances 
 of the occasion forbid it; the associations of 
 the day forbid it ; the character of him in 
 whose lionor we are assembled, forbids it; my 
 own feelings revolt from it. But I may say 
 I must say, and every one within the sound 
 of my voice will sustain me in saying, that 
 there has been no moment since Washington 
 himself was among us, when it was more im- 
 portant than at this moment that the two great 
 leading principles of his policy should be re- 
 membered and cherished. 
 
 Those principles were, first, the most com- 
 plete, cordial, and indissoluble union of the 
 states ; and, second, the most entire separation 
 and disentanglement of our own country from 
 all other countries. Perfect union among our- 
 selves, perfect neutrality toward others, tiP-i 
 peace, peace, domestic peace, and foreign 
 peace, as :he result; this was the chosen 
 and consummate policy of the Father of his 
 
 country. ,,.11... 
 
 But above all, and before all, in the heart 
 
 • These forebodings were but too soon fulfilled. 
 
 The tidings of Lamartine's downfall were received 
 
 a few days after this address was delivered. 
 
 
 
 III 
 
 h 
 
 m 
 
440 
 
 WASHINOTON NATIONAL MONUMENT. 
 
 of W»!<hinn;ton, was the union of tho stotcs ; 
 anil III) ()|)|)i)rtunity was ever omittcil by him, 
 ti)imi)r('siu|)iinhisfcllow-(.'iti7.enstlieprofoiinil 
 sensis which ho entertained, of its vital iin- 
 jiDrtamn; ut once to their jirosperity and their 
 iilierty. 
 
 In that incomparalde address in which he 
 bade farewell to his countrymen at the close 
 of his presidential service, ho touched upon 
 many other topics with the earnestness of a 
 sincere conviclion. He called upon them in 
 solemn terms, to "cherish iiublic credit;" to 
 "observe pond faith and justice toward all na- 
 tions," avoiding both "inveterate antipatiiies, 
 and passionate attadiments" toward any; to 
 mitigate and assuage the unquenchable fire 
 of party spiiil, "lest, instead of warming, it 
 should consume ;" to abstain from character- 
 izing parties by geogiajihical distinctions ;" 
 "to iiromoto institutions for thegeniTal ditVu- 
 sion of knowledge;" to respect and uphold 
 "religion and morality; those great jiillars 
 of human hnpjnness, those firmest jirops of 
 the duties of men and of citizens." 
 
 But what can exceed, what can equal, the 
 accumulated intensity of thought and of ex- 
 pression with which he calls upon them to 
 cling to the union of the states. " It is of in- 
 finite moment," says he, in language which 
 we ought never to be weary of hearing or of 
 repeating, "that you should properly estimate 
 the immense value of your national union to 
 your collective and individual happiness; that 
 you should cherish a cordial, habitual, im- 
 movable attachment to it; accustoming your- 
 selves to think and speak of it as of the palla- 
 dium of your political safety and prosperity ; 
 watching for its preservation with jealous 
 anxiety ; discountenancing whatever may sug- 
 gest even a suspicion that it can, in any event, 
 be abandoned ; and indignantly frowning upon 
 the first dawning of every attempt to alienate 
 any portion of our courtry from the rest, or 
 to enfeeble the sacred ties which now Irik 
 together the various parts." 
 
 The Union, the union in any event, was 
 thus tho sentiment of Washington. The 
 Union, the Union in any event, let it be our 
 sentiment this day ! 
 
 Yes, to-day, fellow-citizens, at the very 
 moment wheii the extension of our boundaries 
 and the multiplication of our territories are 
 producing, directly, and indirectly, among the 
 dilTerent members of our political system, so 
 many marked and mourned centrifugal ten- 
 dencies, let U9 seize this occasion to renew to 
 each other our vows of allegiance and devo- 
 tion to the American union, and let us recog- 
 nise in our common title to the name and the 
 fame of Washington, and in our common 
 veneration for his example and his advice, the 
 all -sufficient centripetal power, which shall 
 
 hold the thick clusterins stars of onr confi-d- 
 eracy in one glorious rmisti'llatinii for ever! 
 Let "the coluiiin which wi' are about to con- 
 struct, bo at once a pledge and an ciiibh m of 
 perpetual union! Let the fniinilu'ioiis be 
 laid, let the superstructure be built u|i and 
 cemented, let each stone be rni--(il and rivi'ti'd, 
 in a spirit of national brotherliood ! And may 
 the earliest ray of the rising sun — till that 
 sun shall set to rise no more — draw forth from 
 it daily, as from the fabled statue of antiipiify, 
 a strain of national harmony, which shall 
 strike a responsive chord in every heart 
 throughout the republic ! 
 
 Proceed, then, fellow-citizens, with the 
 work for which you have assembled ! Lay 
 the corner-stone of a monument which shall 
 ailei|uately bespeak the gratitude of the whole 
 American ])eople to the illustrious Father of 
 his country ! Build it to the skies; you can 
 not outreach the loftiness of his principles ! 
 Found it upon the massive and eternal rock; 
 you can not make it more enduring than his 
 fame! Construct it of the peerless Parian 
 marble; you can not make it purer than his 
 life ! Exhaust U|)on it the rules and principles 
 of ancient and of modern art ; you can not 
 make it more proportionate than his character! 
 But let not your homage to his memory end 
 here. Think not to transfer to a tablet or a 
 column, the tribute which is due from your- 
 selves. Just honor to Washington can only 
 be rendered by observing his precepts and 
 imitating his example. Siinilitudine decore- 
 mus. He has built his own monument. We, 
 and those who come after us in successive 
 generations, are its appointed, its privileged 
 guardians. Tl'S wide-spread republic is the 
 true monument to Washington. Maintain its 
 independence. Upl'.old its constitution. Pre- 
 serve its union. IDefcnd its liberty. Let it 
 stand before tho worid in all its original 
 strength and beauty, securing peace, order, 
 etjuality, ami freedom to all within its bound- 
 aries, and shedding light, and hope, and joy, 
 upon the pathway of human liberty through- 
 out the world ; and Washington needs no oth- 
 er monument. Other structures may fitly tes- 
 tify our veneration for him; this, this alone, can 
 adequately illustrate his services to mankind. 
 Nor does he need even this. Tho republic 
 may perish ; the wide arch of our ranged 
 union may fall ; star by star its glories may 
 expire ; stone after stone its columns and its 
 capitol may moulder and crumble ; all other 
 names which adorn its annals may be forgot- 
 ten ; but as long as human hearts shall any- 
 where pant, or human tongues shall anywhere 
 plead, for a true, rational, constitutional lib- 
 erty, those hearts shall enshrine the memory, 
 and those tongues shall prolong the fame, of 
 George Washington! 
 
< (if otir roiiffd- 
 atiim (or ever! 
 c (ilioiit t') ron- 
 1 nil I'liiUli m (if 
 fiiundii'ioiH lif 
 IP tiuilt 11)1 nml 
 isfd luiil r'lM'tcil, 
 1111(1! Amlmny 
 J sun — till ihiit 
 (Irnw forili fmin 
 fue i)f nnfi'piity, 
 y, which shnll 
 in every heart 
 
 izens, with the 
 spiijlilcd ! fiiiy 
 lent wiiich shnll 
 ud(M)f tho whnlfi 
 rioiis FnthiT of 
 skins ; you cnii 
 his ]irincip!es ! 
 lid ntcrnnl rock; 
 idiirins; tlinn his 
 peerless Parinn 
 It purer than his 
 les and |)rinci|)l(>s 
 rt ; you can not 
 anhischarnctcr! 
 ) his memory end 
 r to a tablet or a 
 due from y(5ur- 
 lington can only 
 lis precepts and 
 il'dudine decore- 
 nonument. We, 
 us in successive 
 ■d, its privileged 
 id repul)lic is the 
 )n. Maintain its 
 institution. Pre- 
 liberty. Let it 
 all its original 
 nj; peace, order, 
 within its bound- 
 d hope, and joy, 
 I liberty through- 
 ;ton needs no oth- 
 ires may fitly tes- 
 lis, this alone, can 
 vices to mankind. 
 3. The republic 
 ;h of our ranged 
 r its glories may 
 I columns and its 
 •umble ; all other 
 lis may be forgot- 
 hearts shall any- 
 68 shall anywhere 
 :onstitutional lib- 
 rine the memory, 
 ilong the fame, of 
 
 VISITATIONS OF PESTILENCE. 
 
 VISITATIONS OF PESTILENCE. 
 
 S.NCK the Christian era there have be(-u 
 record. <1 t-.veutv extensive European pestilen- 
 ce. beMd.s ofh.-rs wh,.se devastation was 
 
 Tt wii-* cal- 
 parl of the 
 
 Europe fornearlythrecvenrs. 1 
 culated to have destroyed a third 
 whole iiopulution. . , , „ (•,„ 
 
 In thoi- Keucral devastation-, T-ond-m r - 
 ipiently sutlered. Hut tho ijlague oi \UU., 
 
 II 
 
 1^ 
 
 ^. ■ ::id;:s ofiiers whose d-astation w^ ^^^-^^l^depe^t impression .m th.^ na- 
 
 n.„r..lo.Ml. I»tlu-yoar2fi;5,apest.e.uxtu^^^^ I ,j,,^,,^^^,, ,,,,„„„ 
 
 „„ ,1... Rniimn empir.-, then '='''"1' '« ;';"J ,ho lirnits of the capita (then, p-r- 
 
 the civili/.ed world. . t '^''"7;;',^;; ' "^'^i'^v. S „(,t a third of its present si/e). its mor- 
 
 years. and "raged without "'I'"'' ' '" '" ^^ fXv was vast and almost exteriniiiat.i.g. A 
 
 f.rv province, in every city, an,l aim. st •■^' ^^ "^ ' ^ 7„j „f the population had lied into the 
 
 f, m ly of .1.0 empir<-. During ^.me time hve l"-^" '»y';'' J^ '„,, ,„„-„,„i„g of .lunc to 
 
 thousand p,rso„s dunl dai y m «!'">«•' ,,^5^ ^^^.'^^ J^y,;, year, the deaths exclus, vely by 
 
 ^"^■J ,' 1 »„ .»,n ,.tJ,<.r nrovinces, we A uirf 
 
 :s:nir::;:i;;^> the ..ther province^ we 
 
 n^ a suspect tiiat war, pestilence, and fatn- 
 r,":: had cl.Msu.ned in afew years, the moiety 
 of the human species." 
 ^I„ the middle of the_8ixth cen "ry, Co^^ 
 
 A hi ge portion of this mortality might 
 pnMly have been prevented by due pre.:HU- 
 on anil the early ^■.nploymentome.l.ca 
 science. The closeness ot the streets tb. 
 01 me nu.M,u. .,,.^.;-... . p. crowding of the people, and the habit ua <ii^ 
 I„ the middle of f^°.»'f^f/'"'"'y,:, "." re"ard of ventilation, must have fostered this 
 9tan,i,i..ple,then the -^^'V" lltrtom Sm disease. Bt^ they can "ot nee.,,.nt 
 startled by tho approach of the plague, r rom ilirection. or for its v iru- 
 iTe frroi'of tho'time, it is dith..« It o di^cov^ or 1 oru^n,^^ ^^^^^ i„,,ependent ot man 
 it, oi-i-in : but it was supposed .t'> '"»^'° " ?f It has been remarked as extraordinary, that 
 from 1- iypt. Its mortality was "" ^"''f ';• ..J M^'aickw, which contains so many reg- 
 "Duri,,, three months, live, and at 1^^-^^,^^" Pj 2„"^";;„ \,„ preventi.m and treatment of 
 thousand p..rsons died each ^^y'" J^'fj^^ft ^S "should have made no pr(,visHm agim^^^ 
 tiiionl''- 'Many cities ol ' ''',.'^'*!\'''%'''t;!^^" A' nia„ue. And the twofold reason has been 
 vac Mt; nud in the several ^''^^Ff^^^J'^y J ^5^671 that the ravages of the disease were 
 the harv,-t and the vintage perished on the assi.ne 1 , _„ „„ „scless: 
 
 ^''';"Th'e .r.^oase pursued a double path; it 
 spread to the east,\.ver Syria, Persia, and the 
 i dies- and penetrated to the east, along the 
 clnlst oV Africa, and over the 7tme"t of Eu- 
 rone " This pestilence was of such peculiar 
 na i'^nity that it was not abated bv the change 
 
 of he season. In time ■'t.va";"^^-^^^ th" 
 vived • and " it was not till the end ot the 
 ^Imlt.! period of fifty-two years U, at man 
 kind recovered their health, or the air rccov 
 
 "^:*^;t;:;So^S^war,pestih-rice,and 
 famine, afflicted the subjects. of Justinian; 
 an" hi^' rei,gn is disgraced by a v-blc f>cre-^ 
 of the human species, which has neve'^^^" 
 repaired in some of the fairest countries of the 
 
 ^'tn'aher most "-°'«^^^ C''S'anr to 
 brought bv the commerce of the Levant to 
 Euri, Tn^he middle of the fourteenth cen- 
 
 It*' 
 
 so Vapkl as to make all precaution useless 
 and that human sagacity must be the bcs 
 gdde in a disease, whose c:oming depended 
 on such a variety of circumstances. 
 
 The more probable reason appears to me. 
 itsbein.^ regarded as a direct weap<«iof d.vnie 
 ud-ment; against whose power the law of 
 K wouhf oiler no -cans of contending 
 We observe that Moses spoke ot it as t e 
 direct equivalent to slaughter: " l-,f * « 
 smite us with pestilence and the sword. The 
 rvine dl leasure,on the numbering of the 
 neonle by David, was expressed by giving him 
 is c S of thr^e punishments-seven years' 
 fam'ne three months' Ilight before an invader, 
 orTree daysof pestilence. It conveys an in- 
 ?eni, conception of the horrors of pestnerice. 
 that even the word of inspiration should re- 
 grd Us three days to be e,,ual to tuee months 
 of slaughter by the rage ot man, or e%eri hcvcn 
 yearsc^- famine, both the > -I'-.l^^^l^^f, 
 mere national endurance. Ihe king chose 
 ^l^stilence, as being the most rapid and ex- 
 elusive action of the divme wrath. 
 
 he moniiii!; even 
 
 :ar remain unknow-n »"' ''^jXnkr f h^nd of the Lord :"-; ^o th 
 
 itv in Europe was felt olong the ^XV" ,,„tilence upon Israel, from tlu .- -, ,, 
 
 *;,:s;sk".r »j^=£f "fe-™ hfi'i^^nt £:ii".?^ 
 
 m 
 
 t#t 
 
Hi' 
 
 «**•«*' 
 !«i»«»' 
 
 w- 
 
 '^J, 
 
 *; 
 
 442 
 
 THE SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTE—EARLY PLEASURES. 
 
 morul rcfiinn. Instead of the nnturol nwe of 
 Ilfttvcn, it »cenM to hnvo been signnlized by 
 llic wildest I'xcosH — hy 'in fiercer crimes and 
 imire reckless carousals of despair. Ilebcl- 
 iioii, murder, and the frantic indulgence of 
 every passion and appetite, liu •) in general 
 rliaracteri/.ed the progress of the mortality. 
 i!iu. y I dcs (lutes the especial pi, Sligai ; i,f 
 Allien^ fr.iin tho era of lUi; jilague. "Let 
 !:s i! !iil drink, for to-niorrow we die" — is 
 tlm stionn expression used by Isaiah to re|)re- 
 sent the last mad festivity of a city about to 
 bu stormed, and dcspuiring of resistance ; the 
 words used by St. Paul, to express iho cnn- 
 dili'in of man hopeless of immortality, were 
 evi<iently tho popular impulse to the iimjority 
 of instances; p^vl-T r '• ill. The plogue 
 was simply ■ ..vnn., pui.isui.iont, tho scourge, 
 and not the teacher. 
 
 THE SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTE. 
 
 Thk engraving of this new edifice will con- 
 vey a belter idea of its architecture than any 
 de>jcription we can give. It is built in 
 the style that jirevailed in southern Europe 
 during the twelfth century — tho Norman or 
 Lombard style, which was succeeded by th(! 
 Gothic. VV'heii I'ompleted, it will consist of 
 a centre which .v ill be fifty by two hundred 
 feet insiiii , with two connecting ranges sixty 
 fset in length in the clear, and averagin 
 forty-seven feet in Itreadth. An east win^ 
 forty-five by seventy-hve feet in the clear, 
 with a vestibule ' porch attached, an^ a 
 West wing thirty-: .r by sixty-Hve feet in the 
 clear, exclusive of the spires or semi-circular 
 projections. 
 
 There will be two central frou, wers on 
 the north, > ne central rear tower on the south, 
 besides a bell tower, a laige (x:tagonal and 
 two smaller tow j at the ditferent angles of 
 the '. uilding, w i porches, "estibules, stair 
 hal , &c. ' ' 
 
 wing, or < 
 
 b(dl-tower, and the west wing a campanile 
 tower and apsis connected with it. The cen- 
 tral building will I'ontain in the i'st story the 
 library, ninety by iifty feet, and the principal 
 lecture-room, to hold friai eight hundred to 
 one thousand persor ^, The second story will 
 contain the mus'-iun, tv.-' huii'lred by fifty 
 feet. Th vest wii; will contain the gallery 
 ofart,8ixi ve f !ong; the east wi-, the 
 chymical j irt a, forty-five by 8e\ynty- 
 fivc feet, I la >ry. 
 
 The exirtinc lengi.'s of the building w 1 be 
 about four hundred and fifty feet, wi a 
 breadth in the centre of over one hundred fed. 
 
 The centre builillng ri-m sixty feet, and with 
 its principal tower one hundred ami llfly feet; 
 the wings from thirty to forty feet hi,!;h, and 
 their towers of various heights, from eighty to 
 one hundred ft^et. 
 
 Connected with the gallery of art, there 
 will be studios, in wlm Ii young artists may 
 cojjy without interruptioi Tho library will 
 contain, at least, one hundred thousand vol- 
 umes, and will ernbrore many valuable works, 
 not to be found elsewhere in the United States. 
 The eostern wing U first be finishei! ind put 
 in order for tho oe. upation of the secii 'ary, 
 and for thi' immediate ])urpo8e of the board. 
 Till' institution will pri'imbly be able to com- 
 mence operntions some time next winter, when 
 courses of lei'tures will be delivered by some 
 of the most able lecturers in the conntry. 
 
 The committee of the "^inithsi nian Insti- 
 tute have in course of pri paratiin, as their 
 first elaborate production, a treatise entitled, 
 "Hints on Public Architecture," to contain 
 views of the jjrincipal public buildings in the 
 country, together with a large amount of 
 practical information. A \iiluable work on 
 the "Indian Mounds" of this countrs has also 
 been adopted by tho institute, and will soon 
 be brought out. 
 
 att: at ;d to the ci itre. The east 
 vmical lecture-room, will have a 
 
 EARLY PIEASURES. 
 
 " But why tho mominj; ol (Ins bnny scene. 
 More sweet than uU suo<\!('liiiB lilo Ims been ' 
 Fi'um the i:uU! hiRueuce ul \\» real cv< 
 No fnncii"' 'iHss its brief oxiKionco dm 
 Those I so fertile, wear no trace u. i • : 
 
 Tho proson, ,iloaso(l, Iho inom'>i too, wn.i tiiir; 
 dome serret uir vement clieerel troiiblcii lioor. 
 And lo olier fluiishine loUowi. 'v shower." 
 
 ^ VRLY pleasures! WI' ^ he very ' Bg- 
 siou is beautiful, most beautiful; % 
 
 with thoughts and recollections whu , 
 animated and delightful, and awakening sptni- 
 taneousl v a train of association"", the most vivid 
 in their dmracter, and the n A. inspirin r in 
 the effect )duced. In uch a world as ours, 
 where, as . e advance in life, we realize so 
 many anxieties, have to pass through somany 
 changes, and to encounter so many storms, 
 where i the individual possessed of any sen- 
 sibility, herishing any appropriate thought 
 ond emo' m, who does "ot recur, with ])ow- 
 erful ai.a enkindling f 'ing, to early pleas- 
 res? to it sunny ami delightsome period 
 when the tind was vivacity itself; when the 
 spirits wrr^ nothing but buoyancy ; v len the 
 whole I 1 ' e was not only prepared for enjoy- 
 ment, but was full of it. Every object was 
 novel in its aspect ; • very pf-cne appeared to 
 be cloth'-d i,, ith radiance an I beauty. The 
 
--^^ 
 
 ry of nrt, thrro 
 iiino! nrlisis niny 
 Till) lilirury will 
 'd thotisnntl viil- 
 
 valuable workH, 
 le United .Stiites. 
 
 tiiiished :iMd put 
 f the Mecrrfary, 
 )se of tli<' board. 
 
 be able to cotn- 
 ext winter, when 
 livered by some 
 the eountry. 
 iiithsr jiian Insti- 
 Qratii II, as their 
 treatise entitled, 
 lire," to contain 
 
 buildings in the 
 irge amount of 
 duable work on 
 oounti y has alsto 
 e, and will soon 
 
 nsy scene, 
 ig lil'o lire* beoi" ' 
 reiil (T 
 linco llllr 
 10 trace <. 
 Mvv, too, was lairf 
 il ' troubleil hour, 
 'v gbov <T,'' 
 
 the very ' es- 
 lutiful; '!? 
 
 tion.i whR. 
 awakening spun- 
 19, the most vivid 
 rrnst inspiring; in 
 
 a world as ours, 
 ■, we realize so 
 through so many 
 !o many storms, 
 !8sed of any sen- 
 ropriate thought 
 ecur, with pow- 
 ;, to early pleas- 
 lightsdiiie period 
 
 itself; when the 
 'ancy ; v en the 
 epared for > njoy- 
 Ivery object was 
 'cne appeared to 
 k1 beauty. Tbt 
 
 i 
 1 
 
 «! 
 
 4 
 
 ,il 
 
i 
 
 
 • ■ -t a 
 
 
 444 
 
 KAllLY rLEA8LIlK8, 
 
 «ky wliiili nrchi'il ovrr w was rmt only fuir, 
 but witlioiir 11 (.-IduiI ; and lovi-liii<'«* <>l' llie 
 pun-t (■rdn- wiih visildi; in every direetiiin. 
 
 H<iw iiuu ll do wti Hce i" the kliidiie»t of 
 Oi).l ill iittuiiinK the mind '. - ' «rly pleiiHures ; 
 in coiiimuMieuting a diH|i<i*iti<>n to reccivo prat- 
 itieatioii. imd griiliticatimi nl'tlio liii[lie.tt kiml, 
 frimi u tliimsuiid sources, which, in »u< eedinj? 
 life, would, jierlmiis, not nwuken lli.; fiiirne 
 enjoyment at all— at any rule, not to the sum.) , 
 extent. Thus it is that we sec llie Koodness i 
 of(nirheavi>nly Father— the endearing kmd- 
 ncHS of that Providevce which is ev.T ready 
 to bless us, and to render us truly hujipy. ! 
 Thus it is that the mjiRodness of the road in 
 early lif(^ )■■ dinii'iished, or slight!' telt; ond 
 those elrvotiori'* which we have li. ascend are 
 reoched, not only without ditliculty, but with 
 craniiona of pleiisiirfi. 
 
 If in early life cveryiliing wore an aspect 
 of j^looin; if at that interesting and imiiortant 
 iiuriod (h pressing ami painful cnuitions were 
 awakened, and there was little or no capacity 
 for enjoyment, how ditVerenl wouhl be our 
 condition in the initiatory stages of existence ! 
 How dull, how sombre, how clouded every- 
 thing would appear! As wc advanced m 
 years, how dissimilar would be our feclmgs, 
 and the habits of our ttr-.'.n<ls— in.leed, cur en- 
 tire eharuet'ir— from those ser.tiinfr.ts which 
 we have beer, accustomed to clu^rish ' There- 
 fore, let us expiT .s iiN^dy gratitude to a kind 
 and gracious (jod, tliut h>; has rendered us | 
 peculiarly su rrptibleoiearU jileasures, which 
 arc pure, lieuln tul, and most beneficial, and 
 communicated to us so many, during the spring 
 and the m'l. -bloom of our existence. 
 
 Our early plen^^ures, with those of thou- 
 sands, have been derived from rural scenes; 
 from rural sights and soimds ; from familiori' 
 with the objects of creation ; from rambles — 
 fjuiot, long" and habitual rambles— -amid the 
 beauty and luxuriance of nature. How have 
 we traversed the line meadows of our lovely 
 country, cspeciall v during early spring ! How- 
 have we admired their rich venlure, and trod- 
 den, with cxf|uisite and ever-fresh delight, on 
 their soft carpet, in " the leafy month of 
 June !" How have we plucked " the meek- 
 eyed daisy," ond the golden butter-cup, with 
 which they have been enamelled! With 
 what eagerness have we gone out into the 
 beautiful lanes and dells in Ai)ril, to gather 
 "the pale jmmrose," and to hunt after ''•" 
 fragrant violet, and to bring home, with ile- 
 light, a hand well filled to adorn our mantle- 
 piece. In early May, how have wo repaired , 
 to the well-k nown place for cowslips, and what 
 a burst of jov has been induced, when hundreds 
 and thousands of them, fully blown, on some 
 extensive field, were first descried! What 
 a treasure was the first nosegay of cowslips ! 
 
 How have wo plunged into the thiik ami 
 urniMiigeous wood, or the more exti-tidrd tor- 
 cut, fearless of danyer, and findiriy something 
 UM we advanced, step by step, to awaken our 
 astmi-hnieiitand admiration! How have, we 
 ranged -.ome beaulilully ornaui'nted jmik, and 
 deeply I'elt the loveliness expunding around ! 
 Ilowhuve we delighteil ourselves in our own 
 garden, or in that of some dear friend, and re- 
 joiced either in the promise of rich fruit, or 
 in the ripe and I'vuriant clusters whiih we 
 have seen on ev. , side! How dillicult to 
 re|)ress our woiultr and our joy- 
 How have we ascended the lofty hill, and 
 surveyed the wide expanse of iiuliire, stretch- 
 ing t4) an almost immeasurable disiuni-e, be- 
 fore and behind, and, indeed, all around, while 
 beauty and grar.deur, variety and hurmouy, 
 I have been delightfully blended ! How have 
 I we traced the meanilering riv< r's course, or 
 I walked, half-knee high, in the shuiK)W stream; 
 ' or hunted after the tiny fish which were swim- 
 i miiig so happily in the little pidlueid brook, 
 while the sunbeams have been playing eo 
 brightly on it ! 
 
 How h.ve we gone down to the seaside, 
 and roni ,. d, for hours, on the sandy or pebbly 
 bcfich, s( ' king after shells and curious sea- 
 weeds. Bill wondering at the breaki.'rs, as 
 thev came successively dashing to the shore ! 
 These, and a thousand circumstances in con- 
 nexion with nature, have riveted our atten- 
 tion, iuspired our interest, ond enchained our 
 min(?si, in early life. These have been, and 
 still continue to be, some of our purest, sweet- 
 est, ond most unsating ])leasures, and, the 
 best of all is, they ore jileasures which can 
 always, to a great extent, if the mind bo in a 
 projier frame, be realized. How full of clo- 
 (luence ond beauty are the linos of our favorite 
 Beattie : — 
 
 " How CRnut tbnn renounce tho bonndlesi itore 
 
 Of clinrras, wliiili Nature to her votary yioldi — 
 The warliUnif wiH«llnnil, the resounding shore, 
 
 The pi imp (it hts, the Rimiiture of fields. 
 All llint the frii I rny e( nionmig ftildg, 
 
 And rU thnt . . lioes tu the «onK ol'even, 
 All tlint the mountain's slii'lteriii)? Inisom shicldl. 
 
 And all the dread mapnificom'o of heaven, 
 how canut thou renounce mid hope tohoforelvent" 
 
 Our early pleasures, with those of multi- 
 tules, have been derived from reading — 
 varied, approiiriate, instructive reading. And 
 wb.at art is more valuable to acquire? What 
 taste is more desirable to form ? What habit 
 is more important to cuUi vate ? What treas- 
 : :os does the perusol of interesting ond sterl- 
 ing books, attentively and carefully gone 
 through, put into our possession I What views 
 do books open! What counsels do thev fur- 
 nish ! What narrations do they detail ! What 
 principles do they inculcate ! What incen- 
 
into tlir tliiik «nil 
 iiiiiri' cxlrriiliil for- 
 il liiiiliiiu Hdiiiitliiiii; 
 Hicji, 111 iiwuki'ii our 
 ion! How liiivo %v(! 
 rnmii'iiti'il piirii, imd 
 I fX|miiilini; nroiiml ! 
 (Ufst'lvi'sin our own 
 I (limr f'riciiil, mill ro- 
 mc. of rifli fViiit, or 
 clilftiTs wliirli we 
 ! How ililVicult to 
 
 iiir joy- 
 
 il tli<") lofty hill, oml 
 seof nuturc, Ktrctch- 
 uriiblo ili.^iiiiii'e, lin- 
 ed, all nrouiul, while 
 riity mill liiiriiiony, 
 
 EAWLY PLEAHI UEd. 
 
 It.") 
 
 •ndt 
 
 How liuvu 
 
 nj; riv( rN roiirsc, or 
 nthrsliuilowntri-um; 
 sh which were swim- 
 little jiidlucid lirook, 
 vo been jilaying so 
 
 down to the srnsido, 
 n tli'Jsniidy or iii-'libly 
 l'Uh and curious scii- 
 nt tho hrcnlti^rs, qs 
 Jnsliiujr to tho shoro ! 
 circumsionccs in <;on- 
 .'u rivctfMl our atlcn- 
 st, and cuidminfMl our 
 !'hc80 have bnen, and 
 ! (if our purest, swcct- 
 jilcasurcs, iind, the 
 pleasures wliirli can 
 It, if the niiiid be in a 
 'i\. How full of do- 
 le lines of our favorite 
 
 the bonnillcsi atore 
 ro to her viitury yiolil* — 
 tho rcdomulinij nhore, 
 e giiniituro of liolds, 
 nioriiuig gil'is, 
 the BonR of even, 
 ii'lterhifT iHisom ihields, 
 liticeneo otheavnii, 
 suil hope to bo forgivenT" 
 
 , with those of multi- 
 ived from readinp; — 
 tructive reading. And 
 iile to acquire? What 
 to form? What haljit 
 Itivntc ? Whot treos- 
 if interesting and sterl- 
 r and carefidly gone 
 issession ! What views 
 t counsels do thev fur- 
 i do they detail! What 
 ulcate! What incen- 
 
 ll 
 
 tivi < til all lint is mibli! and virtuous*, henovo- 1 
 
 but ttiid holv, do thev eiiiiiiiiuiiii'iile ! .Some 1 
 
 ,,r ihe purcit and rie'be'^t of our early plen-t- [ 
 
 itri'H. with that i>f iiiillioii»(anil tin- iiiimb.'r is | 
 
 iiiereaVmn iudetiuitelyj, liave lueii gained 
 
 fmrn reudio'^. The mind han luiii riveted, 
 
 and uU its bieultie.H eiieliained. llow often 
 
 ha-* evening after evening been drli;j;hllully 
 
 -IMMii in perusing some spirit-lixiii-; volume, 
 
 which has lueu mw to the youlhful mind, 
 
 and, by its d. liiieations of e.haruiter, ils nar- 
 
 r:ui.iii of ineideut and adventur*;, or its iiow- 
 
 erfiil appeal, has ))roduceil deep and loiig- 
 
 rememliered impressions, Ni^ver oaii wc lor- 
 
 -il how we /(')•«« devoured " llo'iiiisoi; Crusoe," 
 
 and were awe-struck by its more solemn and 
 
 awakening scenes, or were chi ruled wiih its 
 
 more niiiinaled and joyous nairatiims. What 
 
 a world opened on us when this book was 
 
 first, read ! 
 
 How can wo foil to remember the eagerness 
 with which we perused, ( r \.\w. jlrsl time, 
 the far-famed "Pilgrim's Progress !"— that 
 precious volume, with its vivid and lite-like 
 sketches, with its gallery of moiul tuid re- 
 ligious paintings, the ligiircs almost a(ipearing 
 tirbo moving ond walking before us— with its 
 aU'eetionati! find impressive exhortations— 
 with its original ond ])owerful admonitions, 
 and all in perfect harmony with the wonl ot 
 (JoJ ; this gem of books, with all it contains, 
 i« ever present with us. 
 
 John buuyan's "Holy War," when wajirst 
 jierused it. awakened the deejiest emotions, 
 and, to this hour, its earliest (lerusal is remem- 
 bered as being among our choicest pleasures. 
 Tho " Life of Hi:nry Kirke White" was a 
 favorite little volume; and, after its lirst read- 
 in", we took so deep an interest in the cliar- 
 ac'ter, the struggles, the poetry, and the letters 
 of iioor Henry, that we were obliged to put 
 the touching book of Southcy under our jnl- 
 1<AV, and read it, again oud again, as soon as 
 wo awoke. ^. , 
 
 Rowland Hill's " Village Dialogues" con- 
 stituted a volume to which, in our youth, wo 
 recurred with profound anil growing interest ; 
 and, when it was perused for the first time, 
 how did we turn agnin and again to honest 
 Thomas Newman— to that beautiful delinea- 
 tion of a gospel minister, the Rev. Mr. Love- 
 good— I" 'he character and death of Mr. Mer- 
 ryman— lu honest Farmer Littleworth and 
 liis son Henry— to Siiuirc Worthy— to Madum 
 Toogooil und Mr. Slapdash— and, so long as 
 we live, we can not foriict the ignorance, big- 
 otry, unlovely and unchristian spirit, of that 
 mock-minister, I'arson Doolittle. W.,- never 
 hink of Rowland Hill, with all his eceentrici- 
 ies, and, moreover, with all the fine features, 
 both of his mind and character, without bles- 
 sing his memory for that choice volume of 
 
 j aloijues so full of eharoeter, of patlnn. of 
 Hi-ge ami aeuic remark, lo which we now al- 
 lude, and which we place alwr» , eir JIuii- 
 yaii's " I'ilgrim." 
 
 (lur early jileasiires have be, • ■ ,,< -d trom 
 iitir liiimf, "'hiese enioymei. v ith iniHioiis 
 of the most virtuous and estinia ile of tlie Ini- 
 inaii familv, have ever been among their 
 Ichoiecst. None are fo reliiinl, so pure, so 
 traiiipiilli/.inii. so steady and perinancni. Well 
 do we remeiiilier thi' comforts nf the endeared 
 dotrieslii! circle— all the members of that cir- 
 cle collected— not one nlisent ; the traiiipiil 
 Hresido; the litile Miuii jiarlor, where wc liuve 
 ofli'n read and enjoyed our favorite volmiies; 
 the delichtful eveiiiiiiis in initumn ; and. es- 
 pecially, in winler, wdicii, thc^ cnrlains being 
 drawn, the tea having been remnved, the tiro 
 hrijjhtly bla/.ilig, one would jieruse aloud some 
 interesting and captivating book, while the 
 other members of the faiialv would attentive- 
 ly listen, Hs they pursued their work, and the 
 more iuveiiile ones wmdd be all inti'rest and 
 pleasure. What cherrful ond happy even- 
 ings have bci'ii thus spent ! Kveninu;s whose 
 ossoeiations will always remain with us, and 
 awaken emotionsofpensivenetrS, yet of devout 
 gratitude and joy. 
 
 "()ft ill fiiir iipncfiil hnnie, thnt sh. Itcred ui'st, 
 Where still nnr licit iilTrftinim luve In ri'«t, 
 Aiiil mciiiiirv L-uiinh her Ireimarcs In tlio hint, 
 Ur ilwi'lln, Willi jieiisive jiiy, mi iilcnsiii-en past. 
 The ciiiiHciijiis iiiiiiil, UKsistcil hy licr power, 
 Tho trenRureil dweets iif evi ry pussili,- hour 
 Can liriiiu' nv'iiin *<> kccoiuI lile, niul view 
 Their joys us pleiiaiiii,' «« wliun lirst tlioy lluw." 
 
 Our earlv jileasureshave been derived from 
 some inlcrhliiii; yoiilliful cumihinidns, thoso 
 of kindred tastes and seiitiyMeiils; those who 
 have thou'iht with us, fVk with us, sported 
 with us, laliored with us. What etinversa- 
 tions have we enjoyed with them ! What 
 rambles have we taken with them ! What 
 extended and haj)[iy walks in the wide field 
 of nature ! As they grew up, our attacliiuent 
 to them increased, and theirs to us nu:j:in. ed. 
 We w(?re rarely a day apart. J5ut where 
 are they now? What changes have been 
 accomplished ! What severances elli-eted ! 
 How many of thein have de|iarted toett riiity. 
 and hove been laid in an early grave! Shall 
 wc meet them in Jiravrn ? 
 
 Our early pleasures have been derived from 
 the mindiKiry; ves, our richest, our sweetest, 
 our highest." We longed for the sabljath, 
 when wo miirhl; repair to tht; sanctmiry— oli- 
 serve tho delightful exercises of tlie simcimiry 
 
 partake of the tramiuil and en\ial)le enjov- 
 
 meiits of the sanctuary. Our walk to the 
 sanctuary was one of the most pleasing. How 
 was that walk i.ntieiputed ; and when, (in the 
 sabbath morning, we entered the building 
 
 h 
 
 'II 
 
 4 
 
 JJ 
 
 - j< iB W i!t(ftiiatgi!aBB) i i MWi ' J^ " 
 
446 
 
 THE BURYING BEETLE. 
 
 where we were wont to worship, what emo- 
 tions, of the most grateful kind, pervaded our 
 hearts ! How we rejoiced to see our beloved 
 pastor enter his pulpit! With what zest we 
 celebrated the praises of God ! How it de- 
 lighted us to hear the songs of Zion sweetly 
 suug ! How it gladdened the spirit to listen 
 to the burst of praise, after a glowing and 
 beautiful sermon, full of the pure gospel of 
 Christ ! How we returned home, longing 
 for the sabbath to come again, and almost 
 wishing that every day could be transformed 
 into a sabbath-day ! 
 
 These have been among our eqrly pleas- 
 ures; dear readers, have they been among 
 yours ? We hope so. If they have been, do 
 you not feel how pure they have been ; how 
 rich they have been ; how full of zest they 
 have been ; with what bloom and beauty they 
 have been clothed ; and what an impression 
 they have produced ? 
 
 Early pleasures should be recurred to. 
 The mmd should accustom itself to dwell on 
 them. Memory sliould love to linger around 
 them. If the recollection be appropriately 
 indulged, lively gratitude will be awakened ; 
 pleasing and powerful emotions will be in- 
 spired. We shall find present happiness in- 
 creased, and moiul and religious influences 
 augmented. 
 
 And let us not, as we advance in life, re- 
 gret, unduly and unwisely regret, that the 
 vivacity of our early pleasures has passed 
 away ; but let us cherish unaffected gratitude 
 for all the enjoyments, so rich, so varied, and 
 so vivacious, which we have realized; and 
 let us cultivate und improve the numerous 
 pleasures, refined and tranquillizing in their 
 nature, with which a kind Providence is still 
 favoring us. Like the bee, let us extract 
 honey from every odorous flower. Let us 
 remember that pleasures, of the richest and 
 purest kind, may be gained from almost in- 
 numerable sources ; and let us be looking for- 
 ward to the purer, the higher, the more ex- 
 quisite, and the endless ileasures of paradise. 
 
 We would remark, i;> concluding these ob- 
 servations : parents, be wise, in relation to 
 your offspring ; endeavor, in early life, to make 
 your rJtildren happy. See that they are sur- 
 rounded by what is calculated to render them 
 cheerful and animated. Let them perceive 
 that you are solicitous to promote their enjoy- 
 ment in everything that is healthful and pure. 
 Let not your children be made gloomy. Take 
 every weight from the mii:d of a child. Do 
 not envelop your children with a dark and 
 sombre atmosphere. Mothers walk out with 
 your offspring, and show the:n what is beau- 
 tiful and grand in nature. Let them see that 
 you are happy, if they are happy. Fathers, 
 let your children accompany you in your 
 
 rambles, and explain to them that what you 
 see and admire is worthy of their attention. 
 Answer their intelligent and numerous, though 
 sometimes most amusing questions. Talk to 
 them about the wonders of the heavens, the 
 beauty of the earth, the grandeur and extent 
 of the ocean ; the wisdom, power, and good- 
 ness of God in all. Accustom them to read 
 and think on these subjects. Cherish early 
 friendships of the right kind ; and, above all, 
 let your children go with you to the house 
 of God, that early habits of worship may be 
 formed, and that, by the divine blessing, an 
 early spirit of devotion may be cultivated. 
 
 Blissful, indeed, is the thought of a whole 
 family meeting in heaven ! Husband and 
 wife, brethren and sisters, all before the throne 
 of the Redeemer at last ! one by one parting 
 in love, in the prospect of a rapturous and un- 
 broken meeting in paradise. 
 
 " Such tender chains connect the mind with earUi, 
 Till mercy kindly terminntes the span 
 That bounds the present littleness of mnn ; 
 And, like the gale to frozen waters given, 
 Di8s<:)lves each link, and wafts the sool to heaven." 
 
 THE BURYING BEETLE. 
 
 A FOREIGN naturalist gives a very interest- 
 ing account of the industry of this insect. He 
 hadoften remarked that dead moles, when laid 
 upon the ground, especially upon loose earth, 
 were sure to disappear in the course of two 
 or three days — often in twelve houro. To 
 ascertain the cause, he placed a mole upon one 
 of the beds of his garden. It had disappeared 
 on the third morning; and on digging where 
 it had been laid, he found it buried to the 
 depth of three inches, and under it four beetles, 
 which seemed to have been the agents in this 
 singular burial. Not perceiving anything 
 parricular in the mole, he buried it again ; 
 and on examining it at the end of six days, he 
 found it swarming with maggots, apparently 
 the issue of the beetles, which Mr. Gleditsch 
 now naturally concluded hafi buried the car- 
 case for the food of their young. To deter- 
 mine these points more clearly, he put four 
 of these insects into a glass vessel, half filled 
 with sarth and properly secured, and upon 
 the surface of the earth, two frogs. In less 
 than twelve hours one of the frogs was buried 
 by two of the beetles ; the other two ran about 
 the whole day, as if busied in measuring the 
 size of the remaining frog, which on the third 
 day was also found buried. He then intro- 
 duced a dead linnet. A pair of beetles were 
 soon engaged upon the bird. They began 
 their operations by pushing out the eorth from 
 under the body, so a? to form a hole for its 
 
•i i«rii.irNi''-it>WMtS»><iiii8»g-- 
 
 m that what you 
 if their attention, 
 numerous, though 
 estions. Tulk to 
 the heavens, the 
 indeur and extent 
 power, and good- 
 om them to read 
 I. Cherish early 
 I ; and, above all, 
 you to the house 
 ' worship may be 
 ivine blessing, an 
 be cultivated, 
 ought of a tchole 
 ! Husband and 
 '. before the throne 
 ne by one parting 
 rapturous and un- 
 
 e mind with earth, 
 
 the span 
 
 mesa of mnn ; 
 
 atere Riven, 
 
 the soul to heaven." 
 
 iEETLE. 
 
 es a very interest- 
 )f this insect. He 
 i moles, when laid 
 upon loose earth, 
 :he course of two 
 irelve hourc. To 
 id a mole upon one 
 [t had disappeared 
 on digging where 
 
 it buried to the 
 ider it four beetles, 
 
 the agents in this 
 ■ceiving anything 
 
 buried it again; 
 ind of six days, he 
 iggots, apparently 
 ich Mr. Gleditsch 
 irl« buried the car- 
 oung. To deter- 
 early, he put four 
 
 vessel, half filled 
 ecured, and upon 
 vo frogs. In less 
 e frogs was buried 
 ther two ran about 
 I in measunng the 
 vhich on the third 
 He then intro- 
 »ir of beetles were 
 rd. They began 
 out the earth from 
 irra a hole for its 
 
 PITTSBURG. 
 
 447 
 
 reception ; and it was curious to see the efforts 
 which the beetles made, by dragging at the 
 feathers of the bird from below, to pull it into 
 its grave. The male having driven the female 
 away, continued the work alone for five hours. 
 He lifted up the bird, changed its place, turn- 
 ed it and arranged it in the grave, and from 
 time to time came out of the hole, mountei 
 upon it, and trode it under foot, and then re- 
 tired below and pulled it down. At length, 
 apparently wearied with this uninterrupted 
 labor, it came forth and leaned its head upon 
 the earth beside the bird, without the smallest 
 motion, as if to rest itself, for a full hour, when 
 it again crept under the earth. The next day, 
 in the morning, the bin! was an inch and a 
 half under the around, and the trench remain- 
 ed open the whole day, the corpse seeming 
 as if laid out upon a bier, surr'^unded with a 
 rampart of mould. 
 
 In the evening it had sunk half an inch 
 lower, and in another day the work was com- 
 pleted, and the bird covered. M. Gleditsch 
 continued to add other small dead animals, 
 which were all sooner or later buried ; and 
 the result of his experiment was, that in fifty 
 days four beetles had interred, in the very 
 small space of earth allotted to them, twelve 
 carcasses ; viz., four frogs, three small birds, 
 two fishes, one mole, and two grasshoppers, 
 besides the entrails of a fish, and two morsels 
 of the lungs of an ox. In another experiment, 
 a single beetle buried a mole forty times its 
 own bulk and weight in two days. 
 
 PITTSBURG. 
 
 Pittsburg, the caj>ital of Allegany coun- 
 ty, Pennsylvania, distinguished as the great 
 manufacturing city of the west, is situated on 
 a triangular point at the junction of the 
 Allegany and Mowongahela, in latitude north 
 40 degrees, 26 minutes, 25 seconds, and 
 longitude west from Greenwich 79 degrees 
 59 minutes. It is three hundred miles west 
 from Philadelphia, one hundred and twenty 
 south of Lake Erie, one thousand and one 
 hundred byloiid, and two tho'.'sand and twen- 
 ty-nine by water, above New Orleans. The 
 Allegany comes down with a strong current 
 from the northeast, and sweeping suddenly 
 round to the northwest, receives the more 
 gentle current of the Monongahela from the 
 south — their combined waters flowing on to 
 the Mississippi under the name of the Ohio, 
 or beautiful river. The aborigines and the 
 Frencfi considered the Allegany and Ohio to 
 be the same stream, and the Monongahela to 
 be a tributary — Allegany being a word in the 
 
 Delaware language, and O-hee-o in the Sen- 
 eca, both meoning fair water. Hence the 
 French term Belle Riviere, was only a trans- 
 lation of the Indian name. 
 
 The alluvial bottom on which the city is 
 built is quite limited ; for immediately lack 
 of it, and at less than a mile from the [joint, 
 rises Grant's hill (on which the courthouse 
 stands), with Ayres' hill on the west, and 
 Quarry hill on the east of Grant's. At the 
 foot of these hills there extends up the Alle- 
 gany a strip of alluvial land about a quarter 
 of a mile wide, on which the suburb Bayards- 
 town is built ; and on the Monongahela side 
 a still narrower margin. The city is rapidly 
 pushing its eastern limits on to the sides and 
 summits of these hills. Grant's hill is already 
 occupied. Opposite to Pittsburg, on a beau- 
 tiful plain on the north bank of the Allegany, 
 is the large city of Allegant ; below it a 
 mile or two is the more rural village of Man- 
 chester ; while on the other side of Pitts- 
 burg, across the Monongahela, the smoky 
 street of Slioo, with its noisy manufactories, 
 is nestled under the high precipice of Coal 
 hill ; and about two miles above Sligc, where 
 the alluvial bottom spreads out wider, lies the 
 large manufacturing town of Birmingham. 
 All these villages may be considered as be- 
 longing to and forming part of one great man- 
 ufacisring and commerc *1 city. 
 
 A bcsrd of in<|uiry 'sited Pittsburg, in 
 184 J, for the purpose ot selecting a site for 
 the United States Marine hospital. The 
 editor of the Wheeling Times, in speaking 
 of this visit, and the prospect from the hills, 
 environing the city, says : — 
 
 " This board found Pittsburg a much larger 
 place than Wheeling ; they found it a thriving 
 place, with numerous engines, furnaces, and 
 machinery; they found it >/ith a rch and 
 industrious population — a people that would 
 work, and would therefore prosper — at the 
 same time they found them an hospitable, 
 gentlemanly class of beings, possessed of in- 
 telligence and willing to impart it. They 
 doubtless took an early excursion upon the 
 hills that environ the city. They looked 
 down, and a sea of smoke lay like the clouds 
 upon ChiraborRzo's base. No breath of air 
 moved its surface ; but a sound rose from its 
 depths like the roar of Niagara's waters, or 
 the warring of the spirits in the cavom of 
 storms. They looked around them, and saw 
 no signs of life or human habitation. They 
 looked above them, and the summer sun, like 
 a haughty warrior, was driving his coursers 
 up the eastern sky. Then from the sea of 
 smoke a vapor rose — another and another cloud 
 rode away, and a sjieck of silvery sheen 
 glittered in the sunbeams. 
 
 " Again, a spire came into view, pointing 
 
 « ,•. 
 
 -II 
 
 i*»t 
 
 '* 
 
 %l 
 
 •*><»*; 
 
 tM^ 
 
448 
 
 I'lTTSBURG. 
 
 lieavenword its long slim (inm'r; then a roof 
 — u houstvto]) — a street ; ntul lo ! ii city lay 
 like n niiip sjiread out Ijy majic linnil, anil 
 ten thousand busy inortals wen; seen in the 
 ))ursuit of wealth, of fame, of love, of fiisliion. 
 (hi the left, a noble river can)c heaving on- 
 ward from the M'ildemess of the north, bear- 
 ing on its bosom the treasures of the forest. 
 On the right, an uncssuming, but not less 
 us(!ful current, (juietly yielded to the vessel's 
 prow that bore from u more genial soil the 
 products of the earth. They looked again, 
 and extending downward through fertile and 
 cultivated vales, checkered witli gently swel- 
 ling hills, they saw the giant trunk formed 
 by the union of these noble branches. Ruf- 
 ilingitsmirrowed surface, they saw the noble 
 steamer leaping like the i)anting courser, 
 bearing a rich burden from the far sunny 
 south ; another, gathering strength and rolling 
 onward to commerce its long journey past 
 fori'le fields, high hills, rich and flourishing 
 cities, and forests wide and drear, bearing 
 the handiwork of her artisans to Mississippi, 
 Texas, Mexico, the groves of India, and 
 the hills of Pernambuco — nay, to every land 
 to which the sun in its daily course gives light. 
 Such thcpr saw Pittsburg; and as such, as a 
 citizen of the west, we are proud of her." 
 
 With the villages on the left bank of the 
 Monongahela, Pittsburg is connected by the 
 Monongahela bridge, one thousand and five 
 hundred feet in length, having eight arches 
 resting on stone piers. This bridge was 
 erected in 1818, at a cost of $102,450. Over 
 the Allegany there are no less than four bridges 
 crossing to the Allegany city, besides the 
 splendid aqueduct of the Pennsylvania canal. 
 The first of these bridges was erected in 1819 
 at the expense of $95,250. It is one thou- 
 sand one hundred and twenW-two feet in 
 length, resting on six piers of*^ stone, and is 
 elevated thirty-eight feet above low water. 
 
 There are in Pittsburg and its environs, 
 within convenient walking distance, seven- 
 teen presbyterian churches, three Cumberland 
 presbyterian, twelve methodist episcopal, 
 three protestant methodist, four baptist, four 
 Roman catholic, five episcopal, two associate, 
 four associate reformed, two evangelical Lu- 
 theran, two congregational, two disciples' 
 churches, one "church of God," one unitarian, 
 one German evangelical protestant, one Ger- 
 man reformed, three Welsh, and four African 
 churches of diflTerent denominations. 
 
 The population of Pittsburg, in 1786, was 
 by estimate about five hundrecl ; in 179C, ac- 
 cording to the assessor's lists, one thousand 
 three hundred and ninety-five ; in 1810, about 
 five thous-nnd ; in 1820, seven thousand two 
 hundred and forty-eight ; in 1830, including 
 Allegany and the suburbs, twenty-one thou- 
 
 sand nine hundred and twelve ; and in 1840, 
 including the some, thirty-eight thousand, 
 nine Iiundrcd and thirty-one. 
 
 Pittsburg owes its j)re-eminence to the 
 fortunate combination of several advantages. 
 It is, with slii;ht exceptions, at the hea(rof 
 steamboat navigation ; it is also the termina- 
 ting point of the main line of internal im- 
 provements. It is the mart of portions of 
 Virginia and New York, as well as of west- 
 ern Pennsylvania ; while the Ohio Ojiens to 
 the entcri)rise of its citizens the whole of the 
 Mississippi valley. The exhaustless banks 
 of coal in the neighborinj» hills, and the ex- 
 cellent mines of iron ore found in great abun- 
 dance in the countries along the mountains and 
 on the banks of the Ohio below, together with 
 the vast forests of pine timber on the head- 
 waters of the Allegany river, give to this city 
 its pre-erninence over all others in the west 
 for manufacturing purposes. 
 
 To enumerate the various manufacturing 
 establishments of this great workshop, does 
 not fall within the scope nf this article. "The 
 principal articles of manufacture are steam- 
 boats, steam-engines, and a great variety of 
 machinery, of both iron and wood ; bar-iron, 
 nails, ploughs, and agricultural implements ; 
 glass, cotton-cloths, leather, and saddlery; 
 flooring-boards ; with a great number of arti- 
 cles of which the manufacture is prosecuted 
 on a smaller scale. The steam power .xerted 
 in these various departments is immense; 
 probably greater in proportion to the popula- 
 tion, than any other city in the Union. To 
 strangers the manufactories are well worth a 
 visit, especially those of glass, noils, bar and 
 rolled iron. 
 
 There is much moral power in this city ; 
 many men of talents in the learned professions, 
 whose light shines throughout the great val- 
 ley of the west; many benevolent societies 
 and institutions of learning. 
 
 Misfortune. — The morning of life is the 
 season in whi;h, though we struggle with, 
 we may hope to overcome adversity. Despair 
 seldom visits the smooth forehead, or sits upon 
 the yet unwrinkled skin : but that misfortune 
 is chiefly, to be dreaded which, luiking unob- 
 served in the flowery paths of youth, or per- 
 haps fleeing far from them, forbears its molice 
 until the voice of spring is heard no more — 
 until the sinewy summer of life has passed 
 away — until pale and shivering autumn has 
 come — aud then, when the bright nrospeci 
 is already dimmed, and the best hopes of 
 existence destroyed, strikes with a serpent's 
 fang, and rejoices not in its individual strength, 
 but over our own unstruggling and miserable 
 submisjion. 
 
 L 
 
elvo ; nnd in 1840, 
 ty-cight tliousaiu), 
 
 10. 
 
 B-eminence to the 
 everal advni>tnges. 
 ns, at the head of 
 is also the tcrmina- 
 ne of internal im- 
 lart of portions of 
 IS well as of west- 
 the Ohio 0|7ens to 
 IS the whole of the 
 exhaustless banks 
 hills, and the ex- 
 und in great abun- 
 ; the mountains and 
 ilow, together with 
 mber on the head- 
 ;r, give to this city 
 others in the west 
 i. 
 
 3US manufacturing 
 It workshop, does 
 ' this article. The 
 'acture are steani- 
 a great variety of 
 id wood ; bar-iron, 
 tural implements ; 
 ir, and saddlery; 
 lat number of arti- 
 itnrc is prosecuted 
 ;am power ■. xerted 
 ents is immense ; 
 ion to the popula- 
 1 the Union. To 
 I are well worth a 
 ass, noils, bar and 
 
 wer in this city ; 
 >arned professions, 
 out the great val- 
 nevolent soeirties 
 
 ning of life is the 
 ve struggle with, 
 Jversity. Despair 
 ehead, or sits upon 
 >ut that misfortune 
 ieh, luiking unob- 
 
 of youth, or per- 
 forbears Its malice 
 
 heard no more — 
 jf life has passed 
 ering autumn has 
 e bright prospect 
 he best hopes of 
 I with a serpent's 
 ndividual strength, 
 ing and miserable 
 
 •8 
 
 tn 
 
 OD 
 
 o 
 
 2! 
 
 m 
 
 ►d 
 
 tt 
 I—) 
 
 > 
 
 e 
 in 
 r" 
 
 •t) 
 
 n 
 
 w 
 
 '1^ 
 
 
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 ■VBeOMHOH 
 
450 
 
 MERCANTILE BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 MERCANTILE BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 Irr presenring to our readers the present 
 article, embracing biographical notices of mer- 
 chants who have been eminently distinguished 
 for the energy manifested in the pursuit of 
 their various vocations— from the most hum- 
 ble beginnings to the proudest results cf hu- 
 man industry— for their public and private 
 virtues, and the influences which they have 
 exerted on the domestic, moral, and political, 
 and intellectual condition of mankind, we 
 would offer a few prefatory remarks. 
 
 It has been said, and with truth, that neither 
 the past nor present age has presented a single 
 life from which, if a faithful narrative we're 
 wntten, some valuable information might not 
 be drawn. If such an assertion be tenable, 
 when applied to the recorded actions in the 
 great mass of society, charged with its follies ' 
 and crimes, how much more forcibly must it ' 
 apply to the biography, which selects and 
 holds up as mirrors to the world those only 
 whose wisdom and virtue are calculated to 
 make a lasting and beneficial impression; 
 which, while it consecrates the ashes of the 
 dead, rescues from the destructive influence 
 of time all that is worthy of remembrance- 
 presents us with the living characteristics of 
 the man as he stood before a scrutinizing 
 earthly tribunal— enables us to follow him 
 Irom the dawn of intellect to the termination 
 ot an active, well-spent life— to see him tri- 
 umphing over every obstacle which poverty 
 or misfortune presented to his indomitable 
 mental and jihysical energies— and finally, to 
 appropriate to ourselves the results of an ex- 1 
 perience thus presented. In reference to ! 
 American merchants, these " biographical ' 
 notices" furnish a supplement to the future 
 history of our country, in which t'.iose finer 
 shades of character, most interesting to the 
 community, which are lost in the wide survey 
 and genorali/ing spirit of the historian, are 
 taithtully anu accurately delineated. 
 
 As the second commercial country on the 
 globe--wuh ships navigating every sea and 
 bartering with every nation— our merchants 
 necessanly fill an important station in the 
 worid's eye; on their honor, integrity, and 
 energy, depend our national character a"^broad, 
 and our internal condition at home. A fertile 
 and extensive territory may form the basis 
 ot onr wealth ; but commerce is to its produc- 
 tions what machinery is to the tp ^' material 
 —It fashions, shapes, and sends forth. 
 
 It is an historical fact, that Napoleon, when 
 his imperial flag vaved over thirty millions 
 ot people, derisively designated England as 
 the " nation of shopkeepers."' Time, how- 
 ever, with its train of events, taught him to 
 see, in his sad reverses of fortune, when 
 
 stripped of his glories— exiled to a solitary 
 rock in the Atlantic— deserted by his fof- 
 lower.s— 8 monument of fallen grandeur and 
 ileteated ambition— that to the pecuniary 
 sacrifices and the devoted patriotism of the 
 "shopkeepers" he was indebted for that un- 
 yielding oj)position to his sway by which 
 (jrreat Britain was distinguished, when, by 
 r.;s celecrated decrees and embargoes, he 
 had closed the ports of Europe against her 
 shipping ; when monarchs were his puppets, 
 thrones his footballs, and subjected nations 
 the outposts of his military camp. If such 
 were the national conseouences attendant on 
 the mercantile character and resources of 
 England, what importance must ultimately 
 , attach to them in a country like our own, the 
 j shores of which embrace two oceans— the 
 commerce of which already competes with 
 Its great rival, in every quarter of rhe globe 
 —whose extensive lakes are whitened with 
 the sails of inland navigation, and whose 
 railroads form a chain of internal communica- 
 tion which unites the most distant sections of 
 an active population— levelling mountains, 
 extending over rivers, and setting distance and 
 time at defiance ? 
 
 Taking leave of the influence which the 
 mercantile character exerts upon our external 
 rdations, we will now briefly advert to its 
 efTect on our physical, moral, and intellectual 
 conditions. 
 
 To our merchants we are chiefly indebted 
 for the temples of religion, the halls of be- 
 nevolence, the marts of commerce, the litera- 
 ry insritutions and other splendid edifices 
 which adorn and distinguish our cities. Amon<T 
 which, we ini§ht place the Athenmum at 
 Boston, the institutions for the blind, the Uni- 
 ted States' bank and Girard college at Phila- 
 delphia, the Exchange at Baltimore, the Astor 
 house, at New York ; and last, though not least, 
 the vanous mercantile library associadons, the 
 proud boast of New York and other cities. 
 iN ever have nobler monuments been erected to 
 departed worth than these <enand twenty-thou- 
 sand-volumed associadons, with their lectures 
 and other great moral influences. They are 
 honorable to the memory of their mercantile 
 founders, whose names are engraven in indeli- 
 ble characters on their portals, and are con- 
 secrated in the intelligence, welfare, and 
 happiness of the nation. 
 
 New York may safety challenge the worid 
 to produce an institution of a similar character, 
 so important in its consequences to a rising 
 and energetic community. 
 
 In the midst of the fluctuations of com- 
 merce, and the energies necessarily devoted 
 to Its steady advancement, it wili be seen, 
 that the merchant has not been undistinguish- 
 ed among the moral and religious benefactors 
 
 
-exiled to a solitnry 
 leserted by his fof- 
 fallen grandeur and 
 t to the pecuniary 
 ed patriotism of the 
 ndebted for that un- 
 lis sway by which 
 iguished, when, by 
 and embargoes, he 
 Europe against her 
 8 were his puppets, 
 d subjected nations 
 ary camp. If such 
 aences attendant on 
 
 ■ and resources of 
 ce must ultimately 
 y like our own, the 
 e two oceans — the 
 ndy competes with 
 [uarter of the globe 
 
 are whitened with 
 gation, and whose 
 ntemal communica- 
 t distant sections of 
 veiling mountains, 
 setting distance and 
 
 ifluence which the 
 ;supon our external 
 defly advert to its 
 •al, and intellectual 
 
 re chiefly indebted 
 1, the halls of be- 
 mmerce, the litera- 
 
 ■ splendid edifices 
 lourcities. Among 
 the Athenaeum at 
 the blind, the Uni- 
 d college at Phila- 
 altimore, the Astor 
 8t, (hough not least, 
 ry associations, the 
 t and other cities, 
 nts been erected to 
 n and twenty-thou- 
 with their lectures 
 lences. They are 
 f their mercantile 
 snpaven in indeli- 
 tals, and are con- 
 ice, welfare, and 
 
 lallenge the world 
 1 similar character, 
 uences to a rising 
 
 itualions of coin- 
 !C_essarily devoted 
 it will be seen, 
 pen Tindistingaish- 
 igior.3 benefactors j 
 
 MBRCANTILB BIOOB.AFHY. 
 
 451 
 
 of mankind, nor unmindful of the injunction 
 left by the mild Founder of Christianity to 
 his followers — " Go ye forth into all nations, 
 and preach unto them the gospel of truth." 
 We owe to the benevolence of our mercantile 
 comniuuity a great portion of the means raised 
 to sujjport missionaries among the aborigines, 
 while some of its members, unaided, have 
 sent forth the bearers of the gospel mission 
 to the most distant nations of the earth. 
 
 The mental and physical endurance which 
 has distinguished the mercantile character, 
 particularly in our own country, is not one 
 of its least extraordinary features ; many of 
 its poosessors, who now rest from their labors, 
 rose from extreme obscurity — saw their hopes 
 and expectations blasted again and again — 
 yet rising with renewed vigor from every 
 strike of fortune, eventually succeeded in 
 acquiring an alHuent independence ; the just 
 reward of their unabated perseverance. 
 
 In devoting an article in the present work 
 to mercantile biography, we are influenced 
 by a desire to exhibit the strong points of 
 character which have distinguished the pa- 
 triarchs of commerce, as furnishing examples 
 to the young merchant of the present and 
 future tunes, and as a stimulus to the attain- 
 ment of tlie enviable distinction which they 
 have acquired. 
 
 The sources from which the following no- 
 tices have been selected are various, and, 
 generally, more contracted than we could have 
 desired. The first name which ve present 
 to our readers, is that of 
 
 Gkorok Cabot, a distinguished merchant 
 and stateman, born in Salem, Massachusetts, 
 in 1752. He was educated as a merchant, 
 and for several years visited foreign countries 
 as a factor for his father, who was an enter- 
 prising and opulent ship-owner. He N/as 
 considered a young man of talent, and soon 
 after commencing business, he was elected a 
 member of the Massachusetts' provincial 
 aingress — of which General Warren was 
 president. The good peo])le of Massachusetts, 
 wishing to alleviate the distresses of the times, 
 proci;eded to consider the propriety of fixing 
 a maximum price upon foreign goods. This 
 he opposed, with such strength of reasoning 
 as to prevent any restriction upon commerce. 
 
 During the war, he was an active merchant 
 — he, with his brother, having at one period 
 of the contest, twenty privateers of a large 
 class, carrying from sixteen to twenty guns 
 each. These vessels were very successful 
 for four or five years ; but the British, tow- 
 ard the close of the war, having lost more 
 that >ae thousand seven hundred merchant- 
 men, grew wiser, and fitted out a large num- 
 ber of frigates and gua-brigs, that were supe- 
 rior in force to most of our privateers, and a 
 
 great portion of them were taken. The 
 Cabots were severe sutiercrs, losing nearly 
 all their armed ships before the war closed. 
 
 When peace was restored to the country, 
 Mr. Cabot was active in bringing the people 
 to see the necessity of forming a sound and 
 permanent general govenunent. With oth- 
 ers, he used the public press to enlighten the 
 country upon the great doctrines of civil and 
 political liberty. 
 
 He was active in establishing a state 
 constitution for Massachusetts, and afterward, 
 in 1 788, was a member of the convention for 
 adopting a constitution for the United Slates. 
 Soon after the constitution went into operation, 
 he was chosen by the legislature of Massa- 
 chusetts as a senator in Congress. In 1798, 
 he was appointed, by John Adams, secretary 
 of the navy, but he declined the appoinimcnt ; 
 yet he took an active part in assisting the 
 government to build and equip a navy. Lib- 
 eral loans were subscribed by the merchants 
 in every part of the country, and Mr. Cabot 
 was among the foremost. The government, 
 fired at the insults and indignities offered our 
 commerce by France, were so active in build- 
 ing ships-of-war, that a few months were 
 sufficient to take the timber from the forests 
 to construct a sloop-of-war, and a few more 
 days to get it ready for sea. 
 
 A respectable force was soon on the ocean, 
 and earned laurels vvherever they met the 
 enemy. 
 
 During these dark hour of our history, 
 when Hamilton and Ames were full of appre- 
 hension for our destinies, Mr. Cabot wos 
 laboring with them in opening the eyes of the 
 people, blinded by party feuds. It is said 
 that Ames, always flowing, and sometimes 
 too redundant, consulted Mr. Cabot in regard 
 to his publications, and frequently submitted 
 to his judgment when they differed in opinion. 
 
 For many years of the latter part of his 
 life, Mr. Cabot resided in Boston, where he 
 was held in the highest estimation. If there 
 was a matter of mercantile usage to be settled, 
 he was consultfcd — if there was p. misunder- 
 standing between merchants, he was made 
 arbitrator; ay, even if there weie an affair 
 of honor to be settled, his opinion was law. 
 In 1815, he was elected from Suffolk county 
 as a member of the Kartford convention, and 
 was made president of that body. Where 
 he was, every one was satisfied that all 
 would be done with decency and correctness, 
 in both manner and principle. H-^ v. as brave, 
 and discreet as brave. His ambitious days, 
 if evei he had any, were over, and prudence 
 and judgment were, at the time of the Hart- 
 ford convention, his greoc characteristico. 
 The person of Mr. Cabot was of the finest 
 cast. He was tall and well proportioned. 
 
 nm 
 
 *W1 
 
 :j^^f 
 
452 
 
 MERCANTILE BIOGUAPHY. 
 
 His hood was a model, forthc sculptor. Tlicro 
 was a (•liussicul expression of the countenance, 
 thiU made hitn the object of observation to 
 every biianser. His movements were digni- 
 fied, and liis voice sonorous and commanding. 
 Ijookiijf; at liim, you would say, there is a 
 Keiitlfman ; and no one would ([uestion the 
 assertion. He was as amiable as excellent ; 
 there was no asperity in his nature. He 
 took a broad and noble view of every subject, 
 and uttered his opinions with fearlessness,' 
 but with modesty — and his decisions were as 
 oracles, Mr. Caltot died in April, 1823, in 
 the seventy-second year of his aj^re ; and en- 
 joyed through that long period, all that philos- 
 oi)hy, ])hdiuitliroi)y, and religion, could give 
 to life. The civic wreath of such a man 
 should be green for ever. 
 
 V/iLLiAM GuAY, one of the most success- 
 ful of American merchants, was bom in Lynn, 
 in the county of Essex, the commonwealth 
 of Massachusetts, in the year 1751. He 
 came, when quite a boy, to Salem, and was 
 nn apprentice, first to Samuel Gardner, Est;., 
 on active merchant, but left him and fin- 
 ished his ajiprenliceship with Mr. R. 1/er- 
 by, also a business man of that place. Young 
 Gray was an enterprising and indefatigable 
 apprentice, and liad acquired the confidence 
 of the princijjal merchants in Salem when he 
 commenced business for himself, which in 
 that careful and indrstrious town, was a fine 
 capital to begin ujion. Mr. Gray was early 
 prosperous in his adairs, and in less than 
 twenty-five years after he commenced busi- 
 ness, was considered and taxed as the wealthi- 
 est man in the jilace, where there were sev 
 eral of the largest fortunes that could be found 
 m the United States. He was all activity, 
 and ot times had more than sixty sail of square- 
 rigged vessels. It was a fact that no mod- 
 erate breeze could blow amiss for him, for 
 every wind of heaven carried for him some 
 vessel to port. For more than fifty years 
 of his life he rose at the dawn of day, and was 
 shaved and dressed before the common hour 
 for others to rise. Being dressed, his letters 
 and papers were spread before him, and every 
 part of his correspondence brought up. He 
 was, at the same moment that he put millions 
 on the adventurous tracks for gain, with the 
 boldest character, careful of all the small con- 
 cerns of expenditures. This he considered 
 as belonging to the duty of business. He 
 had morried, in early life. Miss Chapman, of 
 Marblohead, the daughter of a distinguished 
 lawyer. They had five sons and one daughter. 
 Mrs. Gray was a woman of great powers of 
 mind, well cultivated, and for many years 
 was among the first in the social circle. 
 
 During the embargo, Mr. Gray took side 
 with Mr. Jeflerson, notwithstanding his inter- 
 
 est suffered greotly. His ships were rottin-r 
 at the wharf. This course brought ngnins't 
 him his old friends, and raised up a immcrous 
 host of new ones. He now removed to Bos- 
 ton, and was elected lieutenant-governor of 
 the state. He had several times been elected 
 to the state senate, but politics were not his 
 stronghold, and he sunk the great merchanl; 
 m tlie common-place politi. "an. His immense 
 wealth was used for the Wants of the govern- 
 ment, with the liberality and confidence of 
 one who believed that a government should 
 not be poor when individuals were rieh. It 
 IS doubtful whether any capitalist in theUni- 
 ted States did so much for the exitrencies of 
 government as Mr. Gray. And while others 
 ^yere speculating on the depreciation of sccu- 
 niies, no one will hesitate to say that his ex- 
 ertions were dictated by the patriotism, with 
 only the hopes of an honest remuneration. 
 After the close of the war, he launched again 
 into commerce, but not with his former suc- 
 cess. Times had changed, but he had not 
 changed with them and what was a safe cal- 
 culation once, was not so now; but still there 
 can be no doubt but that he died a rich man, 
 although no public inventory was ever taken 
 ot his estate, as his heirs gave bonds to pay 
 debts and legacies— all the law of tliat state 
 requires. Mrs. Gray died about two years 
 before her husband, and his eldest son since 
 his death. Mr. Gray was happy in his fam- 
 ily, and was always a domestic man. He 
 was worn out with the fatigues of business 
 at the age of seventy-four, and dei)arted this 
 life, November 4, 1825. 
 
 Philip Livingston descended from a re- 
 spectable Scotch family, and was bom at 
 Albany, the 1 5th of January, 171 G. He was 
 educated at Yale college, and graduated with 
 the class of 1737. He became a merchant in 
 JNew York after leaving his alma-mater; 
 and as there were but few well-educated mer- 
 chants in Wall street at that time, he was 
 soon quite at their head, and of course had 
 offices at his command. In 1754, he was an 
 alderman of the city of New York, and after 
 serving m this capacity for four yeors, was 
 sent to Albany, as a representative of the 
 city. In this body he soon became a leader, 
 and directed its attention to its great interests 
 of commerce ; New York being then behind 
 Boston and Philadelphia in her exports and 
 imports. Ho was one of the committee of 
 correspondence with the agent for the colony 
 in England, the celebrated Edmund Burke ; 
 and his letters abound in information and 
 aitical remarks, Mr. Livingston was in 
 Congress m 1776, and affixed bis name to the 
 declaration of independence, for which he 
 was a strenuous advocate. He was a mem 
 ber of the senate of New York, on the adop- 
 
 ± 
 
lis ships wore nittinfj 
 lurse broii^'ht Of;ninst 
 raised up a uurnprous 
 now reniovotl to Bo.s- 
 Buteiiant-n;ovonior of 
 ral times been electeil 
 
 politics were not liis 
 t the great niorcliant 
 itii'an. His immense 
 
 Wuntsof the povcrn- 
 ty and confidence of 
 » government should 
 duals were ricli. It 
 capitalist in theUni- 
 for the exinfencies of 
 '. And wiiilc others 
 depreciation of secu- 
 te to say that his cx- 
 
 the patriotism, with 
 lonest rcrauneration. 
 ir. he launched again 
 vith his former suc- 
 ked, but he had not 
 vhat was a safe cul- 
 now; but still there 
 
 he died a rich man, 
 tory was ever taken 
 3 gave bonds to pay 
 he law of that state 
 d_ about two years 
 his eldest son since 
 IS happy in his fam- 
 lomestic man. He 
 fatigues of business 
 r, and departed this 
 
 jscended from a re- 
 , and was bom at 
 iry, 171 C. He was 
 and graduated with 
 came a merchant in 
 % his alma-mater; 
 well-educated mer- 
 
 that time, he was 
 and of course had 
 In 1754, he was an 
 ew York, and after 
 for four years, was 
 )resentative of the 
 n became a leader, 
 o its great interests 
 :_being then behind 
 in her exports and 
 
 the committee of 
 gent for the colony 
 d Edmund Burke; 
 t» information and 
 Livingston was in 
 ;ed his name to the 
 ice, for which he 
 He was a mem 
 ^ork, on the adop- 
 
 MERCANTILE mOGRAPHY. 
 
 453 
 
 tion of the state constitutions; after which, 
 under tlie jjrovisioiis of that constitution, he 
 was elected a number of Congress ; but he 
 was not long ])ermilled to devote himself to 
 the service of his country, for on the twelfth 
 of June, 1778, he died, with angina pectoris, 
 or the dropsy of the chest, often twin-mes- 
 senger ot death. He was a warm and fear- 
 less patriot in severe times, when thick clouds 
 enveloped our polivjal horizon. 
 
 Francis LeciS, one of the New York 
 delegation in congress when the declaration 
 of independence was made, was bornin Wales, 
 in 1723. Ho was partly educated in Scot- 
 land, and then sent to Westminster, where 
 he became a good classical scholar. In Lon- 
 don he became an apprentice to a merchant, 
 with whom he continued until he was of age. 
 He then left England for America with hand- 
 some prospects, and set up business in New 
 York. He was agent for the British colonies 
 in 1756, and was taken prisoner and carried 
 to France, from which country, on his ex- 
 change, he returned to New York. He was 
 a lover of liberty, and stood foremost among 
 the sons of freedom. In 1775, he was sent a 
 delegate from the provincial congress of New 
 York to the continental congress, and was 
 there when the declaration of independence 
 was made. He continued in that body for 
 several years afterward, and rendered great 
 service us a commercial man. He suHered 
 much for his patriotism, the British having 
 destroyed his property on Long Island. He 
 had, however, the satisfaction of seeing the 
 country prosperous, though he was not. He 
 died on the thirtieth of December, 1813, in 
 "le ninetieth year of his age. 
 
 Robert Morris was a native of England, 
 but (Krie to this cotmtry when (|uite young, 
 and was edur'Heii in Philadelphia. After 
 '•'lisLing his edacation, he entered a counting- 
 hou -e, and in -» few years became conspicuous 
 as ", t; 'trough meichani:. When the revolu- 
 tior >rt.n.e jut, Mr. Morris sided with the 
 coli"v,t?, on;5 was distinguished as a patriot. 
 He was elected a delegate to the second con- 
 tinental congress, and was in that botly in 
 1776, when the declaration of independence 
 WW signed. During the whole war, he was 
 coisidered the ablest financier in the country, 
 and Washington had recourse to him, when 
 he could not procure anything from Congress. 
 In 1781, Mr. Morris was appointed superin- 
 tendent of finances, and was, perhaps, the 
 only man in the country fit for the office. He 
 hiid a most arduou? task to perform ; it was 
 indeed gigantic, for it involved all the duties 
 of every department of the government, so far 
 as money was concerned. Washington had 
 the highest confidence in him, and Franklin 
 thought him a most wonderful man. He sur- 
 
 prised all by his |)owfT or raising money for 
 public cxigenciiis, wlien our crcilit was un- 
 der the worst circumstances. He provided 
 Washington with money to carry on his s(mth- 
 ern campaign against Cornwullis, the defeat 
 of whose army ended the war. He died un 
 the eighth of j\Iay, 1806, in the seventy-third 
 year of his age. It may be said of him that 
 he was a great public benefactor. 
 
 Benjamin Pickman was born in Salem in 
 1740. Ho was the son of a distinguished 
 merchant in that tovvn, and was graduated at 
 Harvard college, in 1759. 
 
 He entered his father's counting-room after 
 leaving college, and soon took a high stand 
 in society. 
 
 When the revolutionary war broke out, he 
 was lieutenant-colonel of the Salem regiment, 
 but he had not made up his mind that the 
 time had arrived for the separation of the two 
 countries. He was a friend to his own, but 
 could not come to the doctrine of sudden dis- 
 memberment. He went to England under a 
 furlough from the legislature, and there did 
 much good in assisting the unfortunate ■who 
 were taken priaoners in the first years of the 
 struggle. His wife and family remained in 
 this country until the war closed, and of course 
 his estates were not confiscated. In 1784, he 
 .-etumed to his native land, and was greeted 
 with kindness by his old friends. He again 
 commenced business as a merchant, but in the 
 British spoliations lost no small part of his 
 property. The treaty made by Jay returned 
 him his property, and a fair interest on the 
 same. He now relinquished all business, 
 took his money and invested it in American 
 stocks, and lived on its income — m<<st ample 
 means for hib purpose. His aMe was one 
 of the best in the countr\-. He was classical, 
 delicate in his feelings, 'and unshaken in his 
 opinions, and every one was satisfied \v iih his 
 hospitable board. His conve rsation was gen- 
 erally directed to ancient history, or to ihm 
 of our country. He was at home in iiiher, 
 but made no parade of his learning. He was 
 a man of ordinary talents, and of more than 
 ordinary taste in classical literature. As an 
 antiquary he was second to none ; he garnered 
 up all that was curious or strange in his neigh- 
 borhood, and was ready to give it to the pub- 
 lic provided his name could be kept out of 
 sight. 
 
 He now placed the enjoyments cf his life 
 in ease, and never swerved from his princi- 
 ples. He was blessed with an excellent wife 
 and 1 delightful family. They wore around 
 him and administered to his comforts. He 
 had three sons and two daughters, and all 
 were devoted to his happiness. He rejoiced 
 in the success of all \\s knew : his heart was 
 full of philanthropy. 
 
 'rt! 
 
 
 
His person wns noble, his height over six 
 »«-«.r 1,18 countenance was quiet, calm, hut 
 inanly, nml lianlly bore the ordinary marks 
 '>i nge. In the eighty-first of his age ho sunk 
 to sleep, without having surtered many of 
 liose pains and aches which mortal man is 
 liiil.le to, in this seen, of struggle and anguish. 
 1 here were but few men in this world of 
 so good a disposition, fewer still of so much 
 intellig,.nce and reHnement, and none of great 
 er punty of character. * 
 
 WOMAN'S MISSION. 
 
 Her mission is peculiar and sublime. 
 
 world. The wildness of nature is to be sub- 
 dued; Its barrenness and deformity are to be 
 converted to fertility and beauty. "^Nature is 
 to be brought m„Te fully in subjection to the 
 purposes ot man ; but this work rests not on 
 woman. There are new channels of com- 
 merce to open, new lines of interpomraunica 
 tion to establish, manufactures to promote 
 arts to foster, fields of discovery to explore' 
 social systems to reconstruct, and political 
 institutions to regenerate ; but the peculiar 
 mission of woman is not here. To all this 
 her work is what the soul is to the body— 
 what the spirit is to the matter which it 
 animates and informs. 
 
 Woman is emphatically and essentiallv an 
 ^^ator. She operates not on woo<rand 
 marble, but on mmd. She takes it in the 
 first dawning of intelligence and reason, and 
 imparts its first knowledge of objects, and its 
 
 imbibes not only its earliest, but its most 
 permanent ideas of fitness and truth, of right 
 and obligation. She gives charact;r toll 
 Ae future being of immortals, by the coloring 
 which she imparts to the fountains of intel- 
 ectual and moral life. She develops and 
 
 hose sensibilities on whic h all the after-emo- 
 tions of the soul depend She has the de- 
 ShlCu?,^"'^ forming of the individual man. 
 fehe takes him, hke the unpolished block, and 
 ceases not her care and toil, till he is wrought 
 7r .["""-^u""^ ^""'''' ""'1 symmetry, and 
 fT^t^. ^^7^ }' '"'« '" '^' fi'*"^ wear- ' 
 ance of the rude shell to awaken our interest, 
 or to attract our notice ; but when placed in 
 
 brilliant pearl. worM>y to deck the bosom of 
 
 So, when we look on humanity in itsincipien- 
 cy, there is little in its dull exterior to attract 
 
 our attention, or to give impulse to onr hone. 
 
 and polished and rxnite.l, will -litter in the 
 ranks of intelligence, and reflect its li^ht on 
 the perfection and glory of the Creator.'' An-I 
 this IS a part of woman's mission— to tear from 
 
 tn'J. l"'" T-"""' i?'-'"^-hich is hidden 
 beneath Its rude incrustations, and, workin- 
 
 the Ijnll ants which glow in the diadem of 
 Jehovah's intellectual glory. 
 
 The social and political stamling and in- 
 fluence of mankind, not less than their in- 
 tellectual character, are fixed and determined 
 by woman. See that child. There is some- 
 thing more than a smile of innocence, and a 
 form of loveliness. There is a spirit which 
 will grow ,n intellectual might, and impress 
 Its sentiments on the nation ; a spirit beneath 
 whose mysterious incantations the ocean of 
 feeling may be lashed to fury; a spirit by 
 whose potency the deep foundations of thi 
 social worid may be moved. That child is 
 
 the feelings of humamty to curses, or call om 
 the deep gratitude of its throbbing heart in 
 umversul praise. And who is to mould, and 
 give impulse and direction to this tremendous 
 energy f Woman! This is her misTion 
 
 Woman is also a reformer. The influence 
 of woman on the order of society is controlling. 
 Ihe influence of a single woman, in her own 
 immediate circle, is only an epitomized ex- 
 pression of the influence of woman, in the 
 aggregate, on the masses of mankind. She 
 wields in society a moral influence wliich 
 
 itself fel for good or evil, in all the walks 
 "f social life. It is wielded, not on the battle- 
 field, nor in the senate : it is as noiseless, but 
 s il as pervading, as the light. It steals into 
 all the ramifications of life, and occupies all 
 the recesses of the heart. Woman is the 
 destroyer, or the conservator, of the best in- 
 ^rests and highest happiness of social man. 
 One way or the other, her influence must be 
 controlling. 
 
 All this we suppose to be generally and 
 cleariy admitted truth. And in this view how 
 commanding, how awfully responsible, is the 
 position of woman. Look at the present 
 , aspect of society, and see the end toward 
 which this amazing moral power is to be ex- 
 erte.1. The spirit of reform, like the breath 
 .>t W()d, 13 beginning to move on the dark and 
 sluggish waters, over which the night of 
 ages has brooded. Mind is awakeninl from 
 
 tJ T. •'■' ""'' T"^"^ «^"y "« fo«ers. 
 1 nought 18 aroused to a living and fearful 
 intensity. Humanity is coming up from the 
 grave in which despotism and ignorance have 
 confined it, tearing ofT its grave-clothes, and 
 
 uni iTriwiViMr- I rti« 
 
impulse! to our hnpr. 
 ', which, whrn foiirnl 
 I. will -jlittor in the 
 '1 roflpct its li-rht on 
 r)f the Creator. And 
 mlHsion— to tonr from 
 ?eni which is hidilin 
 ations, and, workin;,' 
 encc, to set it nnion^ 
 w in the diadem of 
 
 "■y. 
 
 ;nl stamlinn nnd in- 
 _ less than their in- 
 ixed nnrl detennincd 
 Id. There is some- 
 of innocence, and a 
 re is a spirit which 
 might, nnd impress 
 >n ; a spirit beneath 
 itions the ocean of 
 ' fury; a spirit hy 
 
 foundations of the 
 pel. That child is 
 which may curdle 
 ~> curses, or call out 
 throbbing heart in 
 do is to mould, and 
 
 to this tremendous 
 ! is her mission. 
 sr- The influence 
 'ciety is controlling, 
 voman, in her own 
 an epitomized ex- 
 of woman, in the 
 of mankind. She 
 I influence wliich 
 
 Her power makes 
 , in all the walks 
 [, not on the battle- 
 is as noiseless, but 
 ;ht. It steals into 
 , and occupies all 
 Woman is the 
 ir, of the best in- 
 !S3 of social man. 
 influence must be 
 
 be generally nnd 
 i in this view how 
 ■esponsible, is the 
 c at the present 
 the end toward 
 )ovver is to be ex- 
 it like the breath 
 ; on the dark and 
 ch the night of 
 awakening from 
 way its fetters, 
 ving and fearful 
 ling up from the 
 d ignorance have 
 rave-clothes, and 
 
 ■J 
 
 8N0W. 
 
 455 
 
 standing forth in the conscious dignity of 
 liberty and reason. 
 
 In all this, the work of woman is conser- 
 vative. Sho must be seen and felt in all 
 those movements; not, indeed, in strife and 
 dfbati', but. in those soft and gentle, yet con- 
 trolling inlluciices which sho imposes on man- 
 kind. It is hers to allay the eirervesccncea 
 of excitement, and to restrain the lawlessness 
 of passion ; to imbue the movement with the 
 mildness of charity, while she fortifies it with 
 the power of principles. 
 
 " Aa aho Kliu>ces aruund, in the llglit orher imile, 
 TliL! wiir ol'tlio pinaiou is liuahed, for awhile, 
 Anil Discoril, ooiitoiit from liis fury to ocaio, 
 Iluiioaua entranced on tbo bocom of Peace." 
 
 SNOW: 
 
 ITS NATURE AND FORMATION. 
 
 Whatever is commonly before our eyes 
 is usually regarded by us with less attention 
 than it deserves to he. This is the case with 
 snow. We pass it by unaware of its won- 
 derful formbtion, careless of its very great 
 value, and oi.ly awaro that it is very white 
 and very cold.' Bat an examination of a flake 
 of snow, with the assistance of a miscroscope, 
 will show to us that in its structure there are 
 great beauty and great skill. It will show to 
 us, in short, that like all the other works of 
 God, it is exceec'" %\y wonderful. 
 
 Where water is frozen the product is 'CE ; 
 a thick, solid, and slim transparent substeuce. 
 A comparison between a piece of ice, how- 
 ever small, and a flake of snow, will speedily 
 convince the reader of the very great dilFer- 
 ence between the substances of which they 
 consist. Whence is that difference? The 
 grand influence which forms ice is the same 
 as that which forms snow. That influence 
 is intense cold. But in the two cases the 
 cold is exerted upon particles in a diflerent 
 state of cohesion. When aqueous particles 
 are closely cohered in the form of water, the 
 influence of intense cold upon them produces 
 a solid and ponderous body ; i. e., ICE. But 
 when this description of particles is dispersed 
 in vapors andgreatlyrarified, they are changed 
 by intense cold into frozen particles of a less 
 dense coherence. The ditference between 
 the density of those particles which, when 
 acted upon by cold yield ice, and those which, 
 exi)osed to the same influence, yield snow, is 
 this : the latter are just twenty-four times 
 lighter, bulk for bulk, than the former. The 
 particles are only exceedingly rarified as to 
 their bulk ; but the bulk also is exceedingly 
 small. So small indeed is it, that one such 
 
 particle would present but a very minute ob- 
 ject even when viewed with the powerful aid 
 of the microscope. 
 
 How, then, the curious reader will exclaim, 
 such being the case, can the mere action of 
 intense cold present to our view largo flukes 
 of snow? The process by which this is 
 brought about is, indeed, exceedingly curious; 
 and, therefore, we will give a brief, and, of 
 course, a faint, description of it. 
 
 Floating in the upper atmosphere, let the 
 reader imagine that he can see millions of 
 minute drops, or points of vapor. Acted uf/on 
 by intense cold, each of these drops or points 
 is converted into a solid substance as hnc as 
 one of those little motes which we con 
 sometimes see floating in the radiant sun- 
 beams. As these descend lower and low- 
 er in the atmosphere they attract each oth- 
 er, and each flake of snow that we see glisten- 
 ing in virgin whiteness upon the ground, 
 consists of a multitude of these minute atoms 
 of frozen matter, cohering together with the 
 most perfect and beautiful uniformity. Sure- 
 ly, when we perceive that even in a flake of 
 snow so much ingenuity and design are per- 
 ceivably existent, we ought to keep our atten- 
 tion to surrounding objects perpetually upon 
 the alert. Everything of God's creation, 
 however minute m itself or humble in the 
 uses to which it is destined, is calculated to 
 yield ^reat pleasure to the attentive observer. 
 
 It 13 by an attentive observation of the 
 works of the Almighty that we are the most 
 certainly and eirectually led into a truly pious 
 frame of mind. We can not pay attention 
 to the innumerable wonders of the natural 
 world without finding ourselves more able 
 and more inclined, with every successive 
 hour, to 
 
 " Look through nature up to natnro'g God." 
 
 This, indeed, is the most valuable end of 
 all studies. All the other uses of knowledge 
 have this one great defect, that they are tem- 
 porary. But this great end of our studies is 
 eternally useful : making us better fitted for 
 the eternal favor of our Creator. 
 
 Even of merely temporal value, the pursuit 
 of natural philosophy is abundantly produc- 
 tive ; and youth, who indulge themselves in 
 it, are never at a loss for the most refined 
 amusement; an amusement which instructs 
 as well as delights, and, unlike most other 
 amusements, never clogs and never leaves a 
 sting behind it. 
 
 or THE USES OF SNOW. 
 
 It is not merely about the structure of the 
 visible things around us that we are occa- 
 sionally too incurious ; we are but too apt to 
 neglect to make inquiry into their uses. Snow 
 
 .-ir 
 
 '!l«! 
 
 iJT; 
 
436 
 
 SNOW. 
 
 is ODP of tho jrnnv thiiiij.s < f usefulness of 
 whifli men are, in genirftl, ,1,1 to mnkii small 
 or no iici-ount. Muny of even those who do 
 tnko thf trouble to n- fleet on its effeet Ufwn 
 the ffrniind, form a very incorrect notion of 
 If. Judijiug from it« own nature anr! nppcar- 
 anep, tlii.'se persons inft-r that snow ust "--- 
 fcs'^arily he injurious i.. tli<i earth, I ,■ re- n 
 of its dampness and intcii-io cold. , he v. 
 reverse of this is what actually takes place. 
 Tho thick coverin)T of snow which lies upon 
 tho pround in winter, i» so fur from innkin.' 
 the earth cold, that it, in truth, prevm't it 
 from heing so. Were tho dry carl I, exposed 
 to the action of the hitter and piercini; wind. 
 of winter, it would be utterly denrivnl of that 
 genial warmth, without which the seed 8o»« „ 
 wthin it could not germinate. It h. by the 
 close ami lluky covering of the shining sno -, 
 that a remnant of genial heat is preserved m 
 the bosom of tli earth. In vain do the pier- 
 cing winds howl above ; they can not pene- 
 trate that mantle with which God has clothed 
 the face of nature. 
 
 S.irne well-meaning, hut mistaken writers 
 have essayed to prove, that snow has a chym- 
 ical as well as a mechanical etficacv. TTiey 
 have imagined, and endeavored to p'rovc, that 
 It not only preserves to the earth that portion 
 ot warmth which is absolutely necessary to 
 
 the jirocess of germination, hut also fertilizes 
 It. As a covering, protecting the earth from 
 the sharp winds, snow is useful indeed ; as a 
 manure, it is utterly u ithout virtue. It was 
 not intended for a manure ; and experiment 
 has put It beyond doubt or question, that of 
 the peculiar property which has been attrib- 
 uted to it, it does not possess one particle 
 more than common rain-water. 
 
 The class of writers to whom we have al- 
 luded, have supposed that snow possesses a 
 large proportion of nitrous salts. If it did 
 possess these, it would undoubtedly tend tofer- 
 nhze the earth : but it does not possess them. 
 1 he aqueous particles were supposed to ac- 
 quire these salts in the process of being frozen; 
 but elaborate and well-conducted experiments 
 have shown that although rain-water and 
 snow contain a quantity of calcareous earth, 
 and a very small (juantity of nitrous and mu- 
 riatic acids, the rain-water has, in f?ct, the 
 larger portion of the two. And even the rain 
 has them m such an exceedingly small pro- 
 portion, that it can not by any possibility de- 
 rive any fertilizing virtue from them. 
 
 We need not go out of the way to exaggerate 
 the usefulness of the creations of God. They 
 have m reality such abundant, and in most 
 cases such palpable usefulness, that to ad- 
 mire them it is only necessary that we dili- 
 gently and curiously observe them. 
 
 Observation of the appearances of nature 
 
 lend-, us, almost irsensiblv, to moral reflertion 
 How dreary is -i-o uniformity and i.lenknf 
 ot the appearance of nature in winter! \\ 
 can not look abr.md without feeliiig a «en>. 
 of chilliness; and we could almost ima'dne 
 that our own fireside has less li,.,n .isni.r„f 
 Its warm and rhfrrful influence. \K , rep,," 
 at our temporary privation ..f the fruits ono 
 tfie pleasant scenery of si imer; and even 
 exclaitri against the unrr<iit,, and m^gd ns- 
 pect of the winter. And yet, were jt^n ' '.ir 
 the pr.5!. 'ving power of that f u.w, wli,,so 
 u ,,"-' i'"'»"nnify -Hendsus , much, we 
 should look in vain, for the rich fruits and ver- 
 'I ,1 ns of tlu gay sumiiier. Tho seeds 
 
 m the tender plants wouM In rly de- 
 
 Bt roved, and we should not only without 
 tho beaufv of summer, hnt nlsoVitiiout food. 
 1 he golden harvest, « ,uc.i is so dear to us, 
 w nil not wave in beautiful luxuriance, had 
 iiwt tile dreary snow been wrapt as a mantle 
 round the earth during the chill season of 
 winter. 
 
 Even so is it with our mora! "ifure. Wn 
 are Plunged into the midst of diUieiltips ond 
 dangers— we lool "broad, and all is dreary, 
 dark, nw\ threat- ,.. Short-sighMd and of 
 htilelaitl we .cady upon the mom' ' to 
 exclaim t t v e are deserted and must 
 perish, 'i ■ flies on, our prospects liri 
 and our ditli, Jties and dangers vaiii.-' ru 
 befoix' v We look back with calm «ud un- 
 deluded mm! upon the past, and discover 
 that those very circumstances which most 
 strongly excited our distrust and discontent, 
 were tho means of our preservation. 
 
 Due reflection in this way will never fail 
 to afford vs comfort and fortitude in the midst 
 of all difliculties, however immense and seem- 
 ingly unavoidable. We shall learn to con- 
 sider our misfortunes and perplexities as a 
 niorai winter. We may look with some 
 onnoyance, indeed, upon the dreary and com- 
 fortless prospect around us, but we shall reflect 
 that a brighter season will ere long shine upon 
 us. We shall long, indeed, for the lovely 
 spring-time, and the glorious summer; but 
 we shall not the less feel the necessity of our 
 enduring these wintry rigors so essential to per- 
 fecting the works of those more genial seasons. 
 We shall thus, even in our sorrows and our 
 sufTerings, create a source of rejoicing; pres- 
 ent privations will give us hope of future en- 
 joyment, and the most imminent dangers will 
 seem to be but a rugged pathway to security 
 and peace. In a word, we shall learn to rely 
 with pious constancy upon Him who can 
 make all things work together for our good ; 
 and we shall find both profit and comfort in 
 the habit which we shall insensibly acquire 
 of believing and hoping that 
 
 " Whatever ia, in best." 
 
 n J w I irnu Bm i J il lDiSl I 
 
 nwu a M i M t ftW ii i i in ita 
 
, foTTKinil rrflprtion 
 initv and Ulcnknfss 
 iro in winter! \\ 
 "lit f'oelinij a HfM'. 
 iilil almost iinn<;ini' 
 
 S 1(!S8 Ihad IISIlll' llf 
 
 uenre. VV'.- r('|Mi>' 
 n "f the fruits ami 
 ner; and ''vnn 
 infl r'ln-pcl ns- 
 yt't. wen it i.: ' 'or 
 that ^iiiw, wJK.so 
 'Is 118 , much, wo 
 rich fruits and ver- 
 itiiner. The seeds 
 mill he M- rlv de- 
 al only iic wfthout 
 ' nlso without food. 
 a ia so dcnr to us, 
 ul luxuriaitco, had 
 wrnnt as a mnntle 
 je cnill eeasoi; of 
 
 loral ''^^ure. \^ >, 
 of diilu iltipN and 
 ond all is dreary, 
 lort-sighii-il and of 
 pon the momr ■ to 
 ed and must 
 prospects hri 
 igers vaiii.-' 
 with calm ami u, - 
 )a8t, and discover 
 noes which most 
 St and discontent, 
 ervation. 
 
 ly will never fail 
 titude in the midst 
 nmense and seem- 
 laJl learn to con- 
 perplexities as a 
 look with some 
 1 dreary ond com- 
 lut we shall reflect 
 re long shine upon 
 tl, for the lovely 
 us summer; but 
 3 necessity of our 
 50 essential toper- 
 ire genial seasons. 
 r sorrows and our 
 ' rejoicing; pres- 
 opo of future en- 
 nent dangers will 
 hway to security 
 hall leani to rely 
 1 Him who can 
 ler for our good ; 
 it and comfort in 
 isensibly acquire 
 
 THE WlNTHU^^r MONUMENT. 
 
 IIOKOR TO \ 
 
 la IS DUE. 
 
 ff/'^, 
 
 admiration 1 
 
 ,RAL articles 
 iving lately np- 
 iifuri'd ill our pub- 
 lic journals on the 
 subject of erecting 
 a suitable tomb to 
 the memory of 
 John Winthrop, 
 the first governor 
 ;;^ nf Massachusetts, and founder 
 ^"Y ' ■' t*ic city of Boston, we now 
 h(i ■; the pleasure of presenting 
 to r readers !ia ai)propriate 
 m '11 111 design, conceiving 
 
 table mode of call- 
 attention more di- 
 and edectually to this 
 ni praiseworthy object, 
 .niutmle for eminent servi- 
 *, honor to pietv nnd virtue, 
 m.m..uu.,u . i,)ftv genius, impell( a by noble 
 aims, arc among the best traits of th(; iiuman 
 character. As'educatioii is the chief defence 
 of wcll-govnrned nations, and the sure though 
 slow coiTcetor of political abuses and jiublic 
 wrongs, so are munifcstotions of general es- 
 teein^md gratitude for tlu'sc who have nobly 
 served their country or rtice, the fittest and 
 truest earthly reward of their well-doing, and 
 the cheapest incentive to lives of unbending 
 integrity und enduring patriotism. As it is 
 the orditionce of Heaven, that the virtues of 
 men should survive them, in a grateful and 
 purifying influence, so it is alike due to the 
 memory if the great ond good who are gone, 
 and to the best interests of those who come al- 
 ter them, that those who have known their 
 worth and devotion to the public good should 
 embody in an enduring monument those rec- 
 ollections, 80 that when the eye of the citizen 
 or traveller beholds it, his pulse may beat with 
 a quicker vibration. 
 
 ' There is in the neighborhood ot Lucerne, 
 in Switzeriand, carved in high relief, upon the 
 vertical face of an imnwnse rock among the 
 mountains, a colossal lion, nierced by a lance, 
 • ,.1 dying unon a shield. It was sculptured 
 liiere in honor of the memory cf those intrepid 
 Swiss who, on the 10th of August, 1792, sealed 
 with their lives their devotion to Ae unfortu- 
 nate king of France. It is the noblost triliute 
 to the vfrMio of fidelity which the world can 
 show. We doubt not that many a failing 
 purpose to do well has been strengthcited, 
 many a wavering resolution confirmed, by the 
 sight of this glorious monument, and new vowt. 
 made by the beholder to fulfil with unfaltering 
 zeal his duties to his country. Its eloquence 
 
 must be irresistible — its silent liingiingo must 
 do more than the words of jjoet or orator. 
 
 It would be an act of friMison to posterity, 
 if no permanent record of Wintmuoi' should 
 go down to them. In this venerated man, 
 whoso virtues we wish here to j)<'r|iitiiate, 
 w(! behold no mere mediocrity, eitlier of in- 
 telligence or virtue. He lived eni|pliulieully 
 for TiiK FUTIJRK. It was his bright iitiibition 
 to do good to others — to advance the ciiuse 
 of benevolence, of science, of iiieny. "t reli- 
 gion. Living in ease, comfort, ond obundanoe, 
 in I ill! country of his birth, Mr. Wi.nthkop 
 cheerfully renounced all these at an Jidvimced 
 period ot life, and embarked bis fortune in 
 the arduoii ; attempt to nettle a people on the 
 distant shores of a new world. t)f anient 
 temperament, with a well-stored and cultiva- 
 ted mind, and possessing in no ordinary degree 
 those estimable qualities that endear niun to 
 his fellow-man, he was well suited to conduct 
 and manage a rising coiimiunity, such as that 
 over whicii he presided, and to estaldish among 
 its nif mijcrs that love of order ond deference 
 to outhority, which have ever been the char- 
 acteristics of the New Englond states. Ac- 
 cordingly, wo find him elected to be the first 
 governor of Massachusetts; to which distin- 
 guished station, with the intermission of a few 
 years, he was re-elected to the peril ul of bis 
 death, which occurred in 1049. The influ- 
 ence of his stern, simple-hearted faith, niukes 
 at this day a h- ad, deep mark on the charac- 
 ter of the whole American people.* 
 
 Whether we view Governor Wi.nthrop 
 individually, in tJio discharge of his jMiblic 
 duries, in tne private and domestic relations 
 of life, or in a more extended sense, ns con- 
 nected with a momentou3.cpoch in the history 
 of his country, he is eminently deserving of 
 some public and lasting record of his useful- 
 ness and virtue — one befitting the weallli and 
 intelligenceof the capital of the state in • liirh 
 his ashes repose, and expressive of tin li- 
 mation in which his memory is held by the 
 descendants of those who lived undur his equa- 
 ble rule. And this is rendered more neces- 
 sary, when we reflect np< " the remarkf.ble 
 and stirring scenes with which he was con- 
 
 " TiiinuTE TO New ENcr.AND.— Mr. Cnlhunn, in 
 his letter to the New Enijlaiul Society conmiittee at 
 Washington, declinin|j' an invitation to theirdiniieron 
 the 22il beccmber, takes occasion to say : " By what 
 causes has so inconsiilcrablo a begiening, under such 
 fomiidnblc, and apparently almost insurmouiitahlodil- 
 ficulties, resulted, in so brief a period, in such mi.trhtv 
 consequen(;es ? They are to be found in the lugh 
 moral and intellectual qualities of the pilgnms: their 
 faith, piety, and confident trust in a supcnntending 
 Providence ; their stern virtues ; their patriotic love 
 of libertv and order ; their devotion to Icarainp ; and 
 , their iniii mitable courage and perseverance. 1 hese 
 ore the causes which sumioiinted overj-^obstacle, and 
 which have led to such mighty results." 
 
 iii] > d 
 
 
t 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 4A8 
 
 THE WINTHROP MONUMENT. 
 
 1 
 
 nflcted, ff.nning n dtriking feature in Amoriran 
 Iii-story— n nort of stnrtinK-point, fnmi which 
 to ilatti tho ctmitnffncuinent of our sul)se(|uunt 
 jfreutiifs*— nn.l whoso rusults continue to af- 
 fcrt thn wori.l nt large, hy o|H!,iin« up a wide 
 fit'M forimiustrynndpntcrpiiso.nndoirorinffan 
 any uin to tho opj.rrsscd ujul dcNtituto of othor 
 lands. It ought never tr) ho forgotten, that 
 tho sons of the piigrinfjs were the founders and 
 l>illar« of our re|)uldic, nial iWmed tlio first 
 KHllnnt bonil who, midst tho conflict of party 
 fceiinir, or the despondency of national mis- 
 fortune, staked their hapi)ine8», life, and hon- 
 or, for the politiful regeneration and independ- 
 ent existence of our country ; and, by their 
 united wisdom und ovpcrience, became the 
 nistriiments, in tho hands of an 
 
 . ■ ■•• u... overruling 
 
 1 roviilence, of hxmg the destuiy of this na- 
 tion. Th(;ro is a secret nluustire and satisfac- 
 tion in tlius tracing the fountain to its source 
 — m recalling to mind the times and grmes 
 when those plans were first suggested and 
 earned out that have elevated us into the 
 enjoyment of that freedom whose effects have 
 been, and still continue to be, a rajiid career 
 of greatness and glory, the increasing admi- 
 ration of the civilized world.* 
 
 • Chriitianitv- started tho human mind on iti prog- 
 entcarooret in,;, ^pendent inquiry, activity, and proir. 
 re»«. Tonching every mnn that to hii o%vn majter 
 10 stnndoth or falloth, imposing on him a re.ponaj- 
 nuity wrluch otomity aloiia meoiurog, luid wrhich he 
 can not divide witli another, it necegiiarUy throws 
 lura ott from proscription to think and act for liimsolf 
 Weverhas Chnstiamty ptmctrated a coimtry, nor a 
 cottage, nor a ral.in. without awaking the mind to 
 earnest tliought and drawing out its energies to oar- 
 nest action. Ihe Protestant Uefonnntion is an m- 
 stance on a largo sc,,' . It was then that Cliristi- 
 anity stood over the grave of free inquiry, as .lesug at 
 tne grave of Lazarus, and cried, " Como forth." Forth 
 came Umt spint. and tlio , •avoclothes of superstition 
 wore cast away. She has gone abroad iw more to 
 aie ; she has roused men to action; she has ripped 
 up old PiTors ; she has torn away abuses ; she has dug 
 up buried truths ; she has multiplied inventions, in- 
 creased wealth, ditfused comforts ; she has changed 
 the face of tho world. Though she has often forgot- 
 ten and sometimes stnbl.ed the benefactor that raised 
 her from the grave, and allying hersrlf with the sel- 
 u- ur.}- ."'•'^■''''h, has committed excesses at 
 Which Cliristmnity weeps, yet it was Christianity 
 that started her career, and that ever is striving to 
 restrain it, tliat it may bo only a career of blessing. 
 Jtis a singular fact, oommonted on by Guizot, that, 
 at the verj- time when, in the church, the spirit of' 
 tree in<|uiry was going forth, in the state. jKiwer was 
 rapidly concentrating in the monarch. But tho free- 
 dom ot iiKiuirv awnJiened by Christianity, could not 
 long exist without being brought to act on the state. 
 And history shows, m quick succession, English I'u- 
 ritaiiism the settlement of New Endand. the Eng- 
 hsh n-volution, the American revolution-alt results 
 of the collision of mmd freed by ClirUtianity. with 
 the growing despotism of the state. 
 
 Thus, not the Puritans olone, to whose influence in 
 advancing liberty, oven Hume testifies, but in all the 
 history of Christendom, the church has been ahead 
 of the state, and taken the lead in its progress ; it 
 has occasioned the oppo-ition to tyranny which has 
 
 Perhaps there is no quality of tho mind so 
 little developed among us as ihut of vnura- 
 twn. We nay a passing tribute, it is true, to 
 tho hero of the hour— we bow before the 
 rising sun, and mingle our shouts with the 
 huzzas of the crowd ; but there our homncu 
 ceases— the heart is not nfFccted. We honor 
 the pageant of a day; biu ourgrntiiude wouhl 
 seem to bo the (.trspnni, , uthcr of favors hoped 
 tor. than of those received, and to end with 
 the power to benefit. Wo can hardly over- 
 estimate tho beneficial influence of the monu- 
 MKHTAL AHT Upon llio general character of a 
 pcrjplo like ourselves. It would bring liefore 
 us in our daily walks tho idea of country in a 
 visible shape. It would impersonate her to 
 us as a kind mother, as a being to love and 
 honor— to live for. to die for. But few are 
 tho monuments raised by public feeling over 
 the remains of public benefactors. Few are 
 tho permanent memorials of tlio peoido to 
 groat and gtmd men departed. Even Boston 
 the model city of New England, is in this 
 respect deficient. Wo have no king, n.. court, 
 no imposing forms and ceremonies to serve an 
 extenml signs. We need something tan-nblo 
 to cling to and rally anmn,] —the outward 
 types and symbols afforded hy monumental 
 art. When these become scattered through- 
 out our country, they will, like so many mis- 
 sionaries. preach perpetual sennons of patri- 
 otism, beauty, and taste, and sow seeds which 
 will spnng up and bear fruit n hundred-fold, 
 through tho length and breadth of the laiul, 
 1 here are unwrought mines of wealth in tho 
 human soul, and in none more richly than in 
 the minds of our own countrymen : they lie 
 
 ■pecially marked the last two hundred years • it has 
 originated and in gome respects to a .iegr.o guided 
 the career of activity to which wnth such ahnost fear- 
 lui energy, the liunian mind is now roused. 
 
 Christianity alone infiised into popular jirogresg the 
 sublime element of tho rights of man- right! belong 
 ing to man, not by grant of rulers, nor by accident of 
 birth, or wealth, or nature ; but belonging to him og 
 TJ!\x ^""^ Joimali'tj of the old world still deny 
 that there are any such tilings ng inalienable rights • 
 
 rn^L ^°''*4-l''"^r'"'7"?y "'■'"'«• But these are 
 realities. Their foundation and their only founda- 
 tion IS the teaching of tho gospel. Honor alt we,,, tho 
 grand gospel doctrine of the brotherhood of maiu 
 They have no meaning except as derived from the 
 gospel, which teaches that we are nil the ofl'^.n'ng 
 of one Father, subjects of one law, fallen nnder one 
 condemnation, redeemed by tho same Savior, equaUy 
 bound t.j love all as ourselves, and destined alke to 
 the same judgment. Our declaration of indcpen^ 
 dence, so far as it teaches the equal rishts of n4, ig 
 but an application to civil affaira of that prnrioie' f 
 universal love whicli Christ taught, fho ulea in 
 question and kindred sentimer.^.,''■ nve become L 
 ular of late. Demagor-. . > an.", ini'le!, love t^ '^Ir, 
 on them The fact //,o»- -...y ;,ovcrf..i is tlu- hold 
 which they at last Imv. .ained o. tho hnma^ mind 
 But et them who use Mi,™ know tbut these genti 
 
 ,j^?2«^ , 
 
lunlity of thn niiml m 
 
 UH ns tliut ()(■ roiira. 
 g trihutc, it is triif. to 
 -wo bow Ix'foro the 
 
 our shouts with the 
 Ijut thfTR our hoiiinKu 
 
 nircctid. Wo honor 
 'U our gritf it u.le would 
 iiithcrof tuvors lio|n-(i 
 veil, and to end with 
 Wo nail hnrdly over- 
 iHufnct; of th(! Mowt7- 
 !onoral chnrnctcr of a 
 It would bring iit-fore 
 n idea o( countnf in a 
 1 imjwrsoimto her to 
 
 a being to love and 
 lie for. But few ore 
 y jmblic feeling over 
 nefnrtors. Few are 
 lis of the people to 
 irted. Even Boston, 
 
 England, is in this 
 ave no king, no court, 
 sremonies to serve an 
 d something tangible 
 round— Me outward 
 (ted hy mohume.nlal 
 le scattered through- 
 II, like so many mis- 
 al sennons of patri- 
 and sow seedM which 
 fruit a hundred-fold, 
 areadth of the land, 
 lies of wealth in the 
 more richly than in 
 untrymen : they He 
 
 1 hundred yenrs : it hu 
 eta to a deh'rce piiided 
 with «uch almost fear- 
 now roused, 
 to popular jiTogresi the 
 ofmin- HkIub belong- 
 lor»i nor hy nccidont of 
 at bolonging to him at 
 
 old world still deny 
 
 1 M iiialionnble rights ; 
 man. But these are 
 
 iiul thfiir only founda- 
 lel, Ilimor all men, tlio 
 brotherhood of man. 
 t as derived from the 
 3 arc all the otl'sprinff 
 law, fallen under ono 
 a same Savior, equally 
 and destined alike to 
 JClnrntion of indepon- 
 jqnnl rifjhts of wmn, is 
 rs of that pr.nr-iple f 
 aught. Tho idea in 
 i'«, '^ nve become poj- 
 . inl'JuIs love to harp 
 r;)0'verf"iis the hold 
 I or thu hnman mind, 
 low that tiiese senti- 
 uity, the gill of Chris- 
 
 ""fe^AUMM 
 
r 
 
 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 |50 "^^ IHII^^ 
 
 1^ IM 12.2 
 I!: I4£ 112.0 
 
 1.8 
 
 6" 
 
 L25 ill 1.4 III 1.6 
 
 PhotDgraphic 
 
 Sciences 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBCTcR.N.Y. 14580 
 
 (716) 872-4503 
 

 <; 
 
 U.A 
 
 W 
 
 o 
 
 
 6^ 
 
 L 
 
 CIHM/ICMH 
 
 Microfiche 
 
 Series. 
 
 CIHIVI/ICIVIH 
 Collection de 
 microfiches. 
 
 Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques 
 
hidden. Little, however, will have been ac- 
 complished, rill "the general taste and skill 
 ahull have arisen to that mediocrity which is 
 the first step in useful progress, and which 
 forms a vantaRC-ground where genius may 
 plume itself with a nobler emulation, and 
 stretch its wings for the highest heaven ot 
 invention of ideal beauty and imitative per- 
 fection."* . 
 
 Ill the Chapel burying-ground in Tremont 
 street, Boston, in a single and humble tomb, 
 the dust of the Wi.nthrops and that of tne 
 Skarses have long mingled in obscurity. It 
 is not to be supposed for a moment, however, 
 that tho absence of such a memento to de- 
 parted usefulness, as is here suggested, arises 
 from any want of inclination or pecuniary 
 ability, on the part of the relatives of this 
 celebrated man. The two surviving heads 
 of the family— the Hon. Robert C. Win- 
 TUROP and the Hon. David Sears— we know 
 have always been ready, and have seriously 
 thought, of raising a suitable monument near 
 the spot hallowed by containing all that is 
 mortal of their ancestors, and particularly 
 over the remains of John Winthrop, nrst 
 governor of Massachusetts, and founder of the 
 city of Boston ; but they have been withheld 
 from doing so, in the belief that, if done at all, 
 it should be done by the public. They feel 
 assured that the recollection of one who pos- 
 sessed a people's love, should be transmitted 
 to posterity by a people's gratitude, and that 
 any interference on their part might be deemed 
 an assumption at once indelicate and ostenta- 
 tious. Nor would there be any lack of n.eans 
 on behalf of the community ; for v^e are con- 
 vinced, that the mere concentration of the 
 public mind on the proposed object would not 
 only procure a tender of ample funds ; "but," 
 to use the language of a late writer on the 
 » Influence of the Fins Arts.— Wherever 
 the arts are cultivated with success, they almost im- 
 perceptibly educate the general taste, and make po- 
 Uteness of mind keep pace with refinement of man- 
 ners. They are to a highly commercial and opulent 
 state of society, what chivaU-y was to the feudal sys- 
 tem ; they wear down its asperities, correct the sel- 
 fislmeas of its action, enliven the dullness of its re- 
 pose, and mitigate the fierceness of its enjoyments. 
 Where the arts are well understood, fashion can not 
 be so monstrous or fantastic as where they exert no 
 salutary dominion over the fond love of variety. The 
 source of excellence in art being a judicious observa- 
 tion of nature, and a righi perception of her princi- 
 ples of beauty and svmmetiy, a closer adherence to 
 nature will mark the fashi-ms of society polished bv 
 their ascendencv than can distinguish the habits ol 
 people without the sphere of their influence. Hence 
 the barbaric nations, where there is much wealth, 
 never expend it in such a way as proves they htive 
 any notion of the plear.urps of refinement. They en- 
 deavor to attract admiration through the vulgar pas- 
 sion of adornment, which is in a moment excited, and 
 as suddenly expires, mfber than create a rational re- 
 spect by consulting for the praise of enlightened 
 opinion. 
 
 subject, " to render the -xprcssion of public 
 sentiment as dilRise as is desirable, the amount 
 of individual subscription would require to ie 
 restricted." 
 
 We are a young and rapidly-gro\ying coun- 
 try — the world's hope and expectation. Our 
 ancestors conquered the hardships of the wil- 
 derness, and posterity will demand of us, their 
 descendants, to make it bloom and blossom, 
 by introducing into it the refinements of social 
 life, and the elevated thoughts and principles 
 of a religious and patriotic peojile. For the 
 first enough has been done, for the second 
 much remains yet to do, and no mea.sure will 
 advance the object more than to honor the 
 
 DEAD.* 
 
 "■ " But I will say a word on the effect of art on 
 national I'eellng. Some one has said, ' Give me the 
 writing of the songs of a oountrv, and you may ma^te 
 its laws.' 1 had almost said, ' Give me the control ot 
 the art of a comitr>-, and you may have the manage- 
 ment of its adminisVations.' There can bo no greater 
 folly than that committed by our statesmen, when 
 they treat art and literature as something quite asido 
 from great national interests. The tariff, internal im- 
 provements, bonks, political speeches, and party 
 measures, are put paramount to them, and yet they 
 all together do not so educate the soul of the nation. 
 They affect simply its food and clothing, and money, 
 and offices. In the days of Italian glory, artists and 
 poets were tho companions of kings, and kings were 
 honored bv the companionship. They were lostered 
 not more trom taste tlian from self-interest. Art is 
 too often looked upon as an abstract thing, designed 
 only for men of taste and leisure. The painting or 
 statue which is the embodiment of the ideal pertect 
 in the artist may be so, but there are other more use- 
 ful departments of art not to be overlooked. Every 
 great national painting of a battle-field, or great com- 
 position, illustrating some event in our histoi-y— every 
 engraving, lithograph, and wood-cut, appealing to na- 
 tional feeling and rousing national senliment— is the 
 work of art ; and who can calculate the effect of all 
 these on the minds of our youth ? Pictures are 
 rdore powerful than speeches. Suppose that every 
 painting and engraving, whether rude or complete, 
 every monument to human worth, were removed 
 from this country for the next forty years— what 
 would be the effect on the national taste and feeling 7 
 And yet for all that our statesmen involuntarily do 
 for these things, such a Su-iiJ would take place. 
 They show themselves b it half acquainted with the 
 true resources of the nation when they overlook or 
 neglect its genius and refined talent. Patriotism, that 
 noblest of sentiments, for it is a sentiment as well as 
 a principle, and governs more in that capacity than 
 hi tho other, is kept alive by art morn than by all tho 
 political speeches of the land. 1 should like to see 
 the Massachusetts' army that would retreat out of 
 the shadow of Bunker Hill Monument before a for- 
 eign foe. Were it necessary in sorao great crisis of 
 our country's fate, to move an audience like this to 
 some heroic resolution demanding peril, and perhaps 
 death— if speech should fail to do it, I would ask only 
 for the canvass to unroll before you, on which was 
 flung, with an artist's hand, the battle of Bunker Hill. 
 I wou.d point to that little redoubt on the crest of the 
 hill, curtained in with the smoke of battle—to the 
 shattered columns breaking down the slope— to the 
 flames of humlnB Chariestnwn, shooting toward 
 heaven— without one word. The artist should speak, 
 and he were a slave that conld resist his appeal 
 Could a man be a coward, fighting in the 8had*f "* 
 
 hi 
 
 eal. 1 
 
 ^1 
 
 30 
 
 t* 'I 
 
 IL 
 
 4 
 
 
 ryasausasxtma 
 
460 
 
 THE WINTHIIOP MONUMKNT. 
 
 How shall wc reward great public servi- 
 ces ? Wc iiavc no titles of iiohilily — no le- 
 I gionsoFliDiior. Our pension-lists arc restrirt- 
 ecl — our otTiccs must be filled in rotation l)y 
 swarms of greedy [)artisans. And thesp gifts, 
 even if we could confer them, would be iiiad- 
 ci]nate and unacceptable compensations to 
 generous minds. No— like the Romans and 
 the Greeks, let us erect monuments and stat- 
 ues, in marble and in bronze, to the memory 
 of tlios(? whose fatne shall remain bright and 
 untarnished to distant ages. The hope of 
 being thus honored would prove a fittin" stim- 
 ulus, a sniTieient consolation, to many a loftv 
 .scnil. Many a true-hearted patriot, whotrusfs 
 the vindication of his career to succeeding 
 nges, anil treads with unfaltering footsteps the 
 path of duty, reviled by his enemies, doubted, 
 mistaken by his friends, would die content, if 
 h(; should .sec with prophetic vision the mi^ts 
 of pnjiidiee and error dispersed, and the no- 
 blest monument that art can dedicate to his 
 name, shining in the serene light of future 
 years. 
 
 The fatherland has in this set us a noble 
 example. There is not a county, hardly a 
 town, in Old England, which is not dignified 
 by a column, an obelisk, or a tablet, in mem- 
 
 a monument to Wnsliintfton? What Americnn sol- 
 dier wouM retire from such a spot, if compellcil to 
 retirn htloro a superior force, with the countennnce 
 of WiisliMi^toii boiling mournfully down on him, with- 
 out Ins howl broiilting within him ? The moral power 
 ot oxaiiiplo is stronger than numbers. Englmid un- 
 derstands how much national pride and patriotism 
 are kept alive by paintiiiers of her great events and 
 monuments raiseil over he'- dead heroes. I have 
 seen the duke of Wellington spurring his steed by 
 his own colossal statue, melted from' the cannon he 
 hmiself took in battle, reared to him by a grateful 
 country hefore ho died. London has her Trafalgar 
 Square, and a glorious monument to Nelson. Even 
 Andre has a monument in St Paul's cathedral. 
 Whenever an English patriot falls, Enj^land calls oii 
 art to come and consecrate the spot. So does Franco ; 
 so has Italy in all ages. Kings and statesmen have 
 understood how much national existence depends on 
 national prido and patriotism, and how much also 
 thme depend on monuments and mementos of her 
 great dead. The palace of Versailles is filled with 
 pauitnigs of Bonaparte's great battles. I once saw 
 a young painter in the kingdom of Sardinia who had 
 sufle-ed imprisonment for painting one of the strug- 
 gles of the Genoese republic for freedom. All the 
 fury and excitement of a headlong fight between the 
 people and the ^government were thrown upon the 
 canvass, recalling the days of Spinola. The painting 
 was seized and locked up, and the young artist im- 
 prisoned. What was the matter? Art, which is 
 ever on the side of liberty, had come up with her s'- 
 lent, yet strong appeal to the popular feeling. Every 
 stroke of young Isola's brush was a Imgic note, sum- 
 moning the spirit of freedom from its grave, and call- 
 ing on it to rise and seize its ancient heritage. The 
 youth of every land are educated more by art than 
 by speeches. Let monuments rise fi'om Concord, 
 Lexington, Bennington, Ticonderoga, Yorktown, and 
 Plattsburgh, and Chippewa, and Lundy's Lane, and 
 New Orleans, and as the rail-car flies over the eoun- 
 
 ory of its illustrious men. There is not a 
 college or chi.ritable institution which is not 
 adorneil with thf' portraits of its |)iiirons. Ven- 
 eration is the distinctive clinractcrislic of her 
 people, and has tended, perhaps, as much as 
 any other (piality to make them what they 
 ore— a wise, a powerful, and n polisli(!il na- 
 tu)n. Chivalric and noble .i-.eniiments are nat- 
 urally associated wilh permainint mmiuments 
 rai.sed by the enthusiasm and gratitude of a 
 community to the heroism or philanthropy of 
 Its (listmguished citizens. Old men feel a 
 pnde in narrating the noble deeds of the illus- 
 trious deail, and pointing them out as exam • 
 pies to their hearers. Young men listen with 
 respect, and j)roinr.se to emulate their good- 
 ness ; and children catch and adopt the 
 thoughts and feelings of their fathers. Thus 
 a public sentiment is formed, which, while it 
 graces and adorns the individual, gives di"- 
 nity and honor to the nation. The tower- 
 cupped hills of England, her castles, her ca- 
 thedrals, and Westminster abbey, have un- 
 doubtedly had their influence, and operated 
 as powerful agents in modelling her character 
 and stam|)ing the features of her peojjle. And 
 be it remembered, it is not to her great cap- 
 tains and naval heroes alone that she raise* 
 
 try, let those records of our struggles and our victo- 
 ries come and go on the hasty traveller, and noble 
 thoughts and purposes will mingle in the lica.llong 
 excitement after gain. Let ths statues of the si-n- 
 ers ot the ileclaration of independence line Ponnsyl- 
 vaiua avenue, and he who walks between them'to 
 the capitol will he a better man and better patriot 7 
 Let great paintings, illustrating our chequered, vet 
 most instructive hi.,tory, fill our public gntleries, and 
 wiien the eountiy wants martyrs tlu'y will be rea.lv. 
 Hut, ala.s ! I am speaking o: what diiffht to be, and 
 not ol what IS. I have been ;ip[,ealinff, also, to the 
 MlJ-inlricst(A the nation, when I ought to have been 
 speaking of the claims on a nation's trratitude To 
 outward eyes .\morica is the most ungrateful country 
 on the face of the earth. The nation has never vet 
 reared a monument to its father, founder, and savior 
 -Washington. I have seen a chapel reared to 
 William 'TeUon the spot where he sent the arrow 
 V,'™°,S,'' ,''"; t.vrant's heart ; and a monument to 
 VV mkkelred, who gathered the spears of the n„emv 
 into his body, to make an opening through which 
 liberty might strike. The countries of the'old world 
 are covered with paintings niid monuments to those 
 whoteU in a less worthy cause than freedom. But 
 where are the monuments to Allen, and Starke and 
 Putnam, and Warren, and Perry, and M'DonnuL'h, 
 and Uecatur. and .Jackson, and Lawrence ? Voung 
 Hale was sent as a spy by Wa.shingtoii into the ene- 
 my s camp. Being discovered, ho was liuni.' on a 
 gaUows, and met bis fate with the lofty enthusiasm 
 and courage of a Spartan hero. He laid down his 
 young life, without a murmur, for hig country. But 
 who can tell where he sleeps ? His country, in her 
 hoiirot darkness and bitter need, asked for his life, 
 and lie gave it without a sigh ; and now that country 
 .lishonors his grave. Yet Andre has a monument in 
 the heart of the British empire! . . . Who would 
 wish to die for a country that treats its martyrs so 1" 
 —Extract from a speech of tlus Jiet. J. T. Headiev. 
 be/ore the American Art Onion. 
 
 
f 
 
 men. There is not a 
 nstitntiod wliirh is not 
 its of its |)!ii rolls. Ven- 
 ■p rlinrncterislic of her 
 I, p'^rhaps, as inuch as 
 'lako tlieiii wiiat they 
 il, and a polisJK'il na- 
 l)]i', senfimonts art> nnt- 
 ix.'rniaiiciir mominicnts 
 srn and nrratilmle of a 
 ism or pliilaiitliropy of 
 "ns. Old men iVJl a 
 ohle deeds of the illug- 
 iR them out as exam ■ 
 Young men listen with 
 
 emulate tlieir good- 
 :ntch and adopt the 
 f their fathers. Thus 
 irmed, which, while it 
 
 individual, gives dig- 
 nution. The tower- 
 d, her castles, her ca- 
 ster abbey, have nn- 
 fluence, and operated 
 lodelling her chnracier 
 es of her people. And 
 not to her great cnp- 
 alone that she raise* 
 
 strnfrffles nnil our victo- 
 insty tnivollcr, nnd iiolilo 
 
 1 mingle in the licftillont; 
 t tlie stnturs of the ei^-n- 
 iepeii(leiic-e line Pennsyl- 
 
 wnlks hftween them"to 
 
 man luui better pmriot ? 
 ritini,' our chcr]upre(l, yet 
 our fnihlic {.'nllcries, mid 
 ir'yrs thoy will be rnuly. 
 iC wlmt riuc-ht to be, nnd 
 m niiiiraling-, also, to tlio 
 lien I ou^'ht to Imvc been 
 I nntiiin's gratitude. To 
 a most unu'rateftil country 
 'ho nation has never yet 
 ther, founilcr, nnd savior 
 ecn a ehnpel reared to 
 'here he sent tlie arrow 
 t ; and a monument to 
 the spears of ibe enemy 
 
 openiiifj through wbirh 
 ountriea of the old world 
 and monnments to those 
 luse than freedom. But 
 o Allen, and Starke, and 
 
 Perry, and M'Donouiih, 
 
 and Luwroneo ? Young 
 Vnshington into the one- 
 red, ho was bull!; on a 
 ith the lofty enthusiasm 
 ero. He laid down bis 
 ir, for hig country. But 
 >s 1 His coantry, in her 
 need, asked for his life, 
 Il ; and now that country 
 ndre has a monument in 
 ipire ! . . . Who would 
 ■ treats its martyrs so 1" 
 tlie lies. J. T. Headltv, 
 on. 
 
 THE WINTHROP MONUMENT. 
 
 4r>i 
 
 her pyramids of honor; but she delights to 
 award tho same distinction to her statesmen, 
 her philuntlir)pist.s, her literati — .showing the 
 ]irogress of tlie ago in its estimate of tlie ele- 
 ments of greatness. Surii mindinarks can 
 not lie mistaken ; no eye so heavy as not to 
 see them — no head so dull as not to understand 
 them — no heart so cold as not to be moved by 
 them. They are the best history for the jieo- 
 |)le — written in the plainest language. 
 
 And wdiat have the Anglo-Saxons of Amer- 
 ica — the proud descendants of this mighty 
 people — to show of such a history ? Almost 
 nothing. Bunkkr Hill rears its granite form 
 in nearly solitary splendor ; and here and there 
 is found a statue of Washinoton, and, per- 
 haj)s, at remote distances, a monument or a 
 ruin may attest a victory or a death — but be- 
 yond these, the people have made no record. 
 
 Historians and chronologists have registered 
 facts and dates, but the sovereign will is still 
 silent ())' the actors. It has neither conferred 
 a dignity nor accorded an evidence of merit. 
 This should no longer be. If to put in action 
 
 the incentives to noble df eds, to mor(»l excel- 
 lence, and to love of counlry, be dcsiralile or 
 useful, then honor .'he dead, lluise monu- 
 ments to the great and good, and show to the 
 living that patriotic deeds never die in the 
 hearts of the people. And who more honor- 
 able to begin with tlmn the founder of the 
 city of Bostcni, and the first governor of .Mas- 
 sachusetts ? Or what name more distinguished 
 can Boston boast of, or one more worthy of a 
 place in the people's record, than that of 
 
 Wl.NTllllOP ? 
 
 NoTK. — The foUowinir fact has 1* 
 
 I Igii'nfoniiniiiHcMrocI 
 to as by one of the family, nnil may be siilcly rejii-d 
 ! upon : fcolonel Stephen VVinthrop, the son of the lirst 
 i governor of Mnssurhasotta, was colonel in the uuards 
 of Olivrr Cromwell. Ho was niipointeil (th(mi.'h not 
 coiTMiissioned) as general, to sui'cced Major (iciierid 
 Harrison ; ajid was abio a member of [lailiament. 
 By hi.'i will, be bequeathed i.'100 stcrlini;, to the 
 town of Boston, in New Kngland, on oiiidition " that 
 the town would erect a suitable monnnicnt to the 
 memory of his beloved parent." We believe no ac- 
 tion was ever taken by the town on the subject, nor 
 any acknowledgment given of the receipt of the be- 
 quest. 
 
 Firat Settlement of Boston. 
 
 i 
 
 U'f. 
 
 .Mi I i - Lm ^ -mmtfL. tm . /f . ^! i ..i, ■■ iog_ i i it wm ., iTn i tiimi 3 
 
462 
 
 LANDING OF WINTHROP, AND SETTLEMENT OF BOSTON. 
 
 LANDING OF WINTHROP AT SALEiM, 
 
 AND SETTLEMENT OF BOSTON. 
 
 In trnring the history of the parly settlers 
 of this country, whnt a source of pleasant re- 
 flection we have, in the fact that our ances- 
 tors, in coining here, were not allured by the 
 gojilen (ireums of avarice, or by the glowing 
 descriptions of the luxuriance of the soil, 
 al)ouiidin^' in perpetunl fruits and flowers — an 
 eartlily jiaradise, teeming with all that could 
 satisfy the ap[)Ptiti', or regale the senses ; nor 
 were they, like some colonists, disgorged from 
 the rnother-ciumtry, to keep the remaining 
 I)i)pulution sound ond pure — a surplus mass 
 tliiown oir to ])revent national apoplexy, or 
 political spasm — such a population as some- 
 times went from Attica to take possession of 
 the islands in the numerous seas about them, 
 or to the more ilistant shores of Africa; nor 
 were tlioy sent by the parent-country to gain 
 a footing near or on the territories of ijthpr 
 nations. No ! a loftier sentiment, a 'ncfnler 
 s|iirit of enterprise, filled their bosoms, and 
 induced them to abandon the comforts, the 
 luxuries of civilized life, troverse three thou- 
 sand miles of ocean, and plant their standard 
 on the wild shores of this western world. 
 The sober calculations of forming a thrifty 
 settlement which should be a home for them- 
 selves and their descendants, where they 
 could enjoy a perfect freedom in thought and 
 speech, and worship God according to the dic- 
 tates of their own consciences, impelled most 
 of the early emigrants to these shores. 
 
 ■ Tliey aonght not cold, nor guilty eue, 
 
 Upon this mck-lmuiid shore — 
 They left sucli prizeless toys as these, 
 
 To niiiiils that loved them more. 
 They 8ou);ht to breathe a freer air, 
 
 To worship (lod unchained, 
 They welcomed pain and danger here, 
 
 Where rights like these were (gained." 
 
 They were fully sensible of their situation. 
 They could not anticipate all the occurrences 
 which might happen in their destinies, but 
 they were determined to commence upon the 
 broad princiine, that knowledge and virtue 
 are the iiillars of power and security in every 
 national code. They saw physical means 
 about them for an almost interminable in- 
 crease of population. The sea was on one 
 side, and boundless forests on the other. Nav- 
 igable riviers were flowing into the oceans. 
 Nothing but a thinly-scattered race of rude 
 men stood in their way to ths founding of an 
 empire larger than the world had ever seen. 
 Nature seemed to have waited from her birth 
 until this hour for their coming, to give them 
 possession of her bounties. This was the 
 place for contemplation, and the place to 
 originate a new course of thoughts upon 
 
 pclitical and civil liberty. There were in 
 these retreats no shouts of the concpieror, no 
 moans of the comjuered ; the time reseniblcil 
 the cool of the evening, and the place the 
 alxxle of innocence, when and where other 
 beings were at rest, and God walked with 
 man in his primeval state. Everything, in 
 America, was to be begun, and everything 
 seemed to depend upon themselves; with this 
 happy ditterence, however, between us und 
 those in paradise, for our safety and ha])i)iness 
 were to dcpcrKl uptm eating freely of the tree 
 of knowledge, which was forbidden to him 
 who first sprang from the dust of the earth. 
 Here was ottered the ojjportunity to cultivote 
 the mind without the trommels and fetters 
 which embarrass and blind those bom in aged 
 and decaying communities. Here plains, and 
 vales, and hills, ottered opportunities for all 
 the experiments of agriculture. No agrarian 
 law was needed to give men an e(]uolity ; 
 there was one passed already by nature with- 
 out stint. The sites for cities were unoccu- 
 pied ; and they exercised their judgments 
 upon the subject of a proper place to build 
 them, without statutes or restraints. The po- 
 litical compact was to be formed and altered 
 as the covenanters could agree ; for there was 
 no other lawgiver than their own understand- 
 ings, no Solons but their own wisdom, no Ly- 
 curguses but the severe discussions of their 
 own judgments. There was no syren to al- 
 lure them from their duties to the rocks on 
 which they might sleep until their locks of 
 strength were shorn. There were no beds of 
 flowers beneath which the serpent's flattery 
 and fLjhion might glide to wound their naked 
 feet with sharp stings. Indolence to them 
 would have been death ; and labor, that sup- 
 posed curse on man, was a blessing. Thus 
 stripped of every shackle, they began their 
 work of founding an empire. By the lights 
 emitted from their minds shall we trace the 
 path they pursued, ind the deeds they per- 
 formed. The light of the sun passes away 
 with the going down of the same ; but the 
 accumulated light of successive ages of intel- 
 lect, like the precious stones which adorn the 
 city of God, chases away all darkness, and 
 beams in eternal splendor.* 
 
 * The following lines, from the North American 
 Review, are so truthful aud beautiful a tribute to the 
 vinues of the " early founders of the republic," that 
 we can not resist the inclination to give them a place 
 in this connexion : — 
 
 " The Puritans— there is n charm in that vord 
 which will never be lost on a New England enr. It 
 is closely associated with all that is great in New- 
 England history. It is hallowed by a thonsand 
 memories of obstacles overthrown, of dangers nobly 
 braved, of sufferings unshrinkingly borne, m the ser- 
 vice of freedom and religion. It Itindles at once the 
 pride of ancestry, and inspires the deepest feeHngs of 
 national veneration. It points to examples of valor 
 in all its modes of mauifcstation— in the hall of de- 
 

 )STON. 
 
 y 
 
 There were in 
 the c()ii(|Ueror, no 
 
 thfi tiini' resemblnl 
 , and the place the 
 :!n onil wliere other 
 il Goil walk(«l witli 
 lie. Everything, in 
 tun, and everythin;; 
 hcmsolves ; with this 
 'er, between us and 
 safety and ha|)|)incs3 
 ing freely of the tree 
 IS forbidden to him 
 le dust of the earth, 
 lortnnity to cultivate 
 rainmels and fetters 
 id those bom in aged 
 38. Here plains, and 
 opportunities for all 
 ilture. No agrarian 
 3 men an equality ; 
 eady by nature with- 
 ' cities were unoccu- 
 ied their judgments 
 'oper place to build 
 r restraints. The po- 
 
 formed and altered 
 agree; for there was 
 leir own understand- 
 owji wisdom, no Ly- 
 
 discussions of their 
 was no syren to al- 
 uties to the rocks on 
 
 until their locks of 
 here were no beds of 
 be serpent's flattery 
 
 wound their naked 
 Indolence to them 
 
 and labor, that sup- 
 is a blessing. Thus 
 le, they began their 
 pire. By the lights 
 
 1 shall we trace the 
 :he deeds they per- 
 le sun passes away 
 r the same ; but the 
 cessive ages of intel- 
 )nes which adorn the 
 ly all darkness, and 
 
 n the North American 
 leauliful a tribute to tlie 
 a of tlio republic," that 
 ion to give tbem a place 
 
 a charm in that rord 
 , New England enr. It 
 I that is great in New- 
 llowed by a thousand 
 rown, of dangers nobly 
 lingl); borne, m the sor- 
 It kindles nt once the 
 the deepest feeHngs of 
 « to examples of valor 
 Cion— in the hall of de- 
 
4()4 
 
 I,AM)IN(i OI- WINTIIKOP, AND SKTTMCMKNT OK IlOr^TOV. 
 
 Ainonjf thp nnmos of tlip jiiotirrrs in tho 
 si'lllrtnriit lit' this \vcH,,'in Wdilil, |iii'-ciiiiiiriit- 
 ly stiuiiU Mint (pf .]<tii.N W'lNTiiiioi', till' lirsi 
 Ucivcriioi- of till" rolctiy i>f Miis-.iii liiisiItH Ixiv, 
 ti) tlif ini'iiKiiy <if wliiisc iiiiii>inii(liint, wrtrili 
 
 mill sclf-siiciiliriii;; Jiuri iul is|i) t lie MdMUIIli-llt, 
 till! siilijcnt of tlif! iin^viiiiis niticlf, is proposed 
 to 1)1' crccU'il. Previous to the rniiijrntion to 
 AiiiiTicii iiiidcr (lovcriinr Wiiitliro|i, atlt'ni|)t8 
 had l)0('ii made to setllt; tin,- i-ountry aliout 
 till- Massiicliusi'tts bny, l)iit which .succntMh-d 
 to a very liinitcd cxfont. The omigrants 
 wore coiii|)iirativ('ly few in niimhors, and 
 were inlemlod more for the advuntus;e of the 
 fisheries and the fur trade, than for the pur- 
 poses of |ierniiiiiiMit setlh'inent. And most of 
 tllem hii(i either returned to EiiKland, or |ier- 
 ished throuj,'ii tlie hanlships eiieountered. or 
 from disease ineidcnt to the ch'mateof a wild, 
 uncultivated region ; and a small numl)er of 
 colonists at Salem,* and here and there an isola- 
 ted family, withour any elVeetive organization, 
 were all that remained of thein. But in lf>30, 
 the Massachusetts Bay Company, under tho 
 direction of John Wintlirop, obtained from 
 Charles I. a conlirmation of their i)atpnt pre- 
 viously obtained from the council of Plv- 
 mouth, grai. -ng them all the territory oxten'd- 
 ing in length from three miles north of the 
 Mejrrimac river, to three miles south of Charles 
 river, and in breadth, from the Atlantic to the 
 Southern ocean. Preparations were imme- 
 diately made for the transjxirtation to this 
 new world, of a body of emigrants, whose 
 numbers, determined character, and moral and 
 intellectual worth, should insure the perma- 
 bnte, on tho field of battle, bufore tho tribunal of 
 power, nt tlic ranrtvr'a stake. It is n name wliich will 
 never die out of New Kii^'lnnd hearts. Wherever 
 virtue resists teniptntion, wlu'revcr men meet death 
 for religion's sake, wherever the fjrildcd Imseness of 
 the world ctaiids abashed before conseiciitious prin- 
 ciple, there will be the spirit of the Puritans. They 
 have left deep and broad marks of their influence on 
 human society. Their children, in all times, will rise 
 up and call them blessed. A thousand witnesses of 
 their courage, their industrj-, their sagaeitv, their in- 
 vmoiblo pRrsevf»i^nn*» m ii»*»il 'In.;*.- their lovo of free 
 institutions, their respect for justice, their Imtriil of 
 wrong, are all ni-oun<l as, and bear grateful evidence 
 daily to their moinor)-. We ran not forget them, 
 even il we had sullieient baseness to wish it. Every 
 spot ot New Knglnnd earth has a story to tell of 
 them; everj- cherished hislitntinn of New-England 
 scHMoty bears the print of iheir minds. The strongest 
 element ol Now ICn-Iand character has been trans- 
 mitted with their IiIikhI. So intense is our sense of 
 iillilmtion with their nature, that we speak of them 
 universally as our ' fathers' And though their fame 
 everv-wbere else were weighed dll«^l with calumny 
 ami hatred, though the principles l!)r which they con- 
 tended, and tho noble deeds they performed, should 
 hecome the scoft' ot syco|)hants "and 0[ipr(ssors, and 
 be bliickened by the smooth falsehoods of tho selfish 
 and the cold, there never will be waiitinir hearts in 
 New England to kimlle nt their virtues, nor tongues 
 and pons to vindicate their name." 
 * 8alem enntained but seven houses in 16.10. 
 
 nent oettletiient of the cohniy. The success 
 ot titeir I llorts was I'liiiiiueM-iirnte with their 
 design. A nobler body of men tlinii enlisted 
 in rhis enterprise, under the lend of Winllimp, 
 never left their native soil to coloni/e a new 
 land. Amotig them were iriiiny pr'rsons of 
 wealth and distinguished re|)iitnti(m, and mem- 
 bers of illustrious and noble families.* Pre- 
 vious to leaving England. .loii.N Wintiikoi- 
 was chosen governor, and 'J'homas Dndlcv 
 depiity-govfrnor. These, with eii;htt;eii as- 
 sistants, ap))ointed at the same time, ami the 
 iHidy of the freemen who should settle in the 
 new |iroviiiee, were to constitute a legislative 
 and executive body in which all the rights of 
 the colony were vested. On INJanh ','!), lf;.^0. 
 they sailed from SonthaiTjjiton, and, niter a 
 pleasant voyage, arrived in the harbor of Sa- 
 lem on the :i4th of .fane. It had been their 
 design to make Salem their principal settle- 
 ment. But (HI landing there. Governor Win- 
 tlirop and most of {(is party were not pleased 
 with its .situation; and after n brief period of 
 rest from the fatigues of the voyage, th(!v 
 commenced a tour of exploration t'hrongh the 
 country, in search of more desirable locations. 
 The engraving on the opposite page illus- 
 trates the manner of their travelling through 
 tho then pathless wilderness. 
 
 They established themselves in places about 
 the bay, as their inclination or judgment di- 
 rected them, and thus laid the foundations ol 
 Charlestown,Watertown, Dorchester, Roxbu- 
 ry, and other towns, now forming the suburbs 
 of Boston. Governor Winthrop and a mate- 
 rial portion of his company, first settled at 
 Charlestown, on the north side of Charles 
 river. Their first meeting for public worship 
 was held under a tree. On the 30th of July 
 the foundation of the first church in the set- 
 tlement was laid at Charlestown, — and prejia- 
 rations were being made for the erection of a 
 house for the residence of the governor. But 
 they soon began to feel the want of good wb- 
 ter, for as yet nothing but a brackish spring, 
 near tha seashore, hud been discovered' The 
 weather had become oppres.sively hot, and 
 many were taken sick. The colonists, as a 
 conserjuence, were becoming dissatisfied with 
 the i)]ace, and several of them went in search 
 of a better location. A fine spring of pure 
 water was discovered on the peninsula on the 
 oppf>site .side of the river, and a party of the 
 • " What niust we think," says Hutchinson, "of 
 persons ot rank and good circumstances in life, bid- 
 ding a final adieu to bI! the conveniences and de- 
 lights ol England, their native country, and exposing 
 themselves, their wives and children, to inevitabli 
 hardships and sullering, in a long voyage across the 
 Atlantic, to land upon a most inhospitable shore, des- 
 titute of any kind of bnilding to secure them from the 
 mclemoncy ot the weather, and deprived of most 
 sorts ol ftxHl to which they had been always used at 
 their fiirmor home V— Chronicles of Massachuaelts 
 
' lM)flTf>N. 
 
 iloiiy. The siirccM, 
 iiicii-.uriil(' witli llicir 
 'if men lliiin i'nlivf|.|| 
 he Icnil nC Winllirup, 
 lil In i-iilruii/.e n new 
 ri^ irmiiy pi-rHoriN nf 
 rcpnlnfidp, niiil iiiciri- 
 lili' fiirnilii-*.* I'li- 
 I. .lc'll^( Wi>TJiii(ip 
 111 'J'lioinas Diiilli^y 
 1', with ci^'litff'ii iH- 
 
 snmc time, find tlio 
 1 shodld seHle in the 
 iistitntc n legifdiiiive 
 liicli all the rii.'liis of 
 On Miirt-h 29, IWO, 
 mpton, mill, nl'fcr a 
 ill tlin harbor of S'n- 
 It lind hrcn their 
 heir {iriiiciiml scttlo- 
 icre, Governor Win- 
 ty wpro not jilcnsrd 
 ter n brief period of 
 f the voyoge, they 
 loration through the 
 ! desirable locations. 
 npiJosite page illus- 
 r travelling through 
 ess. 
 
 elves in places about 
 ion or judguient di- 
 J the foundations ot 
 Dorchester, Roxbu- 
 forming the suburbs 
 inthrop and a iniite- 
 >ny, first settled at 
 tk side of Charles 
 g for public worship 
 )n the 30th of July 
 t church in the set- 
 •stown, — and prepa- 
 or the erection of a 
 
 the governor. But 
 e want of good wa- 
 
 a brackish spring, 
 m discovered. The 
 iressively hot, and 
 The colonists, as a 
 ng dissatisfied with 
 hem Went in search 
 tine spring of pure 
 be peninsula on the 
 and a party of the 
 
 says Hutdiitison, "of 
 Hmstanccg in lii'o, bid. 
 conveniences nnd de- 
 cnnntry, niiil exposing 
 cliildren, to inevitable 
 inffvoynije across the 
 (ihospitttble shore, dua- 
 ) secure them from the 
 ind (loprivecl of most 
 1 been always used at 
 /fs of Massachuietts. 
 
 n 
 
 LANUI.NG OV WI.NTIUIOP, AND 8ETTLEMKNT OF HOSTO^f. 
 
 4G/; 
 
 The Early Settler* travelling through the Wildemesi. 
 
 colonists, crossed the river to examine it. The 
 only European resident of the peninsula at 
 this time, was William Blackstone, a puritan 
 clergyman, who lived in a cottage near the 
 western extremity of the peninsula, since called 
 Blnckstone's point. They at once perceived 
 the advantages the peninsula offered for set- 
 tlement, and most of the colonists changed 
 their residence to that side of the river, and 
 thither, also, the frame of the governor's house 
 was subsequently brought over and put up.* 
 
 / 
 • Edward Johnson, one of the laSerers, tells us : 
 " The grief of this people was farther increased by 
 the sore sickness which befell among them, so that 
 almost in every fiimily lamentation, mourning, and 
 wo, was heard ; and no fresh foo<l to be had to cher- 
 ish them. It would assuredly have moved the most 
 iockedup atfoction to tears, no doubt, had they 
 passed from one hut to another, and beheld the pite- 
 ous cnso these jicople were in. And that which ad- 
 ded to their present distress, was the want of fresh 
 water. For nltlioui,'h the place did afford plenty, 
 yet, for the present, they could find but one spriiiar, 
 and that not to be come at but when the tide was 
 down, which caused many to pass over to the south 
 side of tlie river, where tliey afterward erected some 
 other towns, and in October the governor, deputy, 
 and assistants, held their second court, on the south 
 side of the river, whore they began to build, holding 
 con'ospondeiicy wl':li Clmrlestown, as one nnd the 
 iome-'—Chronick.' of Massarhuselts. 
 
 The Indian name of the place was Shawmut.* 
 The peninsula jutted boldly out into the 
 broad bay of Massachusetts, and united by a 
 narrow neck to the main land. It was six 
 hundred acres in extent, sparsely covered 
 with trees, and nearly divided by two creeks 
 into three small islands, when the creeks were 
 filled by the tides. Thr bounded eminen- 
 ces, swelling from the ^..t .'s brink, gave 
 the peninsula the name, b^ the colonists, 
 of Trimountain, from which has arisen the 
 modern name of Tremont. The promontory, 
 being nearly surrounded by water, divided 
 into hills, and small in extent, was capable of 
 an easy defence against the Indians. We 
 have given, on the following page, a view of 
 the peninsula as it appeared at the time Win- 
 throp first visited it. The three eminences 
 have since been named Copp's, Fort, and 
 Beacon hills. 
 
 The Indians also had seen the advantages 
 of this peninsula, and there resided here a 
 venerable sachem, when first visited by the 
 white man. The name of Trimountain was 
 soon after changed to Boston, as a comiiliment 
 to the Rev. John Cotton, who emigrated from 
 Boston, in Lincolnshire, England. 
 • That is, " sweet water." 
 
 ■^'/ 
 
 ■'•H 
 
 «li 
 
 ='=»"i!»HBi 
 
 wmmm 
 
4G6 
 
 LANDING 01'' WINTHllOP, AND SKTTLKMITNT OF BOSTON. 
 
 Trimoantain, or Bottoo in 1<30. 
 
 The first general court of Massachusetts 
 was held at Boston, November 9, 1630. This 
 court enacted that the freemen should in fu- 
 ture elect represento ives, who were to choose 
 a governor and depi ty from their own num- 
 ber, and with these, possess ])ower to make 
 laws for the province, and appoint officers to 
 execute them. To this measure the f)eople 
 gave their assent by a general vote ; but the 
 court rescinded it early the next year, and 
 enacted that the officers should be chosen by 
 the whole body of freemen. 
 
 _ The colonists began soon to experience the 
 difficulties and hardships which the settlers 
 of a new country are obliged to encounter. 
 Their sufferings the first year were intense, 
 and proved fatal to many among their num- 
 ber. They were undoubtedly the more keenly 
 felt, from having been accustomed to a life of 
 ease, surrounded by all the comforts and lux- 
 uries of civilized life. Before December two 
 hundred jierished. On the 24th of that month 
 the cold became intense, and Charles river 
 was frozen over. Such a Christmas eve they 
 had never before known. Yet the inclemency 
 of the weather continued to increase. They 
 were destitute of |)rovisions, and many were 
 obliged to subsist on clams, mussels, and other 
 shell-fish, and nuts and aconis supplied the 
 place of bread. " In these extremities," says 
 Cotton Mather, "it was marvellous to see 
 how helpful those good people were to one 
 another, following the example of their most 
 noble and liberal governor Wintiirop, who 
 made an equal distribution of what he had of 
 his own stores among the jioor. taking no 
 thought for the morrow ! And on February 
 5, lfi31, when he was distributing the last 
 handful of meal in the bonel, unto a poor 
 
 man, distressed by the wolf at the door, at 
 that instant they spied a ship arrived at the 
 harbor's mouth, laden with provisions for 
 them all."« 
 
 As soon as the severity of the winter was 
 sufficiently abated to admit of assetnl)lies be- 
 ing convened, the court proceeded to enact 
 laws for their internal regulation. In 1002, 
 the chiefs of several Indian tribes visited 
 (Toveriior Winthrop and sought his alliance. 
 They were hosj)itably entertained by the 
 governor, and entered respectively into trea- 
 ties of amity with the colony. 
 
 Governor Winthrop early inculcated the 
 principles of temperance, by both example and 
 recommendation. The benefits of his eflbrts 
 were evinced, when, in September, 1041, at 
 a general training of twelve hundred men, 
 not a single instance of intoxication or other 
 immorality occurred. 
 
 Including the people of Salem, Boston and 
 vicitiity numbered about two thousand in 1031, 
 and in 1643, so great had been the emigrations 
 from England that the inhabitants had in- 
 creased to twenty-one thousand, and several 
 towns were settled on the seacoast ond inland 
 as far as fifteen miles. The map on the fol- 
 lowing page, of Boston and vicinity, as tlaey 
 op])eared about this time, is a fac-si'mile copy 
 from a map of New England, pubhshed in 
 16G7, and is believed to have been the first 
 map ever engraved in this country. 
 
 A fort was soon built in Boston, on the em- 
 inence facing the harbor, and it was from that 
 
 * The ship Lion, which hod been despatched by 
 Governor Wintlirop to England for food, enterod the 
 harbor of Boston, February 5, 1631, laden with pro- 
 visions, and having the Eev. Roger Williams on 
 board, a passenger. 
 
OSTON. 
 
 wolf at the floor, at 
 
 ship arrived at tho 
 
 with provisions for 
 
 y of the winter was 
 nit of asspinljlies l)e- 
 procerded to oriact 
 PS'ilation. In lf>,T>, 
 iiiian tribes visited 
 son^'ht his alliance, 
 entertained by the 
 8i)ectively into trea- 
 lony. 
 
 urly inculcated the 
 l)y both example and 
 )onefits of his ellorts 
 September, ICAl, at 
 ■elve hundred men, 
 ntoxication or other 
 
 " Salem, Boston and 
 •vo thousand in 1(731, 
 been the emin;ration3 
 inhabitants had in- 
 ousand, and several 
 seacoast and inland 
 ?he map on the fol- 
 ind vicinity, as they 
 is a fac-simile copy 
 gland, published in 
 have been the first 
 5 country. 
 Boston, on the ein- 
 md it was from that 
 
 d been deapatolied by 
 id for food, entered tlie 
 , 1631, Inden witli pro- 
 '. Roger Williamfl on 
 
 LANDING OF WINTHIIOP. AND 8KTTLBMKNT OF BOSTON. 
 
 407 
 
 III 
 
 Map of Uostnn and 
 time called Fort hill. At an early day, a for- 
 tilicatiou was also made on an island three 
 miles below the town, as a protection ajjainst 
 foreigners, who were not of friendly views. 
 There were then some piratical vessels on the 
 coast, and the French, who were inimical to 
 the English, wherever \\wy mijiht be, had 
 some naval force in Acadie. now Nova .Scotia. 
 
 The place steadily increased, with few in- 
 terruptions, till the time of the wor of the 
 revolution, in 1775, and various branches of 
 commerce were pursued with great profit and 
 advantage. The people sullerei' 'cli under 
 the tyrannical rule of Edmur^ i idros. in 
 lG8C-'a,* and British revenue Iuwk operated 
 
 * In the year liifH, it was decided in the liih'h court 
 of chaiinuiN , tliat Massachusetts liad forfeited her 
 charter, luui that liencoforth her goverimioiit should 
 bo plaeed in the hands of the kiii^' 'lids event 
 was brou'^'ht about cliiefly liy the instrumentality 
 of Kdmuiid Audroe. This man had been sent over 
 aa a kind of spy on the colonies ; he made it liis 
 businoBS to collect charges against tlie colonies, and 
 return to Enf,'liuid and excite the jealousy of the 
 British Rovemnieiit. In this maimer, the way was 
 prepared for annulling the colonial charters. In De- 
 cciuher, legfi, Aiidros arrived atBoston.beingcomniis- 
 iioiied l)y Kiii« .Tames, as governor-general, and vice- 
 admiral, over New England, New York, and the 
 Jerseys. Like all t>rant«. Sir Kdniuiid bopan his 
 adiiunistration with professions of high regard for the 
 public welfiire. In a few months, however, tlie pros- 
 pect was changed. The press wa« restrained, lib- 
 erty of coiiacieuco inlringed, and exorbitant taxes 
 
 Vicinity, in 1C67. 
 
 oppressively ; but the town still gradually 
 grew and i)rospered. It sutfered losses in 
 the wars with France in 1754, &c., but by 
 enterprise, industry, und a laudable frugality, 
 it advanced in wealth and jiopulntion. The 
 l)opulation in 1700, was about 7,000 ; in ]7(>.'>, 
 15,520 ; anil ut the breaking out of the war 
 of the revolution, about 16,000. Boston was 
 the headijuarters of rebellion at this momen- 
 tous period in our country's history. In her 
 streets were made the lirst fierce and des- 
 perate struggles for liberty ; in her legislative 
 holls, the first bold and manly o]iposition to 
 the encroachments of the mother-country. It 
 was one of her citizens, John H.vncock, who 
 were leWed. The charters being vacated, it was 
 pretended all titles to land were deotroyed : farmers, 
 therefore, who had cultivated their soil for hall' o cen- 
 tm-y, were obliged to take new patents, giving large 
 foes, or writs of intrusion were brouuht, and their 
 lands sold to others. To prevent petitions or consul 
 tatious, town meetings were prohibited, excepting 
 once in a year for the choice of town offices. Lest 
 cries oppression should reacli the throne, he forbinie 
 any to leave the country without permission from the 
 government. . . , 
 
 The colonists had borne the imposition of Andms ■ 
 govemmoiit about three years. Their patience was 
 now exhausted. On the morning of Ajiril ISth, tho 
 public fury burst forth \\ke a volcano. The inhabit- 
 ants of Boston wore in arms, and the people from tho 
 countrj- poured in to their assistance. Audros and 
 his associates fled to a fort ; resistance was in vain, 
 he was made a prisoner, and lont to England. 
 
 «••* 
 
 
 
4G6 
 
 LANDING 01 WJNTUIlOl', ANlJ 8KTTLKMENT Or BOSTON. 
 
 piiK. (I ihc fn>t »ti«rmture to that miblo char- 
 I- rut Aiiiiricun freoilom, tho Dt'cluration of 
 
 lMili'|M'ii{li'ii(!r, 
 
 A vii'w i)f Bitstim ill 177fi, ii givrn on th(! 
 .>|i|"Kiic imir,.. It is (ci|)i<Ml IrDiii nil Kiiylixh 
 Mi;;riiviii;r pulilishcil ill tlmt ynir, timl is hr- 
 liiM'il til !)(■ uuihciitic. 'I'iir view '\n tiikcn 
 I'luiii II |iiiint (111 iho rooil li'uiling I'roin llox- 
 Imii\ til Uiirciicstrr. 
 
 Ill 171)1). s\liiii till! lirsi CCII-I1W wns tiikcii 
 iiinlir tlir |ircsi'iit iiiiliiiiiiil «iiv('iiiiiiciif, liicn 
 iirwiy rviitlili^Iii'il, the |iii|>iiliitiiMi of Ui)>iim 
 wiM imly IH.O.'W. Ill IHOO, it huii risi'ii to 
 v!l..'tt7; ill IHli), to .■3,i.'J.")(); nm| in IH'JO. to 
 •l;i,V!)8j >hiiwiiij,' u iiiic nf iiKTi'iisc, in each 
 Slice. »i>ivc pel iiMl.ofiilii, 111 lliirly-ihiccMiiiiloiin 
 tiiinl jiiT ci'iit. In 1m;!0, ImwrviT, tiic innn- 
 I'l'i- liiiil iiiUiiiicx'il I.) (il,.'}!)l ; an.! in 1840, to 
 !i;(,;if<;), (ihi.win;,' a rati' of inci-caw not far 
 Irniii fifty per ci'iii. in ,.|i<'h of ihi'sn two pe- 
 rioiis. Ill 1^1.1.-1 ihc popiiliuioii was IM, ;)(;(;, 
 an iiiipctns iiciiif,- jjivcn hy ili«! maiiv lines of 
 luiliiiiiiis e(ineeiiiiiili|icr iii"j5osti,n. The fotnl 
 populalioii nf Hostiin iiiiil its iiiiineiliiite vieiiii- 
 ty, IS now at least S>-)0,()l)0. Tliis aceejera- 
 tuin 111 llie rati.) of injrense, from about ono 
 third to one iiajl", is somewhat lemarkaliie, 
 not s(> inueh. jierhaps, for its ninoiint, as from 
 us eoiiieiilence w iih that ciiaii;,'e in the poliey 
 ol our iiaiiunal j,'oveiniiient. whieii was aihipt- 
 eil for the purpose of introducin;; and pro- 
 motiii!; domestic inanufaeturcs, through the 
 Bseiiey of disorirninatiiifr and jirotectiiig du- 
 ties on imports. Up to tiie period referred to, 
 the caintiil and the enterprise of Boston had 
 been fliielly employed in commerce and it8 
 dependent occupations; andthouirh the change 
 in (|uestioii was most strenuously op|)08cd by 
 the jireat majority of the commercial classes 
 ot that city, yet, when it was once adopted, 
 no community in the country embarked in 
 maniitactures more promptly and efficient- 
 ly ; and the result may bo seen in the striking 
 coincidenci! between the date of that change 
 which enlarged the field of enterprise for the 
 intelligence, cnjiital, labor, and skill of that 
 cornmmiity, and the commencement of a 
 greatly-accelerated rate of increase in its 
 populiition and wealth. 
 
 In this |:rogres3 of population, the original 
 limits of the peninsula have been found much 
 too narrow for the growing numbers ; and the 
 city now consists of three distinct parts, 
 namely. Boston of the peninsula— South Bos- 
 ton, built along the westerly base and slopes 
 of Dorchester heights, on the ground formerly 
 belonging to the town of Dorchester, but an- 
 nexed to iieninsular Boston in 1804— and East 
 Boston, built on an island in the harbor, for- 
 merly called Noodle'j island, lying otr against 
 the northerly portion of the peninsula, and sep- 
 arated from Charlestown and the mainland 
 
 on that Hide, by the waters of the Mystic river 
 where they mingle with the liiirllor. It ig 
 connected with the mainlnnd at (MielHca by u 
 bridge six hundred feet long, ami with iho 
 peninsula city by steam ferrybonts, which 
 start fiiiiii each side every live minutes. Kast 
 Boston has grown up wholly since IW.'j;). It 
 is the sliitionof the Liverpool, or Cunard line 
 of steam packets, and tho termination of the 
 Lastiirn railroad. 
 
 The town was governed by nine select- 
 men, chosen iiy the jieople aniiiiiilly till IH'J'J, 
 when it became an incorporated eiiv. and is 
 now governed by a mayor, ei;:ht aldeimem 
 and forty-eight conimon-conneilinen, eompo- 
 sing two li.mnis, who together me dmoniinu- 
 ted the city council. 'I'hey arc (dioscn an- 
 nually, the mayor and iildirinen from the jieo- 
 ple at iarge, and the common-counciimen four 
 from each of tlic twidve wards. 
 
 The peninsular situation of Boston Ims pro- 
 duced the neccsMiy of an uiiiisiml iiiiiiil,(.r of 
 bridges to connect the city with the surround- 
 ing country. These are six in number, and 
 ( great h'ligth ; and though they are all of 
 wood, and without any pretensions to architec- 
 tural beauty, yet their great exient, number, 
 and position, give them an imposing aspect, 
 while their great utility and the, train of ideas 
 nssoctttted therewith, render them objects of 
 lively interest. 
 
 The streets of Boston, especially in the 
 older (piarters of the city, are rather"iriegular 
 and narrow ; but no city in the Union is more 
 substantially built, or contains a greater pro- 
 poriion of spacious and costly private man- 
 sions ; and no city on the globe can boast of 
 08 high a degree of cleanliness. In this par- 
 ticular, so important to the health, comfort, 
 and pleasantness of a large town, the streets, 
 public areas, and private .jourts and yards, of 
 Boston, are truly admirable, and a model for 
 all other cities; and the simple means by 
 which this desirable condition of things is se- 
 cured, is an ordinance which forbids the in- 
 c?u"°"'® to throw oflal, dirt, fragments, or 
 filth of any sort, vegetable or animal, ur)on 
 the ground in the streets, or in private enclo- 
 sures, but requires all these things to be i)ut 
 into casks, or vessels of some kind, and these 
 are regularly removed by the scavengers. 
 Thus, the fref|uent handling of this noisome 
 rubbish, which is the obvious and unavoida- 
 ble consequence of permitting them to be cast 
 upon the ground at all, is avoided, and the 
 removal of them is rendered complete and 
 certain. These simple regulations being en- 
 forced, the city is kept clean, sweet,' and 
 wholesome ; and that, too, with far less ex- 
 pense of time, labor, and rnnaey, than is pos- 
 sible in any other way. I'his management 
 I eaves to Boston, every year, many thousand* 
 
 
 [ 
 
 ■ i W i »«i m jjia«i»i 
 
itITOS. 
 
 'noftlir My«rir river 
 
 I till' liiirliiir, It it 
 
 niiil lit (Miclnrn liy U 
 
 liiiii;, uikI will) "the 
 
 I t't'rryhonfs, which 
 ■ fivfi tniiiiitcN. Mii^t 
 iiilly Hincc 1h;):(. ft 
 •jiodl, or (.'iiimnl line 
 '■ tciii.iiiaiioii lit" tlio 
 
 K'll liy nine Hclcct- I 
 1^ niiiiiiiilly till IH'jj, 
 |ii)riii((i liiv, iiriil is 
 or, ciijlit alilijiiini, 
 I'Diiiiiilincn, cdiniH). 
 ■tjiir lire ilriioinina- 
 llry liic cIkiscii iui- 
 •riiicii ('n)rii tin; pro- 
 iKiii-ciiunciliiicii four 
 winds. 
 
 II 111' HoNtiin liHs pro- 
 
 1 Mllllslllll llllIlllllT of 
 
 will) liif Miiround- 
 ■•*ix in niinilirr, ami 
 J^li tliiy iirt! nil of 
 tensions tourchitcc- 
 int rxli'iit, niuiilinr, 
 in iiiipiisinn; nsjit'ct, 
 "1 liu! train of iilcoa 
 i;r tlicm objects of 
 
 , cspfcinny in the 
 are ratiier irregular 
 fi the Union is more 
 tains a Rreater pro- 
 ostly ])rivato man- 
 i;lol)e can boost of 
 iness. In this )iar- 
 ic health, comfort, 
 i town, the streets, 
 ourts ami yards, of 
 le, and a model for 
 
 simple means by 
 tion of things is se- 
 ich forbids the in- 
 dirt, fragments, or 
 e or animal, upon 
 ir in private enclo- 
 se things to be put 
 me kind, and these 
 Y the scavengers, 
 ig of this noisome 
 ious and unavoida- 
 ng them to be cast 
 i avoided, and the 
 red complete and 
 ;u!ations being en- 
 clean, sweet, and 
 
 with far less ex- 
 n"iey, than is pos- 
 I'his management 
 ri many thousand* 
 
 <l ! 
 
 fill 
 
 
 i 
 
 -4i»-r 
 
 ia c ' .— 'j j cara 
 
lt^l->»-.^l-^l^^-^. ^■■..-— J,J^ 
 
 t- 
 
 470 
 
 LANDING OP WINTHROP, AND SETTLEMENT OP BOSTON. 
 
 of dollars in her onnual cxpenJitures; ai.d its 
 ftiiod sense mid great economy are so palpable 
 us to make it really surprising that it is not 
 tlKj settled system of every populous town. 
 
 Boston harbor, commodious, deep, easy of 
 uccess. and yet easily defended, is one of'^the 
 best ui the world. The approach to the in- 
 ner iiurbor, immediately ir front of the city, 
 IS for a short distance and immediately under 
 tlic batteries of Fort Independence, bv a chan- 
 nel so narrow that two largo ships could 
 scarcely jiass abreast, wliih- within, it spreads 
 into a noble haven, spacious enough for five 
 hundred ships of any size to ride securely. 
 
 In commerce and navigation, Boston r'uiiks 
 a. the second city in the Union, standing next 
 to New York, and possessing a tonim-'e 
 airiounting to nearly or quite 300,000 toi^s. 
 , 1 he capital employed in foreiirn trade is about 
 Ul-i,000,000. The number of banks, in 1847 
 was 25, with a capital of $18,000,000, and 
 -.8 I'lsurance companies, with an aggregate 
 capital of $7,000,000. " 
 
 The total amount of capital employed in 
 manufactures is upward of $4,000,000; but 
 a tar larger amount of Boston capital is in- 
 vested m cotton and woollen manufactures in 
 Liowell and other places. 
 
 The^Cochituate mjueduct, for the introduc- 
 tion ot pure and wholesome water into the 
 city has been recently completed, and this 
 important epoch in the history of Boston was 
 celebrated in the most brilliant and enthasia-?- 
 tic manner. Its importance as contributing 
 to health, cleanliness, purity, and a thousand 
 other general and useful purposes, can scarcely 
 be overrated. Lake Cochituate, from which 
 the water is brought, lies about eiahteen miles 
 from Boston, in the towns of Natick. Fra- 
 mingham, and Wayland, Middlesex countv, 
 Massachusetts. This lake covers an area of 
 ObO acres, and drains a surface of over 11 000 
 acres. Its depth, in some places is 70 f,-et, 
 and Its elevation above common tide at Bos- 
 
 Z"nnnnfJT ■'^^'' "^''"'"^«'' "-"'^""^^ ^^ns 
 3M,()00,000, but It cost over $3,000,000 
 
 Besides the aqueduct itself, the great fea- 
 tures of this enterprise are the Beacon hill I 
 reservoir, ,n Boston ; the reservoir on Dor- I 
 Chester heights. South Boston; the great res- 
 ervoir and gate-house in Brookline, from! 
 which the water of the lake is brought to th." ' 
 street mains and reservoir in Boston, in two i 
 irim pipes, thirl,y-four inches in diameter, and ' 
 
 ca able of dehvenng .laily three millions «f 
 ff.. lions of water; Mie Charles rivor brid-e at 
 N.wton Lower falls, which is builfon Three 
 arches; the Pipe chamber in the vicinity, and 
 the Roa, bridge, which is built on a sincle 
 arch, and sai.l by all to be a most splendid 
 piece of masonry; the waste wier, four miles 
 
 beyond the Lower falls, where the aci-iedn.^t 
 passes over a considerable stream; and finidl v, 
 the Gatehouse, a granite edifice at the lake". 
 
 The reservoir on Beacon hill covers uu 
 area of 40,000 square feet, and will bold 
 3,000,000 of gallons of water. The level will 
 be SIX and o half feet above the level of ili,. 
 floor of the statehouse. This reservoir, « l,i.h 
 will throw ajet of water to a great height, from 
 most parts of the cify, is intended for a reserve 
 fountain, in case of any accident to the great 
 pipc'^- The reservoir on Dorchester heir-bts 
 contains an orea of 70,000 feet, and is capable 
 of delivering 7,000,000 of gallons p,-r duv. 
 1 his IS also intended for a reserved fountain, 
 and the two reservoirs together will disneiwe 
 10,000,000 of gallons of water a da v. This 
 quantity, it has well been said, wifl sunplv 
 more than sixteen gallons a day. for five daVs 
 
 ^" m?'-'*^'??''"' ■'^"'"nn- nnJ child, in the eiiv.' 
 1 he full of the woter from the reservoir in 
 Brookline, is two feet to the mile, and the 
 evel of the reservoir is consc.niently ei-ht 
 ft-et higher than that of the great reservoi^in 
 lioston. This reservoir covers thirty acres, 
 and the water will be in some places'twenty 
 feet deep, and will average fifteen feet deep, 
 thereby constituting a perfect safeguard for 
 the city, if any accident ha])pens to the con- 
 fliiit above. 
 
 Boston has always been conspicuous for its 
 attention and liberality in supporting public 
 schools, where the children of all ranks of the 
 people are instructed. Even for those who 
 wish to study Latin and Greek, or the ni"her 
 branches of mathematics and natural philoso- 
 I)hy, as well as the English language, arith- 
 metic, and geograf)hy, institutions are pro- 
 vided ; but in the higher seminaries a certain 
 age ano progress are necessary for admission. 
 Could the old sachem, the blue smoke of 
 whose coi.icil-fire was curling upward to the 
 skies, fnun the site of Boston, when first vis- 
 ited by the European, be permitted a brief 
 return to earth, with what feelings would he 
 look upon the present splendor of' his ancient 
 I domain ? What would be his sensations to 
 hiij It thronged with nearly a auarter of a 
 million of human beings— to find the seat of 
 j his iiumble wigwam now occupied by com- 
 inio(lious warehouses and stately dwellin.'s, 
 studded at fre(|uent intervals with minarets 
 and steeples, and glittering domes— to find 
 the oroad bay, where glided his birchen ca- 
 noe, now ploughed by giant steamships, and 
 white with the sails of every land, and its 
 shores lined with a dense forest of toweriiiii 
 masts ? — " 
 
 '• WouM not hin altered nature 
 Hejoice witli rnpture liif.'h, 
 At the changed nnd glorious prospect 
 Ihat now would meet his eye 7" 
 
)F BOSTON. 
 
 s where the a(|iic(Iiii-t 
 lie stream; omi fimillv, 
 re edifice nt the Inke. 
 Jcacon Iiill covpis nn 
 ! feet, onil wil! l]ii|,| 
 water. The level will 
 ibove the level of tin- 
 
 This reservoir, Mliich 
 
 toagreathei^'ht, )'i(iii) 
 I intended for q reserve 
 ' accident fo the greiit 
 on Dorchester heiyhrs 
 00 feet, and isciipalile 
 ) of gallons (ler duy. 
 ir a reservei] foiintniii, 
 together will disjjense 
 f water a day. This 
 sen said, will supply 
 s a day, for fivedavs, 
 ind child, in the ri'iy. 
 
 from the reservoir in 
 to the mile, and the 
 8 conseijuently eii^ht 
 the great reservoir in 
 • covers thirty acres, 
 
 some placestwenty 
 ige fifteen feet deep, 
 perfect safeguard for 
 
 hajjpens to the con- 
 in conspicuous for its 
 in supporting puldic 
 ■en of all ranks of the 
 Even for those who 
 Greek, or the nigher 
 
 and natural philoso- 
 lish language, arith- 
 nstitutions are pro- 
 seminaries a certain 
 ;ssary for admission. 
 , the blue smoke of 
 irling upwp.rd to the 
 ston, when first vis- 
 B permitted a brief 
 it feelings would he 
 endor ot his ancient 
 )e his sensations to 
 »rly a uuarter of m 
 -to find the seat of 
 i' occupied by eom- 
 
 stately dwellings, 
 vals with minarets 
 ng domes — to find 
 dcd his birchen cii- 
 mt steamships, and 
 ?very land, and its 
 
 forest of towering 
 
 I nature 
 •e liigli, 
 
 lorious prospect 
 eet hii eye 7" 
 
 GIRAIID COLLEGE, PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 471 
 
 View of Git->d College, Philadelphia. 
 
 GIRARD COLLEGE FOR ORPHANS. 
 
 The site appropriated by Mr. Girard, for 
 the purposes of this college was formerly 
 known as Peel Hall; it is situated on the 
 Ridge road about a mile north of the city lim- 
 its, and occupies a tract of land half a mile in 
 le.igth by an eighth of a mile in width, sur 
 rounded by a spacious street sixty feet wide, 
 called College avenue. The main entrance 
 is at the head of Corinthian avenue, a street 
 of eighty feet in width running north from 
 Coates' street west of Third street from 
 Schuylkill. The street represented on the 
 j)late is College avenue, running westward 
 from the Ridge road. 
 
 The buildings consist of the main college 
 edifice, which will be entirely devoted to edu- 
 cational purposes, and two spacious out build- 
 ings on each side, all of which are composed 
 of marble. 
 
 The main building is a composition in the 
 Greek Corinthian order of architecture ; it 
 stands parallel with the city streets, immedi- 
 ately in front of Corinthian avenue, and cov- 
 ers an area of one acre of ground, being 181 
 feet wide and U39i feet long. The body of 
 the building, which 's 111 feet wide by 169 
 feet long, has eight columns on each end and 
 eleven on each side (counting the comer col- 
 umns both ways), which makes thirly-four 
 columns in all. The colonnade stands on a 
 marble platform seven and a half feet high, 
 159 feet wide, and 217j feet long, approached 
 on all sides by eleven marble steps. 
 
 Each of the bases of the columns measures 
 nine and a quarter feet in diameter, and the 
 shafts six feet at the bottom and five feet at 
 
 the top ; the capitals are nine feet high and 
 ten feet wide on the face of the abacus or up- 
 per member; tlie whole height, including base, 
 shaft: and capital, is fifty-five feet. These 
 columns are composed of large blocks of white 
 marble, some of which weigh fifteen tons. 
 Each shaft is beautifully wrought into twenty- 
 four deep flutes, and the carving of the capi- 
 tals is of the richest and most ornate charac- 
 ter. Many suppose that these capitals were 
 imported, but such is not the cose ; they were 
 all wrought on the college-grounds out of 
 American marble, and the whole building is, 
 in fact, a specimen of American skill and 
 American materials. 
 
 The entablature, or the entire mass which 
 rests on the columns, is seventeen feet high ; 
 it consists of an enriched cornice projecting 
 nearly five feet, and other mouldings finely 
 proportioned and beautifully wrought. Each 
 end of the building is embellished with a ped- 
 iment rising twenty and a half feet above the 
 horizontal cornice, thus making the entire 
 elevation of the apex of the roof above the 
 ground about one hundred feet. 
 
 The ceiling of the portico is being con- 
 structed of immense cast-iron plates, richly 
 embellished with panels and ornamented 
 mouldings. 
 
 The roof is composed of marble, and is one 
 of the most interesting portions of the work. 
 We shall describe it in the words of the archi- 
 •■ect to the building committee, in his ninth 
 annual rejwrt. '• It consists of marble tiles 
 four and a half feet long,yoMr feet wide, and 
 two and three fourths inches thick ; every su- 
 perior tile overlaps the one below it, and the 
 junction of every two adjoining tilv« is cov- 
 
 ' « 
 
 
472 
 
 THE W1N8L0W HOUSE. 
 
 ercil with a strip of marble four and a half 
 fiH't in length, ten inches in width, and six 
 inclu's in thickness. 
 
 " To su|)j)ort these tiles, brick walls of nine 
 inches in thickness are built three feet vine 
 inehes apart, across the whole surface of the 
 ujjper arches, from side to side of the build- 
 iiii; ; the top of each wall is formed with a 
 declivity from the ri(]ji;e to the eaves, corre- 
 sj)on(ling with the pitch of the jjcdiments. 
 
 ' The large tiles arc laiii on these walls, 
 beginning at the eaves and extending to the 
 ridge, each su])erior tile overlapping the one 
 below it six inches. The sides of these tiles 
 are elevated an inch and a half above the gen- 
 eral surface to prevent the water from running 
 into the joints at their junction ; and the nar- 
 row tiles which cover these joints are hol- 
 lowed out so as to embrace the projection of 
 each contiguous tile. 
 
 "All the joints and overlappings are so 
 formed as to prevent the admission of water 
 eitiier from the force of beating rains or from 
 capillary attraction ; — at the same time their 
 design is such as to admit of their being laid 
 without coming actually in contact with each 
 other, thus rendering them free to expand and 
 contract with the various changes of temper- 
 ature without producing leaks ; the whole is, 
 therefore, rendered water-tight without de- 
 pending at all on cement. 
 
 " The ))lau of supporting the tiles on walls 
 atlbrds access at all times to the under side of 
 every tile ; and in order to facilitate their in- 
 spection, openings are left in the walls oppo- 
 site each skylight, by which a portion of 
 light will be admitted into every compart- 
 ment. 
 
 " The gutters ore formed of flagstone and 
 bricks laid in hydraulic cement, and securely 
 covered with heavy milled lead. These gut- 
 ters are so constructed as to jjrevent any wa- 
 ter from running over the eaves ; by this plan 
 the cornices will not be liable to the mutila- 
 tion and ])remature decay to which they 
 would otherwise have been subjected, and 
 which mars niimy of the noblest structures of 
 ancient as well as modern times. 
 
 " The conductors for carrying the water 
 from the roof consist of heavy cast-iron pipes 
 of ten inches in diameter, securely put to- 
 gether and onibediied in walls of the iiuilding." 
 The interior of this building is divided into 
 three stories of twenty-tive feet in height, 
 and each st.iry into four rooms of fifty feet 
 sijuarc, with a vestibule at each end of tw(!n- 
 tv-six feet by the width of the building. The 
 first and second stories are vaulted with groin 
 arches, and the third story with domes suj)- 
 ported on pendentivcs springing from the cor- 
 ners of the rooms ; this story is lighted by 
 skylights sixteen feet in diameter. 
 
 All the floors and stairways are composerl 
 of marble, so that there is nr^ wood employed 
 in the construction of the Iiuilding except for 
 doors and windows. The stairways ascend 
 from the vestibules in each of the four cor- 
 ners of the building, and present an exceed- 
 ingly light and graceful appearance ; they are 
 embellished with beautiful east-iron balus- 
 trades, starting from polished marble newels. 
 The doors of entrance are on the north and 
 and south fronts opening into the vestibules; 
 they are each sixteen feet wide by thirty-two 
 feet high in the clear ; the lower section of 
 th(? panelling alone is made to open. Each 
 vestibule is vaulted from an entablature sup- 
 ported, on eight columns and eight autre, or 
 scjuare pillars attached to the walls, nioking 
 forty-eight columns and forty-eight antic in 
 all the stories ; the shafts of these columns 
 are each composed of a single block of marble. 
 The order in the first story is Ionic, in the sec- 
 ond a modified Corinthian, and in the third a 
 similar order rather lighter and more ornate. 
 Each stairway is crowned with a richly pan- 
 elled pendentive dome ceiling lighted with a 
 skylight of ten feet in diameter. 
 
 The four out buildings are each fifty-two 
 feet wide, one hundred and twenty-five feet 
 long, and three stories high, with d basement 
 of seven feet above the ground. The eastern- 
 most building is divided into four separate i)ri- 
 vate residences for the president nnd jirofes- 
 sors, and the remaining three are designed for 
 the residence and accommodation of the pujjils 
 and their attendants. 
 
 THE WINSLOW HOUSE, MARSHFIELD. 
 
 This venerable relic of the days of the 
 Pilgrims, is situated on the Winslow farm, 
 now the property, we believe, of the Hon. Dan- 
 iel Webster, in Marshfield, Massachusetts. 
 It is in the southern part of the town, on 
 the borders of the ancient town of Duxburv, 
 and about ten miles from the more ancient 
 town of Plymouth, where the Pilgrim Fa- 
 thers first stepped upon the sacred Rock, and 
 about thirty miles from Boston. The house 
 is more than a century and a half old, and is 
 of course built in a most antique style of ar- 
 chitecture. It was formerly the residence of 
 Colonel John Winslow, a great-grandson of 
 Governor Edward Winslow, one of that no- 
 ble party who came over in the May-Flower. 
 He died at Hingham, in April, 1774, in the 
 seventy-second year of his age, and the 
 Winslow name "has become extinct in the 
 venerable town of their adoption. 
 
r'nys nre romnosod 
 no Wood rm|iloyeiI 
 iiuildinn; except i'or 
 stairways nscpnd 
 li of the four cor- 
 )rp.si.'iit an fxceed- 
 icaranco ; tlicy are 
 d cast-iron l)nl us- 
 ed marble newels, 
 •e on the north and 
 ito the vestihules; 
 .vide by thirty-two 
 I lower section of 
 le to open. Each 
 1 entablature sup- 
 nd eij;ht antre, or 
 the walls, niaking 
 irtv-eijiht antic in 
 ot these columns 
 le block of marble. 
 is Ionic, in the ser- 
 and in the third a 
 and more ornate, 
 vith a richly pan- 
 ing lighted with a 
 leter. 
 
 ire each fifty-two 
 1 twenty-five feet 
 , with a basement 
 nd. The eastern- 
 four separate jjii- 
 lident nnd profcs- 
 e are designed for 
 ation of the pupils 
 
 MARSHFIELD. 
 
 the days of the 
 3 Winslow farm, 
 ,oftheH()n.Dan- 
 , Massachusetts, 
 of the town, on 
 )wn of Duxbury, 
 he more ancient 
 the Pilgrim Fa- 
 sacred Rock, and 
 ton. The house 
 I half old, and is 
 ique style of ar- 
 ' the residence of 
 ;reat-grandson of 
 one of that no- 
 :he May-Flower, 
 iril, 1774, in the 
 s age, and the 
 I extinct in the 
 :)tion. 
 
 w#(. 
 
 
 
f 
 
 474 
 
 ME11CHANT3' EXCHANGE, NEW YORK. 
 
 MERCHANTS' EXCHANGE, NEW YORK. 
 
 Wall street is known, the world over, 
 ns the mart of the money-changers in New 
 York. It is, indeed, chiefly filled with bank- 
 ers and brokers, who rejoice in fingering bank- 
 notes, half joes, eagles, and dollars, the former 
 of whom are happy to receive your money 
 on deposite and accommodate you with a.loan 
 at a moderate discount, and the latter of wliom 
 are ready to negotiate a note for a reasonable 
 advance, or to change uncurrent into current 
 money at a slight charge. But there are no 
 inconsiderable numbers of otiier gentry, who 
 would be hnjjjiy to acquaint themselves with 
 your purse, as assurers, lawyers, notaries, spec- 
 ulators, stock-jobbers, packet-officers, money- 
 collectors, customhouse officers, news-mong- 
 ers, and agents in any line whatever. 
 
 The whole street is immeasurably active in 
 the general pursuit of money. The business 
 of every house relates to money, notes or 
 stock; in every group the subject of conver- 
 sation is money, notes, or stock ; the life, mo- 
 tion, and being, of every man in "Wall street 
 is money, notes, or stock. Everything is done 
 by exchange, whether it be an exchange of 
 money, of notes, of bonds, of stock, of estates, 
 of opinions and information, or of nods and 
 winks significantly appertaining to that mode 
 of making money, called spc lation. Here 
 fortunes are won m an hour, and here too they 
 are lost as soon. Gold is here the beacon of 
 hope, and the mainspring of action ; but also 
 too often does it prove the i^ntis-fatuus of 
 deluded adventurers, and the siren of evil and 
 destruction. 
 
 Wall street is also the centre of commer- 
 cial informatim and general news. Hither 
 all citizens who are infected with the cacoethus 
 audiendi, flock, to learn how the world wags, 
 as well as to proclaim such items of intelli- 
 gence as may have reached their understond- 
 mgs alone. The merchants particulorly col- 
 lect here in greot numbers, at mid-day, to 
 confer together upon the objects of trade, and 
 to survey the general indications of the com- 
 mercial atmosphere. For the greater con- 
 venience of these daily assemblages, which 
 have become very necessary and important, 
 a building has been particularly erected, call- 
 ed the Merchants' Exchange, and devoted to 
 that object. 
 
 This edifice, a view of which is given oppo- 
 site, embraces all the ground between William 
 and Wall streets, Exchange place and Han- 
 over street, covering the entire block. It has 
 a somewhat confined situation, and shows to 
 less advantage than if it were surrounded by 
 open grounds. It is of the Ionic order of ar- 
 chitecture and is built in the most substantia] 
 form, of blue Quincy granite. The dimen- 
 
 sions are one hundred and ninety-eight feet 
 on Wall street, one hundred and seventy-one 
 on William street, one hundred and forty-four 
 .'H Hanover street, and one hundred and' ninc- 
 -y-six feet on Exchange place. It is sc vent v- 
 seven feet high to the top of the coniicp, oiid 
 one hundred and twenty-fiiur fict from the 
 foundation wall to the Kjp of the dome. 
 
 In fnjnt, on Wall street, is a recessed por- 
 tico, with eighteen massive (j'reeiaii-Ioiiic 
 columns, thirty-eight feet high, and four feet 
 four inches in diameter, eRcli formed of a 
 solid block of stone. It rrtiuired the best np- 
 plication of the mechanical powers, aided h\ 
 horses, to raise these enormous pillars. The 
 process of obtaining such immense masses from 
 the quarry is curious. The (puiny whence 
 they were brought is in the side of n hill ; 
 the ends of a block of granite are cleared, p 
 row of holes are drilled in a straight line, 
 wedges are inserted, and an enormous piece 
 of stone weighing from three hundred to four 
 hundred tons is thus wedged oil' with case. 
 Each of the columns for tire portico weighed 
 about ninety tons in the rough, and five men 
 with a simple apparatus drew it out of the 
 quarry in two or three days to the place where 
 the woj;kmen stood ready to hammer-dress it. 
 The fair market priceof one of these columns 
 is $6,000 ; but the Exchange company ])aid 
 only $3,000 for them, delivered in New York. 
 These columns with but one exception (that 
 of a church at St. Petersburgh), ore the lar- 
 gest in the world, and each of them, inclu- 
 aing the base, cap, and shaft, weighs forty- 
 three tons. The exchange room or rotunda 
 is a most magnificent apartment, in the centre 
 of the building. The height of it to the 
 spring of the dome is fifty-one feet, ond above 
 this the dome is thirty feet high ; the whole 
 is surmounted by a lantern sky-light thirty- 
 seven feet diameter, and six feet high. The 
 floor is to be of fine marble — its diameter is 
 eighty feet in the clear, and one hundred feet 
 in the recesses, forming an area of seven thou- 
 sand square feet, which it is estimated will 
 hold three thousand persons. The (h)mo is 
 partly supported by eight polished Italian 
 marble columns with Corinthian capitals, ex- 
 ecuted in Italy ; these are forty-one feet in 
 height, including the cap and base, and four 
 feet eight inches in diameter. There are also 
 many rooms for the accommodation of public 
 and private offices. When it is recollected 
 that this fine building has been erected in the 
 place of an elegant exchange building, burnt 
 in the great fire of 1833, it is a mutter of con- 
 gratulation that it is of materials absolutely in- 
 combustible, no wood, but the doors and win- 
 dows, having been used in its construction. 
 The codt of the building, including the ground, 
 was about two millions of dollars. 
 
 cwr -i!=^:^y,iiA«4»'^«J?^ga£^i.n»WjH|ii)>»MUIW 
 
'■ .ilHi lip 
 
 BTid iiinrty-einht fcpt 
 Jrcd niul sevfiity-oiic 
 undrc'd nnil fortv-fuiir 
 no hunilrcij aiid iiinc- 
 placn. It issi'vpiiiv- 
 p of thi; rornico, and 
 y-foiir ft'ct iVom the 
 p i)f the dome. 
 et, is a ric'cssed por- 
 assive (jriH'iiiu-Icjiiio 
 t high, ntid four feet 
 , encli formed of a 
 required tlie hest np- 
 L'al powers, aided ljy 
 rmous pillars. 'J'he 
 immense masses from 
 ['he (piurry wlience 
 I the side of n hill ; 
 ranite are cleared, p 
 in a straight line, 
 on enormous piece 
 hree hundre<l to four 
 dged otr with case, 
 the portico weighed 
 I'ougn, and five men 
 drew it out of the 
 ■8 to the place where 
 to hammer-dress it. 
 3ne of these columns 
 ange company ]mid 
 vered in New York, 
 one excejjtion (that 
 iburgh), are the lar- 
 ich of^ them, inclu- 
 shaft, weighs forty- 
 ;e room or rotunda 
 rtment, in the centre 
 leight of It to the 
 •one feet, and above 
 ■t high ; the whole 
 •n sky-light thirty- 
 ix feet high. The 
 le — its diameter is 
 id one hundred feet 
 area of seven thou- 
 t is estimated will 
 ins. The dome is 
 It polished Italian 
 rithian ca])itals, ex- 
 c forty-one feet in 
 und base, and four 
 ir. There are also 
 modation of public 
 in it is recollected 
 been erected in the 
 nge building, burnt 
 is a mutter of con- 
 jrials absolutely in- 
 the doors and win- 
 n its construction, 
 eluding the ground, 
 iollurs. 
 
 t' 
 
 "' '^^ 
 
I 
 
 476 
 
 THE HOTEL DE VILLE, PARIS. 
 
 THE HOTEL DE VILLE, PARIS. 
 
 The Hotel de Ville, or town-hall of Par- 
 is, is a iimssivo structure, situated in the 
 Place de (jrove; and, like all nncirnt jjublic 
 buildings, the stirring events of j)nst diiys and 
 years nro associated with its history. The 
 ]ilan of the present cdiliec was ])rescnte(l to 
 Henri II. by Doininiciue ^Joeeardo, an Italian 
 architect, in 1549, but many alterations and 
 additions have since been madi; to it. Omit- 
 ting any description of the exterior (a fine 
 view of which ^s given in the engraving) we 
 proceed to notice the courts and saloons. 
 
 Tiio central court is approached from the 
 western front by a flight of steps, and is sur- 
 rounded by an arched Ionic ])ortico. In the 
 centre stands the pedestrian statue of Louis 
 XIV., representing the monarch clothed in 
 Grecian armor. The marble tablets around 
 the frieze were inscribed with the principal 
 events of his life, but time, assisted by the 
 band of violence, has nearly effaced these. 
 The northern and southern courts are con- 
 nected with this by flights of stairs, and ore 
 adorned with Corinthian and composite col- 
 umns. 
 
 The Salle dc Danse is a magnificent saloon, 
 in the Corinthian order, the ceiling being divi- 
 ded into square compartments. 
 
 Below this is the Salle de St. Jean, of 
 equal splendor with the former saloon, adorned 
 with Doric columns detached ; it occupies the 
 whole sj)acu between the intermediate eastern 
 pavilions, which are used for the Octroi Mu- 
 nicipal, and other jjublic offices. 
 
 The Grand Salle, or Salle du Trdne, oc- 
 cu])ies the whole of the central portion of the 
 building. The fireplaces are of white mar- 
 ble, elaborately ornamented with recumbent 
 figures, in the style of the times of Henri IV". 
 Armorial bearings and escutcheons adorn the 
 ceiling. 
 
 The Salle d'' Introduction, containing two 
 statues of Henri IV., and the Salle de Jen, 
 come next, the latter conducting to the Salle 
 de Bal, a grand and magnificent apartment, 
 as regards both extent and height, and splen- 
 dor of furniture ; devoted to entertainments, 
 fetes, balls, and banipiets. There is also a 
 spacious dining-room, of sufficient capacity to 
 seat a thousand guests. Underneath this are 
 extensive kitchens. There has, in addition to 
 these, lately been constructed a suite of apart- 
 ments, worthy the residence of either a king 
 or a president. 
 
 The Hotel de Ville has been the theatre 
 of action of the most thrilling and important 
 events in th" history of France. In the early 
 part of the reign of Louis XIV., an assem- 
 bly was here convened, to deliberate on the 
 propriety of inviting the court, the queen- 
 
 mother, and her eon, to return to Paris, from 
 which they had fled on the occasion of the 
 Prince de Conde the leader of the Fronde, 
 having assumed a position hostile to the Car- 
 dinal Mazarin. The officers an ! soldiers of 
 the bold and during Conde, filled the Place dc 
 Orove, interndngled with the people, and 
 compelling all pussers-by to wear a few ])ie- 
 ces of straw, tiio badge of partisanship. At 
 the moment, while a letter was being read to 
 the assembly fnjin the king, the prince, the 
 due d'Orleans, and their partisans, entered the 
 hull. The i)rince returned thanks to the cit- 
 izens for opening the gates of Paris to his ar- 
 my. As the king's letter contained no prom- 
 ise of the dismission of the oflensive minister, 
 Mazarin, an angry discussion ensue<l ; the as- 
 sembly was broken up ; the Prince de Coiide 
 accused the members of being partisans of 
 Mazarin, and declared that they should not 
 depart. A rush was made for the door, but 
 the guards had closed it ; a volley of musket- 
 ry was fired upon the windows, fagots were 
 placed before the entrance, and fired to ])re- 
 vcnt the escape of the inmates. The work 
 of death commenced, and many were slain ; 
 a few escaped, among whom was the gov- 
 ernor of Paris, disguised as a priest. 
 
 At the first outbreak of the revolution of 
 1798, the Hotel de Ville was rendered mem- 
 orable by another scene, enacted within its 
 massive walls. Louis XVI., was here re- 
 ceived and welcomed with acclamations — 
 alas ! how soon to be changed to the dismal 
 notes of death ! Louis, in return for the ac- 
 clamations of the people, npjieared at the 
 window, to express his sense of their appro- 
 bation. With the cap of liberty on his head, 
 and wearing the national cockade, he address- 
 ed the thousands assembled around the build- 
 ing ; and was heard to say, with visible emo- 
 tiijn, "Mr/ people may always depend vpon 
 my regard and affection." How truly, in- 
 deed, have the words of divine inspiration 
 proved to be the only true guide : " Place not 
 your trust in princes." 
 
 But a few months had elapsed after the 
 visit of Louis, when a man appeared at the 
 Hotel de Ville, at the mention of whose 
 name humanity shudders : the hero of the 
 " reign of terror," Robespierre, who was con- 
 ducted thence to his execution in the Place de 
 Grove. 
 
 In the year 1830, the populace of Paris 
 rose en mas»e, to dethrcne Charles X. ; and, 
 after three days' struggle, this monarch fled 
 from his palace and his capital. A provisional 
 government held its sittings at the Hotel de 
 Ville. Their choice fell upon Louis Philippe, 
 due d'Orleans. He was pronounced "the 
 citizen-king ;" and from the same window of 
 the same room whence Louis XVI., addressed 
 
rn to Paris, from 
 3 occasion of the 
 • of tile Fronde, 
 ostilc to tlio Car- 
 s and solilicrs of 
 lied the Plucc dc 
 the people, and 
 I wear a few jnn- 
 irtisanslii)). At 
 I'as being read to 
 , the prince, tlio 
 sans, entered the 
 Imnks to the cit- 
 F Paris to his ar- 
 itained no prom- 
 Tensive minister, 
 
 ensued ; the as- 
 Princc iIc Conde 
 inj; partisans of 
 
 they shouhl not 
 or the door, but 
 ■olley of muskct- 
 )w.s, fagots were 
 md fired to jire- 
 tes. The work 
 lany were sluin ; 
 n was the gov- 
 \ priest. 
 
 le revolution of 
 1 rendered m<^m- 
 icted witliin its 
 [., was here re- 
 
 acchimations — 
 ;d to the dismal 
 Jtuni for the ac- 
 piieared nt the 
 
 of their appro- 
 :rty on his head, 
 adc, he address- 
 round the build- 
 ith visible cmo- 
 /« depend ttpon 
 How truly, in- 
 vine inspiration 
 3e : " Place not 
 
 apsed after the 
 i])peared at the 
 ition of whose 
 he hero of the 
 !, who was con- 
 in the Place de 
 
 lulace of Paris 
 larles X. ; antl, 
 s monarch fled 
 ■ A provisional 
 t the Hotel de 
 LouU Philippe, 
 onounced " the 
 ime window of 
 CVL, addressed 
 
473 
 
 CATACOMBS OF PA 1113. 
 
 I 
 
 \ 
 
 tlx' ppople, Louis PlilH|t|i(! nddrossoil a sue- 
 ci'ciliii^' f^ciuTfition of FiDiu'linii'ii, iiml told 
 tlipiii, ihut ill liirii lli<>y bclifld '' tlichml dfalt 
 rrpuldirn !" And from tlio |nivilioii ot tlio 
 Villi', was fir.st unfiirli'd tliu tri-col- 
 tlie tnuiii])h of the pco- 
 
 rrj) 
 
 Jlol. 
 
 orecl Hag, indicutlni. 
 
 Within the last yonr, 1848, nnother provis- 
 
 ioiiul jiovcniiiicMt 1ms held its sittin;;* within 
 I ho walls of tliis rcuownnd structure (the 
 moiiiniicnt of the fall of roynlty) and j)r()- 
 claimcd Franco a rrpuhUc. \Ve conclude by 
 noliciiij; the |)ro;j;ress of the seven dejiuties to 
 the place where they were to prepare the 
 foundation of a new government. "The 
 nearer," says the historian, " they penetrated 
 tlic heart of the city, the more animated were 
 the ajiplauses and synij)athie3 which greeted 
 them. The crowd at eucii stop became more 
 numerous, aad surround(;d them with cries of 
 ' lice, la Liberie ." What entlu^iiasm hoiled 
 tlunr arrival ut the municqml palace — the 
 Hotel de Ville !" 
 
 CATACOMBS OF PARIS. 
 
 The origin of the groat catacombs, or re- 
 ceptacles for the dead, attached to the French 
 capital, is in every point of view curious and 
 interesting. Previously to the latter end of 
 last century, the burial-places of the city 
 were in n condition at once disgusting and de- 
 structive to human health. One of the early 
 French kings had bestowed a piece of the 
 royal suburban grounds on the inhabitants as 
 a place of interment ; and this spot, the site 
 subsequently of the church of the Innocents, 
 continued for nine or ten centuries to serve as 
 the sole or principal receptacle for the dead 
 in Paris. Not, only was this the case but 
 the cemetery was also ai)plied to its purposes 
 in a maimer unusually dangerous. Large 
 pits were formed, each about thirty feet deep 
 and twenty feet square, and into these coffins 
 were lowered, one tier above another, with- 
 out any intervening earth, until the f)its were 
 filled. Each was then covered with a thin 
 layer of soil. The common number of bod- 
 ies cast into every excavation amounted to 
 from twelve to fifteen hundred ; and, in the 
 thirty years preceding 1780, nearly ninety 
 thousand bodies had been thus deposited in 
 the charnel-holes of the Innocents. Once in 
 every thirty or forty years, it had been cus- 
 tomary to execute the frightful task of open- 
 iii.g and emptying these pits ; but, in the case 
 of great numbers of the older ones, this task 
 had long ceased to be fulfilled, and they ac- 
 cordingly remained unmoved, though so 
 
 choked np with the matter of corrujition as 
 to rise above the level of the adjoining streets, 
 and seriously to allect the air in the ground- 
 flats of the houses. It was supposed that, 
 from the time of Philip Augustus, more than 
 1,200,000 bodies in all, had been interred in 
 the cemetery of the Innocents ; am! as the 
 mouldering bones, even when the pits were 
 el(!anod out, were iiK.'rely conveyed to an 
 andied gallery surrounding the bunul-ground, 
 it might be said that some portion of all that 
 had ever Iain there still remained. 
 
 When all men of science and sense were 
 beginning to recognise the necessity of reme- 
 dying this evil, another cause of jieril and 
 alarm chanced to agitate the city of Paris ; 
 but, fortunately, the one was found capable 
 of serving as a remedy for the other. Quar- 
 ries of stone had been opened in the immedi- 
 ate vicinity of Paris, at an early period of its 
 history, and had been wrought, to a large ex- 
 tent in the course of successive ages, to sup- 
 ply materials for the increasing city. In 
 consefiucnce, a vague notion existed among 
 the inhabitants, that the city was considera- 
 bly undermined. Little attention was paid 
 to the matter till 1774, when some alarming 
 shocks and falls of houses aroused the fears 
 of the government. A regular survey took 
 l)lttce, and the result was the frightful discov- 
 ery, that the churches, palaces, and almost 
 all the southern parts of the city of Paris, 
 rested upon immense irregular excavations, 
 and stood the greatest risk of ere long sink- 
 ing into them. A special commission was 
 immediately appointed to take the proper 
 steps for averting such a catastrophe; and 
 the iiecessity of such a commission was made 
 strikingly apparent on the first day of its op- 
 erations, by an accident in the rue d'Enfer. 
 A house in that street sunk down in an in- 
 stant, eight-and-twenty metres below the lev- 
 el of its courtyard. 
 
 When all the labyrinths of the quarries 
 were insjiected, and plans taken of them, the 
 alarm of the Parisians was far from being 
 abated. Evety quarrier had habitually work- 
 ed, it appeared, where he chose or where he 
 could ; and, in many cases, excavation was 
 found below excavation, the whole runn ng 
 to almost interminable lengths, while the i)il- 
 lars that had been left were found, in almost 
 all cases to be totally insufficient to bear per- 
 manently the enonnous weight above. In 
 various instances, the roof had sunk consid- 
 erably, and in others, large masses had actu- 
 ally fallen, rendering it almost marvellous 
 that the city should not long before have be- 
 come a mass of ruins. The great aijueduct 
 of Arcueil, which passed over this scene of 
 hidden peril, had in reality sullered some 
 shocks, and if the risk had not been timeous- 
 
r)f corni|)tii)n nn 
 ail joining sirrets, 
 ir in tilt; prounil- 
 I su|ii)i).st,'(l llint, 
 usturt, more tlinn 
 bei'n intrrrt'd in 
 inn ; mill as \he 
 '11 tliii ])it3 wore 
 conveyed to nn 
 11' Imnul-j^round, 
 •iiiim of all that 
 lincil. 
 
 QUI I sense were 
 cessity of rerne- 
 uso of jicril and 
 a city of Paris ; 
 3 fouml capalilo 
 le other. Quar- 
 il in the iinineili- 
 Qrly period of its 
 lit, to a liirge ex- 
 ivc ages, to sup- 
 .'asinfj city. In 
 1 existed among 
 ' was considerii- 
 eiition was paid 
 1 some alarming 
 roused the fears 
 ilnr snrvcy took 
 frightful disoov- 
 ices, and almost 
 le city of Paris, 
 liar excavations, 
 f ere long sink- 
 commission was 
 akc the proper 
 ;atastrophc ; and 
 lissinn was made 
 St day of its op- 
 the rue d'Enfer. 
 down in an in- 
 ;3 below the lev- 
 
 of the quarries 
 ken of them, the 
 
 far from being 
 habitually v.-ork^ 
 ose or where he 
 excavation was 
 
 whole runn ng 
 IS, while the ))il- 
 Found, ill almost 
 icnt to bear per- 
 ight above. In 
 id sunk consid- 
 lasses had actu- 
 nost marvellous 
 before have be- 
 
 great aqueduct 
 er this scene of 
 ' sulFercd some 
 3t been timeous- 
 
 ly (lisrnvcreil, it can sran-cly be doul)ted that 
 trie nltiiimfe issue would have been tlie eliar- 
 ginn of the iiuiirrict with water ami the sup- 
 jiitiL' of the city. The cnninii-ision bc;,'iiii its 
 work of cure, nidi'd by a very large body of 
 workmen. (Jri'iit piiiiis were tukeii in cutting j 
 {•alb rie.i from hibyrinth to laliyrinth, to os- I 
 certiiin the extent of the, uii<ehief, and in ■ 
 viiiiltlii'j; and iiroppinj; everv nart that seemed ' 
 to re'iiiiri' such sujiport. Ylic extent of the ' 
 quarries hnu-ever, leiiilered the labor uij,'an- 
 tie. iind, long ere mutters were permiiniiitly 
 put in order, the happy idea of coMverlitig 
 these excavations into reeeptaebs tor the ref- 
 use of the ehiiriii'1-hou-ii! of tlie Innocents, 
 had occurred to M. Lenoir, th.e inspector of 
 the citj' [lolice. The sujigestinn was made 
 public, and approved of by the council of 
 stale, who, ill 1785, decreed the opening of 
 the chnrnel-pits of the Irinix-ents, and tlie re- 
 moval of the Ijones of the dead to the iptar- 
 ries. The tirst step was to make an entrance 
 into the i|narries liy a flight of seventy-seven 
 steps, and to sink a shaft from the surface, 
 down which the relics of mortality might be 
 thrown. At the same time, the workmen 
 below walini oil' that jiortion of the excava- 
 tion designed for the great charnel-house, and 
 properly suppnited the roof. On the 7th of 
 April, 17^^(), all the pripurutioiis boin^ eom- 
 ])letcil, the new ciitacomlis were consecrated 
 with much soleniuity, and on that same ilay 
 the v.ork of reinnvnl liegan. IJonesand par- 
 tially-preserved Collins were brought liy iiirrht 
 to the shaft in funeral cars, followed liy robed 
 priests chanting the service for the dead. 
 The nature of the task, the glare of the tor- 
 ches, and, above all, the hollow rattling and 
 echoing of skeletons, bones, and broken 
 wooil, in their fall down the shaft, sent back, 
 as the sounds were, by the vaults below, ren- 
 dered the whole scene peculiarly impressive 
 and awful. 
 
 15 lit the relies of human beings, in their 
 ordinary condition, were not the most remark- 
 able })art of the materials transferred from 
 one site to another on this occasion. The 
 pits of the Innocents exhibiteil immense 
 marses of the soft white substance called ad- 
 ipncire, into which the bodies had been con- 
 verted, and which had been noticed under 
 similar circum 'ances at former periods. Ad- 
 ipocire had some of the mingled (pialities of 
 wax and tallow, being capable of use in the 
 manufacture of candles. Respect, however, 
 for what had once been the human body, of 
 course dictated the consignment of the mass- 
 es of adipocire, found in the pits of the Inno- 
 cents, to the new catacombs under the plaine 
 de Mont-Rouge. 
 
 The catacombs of Paris received in suc- 
 cession the contents of the smaller cemeter- 
 
 ies of Saint-Kustai'he iiiid Saint-Ktienne-des- 
 (ires, after tlio(.e mentioned. There, too, the. 
 victims of the reMihition found a ready and 
 roomy abode; and when the popular fury 
 demolished a nuiaber of the ehnrches, ths 
 bones lodged in them after the old la.shion, 
 were removed to tlie same great receptacles. 
 IJetween 17'.!,! and leOH, the eatacunibs re- 
 ct.'ived the exhimiatjons of twelve other mi- 
 nor cemeteries in and around I'ari-i. He- 
 tween IHOS and IHll, new exiuivatinns, miule 
 in the eenieterv of the Iinioeeiits tiir the pas- 
 sage of a caiiiil, rendered it tieees^ary to con- 
 vey a hirge quantity of additional relies to 
 the catacombs; oiiil a fi.'W other churches 
 mid cemeteries were emptied into them in 
 the coursi! of the next few years. Having 
 thus made usi- of the quarries, mid poured 
 into them in all an immense ipiuutity of hu- 
 man remniiiN, the Parisians did not adopt 
 (he eataeombs, as perhaps tliev might wisely 
 have done, as their general Iniryiiig-place. 
 On llie eoiifrnry, ihi'V created various new 
 cemeteries aliove ground, though under com- 
 paratively excellent regu'.iitions, as the fa- 
 mous Pore la Chaise and jMontmartrc sutli- 
 cienlly testilv. 
 
 The revolutionary disturbances impeded 
 the operations still requisite to render the 
 vast ipiarries and catacombs of Paris stable 
 and safe. The ordinary vaults became, con- 
 sequently, full of cracks, water tiltrated 
 throu;;h the roofs, and fresh dowiifiills seem- 
 ed impending. The air was rendered nox- 
 ious by the want of circulation. In 1810, 
 M. dc Thury, the architect, began to make 
 new^ repairs. He built new pillars, and 
 tunned ehaiinels for removing the water. Air 
 was introduced simply but ellectively, by lu- 
 ting the upper half of a broken bottle, with 
 the neck outermost, into the wells which 
 supply the houses above with water, and 
 which had been made to descend through the 
 (piarries to the ground below, like so many 
 : round towers. \\\ uncorking these bottle- 
 ' necks, air is let in at will. As regarded the 
 : catacombs, the bones lay in heaps thirty 
 I yards high in some places, and the workmen 
 had to make galleries throuuh them, and pile 
 I them along the walls in regular order. Such 
 : OS exhibited disease were arranged into an 
 ostfcoloiiical cabinet. In short, order arid se- 
 curity were, for the first time, truly introdu- 
 ced into the arrangements of this subterrane- 
 ; an world. 
 
 The catacombs of Paris remain, irenerafly 
 ' speaking, nearly in the same condition as left 
 I by M. de Thury, though various minor im- 
 I provements have been added, to render the 
 I place more interesting to visitants. Three 
 I staircases, of which the best known is that 
 of the Buniere d'Enfer, ciHiduct the modern 
 
 <»t 
 
 % 
 
 ■4 
 
wiir^ii*ri<i-i 
 
 «. 
 
 4"?0 
 
 SfKNKltY IN ENGLAND. 
 
 iiiidcr till' 
 lilt- ^^rcui, 
 sujiportiiig 
 
 \isiti'r Into ilic vdiiltH. Oil riitcriiis, ii I'liu'k 
 lini! i« tci lit' iMilicril triivrrsiiii; iIk.. cfufic ol' 
 till' |iii>''!il:i''<, mill (oriiiiin '• cniil'' llimu'^li 
 iIk 111, wliii'li till! lU'Ht i'miiiliiiri/i'd vi-ii|.r 
 (Mil nut Hiifi'ly iicalrot. On llic ri^'lii iiimI 
 li'Ci III' till' tir.>t sullcry, timt of tlic Rue St. 
 Juci|UCM, HfVfiiil iilliir>» nil' Men Hlrilcliiny 
 awiiy uiiilii- the |iliiiii iil .M iii-l{iiiit;(!. 'I'lic 
 ^i^ilt•r I'liii iiiif. iii'iictriiti' fur, until lie sees 
 stiutliii;,' murks of tlic full of inck-*. uiii' bc- 
 
 llilMs ^tula(■|il^^^ llUlll,'ill^' (lllWll ill IlllUlllllltlCT 
 
 from tilt! \vulls. Ill the ijullcry 
 Rile St. Jiiniiics, is also sicn 
 aijuciliict (if ArciK'il, with its 
 columns. 
 
 Uy viiriiiii.f'i isiiic-i, the visitrrnrrivcsat 
 
 tlic ;^ull("ry of I'ort Alulion, so culltd fniiii a 
 Miiilpturcil view of tilt; takiii!; of that fort 
 exc(!ntri| liy Dfcurc, nii invalid soMiiT. IFf 
 IJcrisliml tlii-ro liy u full of tin; rocks, wliilf 
 tlic cliiscl wna yet in his Iianil. A fountain 
 wu'^ here (iiscovcrcil by tlic workiiicii, and n 
 liasin inndc for tlicir use, with a snmll suli- 
 terraneous ai|UL'(Iuet. It whs first rallied tlit- 
 Well of Lethe, and was inscribed with a 
 couiilet from Virgil ; hut a scriptural (piota- 
 tioii, more apiiroiiriate to the jilact-, now 
 marks its silt; : " Whosoever drinkelli of this 
 water, shall thirst uyain ; but wdiosoever 
 drinketh of the water I sliall f;ive him, shall 
 never thirst ; but the water that I shall i^ive 
 hiin, shall be to him a well of water s|iring- 
 inj,' up into everlasting; life," It eontains a 
 few fjoliilish, which seem to bear that dark 
 abode vt;ry well, as we find them luentionetl 
 by visiters tif both 1818 antl 1830. A few 
 other inscriptions are to be found here, buch 
 us DuntiJ's famous line : — 
 
 " Leave liopo behind, all yo who enter here." 
 
 A fire is also kept burniii!;, in an antitjuely- 
 shnped vase, to purify the air of the vaults. 
 
 A mineralogical collection of some interest 
 has been formed fri>m the various strata com- 
 j)t)siiig the sides of the galleries. But the 
 most interesting collection here is the Muse- 
 um of the Dead. On approaching the cata- 
 comb galleries, the visiter finds the vestibule 
 to be in the form of an octagon. The gate is 
 flanked by two ])illars, and is inscribed above 
 with .some lines of poetry. The interior of 
 the catat:omtis is arranged with propriety and 
 tlt'corum. The crypts holding the ilivisions 
 of piled bones have each of "them dilFerent 
 names, some of which are approjiriate, oth 
 ers absurd. There is the crypt or niche of 
 cternitv, for exainidc, that of Death, and 
 that of the Kcsurrection, each marked by 
 .?orresi)oniling inscriptions. There is also a 
 niche for the victims of the revolution, with 
 some Latin lines above, which may be rude- 
 ly Englished : — 
 
 tier u|)- 
 
 " TiiK«F,Hhrii Hill'.' DJucMinlliiiiluniiriKililii'tliriinp, 
 rroniplrrul c niM.n, iinil lii« iiml rl^dll w< ic nMniud, 
 »> lilmxly, riilhli'H* men weru iloiio tiiilcnlh.'' 
 
 Amimi; the iiinppropriatilv-narnt il ervptt 
 may safely be rtikoind ihosi- to whieh'the 
 names of Ovid, Aimciion, anil sonic iihers, 
 have been applied. An allium, as miyht 
 have been aniiii|iiited. is nmong the oth 
 pendiiges of the ealacoiiibs. 
 
 The other galleries of these great excava- 
 tions need not be named or described in de- 
 tail. One generiil feature murks tin in all, 
 and it is worthy of nnntion, as reinindio!; us 
 most forcibly that these vaults are not simple 
 objetjts of enriosity, or to be thought of mero- 
 ly ns pleasant spectacles, but are to be la- 
 mented us the possible sources of calamity 
 and ruin to the great city untler wl ich blind 
 neglect alloweil them to be formed, ('on- 
 stant attentitui to them is imperatively de- 
 iiianded to secure the safety of the capiiui of 
 France, and the provision" ailverled to con- 
 sists ill every subterranean str(;et being num- 
 bered precisely like the one occupyini; the 
 ground above. This is necessary in tinier to 
 apply new supports, on the slightest indica- 
 tion of tlanger, to the exact point where they 
 arc retiuired. 
 
 SCENERY IN ENGLAND -OXFORD. 
 
 TiiK Rev, II. W. Bellows, of New York, 
 gives the following graphic sketch of country 
 scenery in Old Englantl ; — 
 
 Wk had our first view of the face of Eng- 
 land to-day, in a ride on the stage-coach from 
 Warwick "to Oxford. The ilistance is forty- 
 five miles, and was accomplisheil in five hours 
 and a half, including at least an hour's stop- 
 page. Nothing can exceed the charm of a 
 drive through this lovely country in the spring 
 time, over the rtiads as smtioth "as a floor, be- 
 hind horses fleet as stags, between hedges 
 green as new grass antl white with blossoms; 
 in view of thatched cottages, ivy-clati village 
 churches, gray with tnoss and time, with the 
 familiar features of the Old England of the 
 story books, and the tlrawing-masier's gable 
 end, tumble-tlown wainlering picture-houses, 
 all, "large as life, ami twice as natural," full 
 before vou ! There is but one word descri]!- 
 tive of English scenery — England is one great 
 garilen. — Everybtiily says so, because nobody 
 can say anything more or less. We found 
 the grounds about Eaton hall, concerning 
 which much is said, no finer than the general 
 ajipearance of the country wherever we went. 
 It all looks much like the immediate neigh- 
 borhood of Boston. Many slopes of gentle 
 
iilu!<iirii(Mi llii'tlminc, 
 il rifilil >n ri' Kciinit'il, 
 loiiu tiiilt'nlli.'' 
 
 I'ly-imiiiiil crypto 
 osi- to wliiuh tln' 
 
 liud sdtllC illllTs, 
 
 iilliinii, ns ininlit 
 noiig thuothiTup' 
 
 csp grt>nt cxcavo- 
 (Icsprihcil ill (|(.- 
 tniirks tliim ull, 
 , ns rt'iiiindiii!; us 
 ilts iirf lint simple 
 tliduijlit iif iticrn- 
 Jiit arf! to l)); la- 
 iirri's of cnliiiiiity 
 inilnr \vl ic'li liiiiM 
 o forint'd. Coii- 
 iinpcrntively df- 
 of till! ciipiiui of 
 advrrtcil to ron- 
 itrcct being miiii- 
 e orciiiiyini; ilu' 
 issnry in order to 
 8]i,';Iitc.«t indica- 
 point where they 
 
 D.-OXFOIID. 
 
 I, of New York, 
 ketch of country 
 
 the face of En;;- 
 itnge-conch from 
 listuncc is forty- 
 Iiedin fiveljours 
 t an hour's stop- 
 the chnrtn of a 
 itry in the spring 
 h ns a floor, he- 
 bptween hodf[e9 
 with hhissoms; 
 ivy-clad villace 
 1 lime, with the 
 En;[,'Iand of the 
 ;-rnuster's gable 
 j)ii;tnre-hous{'s, 
 as natural," fall 
 e word descrip- 
 anii is one great 
 because nobody 
 ss. We found 
 all, concerning 
 han the general 
 •rever we went, 
 iincdiatc noigh- 
 lopes of gentle 
 
 tiCENEHY IN ENULANU.-OXFOUD. 
 
 481 
 
 origin ti> sdiiie tnoru or U-*h ri'inutc foumiution, 
 ill an ancient mnnasticr eitaliliihiiient, or else 
 to tlie piety and tnuuilieeijei; of i-onje pupil 
 of one or aiiollier of tliese cstaldi-liinents, 
 whoHe gratitude ti iiilited him to found another 
 Bciu)ol like that ill wliicU Uu liinisclf iiad been 
 nursed. 
 
 It is necessary to rememher liiat Oxford is 
 a city of thirty thousand iidialiitants. ocfuipy- 
 ing, perhups, two miles sipiarc, of wliieh, tar 
 the largest part, is taken up in college liuild- 
 Wlicii it is stateil that 
 lent students is sixteen 
 hundred, it will not excite surprise to hear 
 
 hill sides, or stritehes of meadow, reminded | prinlent schools or collegfs, each nwinj; it» 
 us vi\iiily of till' undulations of lloxbury and 
 IJrookliiM', and the bunksof the Charles, wiiieh 
 is II very good sample of an Knglish river, of 
 llir- litr'isf'sl si/.e. To an American eye, ae- 
 cusK.meil oidy to tlie beginnings or j.rogress 
 of tilings, it IS very delightful to conu- upon 
 n count'ry that Ujiiii.slied. The onler, |dun, 
 cultivation of Knglish ground, seems iierfict. 
 You may ri'le fifty miles and not see (uie 
 neglected plot of land, one broken-down fence, 
 one new building, one make-shift device. Hut 
 amid all this perfection of agriculture, all this! ings anil gr.uiiKls. 
 
 ord.-r and solidity and tiuish of structure, it is ^ the number ot resident students is sixU-cn 
 painful to see how little room the people take i hundred, it will not excite s 
 up how inferior their accommodations arc ; that the college buililings an; immense, 
 how smiill a feature the homes of the million I They are uniformly built round a(iuadrangu- 
 form in the landscai.e. The <lwellings of ; lar court, ami very few o( these s-iuares are 
 those who cultivate this soil, are hardly high- i less than tw.) hundred feet on each face, 
 er than the hed-cs, and wear the look (".f stone , Some i>f the colleges contain ns many as throe 
 sheds, or places for farming-tools. Seeing ! ipiadranglcs, and, bcsid.is the largo courts 
 the marks of so thick a population in the ■ within, are surrounded by grounds Irom litty 
 tilla-e, the trav.dler looks around for the farm- I a.^res to two miles in extent. These grounds, 
 h(ms''es, which, in Ameri.'a, wmil.l so ])romi- ! through which the two rivers ol Oxtord, the 
 iienlly .Miliven and .listinguish tlw lan.lscape ; I CherwcU and the Isis, meander, arc laid out 
 but in Kn.'land the common people dwell in in the tiiost tasteful manner, full of shrubs 
 coin that liiuko a surprisingly small figure in ; and flowers, and carpeted with a velvet sward, 
 the i.rospcct, and give the agricultural .lis- , Trees, of gr.at magnitude an. age sha.le the 
 tricts almost the appearan.-c ,)f being uninhab- : c.ml walks. 'I li.ire is as much .lilleienco m 
 it.Ml. We coul.l not help c.mtinually asking | the evt.-nt, cn.l.)winents, age, lands, numbers 
 where ar:; the people, ami where do tliey live, | of stu.l.-nts aim.ng these colleg.^s, as if they 
 wh.. .lid all this wl.rk ? were in .lill.-rent juirts of the country, ati.1. 
 
 Of the city and university of Oxford, Mr. ! ex.-ept for c.rtain purp..s,-s they are as imle- 
 Bellows says: Either we have been very I pcmlent of each other as Harvard, Yale, Co- 
 dull readers, or travellers of England have i luinbia, ami Union. C.msi.ler, n..w, that 
 giv.'ii a very lame and inade.iuate account there are twenty-f.)ur of these c.)llege.s, each 
 
 giv.'ii a very 
 
 of Oxf.ir.l ! It is a matter of very seri.)us 
 d.mbt with us, whether ll.imc itself will have 
 jiower t.) awaken deeper feelings of w.mder 
 and .lelight, or leave a nwre vivid an.l pecu- 
 liar impression up.m our min.ls. than Oxford. 
 We shall take the liberty of supposing our 
 readers as ignorant as ourselves of the uni- 
 versity an.l city of Oxford, and endeavor to 
 noake them as wise as one very busy day 
 there ma.le us. 
 
 Oxfor.l was, fr.)m very early times, as far 
 back as the year 750, perhaps, the seat of 
 some religious houses, priories, or m.masteries, 
 under the catholic order of things. Here, 
 
 having edifices .if its own, a hall or refectory, 
 a chapel, a library, lecture-rooms, ami dormi- 
 t.iries ; an.l that while st'veral .if them have 
 very much more extensive accommodati.)ns 
 than Harvar.l .>r Yale, few have less, and 
 y.iu will form an idea of the extent of the 
 university of Oxford. N.iw, if it bo remem- 
 bered that these colleges are all built of sl.me, 
 an.l usunlly in the highest style of architec- 
 ture; that they f.)rm the m.)st massive jiiles 
 of buil.ling, with two or three exceptions in 
 the worl.l; that they preserve very much 
 the appearance of the old monasteries fr.)m 
 which many of them sprung, having still 
 
 too, from a .late ,,uite as remote, were estab- ' parts of the old buil.lings with the .-ha .el, 
 lished, under the patronage of these estab- ! cloisters, refect.jry, ami eel s of the re'igwus 
 lishinents, various schools! These religious i orders of seven hundred ami a th..usand years 
 establishments p.)ssessed much wealth, in | ago ;_ that piety, and wealth, and tnsre,_ha%c 
 lamls, aii.l privileges, and pi.ius beiiuests, and. 
 
 as the cntlwlic faith declined, they were con- 
 verte.l, both buil.lings and lands, to the use 
 of these schools of learning, which thus be- 
 came endowed with jir.iperty which every 
 century, until recently, has done much to ap- 
 preciate. Thus the university of Oxford is 
 composed of twenty-four ditTerent and inde- 
 
 lavished, for many centuries, their stores m 
 a.lding to those buihlings, or restoring them ; 
 if it be understood, that whatever we are ac- 
 customeil to see in our own country in Gothic 
 architecture most elaborately wrought in wood 
 ami plaster, is here upon a far more magnifi- 
 cent scale, and with an increased richness, 
 done in solid stone, both within and without, 
 
 L 
 
 'i-" 
 
I 
 
 aSMWiii^- 
 
 I 
 
 482 
 
 THE INDIAN CHILD'S OHAVE. 
 
 fothat II' ,' lilow* may not fm fimtid 
 
 fW iiimV.1 • ,,,, ,t if \,o o|,„ t.„n*i(|frf.| thnt 
 W H\c>- II «li(il( '«y barely to maI'i ,n ond 
 ^t ,'/ thpse (lirti>i.(M ijtJllilraH>|lrpi, cnch .iim- 
 "f*«iiI8 flfxl »|ili'ii(tif|, iKdif cosfly piunijjh for tlic 
 IfMilaco i)f a iiiii^hty sovrrcign; if it {■* fiirtlicr 
 rtMURml.rri'il, tliftt tlurf are t\v».nty-(iinr 
 ^peu, enrh n inniiniHcciif '"m|ilf, within 
 ™» univLTsii-y, mul lull of th, mo^t cimtly 
 ^jTi *" *'?"'"• '"■ '"»l* cnrviii;;, i.r |iiiiiitf"(l 
 wwlfljlf, '- ^nvaluiilil" mfrnoriiilH of thi' i>QMt 
 — us inui. , 1. irii's, ti"), ncnrcc otic <,(' wliii'h 
 contoins liss hnn thirty fhoiisiitnl vnIuincM, 
 with acnniiMdii lihriiiy" (ilif Hdillcian) cnn- 
 tiiitiiiiijtivc liuiiilriil tlinusiiiul — (iHiiiuny Imllx 
 full of nortniils, liy th,. |)f.,t (ritiNtcrsi, of tho 
 most cclf.hriii.'d s,|io|„r« or htut(;Minnn(»f Kng- j 
 luiiil for n t'l'iiisand years jmst, must-iitrm of ' 
 all thnt isiiistriK'tivn in scii>neo, nrt, HJitir|uitv, 
 ond tlic.u; countlessi odifiws of (tubstnntiul 
 stono in viirioiw stnjjrs of prnsrrviition, most 
 of tlum hoary with aj;c, decked with tnooH, 
 or with jaf;j,'ed outline!* where tho tooth of 
 timn hug gnawed, eontrnsteil here nnd thprc 
 with thosi! of li^diter color, an<l slmrjier and 
 fresher outlines hut of the Harnc prirnevul 
 stylo, and all soft with the dnin|) and muit of 
 thn English atmosphere— nn<l then the reader 
 will have u toli.rably adequate notion of tho 
 outward soeminjj of this voxt, inagnilieent, 
 and glorious university of Oxford. 
 
 I " A l..«r „pm, hillnrk, two ,mnll prnv .t.mr.. 
 Ul»n over tho plnr.) thxt lioMi iti Imnen." 
 
 The swarthy In.lin,, hnx *nt him-elf down 
 i.,.-,.l.. a rude rock, nud leans upon it. hidinii 
 t;is fu, in sorrow. LonKrnv..n hair veiU fie 
 face ot ihr young wife, as she drn,,ps in the 
 tulncsdof griel iiiion her proieciorVs knee. Sa 
 tho rudeness an>l simplicitv of i,nii,re, thev 
 wcor hut th.- wampum Idunket to :,liield their 
 "die*, ond the ornaiiiented leatli. rn ninecoHin 
 I'rotect Ih. ir feet. Tin- only giu.ianlee of 
 I n uvelihiMHl for tlu' morrow, th.'' Horrowinu In- 
 , dii.n Kraspn in his risrht. hand, hi, |„.w. At their 
 : J.ide lies th.,' swathini; l..mr,!, that hut re.-ent- 
 I y bore the y.mng innoc..nt, whose lililess 
 , boily th,, .. ^re.'n hillock" has too pninuturely 
 cov.Tcd. CMose at hand nits tli.ir (uiihful coui- 
 I punion, the .log, Mf,t ultog.'ther lucking sym- 
 pathy, gu/ing li.tles^lv int.) the Ire.vs. As if 
 j lo soothe the lon.'line«s of grief, nature has nr- 
 I rested her elements, nnd u " vast solemn" still- 
 i ness seems to reign around. While, .„, one 
 ! 'fule, the huge trunk of a niightv ouk as.-ends 
 ; soreading its hrn.iches hi^h .nvr th., sc.<ne 
 I the as|)iring MOj.lin«s noon the other seem 
 striving t.) rea.di with tlieir topmost bou^-lm 
 
 THE INDIAN CHILD'S GRAVE. 
 
 "All, littlH tli.)ui;lit tlip strimtr nml liriive, 
 Who iKini their lilulcs chitlhiin forth 
 
 Or the piiiinir infi, I/tat utvping gave 
 Hi:r /(iHl Imni lo the eaith, 
 
 TImt till, pule race, who wiisto us now, 
 Among their hones shouM piidu tho jilough." 
 
 The subject of our engraving was furnished 
 by the above line,^ from Brvant's Poem, on 
 "An Indian at th., Hurying-phicc of his Fa- 
 thers." In order to appreciate fully the lastin.' 
 latere- 1 and beauty of the picture, it isneccssu^ 
 rv thfa t ' lie muid should recur to those primitive 
 days, ^H,lltn, ujion the very ground where we 
 have built our homes, the "red ruler of the 
 shade" 
 
 " )J^""'^'' ?"■•''• "'""' *'■' rfign, to daro 
 Iho wolf 1111(1 gnipplo with tho bear." 
 
 The simple Indian is tho " foresc hero" of 
 this wc8t.;rn world, and the white man has 
 but just set his foot upon its unsubdued shores. 
 At the opening in the border of the forest, fJr 
 
 - — — they Iniil their doml 
 
 By th9 v. "lolemii skirtj of the old firoves," 
 an Indian nnc ' < vv.ii>7 aiid tender wife ore 
 observedw, pi „ > . legrfv- of their first- 
 born that they L, v> . '•-'st \H^i-Jial to the earth. 
 
 he nethermost limbs of that Father of the 
 forest. The olli'ctions of the wile have in- 
 tertwined themselves with those .if her hardy 
 e.)mi)anion and prot.'cl..r. upon whom she re- 
 elines with confidence; (it .■mbl..m of the teii- 
 • er ndotlon of that gentler portion ..f the In- 
 •liun pair, a vine has entwined itself around 
 th.! (lak, and ac.piiring ussuianc, in the en- 
 during strength of its suj.porter has oitended 
 itselt into the brunches. 
 
 A little beyond the gr.nip, a ploughed field 
 extends itselt, wheuce tho white man, 
 
 - — ; "hewed tho dnrk old wimxIs nwny, 
 
 Ami gnvo tho virgin lielila to tlu, day." 
 
 Carrj-ingthu view still further in the distance 
 and over vorious cultivated fiel.ls, undiilatin" 
 anil studded here and therewith Huinps ,d' 
 trees, the eye meets a beautiful river, which, 
 after thr.:a(ling its way among roekv hills ond 
 beetliiigcliils,andaloiigovershttdowin.'forests 
 debouches peacefully into fhe sea. Its ipiiet 
 b.)som, however, beors a buF\ s.pinilnnol' the 
 white man's ships, that have con. u-r I rden 
 thc.-nselves with tho riches nf \\\\ , ■ -.vas- 
 ure land. Full .if new z. i ,u- ,i,, ,nan 
 has set his encroaching f.xit upon the Indian's 
 shore, and elated with his glories ami succes- 
 ses, he has reorcd uj) a city there, a monu- 
 ment of his bold enterprise, and easily ac- 
 i|uired wealth. The landscape lessens among 
 the hills, anil the .listonce is lost among the 
 far-retiring mountains on one side, and til's 
 ocean which confuses its bounds with the 
 horizon on the other. 
 
 ■ <.a» !i mt.ai! i . ! Jjn»i'M;) i ;- ' . ' 
 
fnnll erny iitiin><t, 
 ililf ill IJoiieii." 
 
 "lit liiiriMi-lf iJown 
 M li|>oii It, liMiiin 
 ivcri liiiir \('ili ilc 
 die ilni(i|)'« ill tlir 
 tr<'iiir's Kuril. 5,1 
 f of lilitliri', lliry 
 kft til sliirlil thiMf 
 
 • 111 111 I'll iiKiccnNin 
 'Illy ^'uiiiiiiitii' of 
 till' Norrowiiij.' In- 
 liislicw. Atthi'ir 
 I tli.it liiit rcci'tit- 
 t, whose lil'i'li'^g 
 < too |iri'iimtiii<;ly 
 lii'ir (iiiilit'ul coin. 
 liiT lliiikiii;; Nym- 
 llir iri'i's. As if 
 t'l, II II til II.' hiiH iir- 
 
 UHt Hn!i|iiu"Bli||. 
 
 Wliili', 1)11 one 
 (lity oak OHCc'iiila 
 ovrr till) Hi'i-riR, 
 till' other Hi'cin 
 
 topiiiosr holiyhs 
 
 It l'"iitlier of the 
 k; wile huve iii- 
 one of her liiirdy 
 111 whom she ro- 
 ihli'in of the teii- 
 iriioii of tlie In- 
 I'll itself nioiind 
 mice in the eii- 
 er lia.s wUeiuletl 
 
 a |il(iughe(l field 
 lite man, 
 
 wcHxla nwBy, 
 tliu iluy." 
 
 in the distnncc, 
 
 Ms, uniluliitiii;;, 
 ■vith el limps of 
 111 river, w jiich, 
 
 roekv hills niid 
 itlowitifr forests, 
 
 seu. Itn (piict 
 ■-i|nnili,.n()*' the 
 uvni to I rdon 
 tliii i ,■ ■ ■, as- 
 I !!' '■ uii man 
 Kill the Indian's 
 ies and siirccs- 
 therc, n monu- 
 and easily ac- 
 ; lessons among 
 lost anionj; the 
 
 side, and tli<5 
 unds with the 
 
 'I** 
 
 "SK 
 
 INDIAN PARENTS AT THEIR CHILDREN'S GRAVE. 
 
484 
 
 INDEPENDENCE HALL, PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 The Old Statchouse, or Hall of 
 
 INDEPENDENCE HALL. 
 
 The old statehouse, still standing on Chest- 
 nut street between Fifth and Sixth streets, 
 I'liiladelphia, is an object of veneration to ev- 
 ery American. Prior 'to its erection, the legis- 
 lature of Pennsvlvania, held their annual ses- 
 sions in dillerciit private houses. In the year 
 17->9, the IcgiCiature resolved to build a house 
 tor tncir particular accommodation, and they 
 appointed commissioners, who purchased the 
 lot Ironting on Chestnut street, between Fifth 
 and Sixth streets, for the purpose. 
 
 The first purchase included onlv about half 
 the depth to Walnut street. Fronting on 
 that street, were a number of small houses, 
 and on Sixth street corner w&s a shed, which 
 afTorded and was used as a common shelter 
 for the parties of Indians, occasionally visit- 
 
 Independence, Walnut Street Front 
 
 ing the city on business. In 1760, the other 
 half sijuare was purchased, and the whole 
 space mcluded was walled in with a hi"h 
 brick wall. This, in time, gave place to the 
 beautiful iron palisade which now encloses the 
 yard. 
 
 This venerable pile is a place consecrated 
 by numerous important occurrences in our 
 colonial and revolutionary history. Its con- 
 templation fills the mind with many associa- 
 tions and local impressions — within its walls 
 were once witnessed all the memorable doings 
 of our patriotic forefathers — above all, it was 
 renowned in 1776, as possessing beneath its 
 dome, " the Hall of Independence," in which 
 the representatives of a nation resolved to be 
 fr»e and independent. 
 
 The style and architecture of the house and 
 steeple were directed by Dr. John Kearsley, 
 
 ■MNn 
 
ess. In 1760, the otlier 
 rchased, and the whole 
 ■walled in wiih a high 
 1 time, gave pldce to the 
 e which now encloses the 
 
 !e is a place consecrated 
 tant occurrences in our 
 oiinry history. Its 
 lind with many associa- 
 ssions — within its walls 
 all the memorable doings 
 ithers — above all, it was 
 possessing beneath its 
 ndependence," in which 
 " a nation resolved to be 
 
 itecture of the house and 
 by Dr. John Kearsley, 
 
 m 
 
 vf 
 
 if f 
 
 i iM 
 

 ■186 
 
 INDEPENDENCE HALL, PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 spii., the sninc oniatrur who gnvn tho nrchi- 
 tfctiirnl charactor lo Christ church. 'JMic car- 
 (.<Mitcr ciniiloycd was Mr. Edwari] Woolcy. 
 The f'uctscdiicornint!; its bell Jirst set tip in the 
 steeple (if we regard its after history), has 
 sotnethiii;; peculiar. It was of itself not a 
 little siii;Milar that the boll, when first set up, 
 sh(ml(J, in its colonial character, have been 
 inscril)ed as its motto, " Proclaim liberty 
 throushout the land, and to all the people 
 thereof!" But it is still more strange, and 
 deserves to l)e often remembered, that" it was 
 the first in Philadelphia, and from he situa- 
 tion of Congress then le^dslatinn; b.neath its 
 peals, it was also the first in the United States 
 to i)roclaim, Ijy ringing, the news of the Dec- 
 laration of Independence. 
 ^This bell was imported from England, in 
 17o2, for the statehouse, but having met with 
 some acc'ident in the trial-ringing, after it was 
 landed, it lost its tones received in the father- 
 land, and had to be conformed to ours l)v a 
 recasting. This was done under the direc- 
 tion of Isaac Norris, Esip, the then speaker 
 of the colonial assembly, and to him we are 
 probaldy indebted for the remarkable motto 
 so indicative of its future use. 
 
 At the time the British were expected to 
 occupy Philadeljdiia, in 1777, the bell was 
 taken from the city to preserve it i'wm the 
 enemy. At a former pcricxl, say in 1774, the 
 base of the wood work of the steeple was 
 lourid in a state of decay, and it was deemed 
 advisable to take it down, leaving only a s«)all 
 belfrey to cover the bell for the us'e of the 
 town-clock. It so continued until a few years 
 ])ast, when pulilic feeling being much in faver 
 of restoring the venerated building to its for- 
 mer character, a new steejde was "erected, as 
 much like the former, as circumstances would 
 admit. 
 
 Previous to the visitof General Lafayette, 
 in lS-2'}, some dunce in office, who had" con- 
 trol of the building, by way of making the 
 room where the Dccluratioii took place more 
 worthy, as he thought, of the nation's guest, 
 tor whose use the councils had ap|)ropriated 
 it, had all the antique architectural decora- 
 tions and furniture of the room removed, and 
 caused it to be fitted up in modern stvle, with 
 new mahogany furniture, ta|)estry, &c. This i 
 silly act was not discovered until too late, and ' 
 it greatly diminished the |)leasing associations ; 
 that must have thronged the heart of Lafay- 
 ette, as ho stood once more in that sacred hall. 
 The error has been since rejiaired, so far as it 
 could be, by restoring the hall as far as possi- 
 ble to its ancient appearance. The Declara- 
 tion of Inde|)endence was signed in the lower 
 hall, oti the left of the principal entrance, of 
 the main building, as seen in the view. 
 The regular sessions of the state assembly, 
 
 were held for a number of verirs in this Imild- 
 ing. The senate oecui)ied a n.om up stairs. 
 Occasionally these rooms were the scene of 
 S[)lendid banrpietings. In the hmg pnll.ry, 
 where Peale afterward lind his miiseiini, the 
 tables were sometimes made to groan with the 
 luxuries of good living. 
 
 In 17.30, soon after the edifice was com- 
 pleted, his honor, William Allen, Esij., mav- 
 or, made a feast, at his own expense, at the 
 sfatehouse, which was pronounced a most 
 suntptuous and elegant entertainment. In 
 175(J, (he assembly gave a great diinier in 
 I honor ot the now governor, Dennv. In ]7')7, 
 I tlie citv corjmration gave an enteVtninment t/i 
 Lord Loudon, " eommnnder-in-eliief of the 
 king's troops in the eo'onies." And in 177.1, 
 when the first Congress met in this city, the 
 gentlemen of the city gave a feast, at which 
 upward of five hundred poisons dined. 
 
 For many years the public papers of the 
 colony, and afterward of the citv and state, 
 were kept in the east and west wings of the 
 statehouse, without any fire-j)roof security, 
 such as they now possess. From iheir mani- 
 fest insecurity, k was deemed exppilient 
 some years ago, to pull down the former two- 
 story wings, and to supply their [ilaccs by 
 those which now are there. In pulling down 
 the western wing, a keg of cxeelieni (iints was 
 discovered at the depth of four or five feet, 
 the wooil was utterly decayed, but the im- 
 pression was distinct in tho loom gr.jund 
 
 Near to it, Mr. Groves, the master-mason, 
 
 found tho entire eipiipments of a serireant a 
 
 sword, cartouch-box, buckles, ^-c. 'I'lie work- 
 men also dug up, close by the same, ns many 
 as one dozen bomb-shells", filled with ])owdef. 
 Two of these, as a freak of the mason's lads, 
 arc now actually walled into tlie new cellar 
 wall, on the south side. But for this explana- 
 tion, a day may yet come when smdi a dis- 
 covery might give circulation to another Guy 
 I Fawkes and gunpowder-plot storv. 
 
 At the head of the article, on "pa^'c 4P4, is 
 given a view of the statehouse fronting on 
 Walnut street. It was here that on the eighth 
 of July, 1776, the Declaration of Indejwnd- 
 ence was first read by John Nixon, oniid the 
 repeated shouts of the \iconh ; the king's arms 
 in the court-room, were taken down and burnt 
 in iniblic; and bonfires, discharges of cannon, 
 and ringing of bells, demonstrated the joy of 
 the people. 
 
 The Declaration of Independence was re- 
 ceived^bv all the colonies with satisfaction and 
 joy. The following narrative of its reception 
 in Boston, is from the pen of a British otlicer 
 who was a prisoner on parole at the time the 
 event took jjlace : — 
 
 " On the seventeen of July, the British 
 oflficers on parole received each a card from 
 
INDEPENDENCE HALL, PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 487 
 
 Tdf yrrirs in tliis liiiild- 
 ipifil II nxmi II]) stiiirs. 
 Jiiis were till- hi-nw of 
 III tlie l()ii<r pnlUry, 
 i lind lii.s miisi 111)1, ihe 
 miide to gronn wiih the 
 
 the nlificp was com- 
 inm Allrii, Ksk]., mny- 
 s own cxiiorisp, at tfie 
 s jironminreil a most 
 It ('(itrrtfiiniiipiit. In 
 nve n gnat tlinnor in 
 nor, Doniiy. In n;')7, 
 ve an oritorrainmciit to 
 inndcr-in-cliicf of the 
 onics." Ami in 1771, 
 i met in tliis city, the 
 rave a feast, at which 
 i prisons (lined. 
 
 public papers of the 
 if the eity and state, 
 nd west wings of the 
 y fire-jtroof security, 
 <s. From iheir nmiii- 
 is deemed exjiedient 
 down the former two- 
 ipjily their places liy 
 ere. In pulling down 
 of excellenl Hints was 
 1 of four or five feet, 
 decayed, hut the ini- 
 I the, loom ground. — 
 s, the mnster-mnson, 
 lents of a seraeant — a 
 ;kles, d^-e. The work- 
 jy the same, as many 
 s, tilled with ])owder. 
 i of the mason's lads, 
 
 into tl'.e new cellar 
 
 But for this ex|)lnna- 
 imc when such a dis- 
 lation to another Guy 
 -plot story. 
 tide, on page 4P4, is 
 iitehouse fronting on 
 ere that on the eighth 
 aration of Independ- 
 ohn Nixon, amid the 
 ople ; the king's arms 
 aken down and burnt 
 lischarges of cannon, 
 nonstrated the joy of 
 
 dependence was re- 
 wiih satisfuction and 
 ativeof its recejition 
 n of a British otEcer 
 irole at the time the 
 
 )f July, the British 
 id each a card from 
 
 the governor, reciuestiiig the he .or of his at- 
 tendance lit a specified liour on the morrow in 
 the Town hall. As rumors were already afloat 
 touching tiie decided stej) that had been token 
 at riiiliidelphia, we were not without a sus- 
 picion as to the purport of this meeting, and 
 we hesitated for a wliile as to the projiricty 
 of "ivinu the sanction of our countenance to a 
 proceeding which we could not but regard 
 OS traitorous. Curiosity, however, got the 
 belter of scruples which, to say the truth, 
 were not very well founded ; and it was re- 
 solved, after a lirief consultation, that the 
 invitation ought to be accepted. Accordingly, 
 at tlu! hour iippointed, we set out, arrayed in 
 the full dress of our corps. As we passed 
 through the town, we found it thronged in all 
 quarters with persons of every age and both 
 sexes. All werK in their holyday suits, every 
 eye beanicd with delight, and every tongue 
 was in rapid motion. King street, Queen 
 Ftreet, and the other streets adjoining the 
 council chamber, were lined with detachment^s 
 from two battalions of infantry, tolerably well 
 emiipped; while in front of the jail a brigade 
 of artillery was drawn uji, the gunners stand- 
 ing by their pieces with lighted matches; nor, 
 to do them justice, was there any admixture 
 of insolence in the joy which seemed to jier- 
 vade all classes. A^'hether long residence 
 among them, and the anxiety which we dis- 
 played never wantonly to ollend their preju- 
 dices, had secured their esteem, or ^vhether 
 they considered it beneath the dignity of a 
 grave jjeople, standing in a position so cril;ical. 
 to vent their spleen upon individuals entirely 
 at their mercy, I do not know ; but the mark- 
 ed respect with which we were treated, both 
 by soldiers and civilians, could not be misun- 
 derstood. The very crowd opened a lane for 
 us to the door of the hall, and the troops gave 
 us, as we mounted the steps, the salute due 
 to otlicers of our rank. 
 
 "On entering the hall, wcfound it occupied 
 by functionaries, military, civil, and ecclesias- 
 tical ; among whom the same good humor and 
 excitement jirevailed as among the people out 
 of doors. They received us %vith great frank- 
 ness and cordiality, and allotted to us such 
 stations as enabled us to witness the whole 
 of the ceremony, which was as simple as the 
 most republican taste could have desired. 
 Exactly as the clock struck one, Colotiel Crafts, 
 who occupied the chair, rose, and, silence be- 
 ing obtained, read aloud the declaration, which 
 amiounced to the world that the tie of alle- 
 giance and protection, which had so long held 
 Britain and her North American colonies to- 
 gether, was for ever separated. This being 
 finished, the gentleman stood up, and each, 
 repeating the words as ihey were spoken by 
 an officer, swore to uphold, at the sacrifice ot 
 
 life, the rights of his country. Meanwhile, 
 the town-clerk read from a balcony the Declar- 
 ation of Independence to the crowd ; at the 
 close of which, a shout began in the hall, 
 passed like an electric spark to the streets, 
 which rang which loud hu/.zas, the slow and 
 meosured boom of cannon, and the rattle of 
 musketry. Tiie batteries on FortlliU, Dor- 
 chester !5f eck, the castle, Nantasket, and Long 
 Island, each saluted with thirteen guns, the 
 artillery in the town fired thirteen rounds, aiul 
 the infantry, scattered into thirteen divisions, 
 poared forth thirteen volleys, all correspond- 
 ing to the number of states which formed the 
 Union. 
 
 "What followed may be described in 
 a few words. There was a bancpiet in the 
 council chamber, where the cili/ens apjienred 
 and ajipropriate tcasts were given. When 
 night closed in, the darkness was cfTectually 
 dispelled by a general and what was termed 
 then a splendid illumination. I need not say 
 that we neither joined, nor were exjiected to 
 join, in any of the festivities. Having suffi- 
 ciently gratified our curiosity, we returned to 
 our lodgings, and jiassed the remainder of the 
 evening in a frame of mind such as our humil- 
 iating and irksome situation might be expect- 
 ed to produce." 
 
 It was ascertained by Dr. Mai^se, in a cor- 
 respondence with Thomas Jeflbrson, that 
 the Declaration of Independence was writ- 
 ten by him, at his private lodgings, in the 
 house of a Mr. Graaf, which was situated on 
 the southwest comer of Market and Seventh 
 streets, Philadelphia. 
 
 Memory. — The great point in cultivating 
 the memory is to gain command of the atten- 
 tion. A habit of continued, unrelaxing atten- 
 tion, especially if acqu^ed in early years, is 
 the foundation of a good memory. A habit 
 of attentive thought is better than all the ar- 
 tificial memories ever contrived. To the for- 
 mation of such a habit, sufficient efTorts have 
 not often been directed. Therefore it is that 
 we hear many persons complaining of the 
 want of memory. They can not remember 
 the lectures, sermons, and addresses, which 
 they hear, nor the books which they read. 
 All seem to run through their minds like wa- 
 ter through a sieve. They were entertained, 
 and even edified, they would say, but ask 
 them to state what it was that entertained 
 and instructed them, they can not tell. Close 
 attention, or rather persevering efFort to give 
 close attention, will help even such a memory. 
 The too common practice is to attempt to hll 
 the storehouse of the memory before a foun- 
 dation is laid, or a habit of attentive thought 
 is formed. 
 
 Mi 
 1 
 
 !i 
 
 
 M 
 
i 
 
 i 
 
 The Inwnst tpmr* for Ixmnl, in rfmi|miiic,«, is 
 Si a week, ami thf liijrli.-sr, in rninilirs, $-2. 
 Good ijoard, in families, iniiy he liml t'lr $1.50. 
 A number of indiircnt stii'dents arc; in" i)art 
 provided with furniture. 
 
 The libraries of the college and literary 
 soeieties eonlain about lo.OOO volumes. T!ie 
 co]|e;;e library is nceessible to all the students. 
 The north, middle, and south eolle^e Ijuildinus 
 nro capacious, convenient, and siinated ma 
 manner hijihly favorable to a|ipearance. 
 
 At the dedication of the new cabinet and 
 
 observatory, on the 28th of June, 1818, a 
 
 . , , '"''Sr*' ntimber of distinguished men attended, 
 
 rndyes, and by alteniutc fields and forests, j nnd addresses were made by the ju-esiijent, 
 
 vilhipies, fanus, and ^'aniens. Northward ri- I Hon. Wm. B. Calhoun, Pnifessor Sillimnn,' 
 
 I'rofessor Shepherd, Wm. C. Re.llield, K 
 and Dr. Worrester. 
 
 AMHERST COLLEGE, 
 
 WITH TIIK 
 
 NEW CABINET AIS'D OBSERVATORY. 
 
 Amherst Coiieoe, one of the principal 
 literary institutions in Massachusetts, and 
 even in the United States, occu])i(!S a delijiht- 
 ful and healthful situation, on the summi't of 
 the bold rid;^e of bind on whicli the town is 
 situated whose name it bears. The i^round, 
 risin^T with a fine swell from near the eastern 
 bank of Connecticut river, allbrds fine views 
 on every side, over a surface varied by siml 
 la ■ ' 
 
 ses the long, gentle, and commandiu!,' ridge of 
 Pelham; and a few miles south are the cele- 
 brated twin peaks of Mount Tom and Mount 
 H!)lyokn. The surrounding country is not 
 less interesting for its history, than for the in- 
 dustry, intelligence, and morality, of its inhab- 
 itants; and in all branches of "improvement, 
 the colleg(! has exerted a jjowerful influence 
 far beyond the limited horizon. 
 
 The three college buildings, one of which 
 is seen, in all its length, on the right side of 
 onr jiriiit, are fine, substantial edifices. That 
 which is most distinctly visible is four stories 
 high, with a Doric portico ]u-niecting from the 
 middle, and a dome rising from the centre of 
 the roof. Towarrl the left are the new build- 
 inns, lately erected for the cabinet of natu- 
 ral history and the astronomical observatory, 
 while a cluster of dwellings, with a church in 
 the midst, and a number of scattering houses, 
 show the elevated and agreeable situation of 
 the southern part of the village. 
 
 Amherst college was founded in 1821, in- 
 corjHjrated in 1825, by an act of incorporation 
 by the legislature, and now contains one hun- 
 dred and sixty-six students. The Rev. Ed- 
 ward Hn-CHCOCK, long distinguished as the 
 professor of geology, &:c., was elected in 1843 
 as the successor of the president, Dr. Hu»i- 
 PHRiES, and ably occupies his station. 
 
 There are professors of rhetoric and Eng- 
 lish literature ; mathematics and natural phi- 
 losojihy; chymistry and natural history; (5reek 
 and Hebrew ; zoology and astronomy ; intel- 
 lectual and moral |)hilosophy ; and Latin and 
 French. There arc also three tutors, a pre- 
 ceptor in Gennan and French, and a lecturer 
 on political economy. There are three vaca- 
 tions, viz., one of four weeks, from the com- 
 mencement, one of six weeks, beginnina; on 
 the Wednesday before the state thanksgiving- 
 day, and one of three weeks, from the third 
 Wednesday in April. 
 
 The expenses are — for tuition, SlO each 
 term; room rent, $2 do.; recitation rooms, 
 Sec., $2 do. ; fuel and lights, from $9 to $11. 
 
 rill! pamphlet contain- 
 ing an account of the ])roc('cdinf;s, contains 
 some interesting facts ond dates connected 
 ^yith the history of science in the United 
 States, with many eidightened sentiments, 
 honorable to the assembly from which they 
 proceeded. Due ocknowledgmentswerd made 
 to the liberal patrons of the institutions, who 
 at ditTerent periods had rendered it essential 
 aid from their estates; and gratifyin? evi- 
 dence was alTorded by a recajiitulation of con- 
 tributions and donations received within a few 
 months, that its character and usefulness are 
 more highly appreciated than ever. The |)resi- 
 dent ]mid a most approi)riate and well-merited 
 compliment to one of the iirincipal benefac- 
 tors,* in the following words : " In the astro- 
 
 • It nppenrs that the most Ubernl imliviiliinl dona- 
 tion diirnig the past year, to Aniheisl t-olli'L-e, has 
 bnen made by the Hon. David Skars, conaistiiiK of 
 real estate in tlic ritj- of Boston, estimated by Iho 
 donor to be of the vahie of 812,01)0. This, with 
 810,000 formerly bestowed, is to oonstitiito the 
 "Sears' Foil ncljilinn of Lilciitfiii-e and licmfolciicf," 
 wliirli, aUhough for tlie present it does not vield a 
 lnr!,'o income, yet such are the terms on v hfnh it is 
 bestowed, that it must ultimately become of preat 
 value to the coUepe. To the benevolence of the 
 same individual, we believe, the nsti-onomical obser- 
 vatory at Cambridge owes its existoiiee. 
 
 Among the letters received at the dedication of 
 the new cabinet and coservatarj- of Amherst collesre, 
 was an instructive and interesting one from Mr. 
 Sears, which takes a broad and very just view of the 
 relation of colleges to the pnispor'ity and advance- 
 ment of the community. " In my humlile opinion," 
 says he, "our colleges are the Croat conservatives of 
 the Union." So long as monev is freely siient in 
 support of the church, the school," the college, the hos- 
 pital, and the a.sylum, for memorials of the departed 
 g(K)d and great, for the snstonanco of the poor and 
 the comfort of the prisoner, thiire is little fear of its 
 being greatly misapplied in luxurious extravagance 
 or vicious indulgences. It is not to hoard it with the 
 pa-ision of a miser, hut to procure to ourselves the 
 advantages which can not bo obtained without it — 
 the cultivation, the imjmivement the luxury of doing 
 good, which are the stimulus, the means, and the re- 
 ward of virtue. It is Hoston's groat honor that among 
 her citizens there are so manv who understand the 
 USB of money.— A'c«' York Evangclhl, Oct. 19. 
 
 i»3iaa«isp®«-5BSNBaB|fflg'' 
 
ml, ill rr)iii|)iiiiic8, is 
 icsr, in f'miiilifs, $2. 
 my li(! luiil ('( r.Sl.50. 
 tiiilcnts aro in imrt 
 
 ciollpRe nnd litrrnry 
 .000 v(,lnni(>s. T!ie 
 lofoall the sUnlcum. 
 nth PollfiTc IniildinL's 
 ■, nnd sirnnrt-d m a 
 to !i|i|)rnriincc. 
 le new cnbinct nnd 
 1 of ,hnie, 18)8, q 
 sh('<l men ntlcndcd, 
 ■■ liy the jircsidont, 
 Pniffssor Siiiimnn, 
 . C. Kcdlicld, Ksc]., 
 i jinniphlut (■(iritiiin- 
 •(>c<'C(liiigs, roMtnins 
 id liiitcs connccird 
 ICC in the United 
 htenrd sentiments, 
 y from which tliey 
 il.Kincntswcre made 
 le institutions, who 
 endered it essential 
 nd prntifyins evi- 
 cnpitulntion of eon- 
 ■eived within n few 
 nnd nsefiihiess nre 
 mover. Tliepiesi- 
 :c and well-merited 
 prineipnl lienefac- 
 Is: "In the astro- 
 
 bcrnl iniliviclmil dona- 
 Aiiilierst c<)llitf;i>, lins 
 
 Skaks, consisting' of 
 on, t'stimntpil by tlio 
 81i!,000. Tliis, with 
 3 to constituto ilie 
 n-e tiiiil liomo/riicc," 
 It it iloes not vield n 
 I terms on \i!iinli it is 
 ely become of prcnt 
 
 benevolence of the 
 3 nstrononucid obser- 
 xistoiico. 
 
 (It tbo rledicntion of 
 y of Anilierst colleire, 
 sting one from Mr. 
 very just view of tlie 
 pority nnd ndvnnre- 
 iny hnnible opinion," 
 rent conser\-ntive8 of 
 y is freely spent in 
 , the coltcfre, the bos- 
 rials of the deported 
 nco of tlic pfjor nnd 
 is little fear of its 
 urious cxtrnvnunnce 
 
 to hoard it witli the 
 lire to ourselves the 
 btnincd withont it — 
 t the luxiiry of doing 
 e means, nnd tlio re- 
 ;at honor that among 
 who understand the 
 gclisl, Oct. 19. 
 
490 
 
 AMHEE8T COLLEGE. 
 
 nnmicnl oliscrvatory at Cornbriili^n is a mas- 
 sive tower, built soliti of '^uiiicy jn'miito, 
 called tJK! ' Sears' Tower,' which .sustains one 
 of the most si)lcn(li(l telescopes in the world. 
 Hut in the ', Sears' Foundatiun of Literature 
 and Benevolence' in Amherst eollejie, we liuve 
 amoreenduririgstructure: 'inonumentumaerc 
 Iierennius :' imo vero etiam, saxo perennius.'' 
 A letter from Mr. Sk.^hs, of Boston, was 
 read, containing the following ])aragra])hs : — 
 " It is the ))eculiar characteristic of Ma.ssa- 
 chuseits to give encouragement to learning, 
 and to cherish her literary institutions. It is 
 a sentiment whiclihas grown with her growth, 
 and strengtliened with her strength, and al- 
 most marks lier as a distinct jjcojile. From 
 the hinding of their forefathers, in 1G'20, to the 
 present day, her sons — while did'ering on 
 other subjects — have thought alike on this, 
 and they have reason to be jjroud of the 
 result. 
 
 " Tim colleges of Massachusetts are aptly 
 called serjiuiuries of learning, for by them the 
 sei'dsof knowledge, of virtue, of morality, and 
 religion, are sown broadcast through our land. 
 Go where you will, fr.nn Maine to Mexico, 
 from Ohio to the Pacific ocean, and much of 
 what you find omong the people that is good 
 and honest, intelligent and successful, owes 
 its origin to the loins or education of New 
 England — and ]jrinci])ally of Massachusetts. 
 In my humble opinion, our colleijos arc the 
 great conservatives of the Union, and we are 
 deojdy indebted to them for whatever of hon- 
 est principle and integrity of character exists 
 among us." 
 
 " Esj)ecially permit me to notice the ob- 
 servatory, and the liberal and enlightened 
 gentleman whose name stands the first on the 
 list of patrons.* I trust that the foundation 
 thus laid by him will hereafter sustain the in- 
 struments of modern science to draw from the 
 skies a knowledge of the stars— to demon- 
 strate to men the glory of God, and the mag- 
 nificence of His works— and show to their 
 wondering minds, that " the thousand brilliant 
 worlds which circle round Him, are governed 
 by one law, and that in wisdom ' Hk has 
 made them all.' " 
 
 " I venture to conclude my answer to you, 
 reverend sir, with the following sentiment: 
 Literary talent, and jiecuniary ability, may 
 their zeal be ever found united in building up 
 the halls of learning, and extending the altars 
 of religion." 
 
 The Wood's Cahinct is of brick, of an oc- 
 ta,gonal form, and forty-five feet in diameter, 
 with two lofty stories. It is stuccoed without 
 as well as within ; and the two halls which it 
 contains are ornamented with fresco painting. 
 Great care has been taken to render this 
 " Hon. AuuoTT L.twnE.vcE. 
 
 The floors are fire- 
 8Ui))M)rted by four 
 
 building secure from fire. 
 
 I)roof, the upper one is _, ^ „,. ..^ „,.., 
 
 strong iron jiillars, and the doors are of irjn, 
 weighing nearly half a ton each. 
 
 2/(« Lau-renee Observatory is an octagonal 
 tower, forty-four feet high and eighteen" feet 
 in diameter. It is surmounted by a dome ten 
 feet high, which is so made as to be easily 
 moved round to the right or left, for the cun- 
 yenience of oliservers using the telescojie. As 
 in the observatory at West Point, ice, the 
 dome rests upon several cannon-balls, placed 
 between largo iron hoops, or circular track- 
 waj s, which perform the part of wheels. The 
 telescope is to be supported by a jjcdestal, or 
 column, of brickwork, capjied with stone, 
 which rises from the ground to the summit of 
 the tower, and an opening is left in the ilome 
 through which the telescope may be pointed. 
 The institution is not yet provilled with this 
 important instrument; but it is hoped the 
 munificent friends of science in the state will 
 not long allow the observatory to remain des- 
 titute. 
 
 The Transit-Room is in a small wooden 
 building, connected with the obsiervatory, and 
 contain.s the fine transit instrument belonging 
 to the institution, which was purchased in 
 Paris by Professor Hovey, a long time since, 
 together with the astronomical clock. This 
 room has an opening through its roof, from 
 the north to the south, to allow observations 
 to be made on all jiarts of the meridian. 
 
 A vestibule of two stories connects the ob- 
 servatory and the cabinet, and contains the 
 staircases leading to the dillercnt apartments of 
 both. The situation of all may be clearly un- 
 derstood bv a glance at the print. We now 
 return to the former building, to speak of the 
 valuable collections of specimens which it 
 contains, although their numbers and the de- 
 scrii)tions necessary to make them fully under- 
 stood by a common reader, will prevent us from 
 attempting anything more than a very geiiflral 
 .sketch. It is, however, proper to mention 
 here, that this building does not contain all 
 the specimens in natural history belonging to 
 the college. The zoological cabinet is to be 
 seen in the old apartment; and there the vis- 
 iter will find a comjilete series of animals, ex- 
 hibited in cases on the walls, from the human 
 species down to the zoophites. The large 
 and highly valuable cf)llection of shells and 
 iasects, recentjy presented to the institution 
 by Professor Chades B. Adams, occupies ta- 
 bles on the floor of the same apartment, and / 
 also that of the library, of which we can I 
 only remark here, that the number of shells 
 amounts to five thousand, and that of insects 
 to several thousands. 
 
 To speak of the numerous and interesting 
 I objects displayed in the new cabinet: The 
 
0. The fliHiis nre fire- 
 is sujijMjrted by four 
 the doors ore of iijn, 
 ton each. 
 
 •vntory is an octni,'()na] 
 ligh anil fi;;lui;on feet 
 lountod by u dome ten 
 
 made as to be easily 
 ht or left, for the con- 
 ing the ttdescopo. As 
 IVest Point, Arc, the 
 I cannon-balls, placed 
 H)s, or circular trnck- 
 i part of wheels. Tlie 
 rted by a pedestal, or 
 
 capped with stone, 
 )und to the sunitiiit of 
 ng is left in the dome 
 cope may be pointed, 
 et provided with this 
 but it is hoped the 
 ence in the state will 
 k-atory to remain des- 
 
 I in a small wooden 
 the observatory, and 
 
 instrument belonging 
 h was purchased in 
 jy, a long time since, 
 lomicol clock. This 
 ii'ough its roof, from 
 o allow observations 
 f the meridian, 
 ries connects the ob- 
 et, and contains the 
 ifl'erent apartments of 
 
 II may be clearly un- 
 he print. We now 
 3ing, to speak of the 
 specimens which it 
 lumbers and the le- 
 ke them fully under- 
 , will prevent us from 
 3 than a very geireral 
 
 proper to mention 
 Iocs not contain all 
 history belonging to 
 jical cabinet is to be 
 
 ; and there the vis- 
 series of animals, ex- 
 ills. from the human 
 )phites. The large 
 3ction of shells and 
 d to the institution 
 \dams, occupies ta- 
 ime apartment, and 
 
 of which we can 
 lie ntimber of shells 
 
 and that of insects 
 
 reus and interesting 
 new cabinet: The 
 
 lower hall is th.'voted to geology, and contains 
 11,500 specimens of rocks and minerals, and 
 fossils associated with them, arranged in four- 
 teen distinct collections. The visiter, on en- 
 tering the d(K)r, finds them presented in the 
 following order, and so marked that, with the 
 help of the printed catalogue, he can easily 
 understand what stratum and what country 
 each is intended to represent or to illustrate. 
 
 1. The Rocks of the European Continent. 
 —These are illustrated by six hundred speci- 
 mens of rocks and fossils, about three inches 
 by four in size, whose names are printed be- 
 hind them in English, French, and German. 
 This collection, which was put up at the 
 Heidelberg Mineralogical Institute, affords 
 the best imaginable means for studying the 
 rocks of Europe. It is remarkable that the 
 sandstones and some of the petrified fishes 
 which they contain, almost exactly resemble 
 specimens from the Connecticut valley. 
 
 2. I'he English Koci-s.— Among the six 
 hundred specimens in this collection, generally 
 small, is a very instructive series of the chalks 
 and the Weafden group. The latter is from 
 an ancient estuary in the southeastern part of 
 England, where the iguanodon and other enor- 
 mous reptiles once lived, as is proved by 
 their bones. 
 
 3. The Missionary Collection.— These spe- 
 cimens, amounting to about twelve hundred, 
 have been collected and presented by Ameri- 
 ican missionaries, in many different coun- 
 tries and some of the most interesting sites 
 in the world chiefly in Asia ; and, although 
 .•ot generally intended to illustrate geology, 
 are often valuable in that point of view. Two 
 thirds of the individuals who contributed these 
 to the institution are of the number of its 
 graduates. 
 
 Among the interesting facts proved by the 
 specimens in this collection are the following : 
 That limestones form the prevailing rocks 
 along the borders of the Mediterranean ; and 
 some of them are composed of shells, so small 
 as to be invisible to the naked eye, of the 
 kind called polythalamia ; and others abound 
 in petrified fishes, &c. 
 
 Most of the limestones of the Holy Land 
 have been referred to the chalk formation, 
 and, as might therefore be expected, often 
 contain flints, homstone, jaspers, and agates. 
 Of these there are sjjecimens from Lebanon, 
 Anti-Lebanon, Carmel, Beyroot, Tyre, the 
 Mount of Olives, and the garden of Gethsem- 
 ane. Petrified fishes and some of the lower 
 animals abound in Mount Lebanon ; and of 
 these one hundred and nine specimens are 
 to be seen in the collection. Professor Fiske 
 found oysters and clams on summits thou- 
 sands of feet above the level of the sea. 
 Numerous fragments of ancient Greek and 
 
 Roman edifices are also displayed, from dif- 
 ferent cities and other localities in Asia, 
 Greece, Italy, Africa, and the islands, as the 
 Colosseum of Rome, the Acropolis of Athens, 
 the temple of Juno, in Samos, of Apollo, in 
 Cnidus, rompeii, Carthage, Samaria, Perse])- 
 olis, the seven churches, &c., &c. Specimens 
 of rocks from Mount Olympus are almost 
 the only ones in this collection corresponding 
 with those of New England. Many volcanic 
 specimens also are to be seen, from Asia Mi- 
 nor, Italy, the Sandwich islands, &e. Rock 
 salt from the Red and Dead seas ; bottles of 
 water from these and other celebroted sour- 
 ces, and other objects we might particularize. 
 
 4. The West India Collection conies next 
 in order, and consists chiefly of recent petri- 
 factions from St. Croix and Antigua, present- 
 ed by Professor Hovey. Most of the species 
 correspond with living ones. Beautiful spe- 
 cimens of petrified wood show all the fibres 
 and vessels of the different kinds of timber, 
 converted into stones of extreme hardness. 
 
 5. Rocks of the United Slates.— Here is a 
 very instructive series of fifteen hundred spe- 
 cimens, the first twenty-seven of which are 
 the stones of which all our rocks are com- 
 posed, and therefore called the Alphabet of 
 Geology. Among the fossils are the tooth of 
 the ancient large American horse, found in 
 Amherst, whose remains are also discovered 
 on the Mississippi and elsewhere ; and teeth 
 and bones of mastodons and mammoths, sharks 
 fifty or one hundred feet long, &c. About one 
 hundred and fifty specimens are from our coal 
 regions, which occupy an area of about one hun- 
 dred and fifty thousand square miles; and these 
 present many interesting impressions and fos- 
 sils. One part of this collection is eminently 
 of practical importance, viz., two hundred and 
 twenty specimens of soils, clays, marls, &c., 
 from different parts of Massachusetts. Among 
 other objects is a piece of the green homstone 
 rock from which Shay's soldiers supplied 
 their muskets with flints, in his rebellion. 
 Another specimen proves that plants, analo- 
 gous to some of those of the tropical regions, 
 once grew in Massachusetts. This is a large 
 petrified reed, with several joints, dug up at 
 Seekonk. 
 
 6. Massachusetts Rocks. — This collection 
 was made during the geological survey of the 
 state, between 1830 and 1846; and embraces 
 a large number of clay-stones, the only con- 
 siderable assemblage of these curious concre- 
 tions anywhere to be seen. Serpentines, mar- 
 bles, syenites, porphyries, and other _ orna- 
 mental stones of the state, are here exhibited, 
 cut and polished ; and their various colors and 
 brilliant surfaces afford a surprising variety, 
 considering the limited region in which they 
 have been found. 
 
 mm 
 
J 
 
 h 
 
 7. Rnrls and Minrrnh of Ciinnrriirii/. — 
 Ei:^ht iHiiidrcd s|)('(Miii('tis, iiri'scnti'il liv I'm- 
 ffssor Slic|ilit'nl, much rfscriililin;^; those of 
 M;i>^sii('hii>i'lts. 
 
 8. lii>r/,-s (tiid Minrrnh (if Vrrmnnl, Cdl- 
 leclcd liy Professor C. IJ. Ailains, whih- Kiir- 
 V( viii!: thiit, sliitc. 
 
 !). Fossils of the Paris Basin, coiitaiiiin;j; 
 one hiiiiilrcd uiid twenty-four species of or- 
 ganic rciMHiiK. 
 
 10. MurhUs, Alabasters, Sj-c, from Rome. 
 — One liiindrod and seventy-two polished 
 s|M'ciincns. 
 
 1 1 . Organic Remains from, Europe. — Five 
 Vniiidrcil »j)ccinipns — hi;j;hly useful to stuilents. 
 
 Iv.'. luissil Footmarks, f^r. — In this de- 
 linrrmcnl, as rniglit ho expected, the coIlecti<in 
 is peculiarly rich ; Presiilent Hit<rhcoek huv- 
 ini;, wliilt! a jirofessor, Krst hroujjht this curi- 
 ous and important hrnnch of geolojjy to the 
 knowledge of the world. Here we find two 
 hundred and fifty specimens of footmarks, 
 nmnni; which we can particularize only a few. 
 The largest are the tracks of the giant animal 
 hrontdzoum, an enormous hird, somethinj; like, 
 and with a foot three or four times lar^'er than, 
 the ostrich. There were three tracks of this 
 monster, fifty-four and fifty-six inches apart. 
 The depressed track of another will hold more 
 than a gallon of water. The other foot-prints, 
 indieatina; more than forty diflerent species of 
 animals, chiefly birds, we have not room to 
 mention ; but they are well worthy of atten- 
 tive study. Most of them arc from the sand- 
 stone rocks of the Connecticut valley : but 
 some are from other states and transatlantic 
 Countries. 
 
 The Shepherd Cabinet occupies vertical 
 cases, ranged against the walls of the upjjcr 
 hall, and is divided into meteoric substances, 
 mineralogy, and geology. The first of these 
 are numerous, and from many diflerent parts 
 of the world. The other portions of this col- 
 lection are also well filled, as might be ex- 
 pected from the science and experience of t.ie 
 collector. 
 
 THE NEW HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT. 
 
 This long range of edifices presents an im- 
 posing aspect to the stranger, as he passes up 
 the Thames, and turns his eyes to the spot 
 so long occupied by the old parliament houses. 
 They were accidentnlly destroyed l)y fire on 
 the ICth of October. 1834. The present en- 
 larged edifice so(jn rose from the rums, and 
 allijrds much more ample and convenient ac- 
 commodations to the two houses of parliament, 
 the library, and the various minor purposes 
 connected with them. The origin of the con- 
 
 flngrntion is n mutter of much nncertnintv ; 
 l)nl it was supposed to be nriidental. A largo 
 ipiantilics of old and useless papers had been 
 l)nrnt in the Kxchi'ipier, wliicli, it was sup- 
 posed, might have been too liaslilv crowded 
 into the fireplaces, and over-healed some of 
 ihe <'iiimney-flucs. 'J'hc mere desfrnclion of 
 the main Imildiug itself miuht not have lieen 
 much regretted, as ii made room for the ])res- 
 cnt superior structure : t)ut numerous valuable 
 documents were consumed, and the ailmired 
 old painted chamber, the tapestries, fee, in 
 the house of lords, and, nljove all, the ad- 
 joining ancient chapel of St. Stephen, were 
 ais4) ruined. This hiNt had long stood as the 
 most perfect specimen of the highly ornament- 
 ed (iothic style of architecture in the king- 
 dom, and was respeetal)le and valuable also 
 from its historical associations. 
 
 Westminster cathedral, which stands in 
 this vicinity, was the first of the ancient ed- 
 ifices which are here clustered together. The 
 superstitions inculcated by the Romish priest- 
 hood have always filled the headsof all jjcople, 
 foolish enough to listen to their fictions, with 
 iileas of the su]ierior sanctity of the objects, 
 buildings and places which the i)retcnd'^'! 
 miraculous })ower of thi'mselves or others 
 has distinguished. There, as in many other 
 l)lnce8 and countries, conse(|uence was given 
 to the place where the ground was called 
 holy, and a host of images were congregated, 
 and daily worshij)])ed. King Canute, though 
 a Dane, became a dupe of the priesth(Kxl, and 
 in his later days, fixed his residence under 
 their wing, being the first king who occupied 
 this site. The building which he inhabited 
 was destroyed by fire in the time of Edward 
 the Confessor, who, a bigot of the blindest 
 kind, built another palace near the same spot; 
 and his successors continued to occupy West- 
 minster palac< until the reignof Henry VIII. 
 in 1529, when another fire occurred l)y which 
 it was destroyed, and Whitehall became the 
 royal residence. 
 
 'JMie origin of the parliament of England 
 is lost in the gloom of the dark ages. It is 
 believed that the representatives of the people 
 formerly met with the lords in the great na- 
 tional hall of legislation; and that the body 
 was first divided in the year 1377. Conflicts 
 innumerable were waged, from the earliest 
 days of English history, between the people, 
 the nobles and the monarchs, often influenced, 
 instigated or directed, more or less covertly 
 by the priesthood, to whose interference in 
 public or ])rivate afliiirs, directly or indirect- 
 ly, a great ])art of the history of "England was 
 materially afi'ected, in almost all ages, as ev- 
 ery intelligent reader must plainly see. The 
 reformati(ai put an end to the old system : 
 but some of its evil features were retained, 
 
1 
 
 i, ■ i 
 
 if tniidi iinccrtninty ; 
 • nrciilctitiil. A liiri:o 
 r\vi< |in|iiTH liiid lifcn 
 r, wliich, it. \vn» siip- 
 I till) liii^lily criiwiicil 
 
 iivcr-licnlcil «(iine of 
 (• mere <lf<(nii'ii(in of 
 
 iiiiuht not liiivc lifon 
 iil(! roiiiii for till' |iip.s- 
 lut iiiimiToiis vuliiiilild 
 nril, utui till! niliiiirpil 
 111! tdjicstrii's, iVc, in 
 1, nliovc (ill, ilio oil- 
 i)f St. Sli'plicri, were 
 Imil Inn;; stooil nn the 
 
 the hi/ilily orniimcnr- 
 itccture in tlio kiii;;- 
 ilo nnil valuable alsu 
 ntions. 
 
 Ill, wliich stonils in 
 rst of the nni-ifiit nl- 
 stercd lojfethiT. Thi; 
 Ijy the Roniiish priest- 
 he heads of nil |)eoplp, 
 to their fictions, with 
 inctity of the objects, 
 i'liich the iiri'tcndi^d 
 hemselves or others 
 ere, Q8 in many other 
 inseiiuence was given 
 f! ground was called 
 es were congregated. 
 
 King Canute, though 
 )f the priesthiKxl, and 
 
 his residence under 
 St king who occupied 
 
 which he inhabited 
 
 the time of Edward 
 bigot of the blindest 
 enear the same spot; 
 ued to occupy West- 
 reignof Henry VIII. 
 re occurred by which 
 hitehall became the 
 
 rliament of England 
 the dark ages. It is 
 ntatives of the peojile 
 ords in the great na- 
 ; and that the body 
 year 1377. Conflicts 
 ■d, from the earliest 
 
 between the people, 
 chs, often influenced, 
 nore or less covertly 
 hose interference in 
 , directly or indirect- 
 story of England was 
 most all oges, as ev- 
 ist plainly see. The 
 
 to the old system : 
 itures were retained, 
 
 1 
 
494 
 
 TUB BOSTON WATEttWOUKS. 
 
 whirh hsvo ovrr since exrrtcrl unhappy in- 
 tluciK'i!!* in piirliaincnt ami on the nutiun. 
 Ainoii^ tln'»u lire the church e!ttol)liNhmt'nt 
 itiiil the civil pdwor i)f ccclcniaHtics. Under 
 tht! (lisptiiftiition!* of Divine Providence good 
 uf'ccn results from evil ; uiid the dictatorial 
 spirit of the P2ngliHh liishops, proceeding to 
 pernccution, soon coininisaioncd the pilurimt* 
 to lay the foundation of a new rcpubhc on 
 Plyinouth nick. 
 
 Such rellections as these, and others, in an 
 endless train, nuturully crowd into the tnind 
 of an American, iis lie 8tan<Is to contemplate 
 the site uf tlie liriiisli parliament. 
 
 THK BOSTON WATERWORKS. 
 
 This noble monument of the liberal enter- 
 prise of Boston in everything conducive to 
 the general health or comfort of its citizens, 
 was iuicfly noticed in a previous article on 
 the first seltlement of that city. But thS pre- 
 scribed limits and general design of that ar- 
 ticle did not permit that detailed description 
 (if this gigantic work which its merits would 
 justify. The following well-written descrip- 
 tion of a " visit to the waterworks," was 
 jiublished in the Boston Daily Advertiser, by 
 permission of the gentleman to whom it was 
 addressed. It furnishes much information in 
 relation to the a(picduct, porticularly the 
 more distant portion of it. We cheerfully 
 give it a place, confident that its interest will 
 amply vindicate its insertion, 
 
 BosTos, Nov. 3, 1948. 
 
 Dkar Sir : You ask nie to give you some 
 account of a day among the waters, and I do 
 so with grent pleasure, for it was o day of 
 deep interest and perfect satisfaction. 
 
 You know that I was not originally in fa- 
 vor of the project, when first started, of 
 bringing lake or river by an artificial channel 
 into this city of springs and water-brooks, be- 
 cause the necessity for it was not obvious, 
 while the cost was certain, and in the then 
 condition of our city, somewhat alarming. 
 But the condition of things greatly changed. 
 The city grow more populous, and pure water 
 less abundant. There was a more pressiiig 
 want, and much larger ability to meet it. u 
 was a gigantic etlbrt to be sure, but it com- 
 ported with the enterprise, the energy and 
 the wealth of our community ; and I joined 
 heart and hand with the gallant company, 
 when in August, 1846, th:? city government 
 commenced its first operations at the lake. 
 Two years and two months only have elapsed 
 and the water is here. We have seen it 
 throwing ,tself eighty feet in the air, in a 
 form of inimitable strength and beouty, and 
 
 flowing in a quiet and regular stream under 
 the cave^< <>( one of our principal hotels, ut 
 nearly tli liighcst habitobiu residence in the 
 citv. ... 
 
 It \r> here — in a time so surprisingly short, 
 that they who were fearful it would never be 
 brought hero at all, are comptdled to give a 
 new direction to their iiiiiuit.'tude. and to dis- 
 trust the nermaneney and solidity of the (;on- 
 duit by which it is conducted to our dwellings. 
 
 Let me assure you that, so far as my hum- 
 ble judgment may be of any value, the work 
 has been brought to its present successful and 
 speedy result by the exercise and the develop- 
 ment of hij'h scientific anl profound artisticul 
 skill, and I ves the rapidity of its progress to 
 a combina: :iin of intejlt'ctual ond physical 
 [Kiwers, which will be us honoriiblc to our 
 community as are the enterprise and liberality 
 in which it was projected. 
 
 I have had some opportunity of seeing many 
 similar operations, but none with v/uich this 
 will not compare very favorably, wlf ther the 
 comparison bo made in regard to t'lo time, 
 the labor, or the skill. 
 
 Ill regard to the expense, it becon.es one to 
 speak vviih less decision until the ocrounts 
 are all iwsted — but it is most obvious that so 
 far as the works meet the eye of an observer 
 he will not fail to admire the judicious com- 
 bination of strength and beauty with on ele- 
 gant taste that does justice to the laudable 
 pride of our people, and with a severe and 
 classic simplicity which has wasted nothing 
 in superfluous orn.'ijcut. 
 
 It was on one of the finest mornings <nl our 
 Indian summer that a ride of an hour in the 
 cars of the Worcester railroad brought me to 
 the margin of Lake Cochituate, and to an ac- 
 ijuaintancc with the intelligent superintendent 
 of the works there — Mr. Sickles. The mar- 
 gin of this beautiful sheet of water is cleared 
 of its under-brush and vegetable mntter, and 
 the bright and pellucid gtream seemed to in- 
 dicate the utility for which it is destined. 
 Great labor has necessarily been bestowed 
 upon the grounds, so as to give a proper rise 
 to the water, which passes to its new destina- 
 tion through receptacles covered by a stone 
 gatehouse, in which these are contained. 
 jv cofTer-dom which hud been built at con- 
 siderable expense for the purpose of construct- 
 ing these receptacles was in process of being 
 removed, and much of the under-ground con- 
 struction will be for ever out of sight. 
 
 I am not aware that th- re is anything peca- 
 liar in these constructions at the lake. Yet 
 here as everywhere else in the course, science 
 had its high duty both in giving a proper di- 
 rection and descent to the stream, in antici- 
 pating and guarding against accidents, and 
 preserving the current in a cor.tinuous flow, 
 
pj^lsr utrpnm umlir 
 r priiicipnl liotelM, iit 
 ublii rcftiilL'Dce in thu 
 
 no Rurpridinply short, 
 ful it would never lio 
 
 compi.'lIiHl to n'lMs a 
 (luintiide. niiil to ilift- 
 (I Holidity of thr (;oi)- 
 ctf'd to our (IweHiiiKH. 
 lit, m fnr its my liiim- 
 otiy vuliic, tliii work 
 ircsent mn'ceKHfuI nml 
 rise and the dnvflop- 
 rrl profounil artisticiil 
 lity of itH proL'rens to 
 lectual and pliysicol 
 an honorable to our 
 terprise and liberality 
 .1. 
 
 tunity of secinj; many 
 none with v'nieh this 
 vorably, wlf thcr the 
 
 regard tu tho time, 
 
 18C, it becon.es one to 
 n until the aernunts 
 
 most obvious that so 
 le eye of an observer 
 e the judiuiouH com- 
 
 beauty with an ele- 
 stice to tiie laudable 
 1 with a severe and 
 
 has wasted nothing 
 
 incst mornings oi our 
 de of on hour in the 
 ailroad brought mc to 
 hituatc, and to an ac- 
 llij^pnl; superintendent 
 . Sickles. Tho mar- 
 et of water is cleared 
 vegetable mrttter, and 
 stream seemed to in- 
 vhich it is deitincd. 
 arily been bestowed 
 to give a proper rise 
 es to its new destina- 
 3 covered by a stone 
 these are contained, 
 d been built at con- 
 I purpose of constrnct- 
 is in process of being 
 he under-ground con- 
 r out of sight. 
 \i- re is anything pecu- 
 13 at the lake. Yet 
 in the course, science 
 in giving a proper di- 
 :he stream, in antici- 
 ^ainst accidents, and 
 in a coRtinuoQS flow, 
 
 TUB BOSTON WATEllWOaKS. 
 
 40A 
 
 H<» ihut when, by time or chance, renf)vat!on 
 or rcpuir miiy be rc(|uir('d, it may be rciidily 
 made. UtiNkilful men had MurmiHi'd that even 
 hen; lliei" whh u great fault utid timt the 
 water would cither not How at all, or flow too 
 slowly on it» w'oy. The first experiment 
 proved the eorreetnesn of the judgment of the 
 engineers, and demoHHtruted ulwitliat a swift- 
 er course would have diminiHhed tho height 
 to which the water would rise in the eity, 
 IteoideN endangering the safety of the u(|uedu(!t. 
 A II hfn: is stone or iron. No ieHS duralilo 
 in <teriul in admitted, nail ugett long us thoxe 
 in vv!::ch this water hus 8lej)t in its tran(|uil 
 bed muHt again revolve, Iwfore, by the com- 
 mon occurrences of time, these works will bo 
 subject to decay. My attention was drawn to 
 the mighty power which mun must hold in his 
 hand over so great a volume of waters when 
 he sends them on a new destination ; I was 
 attracted to a consideration of the resistless 
 force which even this quiet lake exercises 
 over the tributary stream that is drawn from 
 it during nit the long errand on which it is 
 sped ; and how this force is measured, meted 
 out ond controlled i)y those contrivances of 
 human intelligcHce wnich is a gift to man from 
 the goodness of its Creator, and I assure y»u 
 of the gratification I felt at thot vast exercise 
 of genius which thus comes in competition 
 with Nutuie herself and makes her established 
 laws obedient to the welfare of our race. 
 
 The water after leaving the lake is carried 
 in nn underground aijueduct eight miles to the 
 margin of Charles river. The stupendous 
 labor of this grand construction from the lake 
 to the river is now in a great measure forever 
 buried up, but the inequalities of the natural 
 surface of the eorth show you where it is car- 
 ried below and where, notwithstanding its 
 regular and gradual descent, it rises above 
 the common highway. There arc two re- 
 markable points of elevation, one where the 
 aqueduct is carried over the county road upon 
 a stone arch spanning the road from side to 
 side — the other where it arrives at the margin 
 of Charles river and is made to descend and 
 rise again through two inverted siphons, the 
 capacity of which is large enough for the re- 
 quired supply of the estimated population of 
 our city for twenty years. A provident fore- 
 cast has prepared the means oi* adding, at 
 comparatively small exnense, one third more 
 to the present means, whenever it is reciuired. 
 On each side of the river, where these siphons 
 are connected with tho aqueduct, are gate 
 houses of stoae, within which are such ar- 
 rangements as enable the surperintendent to 
 control the reception and delivery of the wa- 
 ter, in part or in whole, at his pleasure ; and 
 below the bridge a waste weir enables him to 
 turn its whole current into Charles river when- 
 
 ever it is desirable to iiisnert the interior of 
 thot dark channel throuyh which tho lake is 
 now inking its gentle Imt compulsive ?ourse. 
 
 It was my object to examine these ingeni- 
 ous and ('urious constructions, in which sci- 
 ence and mind triumph over inert matter nnd 
 control the elements even in their rage. Ur.- 
 <ler the cure and with the aid of the chief en- 
 gineer, Mr. Chesbrough, I had tho most fa- 
 vorable opportunity for a critical and etlicient 
 inspection, with every means of illustration 
 necessary for the purpose, and 1 sat down 
 with an intention of giving yi»u tho details of 
 contrivances so simple that they seem jier- 
 fectly easy, an<l so etruieiit that they ore 
 completely successful, nnd yet withal are ab- 
 solutely the result of n deep knowledge of the 
 laws of hydrodynamics in all their extent and 
 nKMlern improvement ; but I feel that, with, 
 out models or diagrams, it would be impossi- 
 ble to give you a clear impression of the ex- 
 ceeding beauty of the design or success of the 
 execution — and you must eithor go yourself 
 with the advantages which I hod, and exam- 
 ine the construction with your own eyes, or 
 take my word for it that not Boston only bwt 
 Massachusetts and New Eiiglaiid will i« 
 proud of this structure as one of the noblest 
 monuments of civil architecture existing in 
 the country — The resident engineer intrusted 
 with the immeditito direction cf this portion 
 of the work, was Mr. M'Kean. 
 
 In addition to the jiarts of the wrirk of 
 which I have already spoken, there arc sev- 
 eral vvaste weirs, four I think, with suitoble 
 neat stone buildings to protect and preserve 
 them. You understand by a waste weir a 
 construction to let olT, by a lateral outlet, any 
 quantity of water which rises in the a(pieduct 
 above an ascertained level, and by which also 
 the water may be lowered beneath the stan- 
 dard level whenever circumstances may re- 
 quire. 
 
 These are constructed with great care and 
 skill of stone and iron materials, and the gates 
 are moved with surprising ease in their grooves, 
 by cranks operated by hand nt the surface of 
 the ground. 
 
 They present a handsome appearance on 
 the road, and are admirably well adapted to 
 their purpose. 
 
 Of the two reservoirs beyond tho limits of 
 the city proper, and the huge and yet unfin- 
 ished structure within it, nothing need be ad- 
 ded to the general remarks made on the whole 
 line of work. They are built for posterity, 
 for ages of future time, when the country and 
 its inhabitants shall have changed in all its 
 institutions and character ; and travellers, in 
 some far-away centuries yet to come, will 
 look upon these gigantic ruins of a lost people 
 as the present generation admire the vast tu- 
 
 f 
 
 t 
 
 
■^ 
 
 40C 
 
 TlIK UOWLlNriOUKKN. 
 
 muli of thn wpittern ntntert, without knowing 
 liy wliiirn or for wliiit |iiir|i(isc llii'y wiTo 
 liKilt. (Jovcriimiiits irmv !>•• ovrrtiirnc(l-j{<'ii- 
 1 ruiiiPiiH of incn niiiy fin! — tliu ruci- niny 'l'"- 
 u|i|iMir from its orij;imil pliicf on the jjloho ; 
 but liu! tniiiuniK'nt!4 of liuiniin skill, iitiil tin- 
 ii(!coiM|iliHliinrnt» of liiiiiiiiii ititillii't outlivo 
 till! rfconlsof liistory mill tli<' roviijif^of time. 
 Tin- oiijfct of (ill ttiin liilior niiil <'X|if'n»«' in 
 not til liriiiK intTcly whKt, Init pitrf. wntcr — 
 wutrr (it for tlifcoinfort, llic waiitK, tliuhtolth 
 unil till' luxury of llio iiiiHsr-t — wiitor which 
 niny bn ilriink wiiliout injury, anil in wliich 
 int'ii, woinon, u:;'l chiltlren, may wanh onil be 
 clt;an- 
 
 Such wnsthc water of this ppnin^ula in tho 
 tlaynof Hliii kHioiio, wlien he livnl in n solitary 
 housi; not f^tr from " Foimtain Basin." It hos 
 lonj; ccnsoil to be so with a gu-at part of the 
 water ill daily use. Such deterioration is 
 coiiiinon in a crowiled and growing city. The 
 new strcHin is now pure at its source, and 
 may bo kept »o. Care is taken to preserve 
 its crystal character from all manner of stain. 
 Its sources will be supplied from the heovens, 
 ami it will (low safely to ami from the bosom 
 of the lukft. It comes from a depth not readi- 
 ed by superficial impurities, ond is covered in 
 its proi;res.s from everythinij that delileth. 
 
 Such is this great blesHiiig for whicli wc 
 owe so much to Heaven, and, by the blessing 
 of Heaven, arc much indebted to man. There 
 has been a great duty imposed on those who 
 have the oversight of this immense work. It 
 has involved •■ amount of labor of mind, of 
 responsibility and care, beyond the proportion 
 of ordinary public service. 
 
 In this country there was gnnt want of 
 practical experience on such subjects, and tho 
 science itself everywhere needed the sanction 
 (if success to contimri its most plausible theo- 
 ries. Sleepless nights and watchful days 
 have been devoted to its nccimiplishmont, and, 
 thus fur, not ordy without any serious mis- 
 take, but with the proudest satisfaction of 
 overcoming seen and unseen diHieulties, and 
 bringi.ig the whole design to the happiest re- 
 sult. 
 
 Ii is to he hoped that tho future participa- 
 tion of this copious stream will confirm all the 
 blessings it is expected to bring with it. 
 
 Very truly, Yniir Friend, C . 
 
 An allusion is made in the early part of the 
 tthove letter to the beautiful fountain, springing 
 from what has long lieen familiarly known as 
 the " Frog-])onil," on the Common. This 
 fountain is composed of several jets, oil of 
 them of great beauty, but the grandest and 
 most admired is a jet of six inches in diame- 
 ter, rising gracefully from the surface of the 
 pond, and throwing a brilliant silver column 
 of water to the height of eighty feet. No 
 
 nhaf^ of polifhed morhle can equal this eol- 
 umn in beiiiify, nor the »ofte<it down of the 
 most graceful feather compare in delieiiey to 
 its fall, when the water turns from lln' siiiri- 
 mit and descemlH in n spliiidid curve, here 
 and there stiikini; the column in its descent, 
 and rebounding from it in Elitterini; sparkles, 
 as if it had struck against the hardest uruii'te. 
 This jet is, proliably, the liiryest and highest 
 in the world ; it cenaiiily is tlio most K|)len- 
 did in Now England. 
 
 THE BOWLING-GUKEN. 
 
 A RAPID increase of |K)p«lation, the nataral 
 conse(|uence of great commercial prosperity, 
 has left but few green spots to cheer the eye 
 amid this artificial wilderui s* of bricic nnd 
 marble. Of these, the Battery, Bowling- 
 (Jreen, and the Pork, arc nil that exist in the 
 business jiart of the city. The peculiar beou- 
 ties and utlraiaions of tile Battery, heightpned 
 us they nri: by local circumstances, are fam- 
 iliar to all our citizens, and daily become a 
 theme of euloginm in the mouth of every 
 stranger, esitecially of such as n|iproaeli tho 
 city by water; nnd its history is too intimate- 
 ly connected with that of our revolutionary 
 siruggle, to require a single reniork. But the 
 miKlest Bowling-Orcen (o view of which is 
 given on the opposite pfgcji 's involved in 
 somewhat more obscurity, Trom which it is 
 our present |)nrpose to rescue it; a task in 
 which we feel the more interest, as there is 
 some reiison to hope that it moy some day bo- 
 come the site of a magnificont monument, the 
 ornament and pride of that section of the city. 
 
 Historians inform us that in the year H>20, 
 King James I. gave the Dutch permission to 
 build some cottages on the bunks of the Hud- 
 son, for the convenience of their vessels en- 
 gaged in trade with Brazil ; utid that, under 
 this license, they settled a colony, nnd erected 
 a strong fort on the southwestern point of the 
 island Manhattan. Tliis fortress was calleii 
 Fort Amsterdam, which was indeed the name 
 given by these first settlers to the whole 
 island. But more than half « century after- 
 ward, when the English had bv treaty obtniii- 
 ed permanent j)ossession of the country, the 
 name of the colony was changed to New York, 
 in honor of the original patentee, the duke of 
 York, brother to Chories II. Whether the 
 fort W..S' -.Uered, improved, orentircly rebuilt, 
 by the English, we are not informed; but ear- 
 ly in the reign of George I. wc find a fortress, 
 on the same site, denominated Fort George, 
 within the walls of which was the governor's 
 residence, the secretary's office, and a house 
 
 
 '=ift?USaJSsU>!.>a 
 
 WR^- 
 
Ic can ci|iml thi* ml- 
 • »(irt<»t down lit" llt« 
 irii|inri' in ilcliriiry to 
 r liirrm frdiii iIm- Niun- 
 »|iliiiiliil rtirvo, liiTr 
 iiliiinn in hx iWsvrut, 
 in alitf'TinL' HpiirklfH, 
 
 \\p, liirf^i'st ntiil lii^licHt 
 iy is tlio iiM)!*t Kjilcii- 
 
 NG-GIIKEN. 
 
 )i)pnlotic)n, the natnrnl 
 itnmorcinl prosixrity, 
 Hijot.^ to rhoiT tne eye 
 (loriics'i of brick niiil 
 10 Bottrry, Bowling- 
 re ii)l thnl exist in the 
 . The pccniinr lirnu- 
 10 Battery, hei/ihtencd 
 'cumstnncen, nre fam- 
 , nnd (liiily bccoirm a 
 
 the mnuih of every 
 such as npproiw'h the 
 listory is too intimato- 
 t of (inr rcvolntionary 
 iigle ri'innrh. But tlie 
 
 (a vii^w of which is 
 iia^e), is involved in 
 rity, from which it is 
 > rescHo it ; a task in 
 
 interest, as there is 
 it it may some day be- 
 lifirunt monument, the 
 hilt section of the city, 
 that in the year KWO, 
 ! Dutih pcrniisMion to 
 the liinikHof the Hnd- 
 r-e of their vessels en- 
 rnzil ; and thnt, under 
 
 1 n colon V, nnd erected 
 rhwesteru point of the 
 his forrrcss wiis called 
 li was iiiileeil the nonio 
 settlers to the whole 
 I liidf rt c(>ntury afrcr- 
 1 hud by treaty obtniii- 
 on of the conntry, the 
 clinnged to New York, 
 
 patentee, the duke of 
 ■les II. Wiielher the 
 ved, or entirely rebuilt, 
 not informed ; but eur- 
 je I. we find a fortress, 
 )minated Fort George, 
 ieh was the governor's 
 ^'s uilice, and a house 
 
ft** 
 
 11 
 
 498 
 
 THE BOWLINQ-OaEEN. 
 
 of worship, called the King's chapel ; which 
 buildings, together with an extensive range 
 of barracks and stables outside the walls, were 
 all destroyed by fire at the commencement 
 of the celebrated negro plot, in the year 1741. 
 
 Fort George stood at the lower extremity 
 of Broadway, on a commanding eminence, 
 which has since been levelled ; its former site 
 being now partially occupied by a row of 
 hnndsome brick buildings, south of the Bowl- 
 ing-Green, and fronting on State street. The 
 original jiosition of the southwest bastion of 
 this celebrated citadel was designated, not 
 many yeors since, by a marble monument, 
 erected for that purpose, near the centre of 
 the Battery promenade. Why a landmark 
 of so much interest to the antiijuary and his- 
 torian has been since removed or destroyed, 
 we are at present unable to say | we only- 
 know that " it was, and is not." 
 
 In front of the fort was an open field, where 
 the colonial soldiers used to parade, and which, 
 from its proximity to a market, was subse- 
 quently denominated " Market Field." Hence 
 the derivation of Marketfield street, recently 
 and more appropriately changed, by the cor- 
 poration of this city, to that of Battery place. 
 This field was first enclosed with a plain pale- 
 fence, of irregular oblong figure ; which, ly- 
 ing directly in front of the fort, was anything 
 but an ornament to the eye of those who ap- 
 proached the governor's mansion within the 
 walls. A part of this field now constitutes 
 the Bowling-Green, which derived its appel- 
 lation from having been appropriated, as a 
 place of amusement, to the game of " bowls," 
 more comuionly called " nine-pins.'' 
 
 During the riotous proceedings which took 
 place in almost every part of the country, in 
 opposition to the celebrated stamp-act, this spot 
 was selected by the whigsof New York for the 
 scene of one of their patriotic achievements. 
 On the first of November, in the year 1765, 
 the day on which the noxious act was to go 
 into operation, a great concourse of people 
 assembled in the evening, proceeded to Fort 
 George, took out the governor's carriage, and 
 after drawing it through the principal streets, 
 marched to the common (the present Park) 
 where a gallows had been previously erected, 
 on which they suspendeed his effigy, having 
 in his right hand a stamped bill of lading, and 
 in his left a figure intended for the devil. 
 After it had hung for a considerable time, 
 they carried it, together with the appendages 
 and the gallows, in procession, the carriage 
 preceding, to the gate of the fort, and thence 
 to the Bowling-Green ; where, under the 
 very muzzles of the guns of the fort, they 
 burnt the whole, amid the acclamations of 
 some thousands of spectators. Ten boxes of 
 stamps, which arrived afterward were com- 
 
 mitted to the flames, on the same spot, by the 
 indignant populace. 
 
 In the year 1771, the present ellipsis was 
 laid out, and enclosed with an iron railing; 
 which, on regulating the streets, after the 
 revolution, was elevated with its stone foun- 
 dation, about eighteen inches. The railing 
 is said to have cost eight hundred pounds, or 
 two thousand dollars, which, in those days of 
 simplicity and economy, wos no inconsiderable 
 sum. The original design of this enclosure 
 was the protection of an equestrian statue of 
 George III. made of bronze and gilt ; which, 
 four days after the Declaration of Independ- 
 ence, was prostrated by the boisterous patriots 
 of those times. The pediment of Rhode 
 Island marble, with its defaced inscription, 
 remained on the spot until within a few years. 
 
 This beautiful area has recently been occu- 
 pied by a Croton fountain. The unsightly 
 pile of rocks attoched to it, however, was 
 deemed such a blemish that the common 
 council ordered its removal. Whether it will 
 be replaced by a fountain whose necessary 
 fixtures may prove a greater embellishment, 
 or be appropriated to some other purpose, we 
 know not. At any rate it is highly suscepti- 
 ble of improvement and embellishment, and 
 must, sooner or later, claim the attention of 
 our corporation to that end. While the royal 
 statue occupied its centre, it was justly con- 
 sidered a great ornament to that part of the 
 city. May we not hope to see the deficiency 
 supplied by an equestrian statue of the father 
 and savior of his country. 
 
 In the view which accompanies this de- 
 scription, is included part of Broadway on 
 the right, and the buildings before alluded to 
 on the left. Between these is seen a small 
 secdon of the battery and a bird's eye glimpse 
 of the bay in the distance. We think it will 
 be acknowledged a faithful delineation, and 
 highly ornamental to the present volume. 
 
 Something for all. — So various are the 
 appetites of animals that there is scorcely 
 any plant which is not chosen by sojne and 
 left untouched by others ; and that which cer- 
 tain animals grow fat upon others abhor as 
 poison. Hence no plant is absolutely poison- 
 ous, but only respectively. Thus the spurge, 
 that is noxious to man, is wholesome nourish- 
 ment to the caterpillar. That animals mny 
 not destroy themselves for want of knowing 
 this law, each of them is guarded by such a 
 delicacy of taste and smell that they can easily 
 distinguish what is pernicious from what is 
 wholesome ; and when it happens that diflTer- 
 ent animals live on the same plants, still one 
 kind always leaves something for the other, as 
 their mouths take different hold — by which 
 means there is sufBcient food for all. 
 
 Ml , 
 
 u 
 
e same spot, by the 
 
 resent ellipsis was 
 th an iron railing; 
 streets, after the 
 ifith its stone foun- 
 ches. The railing 
 hundred pounds, or 
 h, in those dayt, of 
 as no inconsiderable 
 n of this enclosure 
 questrian statue of 
 ;e and gilt ; which, 
 ation of Independ- 
 i boisterous patriots 
 sdiment of Rhode 
 lefaccd inscription, 
 within a few years, 
 recently been oceu- 
 n. The unsightly 
 
 it, however, was 
 
 that the common 
 1. Whether it will 
 1 whose necessary 
 ter embellishment, 
 I other purpose, we 
 
 is highly suscepti- 
 jmbeilishment, and 
 m the attention of 
 !. While the royal 
 
 it was justly con- 
 to that part of the 
 -) see the deficiency 
 statue of the father 
 
 lompanies this de- 
 ; of Broadway on 
 :s before alluded to 
 ese is seen a small 
 I bird's eye glimpse 
 We think it will 
 ul delineation, and 
 iresent volume. 
 
 ■So various are the 
 there is scarcely 
 bosen by some and 
 and that which cer- 
 on others abhor as 
 ! absolutely poison- 
 Thus the spurjre, 
 vholesome nourish- 
 That animals mny 
 r want of knowing 
 ffuarded by such a 
 that they can easily 
 Dious from what is 
 lappens that difTer- 
 me plants, still one 
 ling for the other, as 
 nt hold — by which 
 food for all. 
 
 BIOGRAPHY OF THE REV. SPKNCER H. CONE, D. D. 
 
 409 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE 
 
 UKV. SPENCER H. CONE, D. D., 
 
 FASTOR OP TUB FIRST BAPTIST CHURCH, K. T., 
 AND FIRST PRESIDENT OF THE AMERICAN 
 BIBLE UNION. 
 
 Spkncf.r Houghton Cone was born in 
 Princeton, New Jersey, April 30, 1785. At 
 the eariy age of twelve years he was pre- 
 pared for college, and entered the freshman 
 class of olil Nassau, where for two years he 
 prosecuted his studies with great success. At 
 this period, the insanity of his father obliged 
 him to leave college, and assume the support 
 of the family. For a short period he was the 
 instructor in Latin in the Princeton Academy, 
 and subsequently had charge of the sch(K)l at 
 Burlington,where among otherscholars he pre- 
 pared for college George Wood, who has since 
 become celebrated as one of the most distin- 
 guished jurists in America. Mr. Cone passed 
 from Burlington to Philadelphia upon the in- 
 vitation of Dr. Abercrombie, to become his 
 assistant in the High School, and remained 
 with l.im till he was twenty-one, pursuing the 
 study of law during the intervals of his busi- 
 ness. The youthful days of Dr. Cone were 
 entirely free from all vicious associations and 
 doubtful principles. He was a young man 
 of unquestionable standing in social life, and 
 of invariably upright and regular character 
 and habits. When he determined to go upon 
 the boards, ho had never spent an hour in the 
 society of actors, nor was he at that time per- 
 sonally acquainted with a single individual of 
 that profession. The details we here present 
 to our readers may be relied upon for their 
 literal accuracy. 
 
 At the age of twenty-one, with a liberal 
 education, an unblemished reputation, and 
 with a mother and her family principally de- 
 pendent on him for support, as before re- 
 marked, it became necessary for him to earn 
 more than four or five hundred dollars per 
 year. Judge Leib, with whom he had stud- 
 ied law for a year, urged him to make the 
 law his profession. Dr. Abercrombie pressed 
 him to study for the ministry. But a present 
 support was needed, and young Cone turned to 
 the stage. Dr. Abercrombie gave him a letter 
 to Mr. Warren, the manager of the Philadel- 
 phia theatre, ond afterward attended the re- 
 hearsal of " Barbarossa," Mr. Cone playing 
 Achmet. This he did that he might give him 
 the opinion of a friend, as to the probabilities 
 of his success as an actor, and because he was 
 not willing that he should resign his situation 
 in the Philadelphia Academy until a place 
 coiiniianding a larger salary shoultl be secured. 
 Those who knew Dr. Cone will not doubt 
 that he succeeded. His talents and acquire- 
 
 ments, his figure and voice, his high bearing 
 and energy, fitted him admirably for the vo- 
 cation which he had chosen, and Mr. Warren 
 gave him an engagement which produced the 
 young actor more than one thousand dollars 
 the first year. From this time his compensa- 
 tion was steadily increased. His lost engage- 
 ment was at the rate of thirty dollars ])cr 
 week, with two benefits, one in Philadelphia 
 and another in Baltimore. He succeeded as 
 well, and made as much money, as he antici- 
 pated. He had never loved the profession ; 
 indeed, he had never in his life seen a dozen 
 plays performed when he went upon the 
 stage. From the first it had been with him 
 a mere business afiiiir, and in 1812 he left it, 
 to engage in pursuits more congenial to his 
 tastes, and more in harmony with the princi- 
 ples in which he had been educated — first in 
 the large printing-establishment of the " Bal- 
 timore American," and then as one of the pro- 
 prietors of the " Baltimore Whig." His con- 
 nexion with these paj)ers continued from 1812 
 to 1814, during which time he gave his tal- 
 ents and energies to the then exciting matters 
 of |)olitics and war. Here too he served as a 
 lieutenant in the corps of sharp-shooters, and 
 then ascaptain of the Union artillery company. 
 
 Early in 1814, it pleased God "to bring 
 him out of darkness into his marvellous light," 
 and on the fourth day of February of that 
 year he was baptized in the Patajjsco l)y Rev. 
 Lewis Richards, and became a member of 
 the First bapti.st church in Baltimore. He 
 made the earliest practicable arrangements 
 for the sale of the whig paper and printing- 
 office, and, while engaged in winding up the 
 aHiiirs of the firm of Cone and Norvell, taught 
 a select school of thirty scholars. Early in 
 1815, he received an appointment in the treas- 
 ury department at Washington, and removed 
 to that city. 
 
 We now see Mr. Cone entering the sacred 
 calling to which his life has from that time 
 been devoted. In 1815, he was ordained to 
 the work of the ministry. A young man of 
 brilliant powers, for many years conspicuous 
 as an actor or an editor, with the advantages 
 of a wide acquaintance and social connexions 
 of established respectability, he attracted im- 
 mediate attention, and crowds hung upon his 
 lips. The memory still lingers in many breasts, 
 of the occasion when he arose in Dr. Staugh- 
 ton's pulpit, in Philadelphia, in the midst of 
 an immense throng who had been called to- 
 gether by the announcement of his presence, 
 and, as if conscions of the motives which ruled 
 in their hearts, opened the service by reading, 
 as only he could read, the hymn commencing 
 
 '"Tlie wondering world Inquires to know. 
 Why I should love my Je«u« so 1" 
 
 mm 
 
1 i 
 
 h 
 
 500 
 
 BIOGRAPHY CF THE REV. SPENCER H. CONE, D. D. 
 
 Ill December of that year, the young Chris- 
 tiun orator was elected chapliiin of the house 
 of rcpri'si'ntuiives, and served during the ses- 
 sion. The ac(|iinintance with public men 
 ■A hich he formed during his political and early 
 miiii-teriiil lift; he continued to maintain, and, 
 oiihough he mingled not at all in political af- 
 i'airs. he maintained till death the democratic 
 principles and sympathies of his early life. 
 
 In 1810, he preuched to the Alexandria 
 baptist church, and became their pastor. Du- 
 ring the seven years following, he travelled 
 and jireached cxtensivcdy in Maryland and Vir- 
 ginia, frecpiently visiting Philadelphia, New 
 York, and other ))luces, and finally settled 
 with the Oliver-street church in this city in 
 May, 18J3, now more thanthirty years ago. 
 
 On the 1st of .luly, 1841, Dr. Cone accoi)t- 
 ed the unanimous call of the First baptist 
 church in this city, and continued as their 
 pastor till his decease, on the 28th of August. 
 1855. During his long ministerial life, he oc- 
 cupied many of the most important oftit^es of 
 trust ond responsibility connected with the 
 baptist denotnination. In their public bodies 
 ho was alinost invariably called upon to pre- 
 side, and his (lualiricatfons for such duties 
 were universally allowed to be unsurpassed, 
 if not unequalled. Some of the offices which 
 iie held were the following: For nine con- 
 secutive years he presided over the Baptist 
 Triennial Convention ; for thirteen years, over 
 the American and Ft)reign Bible Society ; 
 from its origin, in 1850, till his death, over 
 the American Bible Union. For many years 
 he was chairman of the board of the Ameri- 
 can Baptist Home Mission Society, and was 
 almost invariably chosen moderat-r of the as- 
 sociation with which he was ecclesiastically 
 connected. In these various capacities, he 
 was always noted for unflinching integrity, 
 impartiality, sound, practical judgment, dig- 
 nity and urbanity of manner, and a graceful 
 ease ami confidence arising from long famil- 
 iarity with the forms of business and skill in 
 the management of public bodies. 
 
 How circumspectly he lived during his long 
 ministry in this city — how eloiiuentljr he pro- 
 claimed the unsearchable richesof divine grace 
 — how broadly he made his influence felt in 
 the great work of evangelizing the world — we 
 need not here record. Nor can we without 
 impro|)riety narrate the charity of his private 
 life, or dwell on what we know of the magna- 
 nimity of his intercourse with his brethren. 
 
 Dr. Cone was eminent in talent ; distin- 
 guished by office ; extensively influential from 
 ability, position, and the force of providential 
 circumstances : but that which gave weight 
 and solidity to his character, and was most 
 marked in all his conduct and conversatitm, 
 was his invincible intkority. This trait, 
 
 fixed and developed at the earliest age, and 
 subsp(iuently matured, nnd strengthened, and 
 beautified by grace, made him (as <leeliired by 
 Rev. S. H. Cox, D. D., when speaking at his 
 funeral) "a pillar or okanitk." 
 
 We may remark, in concluding this brief 
 sketch, that Dr. C(me was never without ,ii- 
 gugements for one week from 1799, when he 
 left coll('a;e — engagements which not only sus- 
 tained himself, but aided those who were de- 
 pendent upon him. Industry, energy which 
 never tired, were always among his leading 
 and characteristic traits. His going upon the 
 stage surprised and grieved all his friends at 
 the time — and he had many friends, both in 
 the church and out of it. His mother be- 
 longed to the First: baptist church, Philadel- 
 phia, then under the pastoral cure of the Kev. 
 Dr. Staughton. She was a lady of superior 
 worth, and many yet alive remctnbir how, 
 for many long years, as regularly us liic sub- 
 bath came, she leaned upon the unn of her 
 son, to wait upon the ministry of her eio(|uent 
 and revered pastor. Mr. Cone never gave or 
 felt any reason for going upon the boards ex- 
 cept the necessity of increasing his income. 
 We do not justify the reason — neither ilid he 
 — but it is proper to state the fuct. And so 
 far from its being true that his conversion was 
 occasioned by his escape from the flatms of 
 the Richmond theatre, his first visit to that 
 city was to fulfil an appointment to preach, 
 and the Monumental church then stood upon 
 the site of the edifice which had been the 
 scene of that dreadful conflagration. 
 
 We close this occount with the following 
 justly-deserved tribute to his eminent tulentu 
 and usefulness, copied from one of our month- 
 lies of a date anterior to his decease : — 
 
 " Dr. Cone is a great favorite, and universally 
 popular, with all who visit his church ; and has 
 long been celebrated and favorably known as one 
 of the principal pillars of his persuasion throu^di- 
 out the United States. He has taken a great in- 
 terest in the cause of Forkion Missions, and all 
 the philanthropic and Christian objects of tJie day, 
 and has on most occasions l>e('u elected moderator 
 of the national conventions of the baptist church. 
 For his exertions in the cnuse of human ])rot;ress, 
 and for his endeavors to (dovatc to a happier state 
 the poor and friendless, the ignorant and unedu- 
 cated, ho has won 'golden opinions,' not only 
 from the members of his own chureli, but from 
 every religious denomination, lie is, in a word, 
 one who works not for a man, but for all mankind. 
 
 " The style of Dr. Cone is marked and strikinj;; 
 — his wonts arc well chosen, and each one is 
 placed in a position where it will produce tho 
 most 'telling' effect. His thoughts are alwoys 
 couched in beautiful language, and his sermons 
 replete with interesting and instructive matter, 
 In his manner there is a force and earnestness 
 which speak, in language more potent than words, 
 the emotions and feelings of his soul." 
 
earliest af;c, nriil 
 trenjitherii'd, nnd 
 n (as (It'cliired by 
 n speaking at liis 
 
 NITK." 
 
 lading tliis brief 
 lever without iii- 
 n 1799, wlicii he 
 liich not only sus- 
 ise who were de- 
 •y, energy whirii 
 nong his leudiMg 
 is going upon tiie 
 all his friends nt 
 y friends, both in 
 His mother be- 
 hnreh, Philiidel- 
 1 cure of the Rev. 
 lady of .siipeiior 
 retneriilicr how, 
 ilarly us tlie sub- 
 1 the arm of her 
 y of her eloijucut 
 me never gave or 
 )n the boards ex- 
 sing his ineoine. 
 1 — neither did he 
 he fact. And so 
 is conversion was 
 im the flames of 
 first visit to that 
 tment to preach, 
 then stooii upon 
 L;h had been the 
 Lgration. 
 
 ith the following 
 ,s eminent talent* 
 me of our month- 
 decease : — 
 
 te, and universally 
 chureh ; and has 
 abl^ known as one 
 ersuasion througli- 
 s taken u great in- 
 MissioNS, and all 
 1 objects of tlie day, 
 I elected niodcrator 
 the baptist ehurch. 
 >f human progress, 
 e to a hapi)ier state 
 norant and unedu- 
 pinions,' not only 
 1 clmrch, but from 
 lie ib, in a word, 
 ut for all mankind. 
 Lurkcd and striking 
 , and caeh one is 
 t will produrc tho 
 9ughts are always 
 !, and his sermons 
 instructive matter. 
 CO and earnestness 
 potent than words, 
 is soul." 
 
 JOHN IIAMPDKN. 
 
 501 
 
 -^V^r 'V 
 
 "^.^'-ll^. 
 
 
 Jolm Hampden's lloaidencc. 
 
 JOHN HAMPDZN. 
 
 This illustrious patriot was born in Londoii, 
 in 1594, of a very ancient family. He mani- 
 fested an early love of letters, and was edti- 
 cat<;d at Magdalen college, Oxford, after 
 whicdl he studied law in the Inner Temple. 
 Loii.lon. In l(il9, at the age of twenty-Hve. 
 ho married Elizabeth, daughter ot Kdmund 
 Synieon, lord of the manor of Pyrton. He 
 was soon after ekctod to parliament, nnd in 
 l(i:3G, had the boMness, ahme and unsu|)ported. 
 to rj.sist the authority of the king in levyum 
 ship-money— an abuie of power which hud 
 been abrogated by Magna Charta. Though 
 he lo.st his cause, the spirit and courage he 
 manifesii-d won for him unboundeil popularity. 
 Thus i)roclaime<l by the people's voice n pa- 
 triot, he was now regardeil as the leader of 
 the popidar piirtv in the himse of eommoris 
 ' against the king." In 1037, we find him, in 
 company with Oliver ('romwell, .John I'ytii, 
 nnd other |)uritans, embiirkeil on board a .ship 
 111 tho Thames, about to sail for America; 
 but a ])r(iclamati'in froin the king com)>elled 
 them to abandcni the design of fleeing from 
 the tyrannies and )>ersecutioii8 to which their 
 sentiments expooed them. 
 
 In IfilO, John Hampden was formally ac 
 cused of high treason by the king, together 
 with several others of the popular leaders : 
 but the commons refused to surrender the 
 accus(<il, and the king, apprehensive of dan- 
 ger from the enrageil multitude, sought sniity 
 m flight. On the breaking out of the civil 
 war, the year following, Hamiiden took np 
 arms in defence of the rights of the people. 
 In the ficlil he shi>wed himself c(nirageo\is, 
 intrepid and active, hut his career in '^lory 
 was soim cut sliort bv a farnl wound which he 
 received on the field of Ch»l','rove. on the 
 morning of .Inne 18, T>4.1. He survived but 
 a few days, but his dying words were worthy 
 of his imre principles and his noble life. ••() 
 Lord," he murmured, "save my bleeding 
 country; have these realms in thy especial 
 kee|)ing. Confound and level in the du.st 
 those who would rob the people of their liber- 
 ty and lawful inerogatives. Let the kitig see 
 his error, and turn the hearts of his wiekeo 
 counsellors from the malice and wiikedness 
 of their designs. Lord Jesus, receive my 
 
 soul!" . . /^ . 
 
 The manor-house of the patriot, in (ireat 
 
 Hompden parish, is .still standing, as i.s shown 
 
 in our engraving. M rs. S. C . Hall, who late- 
 
rr 
 
 
 III 
 
 if 
 
 502 
 
 JOHN HAMPDEN. 
 
 Hampdcu'a Moiiumout, 
 
 ly visited it, thus speaks of its present ap- 
 pearance : " It is impossible to imagine any- 
 thing more still than this hallowed spot, hid 
 away at the back of that chalky range, the 
 Chilterns, which bound on on.5 side the 
 rich vale of Aylcabury. The flower-garden, 
 through which we ])a8sed, seemed as if called 
 into exi!>tence by the wand of the enchanter ; 
 the lingering roses, the heavy-headed dahlias, 
 the bright-toned autumn flowers, looked so 
 lonely in their beauty. We almost fearet! to 
 speak in such deep solitude. A human foot- 
 step, the bark of a dog, the song of a bird, 
 the tinkle of a sheep-bell, would have been a 
 relief — until we had drank deeply of the spirit 
 of the place, and then, as thoughts and mem- 
 ories crowded around us, we felt the luxuries 
 of the solemn quiet, and that sound here 
 would be as sacrilege. Passing a low sort 
 of postern entrance, we walked beneath an 
 arch, starred over by jessamine, and stood in 
 front of the extensive mansion, added to and 
 enlarged by various proi)rietors, and at one 
 time disj)laying some goodly architecture of 
 the age of Elizabeth ; the stucco, as if ashamed 
 of its usurpation, beginning to drop away from 
 the red brick of which the house is built. 
 Save the ' natural decay' which must progress 
 in all uninhabited dwellings, we saw nothing 
 that told of the ' ruin' which comes of care- 
 lessness or neglect." 
 
 Chalgrove field, on which Hampden re- 
 ceived his death-wound, is about twelve miles 
 from Oxford. It is a large open plain, inter- 
 sected by cross roads, as seen in our second 
 engraving. " It was allotted in diflerent ap- 
 pointments some time since," says Professor 
 Fuirholt, " and the spot where the monument 
 is erected was appropripted to Dr. Hampden, 
 now bishop of Hereford, a descendant of the 
 patriot. The monument is of brick, coated 
 
 with stone. It is in an unfinished condition 
 as far as the original design is concerned, 
 which was, to have ornamented this pedestal 
 with an obelisk seventeen feet high, omitted 
 —for want of funds. As the pedestal now 
 stands, it is about fifteen feet wide on each 
 side. The east side has a sculptured medal- 
 lion fijpure of Hampden, with his motto, 
 Vestigia nulla rctrorsum ; the some motto 
 with his arms on the west side ; the south 
 side is dev'oted to the names of those who 
 subscribed to this memarial, and is dated 
 'June 18, 18i3.' The north side has a long 
 inscription, setting forth that ' this stone was 
 raised in reverence to his memory,' in the 
 ' two hundredth year' from the day on which 
 he received his death-wound. It is a jioor 
 and paltry affair ; conferring a renown by no 
 means enviable upon the wealthy noblemen 
 and gentlemen who erected a miserable monu- 
 ment and left it unfinished." 
 
 Let those who dare stigmatize the most im- 
 portant of all pursuits, by insinuating that 
 there is no connexion between the cultivation 
 of the earth a:'d that of the mind, deny, if 
 they can, these truths : " Matters of in- 
 quiry on subjects connected v/ith ogricullure 
 are obsolutely as boundless as the i)hj'sicul 
 history of the earth which we inhabit. Ev- 
 ery year is making new discoveries in the 
 diversities of soil — of the elements of which 
 it is comjwsed — of the quantity of the dif- 
 ferent ))art8 which enter into the composition 
 — of the growth of plants — of what tliey 
 owe to the air or to the elements of which 
 it is formed — to the light or to its elements — 
 to electricity, and all the agencies in vegeta- 
 tion by which, in the wonderful laboratory 
 of Nature, the grain produ ,es fruit after its 
 kind, and the small seed becomes a great tree." 
 
^ 
 
 
 inished condition 
 ;n is concerned, 
 ted this pedestal 
 :et high, omitted 
 he pedestal now 
 eet wide on each 
 :ulpturcd medal- 
 with his motto, 
 the same motto 
 
 side ; the south 
 Bs of those who 
 il, and is dated 
 1 side has a long 
 ; ' this stone was 
 memory,' in the 
 he day on which 
 d. It is a poor 
 
 a renown by no 
 ealthy noblemen 
 miserable nionu- 
 
 tize the most im- 
 insinunting that 
 n the cultivation 
 ) mind, deny, if 
 ' Matters of in- 
 with agriculture 
 
 as the physical 
 ve inhabit. Ev- 
 scoveries in the 
 sments of which 
 titity of the dif- 
 
 the composition 
 — of what they 
 ments of which 
 to its elements — 
 sncies in vegeta- 
 erful laboratory 
 es fruit after its 
 nes a great tree." 
 
 APPROBATION. 
 
 To obtain praise, distinction, or eclat, in 
 some of their many forms, is unquestionably 
 one of the most |)rovalt'nt motives of human 
 action, although, in the judgment of the 
 moralist a secondary one. Undoubtedly, 
 while the value of higher motives may be 
 fully nckTiowledged, this one has not been 
 crculcl without a wise and good purpose. 
 At least, we may see very clearly that it dai- 
 ly and hourly acts beneficially, where appa- 
 rently, no higher motive would operate at all. 
 It is," l)csides, oik; of the Strongest of the so- 
 cial impulses, heljiing to make men mutually 
 depeniltiit, and to excite their aftections to- 
 ward each other. I am afraid it would be 
 rather an unamiable world, albeit a virtuous 
 one, where no one courted or cared for the 
 good opinion of his neighbor. 
 
 It is necessary, however, to discriminate, 
 by nice and rigid limits, the legitimate sphere 
 of praise in the social scene. To be anima- 
 ted in all doings and sayings, all outgoings and 
 incomings, merely by a calculation of the ef- 
 fect M 'nch each movement will have in secu- 
 ring " approbation of mortal men, would 
 be deplo. '\. The conduct of any one so 
 animated w. J.d be utter hollowness and imi- 
 tation ; and in the garden of his mind the 
 hardy jilants of sterling integrity and honor, 
 to speak of nothing else, would find not one 
 part' ;lc of congenial soil. It is even neces- 
 sary to be able to act, not (mly without any 
 view to the praise of men, but with the de- 
 liberate expectation of exciting their suspi- 
 cion and disapprobation — for many occasions 
 arise in life where we only can act well in- 
 curring these disadvantages. The difficulty 
 is to know when, and how far, acting under 
 the influence of love of approbation is allow- 
 able, and to distinguish the proper occasions 
 when higher principle demands that that ob- 
 1 ject be thrown aside. We often see individ- 
 I uals ac»iuft in sach a way as to excite deris- 
 ion and blame, in matters perfectly indiffer- 
 ent — martyring themselves, in short, for a 
 caprice or a chimera. Or they are so anx- 
 ious to avoid the appearance of caring for 
 the good opinion of their fellow-creatures, 
 that they habitually, in all things, important 
 and unimportant, take some absurd way of 
 their own, merely because it is their own. 
 These are follies which the considerate man 
 holds at a distance from him. On the other 
 hand, those who act too exclusively for 
 praise are equally liable to both censure and 
 ridicule. There is, in the first place, the 
 fawning and fussy manner, the too much 
 bowing, and sraihng, and wringing of the 
 hands, the over-eagerness to give satisfaction 
 — all conveying the impression of a want of 
 
 monliness, natural dignity, and indc|)endenco. 
 Then there is the utter inability of such a 
 person to face any matter of principle that is 
 unpopular, or perhaps that has popular sup- 
 port only. The perfection of conduct in 
 this respect would be to entertain a moderate 
 wish to stand well with the worid, and to 
 act generally with a regard to its oTini(>n, 
 particularly m all minor matters, and where 
 no important principle is concerned ; but to 
 be ready, when any occasion arose, to act 
 independently of a regard to the immediate 
 approbation of the world. 
 
 Some jiersons have, from nature or the 
 conditions in which they live, so active a love 
 of approbation that it may almost be sold to 
 amount to a tonnent. It will scarcely be be- 
 lieved, yet it is strictly true, that a man 
 high in position and jmblic respect was liable 
 to be disconcerted for a day, if by chance 
 any stranger whom he met cast what he 
 thought a discourteous or supercilious look at 
 him. This individual shrunk from society, 
 for no other reason that could be observed, 
 thon that he did not in general obtain that 
 flattering attention which was necessary to 
 put him at ease with himself. He was mis- 
 taken by half of his fellow-townsmen for a 
 proud oiid distant man, when his rnisfortune 
 was only the want of a self-sustoining pride. 
 There are professions peculiarly calculated to 
 nourish this slavish dependence on praise and 
 admiration, particularly those which may be 
 called artistic, as that of the painter, the lit- 
 erary man, and, more than all, of the actor. 
 Love of approbation is unquestionably a 
 powerful prompter toward these professions, 
 so that it may be presumed of most men who 
 adopt them, that they begin with a stock of 
 the feeling above the average. To this the 
 actual dependence of their status and bread 
 on popular applause, and their constantly act- 
 ing with a view to obtain it, give an unusual 
 degree of exercise. It is thus brought to be 
 the master-feeling of their character. They 
 gloat upon laudatory criticisms, and sicken at 
 a paragraph insinuating the least censure. A 
 hiss goes to the player's heart like a death- 
 blow ; and the poet'o soul, that fiery particle, 
 is, strange to say, " snufTed out by an article." 
 Hence that irritability of poets which has 
 become proverbial, but which might be ex- 
 tended to all kinds of men who present fine 
 intellectual productions to the public, with a 
 view to obtaining praise. Worst of all, the 
 excessive keenness of each man for praise to 
 himself is very opt to raise a jealousy as to 
 the praises bestowed on his brethren in an. 
 Hence the dreadful wars which sometimes 
 take place among musicians, the quarrels ()f 
 authors, and so forth. It is painful to think 
 of the bad feelings which have been called 
 
 •-!3^^ipf'^^»mfe-*5»t ^ 
 
«.. 
 
 ,'■ 
 
 forth, first nnd last, nmnng men of tlic h\<ih- ; 
 f»t iiilillrclual attniiitnents, tliroujjh tliis ' 
 cimse. It is II fau8(! whidi inay bo n'ccivcd i 
 us soirie n|H)l(i;ry to the rest of mHukiiul for 
 the horrililo coiitoritions of t.'ii; ingenious; l)ut 
 I lie inj^cnious .should also be aware that tal- i 
 eiits may be exerted for reasons superior even i 
 to a geiicrous love of praise. Tlie prncliee ' 
 of I lie art ilself — the high privilege of lieinij ' 
 able to exeogitute fine thought and beautiful , 
 forms that may hup to live for ever — the 
 sense of being able to contribute in some 
 small degree to the improvement of iiuinkind, 
 or to the alleviation of the siek and weary 
 days which numy are destined to endure — 
 may lie mentioned among these r(-usons. 
 Akenside has ex|)ressed the love of the ar- 
 tist (using this word in an extended sense) for 
 glory, in two stanzas shot like bolts straight 
 from tlie heart, on hearing a sermon against 
 that favorite object of human wishes : — 
 
 "Come, then, toll me, sngc divine, 
 Is it an oliciiie to own 
 'J'liiil our iVcliiigs e'er iutline 
 Towiiiil ininioiliil glory's throne ? 
 For with me nor ])()nip nor plciisiire, 
 Bourbon's niight, Brag;inza s treasure, 
 So can Kunty's ilreuni rejoice, 
 'J'o cuuciliitte Reason's clioice, 
 As one approving word of her delightful voice. 
 
 " If to spam at noble praise, 
 He the passport to thy heaven. 
 Follow thou those gloomy ways — 
 No sui;h lliought to me was given ; 
 Nor, I trust, sliiill 1 deplore me, 
 Faring '.ike my friends before inc, 
 Nor u better place desire 
 Thau Timoleon's arms require, 
 Or Tally's curuie choir, or MUlon's golden Ij're !" 
 
 Here speaks the true poet. Such earnest 
 and such natural feeling must everywhere 
 meet sympathy. Yet if the divine only 
 placed this said love of the " approving word" 
 below some higher motives, we can not but 
 acknowledge, in sober reason, that he was 
 right. 
 
 It is almost as nice a matter to know how, 
 when, and in what measure, to give praise, as 
 to act ujion the just medium with respect to 
 looking for and receiving it. Some never 
 give any praise ; that is unamiable. Others 
 give a great deal too much; that may be 
 something as bad. The characters of both, 
 the party who is in the way of praising, and 
 the party who is in the way of being praised, 
 call fur consideration before we judge of ei- 
 thei'. The habit of never or rarely giving 
 praise, even where it is due and might do 
 good, may proceed from a coldness of nature, 
 and will then be justly censurable ; but it 
 may lie only the result of reserved and difH- 
 dent habits, in which case it is to be excused ; 
 or it may be the cflect of a deliberate convic- 
 
 tion that all praise does harm, wh. n, of 
 (uiiirse, we must set it down as an error of 
 judgment. The opposite extreme of too 
 much and too freipirnt praise — in short, flat- 
 tery, detested as the wnnl i.s — is also noi tn 
 be nt once and eoneliisively (iiiidi'mne<l. 
 When it arises from directly interested \ iiws, 
 or aims only at jilayiiig on n weak pnint in 
 the character of a fellow-creature, there is 
 not a word to be said in arrest of \n Igment ; 
 but llattcry sometimes ])roeeeds t'roin a be- 
 nevolent, although it may be 'iiindicious, 
 wish to giv(^ ]ileasure; scjnietimes it is the 
 genuine restdl of a veneralive over-estima- 
 tion of its (object, or an exaggerated notion of 
 the merits to which it refers. Here then; 
 may be error, liut there is not ill intention ; 
 and flattery given under such circumstances 
 is obviously a very different thing from the 
 flattery which aims at betraying or tinning 
 into ridiciil(!. There is also a flattery which 
 persons of u social disposition, and who them- 
 selves love [iraise, give to others, in order to 
 be on good terms with them, and obtain u 
 good opinion and ellusion of friendly senti- 
 ment in return. Here the motive is not so 
 good, but still it is far short of the depravity 
 of a treacherous and derisive flattery. When 
 we are, then, the objects of llattery, or wit- 
 ness its being administered to others, we 
 would reipiire to examine and consider well 
 the character and circumstances of the jicr- 
 scn olfering it, iti order :t; .|U."ig6 i> ilio ::ct be 
 an offence ogainst good morals ; and if so, 
 how far it is so. If it appear to proceed 
 from base motives, let it be treated with open 
 contempt ; if from the wish for a return, jiass 
 it as a weakness ; if from good nature or ex- 
 cessive veneration, excuse it for the sake of 
 its amiable source. 
 
 But to praise or not to praise, when praise 
 is deserved, there is the great question. It 
 has of late been the favorite doctrine not to 
 praise, or to praise little, as presuming that 
 all, young and old, should be left to the ap- 
 proving voices of their own consciences, or 
 the reward which good acts and performed 
 duties are to themselves. Good-breeding al- 
 ?o forbids all approach to direct compliment, 
 probably because it is so apt to pass for flat- 
 tery, which is so bad a thing. It is rather 
 startling that these maxims are not consist- 
 ent with much of the |)ractice of the world. 
 Every day we read of knighthoods and peer- 
 ages given for good state service. Success- 
 ful authors are treated to sheets of incense in 
 the reviesvs, and to public dinners at which 
 praises arc poured on their meek heads like 
 the oil on Aaron's beard. If a policemon 
 show unusual cleverness in tracking out a 
 culprit, or a revenue-cutter in capturing a 
 smuggler, or a post-captain in seizing a slaver, 
 
 1^: 
 
 -'■ mmmmm ^-^'-'^m 
 
liiirin, wli' II, III' 
 vu MS nil crriir ol 
 
 I'xticriit; (if tiKi 
 isc — ill sliort, fliit- 
 
 is — is iiNd niil til 
 vciy iiiii(li'iriii('(l. 
 ■ iiitcrcstiil \ iiws, 
 n wcuk |ii'iiit ill 
 cnntiiic, linic i.s 
 rest (if ju lf;iiH'i:t ; 
 icrcds iVdin a Ijc- 
 f lie iiijiiilicidus, 
 iiciitnt'.s it is the 
 rive (ivcr-cstimu- 
 [!:g(;rati'il nutidii of 
 
 I'crs. lIlTC lllCH! 
 
 not ill ijitciitidii ; 
 ich (•ircuiiistiiiiccs 
 It thing fioiii t!)o 
 ruying or lurnin;; 
 ) u fluttcry whicli 
 )ii, and whotlicm- 
 ithers, in order to 
 'in, nnd obtiiin a 
 of friendly Kcnti- 
 nidtive is not so 
 of the depravity 
 ; (lattery. Wlien 
 f Ihittery, or wit- 
 (1 to others, we 
 ind consider well 
 inces of the ]icr- 
 iii^6 11 tiic wCt be 
 lorals ; and if so, 
 ipcnr to jiroceed 
 treated with open 
 for a return, ]iass 
 ;ood nature or ex- 
 it for the sake of 
 
 aise, when praise 
 ■eat question. It 
 te doctrine not to 
 s presuming that 
 be left to the np- 
 n consciences, or 
 ts and performed 
 3ood-breeding al- 
 ircct compliment, 
 It to pass for flat- 
 ng. It is rather 
 I are not consist- 
 :ice of the world, 
 hthoods and peer- 
 ervice. Success- 
 leets of incense in 
 dinners at which 
 meek heads like 
 If a policeman 
 in tracking out a 
 3r in capturing a 
 in seizing a slaver, 
 
 APPROBATION. 
 
 505 
 
 the v-itiie of the case is not left to be Us own 
 rcwuni. Medals, i)ri/.cs, and terms of hon- 
 or, uliimii,! in our schools; and even divines 
 are not iiinviUiiii; to receive a UiV to certain 
 inysii.; initials showing degrees ot prdh(-ien- 
 ev ill llK.'ir sacred science. When all th(^se 
 thiii"s are so open and piilpalile. wheii.in- 
 
 d F, it it so clear that most puMic amurs j 
 
 are moved by considerations of honor to null- | 
 vidnals, it seems u strange thing, little better, | 
 I fear, tlimi a piece of aireetiition, to declare , 
 against all use of Jiraise in private lite, 
 'fhere is always somiaiiing calling tor suspi- 
 cion ill maxims or systems which altogether 
 coikU'iiiii and put aside some great and con- 
 spicuous feature of hiiiniiii nature. 1 his 
 niaxiiii as to praise bears strong marks ot be- 
 ing of that character. Praise is contessedly 
 a universal object, and has been so trom the 
 be-'inning of the world. Why should it be- 
 cdusideied wrong to give that which every- 
 liody is more or less onxious to receive . 
 I'lKM-e miiv be something in the mariner, no 
 doubt; and yi^t wiiiit can be grosser, in point 
 of taste, when it is seriouslv rettected on, 
 than to iiring a man to a public dinner, plant 
 hiiri beside the ehairnuin. open out a cascade 
 of ilutterv upon him, und expect him then to I 
 rise up uiid task his ingouuity in at once cx- 
 plainiiii; "wav the altriliutcd merits, and 
 seeming siillic'.iently grat(!t'ul for the compli- 
 ment wliieh has been (laid to him? 
 
 Tlie true rationale of the (piestion seems to 
 be ihis: with the generality of natures, a 
 moderate use of praise, as an incentive to du- 
 ty and reward for its performance, appears to 
 be ((uite proper. There is a vast class of 
 acts and duties which, though good, are not 
 to be acciunplished and attended to without 
 laborious exertion and some small degree of 
 self-denial. To sustain and carry out one's 
 self in these matters, one's own approving 
 conscience is all very well; but though a 
 good, it is a solitary and unsocial feeling. 
 Man dearly loves to tind that he is of some 
 C()nsc(iuence to man. He likes to take men 
 along with him in his own approbation. He 
 feels in their praise the bond of a common 
 nature press delightfully upon his heart. 
 How, otherwise, should we see persons in 
 indepen'ent circumstances "shun delights 
 and live laborious days," only, peihaiis, that 
 they may produce some literary work which 
 wil'i have its little hour of eclat, or only a 
 paper to be read at a meeting of twenty per- 
 sons calling themselves a philosophical socie- 
 ty ? This cheap means of causing peo|)le to 
 (io what it is desirable that they should do, 
 surely has its legitimate place in the arrange- 
 ments of human society, and is capable of be- 
 ing used without necessarily producing harm. 
 Perhaps there is not any one feeling of our 
 
 nature which more elVectually binds us to- 
 gether, or figures rudre largcdy in the lidnrly 
 familiar pleasures of life. It is necessary, 
 however, to study character very careliiily, 
 in order to give due praise without (liiiiig 
 harm, and even to know how to use it for the 
 ])rddiiction of ))ositive good. A (irimd per- 
 son recpiires iilth; or none at anv time. .Siif- 
 tielent for him is his own self-satisfaetion. 
 There an; many whom jiraise would easily 
 corrupt, and to whdiii it slniuld thereton! be 
 sparingly aiimitiistered, even wlnin their acts 
 are most laudable. Oliiers, uj;ain, whose 
 eoiitideiice in themselves is iiitirin, may neeil 
 tile administration of an oeeasioiial word (it 
 approbiition to (Micouragi! them in their duties, 
 and even to maintain the eipialile lidw of their 
 s()irits. There is a class of such persons, 
 who have the ability and inclination to (lii all 
 that is good, l)Ut are lialde to become dispirit- 
 ed if tlieydo not now and then rec(uve on (-n- 
 couraging word from those about them. For 
 such persons, an occasional compliment is an 
 aliment as necessary as daily bread. Tiie 
 world would to them be totally cheerless with- 
 out it. Here it would evidently be as fatal 
 to withhold praise oltogether, as in other 
 I cases it would be to give it. 
 
 England. — Our talented and eloquent Dr. 
 Baird, says in one of his lectures :— " There 
 is enormous wealth there, and resources are 
 most unlimited for increasing it. Many sup- 
 pose that England has seen her best days, but 
 Dr. Baird could not concur in this oiiinuju. 
 True, there is embarrassment and distress 
 there, but that is temporary. The nati(jn will 
 recover from it and still advance. 
 
 " Education in Scotland is very thorough. 
 Her school system has been about as long in 
 operation as that of Massachusetts, and is an 
 excellent one. There are one thousand par- 
 ishes, each of which has a good school. In 
 Eu'dand and Ireland, primary education is 
 neidected. There is no system of common 
 scIkxjIs, and the lower classes are profoundly 
 ignorant. As regards higher education, there 
 are universities at Oxford, Cambridge, and 
 London, in England, and those of Edinburgh, 
 Glasgow, Aberdeen and St. Andrews, in Scot- 
 land." Thfve are also King's college, Lon- 
 don; Trinity college, Dublin ; and a college 
 at Durham, which deserve the name of uni- 
 versities, making in all ten. Cambridge and 
 Oxford universities are the largest, the tor- 
 mer having about 1,300 and the latter about 
 1.700 stuiJents. 
 
 » London grows rapidly. It covers ati area 
 
 ei"ht miles by six. The present population 
 
 is'two and a half millions, and it is rapidly in- 
 
 I creasing. Edinburgh, the capital of Scotland. 
 
 I is the most picturesciue city in Great Britain." 
 
 11 
 
rsj,-. •■■:■■■'. ^ifi,;.^.- 
 
KttlSHNA.-SKBTCH OP PEKIN. 
 
 _k 
 
 507 
 
 RHISHNA. 
 
 Our Mi^raving is taken from r picture 
 highly valued by the Hindoos : it is grounded 
 on one of those idle stories which ato ronti- 
 monly believed concerning Krishna. It is 
 said that he was brought up by a herdsman, 
 and llm; a number of damsels were his play- 
 fellows during iiit infancy ; of these he chose 
 nine, who became his comiinnions; tljese 
 nine dam-<els would grr>up tlieinselves into 
 funfAstic forms; in the engraving they are 
 seen in that of an ele()hnnt, on which the gml 
 ridiis. This profligate deity is the darling god 
 of the Hindoo women; the silly and impure 
 tales which are told and believed concerning 
 him, fend greatly to debase the people. Let 
 sur-h reprc^entalion be l(H)ked on by Christians 
 with i)ity for the folly and indignation for the 
 sin witn which ihey are connected, and with 
 earnest prayer lor the deliverance of mankind 
 from the dominion of vice and darkness. 
 
 A SKETCH OF PEKIN. 
 
 Ok Pekin, the capital of the Chinese em- 
 pire, and which, from the progress of events, 
 will at no distant day be an olyect j)f consid- 
 erable attention, the following sketch has been 
 written by a late traveller. It is necessary 
 to premise, that the situation of Pekin is near 
 40 dcrees north, ami therefore somewhat 
 cold in winter. 
 
 During the first few days of our residence , . 
 
 in the cold dwelling-houses of Pekin, we felt dies of the court, &c 
 
 picture to yourself a man plunged at once in- 
 to so jwpulous a city, into the midst of a 
 swarm of people, wnoso manners, customs, 
 and mo<le of life, were quite strange, and 
 whose language was utterly incompreliensible 
 to him, and you will be able to understand my 
 position. Was I thus alone, in the midst of 
 this multitude of jieople, to pass ten of the 
 best years of my life f Our chief drawback 
 lay in the excessively difricult Chinese pro- 
 nunciation, where one and the same sonnd, 
 however Himple, has its own peculiar mean- 
 ing, according as it is pronounced in a high 
 or low, in an al)rupt or i)rolonge<l, tone of voice. 
 For the first halt year we scarcely made any 
 progress whatever ; at the end of two years 
 only did we begin to find our way into the se- 
 crets of that labyrinth called the Chinese 
 tongue, and fully four had elapsed before we 
 were able to converse freely with the natives. 
 As S(H)n as were clothed in complete Chi- 
 nese costume, being very desirous to sec Pe- 
 kin, we hircil cabriolets and drove through the 
 streets of the capital. First we drove to the 
 imperial palace, where the emperor passes 
 the winter months ; during the whole of the 
 rest of the year he resides in a palace about 
 nine miles distant from the city. The palace 
 occupies an immense space, consisting of a 
 multitude of one-story houses built of bricks, 
 each of which has its appointed use. The 
 emperor resides in one of them, in another he 
 conducts th4B afliiirs of state, and in a third is 
 the empress. The others are appropriated 
 for his children, the widowed em[)re8s, the la- 
 ■ " " " Each division is sur- 
 
 the discomforts of our European dresses very 
 severely, anti made, therefore, all haste to ex- 
 change them for Chinese habiliments. The 
 divisFons and sub-divisions which exist in a 
 Chinese wardrobe are innumerable. Each 
 change of season brings necessarily along with 
 it a change of costume ; and these variations, 
 fixed by custom, are as sacredly observed by 
 correct Chinese, as the laws of fashion by 
 European ladies and leaders of Ion ; with cng 
 ly this difrere.ice, that here " the niiKle" htM 
 no influence, and the cut of the father's and 
 grandfather's clothes is (piite visible in those 
 of the son and grandson — nay, it may pass 
 even to the great-great-grandson. In the 
 shape of caps and shoes alone, an almost year- 
 ly change takes place. Do not, however, 
 suppose that it is any exercise of choice 
 whether with the alteration of the season you 
 may change your dress or not — by no means ; 
 the appointed time arrives, and an imperial 
 edict announces that on such a day, spring- 
 caps must be exchanged for summer ones, or 
 summer caps for autumn ones. I therefore 
 arrayed myself like a genuine Chinaman. 
 The first part of my stay was very tedious; 
 
 83 
 
 rounded by a tolerably high wall, which none 
 may jiass except those persons belonging to 
 it. All these buildings are again surrounded 
 with a general wall, the threshold of whose 
 ga'^e may oidy be passed by the courtiers. 
 An enclosure surrounds this outer wall, where 
 there are many private shops, and where ev- 
 eryliody is allowed to walk or drive. The 
 palaces themselves we could not see, and only 
 the yellow roofs of glazed tiles showed them- 
 selves above the wall. Neither those streets 
 in the vicinity of the palace, nor any through- 
 out the city of Pekin, are paved. 
 
 Without having in the least satisfied our 
 curiosity, we drove from the palace through 
 the street Sy-oi-lou, which, like all the other 
 principal streets, is distinguished for breadth 
 and regularity. The middle of each chief 
 street of Pekin, consists of an embankment 
 of earth raised about three feet above the rest 
 of the street, for the use of light carriages 
 and foot-i)assengers. Heavy loads, or car- 
 riages drawn by five and seven mules, must 
 drive along the narrow avenues on each side 
 of the embankment, which is a gootl width, 
 and would be very convenient for driving up- 
 
n^. 
 
 I 
 
 I' 
 
 u 
 
 Ml 
 
 SOS 
 
 SKETCH OK I'KKIN. 
 
 on, were it not that there are tents and booth* 
 erectotl at cmh niilc, which confine it bo much 
 that two carriage* can scarcely drive abreast. 
 In coiii«'(iucnco of the exr<'s»ive population of 
 Pfkin, tlic streets arc tilled tbroughout the 
 whole day with a double row of carriagi-g, 
 slowly progrcHsing in opposite directions. It 
 is a terrible annoyance when a f(M)t-pu.sscnger 
 happens to meet a friend who is tlriving. The 
 latter, according to the strict eticiuctte of Chi- 
 nese jioliteness, must stop, alight, and in spite 
 of weather or dirt, snjr, " How do you do 7" 
 and then invito his friend to accept a scat in 
 the carriiige. Of course the pedestrian must 
 reply to this civility, and bej; his ucipinint- 
 anct; to proceed on bis way. Tin- owner of 
 the ciiiTin;;e will not, however, re-enter it un- 
 til his frienil on foot shall proceed ; lie in bis 
 turn will wait till the other resume his sent. 
 The ceremony will often occupy half nn hour; 
 and during the whole time llio carriages which 
 follow must wait, there being no possibility 
 of iiassing the one stopping up the way. 
 
 The main streets arc of a good width, but 
 the side ones arc so very narrow that two car- 
 riages meeting could not possfbly jiass, so that 
 the coachman must alwavs call out on enter- 
 ing one to ascertain whether any other vehi- 
 cle is coming in the opiiosite direction. Kv- 
 ery side-street had formerly a gate wherever 
 it crossed cither ancthor cross or a main street, 
 and many of them still remain. These gates 
 were formerly closed at night by warders, 
 who lived in the vicinity, and the passenger 
 required a jiarticular permission in order to 
 pass it by night ; now, however, this extreme 
 strictness has ceased ; the warder merely 
 questions the nightly passenger, and even this 
 occurs rarely. Owing to the custom of the 
 Chinese of surrounding themselves with high 
 walls, the streets of Pekin arc most remark- 
 ably uniform. On c\ctw side rise high en- 
 closing walls, built of half-burnt gray bricks; 
 everywhere peep up from behind these walls 
 pointed sloping loofs, which in form and color 
 arc again monotonous. The imperial palace 
 alone is covered with gla7,ed green tiles, all 
 the other dwelling-houses with the half-burnt 
 gray-colored ones. Besides the cmperjir's, 
 there are not more than seven or eight prince- 
 ly palac(;s. All the rest weary the gazi.' by 
 their dust color ; and the eye can rest on noth- 
 ing which does not display the most teilious 
 uniformity, unless it be the sho|)s, which gen- 
 erally project into the streets. Before the 
 entrance of all these booths hang black 
 polished boards, inscribed with thick golden 
 letters; there is not, however, any diHerence 
 between them, and only those where confec- 
 tions are sold are distinguished by their splen- 
 dor. The whole of the front wall of these is 
 gilt, even the roof, and adorned with dragons 
 
 and other figure,!. The magnificence of these 
 shops is the most clrikin!;, as close besidn 
 them one may olten find a balf-destroyrd wall 
 or a little tottering dwelling-house. There 
 arc no ojien places (ir gnnlens in I'ekin ; and 
 the only rtmnrkalilc buildings are ilie temples, 
 which arc profusely painted with vermilion 
 color. 
 
 It is a great mistake to accuse the; Chinese 
 of bigotry. Thiiir temples are generally ijuito 
 empty : here and there only, an ollicial who 
 has received a new, and, be it understood, a 
 projitabte, a])pointinent, considers it his duty 
 to visit all the temples in the city. On such 
 an occasion he conducts himsidf as follown: — 
 On entering, he takes with him a bundle of 
 cundles, made from the !iark of a tree, and of 
 perfumed wood ; these he lights before tho 
 linages of the gods, ))rostrniing himself several 
 time's to the ground, during wlii(-h time the 
 priest strikes a mi'tal saucer with a wooden 
 mallet. Such a [lilgrim having concluded his 
 prayer, throws down some money, and pro- 
 ceeds into the secoixl temple, thence into the 
 third, and so on. Kven the common (leoplc 
 go only ()'• particular occasions to tho temple; 
 when, for instance, a time of great drought 
 arrives, troops of peasants ossi^mblo in the 
 temple, in order to pray to their god for rain; 
 and not only light candles and make jirostra- 
 tioiis, but bring also otlcrings with them, con- 
 sisting of dilli.'rcnt sorts of bread, &c. Of a 
 sincere disinterested prayer, oHere<l from the 
 heart of the suppliant, tno Chinese worship- 
 per has no conception. There'are, to be sure, 
 certain days every month when the temple 
 is visited by the peojile, but then it is not 
 with the intention of prayer but of business. 
 Goods, such as millinery, for instance, are 
 s]>rend out in the courts of the tpm|)le ; and 
 the visiters promenade from uinm till evening 
 among rows of sellers, who at these fairs gen- 
 erolly demand the most unreasonable prices. 
 For a nephrit, for instance, a stone of a j;rii.-!'^- 
 green color, which is particularly est<'eiiieil 
 by the Chinese, and which i^Bsed for rings, 
 I simll-boxes, armlets, and such like, a sales- 
 I mm demanded two hundred and fifty lans, 
 i and he gave it to me for twenty-six ! (A Ian is 
 I about four florins, or a dollar and a half). Jug- 
 ! glers, also, display their tricks here ; one will 
 i go on his hands, another throw knives ; and 
 I so forth. 
 
 I Toward evening the court of the temple 
 I becomes empty, and alt is again silent until 
 I the following fair, with the exception of the 
 j priests going thrice a day to burn a small 
 j candle before each of the great images of the 
 I gods, and prostrating themselveu each time to 
 the earth. When the priest does not feel in- 
 I clined to fulfil this heavy duty himself (and 
 I he rarely feels such a desire), he sends his 
 
iiinj^ifici'nc'p of these 
 ins;, Qs (.'IriHe boNidn 
 a Imlf-dcHtniypd wall 
 I'lli'iK-hoMRc. Thtjro 
 rilftiH in I't'kin; and 
 JinSHorc lln; li'rn|>le», 
 iiitL'd with vcriiiiliun 
 
 n accuse the Chiiirse 
 fs ore gcncrnlly <)uito 
 only, nn nllicial who 
 I, b(; it und('rNt(j;>il, a 
 connidprs it hiu duty 
 n llic city. On sucn 
 himself IIS follows: — 
 >'ith hlni n l)undlu of 
 liurk of a tree, and of 
 ho lifihls hcforc i]w 
 rniinj; liiiiiHclf several 
 riiij; which time tho 
 nicer with a wtMiden 
 having concluded his 
 )ine money, nnd yro- 
 injile, thence into tho 
 the common ]><>o|)le 
 -■nsions to tho temple ; 
 line of great droiight 
 lints nsKcmtile in the 
 to tliiir god for rain; 
 es and make prostra- 
 ringswith them, con- 
 of bread, ice. Of a 
 lyer, ollercd from the 
 the Chinese worship- 
 Thero'are, to be sure, 
 ith when the temple 
 le, but then it is not 
 rayer but of business, 
 iry, for instance, ore 
 s of the temple ; and 
 from iKMin till evening 
 ^ho at these fairs gen- 
 t unreasonable jirices. 
 ice, a stone of a j;r,is'^- 
 particularly csteiinnl 
 lich i*%8cd for rings, 
 d such like, a sales- 
 indred and fifty lans, 
 twenty-six ! (A Ian is 
 jllarand a half). Jug- 
 tricks here ; one will 
 3r throw knives; and 
 
 court of the temple 
 it is again silent until 
 
 tho exception of the 
 day to burn a small 
 le great images of the 
 smselves each time to 
 priest does not feel in- 
 vy duty himself (and 
 desire), he sends his 
 
 BKKTCIl OK PKKIN. 
 
 009 
 
 us 
 
 li 
 
 pupil to light the eandlet und iimke (inHtra- 
 tiiiiiH; but if lie dues not juM. Imppeii to bi' lit 
 liiind, a <'(imiiiiiii nervuiit .loen it. As for liie 
 rot, till' eiiiidles nre li-iiled Ht lli<- proper 
 times, the pio-irauiiiiH iir- niude us li 
 possililciiiid whii' M'>r<! Clin one n ipiin 
 the leniples, however, lire iiliiio-f iil\Mi)s 
 empty, lh» hoi.sis of public eiilerliuiiinent, oil 
 (he :oiitriirN, arc tilled with p' nple Irum iiinrii- 
 iiig till ingfit. Ill ihi: best inns, nhe puys ii 
 high price for every Iiillc; solliut « lien two 
 or lliree of the licl'. yoiiin'Ciiitiese meet there, 
 they I'lisily H].eiiil in uii evening iil'ty Inns. 
 The high pri< . is not. however, ii conseipii'iice 
 ofthrextreiiic cbnniosiif iheuriiclcs reipiind, 
 but of the vanity of llie coiiHunier. In geiii'- 
 rul, money is here liylilly regarded ; every 
 durling sun of the lieiiveii-prolecled city ol 
 I'l'kiii throws down lii> purse iilnio^r niieciuiit- 
 ed. They eiit all iiiiuiiier of expensive ihiligs, 
 such as riiiislnl ive, for instiiiice, for ii little 
 plutcof whiidione piiys six Inns; it is prepur 
 ed as follows: — The cook puts a siiiiill liif of 
 ice on a sieve made of lilile wands or sticks, 
 into u riilher liipiid butter of sugar, eugs, und 
 Kpices, und then plunges it ijuickly into u pun 
 of boiling swine's fat. The skill of the cook 
 is shown bv his bringing the dish upon the 
 table before' the ice be melted in tlie bailer. 
 A parti<'ulurly good morsel can not be expect- 
 ed, for w^en'put into the mouth it liurns, and 
 when bitt. n into it is very cold. The high 
 price of this dish arises "from so few c(«iks 
 bving oble to make it exactiv us it oiiglit to 
 be. Taken in general, the Chinese dishes are 
 very disagreeable to Kuropeans; for thev 
 prepore everything without salt, and, in uil- 
 dition, float it in a superfluity of swine fat; 
 and few dishes nre made without ginger anil 
 garlic. Their roasts only are well flavored, 
 und mightreceive the higbestapprobation from 
 a European gustronome. 
 
 The reason of there being such an extiaor- 
 dinury number of eating-houses in Pekin, is 
 the custom the Chinese have of entertaining 
 one another, not in their own homes, but in 
 these establishments ; relations only ami the 
 most intimate occpiainf nnces being CTcr invited 
 to dinner o' supper into their houses. The 
 youth also assemble in the eating-houses, und 
 the seniors dine there after the theatre, for 
 tlie theatre nnd dinner at a restaurant ure 
 amusements which are inseparably coiiuecied 
 with each other. Theatrical representations 
 commence at eleven iu the forenoon, and con- 
 tinue till six in the evening. In the course 
 of the play, beautiful boys, who pluy the 
 women's parts, come into the boxes of the 
 rich members of the audience, and appoint an 
 eating-house, where they jiromise to come 
 and sup with them. During supper, these 
 boys choose the dishes, and usually ask for 
 
 the most expensive, having previoiis'y agreed 
 
 with the muster of the house upon u reward 
 
 liir so doing. All thesi boys ute richly and 
 
 luslefiilly dressed, skilled in cunvcrsation, 
 
 lively, and wilfy. Neither in the theatres, 
 
 llie euting-liousi'S, nor in the temple ut fair 
 
 limes, ure women to be seen, but on the 
 
 streets one mei ts with plenty. Women of 
 
 the lower ruiik go on lool, but those who are 
 
 lit all w» II ctl'illive ill cabriolets. The wives 
 
 and ilniighters of princes, on the oilier liuiid, 
 
 ure cm rii d in sediins. Muriieil us well us nii- 
 
 miiriiiil women appear in the street with nn- 
 
 \eileil faces, and simply arranged hull', which 
 
 they adorn with lieuiitiliil nrlilicial flowers. 
 
 Kseii the most rugged, dirty, old cook, it slie 
 
 is only going to the door to buy n little garlic 
 
 or cabliage, has always ii (lower, usually red, 
 
 stuck among her gray loi ks. The dress of 
 
 the hidies is cliiellv distinguished by bright 
 
 ciilors; that of the Mondscliiiriii ladies consists 
 
 chieflv in a long upper rolie with immense 
 
 sleeves. 'IMiis dress ipiite coiuvals the shape ; 
 
 but the (.'liinese do not distress themselves on 
 
 account of this disaih uiitagi', us they seek for 
 
 feminine sl< ndcrness in narrow shoulders and 
 
 a flaltened chest, on which uc'coiint their 
 
 women ult bind u broad girdle over llie bosom, 
 
 which supplies the place of the Knropean 
 
 corsets. I'lie dress of tin; true Chinese womuii 
 
 consists of red or green trousers, which ure 
 
 embroidered with iiiuny-colored silks — of 
 
 juckets, ulso embroidered — with a very richly 
 
 einbroidcrerl upper gurmeiit. 
 
 The (Chinese women are chiefly distinguish- 
 ed from ili(^ Mandsehurins by their feet ; these 
 do not spoil their feet by tight blindages, and 
 wear slippers like the men, only their stock- 
 ings are made of guy-colored stnU's, with fiHit 
 soles not less than four inches thick. The 
 Chinese women, on the contrary, bind their 
 fc'el from five years of age with broad buiida- 
 ges, in such a way that four toes are bent un- 
 der, and the great toe luid over them ; the 
 nails press into the flesh, causing almost al- 
 ways wounds, and the uiil'ortiiimic' females 
 suffer during their whole lives from tins bar- 
 barous custom. Not one of lliem can stand 
 on tho whole foot, ami they all walk on their 
 heels, on which account their walk is most 
 unsightly, and they totter from side to side. 
 Considerable ostentation prevails when a Chi- 
 nese or Mandschurin ludy goes abroad : an 
 out-rider first appears, behiiiil him comes o 
 two-wheeled carriage druwu by a mule, the 
 iiend and sides of which nre hung with green 
 or blue cloth, into the sides of which ure set 
 in pieces of black velvet und glnss ; (in the 
 right und left walk two men, holding the 
 carriage v.'iih their bonds, in order to prevent 
 its fulling over at .my of the iiicipiulities of 
 the roud, and bcliii.d the carriage comes uu- 
 
 k 
 
510 
 
 HABITS OF TIIR IlLUBJAY. 
 
 i 
 
 I' 
 
 liii 
 
 
 other riilor. As one must tte\\ into und out 
 of tlit^ carriojic in front, tho coarhtnan hii» to 
 uiilmrncHHliiM inuli- every tiinn ; the iwn who 
 wiilk oiitsidi- th« cnrringc thi-ti turn it done 
 up lo tho Rtiiirn, let the »hult« down on the 
 «tc|»t, and iiniiit'diutidy turn thi-ir hnckd to the 
 e(|ui]>ii«e, for, accordin;? to Cliincse rtiijuette, 
 tiicy niuy not iooit lluMr mistrrss in tlic fore. 
 Thu wuiiing-nmid, who Ki'm-riiUy situ in front, 
 firnt i»f<!|w out, iidjUHts II little liMitstixd, and 
 heljH her lady to ulij-ht. On dr|mrfins, the 
 eercniony is rc|»'iit(Ml— thiit i**, the Indy and 
 her nriid first resuino their Heuts, then the 
 emudinmn liarnesieH his mule, and the rort(^f{e 
 jtroeeeds in its fiirincr order. The men dis- 
 play iriiijiniliiiiice, when they drive nbroail, 
 by 'the nuinlxrs of their followers, who often 
 amount to twenty or more. Hut what follow- 
 ers! two or three are well dressisd, hut the 
 rest are raji^ed anil mounted on lame and 
 wiirn-out mules. Pride, however, never al- 
 lows a Chii.ainnn to lessen the number of his 
 ■ittendimts, ullhouah the keeping of these idle 
 bands must be very expensive. The (ilir in 
 the streets comnu'tues at break of day — that 
 is, in sumirier at four, and in winter at six 
 o'clock. The men in oHice first make their 
 appearance ^oillg to the palace with public 
 papers, mid then the small dealers with eat- 
 ables. The noise and bustle are continually 
 on the increase ; by aeven all the streets arc 
 crowded with iunumeruble masses of people ; 
 and at nine or ten at night they retire to rest. 
 At this hour th.? most perfect silence reigns 
 through th(! empty streets, and here and there 
 only glimmers the dim light of the paper lan- 
 terns, which are fixed on low pillars. 
 
 HABITS OF THE BLUE-JAY. 
 
 This elegant bird is peculiar in North 
 America, ami stays with us all winter. He 
 is distinguished among the bird family as a 
 sort of beau, dressed in a dandy suit, and very 
 vain and lonuacious withal. He makes as 
 many ridiculous grmaces, oivl cuts as cpieer 
 antics, and gives iiuiiself as tnuny airs, as his 
 namesake without feathers. He is a great 
 mimic, and in the domestic state can be taught 
 to articulate words, and imitate the noise of 
 a saw and other soundti. 
 
 An individual of this species which was 
 brought up in the family of a gentleman in 
 North Carolina had many of the tricks of the 
 parrot. This jay could articulate a number 
 of words pretty distinctly. 
 
 The blue-jay seems to take great delight in 
 imitating the sparrow-hawk. This he does 
 so perfectly as to deceive the most practised 
 
 ears. A number of jays will join in this sport 
 at the same time, but they freipiently pay 
 deorly for their impertinence, for the nawk, 
 making a sweep, will |)oiince upon one of the 
 foremost of his tormentors, which at once 
 causes the impudent birds to change their 
 notes for real cries of alann. 
 
 The Idue-joy is himsidf a shcdder of blood 
 as well as the liawk. He destroys the young 
 of other birds in the absence of the old ones, 
 und steals the eggs of his neighbors, professing 
 all the timi! great friendship for all of them 
 by warning them of the approach of any other 
 thief or plunderer, be he hawk, fox, or man. 
 
 The jav is a most inveterate enemy of the 
 owl. Whenever he has discovered the re- 
 treat of one of these wise jdiilosophers, as if 
 afraid wisilom miuht be infectious, ho sum- 
 mons all the feathered tribe to his assistance, 
 and commen< es a louil attack upon the grave 
 bird. At first the ov 1 deigns to take no fur- 
 ther notice of his n--sailants than to look at 
 them with a broud stare, as if he would soy, 
 " yiui are not even worthy of contempt." But 
 the noise of the bottle waxes louder and loud- 
 er, and may ik; heard at the distance of more 
 than half a 'iiile. The owl is at length forced 
 to take (lij;ht, when he is followed by the 
 whole train of his impudent tormentors, 
 screaming to the very top of their voices, un- 
 til he is driven far from their neighborhood. 
 
 The blue-jay is eleven inches in length ; 
 his head is ornamented with a crest of light 
 blue or purjde feathers, which he can elevate 
 or depress at pleasure; the whole upper parts 
 are light blue or purple ; a collar of block 
 passes down each side of the neck and forms 
 a crescent on the upper port of the breast. 
 The under parts are white. The tail is long, 
 and light blue, tipped with black. 
 
 m 
 
will join in thig sport 
 they i'reiiucntly pny 
 lU'iKM', for the nowk, 
 iiricc u|i(m ono of tlio 
 ors, which at oncR 
 nis to change their 
 nn. 
 
 if Q slipdder of blood 
 le destroys the young 
 (Mice of the old ones, 
 iifighhors, j)rofe.ising 
 Iship for nil of them 
 ipproach of any other 
 hawk, fox, or man. 
 'tcrnte enemy of the 
 s discovered the re- 
 <e jihilosophers, as if 
 infectious, he aum- 
 •ibe to his assistance, 
 ttack npon the grave 
 Icigns to take no fur- 
 ants than to look at 
 , as if he would say, 
 ly of contempt." But 
 ixes louder and loud- 
 the distance of more 
 iwl is nt length forced 
 I is followed by the 
 npudent tormentors, 
 ip of their voices, un- 
 their neighborhood, 
 en inches in length ; 
 with a crest of tight 
 which he can elevate 
 he whole upper parts 
 B ; a collar of black 
 if the neck and forms 
 r part of the breast, 
 ite. The tail is long, 
 ith black. 
 
 [ 
 
 CHINE6K RTHOLLINQ DOCTOHS. 
 
 Oil 
 
 CHINESE STROKING DOCTORS. 
 
 TiiK comforln onit elegnncies of life are of 
 easy uc(!e»» in China, and «) ure many of it» 
 plagues i among these latter may be reckoned 
 tbt! drugs Mild a U ice of (|uuck doctors, who 
 tuko up their stations in any convenient spot, 
 displuy their wares, and harangue the jiop- ] 
 uliicein praise of thcin. A cloth is spread 
 upon the ground, and is strewed with small | 
 jars, packets ueutly folded up, and a store of i 
 pitch plasters. lUre and there are olso 
 str<!wed, in due order, long scrolls of paper 
 setting forth the .'xcellency of their art, ami 
 the greotness of their success. In n \iry few 
 instauces a table is substituted for the earth, 
 as a platform for exhibitiDii, and then the sel- 
 ler seems to rise a step in medical considera- 
 tion. The doctor usually plants himself be- 
 hind his humble stall; and if gifiid with 
 s|)eech, lectures the wondering bystanders, 
 till, by dint of argument, and the witchery 
 of his elo(|uence, tliose who came only to look 
 anil to laugh, are possessed with the most live- 
 ly faith ami cri'dit, which they would per- 
 ciiuuce have ridiculed in mouietits of greater 
 sobriety. The doctors ure fully aware, liow- 
 <ver that novelty is an iinportant element in 
 oratorical fascination ; hence they seldom stay 
 long in one jiluce, bnt travel over many Jirov- 
 iuces in fetching a compas.s, and appcor at 
 the sujiie place only after a hmg interval. 
 One of these, who seemed to hove larger en- 
 dowments of tt professional kind than the 
 average of his brethren, hud ranged his va- 
 ried medicaments in front of the senate-house 
 I at Macoo; ond was engaged in a surgical 
 oj)eration. A poor fellow, who linil lost his 
 sight, was seated upon - il in mi attitude 
 ot* meekness and resiguuiini, while the doc 
 tor was busied iu t igging at one of his ears. 
 He had made an incision behind the conch, 
 or free portion, and was laboring to elicit as 
 much WimmI from the wound as friction could 
 start froia its hldiug-place. As soon as he 
 was satisfied with the result of his operation, 
 he stood f>ir>! to face with the patient, and 
 asked, with an air of impatience, whether 
 he saw the light. To this interrogatory 
 the l.iind mati replied " No." On this the doc- 
 tor sat down lieside him, and began to describe 
 a method which would infallibly have the .!i'- 
 sired etTect; but at the close of each well- 
 finished period, the burden " no money" (moo 
 Ueen) fell in with a melancholy cadence. At 
 this juncture, when many were looking for 
 some great thing, and the blind man's case 
 promised neither honor nor pence, the quick- 
 sighted glance of the doctor lighted upon tin 
 fan kwei, who was peeping from between a 
 group of persons not very conspicuous for 
 their outward polish. The fan kwei wore a 
 
 » i.untenance of civility, which rarned from 
 the doctor a bow and a smile of reiognition. 
 After this nerewsary prelude, he rriade a few 
 remorks to h;s l.rarrrs upon the peeulinrities 
 of the fan kwei's face ; and then, with a smile 
 of great complacency, went up lo him and 
 began to enter into the details of a phrenolo- 
 gical analysis. He pointed out some of the 
 chief marks of distinction between a Chinese 
 and ft Kuropeau, especially the breailth of 
 the foreheuil, the height of the cheek-bones, 
 and tht form of the chin. In a Chinese, the 
 foreliead is narrow, the cheek-bones broad 
 iind high, and the chin flat ; in a European, 
 the foreheuil is broad, the cheek-bones h)W, 
 and the chin [)r')miiient. When he had dc- 
 sputched the head anrl the face, he descended 
 to the muscles, and firmly grasping the stran- 
 ger's arm, and then that of a native bystand- 
 er, expatiated upon the dill'erence betvyeen 
 the eInstiL- tension of the 'mv, and the yield- 
 ing pliancy of the other. His decision seemed 
 tolie thot the Kuropean has tlie advantage 
 : not only in c(im|mctiiess of texture, but also 
 1 in symmetry of form. In this he seemed to 
 ' hav<' the sympathy of his auditory ; for what- 
 ever the Chinese may alVec't to think, they 
 often betrnv their admiration of the fan kwei's 
 person. Alany a time have they been seen to 
 ga/.e at the stranger with silence ond a kind 
 of " awe-struck" wonder, while their eyes 
 beamed with on interest which seemed to 
 say, " A complexion so fair, and features so 
 well proportioned, ore things not indigenous 
 iu the mi<)dle iiaticm." This quock doctor 
 had travelled much, and had consecjuently 
 learn d many things which an inquisitive 
 mi 1 can not overlook in shift- g from place 
 to place amid an ever-clianging assortiiffent of 
 cotiiponions. He had a merry countenance, 
 and a sparkling eye, which drew attention. 
 His elocution was clear, and his arms moved 
 with greot pliancy to give eirect to whatever 
 u uttered. But his (wpulority was not of 
 long continuance ; uiid so, after a few days, 
 he was oliliged to employ u young fellow to 
 act the part of clown, atvl thus assemble a 
 troop of gazers by drollery, when eloquence 
 and skill had proved ineHectuul. 
 
 An American in China remarks : " While 
 passing through the Chinese market-place of 
 Macao. I heunl one of these quack rhetori- 
 cians, addressing a circle of bystanders u|H)n 
 the proj)netiesof a mo<le of treatment he was 
 Just going f > adopt in the case of an old man 
 who was squatted close by his side. It ap- 
 peared as if, a few seconds" before my arrival, 
 a bargain had b en concluded between them 
 nearly in these terms of reci[)rocity :— ' I 
 will imjiart to you,' quoth the .loctor, ' the 
 I full benefit of my jirofessional skill, and you 
 shall give me all the money you have got 
 
 *r 
 

 
 i1 1 
 
 Hi' 
 
 *^• 
 
 
 r 
 
 if 
 
 
 512 
 
 CHINESE STHOLLING DOCTORS. 
 
 about you;' for inirnndiatcly iipnn thn dmr 
 of the linriiiigun ihe old man jinircrdcfl, ^yith 
 cheerful haste, to cmjity his money-hag into 
 I he lap of the younfr JEsculni)ius, who, af- 
 fectinj; to he disappointed, accused his pa- 
 tient of concealinR some of his tseen or cash, 
 amid the folds of his garment ; but as a com- 
 mon man in summer is very thinly clad, a 
 shaks or two of his doublet satisfied the look- 
 ers-on that all the j)crsonal efli'cts had been 
 fairly delivered uj). The old man then re- 
 tired, but soon after came back with a basir 
 of water, and placed it at the feet of the d()c- 
 tor, who then took out a paper, and made him 
 swallow a small quantity of whitish powder, 
 without the aid of honey, treacle, or any oth- 
 er agreeable menstruum. The eflect of this 
 ])owder was supposed to be that of rendering 
 the jiatient incapable of feeling any pain which 
 might attend the operation to be performed. 
 He then drew some needles from a paper, 
 with an air of grave preparation, and after 
 rubbing the q^bresaid powder upon his own 
 thigh, stuck one of the needles into it as if 
 it had been a sort of pinchusion. The next 
 step in the process was the selection of a few 
 seeds from a paper parcel, putting them into 
 his mouth, and giving the remnant to the pa- 
 tient, as a pledge of his generosity. While 
 I he seeds were undergoing the process of mas- 
 tication by themselves, he took a pair of 
 wocxlen cylinders, and, after holding a lighted 
 roll of i)aper within them, clapped them upon 
 the breast of the old man. After they had 
 remained a few minutes upon the spot, they 
 were removed, and l(?ft behind them two raised 
 areola, or bumps, which the doctor, after sip- 
 ping a little water, rubbed with the seeds, by 
 this time well reduced by maceration and 
 grinding. He next pricked the bumps with 
 the needle which had been all the while stick- 
 ing in his own flesh. Tt» extract the bl()o<l. 
 he a))i)licd his mouth, and drew with such 
 violence, that the old man begun to heave a 
 sigh, and the crowd to lespond by a look of 
 anxiety. All the while he pressed his hands 
 upon the neighborhood of the spot, as if he 
 wished to make the bloi.J flow in that direc- 
 tion. After the ceremony of washing the 
 mouth, he a[)i)lied a pitch plaster between the 
 areola, and proceeded to treat the back after 
 the same sort Here was a sample of ' much 
 ttdo about nothing ;' when to have made one 
 or two incisions with his knife, and then aj)- 
 plied one of these cylinders, or cupjjing ves- 
 sels o\er them, with a roll of lighted paper 
 within it, would have caused a gush of blood, 
 
 and renilcred the poor fellow a real service." 
 •' Among the persons who figure in the list 
 of itinerant doctors, I may reckon one who 
 dealt in antidotes against the bite of serpents. 
 He had selected a very ingenious mode of 
 proving the eflScncy of the drug, and which 
 did not fail to carry conviction to the mind of 
 every one who had the hapi)iness to view the 
 procedure. A large hooded snake, or cobra 
 copella, was treated as a kind of imj) i>r fa- 
 miliar by its master, who held it in his hand, 
 and made it rear its neck at his pleasure. 
 When he advanced his hand or f .ce near the 
 venomous creature, it immediately attempted 
 to bite, but was prevented by the dexterity 
 of the juggler. When he had amused the 
 crowd with the spectacle till he thought he 
 had convinced them that the snake had the 
 strongest disposition to bite, and therefore still 
 retained all its mischievous propensities, he 
 returned it into the basket, and took out a ball 
 of some medicament, and with great fluency 
 insisted upon its excellent use as an antidote 
 against the assault of all poisonous reptiles. 
 All that was necessary for the person who 
 feared such things was to carry this ball in 
 his pocket. To demonstrate the truth of this, 
 he lifted the pugnacious beast from its con- 
 cealment, and held the ball to its month, on 
 which it started back with seeming disgust. 
 He then rubbed the ball upon his forehead, 
 and presented it to the snake, which threw 
 itself back, and receded as far from him as its 
 length would allow. A variety of simple ex- 
 periments were tried, all of which went to 
 prove that the creature had a mortal aversion 
 to the ball. AVhile he was busy in descant- 
 ing upon its efficacv on the strength of such 
 convincing proofs, t!ie snake took the opportu- 
 nity of biting his arm, just by way of (|uieily 
 showing how much it really cared for both 
 the doctor and his j)hysic. But liis sleeve 
 being thick, the teeth did not penetrate the 
 skin, and the crowd were in too great nn ec- 
 stasy to use their natural eyesight ; so this 
 circumstance pa.ssed without observation from 
 any except the fan kwei, who, though greatly 
 delighted with the inuenuitv of the IcIIdw, 
 was too much in the haliit ot scrntini/.inu iho 
 exhiliitions of China, to let it escape his no- 
 tice. The ball was priced at fifteen cosh, 
 that is, nt about one cent, to place it within 
 the reach of every class of purchasers ; and 
 the crowd presso(l around the seller with so 
 much eagerness, that his stock was sold ere [ 
 I coulil get close enough to present my fifteen 
 cash for one of them." 
 
 THE ENi>. 
 
 smr^mim 
 
Pellow a real service." 
 aIio firjurc in the list 
 may reckon one who 
 St the bite of serpents, 
 ry ingenious mode of" 
 ■ the drug, and which 
 iviction to the mind of 
 hapi)ines3 to view the 
 ooded snake, or cobra 
 i a kind of imp or fa- 
 bo held it in his haniJ, 
 neck at his pleasure, 
 hand or f ice near the 
 nmediately attempted 
 ited by the dexterity 
 ; he had amused the 
 ;le till he thought he 
 at the snake had the 
 3ite, and therefore still 
 ;vou3 propensities, he 
 .et, and took out a ball 
 nd with great fluency 
 jnt use as an antidote 
 dl poisonous roptiles. 
 r for the person who 
 i to carry this bnll in 
 trate the truth of this, 
 s beast from its con- 
 ball to its mouth, on 
 with seeming disgust, 
 ill upon his forehead, 
 snake, whicli threw 
 as far from him as its 
 . variety of simple ex- 
 all of which went to 
 harl a m<irtal aversion 
 was busy in descant- 
 I the strength of such 
 nake took the opportn- 
 tust by way of (|ui(.lly 
 really cared for both 
 ^'sic. But his sleeve 
 lid not ]>enetrato the 
 ere in too great nn er- 
 ral eyesight; so this 
 hoiit obsorvntion from 
 i, who, though greatly 
 ;enuitv of the fellow. 
 l)it of scrutini/iiiu' the 
 ) lot it escape his iio- 
 riced at fifteen cash, 
 ■nt, to place it within 
 iS of purchasers ; niid 
 ni'l the seller with so 
 lis stock was sold ere 
 
 li H) present my fifteen 
 
 *.> 
 
 ]fXMjB <B>V ir®(D<3®A,» (SHBOiaWIUU 
 
\^ 
 
 
 U 
 
 ^mmmmmmmmm 
 
 ■r 
 
TZ=Z,-\ 
 
 AMERICAN MISCELLANY. 
 
 THE FALL OF TOCCOA. 
 
 [SEB FR0RTI8FIBCE.] 
 
 NARROW pas- 
 sage leads from 
 the roadside to 
 the foot of the 
 fall. Before us 
 appeared the per- 
 pendicular face 
 "M(^' )'^\ o( the rock, re- 
 r^ sembling a rug- 
 
 god stone wall, and over it 
 
 " The brook came babbling down the mountain's 
 side." 
 
 The stream had lost much of its fulness 
 from the recent dry weather, and as it be- 
 came lashAd into fury, by its sudden fall, 
 it resembled a silver riband, hung grace- 
 fully over the face of the rock, and waving 
 to and fro with the bypath of the wind. It 
 reminds one of the poetic descriptions of 
 fairy-land, where we might expect the fays 
 and elves to assemble of a moonlight night 
 
 to ho'-' •' eir festival on the green bank, 
 wl ■ '. T 'pray, clothed with all the va- 
 ried twiors of the rainbow, formed a halo 
 of glory around their heads. It is indeed 
 beautiful, surpassingly beautiful : the tall 
 trees reaching but half way up the moun- 
 tain height, the silver cascade foaming o'er 
 the brow of the hill, the troubled waves 
 of the mimic sea beneath, the lulling sound 
 of the falling water, and the call of the 
 mountain- birds around you — each and all 
 come with a soothing power upon the 
 heart, which makes you anxious to linger 
 through the long hours of the summer day. 
 Tearing ourselves away from the en- 
 chantment that held us below, we toiled 
 our way up to the top of the fall, using a 
 path that wouud around the mountain. 
 When we reached the summit we trusted 
 ourselves to such support as a small tree, 
 which overhangs the precipice, could give 
 us, and looked over into the basin beneath. 
 Then, growing bolder as our spirits rose 
 with the excitement of the scene, we di- 
 vested ourselves of our boots and stock- 
 
 f 
 
*« . 
 
 fii 
 
 I 
 III 
 
 516 
 
 UPlllOHT, DOWNRIGHT, AND STIIAIGHT FORWARD. 
 
 in<;s, and waded into the stream, until we 
 aj)pioathed within a few feet of the cas- 
 cade. This can be done with but little 
 d.iii^or, as the brook keeps on the even 
 and NnrutHed tenor of its way, until just 
 as it takes its lofty plunge into the abyss 
 bidow. 
 
 The height c-f the fall is now one hun- 
 dred and eight} s,ix feet : formerly it was 
 some feet highei , but a portion of the rock 
 «'!is (Intached some years ago, by the at- 
 trition of the water, and its fall has de- 
 tracted from the perpendicular descent of 
 tlie stream. 
 
 Toccoa forms but one of the beautiful 
 links in the chain of mountain scenery in 
 the nortliwestern part of Georgia. There 
 in.iy be beiield the grandeur of the lofty 
 \ ouali, the magnificence and terrific splen- 
 dor of Tallulah, the quiet and romantic 
 vale of Nacooche, and the thousand bril- 
 liant landscapes that adorn and beautify 
 the face of Nature. All these attractions 
 will, doubtless, before another score of 
 years has passed away, make Habersham 
 county and its environs the summer retreat 
 of Georgians from the low country, and 
 help to unite in closer bands the dweller 
 on the seashore and the inhabitant of the 
 mountain. 
 
 UPRIGHT, DOWNRIGHT, k STRAIGHT- 
 FORWARD. 
 
 T is very common to say 
 of such a man that he 
 is "upright," it is not 
 less common to say of 
 such another that he is 
 " downright," or of a 
 third that he is " straight- 
 forward." Occasionally 
 the same person is said 
 to be both upright and downright, and even 
 straight-forward, all at the same time ; and 
 we now and then hear a man called up- 
 right one day, downright another, and 
 straight-forward on the next. It would 
 thus seem that the words are to some ex- 
 tent synonymous. It will be found, how- 
 ever, on examination, that they have a 
 
 moral meaning as distinct and definable as 
 their more obvious and physical significa- 
 tions. Popular usage, in fact, retjuircd 
 three words to express three distinct va- 
 rieties of character, and adopted those, all 
 of good Saxon descent, to supply the want. 
 Thus a downright man, although ho may 
 be an upright one, is not necessarily so, 
 and vice versa ; and the straight-forward 
 man may possess qualities which arc not 
 inherent to, and of necessity existing in, 
 the character of either. 
 
 The upright man acts with fairness in 
 all his dealings. He would wrong no 
 man of a farthing. He would not injure 
 his neighbor by word or deed. His fame 
 is pure before the world. His word was 
 never broken ; and his promise is as good 
 in the market as another man's bond. lie 
 holds lip his head, is not ashamed to look 
 anybody in the face, and walking erect in 
 the dignity of conscious honesty, is called 
 upright accordingly. 
 
 The downright man may or may not ex- 
 hibit the same moral rectitude. He may 
 not, strictly speaking, be an upright man ; 
 but he does not thereby forfeit his title to 
 be classed among the downright. The 
 phrase implies not so much a inoral qual- 
 ity, as a manner and a peculiarity. The 
 upright man may hold his tongue ; but the 
 downright man will speak out, loudly and 
 boldly, without fear of the conse(iuences. 
 He always allows his indignation to find 
 vent. He speaks his mind ; and if he com- 
 bines both uprightness and downrightnesf;, 
 call a rogue a rogue, and a lie a lie, and 
 cares not whom he offends by so doing. 
 A great conqueror is, with him, a gioat 
 murderer ; a duellist, an assassin ; a fraud- 
 ulent bankrupt, a robber. He condemns 
 in plain terms what he does not approve, 
 and never deals in iniiendoes, " or hints 
 his doubts." Neither will he indulge in 
 courtesies when his mind is full of bitter 
 meanings, and call him an " honorable gen- 
 tleman," whom he imagines to be the very 
 reverse nor designate another as his " no- 
 ble friend," whom in hia heart he considers 
 his very ignoble enemy. He has no pa- 
 tience with, or toleration for, any kind of 
 terms which tend to gloss over error. 
 Even where no deception is attempted, ho 
 does battle on behalf of plain speaking. 
 When people talk of operatives, he talks 
 
 >>k|^|,i 
 
ID. 
 
 ct and definable as 
 physical siirnidca- 
 in fact, rc(|iiircd 
 three distinct va- 
 I adopted these, all 
 to supply the want. 
 , although he may 
 lot necessarily so, 
 e straight-forward 
 ;ies which arc not 
 essity existing in, 
 
 8 with fairness in 
 would wrong no 
 would not injure 
 • deed. His fame 
 1. His word was 
 iromise is as good 
 r man's bond. He 
 t ashamed to look 
 1 walking erect in 
 honesty, is called 
 
 lay or may not ex- 
 ctitude. He may 
 I an upright man ; 
 
 forfeit his title to 
 downright. The 
 uch a moral qual- 
 peculiarity. The 
 is tongue ; but the 
 ik out, loudly and 
 be consecjucnces. 
 idignation to find 
 d ; and if he com- 
 id downrightness, 
 d a lie a lie, and 
 nds by so doing. 
 I'ith him, a gieat 
 issassin ; a fraud- 
 ". He condemns 
 ioes not approve, 
 ndoes, " or hints 
 ill he indulge in 
 J is full of bitter 
 
 " honorable gen- 
 
 les to be the very 
 
 other as his " no- 
 
 leart he considers 
 
 He has no pa- 
 
 for, any kind of 
 loss over error, 
 t is attempted, ho 
 
 plain speaking, 
 jratives, he talks 
 
 UPIUOHT. DOWNIUGHT, AND STKAIOHT KOllWAKD. 
 
 517 
 
 of workmen ; the endearing word " wife" , 
 is not banished from bis vocabulary lor 
 that of " lady ;" and " man" is a word of 
 diunily and significance with him, inslend 
 orl)eirift degraded to imply something the 
 opiiosite of a gentleman. If a man who 
 is not habitually downright were to say a 
 titlie of the strong .hings that he may say 
 with impunity, he would get knocked 
 down for his frankness , but the very au- 
 dacity of the downright man takes the 
 world by surprise, and forces it into admi- 
 ration. It forgives his insolence for the 
 sake of the courage, and the harshness for 
 love of the sincerity. He, moreover, has 
 a clear head for detecting a sophism, and 
 a knack of getting at the gist of a dispute, 
 though it may be swathed about in redun- 
 dancies and circumlocutions. He clinches 
 an argument with homely common sense, 
 and drives a truth into the mind of an an- 
 tagonist with as much force and as little 
 ceremony as a carpenter drives a nail into 
 a block. He is a man, to use a very com- 
 mon phrase, who will "stand no nonsense" 
 —and would rather a thousand times be 
 thought rude, boorish, and disagreeable 
 (which he very generally is), than call a 
 spade other than a spade, compromise an 
 opinion, or abandon a prejudice that he 
 had once defended. 
 
 In every condition of life, in the very 
 extremity of distress and poverty, a man 
 may be upright, and will be the better for 
 it ; but to be downright is not over pru- 
 dent in him who has his fortune to make, 
 or any worldly advantages '.o expect from 
 his fellows. If a man be rich, his down- 
 rightness is not much in his way. It may 
 even become ornamental to him, and pas8 
 for caustic wit and interesting eccentrici- 
 ty. The worst that will be said of him is, 
 tiiat his ill-nature is extremely piquant and 
 original. If he be poor, it will receive no 
 such honorable appreciation, but be uni- 
 versally condemned as unjustifiable niis- 
 aiiUiropy. It is rather a dangerous weap- 
 on in any one's hands, but doubly danger- 
 ous in the grasp of those who have not 
 high birth or station, or the right of rich 
 revenues, to privilege them to wield it. 
 
 The straight-forward man has the can- 
 dor of the downright man without his in- 
 civility. He uses clear and intelligible 
 lau'fuage on all occasions, but does not 
 
 hold himself bound to select the harshest 
 plirases which can be found. Iiiteyriiy 
 
 'also behmgs to his character ; but, being 
 more conspicuously markeil by straight- 
 forwardness, no one thinks of sjieakiiig of 
 his uprightness. The notable points in 
 the straight-forward man are the direct- 
 ness and openness with whicl) he acts in 
 his intercourse with the world. He takes 
 the broad highway, and not the crnokcd 
 path. His objects may partake of the 
 usual business character of selfishness, 
 but he does not make them worse by at- 
 tempts to disguise them. No: he says, 
 " I am here a man of business, and pur- 
 sue my interests, leaving others to do so 
 too, as they have a right to do." Thus 
 everybody knows at once " what he would 
 be at ;" and arrangements are made and 
 bargains struck with half the trouble vyhich 
 they would cost in other hands. Some- 
 times this straight-forwardness is felt as 
 a little out of taste ; but all are sensible of 
 its being extremely convenient, and gen- 
 erally acknowledge in the long-run that 
 his mode of doing business is the best. 
 It is amusing to see a circumambient man 
 come into dealings with him. He is apt 
 to be confounded by the very transparency 
 of the other's mind. It puts him out. He 
 could manage admirably with one who 
 took cunning ways too, however much he 
 might be upon his guard ; but straight-for- 
 wardness is a new mode of fence, and he 
 sinks under it. It is the same way with 
 the sophist and the man who has a bad 
 cause to defend by clever arguments : the 
 arrow-flight directness of his common 
 sense overthrows him at the first encoun- 
 ter. 
 
 Straight-forwardness is not always com- 
 bined with wisdom ; but when it is, it be- 
 comes a masterful power. Even by itselt 
 it can hardly fail to elevate its possessor 
 in the esteem of mankind. As a rogue is 
 defined to be " a fool with a circumbendi- 
 bus," so may one who has no bad designs 
 and no circumbendibus about him be said 
 to possess a kind of wisdom. In ' Don 
 Quixote," we see straight-forwardness uni- 
 ted with hallucinations ; and it is interest- 
 ine to reflect how that one good quality-- 
 the good faith, simplicity, and thorough 
 honesty of the poor hidalgo— makes him 
 1 respectable amid all his absurdities. Gen- 
 
 
 V^' 
 
 <* 
 
 t'f 
 
 ! < f<^ ' r»i<» ' im 
 

 '.':!»' 
 
 t' If 
 
 I 
 
 * li 
 
 
 
 •it*. 
 
 518 
 
 BENJAMIN WEST. 
 
 erally, however, the straightforward man 
 is no fool, but one in whom all the ele- 
 ments are well combined, with a keen eye, 
 a ('l<;ar head, a good heart, a passionate 
 love of truth, and an unfaltering determi- 
 nation t(» pursue it. 
 
 We trust, as the world gets older, up- 
 right and straightforward men will in- 
 crease among us, and downright men be- 
 come more scarce. The first (jualities are 
 unquestionably virtuous ; but the la$ is 
 at the best an unpleasant chancteristic. 
 Downright men do not see things quito in 
 their true light. They are oddities in our 
 social scene. The soft words which they 
 deprecate, and which they never will con- 
 sent to use, what are they but the result 
 of an improved civilization ? In a ruder 
 age, when bad actions were more frequent 
 and of a grosser nature than now. it would 
 have been cowardice and baseness in any 
 who could see the evil to speak of it mild- 
 ly. But now, when a tolerably equal 
 standard of good conduct exists in all 
 classes aiming at being called respecta- 
 ble, and when a vast tribunal instantly 
 condemns any occasional aberration, soft- 
 er terms are sufficient ; and merely to ex- 
 press surprise at any little delinquency, 
 conveys, in these days, a severer reproof 
 than would have been borne two hundred 
 years ago by a violent public declamation. 
 
 BENJAMIN WEST. 
 
 HE life of Benjamin 
 West — the distin 
 guished American 
 painter — affords one 
 of those striking il- 
 lustrations of the tri- 
 umphs of genius over 
 the circumstances of 
 birth, education, so- 
 cial condition, and the prejudices of cus- 
 tom, which are presented in such bold re- 
 lief upon almost every page of human his- 
 tory. His birth was within the interior 
 of our then new and sparsely-settled coun- 
 try, where the intercourse between the 
 few cities of the Atlantic coast was ex- 
 
 ceedingly infrequent, and where few in- 
 centives existed, except the beauties of 
 natural scenery, to develop and foster a 
 taste and genius for the practice of any of 
 the fine arts. His education was of that 
 practical and utile kind so common and so 
 commendabli- among the excellent sect (the 
 quakers) to "hich his family belonged ; 
 and aside from the substantial features 
 which it impressed upon his intellect, it 
 was but little calculated to give wings to 
 imagination, or encourage its flight into 
 the apparently unreal domains of the pic- 
 torial art. The social condition of h\» 
 early years afforded to him none of liiose 
 stimuli to the pursuit in which he after- 
 ward became so pre-eminent, which then 
 as now propel (if we may be allowed the 
 expression) the youth of Europe forward 
 in the pathof excellence in the arts of de- 
 sign, surrounded as they then were and 
 still are by all the beauties and wonders 
 of ancient and modern art. A few badly- 
 executed prints, such as picture-dealers 
 are wont to display in prominent places 
 because of their gaudy colors, lo attract 
 the vulgar eye, was the extent to which 
 young West had been permitted to study 
 the fine arts, when he first took up liie 
 pencil and made his initial step toward 
 the temple of fame. And he had preju- 
 dices also of the most formidable kind to 
 overcome : at home, the prejudices of his 
 peculiar sect against a pursuit that seemed 
 to foster a vain spirit, and a love for orna- 
 ment, and worldly-mindedness — a pursuit 
 that seemed to them unnecessary to the 
 welfare of men, and hence measurably sin- 
 ful. And when finally these home preju- 
 dices were overcome, and he was permit- 
 led to go abroad, the prejudices of Euro- 
 pean society were arrayed against Ameri- 
 cans. To many, America was a terra 
 incognito ; and a learned cardinal, to whom 
 young West was introduced in Rome, was 
 astonished to find him white, believing all 
 Americans were Indians ! And when his 
 superior genius had broken down these 
 prejudices in Italy, and he had fortified 
 himself for coming labors by a zealous 
 study of all that he saw in Rome, Flor- 
 ence, and other depositories of ancient art, 
 and he boldly wended his way to England, 
 he was then obliged to encounter a preju- 
 dice of triple force — prejudice against his 
 
il where few in- 
 
 the beauties of 
 'lop and foster a 
 practice o( any of 
 alien was of that 
 3 common and so 
 Jxcellent sect(ihe 
 "amily belonged ; 
 hstantial features 
 1 his intellect, it 
 to give wings to 
 le its flight into 
 Tiains of the pic- 
 condition of his 
 im none of those 
 
 which ho after- 
 nent, which then 
 y be allowed the 
 
 Europe forward 
 in the arts of de- 
 r then were and 
 ties and wonders 
 t. A few badly- 
 s picture-dealers 
 )rominent places 
 colors, to attract 
 
 extent to which 
 !rmitted to study 
 first took up the 
 lial step toward 
 id he had preju- 
 irmidable kind to 
 prejudices of his 
 rsuitthat seemed 
 I a love for orna- 
 dness — a pursuit 
 lecessary to the 
 ! measurably sin- 
 lese home preju- 
 l he was permit- 
 judices of Euro- 
 \ against Ameri- 
 ca was a terra 
 ardinal, to whom 
 ed in Rome, was 
 ite, believing all 
 ! And when his 
 ken down these 
 he had fortitied 
 rs by a zealous 
 
 in Rome, Flor- 
 es of ancient art, 
 way to England, 
 counter a preju- 
 idice against his 
 
 M 
 
»3 -I :»' 
 
 -J. 
 
 hi 
 
 ^ 'i'ff<\ 
 
 
 520 
 
 AFFECTATION— I'OMPKII AND UKllCUI-ANKUM. 
 
 I 
 
 country, his aect, and the peculiar path 
 wliich lie marked out lor hinis(!ir in tlic 
 j)ur.suit of his vocation. But his superior 
 genius, aided by indomitable perseverance, 
 soon conc|U(!re(l them all, and won for him 
 the crown of universal esteem. Like An- 
 gelo, he was not content to follow a beaten 
 track in the mediocre departments of his 
 j)rofessiori, where doubtless immediate pe- 
 cuniary reward was far more certain ; but 
 he turned his face toward the far-off goal 
 of supreme excellence, and grappled at 
 once and vigorously with the difliculties 
 and duties that beset and devolve upon the 
 laborer in the higher departments of the 
 arts. He turned to the volume of Holy 
 Inspiration, and delved deep into the mines 
 of classic lore, for his subjects ; and for 
 thirty years, under the fostering encour- 
 agement of George HI., he transferred to 
 cunvass portraitures of the most remarka- 
 ble events in the history of our race, with 
 a rapidity and beauty, boldness of concep- 
 tion, and truthfulness of execution, never 
 before witnessed since the days of Buonar- 
 roti. And finally, when old age dimmed 
 his eye and palsied his hand, and he qui- 
 etly and peacefully left his easel and un- 
 dressed for the grave, the tears of a nation 
 bespoke its love, and his pall was borne 
 by nobles and academicians. Such is the 
 triumph of genius over all that the world 
 calls great and powerful ; and by its moral 
 Ibrce the child of poverty and even of so- 
 cial wretchedness is irresistibly borne for- 
 w ard to the high places of human grandeur. 
 In view of this fact, let no one faint by the 
 way. Hope on, labor on ; let your motto 
 be, '• Never give up" — and the prize will 
 assuredly be won. 
 
 So well known are all the details of the 
 life of Benjamin West, that we deem it 
 unnecessary to repeat them here ; and we 
 have peinied the foregoing remarks chiefly 
 lor the puri)ose of introducing a graphic 
 picture of the family of West, from a paint- 
 ing by himself. 
 
 Affectation. — Affectation in any part 
 of our carriage, is lighting up a candle to 
 our defect, and never fails to make us be 
 taken notice of, either as wanting sense 
 or as wanting sincerity. 
 
 POMI'KII AND IlERCrL.\NEi:.M. 
 
 RAIIAVAY tar- 
 ried IIS Ironi Na- 
 ples to Aniiiiiici- 
 ata, a smtiil lovvn 
 about two miles 
 from I'oinpcii. — 
 Here we eiicdiin- 
 tered a inoilcy 
 throng of hack- 
 men, who were as bland as zejdiyrs tow- 
 ard us, but would turn upon each tiilnr 
 with the deep hoarse growl* of a tempest, 
 which we soon lulled to repose by mimni- 
 ing the coach which chanced to bo near- 
 est. The instant we were seated, our 
 char^teer cracked his whip and wont off 
 at full gallop, singing at the top of his 
 voice one of the wild, sweet. Anacreontic 
 airs of his country, with a spontaneity of 
 soul which assured us that the man had 
 never known an anxious hour or a trou- 
 bled thought.! We approached the disin- 
 terred city through an avenue of tombs 
 rising above the road on either side. On 
 approaching the gate, the first object to be 
 noticed is an inn, such as country people 
 still, in all the world, know well how to 
 use, in order to lessen the expense of a 
 visit to the city. At each side of the gate 
 are sentry-boxes. Passing within, we 
 found ourselves in one of the principal 
 streets of the city. The houses are g(!n- 
 erally but one story high ; the roofs have 
 quite disappeared, crushed beneath the 
 weight of the volcanic ashes ; but the 
 walls stand perfectly firm. The streets 
 are very narrow, and the pavement, com- 
 posed of pieces of lava, is deeply indented 
 by the wheels of Pompeian carriujjcs. 
 Many of the houses are built of lava, the 
 fiery stream of some ancient eruption, long 
 before the brief records of man began to 
 note the awful voice and action of Vesu- 
 vius ! Pompeii was destroyed, not by la- 
 va, but by ashes — which accounts for the 
 admirable preservation of the objects found 
 
 * Enquisitely soft and tcndor nn in the Italian lar- 
 guago, itt Jc(;() guttural 8(;::!:(;.'i are adapted to tho 
 most Ibrncious uivectivu ; and it is said to abound more 
 than any utiicr language in dispaniging upitlitts. I 
 nover liuvc heard such scolding in iiny other language. 
 
 t This follow may be taken as a typo of the people 
 of this country, who in the enjoyment of the present 
 boar regard neither the past nor the future. 
 
1 
 
 ICULANEL'M. 
 
 RAHAVAYtJir- 
 
 ried iis (ntin Nu- 
 j)l«'s to Aiimiiici- 
 ata. it Htiiull Idwn 
 ahoiit two miles 
 from I'ompcii. — 
 Mere wv rncoim- 
 lertid a moth'V 
 tliroiijT of liiick- 
 as Zephyrs low- 
 upon fucli (iilii r 
 iwl* of al(!iii[)('.st, 
 repose by moimi- 
 nced to be iiear- 
 vere seated, oiir 
 hip and wtMit oil' 
 t the top of his 
 .feet, Anacreontic 
 a spontaneity of 
 lat tho man liad 
 i hour or a irou- 
 oached the disin- 
 ivenue of tombs 
 either side. On 
 first object to be 
 s country people 
 low well how to 
 he expense of a 
 h side of the gate 
 ling within, we 
 of the principal 
 houses arc geri- 
 ; the roofs have 
 led benciilh the 
 ashes ; but the 
 m. The streets 
 pavement, com- 
 i deeply indented 
 peian carriajies. 
 built of lava, the 
 mt eruption, long 
 jf man began to 
 action of V'esu- 
 royed.not by la- 
 accounts for the 
 the objects found 
 
 ha h the Itnlinn lar- 
 i are adapted to tlio 
 i naid lo abound more 
 larugiug cpitlitts. I 
 I unj' other lauyuago. 
 1 a typo of tho people 
 ^ment of the present 
 the future. 
 
 POMPEII AND HERCULANEUM. 
 
 0-21 
 
 there. Tho calamity was not so sudden, 
 but tha. most of tho inhabitants were able 
 to save themselves by flight : henco very 
 few himian skeletons have been found. 
 From tho absence in many of the houses 
 of things which must have been in them 
 at the moment of the disaster, it is sup- 
 posed that the people seized on what was 
 most precious and carried it with them ; 
 or perhaps returned after the work of ruin 
 was done and recovered what they could 
 by excavation. The ashy tempest which 
 buried this fair city raged for more than a 
 ^veek — swept quite across the Mediterra- 
 nean, and left traces of itself on the dis- 
 tant shores of Egypt. Naples is just tho 
 same distance from the volcanic crater as 
 Pompeii, and by a slight variation of cir- 
 cumstances might have been the buried 
 city. Pompeii was once — perhaps at tlie 
 time of the fatal eruption — on the sea, and 
 its wharves were laved by the river Sar- 
 nus. 'J'he sea has long since retired to 
 tho distance of three fourths of a mile, and 
 the river has shrunk to a mere rivulet. 
 After lying beneath ashes and cinders for 
 sixteen hundred and seventy-six years, in- 
 dications of ils site were accidentally dis- 
 covered. The excavations were begun in 
 1755. As yet, but one third of the city 
 has been disinterred ; but this has reveal- 
 ed to us objects of the deepest interest — 
 including eighty houses, an immense num- 
 ber of small shops, the public baths, two 
 theatres, two halls of justice called basili- 
 cas, eight temples, the prison, the amphi- 
 theatre, and other public edifices, besides 
 a great number of fountains and tombs. 
 
 As you pass these silent and desolate 
 streets, you are curious to learn all that is 
 known of each house. You have your 
 book and your map in your hand, and 
 your guide at your side prepared to sup- 
 ply every deficiency by a ready memory, 
 or by a readier invention. We are now 
 in the street which leads from the gate, 
 at which we entered, to the forum. On 
 our left is a shop where drinks were sold ; 
 it has a marble counter, from which the 
 passers-by could take their refreshment 
 without going within. I fear they were 
 in the habit of drinking hot punch in those 
 days ; for the circular prints of the hot 
 glasses or other vessels are still distinctly 
 visible on the smooth marble. On the 
 
 right stands tho house of a musician — on 
 tho left, again, a house which belonged to 
 tho vestals. Then comes the custom- 
 house, the houio of a surgeon, in whit-h 
 were found tho instruments already de- 
 scribed. In what I might call grocers' 
 shops, the large earthern jars which con- 
 tained wine, oil, and other articles, are 
 still arranged around tho wall. They were 
 not moveable, their contents being dipped 
 up by ladles of which the museum at Na- 
 plos contains a great many specimens. A 
 baker's shop arrested my attention. The 
 front portion upon the street contained the 
 articles made ready for use. Hehind this 
 was the mill for grinding the grain, in the 
 form of a coffee-mill — consisting of a solid 
 cone of very hard lava, fitted to a hollow 
 cone of the same material ; slill further in 
 the rear are the ovens : so that i!»e whole 
 establishment is quite comprehensive. 
 
 The general plan of tho houses is that 
 of a quadrangle, built round an open court. 
 Nearly all the rooms open into this court, 
 at the centre of which is a marble fount- 
 ain or cistern of water, and their only light 
 is derived from the doors. From the small 
 size of the apartments, it is supposed that 
 hospitality could not have been one of tho 
 virtues of the Pompeians. They probably, 
 as the inhabitants of those countries still 
 do to a great extent, spent much of their 
 time in the forum, in the public baths, at 
 the theatres, or at the amphitheatre : here 
 thoy saw everybody, conversed with ev- 
 erybody, and had therefore little motive 
 for social entertainments at their own 
 houses. 
 
 The baths of Pompeii are both spacious 
 and splendid. They are divided into three 
 separate apartments .%the first for servants 
 and for fires, the second for '.he use of the 
 women, and the third for the men. All 
 these apartments are beautifully adorned 
 with frescoes, and with figures wrought in 
 stucco, both on the ceilings and on tho 
 walls. Tho basin for cold water is twelve 
 feet and ten inches in diameter, and is 
 lined throughout with white marble. A 
 bronze window-frame was found in one 
 of these baths, containing four beauiil'ul 
 panes of glass, which prove that this ele- 
 gant comfort was not unknown to the Pom- 
 peians. Nor is this the only evidence of 
 their skill in this kind of manufacture : for 
 
 4 
 
 I 
 
 / 
 
 \ 
 
1 ^ 
 
 III 
 
 ^\4 
 
 i ■•' 
 
 
 522 
 
 THE BUBROVVINGOWL AND PaXIHIEDOa. 
 
 ■I.*. 
 
 a largfi number of vases, boUlos, and glas- 
 ses of very elegant patioriis and beautiful 
 material, have been brought to light. 
 Some ideauf the extent and magnificence 
 of these baths may be formed from the 
 fact that one thousand lamps were found 
 here. Imagine these magnificent apart- 
 ments with their bronzes, their marble 
 statues, their reliovoes, all radiant with 
 the light of a thousand lamps, and throng- 
 ed with a gay and graceful people, in easy 
 llowing costume, brisulhing the balmiest 
 air that was over breathed without the 
 gates of paradise — and you have a picture 
 of one scene in Pompeian life. 
 
 The fact that most of the inhabitants of 
 this unfortunate city were allowed to 
 make tlieir escape from impending ruin, 
 induces us to sympathize all the more ten- 
 derly with those ill-fated victims who per- 
 ished. I have elsewhere alluded to the 
 skeleton of Diomede, found in his splendid 
 villa without the gate ; a still more touch- 
 ing memorial found in the same villa, is 
 believed to bo the remains of the mistress 
 of the house and her infant child. The 
 wet ashes had enveloped the mother with 
 tile child locked in her arms. There was 
 found every feature and limb of both, ex- 
 quisitely rounded. Even the linen which 
 had enveloped her young and beautiful 
 form was found adhering to the mould, 
 liut nothing of that fair form remained ex- 
 cept the skeleton mother clasping her 
 skeleton child — a gold chain about her 
 neck, and gold rings on her bony fingers ! 
 In the prison were found two skeletons 
 with their bones still held by the shackles 
 either of justice or tyranny ! In a niche 
 nearer the forum were found the remains 
 of a soldier, his skeleton hand still grasp- 
 ing a lance ! 
 
 I could not content myself with a single 
 visit, but returned to spend a second day 
 among these unique and deeply interesting 
 ruins The excavations were then going 
 forward, and I had the pleasure of seeing 
 the walls of a house laid bare, which had 
 been hid from the light of day for eighteen 
 hundred yeais. The frescoes on these 
 walls were as bright as if the pencil had 
 traced them' but yesterday ! The excava- 
 tions are oqndticted .by the government, 
 and the premises^ ft'e guarded night and 
 day against depredations. Visiters are 
 
 always attended by guides authorized by 
 the government. 
 
 To explore Kerculaneum* is a more 
 difllcult enterprise. It was buried beneath 
 solid lava, or if beneath loose ashes and 
 mud, these materials have consolidated 
 into a gray rock, which makes excavation 
 a slow and costly work. Neverlheii ss, a 
 magnificent theatre, two temples, a porti- 
 co, and several private houses, were ex- 
 cavated, hut all except the theatre have 
 been filled up, and the work is not now in 
 progress. We descended into the theatre, 
 and wandorod through its d itk spacious 
 caverns — formed by excavaion, for it was 
 as completely filled with so id rock as a 
 lould with molten lead. Many interest- 
 ing and boauliful works of art were found 
 here. The depth of our descent was be- 
 tween seventy and eighty feet below the 
 surface of the rock. The modern town 
 of I'ortici is built over the buried city ; 
 and while exploring the theatre, we could 
 hear carriages rumbling along tho street 
 over our heads. 
 
 THE BUMOWING-OWLAND PRAIRIE- 
 DOG. 
 
 ^ENERABLE ruins — 
 ^ crumbling under the in- 
 fluence of time and vi- 
 cissitudes of season — 
 are habitually associated 
 with our recollections of 
 the owl ; or ho is con- 
 sidered as th» tenant of 
 sombre forests, whose 
 nocturnal gloom is rendered deeper and 
 more awful by the harsh dissonance of Lis 
 voice. In poetry he has long been re- 
 garded as the appropriate concomitant o/ 
 darkness and horror. But we are now to 
 make the reader acquainted with an owl 
 to which none of these associations can 
 belong ; a bird that, so far from seeking 
 refugt in th'- ruined habitations of man, 
 fixes its residence within the earth ; and 
 instead of concealing itself in solitary re- 
 cesses of the forest, delights to dwell on 
 
 * Accidentally discovered in 1726, in digging a 
 well. 
 
 •^■m^ 
 
 ^.'^tv -jimvi f vf ssx.jffia^^fsss^jiiifr^vm'^f^^ 
 

 m 
 
 open plaint, in company with animaU in- 
 markable for ih^tr social dispotition, neat- 
 neiR, and order. 1 nstcad of aailing hiiavi- 
 ly forth in the obacurily o( the evening or 
 morning twilight, and then retreating to 
 mope away the intervening hours, our owl 
 enjoys the broadest glare of the noontide 
 sun, and flying rapidly along, searches for 
 food or pltjaiture during the cheerful light 
 of day. 
 
 Tlio burrowing-owl resi U'n exclusively 
 .4 the villages of the marmui or prairie- 
 dog, \\ nose excavations are so commodi- 
 ous au to render it unnecessary that our 
 I ird should dig for himself, aM no is said 
 tu do in other parts of the world, where no 
 burrowing animals exist. These villages 
 are very numerous, and variable in their 
 extent, sometimes covering only a few 
 acres, and at others spreading over the sur- 
 face of the country for miles together. 
 They are composed of slightly-elevated 
 mound'd, having the form of a truncated 
 cone, about two feet in width at base, and 
 seldom rising as high as eighteen inches 
 above the surface of the soil. The en- 
 trance is placed either at the top or on the 
 side, and the whole mound is beaten down 
 externally, especially at the summit, re- 
 sembling a much-used footpath. 
 
 From the entrance the passage into the 
 mound descends vertically for one or two 
 feet, and is thence continued obliquely 
 downward, until it terminates in an apart- 
 ment, within which the industrious marmot 
 constructs, on the approach of the cold 
 season, the comfortable cell for his win- 
 ter's sleep. This cell, which is composed 
 of fine dry grass, is globular in form, with 
 an opening at top capable of admitting the 
 finger ; and the whole is so firmly com- 
 pacted, that it might, without injury, be 
 rolled over the floor. 
 
 It is delightful, during fine weather, to 
 see these lively little creatures sporting 
 about the entrance of their burrows, which 
 are always kept in the neatest repair, and 
 are often inhabited by several individuals. 
 When alarmed, they immediately take ref- 
 uge in their subterranean chambers ; or, if 
 the dreaded danger be not immediately 
 impending, they stand near the brink of 
 the entrance, bravely barking and flourish- 
 ing their tails, or else sit erect to recon- 
 noitre the movements of the enemy. 
 
 In all the prairie-dog villages the bur- 
 rowing-owl is seen moving briskly about, 
 or else in small flocks scattered among 
 the mounds, and at a distance it may be 
 mistaken fur the marmot itself when sit- 
 ting erect. They manifest but little timidi- 
 ty, and allow themselves to be approached 
 auflicicntly close for shooting ; — but if 
 alarmed, tiome or all of them soar away 
 and settle down again at a short distance ; 
 if further disturbed, their flight is contin- 
 ued until they are no longer in view, or 
 they descend into their dwellings, whence 
 they are diflicult to dislodge. 
 
 The burruws into which those owl^ 
 have been seen to descend, on the plains 
 of the river Platte, where they are most 
 numerous, were evidently excavated by 
 the marmot, whence it has been inferred 
 that they were eilh>u common, though un- 
 friendly residents of the same habitation, 
 or that our owl wat he sole occupant of 
 a burrow acquired ay the ri^ht of con- 
 quest. 
 
 The evidence of this was clearly present- 
 ed by the ruinous condition of the burruws 
 tenanted by the owl, which were frequent- 
 ly caved in, and their sides channelled by 
 the rains, while the neat and well-preserv- 
 ed mansion of the marmot showed the ac- 
 tive care of a skilful and industrious own- 
 er. We have no evidence that the owl 
 and marmot habitually resort to ono bur- 
 row ; yet we are assured that a common 
 danger often drives them into the same ex- 
 cavation, where lizards and rattlesnakes 
 also enter for concealment and uafety. 
 The owl digs itself a burrow two ieet in 
 depth, at the bottom of which its eggs are 
 deposited on a bed of moss, herb-stalks, 
 and dried roots. 
 
 The note of our bird is strikingly simi- 
 lar to the cry of the marmot, which Hounds 
 like cheh, cheh, pronounced several times 
 in rapid succession ; and were it not that 
 the burrowirig-owls of the West Indies — 
 where no marmots exist — utter the same 
 sound, it might be inferred that the mar- 
 mot was the unintentional tutor to the 
 young owl : this cry is only uttered as the 
 bird begins its flight. The food of the 
 bird we are describing appears to consist 
 entirely of insects, as, on examination of 
 its stomach, nothing but parts of their hard 
 wing-cases were found. 
 
 1.1 
 
ng villages tli« bur- 
 Dving brinkly iibout, 
 (s ncattnrod among 
 (lisiance it may bo 
 fiiot itsuir whon ait- 
 ifest but litilo timidi- 
 fls to be approached 
 
 shooting ; — but if 
 of them soar away 
 at a short distance ; 
 leir flight is coiitin- 
 
 longer in view, or 
 r dwoliings, whunce 
 ■lodge. 
 
 which these owl" 
 cend, on tlie plains 
 here they are nioit 
 9ntiy excavated by 
 t has been inferred 
 common, though un- 
 the same habitation, 
 he sole occupant of 
 r the ri>;ht of con- 
 was clearly present- 
 lition of the burrows 
 rhich wore frequent- 
 sides channtiUed by 
 at and well-prcserv- 
 mut showed the ac- 
 nd industrious own- 
 idence that the owl 
 r resort to on«« bur- 
 ired that a common 
 III into the suiuu ex- 
 ia and rattleiiuakcs 
 ilment and safety, 
 burrow two feet in 
 ' which its eggs are 
 r moss, herb-stalks, 
 
 1 is strikingly simi- 
 irmot, which rounds 
 need several times 
 ind were it not that 
 the West Indies — 
 at — utter the same 
 erred that the mar- 
 itional tutor to the 
 I only uttered as the 
 The food of the 
 y appears to consist 
 , on examination of 
 It parts of their hard 
 1. 
 
 uurteli " 
 she thin ; 
 
 .iji alto- 
 
 "CROSS FOLKS." 
 
 T is not an uncommon 
 thing to have it whis- 
 pered through thi<t or 
 that neighborhood, that 
 •uch a man is " cross in 
 his family." No one 
 knows just how it is ex- 
 actly. Gentlemanly in 
 hit address, polished in 
 manners, constitutionally full of good feel- 
 ings, and from principle benevolent, yet he 
 cross." Some of his friends say he 
 is, his servants will swear to it, some- 
 thing of an irritable temperament shows 
 itself now and then elsewhere, and the 
 man is set down " cross." We ha"e some- 
 times, in moments when we ': ni iu> '.;ing 
 else to do, speculated a lit h V{mn i-. is 
 matter ; and we have as: ed 
 whether it were not possibl -. it 
 were looked to, to show how .' 
 that the poor man is suffering, 
 gctlier unjustly, yet where ihere are very 
 great palliatives for his conduct. We have 
 said to ourselves, " What if it should ap- 
 pear, on examination, that the man is nat- 
 urally one of the kindest and most gener- 
 ous men in the world ; that he bore this 
 character in boyhood, through youth, and 
 in incipient manhood ; that he had the 
 quickest sensibility, a mind ever open to 
 see beauty everywhere about him, and a 
 heart to feel it — and he walks amid the 
 beautiful things of the earth ono of those 
 who find even amid inanimate creation ob- 
 jects of truth and wonder, and hear les- 
 sons of purity and peace ; but for the last 
 few years of his life, subtle disease has 
 been preying upon and undermining a nat- 
 urally sturdy constitution, " playing the 
 deuce" with that moat complicated of all 
 things, the nervous system, and through 
 that nervous system thus preying upon that 
 naturally most delicate mind and heart, pre- 
 paring him exactly to feel most, and in a 
 painful way, all the li' le annoyances of 
 daily life. And now ^^uppose in addition 
 to all this, he is one still confined to busi- 
 ness ; and to make the case stil! more stri- 
 king, suppose his occupation a daily tax 
 on the brain, either in a profession, or, 
 what is perhaps worse, in the uncomfort- 
 
 able elevation of a daily caterer for other 
 men's nmidlen, in the shape of author or 
 editor, and where, if the thing exists any- 
 where, ho must not he distiirhod by thoH'n 
 thousand nettles that an all-wise i'rovi- 
 dence h is scattered along the little by- 
 paths of private life ; and for whom things 
 must be arranged at home, if ihoy must for 
 any ono, in such a way as that the mind 
 shall he kopt equable and the heart undis- 
 turbed. 
 
 Uvit now let us suppose that from some 
 cause or other— we will not say what — 
 there is that in his family exactly calru- 
 lated to nettle and disturb this same nerv- 
 ous and diseased mind. Suppose him 
 ptxirj and yet his expense is large ; inde- 
 pendent in fooling, but dependent by no 
 cessity; fond of order in the household, 
 but yet has a sick companion ; perfect in 
 heart and spirit, but yet physically inca- 
 pable of securing this; overwhelmed with 
 visiters, whose tastes and habits are no 
 more like his than chalk to Dutch cheese, 
 or visited by poor relations, who, true to 
 the natiire of the case, must have all no- 
 tice, and thank you for nothing : now sup- 
 pose all this, or forty other tilings we might 
 easily sum up if we had time, were by 
 some combination to meet in the circum- 
 stances ot this same individual — the very 
 things to make him cross — and where is 
 the man, woman, or child, who would not 
 look with a little more compassion on this 
 "cross man in his family," or perhaps 
 judge with a little softer judgment on his 
 weakness and deficiencies ? Now let it 
 not be supposed we apologize for sin in 
 any shape, or for any of the little deformi- 
 ties of social life. All wrong is blameable. 
 Yet is there not that, often out of tlie way 
 of the world's eyes, in the conditions of 
 men, which brings down our harsh judg- 
 ments on them like thunderbolts, when 
 they ought rather to full in the shape of 
 the dews of heavenly forgiveness— and 
 which would, if we look for it, rather in- 
 spire with feelings of benevolence, yes, 
 even love, where possibly wo have only 
 indulged in those of distrust and resent- 
 ment 1 It will not hurt us, just to think 
 of this : and as we are among those who 
 are trying to think for the good as well as 
 amusement of our readers, we have picked 
 these few truths passing along this 
 
 i 
 
 k 
 i 
 
 ■a. 
 
 up 
 
M ,. , 
 
 w 
 
 ■t- 
 
 m 
 
 52b 
 
 THE PORPOISE. 
 
 morning to our office, and we scratch them 
 down " for the benefit of all those whom 
 it may concern." 
 
 THE PORPOISE. 
 
 HE cetacea (an order 
 of mammalia compri- 
 sing the whale, the 
 grampus, the por- 
 poise, &c.) were for- 
 merly classed with 
 fishes, and in comnion 
 language still bear 
 that ill-applied title. 
 Hence we read of the " whale-fishery" and 
 of the number of ''fish" taken upon any 
 occasion. The cetacea are not "fish" in 
 any sense of the word. They breathe the 
 atmospheric air by means of lungs ; their 
 heart consists of two auricles and two ven- 
 tricles ; their blood is warm ; they bring 
 forth living young, and manifest toward 
 them great attachment, nursing and pro- 
 tecting them with remarkable assiduity. 
 As it respects the general form of their 
 body and the construction of their limbs, 
 the cetacea differ considerably from all ter- 
 restrial mammalia ; and the reason is evi- 
 dent — their exclusive destination to aquat- 
 ic habits. Terrestrial mammalia are cov- 
 ered with hair, wool, spines, scales, or 
 plates of mail : in the cetacea, we find the 
 skin naked and smooth — a circumstance 
 in strict harmony with their structure and 
 habits. In its general outli.ie, the body 
 has considerable resemblance to that of a 
 fish, being of an oblong form, and termi- 
 nating in a thick, muscular tail, furnished 
 Et the extremity with a horizontal cartila- 
 ginous paddle. There are no posterior 
 limbs, and the anterior are modified into 
 the form of short broad oars, which they 
 resemble also in their use. But the great 
 muscular force iesides in the tail ; its ac- 
 tion is not, however, from side to side, as 
 we see in the fish, but up and down, and 
 the reason of ^'us arrangement is very evi- 
 dent : the cetacea breathe air, and ere 
 obliged to inspire evfry few minutes — 
 hence, plunging as litey do into great 
 
 depths, they are enabled to raise them- 
 selves by a succession of vigorous strokes 
 with great rapidity to the surface. What 
 is termed " blowing" by the whale-fishers 
 is nothing more than the forcible expira- 
 tion of the breath before the animal has 
 reached the surface. Having retained his 
 breath as long as possible, as he ascends 
 ho begins to force out, through his nos- 
 trils, the pent-up air, which throws aloft 
 the water in a jet or column. The jwsi- 
 tion of the nostrils in the cetacea is well 
 worthy of consideration. Of little use as 
 olfactory organs, they are the exclusive 
 apertures through which the process of 
 breathing takes place. In other mamma- 
 lia, the nostrils are placed at the extremi- 
 ty of the muzzle, but in the cetacea the 
 muzzle or snout is always immersed be- 
 neath the surface, and can not well be ele- 
 vated. Where, then, can these organs be 
 conveniently situated? On that part which, 
 as the animal floats, rises naturally above 
 the surface. They open on the top of the 
 head, and lead, in the whales, into a large 
 sack, where the air, before being expired, 
 is pent up, and whence it is violently ex- 
 pelled by the compression of powerful 
 muscles. 'I'he larynx or windpipe is pro- 
 longed into the posterior nares, or back of 
 the nostrils, in the form of a cone, so that 
 the air is immediately conducted to the 
 lungs through an uninterrupted channel. 
 As it regards the organs of sight and hear- 
 ing, we may observe that, as in fish, the 
 eye is adapted to the density of the sur- 
 rounding medium, the cornea being flat, 
 and the crystalline lens globular. The 
 external aperture of the ear is very small, 
 and capable of being closed. 
 
 There are two other points, of especial 
 interest, which we can not pass over, gen- 
 eral as we intend our remarks to be : we 
 allude to the deposition of a layer of oil or 
 blubber between the skin and muscles, and 
 to the construction of the vertebrae of the 
 neck. There are several uses connected 
 with the mode of life of the cetacea which 
 the layer of blubber oetween the skin and 
 muscles appears to serve. In the first 
 place, it tends to render their specific grav- 
 ity lighter, a circumstance of some impor- 
 tance when we consider the immense mass 
 of muscle and bone of which these ani- 
 mals are compacted. It is, however, in the 
 
 J ^ M. ■ 
 
tabled to raise them- 
 on of vigorous strokes 
 
 the surface. What 
 " by the whale-fishers 
 n the forcible expira- 
 3efore the animal has 
 
 Having retained his 
 >3sible, as he ascends 
 out, through his nos- 
 r, which throws aloft 
 r column. The posi- 
 in the cetacea is well 
 tion. Of little use as 
 ley are the exclusive 
 which the process of 
 ;e. In other mamma- 
 placed at the extremi- 
 ut in the cetacea the 
 always immersed be- 
 nd can not well be ele- 
 ™, can these organs be 
 d? On that part which, 
 , rises naturally above 
 open on the top of the 
 le whales, into a large 
 , before being expired, 
 mce it is violently ex- 
 ipression of powerful 
 rnx or windpipe is pro- 
 erior nares, or back of 
 form of a cone, so that 
 tely conducted to the 
 ininterruptcd channel, 
 gans of sight and hear- 
 ve that, aa in fish, the 
 ;he density of the sur- 
 the cornea being flat, 
 
 1 lens globular. The 
 f the ear is very small, 
 ig closed. 
 
 ther points, of especial 
 can not pass over, gen- 
 lur remarks to be : we 
 ition of a layer of oil or 
 3 skin and muscles, and 
 of the vertebra! of the 
 several uses connected 
 "e of the cetacea. which 
 : oetween the skin and 
 o serve. In the first 
 ider their specific grav- 
 nstance of some impor- 
 lider the immense mass 
 ne of which these ani- 
 1. It is, however, in the 
 
I t 
 
 f 
 
 1^1 
 
 
 - !"< 
 
 1 » 
 
 III 
 
 Is 
 
 1 "!,'!*'!•' 
 
 :v.i.,, 
 
 true whales that we find the layer of blub- 
 ber the thickest. These »re animals ex- 
 posed to the rigors of the polar circle, and 
 it would appear to be a means of preserv- 
 ing the vital hent of the body, which might 
 perhaps be otherwise unable to withstand 
 the intensity of the cold. This coating is 
 as bad a conductor of calori :; as the fur of 
 the white be?r. But the blubber has most 
 probably another use also. It is well 
 known that the whale plunges to an ama- 
 zing depth, where it has to sustain an ex- 
 traordinary pressure. Now, to prevent 
 this pressure from paralyzing ihe muscles 
 and disturbing the functions of the internal 
 organs, must be one of the ends to be kept 
 in view in the economy of this gigantic 
 animal. Such a purpose the thick lay- 
 er of blubber will well subserve, and 
 such is, no doubt, one of its appointed 
 uses. 
 
 The cetacea appear to have no neck. 
 They have no distinct interval of separa- 
 tion between the head and the trunk, yet, 
 if we examine their skeleton, we^shall find 
 that they possess the number of cervical 
 vertebrae common to all mammalia, name- 
 ly, seven. The neck of the giraffe also 
 consists of seven vertebrae. But, in the 
 one case, we find the vertebrae elongated 
 to the utmost ; in the other case the whole 
 seven are compacted closely together, and 
 so compressed as to lose the usual appear- 
 ance of such bones ; they scarcely occupy 
 the space, in length, of a single vertebra 
 of the giraffe. Hence the neck of the 
 cetaca is immoveable and solid. 
 
 The cetacea are divided into several 
 groups. Some pre herbivorous, as the du- 
 gong, feeding on the submarine vegetables 
 which grow in shallows or near shore ; 
 most, however, are carnivorous, preying 
 on the fish and other tenants of the 
 ocean. To this latter family must be re- 
 ferred the porpoise {Phocana communis, 
 Cuvikr). 
 
 The porpoise is the smallest of the ceta- 
 cea, seldom exceeding five feet in length. 
 It frequents, in troops, the bays and inlets 
 of our coast, and especially the mouths of 
 rivers, not unfrequently advancing to a con- 
 siderable distance up their stream. In 
 such places it is often taken in nets by the 
 fishermen, becoming entrapped while ea- 
 gerly pursuing its prey. When the shoals 
 
 of herring and other fish which periodi- 
 cally visit our coast make their appear- 
 ance, they are harassed, among other ene- 
 mies, by this active and voracious animal, 
 which revels in the luxury of a perpetual 
 feast ; and, aa its appetite is enormous and 
 its digestion rapid, the slaughter in which 
 it appears incessantly occupied must be 
 very great. The peculiarity of their mo- 
 tion results from the horizontal position of 
 the tail paddle, and the up-and-down stroke 
 which it gives ; and their momentary ap- 
 pearance is for the purpose of breathing, 
 which accomplished, they plunge down in 
 search of their food. In former days, the 
 flesh of the porpoise was highly esteemed 
 as a delicacy for the table, and was served 
 at public feasts ; indeed, it is but lately 
 that it has fallen into disrepute : the turtle 
 usurps its place. Our forefathers must 
 have had a different notion about table del- 
 icacies from ourselves ; for few, we be- 
 lieve, would now relish the rank, oily, 
 fishy flesh of this animal. 
 
 THE BOTTLE TIT AND NEST. 
 
 OW delightful it 
 is, on a fine sum- 
 mer's day, when 
 Nature, clad in 
 her gayest robes, 
 inspires us with 
 a joyous and hap- 
 py feeling, the re- 
 flex of the smile 
 which beams over her own face, to watch 
 her manifold operations, and remark the 
 beauty and discrimination of her proceed- 
 ings ! Whatever may be the object to be 
 attained, how simply, but how eflectually, 
 does she proceed to its accomplishment ! 
 Behold the delicate downy appendage to 
 the seed of the dandelion (Leonlodon Ta- 
 raxacum) ! What a beautiful contrivance 
 for their transportation, and how effectu- 
 ally it provides for the object in view, the 
 propagation of the species in a distinct 
 locality ! Trace the operations of the in- 
 sects buzzing and humming around you, 
 and you will find in each something of 
 
fish which period)- 
 nalie tlu'ir appear- 
 1, among other eiie- 
 1 voracious anima!, 
 Kury of a perpetual 
 ite is enormous and 
 slaughter in which 
 occupied must he 
 iliarity of their mo- 
 trizontal position of 
 up-and-down stroke 
 leir momentary ap- 
 rpose of breathing, 
 ley plunge down in 
 In former days, the 
 as highly esteemed 
 ble,and was served 
 ed, it is but lately 
 isrepute : the turtle 
 r forefathers must 
 lion about table del- 
 I ; for few, we be- 
 sh the rank, oily, 
 
 Ml. 
 
 T AND NEST. 
 
 ' OW delightful it 
 ' is, on a fine suin- 
 , Bier's day, when 
 "^Nature, clad in 
 ^ her gayest robes, 
 ^ inspires us with 
 ^^ a joyous and hap- 
 '^ pyfeoling.the re- 
 flex of the smile 
 own face, to watch 
 18, and remark the 
 ion of her proceed- 
 be the object to be 
 )ut bow efleclually, 
 Is accomplishment ! 
 owny appendage to 
 ion (Leontodon Ta- 
 eautiful contrivance 
 1, and how eflfoctu- 
 object in view, the 
 tecies in a distinct 
 >perations of the in- 
 inming around you, 
 each something of 
 
Il 
 
 1= -i 
 
 530 
 
 THK BOTTLE TIT AND NEST. 
 
 interest, something to be admired. Wheth- 
 er we regard the means by which they ob- 
 tain their food, the structure of their habi- 
 tations, the peculiar formations of the dif- 
 ferent species, their habits, or their pow- 
 ers, we shall find in each that perfect 
 adaptation of means to an end with which 
 all the operations of nature are carried 
 on. 
 
 But if we find ourselves so much in- 
 terested in our researches into the struc- 
 ture of plants, and the proceedings of the 
 inferior animals, how much more are our 
 feelings excited when we see the feathered 
 inhabitants of the air sporting in the beams 
 of the summer sun, their plumage spark- 
 ling, and the whole atmosphere filled with 
 their song ! We have no reason to doubt 
 that all animals are formed for enjoyment 
 and are happy in their relative situations, 
 but none appear to us so truly joyous, so 
 overflowing wi<h happiness, as the aerial 
 songsters who enliven our country walks 
 and rural villages from morn until night. 
 How gayly does the swallow glide over 
 the waters '■^ the river — now glancing 
 against the rippling stream, and then darl- 
 ing off on a different tack so swiftly as to 
 serve the poet with one of his most ap- 
 proved similes of velocity. From the first 
 dawning of the day, when the lark rises 
 into the firmament, and strains his throat 
 with his clear song, which we hear even 
 when the eye can no longer disce^-n the 
 songster, to the close of evening, we con- 
 tinually hear some one or other of the 
 sweet-voiced warblers ; and even at night 
 the poet's own bird, the nightingale, con- 
 tinually cheers the gloom. Indeed, the ap- 
 pearance of the air, full of birds, has in- 
 spired many a poet with some beautiful 
 allusion to their habits and pursuits ; and 
 our country walks have ever appeared to 
 us to afibrd their chief pleasure from the 
 universal gayety which the songs of birds 
 from all sides appear to confer on every- 
 thing around. And we have derived no 
 little amusement and instruction from our 
 researches into the habits and proceed- 
 ings of the feathered creation. No part 
 of the economy of nature is so full of the 
 curious results of instinct,almost approach- 
 ing to reason, which is exhibited in the 
 structure of the habitation provided by 
 birds for their sheher and the preservation 
 
 of their young. We have been particular- 
 ly pleased with the delicate structure and 
 peculiar form of the nest of that pretty lit- 
 tle bird the " Bottle Tit," or " Long-tailed 
 Titmouse" [Parus caudalus) ; and as we 
 have an opportunity of presenting to our 
 readers an accurate drawing, from a speci- 
 men, of the nest of this bird, we shall pro- 
 ceed to a description of it. It is known 
 by other local names, as " Jack-in-a-bot- 
 tle," " Bottle Tom," <tc. 
 
 This elegant little animal is about five 
 inches and a half in length. The bill is 
 very short, the head round, and covered 
 with rough erect feathers ; it has a very 
 long tail, whence its specific name. It is 
 of a brownish color, with black feathers 
 in the tail edged with whitq^ It is most 
 commonly found in low moist situations 
 that are covered with underwood and in- 
 terspersed with lofty oaks or elms. Its 
 nest ia generally placed in the forked 
 branch of a large tree overhanging the 
 water, and it lays from twelve to eighteen 
 white eggs, spotted with rust color at the 
 larger end, which are smaller than those 
 of any other British bird, with the excep- 
 tion of the golden-crested wren. 
 
 This bird is almost incessantly in mo- 
 tion, running up and down the branches 
 of trees in search of food, which consists 
 of the smaller species of insects, also the 
 larvae and eggs of those that deposite them 
 in the crevices of the bark. In the win- 
 ter they associate in small flocks of from 
 eight to twelve, and sometimes more, and 
 are kept together by their continual chirp- 
 ing. 
 
 Like the nest, their colors assimilate 
 so nearly with the while moss, abundant 
 on irees at that season of the year, that, 
 were it not for their note, it would be dif- 
 ficult to find them. Owing to the length 
 of tail, its flight is undulating and irregu- 
 lar, but most usually very quick, seeming 
 to pass through the air like an arrow. 
 Jesse remarks that the bill becomes hard- 
 er in the winter than in the summer, as it 
 is then more worn in the act of obtaining 
 food from the frozen ground and hard wood. 
 The sight of this bird is remarkably acute. 
 It flits with the greatest quickness among 
 the branches of trees, and its food consists 
 in a great measure of small insects only 
 to be discerned with a microscope. 
 
ive been particular- 
 icate structure und 
 St of that pretty lit- 
 t," or " Long-tailed 
 lalus) ; and as we 
 presenting to our 
 wing, from a speci- 
 bird, we shall pro- 
 >f it. It )6 known 
 as " Jack-in-a-bot- 
 c. 
 
 inimal is about five 
 ngth. The bill is 
 ound, and covered 
 ers ; it has a very 
 >ecific name. It is 
 nth black feathers 
 whit^ It is most 
 w moist situations 
 iinderwood and in- 
 )aks or elms. Its 
 ;ed in the forked 
 3 overhanging the 
 twelve to eighteen 
 th rust color at the 
 smaller than those 
 rd, with the excep- 
 ted wren, 
 incessantly in mo- 
 iown the branches 
 od, which consists 
 of insects, also tiie 
 I that deposite them 
 bark. In the win- 
 inall flocks of from 
 metimes more, and 
 eir continual chirn- 
 
 r colors assimilate 
 ite moss, abundant 
 of the year, that, 
 )te, it would be dif- 
 wing to the length 
 ulating and irregu- 
 ery quick, seeming 
 air like an arrow, 
 bill becomes hard- 
 1 the summer, as it 
 he act of obtaining 
 und and hard wood. 
 i remarkably acute, 
 it quickness among 
 ind its food consists 
 small insects only 
 microscope. 
 
 ADVANTAGE OF A BOOK— 0BERHA8LI. 
 
 531 
 
 AMANTAGE OF A BOOK. 
 
 F i»ll the amuse- 
 ments which can 
 possibly be imag- 
 ined lor a hard- 
 working man, af- 
 ter his daily toil, 
 or in its intervals, 
 there is nothing 
 like reading an en- 
 tertaining book — supposing him to have a 
 book 10 read. It calls for no bodily ex- 
 ertion, of which he has had enough, or too 
 much. It relieves his home of its dulness 
 and sameness, which, in nine cases out of 
 ten, is what drives him out to the ale- 
 house, to his own ruin and to his family's. 
 It transports him into a livelier and gayer 
 and more diversified and interesting scene, 
 and while he enjoys himself there he may 
 forget the ovils of the present moment ful- 
 ly as much as if he were ever so drunk, 
 with the great advantage of finding him- 
 self the next day with the money in his 
 pocket, or at least laid out in real neces- 
 saries and comforts for himself and his 
 family, and without a headache. Nay, it 
 accompanies him to his next day's work, 
 and if the book he has been reading be 
 anything above the very idlest and light- 
 est, gives him something to think of be- 
 sides the mere mechanical drudgery of 
 his every-day occupation — something that 
 he can enjoy while absent, and look for- 
 ward with pleasure to return to. But sup- 
 posing him to have been fortunate in the 
 choice of his book, and to have alighted 
 upon one really good and of a good class, 
 what a source of domestic enjoyment is 
 laid open ! what a bond of family union ! 
 He may read it aloud, or make his wife 
 read it, or his eldest boy or girl, or pass it 
 round from hand to hand. All have the 
 benefit of it ; all contribute to the gratifi- 
 cation of the rest, and a feeling of comnion 
 interest and pleasure is excited. Nothing 
 unites people like companionship in intel- 
 lectual enjoyment. It furnishes to each 
 the master-key by which he may avail 
 himself of his privilege as an intellectual 
 being, to — 
 " Enter the sacred temple of hii breast, 
 And gaze and wander there a raviiihed grieit — 
 Wander tliruugb all the gloriei of the mind, 
 Qaze upon all the treaiare he shall find." 
 
 And while thus leading him to look with- 
 in his own bosom for the ultimate sources 
 of his happiness, warns him at the same 
 time to be cautious how he defiles and 
 desecrates that inward and most glorious 
 of temples. 
 
 OBERHASLI. 
 
 HE valley of Ober- 
 hasli is nearly in the 
 centre of Switzerland 
 — in the canton of 
 Berne, and adjoining 
 the cantons of Unter- 
 walden and Uri ; from 
 its eastern extremity 
 to the lake of Brientz 
 it is about thirty miles in length, bounded 
 on each side by lofty mountains. The 
 valley terminates in a plain of some ex- 
 tent, at the end where the lake is situated. 
 The Jungfrau, the Aarhorn, and Mount St. 
 Gothard, are not many miles distant. The 
 valley is watered by the Aar, which is 
 formed by two streams that have their 
 source not more than a mile from the 
 sources of the Rhone. The Aar traverses 
 a great part of Switzerland, passing through 
 the valley of Oberhasli, into the lakes of 
 Brientz and Thun, where it becomes nav- 
 igable. Numerous cataracts pour down 
 the sides of the valley and swell the vol- 
 ume of the Aar. One of them, formed by 
 the Reichenbach, a considerable stream, 
 falls down steep declivities in which it has 
 perforated singular channels for its course. 
 A black sediment is deposited by some of 
 these mountain-torrents, which is used as 
 manure. The natural beauties of this por- 
 tion of Switzerland attract many visiters, 
 whose disbursemenU form a source of con- 
 siderable advantage to the inhabitants. M. 
 Simond speaks with great admiration of 
 the rich and smiling landscapes to be met 
 with in the vale of Hasli. He adds that 
 it is highly cultivated, full of village- and 
 scattered dwellings half hid in trees. It 
 is sheltered from the north windt> , and 
 several descriptions of shrubs and fruit- 
 trees, which do not grow in some other 
 parts of Switzerland, are here flourishing 
 
 m 
 
 MM 
 
n , 
 
 I'I't 
 
 ^:^:-:l ■» 
 
(iREHHASLI. 
 
 533 
 
 
 O 
 
 and productive. About fourieeii thousund 
 head of cattle are supported in the mead- 
 ows and Alpine pastures. 'I'he exports 
 consist of cattle, cheese, and skins of the 
 chamois and other animals, which are ex- 
 changed for corn, wine, salt, manufactund 
 goods, and colonial produce. 
 
 Oberhasli forms a bailliage. under the ju- 
 risdiction of an officer chosen from amoHg 
 the inhabitants and appointed by the au- 
 thorities of Berne ; the population amounts 
 to about six thousand, and the valley is 
 subdivided into three parishes. The chief 
 town of the valley is Meyringen, which 
 contains six hundred inhabitants. 
 
 The inhtvbitants of Oberhasli are con- 
 sidered to be good specimens of a fine 
 peasantry. They are remarkable for their 
 superior language and manners, their open 
 countenances, their strength, activity, f.nd 
 manly proportions, which are calculated 
 to impress travellers in their favor, though 
 it may be observed that in these respects 
 they have been made the subject of some- 
 what exaggerated statements. The per- 
 sonal appearance of the women is good, 
 and their natural attractions are increased 
 by a simple and elegant costume. In- 
 stances of great longevity are frequent, and 
 may be attributed to the sobriety of habits 
 generally prevalent, as well as to the pu- 
 rity of the air. Gymnastic exercises take 
 place twice in the summer, to which those 
 who reside in the neighbormg valleys are 
 invited. According to an old tradition, the 
 inhabitants are the descendants of a colo- 
 ny of Swedes, who established themselves 
 in the valley about the fifth century. The 
 probability of this fact is strongly corrobo- 
 rated by the familiar use of several terms 
 evidently of Swedish origin. The castle 
 of Hasli, which stands on an eminence 
 near Meyringen, is said to have formerly 
 been the residence of one of the first Swe- 
 dish inhabitants Before the French rev- 
 olution, many privileges were enjoyed by 
 the popnlation, for which they were in- 
 debted to their voluntary union with the 
 Bernese, in 1334. 
 
 The eastern extremity of the valley is 
 divided in two, and in each branch there 
 is a stream, which flows into the Aar. 
 One of these subdivisions of the larger 
 valley aflbrds the only practicable route 
 from the Oberland to Italy by the Griinsel. 
 
 This is the pass of Oberhasli represented 
 in the cut. M. Simond mentions a curi- 
 ous fact connected with the Grimsei, in 
 one of the caverns of which a proiligious 
 quantity of the largest cry.slal» ever known 
 was discovered in IT'ZO. He slates that 
 some of these crystals weighed from four 
 hundred pounds to eight hundred pounds. 
 The value of the whole was estimated at 
 thirty thousand florins (about twelve lliou- 
 sand dollars). The large.st of these crys- 
 tals, measuring three and a half feet by two 
 and a quarter feet, is in the Cabinet of 
 Natural History in the Garden of Plants 
 at Paris. 
 
 One account of the valley of Oberhasli, 
 which we have consulted, states tliat the 
 population has doubled in the last hundred 
 years, but this increase does not appear to 
 have been attended with any change in the 
 modes of existence, or extension of previ- 
 ous resources ; and the consequence has 
 been, that a portion of the population has 
 been driven elsewhere to seek a livelihood, 
 and the armies and workshops of Europe 
 have thus been recruited. The cause of 
 the constant emigration from Switzerland 
 may be explained in the following man- 
 ner : It is the nature of pasturage to pro- 
 duce food for a much greater number of 
 people than it can employ. In countries 
 strictly pastoral, therefore, many persons 
 ,vill be idle, or at most be very inadequate- 
 ly occupied. When a father has more 
 than one son, those who are not wanted 
 on the farm are powerfully tempted to en- 
 roll themselves as soldiers, or to emigrate 
 in some other way, as the only chance of 
 enabling them to marry. The following 
 additional remarks serve still further to 
 elucidate the social condition of the popu- 
 lation in those parts of Switzerland which 
 are exclusively pastoral or agricultural : 
 There are no grounds less susceptible of 
 improvement than mountainous pastures. 
 They must necessarily be left chiefly to 
 nature ; and when they have been ade- 
 quately stocked with cattle, little more can 
 be done. The great difiicuhy in Switzer- 
 land, as in Norway, is to procure a suffi- 
 cient quantity of fodder for the winter sup- 
 port of the cattle which have been fed on 
 the mountains in the summer. For this 
 purpose grass is collected with the great- 
 est care. In places inaccessible to cattle, 
 
H^ 
 
 ■ii 
 
 
 
 ~l 
 
 684 
 
 8TAIUWOR8HIP. 
 
 the peasant sometimes makes hay with 
 crampons on his feet ; in some places grass 
 not three inches high is cut three times a 
 year ; and in the valleys the fields are seen 
 shaven as close as a bowling-green, and 
 all the inequalities are clipped as with a 
 pair of scissors. In Switzerland the art 
 of mowing seems to be carried to its high* 
 est pitch of perfection. As, howe\M)r, the 
 improvement of the lands in the valleys 
 must depend principally upon the manure 
 arising from the .stock, it is evident that 
 the quantity of hay, and the number of cat- 
 tie will be mutually limited by each other ; 
 and as the population will of course be 
 limited by the produce of the stock, it 
 jhoes not seem possible to increase it be- 
 pyond a certain point, and that at no great 
 distance. 
 
 The extension of manufactures in Swit- 
 zerland during the war encouraged an in- 
 crease of the population, and manufactured 
 goods being exchanged for corn, the ara- 
 ble lands were, to a great extent, laid down 
 in grass. On the return of peace, each 
 country endeavored, by prohibitions, to 
 sustain the prosperity of its own manufac- 
 tures. The result, though unfavorable to 
 all, has not been so to each in an equal 
 degree. The landlords, no longer having 
 so free a market for their produce, have 
 suffered in some cases ; in others, manu- 
 facturers have been confined to the home- 
 market, and the means of employment be- 
 ing diminished, the land has been burdened 
 with the support of a part of the manufac- 
 turing population. This state of things has 
 been severely felt in Switzerland, which 
 stands in need of importations of corn, 
 while the prohibitory system restrains the 
 exportation of manufactures in exchange, 
 and thus injures both the agricultural and 
 manufacturing interests. Many of the 
 Swiss peasantry have emigrated with their 
 families to the United States. They usu- 
 ally embark at Havre ; but if they proceed- 
 ed down the Rhine to Rotterdam by the 
 steamboats, the expense and fatigue of so 
 long an inland journey would be much di- 
 minished, though, at the same time, the 
 chance of obtaining an early passage 
 across the Atlantic would not be so great 
 as at Havre. 
 
 The inhabitants of the mountainous re- 
 gions, in every part of Europe, are neces- 
 
 sarily frequently impelled to emigrato, if 
 not to other countries, at least to other dis- 
 tricts, and if not to settle there, at least to 
 seek ibr employment at particular seasons. 
 In the north of Derbyshire, England, fur 
 instance, where the crops are late in ripen- 
 ing, great numbers participate in the laliors 
 of the harvest in the adjoining counties, 
 where it takes place earlier ; and by this 
 means they are enabled to avoid that ine- 
 quality of condition to which the nature of 
 the soil at home would condemn them if 
 dependent upon it alone. 
 
 STAR-WORSHIP. 
 
 E do not at all won- 
 der at the idoltitry of 
 the ancient heathen. 
 The rude and simple 
 people, whose dwel- 
 lings were nightly 
 reared upon the bree- 
 zy hillside, the dewy 
 plain, or in the se- 
 questered shade of some palmy vale, with 
 minds untaught, and ignorantof that knowl- 
 edge which was ushered in with the soft 
 swelling anthems of seraphic harmony — 
 is it a wonder that they burned incense 
 unto the queen of heaven, and worshipped 
 the shining hosts that nightly gemmed the 
 mysterious and everlasting blue ? 
 
 Who that has gazed in the still hour of 
 midnight upon the burnisherlt scenery of 
 the mighty concave above ^j, and thrilled 
 with the glorious influences of the hour, 
 can wonder at the reverent devotion of 
 those who were unable to look beyond the 
 bright page of creation, to the great Ar- 
 chitect who veils his glory with such tran- 
 scendent splendors ? 
 
 From childhood our spirit leaped up- 
 ward as if it would sunder its prison-bars, 
 whenever we gazed on the magnificent 
 banners that float with all their gorgeous 
 blazonry over the dim and shrouded earth. 
 When the sunset faded from the sky, and 
 the last mellow tints were merged in the 
 gathering darkness, with what ecstasy 
 have we watched for the angel sentinels 
 to come forth from their mystic hidmg- 
 
 •■ v-!.wi?=i'''*s-^J^-^';K#3*: 
 
^ 
 
 ed to cmigratp, if 
 '. least to other dia- 
 B there, at least to 
 }articular seHsons. 
 hire, Knginnd, fur 
 s are late in ripcn- 
 iipate in the l.-khors 
 Jjoining counties, 
 rlier ; and by this 
 
 to avoid that ine- 
 hich the nature of 
 
 condemn them if 
 
 SHIP. 
 
 do not at all won- 
 ir at the idolatry of 
 e ancient heathen, 
 he rude and simple 
 iople, whose dwel- 
 igs were niphtly 
 ared upon the bree- 
 'hillside, the dewy 
 ain, or in the se- 
 3 palmy vale, with 
 rantofthatknowl- 
 d in with the soft 
 aphic harmony — 
 y burned incense 
 [),and worshipped 
 ightly gemmed the 
 ing blue ? 
 n the still hour of 
 lishpdl scenery of 
 re uj, and thrilled 
 noes of the hour, 
 erent devotion of 
 
 look beyond the 
 , to the great Ar- 
 ry with such tran- 
 
 spirit leaped up- 
 er its prison-bars, 
 
 1 the magnificent 
 ill their gorgeous 
 id shrouded earth, 
 from the sky, and 
 ire merged in the 
 ith what ecstasy 
 le angel sentinels 
 ir mystic hidmg- 
 
 8TARWOH8HIP. 
 
 635 
 
 places, and fill their diamond lamps with 
 splendors that night had no power to 
 shade ! If the soul were joyous in the 
 glad sunlight, and sent forth its answering 
 song to the hymns that made vocal each 
 shadowy dell and echoing thicket— how 
 it soared on the solemn wing of silent 
 thought up to the temple of the Eternal 
 Presence, when night spread out her star- 
 ry banners, on whose magnificent folds 
 gleamed the insignia of Omnipotence ! 
 
 Last night the illness of a child called 
 us from sleep, and as we gazed for a mo- 
 meat upon the starlit heavens, it seemed 
 as if a glimpse of the almost-forgotten glo- 
 ry that used to entrance our young spirit, 
 ere it had wrestled with the dark phan- 
 toms of care and sorrow, had returned to 
 woo us again to the adoration of bygone 
 days. Waking from the oblivious dews 
 of slumber, and gazing alone upon the glo- 
 rious heraldry of Omnific power and wis- 
 dom, it seemed as if new mysteries and 
 glories hud dawned at once upon our spell- 
 bound vision. All was still and quiet, 
 brooded by the solemn wing of midnight ; 
 not a breeze stirred the sleeping foliage ; 
 the very brooks murmured softly on their 
 way, as if soothed by the mystic influen- 
 ces of the hour : yet our soul leaped up- 
 ward on the strong pinion of adoration, as 
 if it had suddenly entered the vestibule of 
 everlasting glory. There were the glori- 
 ous and far-off stars— the same, that, like 
 the bright eyes of seraphim, smiled on the 
 young spirit's dawning horizon, still shi- 
 ning on, in their radiant and undimnned 
 beauty, and to our enraptured ear weaving 
 the voiceless harmonies of the eternal 
 
 years. 
 
 Far along the northern sky an undefined 
 yet perceptible radiance told that the mer- 
 ry dancers had illumined their festal halls ; 
 and the soft shimmering light, that con- 
 trasted so faintly with the starlit blue of 
 the southern hemisphere, might well be 
 emitted from the transparent brilliancy of 
 their spirit-robes. For where is the strong 
 philosophy that shall tell us the Indian's 
 theory is not correct, and that the souls of 
 the departed do not hover over the lovad 
 place of their abode, or spread their happy 
 pinions along the star-paved galaxy 1 , What 
 are the mysterious influences that thrill our 
 spirits in the dim night-hour, when fancy 
 
 spreads before us the shadowy panorama 
 of the past ? Do we not hear soft voices 
 that were silent long ago, swelling on the 
 murmuring gale, that whispers so sweetly 
 along the waving thicket, or blends its mu- 
 sic with the chiming waves, where the 
 starbeams sleep so gloriously on its silver 
 mirror ? 
 
 The day is glorious : the hills, forests, 
 and plains— the towering mountains that 
 arrest the thunder-storm in its course, and 
 the deep rolling ocean that lifts itself in 
 boisterous mirth when the hurricane walks 
 in fury over its seething billows — all these 
 proclaim the greatness and majesty of Him 
 who sits upon the circle of eternity : yet 
 awe is mingled with reverence, while the 
 soul acknowledges the great I AM. But 
 when night unfurls her solemn banner over 
 the earth's careworn millions, and the stars 
 come forth with their shining cressets, 
 filled with splendor from the eternal fount, 
 the spirit mounts on triumphant wing to 
 the high and holy realms of thought. Who 
 shall tell us those beaming orl)s, whose 
 smiling rays traverse the unknown fields 
 of space, are not the glorious abode of de- 
 parted spirits — the resting-place of weary 
 ones, that panted on life's arid desert ? — 
 And as the eye traverses from one to an- 
 other along the arching sky, what yearn- 
 ings stir the spirit to rise and trace the 
 wisdom and glory of the Creator, in scan- 
 ning the glittering cohorts that move obe- 
 dient to his will through the boundless 
 fields of ether ! And if the earthly vision 
 were unveiled, might we not see the spirit- 
 messengers winging their shining ways 
 from orb to orb through the azure plains ? 
 Well may we muse beneath the starry 
 concave, and breathe our orisons to Him 
 who hath fixed the spheres in their orbits, 
 and traced with wisdom's unerring finger 
 the pathway of worlds unnumbered. 
 
 The garish day may claim the soul's 
 best energies, and toil and anxiety weigh 
 down the spirit, but when night reveals 
 the glories of the vast expanse above us, 
 the soul will struggle to rise from the toils 
 of earth, and contemplate the illimitable 
 majesty of Him who called the mighty con- 
 course of worlds from the caverns of dark- 
 ness, and sent them forth on their shining, 
 linked in their mystic circles, whose gola- 
 en rings are fastened to the eternal throne ! 
 
 
 
 I 
 
irr 
 
 mn 
 
 
 lfi|i 
 
 i 
 
 f V 
 
 886 
 
 CARNIVAL AT lOMB. 
 
 CARNIVAL AT ROME. 
 
 HE Kgyptian obelisk 
 that ri!>' H liriily in the 
 backgi jundofthe pic- 
 ture, and 't! o i<^ fjus- 
 tere u n.'iuy <, - 
 
 tr-'S".? j)<i( tii'.-'i> VUh 
 
 the I'.viii^ buatiti, up- 
 roar, and enjoyment 
 of the principal sent., shows that it is a 
 Roman carnival that the artist represents. 
 With the exception if the obelisk, howev- 
 er, and some 'lifierence in the architecture 
 of the houses, the engraving equally illus- 
 trates the carnival of Naples, or Milan, or 
 Venice, or any other of the large Italian 
 cities. The <;rowd and confusion, the mas- 
 querade jhuracters, their action and group- 
 ing, are '.trnmon to all Italian carnivals 
 on their good days ; and as these saturna- 
 lia are limited, at Rome, to eight da}s, 
 every ' amival-day there ipay be consid- 
 ered a good one. In the rest of Italy, 
 where carnival continues from the feast of 
 the Epiphany to the beginning of Lent, 
 lasting five or six weeks, only the Thurn- 
 days and Sundays are observed for out-of- 
 door displays ; and these days are eilh'*r 
 not well observed at the beginning, or be- 
 come languid at the close. Within doors, 
 indeed, particularly at Naples a few years 
 ago, carnival used to he kept up with spirit 
 during all its long legitimate period : there 
 being, every night, private masquerades, 
 or masquerades at the opera-house, balls 
 and suppt rs, and all ivinds of feastings an'l 
 mummeries in uninterrupted succession — 
 and very hard work it was to go through 
 them all ! 
 
 As soon as this riot of pi .1 ure was over, 
 the doctors, with their gold-headed cane: 
 were seen more constantly abroad, and 
 walking much faster than vf>i:.;. They 
 had always plenty of work on their hands, 
 being as busy after it as milliners and tai- 
 lors, cooks and confectioners, tiddlers, and 
 dancing-masters, had been during carni- 
 val. Even in a physical sense, the u' 
 stinence and quiet of Lent were indispci 
 sable : and during that sober season, wh< 
 there were no feasting and dancing, anu 
 the opera, on the nighu in which it was 
 allowed to open, closed at the sober hour 
 of eleven, without any ballet, people had 
 
 time Ui recover thomselvos, although there 
 annualiv occurred a few unlucky castas 
 where the long revelling had sown the 
 sef <1« of consumption or some other incu- 
 rable disease, iiut this was carnival in- 
 doors. Let us ret( ^n to our engraving and 
 the streets <if Rome. 
 
 In the altcriioon, fibout three o'clock, the 
 Corso begins gradually to fill with people 
 — some masked, and some in their usual 
 holyday-dresses — some on f<»ot and some 
 in hired carriages. About an hour later, 
 the equipages of the nobility and gentry 
 swell the crowd ; and the open balconies 
 .inj tfujt')*. .H of every house in that long 
 street are crammed lull of company, who, 
 for the most part, are not mere spectators, 
 but actors in the ever-varying farce. The 
 carriages and the horses are, for the most 
 part, decked out in a very fine or a very 
 capricious manner ; and the anomalies rep- 
 resented in the print, where ; coachman, 
 dressed as a Spanish cavalier of the olden 
 times, is driving an old Tabellone or no- 
 tary, with a huge wine-flask (extended 
 toward a punch on stilts), and a Human 
 doctor, with " spectacles on nose," while 
 a small-grown punch climbs up the side 
 steps, and a full-grown punchin<^Iii), with 
 a squeaking trumpet to hi . 'i.v, and a 
 sturdy, turbaned Moor, with a banner in 
 his hand, act as footmen — are such amu- 
 sing tntrasts as continu ily occur, ar 
 givb .ue best parts of he drolk-ry to the 
 scene. As these carri; g^es pass through 
 the crowd, at a '" stately pa< 1, those 
 within them address or gesticulate ic their 
 friends at tho balconies of the houses — or 
 in ihcr carriages — or in the street on foot 
 ~ nd generally pelt them ivith sugar- 
 jnums. This -ire is returned by the iiio'-'' 
 stationary actors : and, if you look to tl 
 left of the picture, you will see a gentle- 
 man and a 'ady vith uplifted hands, full 
 of oU(;ar-plum8, inKing aim ; and in an nh- 
 ur balcony, to the right, two gentle 1 n 
 peltinc *ith mucli vigor. The grea* t 
 par. '■ the Tun, ifter the hoi'^e-podg< >( 
 cost' , lies in this sugar-plui. warfar*- , 
 or tt with the nois if French born i 
 ant iims, cow- horns nd guitars, fi^ 
 Males, tambourines, a' nenny itiimpeis, 
 and the din of thousano f voices — the 
 masked all squeaking in a (:'>nventional 
 carnival falsetto, and the unma^^ked roar- 
 
'OH, although there 
 iw unlucky ctiaos 
 n^ had anwn the 
 r Dome other incu- 
 I was carnival in- 
 cur engraving and 
 
 t three o'clock, the 
 to fill with people 
 >me in their usual 
 on foot and some 
 out an hour later, 
 nbility and gentry 
 he open balconies 
 house in that long 
 of company, who, 
 t mere spectators, 
 Tying farce. The 
 i are, for the most 
 ery fine or a very 
 the anomalies rep- 
 here . coachman, 
 falier of tie olden 
 Tabellone or no- 
 e-flask (extended 
 Is), and a Roman 
 i on nose," while 
 limbs up the side 
 punchin»>ll(), with 
 ) hi ..]!.', and a 
 with a banner in 
 1 — are such amu- 
 lu Jly occur, n 
 he drolU ry to tiie 
 a;e8 pass throu ,'h 
 tately pa ->, those 
 [esticulattj ic their 
 of the houses — or 
 I the street on foot 
 hem with sugar- 
 irned by the nio'^'' 
 if you look to tL 
 will see a gentle - 
 plifted hands, full 
 im ; and in anoth- 
 t, two gentleii n 
 T. The grea' t 
 e hoJ^e-podgt: (I 
 ar-plui. warfare 
 
 if French hon i 
 ind guitars, ( 
 
 penny trumpets, 
 if >f voices — the 
 a a ctnventional 
 i unmarked roar- 
 
w 
 
 m 
 
 J ■ r I. 
 
 ^^i^ 
 
 %<t 
 
 538 
 
 TENACITY TO LIFK. 
 
 ing Bt the top of their lungs — no delicate 
 passages of wit can be well heard. It is 
 a fuiiit of gallantry, when ladies are fired 
 at, to mix choice bon-bons and sweet- 
 moats, wrapped up in pretty bits of paper, 
 with nice poesies between, about " core" 
 and " amore ;" and when people do not 
 mind the expense, they make use only of 
 good eatable sugar-plums with the kernels 
 of sweet almonds and caraway-seeds in- 
 side. Wherever these ar' nost scattered 
 there do the little boyf) ud ragamuffins 
 most abound ; for the Italians generally 
 have a very sweet tooth, and these pooi; 
 fellows will run the most imminent risk to 
 fill their stomachs and pockets with con- 
 fetti da signore* In the course of their 
 carnival 0| rations a broken head or rib, 
 a crushed hand or foot, sometimes occur ; 
 but, from their wonderful dexterity, casu- 
 alties are not numerous. The worst of 
 this sugar-plum fight (and a pretty general 
 evil it is) is, that the poorer or mure par- 
 simonious of the revellers, instead of using 
 good plums that cost money, employ vil- 
 lainous hard make-believes, c inposed of 
 flour and plaster-of-Paris, which hurt, 
 where they hit, almost .ike stones. Tlw 
 warfare at Rome, however, was spiritless, 
 compared with the carnival campaigns at 
 Naples in our time. The Neapolitans are 
 a magnanimous people in regard to sugar- 
 plums ; and then the population is triple 
 that of Rome, with gentry of wealth and 
 substance. There seems to be, however, 
 a gradual decline in the spirit of carnivals, 
 which will probably go out altogether, and 
 be forgotten of men. 
 
 TENACITY TO LIFE. 
 
 EN cling to life 
 with an un- 
 yielding grasp ; 
 — and many, 
 whose greatest 
 ar.noyar.ce is 
 .the thought that 
 it will one day 
 escape them, 
 are yet constantly inveighing against it as 
 a thing almost intolerable. They com- 
 * Oentlemanly sagar-plami. 
 
 plain of the path as thorny, rugg'nl, and 
 wearisome, but are ever tormented with 
 the fear that they shall too soon conie to 
 ita termination. It is a sweet curse, ixith 
 too long and too short. The days the 
 months, and the year", ihey charge >= tli 
 tardiness, and wish them ended — lax jfi- 
 vontion to the utmost to manufacture wingi 
 for the lingi-niig moments^ — and when tliey 
 have fled, ngret that they made such speed, 
 and wish them back. The momenta, wIkmi 
 passing, move too slowly : when passed, 
 they have gone too soon. Such is incon- 
 sistent man. He impatiently wishes tn- 
 dny would give place for to-inutrow, and 
 y«:l every Huccessivo morrow advances 
 him a step tir>vard the dreaded termination, 
 anxious to try every untried day except 
 the last, impatient to make an acquaint- 
 ance with every portion of life except its 
 close, in hope to find each successive day 
 more propitious than the past. IIu i|uar- 
 rels with life because it does not bl(>,3 
 him, loves it because it has a blessing Ibr 
 him, and clings to it in hope to evoke that 
 blessing, but seeks it neither with tlie 
 " ..spirit nor with the understanding." Wo 
 must uiide.. stand what life is, and what it 
 proposes to do for us, in order to make 
 till most of it. They who cheriwh il for 
 its own sake, as an end and nut as a meaii.s 
 — do not understand its nature and design. 
 it can not satisfy the vast desires of tlie 
 immortal mind. They call for more tlian 
 would ten thousand times ex! .mst its re- 
 sources. Men trifle with life by trying to 
 elicit from it donations of enjoyment wliich 
 it can not give, because it has not the 
 means ; they quarrel with it for being so 
 destitute of benevolence as nut to give 
 them what it does not possesH, and can 
 not command. This is like complaining 
 of a drop of water, because it is not the 
 ocean ; or censuring a molehill, because 
 it is not the universe. The ma who 
 should mistake the portico for the parlor, 
 and then curse it because it i^ neither spa- 
 cious enough nor warm enough to satisfy 
 his expectations, would justly inrtir ridi- 
 cule. Life is but the portico of our exist- 
 ence, and he who mistakes it for the whole 
 edifice deserves not to be ridiculed, but 
 to be regarded with some graver emo- 
 tion, for indeed he has made a disastrous 
 mistake. He will find it too narrow to 
 
nts — and wliori the 
 oyinadn 8UcIih|)< 
 
 thorny, niggsJ, and 
 ver tormented with 
 I too soon (oniu to 
 a «we«^t curse, liruli 
 trt. Tho days tho 
 •H, they chiirgt! "' lit 
 lern ended — l:i.\ ji- 
 ) inanufacturo win)(« 
 'hfn tlicy 
 
 cll H|)l)()li, 
 
 The niumuntd, whiui 
 wly : when passed, 
 n\. Such is iiicun- 
 patiently wisheM to- 
 
 for to-HKifrow, and 
 I morruw advances 
 [Ireaded termination, 
 untried day except 
 
 make an acquaint- 
 9n of life except its 
 jach successive day 
 ;he past. Ho quar- 
 e it does nut IjIcms 
 it has a blessing lor 
 1 hope to evoke that 
 it neither with the 
 iiJerstanding." We 
 t life is, and » hiit it 
 9, in order to make 
 f who cherish it lor 
 d and not as a nieiins 
 8 nature and desi^ni. 
 vast desires of the 
 y call for nioro than 
 imes exK.iiist its re- 
 vith life by trying to 
 of enjoyment which 
 luse it has not the 
 with it for being so 
 ince as nut to give 
 ot possess, and can 
 is like complaining 
 ecauso it is not the 
 a molehill, I)ecause 
 le. The ma who 
 mico for the parlor, 
 use it i"' uoitlurspa- 
 rm enough to satisfy 
 Id justly incur ridi- 
 
 portico of uurexisl- 
 takes it for the whole 
 to be ridiculed, but 
 
 some graver emo- 
 s made a disastrous 
 nd it too narrow to 
 
 THR PALISADBI. 
 
 681 
 
 ■ati«fy tho infinitcly-cxpnnding dcsirea of 
 the soul, and cold enough to freexe up it» 
 
 •rdor. 
 
 cnuldhood looks forward with anxious 
 expectation to youth; yc, ith, dissatisfied, 
 pants for manhood , disappointed manhood 
 speeds on to olil age for the prize, and de- 
 spairing iige looks back censoriously upon 
 the whole course of life, and is vexed that 
 its " wood, hay, and stubble," were not 
 " n.'old, silver, and precious stones." And 
 yet mun i« unwilling to part with life, be- 
 cause he Iijih made it his treasure, and has 
 no treasure beyond. Hut to him who re- 
 gards life as merely the infancy of his ex- 
 istence, and uses it well, its best quality 
 is, tliat it has a terminutinn, for that termi- 
 nation is his introduction to a priceless 
 treasure, which he has spent his life in 
 accumulating. The man who has acted 
 well his part, can hail with tho liveliest 
 emotions of joy his exit, which leads him 
 out of a field of labor and care into a bound- 
 less field of unsullied enjoyment. It l)e- 
 comes mortal man, then, to be wise, to 
 take life for what it is, to remember that it 
 has an end, and compel every period of it 
 to make a donation of happiness to tho last 
 hour, to seize upon every day as it passes, 
 and say to it as did the patriarch to the 
 wrestling angel, " 1 will not let thee go 
 except thou bless me." 
 
 THE PALISADES. 
 
 I 
 
 HERE is probably 
 no river in the world 
 whose vicinage, with- 
 in the same extent, 
 presents such a com- 
 bination of beauty and 
 grandeur of natural 
 scenery, enriched jv 
 historical associations 
 of the greatest moment, as the Hudson. 
 From Manhattan island to its junction with 
 the Mohawk, lofty mountuins, gently un- 
 dulating hills, cultivated fields, and beau- 
 tiful villages and hamlets, alter; itely meet 
 the eye as we speed along i» waters in 
 the swift steamer, all bursting in succes- 
 sion upon the sight like the startling scenes 
 
 of a moving panorama. And to .o Amer- 
 ican — to the happy recipient ol the lioon 
 of liberty — a boon fought for and won by 
 his fathers, nml Icqiieathed to him as a 
 birthright — almost (tvery spot in hallowed 
 by tho associations connected with the his- 
 tory of the War of Inilopf ndencc. Many 
 a mountain-suininit has been tho pyre on 
 which beacon -fires were lighted liy the 
 hand of disinterested patriotism ; many a 
 plain that meets our view is the place 
 where men, strong in body and stronger 
 in principle, bivouacked at night, and mar- 
 shalled in battle arrf.y at day, ready to 
 strike lioldly fur their country and their 
 firesides. 
 
 The first objects of historical interest to 
 be seen after leaving New Yotk, are the 
 ruins of Foris Leo and Washington : the 
 former is situated just at tiie commence- 
 ment of the I'alisades, about ton miles 
 above tho city ; and tho latter nearly op- 
 posite, upon tho eastern bank of tho river. 
 On entering the Tappaan Zee, now Tap- 
 pan Bay, you see upon tho oaitthe village 
 of Tarrytown, and on the west that of Tap- 
 pan : one memorable as the place where 
 the unfortunate Andre was arrested, and 
 the other as the spot where ho was exe- 
 cuted. We next pass Stony Point, the 
 scene of one of the bravo expluits of Gen- 
 eral Wayne ; and reaching Caldwell's 
 Landing, opposite Peekskill, romantic sce- 
 nery, seldom surpassed, is developed. Ev- 
 ery spot on shore is consecrated ground — 
 consecrated by the congregation there of 
 several of the master-spirits of the War of 
 Independence. There at one time Wash- 
 ington, Putnam, Kosciusko, Arnold, and 
 other officers, met and celebrated the birth- 
 day of tho dauphin of France, the unfortu- 
 nate Louis who lost his crown and his life 
 during the revolution of '94. 
 
 In this neighborhood are the ruins of 
 Forts Montgomery and Clinton ; and soon 
 after passing the lofty promontory on the 
 eastern shore of the river, wo may see in 
 the distance toward the northwest, on the 
 summit of Mount Independence, the gray 
 walls of Fort Putnam, about four hundred 
 feet above the plain >n\ which stands the 
 military academy of West Point, and about 
 three quarters of a mile distant. The plat- 
 eau of West Point and its whole neighbor- 
 hood is classic ground. Here, too, were 
 
 ^5 
 
nj iii ir i t il - I I 
 
 M ., 
 
 kJk-' 
 
 
 
ON LONHKVITY. 
 
 541 I 
 
 o 
 
 I 
 
 r/' 
 
 congregated the worthies of the revolution ; 
 and at this " key to the northern country" 
 Kosciusko for some time made his resi- 
 dence. Hero Arnold formed his plans of 
 treason, and hence despatched Andre on 
 his fatal journey. H'^re amid the mounds 
 which mark the redoubts of Fort Clinton, 
 arises a monument sacred to the memory 
 of the brave Polish officer ; and not far 
 distant is another, erected by General 
 Brown in honor of Colonel Eleazar D. 
 Wood, who fell at the sortie of Fort Erie 
 in 1814. We might multiply our records 
 of the past deeds of bravery and patriotism 
 which this classic spot brings to recollec- 
 tion, and point to the headquarters of Wash- 
 ington at Newburgh ; to the crest of Bea- 
 con Hill, whereon fires were lighted du- 
 ring the stormy period of our war for lib- 
 erty ; but in so doing we should digress 
 too far from the object of this article — a 
 brief notice of the Palisades, a portion of 
 which is represented in our engraving. 
 
 The Palisades are so named from their 
 perpendicular position, and resemblance to 
 columns forming an enclosure. They ex- 
 tend from a point a little north of Hoboken, 
 New Jersey, on the western side of the 
 river, to near Slole creek, a distance of 
 over twenty miles ; and present a wall va- 
 rying in perpendicular height from two 
 hundred to six hundred feet. They form 
 a part of a basaltic ridge which rises at 
 Bergen Point in New Jersey, and gradu- 
 ally increase in height till some of its sum- 
 mits reach an elevaticii of more than a 
 thousand feet above tide-water. This ridge 
 curves round Tappan Bay, leaving on the 
 margin of the cove a limited but pleasant 
 champagne country, which is in a high 
 state of cultivation. The ridge varies in 
 width from an eighth of a mile to three 
 miles, forming a handsome region of ara- 
 ble table land. 
 
 The Palisades are divided into numer- 
 ous vertical fissures, which give them the 
 appearance of detached columns. In these 
 fissures are frequently found alluvial de- 
 posites, from which vegetation shoots forth, 
 the only relief to their bare and mason- 
 work appearance. These basalt rocks 
 comprehend almost every variety of form- 
 ation : the amygdaloid, containing cellules, 
 sometimes empty, and sometimes filled, 
 and often presenting the warty appearance 
 
 of slag : the basaltic brescia or traptiiff, 
 consisting of pebbles and angular grains 
 cemented ; and the columnar hasitlt in pris- 
 mat'c polygons, sometimes articulated, con- 
 sisting of hornblend, feldspar, and epidole, 
 with which compact and radiated prehnito 
 is sometimes blended. 
 
 This wall of " eternal masonry" is be.iu- 
 tifuUy contrasted by the fii»ely-cultivat(.'d 
 country on the eastern side of the river, 
 which rises in a gentle slope from the wa- 
 ter's edge, and presents at a glance a rich 
 agricultural region, adorned with tasteful 
 mansions. Although here the superior 
 grandeur of the Highlands is wanting, yet 
 the pleasing combination of the majestic 
 and beautiful renders this portion of the 
 scenery of the Hudson river inferior to iio 
 other. 
 
 ON LONGEVITY. 
 
 that 
 been 
 
 T is remarkable 
 amid all that has 
 said and written on the 
 subject of living a long 
 lime, and the rules laid 
 down to attain it, we arc 
 as yet far from making 
 the slightest approaches 
 toward a rationale of the 
 real causes which are productive in this 
 matter. Nostrums have been sold without 
 number ; and books have been written, en- 
 titled " Art of prolonging Life," jfec, which 
 would seem to indicate, at first sight, that 
 great discoveries had been made on the 
 subject, and the whole at length reduced 
 to rule ; but all vanishes and disappears 
 when we come to consider the true import 
 of the expression. It does not mean the 
 art of prolonging the patient's life, but the 
 doctor's — not lb;'.t of the reader, but that of 
 the author. The wondrous regimen is laid 
 down, not for the sake of the inquirer, but 
 for the sake of himself, who, feeling his 
 life in dange.-of being shortened, from de- 
 ficient culinary resources, hit upon this 
 book as a means of prolonging it, and which 
 he therefore very properly calls " Art of 
 prolonging Life," &c. 
 
 But although we are ignorant of the ra- 
 
 
 ie?i^i^il«i^f-;^-='S*^^5^^fi*sbf*^*'^«««^''-^" '^' 
 
H .(, ■*, 
 
 
 >*flM. • 
 
 542 
 
 ON LONGEVITY. 
 
 ft =:*i. 
 
 tinnale in this case, as we are of all the 
 great processes of nature, we know there 
 are some things that must exert a power- 
 ful influence upon it — such as temperance, 
 a pure air, regular exercise, an easy mind, 
 to which we may add the influence of re- 
 I ligion, and attention to whatever has to do 
 with the inner chymistries of nature, and 
 the laws of organized bodies. Self-denial 
 and virtue are better than all medicines. 
 
 And yet we are met at every step with 
 things that puzzle and perplex us. Do we 
 speak of temperance ? We are reminded 
 of Parr, who is described as anything but 
 a temperate man, and yet lived above a 
 century and a half; and of Louis Cornaro, 
 who lived a hundred years, although for 
 half that time he had been habitually guil- 
 ty of such irregular excesses, that his phy- 
 sicians thought it impossible he should 
 live any longer. Do we speak of comfort 
 and regular living ? Parr, as mentioned 
 above, and Jenkyns, who lived a hundred 
 and seventy years save one, depended up- 
 on charity, which they had to encounter 
 all weathers in soliciting, and which of- 
 ten turned out to be so precarious, that 
 they were not able to obtain it ; though this 
 perhaps would fall in with the ideas of 
 some French physicians, who recommend 
 one starvation day in every week, to emp- 
 ty those hollow tubes, and give new im- 
 pulses to those strings and strainers which 
 Addison so beautifully takes notice of. We 
 are not told whether the old gentlemen 
 leaped or not ; but if they had to beg all 
 they lived on, and to fetch it in person, it 
 might be a substitute, and thus they would 
 fall in with the notions of other French- 
 men, who recommend leaping and active 
 exercise before leaving a room, and thus 
 cut short in their beginnings all such like 
 distempers as they supposed to arise from 
 sediment. Do we mention climate as a 
 means of longevity 1 It is allowed that 
 some climates are distinguished for an in- 
 salubrity that shortens human life, while 
 other climates have a tendency to promote 
 it : as while there are no nonagenarians to 
 speak of on the coast of Sierra Leone, the 
 inward parts of Norway are said to be so 
 pure, that the inhabitants live till they are 
 tired even of Ufe. The coast of Devon- 
 shire, and the sweet vales of Montpclier, 
 are far more congenial to the human frame 
 
 than the marshes of Missolonghi, or the si- 
 moom, poison-swept deserts of the East. 
 Climate, however, except in extreme and 
 peculiar cases, has much less specific in- 
 fluence than we are aware. If any one 
 thinks that in this or that particular plaoe 
 man must necessarily inhale the principle 
 of long life, let him cast his eye over the 
 following table, and note the variety of cli- 
 mate in which the several individuals ex- 
 isted, and he will see hov; things stand in 
 the Old V'orld ; and by turning to this con- 
 tinent statistics, he will see how they stand 
 in the New : — 
 
 KAMB. AOl. TLACH. 
 
 Albuiim Marc \5Q Ktliiopia. 
 
 Titus Fullonins I.IO Benoiiia. 
 
 Abraham Paibn 142 South Carolina. 
 
 Dumiiur Haduly 140 Transylvania. 
 
 Countens Desmond 1 40 Ireland. 
 
 James Sand 140 Staffordshire. 
 
 Wife of ditto 120 ditto. 
 
 Henry Jenkyns 169 Yorkshire. 
 
 Thomas Pnrr I'ii Shropshire. 
 
 Francis Bons 121 Franco. 
 
 A. Goldsmith 142 ditto. 
 
 Marf,'aret Patten KiS Scotland. 
 
 William Ellis 1.10 Liverpool. 
 
 Christian Di-akenberg..l4G Norway. 
 
 Richard Lloyd 133 Wales. 
 
 James Hayley 112 Cheshire. 
 
 John Wilson 116 Suffolk. 
 
 Louis Cornaro 100..- Venice. 
 
 Jane Reeve 103 Essex. 
 
 Marqaisol Winchester.106 Hampshire 
 
 Agnes Milburne 116 London. 
 
 In this table, which might have been 
 greatly extended, are included places of 
 almost every variety of soil and climate. 
 Venice, built literally in water ; France, 
 with its mild and genial warmth ; the fierce 
 and biting winds of Norway ; and even the 
 West Indies, proverbial for heats and moist- 
 ure, being almost specific, as is thought, 
 in cutting down the human stamina — have 
 alike permitted longevity. Jane Reeve 
 lived to a hundred and three, in the marshy 
 county of Essex. Hippocrates lived to a 
 hundred and four, in the delicious island 
 of Cos. Albuma Marc reached a hundred 
 and fifty, in the sultry interior of Ethiopia ; 
 and Drakenberg reached to within four 
 years of that time, on the steril mountains 
 of Norway. Such contrasts seem to indi- 
 cate that climate, except in extreme cases, 
 and where the air is poisoned by the de- 
 cay of organic matter, or such like causes, 
 has little or no specific influence on lon- 
 gevity, and bid defiance to all eflbrts at 
 philosophizing on the subject. 
 
 Jj 
 
 W ' -liN .> 
 
issolonghi, or the si- 
 eserts of the East, 
 ept in extreme and 
 ich less specific in- 
 Avare. II' any one 
 hat particular place 
 inhale the principh) 
 ist his eye over the 
 ite the variety of cli- 
 eral individuals ex- 
 hov/ things stand in 
 r turning to this con- 
 l see how they stand 
 
 Ethiopia. 
 
 Beiioiiia. 
 
 Soutli Carolina. 
 
 Transylvania. 
 
 Ireland. 
 
 Staffhrdnhire. 
 
 ditto. 
 
 Yorksliire. 
 
 , Shropshire. 
 
 Franve. 
 
 ditto. 
 
 Scotland. 
 
 Liverpool. 
 
 Norway. 
 
 Wales. 
 
 Cheshire. 
 
 Suffolli. 
 
 „ Venice. 
 
 Essex. 
 
 Hampsfair& 
 
 London. 
 
 h might have been 
 
 included places of 
 )f soil and climate. 
 
 in water ; France, 
 il warmth ; the fierce 
 jrway ; and even the 
 .1 for heats and moist- 
 cific, as is thought, 
 iman stamina — have 
 ivity. Jane Reeve 
 
 three, in the marshy 
 ippocrates lived to a 
 the delicious island 
 c reached a hundred 
 interior of Ethiopia ; 
 ;hed to within four 
 the steril mountains 
 intrasts seem to indi- 
 ;pt in extreme cases, 
 poisoned by the dc- 
 , or such like causes, 
 ic influence on lon- 
 nce to all efforts at 
 
 subject. 
 
 ON LONGEVITY. 
 
 543 
 
 If we ask old men the means by which 
 they came to live so long, they give us 
 such different directions in different cases, 
 it is evident they know nothing at all about 
 the matter. Some attribute it to their be- 
 ing much in the open air ; some to an ex- 
 treme regularity in diet and regimen ; 
 some to moderate but regular proportions 
 of wine ; some advise scarcely to drink at 
 all, not even of that great distillery which 
 God built originally for Adam, the produce 
 of which he might possess without danger, 
 and sip without sorrow : but all an)ounts 
 to nothing. Some, as Cornaro, advise us 
 to weigh our food, than which nothing can 
 be more absurd ; for if this were desirable, 
 surely the Almighty would have blessed 
 us with a pair of scales, or some kind of 
 feeling within that we might know when 
 we had swallowed four ounces — instead 
 of which he has given us a feeling that 
 we might know when we had swallowed 
 enough : and this is the true time to leave 
 off. ^ J 
 
 This, however, is certain, that ev#y 
 temporary shock which health receives, 
 does something to impair the durability of 
 the numan frame ; and if so, every act of 
 intemperance, though men feel it not at 
 present, will be found to shorten the dura- 
 tion of the body. And though we may be 
 told of Parr and others, who, though often 
 intemperate, lived to a great age, yet who 
 can say how long they might have lived, 
 if they had conducted themselves on a dif- 
 ferent plan ? There can be no oueslion 
 thattheiroccasional excesses injured them, 
 and that materially ; and Parr, it is well 
 known, was cut off at last by intemper- 
 ance : for being sent for to the k'ng, who 
 wished to see such a monument of antiqui- 
 ty, he indulged in the bounties of a palace, 
 andtheti went home and died. These men 
 lived a long while, not in consequence of 
 their intemperance, but in spite of it, and 
 would have lived much longer but on that 
 account. 
 
 The means known, so far, of promoting 
 longevity, have been usually concentrated 
 in short, pitiiy sayings — as, " Keep your 
 head cool, and your feet warm" — " work 
 much, and eat little," &c. : just as it the 
 whole science of human life could Be 
 summed up and brought out in a few 
 words, while its great principles were i 
 
 kept out of sight. One of the best of 
 these suyiiigs is the one given by an Ilal 
 ian in his hundred and sixteenth year, who 
 being asked the means of his living so 
 long, replied with that improvisation for 
 which his country is remarkable : — 
 
 " Con mangiar hrocoli, 
 I'urtar a i pcdi zucculi, 
 In tetto capailo, 
 Pochi pen.tieri in cervello." 
 
 " When hungry, of the bpst I eat, 
 And dry and wnr.n I keep my feet; 
 I Hereon my head from hiiq and rain. 
 And lot few cares periilex my brain." 
 
 The following is about the best theory 
 of the matter : Every man is born with a 
 certain stock of vitality, which can not be 
 increased, but may be husbanded. With 
 tliis siock he may live fast or slow — may 
 live extensively or intensively — may draw 
 his little amount of life over a large space, 
 or narrow it into a contracted one ; but 
 when this stock is exhausted, he has no 
 more. He who lives extensively, drinks 
 pure water, avoids all inilammatory dis- 
 eases, exercises sutficiently but not too 
 laboriously, indulges no exhausting pas- 
 sions, feeds on no exciting material, pur- 
 sues no debilitating pleasures, avoids all 
 laborious and protracted study, preserves 
 an easy mind, atid thus husbands his quan- 
 tum of vitality — will live considerably 
 longer than he otherwise -ould do, be- 
 cause he lives slow ; while he, on the oth- 
 er hand, who lives intensively — who bev- 
 erages on li juors and wines, exposes him- 
 self to inflammatory diseases or the cause.s 
 that produce them, labors beyond his 
 strength, visits exciting scenes and indul- 
 ges exhausting passions, lives on stimu- 
 lati !g and highly-seasoned food, is always 
 debilitated by his pleasures, devotes him- 
 self to severe and long-continued study, is 
 fretfully and peevishly anxious — is a very 
 poor candidate for a long life, because he 
 lives fast : as too intense a flame consumes 
 rapidly the oil that supported it ; and a fire 
 contitmally blown is exiiausted and goes 
 out. In the midst of his days, he is sur- 
 prised to find the living piinciple is ex- 
 pended ; and a disease, manageable enough 
 in any other case, in his case is unman- 
 ageable. He has been drawing so fre- 
 quently, and such large sums, from the 
 bank of nature, he haj drawn out his 
 whole stock, and closed his account. 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 h-^S!9m 
 
 mmS^^t9m¥tmf~- 
 
.^■^m 
 
 « i. 
 
 iiilt 
 
 ■■-"i 
 
 
 1^ ..r^^ 
 
 514 
 
 BLACK AND GRAY SaUIRRELS. 
 
 Rrader ! it is by keeping these princi- 
 plKS in view, and not by any little sayings 
 and recipes for long life, that yon learn 
 the great art, if it is an art, of long'.'vity. 
 It is not by " keeping your head cool and 
 your feet warm'" — nor by " working much 
 and eating little"— nor by " keeping the 
 moutli shut and the eyes open" — nor by 
 measuring your drink, weighing your food, 
 adjusting yoi.r exercise, as for a race- 
 horse, thai you are to live a long life. It 
 is by keeping these principles in view — 
 husbanding your little stock of vitality, 
 avoiding what excites and exhausts, not 
 going too often to the bank, living little in 
 much instead of much in little, living ex- 
 tensively, not intensively, not living fast, 
 but living slow ; and that by submitting to 
 the principles of the gospel.'you will best 
 accomplish all these objects, and learn, 
 moreover, the art of living for ever. 
 
 BLACK AND GRAY SQUIRRELS. 
 
 QUIRRELS, as might 
 naturally be supposed, 
 are exceedingly numer- 
 ous in many of the for- 
 ests of North America, 
 so that squirrel-hunting 
 is one of the favorite 
 and more refined spe- 
 cies of sporting among 
 such as devote a day 
 or two to "hunting-frolics" on particular 
 occasions ; not solely for ^e sordid pur- 
 poses of gain, but partly as a recreation 
 from other and very different employments. 
 Black and gray squirrels are the most com- 
 monly sought after ; for, in addition to 
 the fact of their beingf . e most abund- 
 ant, they are greatly • : .-emed as an arti- 
 cle of food, and their skins are of more 
 value than those of any of the other sorts. 
 A party of five or six sportsmen will often 
 kill two thousand or three thousand squir- 
 rels of various sorts in a two or three days' 
 excursion ; but your regular backwoods 
 bear and wolf hunter rarely condescends 
 to make war upon this species of small 
 game. B'ick squirrels are far more 
 abundant than gray ones, but why this id 
 
 the case we have never been able to ar- 
 rive at any satisfactory conclusion ; for in 
 their general habits, and their partialities 
 for those sections of the country that pro- 
 duce some peculiar and favorite food, there 
 appears not the slightest difference ; and 
 since their size and strength are nearly 
 equal, we can see no good reason for the 
 great disparity in point of numbers. Both 
 the black and gray squirrels are migratory 
 and erratic in their habits ; for at particu- 
 lar seasons of the year some sections of 
 tlie forests will literally swarm with them, 
 while at other times in the same situations 
 but a few solitary stragglers may be seen, 
 leaping from branch to branch in the tops 
 of the tall forest-trees. 
 
 The foresight (or by whatever name that 
 instinctive peculiarity common to a large 
 portion of the brute creation may be des- 
 ignated) of the gray squirrel is very re- 
 markable ; for although it is more shy and 
 timid than either the black or red ones 
 wkjch frequent the same localities, yet 
 WKn a season of absolute famine has been 
 apraoaching, it will run greater risks in 
 committing little depredations upon the 
 granary or corn-crib than would either of 
 the other species. In two or three sea- 
 sons, when theie was an entire failure of 
 beechnuts, chestnuts, and the other sorts 
 of food that these provident inhabitants of 
 the wilderness chiefly subsist upon during 
 the long winters, we had opportunities ol 
 becoming convinc-d of the fact as before 
 stated. "Until the autumn was advan- 
 cing," says a writer, " I had scarcely seen 
 a gwy squirrel in the neighboring woods, 
 but in the month of October I observed a 
 few of them paying occasional visits to 
 my barn and granary ; and, not wishing 
 my grain to be stolen or destroyed with 
 impunity, I shot two qr three of tlie earli- 
 est intruders. On those occasions I invu- 
 riably found them carrying off fifteen or 
 twenty grains of Indian corn witnin the 
 cavities of their cheeks ; and being pro- 
 vided with comparatively small chesk- 
 pouches wherein to stow away the pil- 
 fe ed property, it showed to what incon- 
 venience they would subject themselves 
 in order to procure a little siock as the 
 means of sustaining life through a long 
 and rigorous winter. WhctV.r or not the 
 few that had first visited my rfomi»ea had 
 
cer been able to ar- 
 y conclusion ; for in 
 ind their partialities 
 he country that pro- 
 (1 favorite food, there 
 est diflerence ; and 
 strength are nearly 
 good reason for the 
 t of numbers. Both 
 lirrels are migratory 
 ibits ; for at particu- 
 sar some sections of 
 ly swarm with them, 
 n the same situations 
 gglers may be seen, 
 
 branch in the tops 
 I. 
 
 T whatever name that 
 
 common to a large 
 reation may be des- 
 
 squirrel is very re- 
 h it is more shy and 
 black or red ones 
 same localities, yet 
 ilute famine has been 
 run greater risks in 
 (redations upon the 
 han would either of 
 n two or three sea- 
 » an entire failure of 
 
 and the other sorts 
 vident inhabitants of 
 ' subsist upon during 
 
 had opportunities ol 
 of the fact as before 
 autumn was advan- 
 ' I had scarcely seen 
 
 neighboring woods, 
 October 1 observed a 
 
 occasional visita to 
 )' ; and, not wishing 
 n or destroyed with 
 qr three of tlie earli- 
 ose occasions I iavu- 
 irryiiig off" fifteen or 
 lian corn witnin the 
 eks ; and bemg pro- 
 iiively small cheak- 
 
 stow away the pil- 
 jwed to what incon- 
 
 1 subject themselves 
 a little stock as the 
 
 life through a long 
 
 Whc»h',r or not the 
 
 ited mvrfemisea had 
 
m 
 
 k-!3 
 
 
 I 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 communicated the intelligence to their 
 tribe that my barn was stored with such 
 food as they might subsist upon during the 
 approaching famine, of course I have no 
 means of knowing ; however, by the early 
 part of November there were several scores 
 of them paying thoir daily respects to my 
 corn-crib and wheat-bin. A few red ones, 
 and occasionally a black one or two, would 
 renort to the same scene of plunder ; but I 
 ff^und that they were more intent upon ma- 
 king a meal on the spot, than upon carry- 
 ing away a necessary supply for the ap- 
 proaching winter. At this time the gray 
 ones were so numerous, and audacious, 
 too, that when I was not at leisure, or felt 
 no inclination to make war upon them 
 with my gun, I had to place a boy as a 
 sentinel to scare them back into the woods, 
 which he sometimes found great difficulty 
 in effecting. In the springs succeeding 
 those seasons of famine, I found hardly 
 any red or black squirrels in the adjoin- 
 ing woods — they had evidently peri.shed 
 through absolute want ; while a number of 
 the gray ones vvhich had been so fortu- 
 nate as to escape my gun, and that had 
 succeeded in laying in a winter's supply 
 at my expensf>, night be seen springing 
 from branch to branch, as agile and shy 
 as they had been before the approach of 
 winter ; and could not help blaming my- 
 self for havii g denied a small and tempo- 
 rary pittance to so many of my graceful, 
 sagacious, and provident neighbors. 
 
 " Although apparently not well adapted 
 for swimming, yet both gray and black 
 squirrels, in theii migratory excursions, 
 will venture across lakes that are one or 
 two miles ■ -de, ao well as the largest of 
 the Amcric rivers. In these adventur- 
 ous exploits they generally take advantage 
 of a favorable breeze, in which case the 
 wind acts upon their elevated tails, there- 
 by rendering the excursion both quicker 
 and less laborious. In the latter part of 
 the summer I have frequently witnessed 
 black squirrels crossing the Niagara river 
 in considerable numbers ; and I always 
 remarked that they swam across when 
 the morning first began to dawn. On 
 leaching the opposite shore they would 
 appear greatly fatigued, and if unmolested 
 would take a long rest preparatory to their 
 setting off for the neighboring woods." 
 
 INTERESTING FACTS IN EVAPORA- 
 TION. 
 
 HE recipiocal pro- 
 cesses of evaporation 
 and condensation are 
 the means whereby 
 the whole surface of 
 that part of the globe 
 which constitutes land 
 is supplied with the 
 fresh moisture and water necessary to sus- 
 tain the organization and to maintain the 
 functions of the animal and vegetable 
 world. Thence sap and juice are sup- 
 plied to vegetables, and fluids to animals ; 
 rivers and lakes are fed, and carry back 
 to the ocean their waters, after supplying 
 the uses of the living world. 
 
 The extensive surface of the ocean un- 
 dergoes a never-ceasing process of evap- 
 oration, and dismisses into the atmosphere 
 a quantity of pure water proportionate to 
 its extent of surface and te.iiperature of 
 the air above it, and to the state of that air 
 with respect to saturation. This vapor is 
 carried with currents of air through every 
 part of the atmosphere which surrounds 
 the globe. 
 
 When by various meteorological causes 
 the temperature of the air is reduced, it 
 will frequently happen that ' will come 
 below that limit at which the suspended 
 vapor is in a state of saturation. A depo- 
 sition or condensation will therefore take 
 place, and rain or aqueous clouds will be 
 formed. If the condensed vapor collect in 
 spherical drops, it will be precipitated, and 
 fall on the surface of the earth in the form 
 of rain ; but, from some unknown cause 
 it frequently happens that, instead of col- 
 lecting in drops, the condensed vapor is 
 formed into hollow bubbles, enclosing 
 within them a fluid lighter, bulk for bulk, 
 than the atmosphere. These bubbles are 
 also found to have a repulsive influence on 
 each other, like that of bodies similarly 
 electrified. They float, therefore, in the 
 atmosphere, their mutual repulsion pre- 
 venting them coalescing so as to form 
 drops. In this state, having by the iaws 
 of optics a certain degree of opacity, they 
 become distinctly visible and form clouds. 
 The vapor suspended in the air during 
 a hot summer's day is so elevated in its 
 
GTS IN EVAPORA- 
 
 ON. 
 
 HE recipiocal pro- 
 cesses of evaporation 
 and condensation are 
 the means whereby 
 the whole surface of 
 that part of the globe 
 which constitutes land 
 is supplied with the 
 ater necessary to siis- 
 I and to maintain the 
 iiimal and vegetable 
 ) and juice are sup- 
 md fluids to animals ; 
 I fed, and carry back 
 aters, after supplying 
 g world. 
 
 face of the ocean un- 
 iing process of evap- 
 is into 'he atmosphere 
 valer proportionate to 
 ; and temperature of 
 to the state of that air 
 ation. This vapor is 
 
 I of air thro\)gh every 
 lere which surrounds 
 
 neteorological causes 
 he air is reduced, it 
 en that ' will come 
 vhich the suspended 
 saturaticMi. A depo- 
 )n will therefore take 
 ueous clouds will be 
 ensfcd vapor collect in 
 
 II be precipitated, and 
 the earth in the form 
 
 lomo unknown cause 
 I that, instead of col- 
 I condensed vapor is 
 bubbles, enclosing 
 ighter, bulk for bulk. 
 These bubbles are 
 repulsive influence on 
 of bodies similarly 
 jat, therefore, in the 
 lUtual repulsion pre- 
 cing so as to form 
 !, having by the laws 
 (gree of opacity, they 
 ible and form clouds, 
 led in the air during 
 is so elevated in its 
 
 temperature as to be below the point of 
 saturation, and therefore, though the ac- 
 tual quantity suspended be very consider- 
 able, yet, while the air is capable of sus- 
 taining more, no condensation can take 
 place ; but in the evening, after the sun 
 has departed, the source of heat being 
 withdrawn, the temperature of the air un- 
 dergoes a great depression, and the quan- 
 tity of vapor suspended in the atmosphere, 
 now at a low temperature, first attains and 
 subsequently passes the point of saturation. 
 A deposition ofmoisture then takes place 
 by the condensation of the redundant va- 
 por of the atmosphere, and the small par- 
 ticles of moisture which fall on the sur- 
 face, coalescing by their natural cohesion, 
 form clear, pellucid drops on the surface 
 of the ground, and are known by the name 
 of dfiw. 
 
 The clouds in which the condensed ves- 
 icles of vapor are collected, are affected 
 by an attraction which draws them toward 
 the mountains and highest points of the 
 surface of the earth. Collected there, they 
 undergo a change, by which they form in- 
 to drops, and are deposited in the form of 
 rain ; and hence, by their natural gravita- 
 tion, they find their way through the pores 
 and interstices of the earth, and in chan- 
 nels along its s irnce, forming, in the one 
 case, wells and sp. ih^^, - in various parts of 
 the earth, where the;- .ind a natural exit, 
 or where an artificial exit is given to .em, 
 and, in the other case, obeying the form 
 of the surface of the country through which i 
 they are carried, they wind in nri^ow 
 channels, first deepening and wider ng ,.«? 
 they proceed, and are fed by tribu'.R ' 
 streams until they form into great rive s. 
 or spread into lakes, and at length- dis- 
 charge their waters into the sea. 
 
 The process of evaporation is not con- 
 fined to the sea, but takes place from ll\e 
 surface of the soil, and from all vegetable 
 and animal productions. The showers 
 which fall in summer, first scattered in a 
 thin sheet of moisture over the surface of 
 the country, speedily return to the form of 
 vapor, and carry with them, in the lF>ent 
 form, a quantity of heat, which they take 
 from every objoct in contact with them — 
 thus moderating the temperature of the 
 earth, and i^jfreshing the animal and vege- 
 table creation. 
 
 A remarkable example of evaporation on 
 a large scale is supplied by that greut in- 
 land sea, the Mediterranean. That natu- 
 ral reservoir of water receives an extraor- 
 dinary number of large rivers, among which 
 may be mentioned the Nile, the Danube, 
 the Dnieper, the Rhone, the Ebro, the Don, 
 and many others. It has no communica- 
 tion with the ocean, except by the straits 
 of Gibraltar, and there, instead of an out- 
 ward current, there is a rapid and never- 
 ceasing inward flow of water. We are, 
 therefore, compelled to conclude that the 
 evaporation from the surface of this sea 
 carries off the enormous quantity of water 
 constantly supplied ftrom these sources. 
 This may, in a degree, be accounted for 
 by the fact that the Mediterranean is sur- 
 rounded by vast tracts of land on every 
 side except the west. The wind, wheth- 
 er it blow from the south, the north, or 
 from the east, has passed over a consider- 
 able extent of land, and is generally in a 
 state, v.'ith respect to vapor, considerably 
 below saturation. These dry currents of 
 wind, coming in contact with the surface 
 of the Mediterranean, draw off water with 
 avidity, and passing off, are succeeded by 
 fresh portions of air, which repeat the 
 same process. 
 
 CATHEDRAL OF FLORENCE. 
 
 N extent and magnifi- 
 cence the Duomo or ca- 
 thedral of Florence is 
 among the first ecclesi- 
 astical edifices of Eu- 
 rope. It also derives a 
 great interest from its 
 venerable antiquity, and 
 from its being generally 
 considered as the beginning of a new era 
 in the history of architecture. Tuscan 
 writers, who have been rather too lavish 
 of their praise, have said a great deal about 
 the bold abandonment of the Gothic style, 
 and the happy adaptation of the ancient 
 Roman style of architecture in this build- 
 ing, which shows an admixture of several 
 styles, though it certainly has more of the 
 ancient Roman than any work that prece- 
 
 # 
 
 mmm 
 
«.,.,< 
 
 I 
 
 
 4 
 
 t 
 
 (led it in the middle a^es. Its fine double 
 cupola was the first raised in Europe, and 
 in other respects the Duomo of Florence 
 served aa a model to succeeding archi- 
 tecture. This cathedral was begun in 
 1296. The first architect employed upon 
 it was Arnolfo di Lapo, a scholar of Cim- 
 abue the old painter. In one hundred and 
 fifty-four years, and under successive art- 
 ists, it was nearly finished. " But," says 
 an old Florentine author, " the grand cu- 
 pola was the parturition of the marvellous 
 genius of Ser Filippo Brunellesco, an ar- 
 chitect who in his days had no equal." 
 Ii is related of Michael Angelo Buonarot- 
 ti, that he used to gaze at this proud dome 
 with rapture, and say it never could be 
 surpassed by mortal man. He afterward 
 surpassed it himself in his dome of St. 
 Peter's, at Rome ; but spite of his magnifi- 
 cent boast, the cupola of Florence was a 
 prototype, and had more to do with St. 
 Peter's than the dome of the Pantheon, 
 which Buonarotti said he would suspend 
 in the air. Brunellesco, the author of the 
 cupola, gave the finishing hand to the ca- 
 thedral. In size, materials, and boldness 
 of conception, it is only inferior among 
 Italian churches to St. Peter's. The walls 
 are cased with black and white marble, 
 and both without and within they are 
 adorned with numerous statues, many of 
 which are beautiful as works of art, or in- 
 teresting as early specimens of Italian 
 sculpture. As in the cathedral of Milan, 
 where there is a complete army of statues, 
 too many of them are placed in positions 
 where they can scarcely be seen. 
 
 Like other old buildings, the cathedral 
 of Florence has been subjected to the ca- 
 prices of power and the bad taste of des- 
 potism. The facade was almost half in- 
 crusted with beautiful marble, and addi- 
 tionally adorned with many statues and 
 bassi-reliovi, executed from designs by the 
 venerable Giotto, one of the fathers of 
 painting — one of the immortal Italians who 
 dug up the fine arts from the grave ir 
 which they had been buried for centuries. 
 In 1586, without any visible motive, a 
 grand-duke of the house of Medici demol- 
 ished this antique front, and began anoth- 
 er on a totally diflierent design. This new 
 fa9ade was very slowly executed, and nev- 
 er finished i and in 1688 another grand- 
 
 duke, whose taste it did not please, knock- 
 ed it all down, just as his predecessor had 
 demolished the venerable works of Giotto. 
 For several years the front of tlie church 
 presented nothing but bare unsightly walls ; 
 and then, on the occasion of some ducal 
 marriage, the reigning Medici had it shab- 
 bily painted in fresco, and in that condi- 
 tion it remained for upward of a century. 
 The spirited republicans, the merchants 
 and manufacturers of old Florence, with 
 whose money the vast cathedral was ori- 
 ginally built, could afford to lavish costly 
 statues and the most precious marbles ; but 
 the population, enterprise, aiid wealth of 
 the country had suftered a sad blight un- 
 der the despotic government which suc- 
 ceeded the commonwealth, and the grand- 
 dukes could only provide a little plaster 
 and paint for a building which was the 
 boast of the city, as it was the glory of the 
 old republicans. The Medici — that fami- 
 ly of merchant-princes whose virtues and 
 abilities went out like lamps lacking oil, 
 almost immediately alter their assumption 
 of absolute power — kept their marbles, 
 their " porphyry, jasper, agate, and all 
 hues" to heap upon their own inglorious 
 tomb, in the church of San Lorenzo ; and 
 even that monument of their vanity and 
 tawdry taste they never finished. 
 
 Seven great doors, three in front and 
 two on either side, give admittance to the 
 interior of the Florence cathedral. These 
 doors are richly ornamented. Giovanni 
 di Pisa and Ghirlandaio both employed 
 their genius upon them. The floor of the 
 church is paved with rich variegated mar- 
 bles, disposed in a beautiful manner. Ital- 
 ian writers, who deserve our love by the 
 fond, minute attention they have paid to 
 such matters, record that the pavement of 
 the grea. central aisle was laid down by 
 Francesco di San Gallo ; that round the 
 choir by the versatile and great Michael 
 Angelo ; and the rest by Giuliano di Bac- 
 cio d'Agnolo. The windows are smaller 
 and fewer than usual, and the glass being 
 painted with the deep rich tints common 
 in ancient glass-staining, admits but a sub- 
 dued light. As Forsyth observes, " Here 
 is just that * dim religious light' which 
 pleases poetical and devout minds." This 
 light almost becomes " a darkness visible" 
 in the choir, for the cupola or dome under 
 
 il 
 
~l 
 
 lid not please, knock- 
 8 Ilia predecessor had 
 rablo works of Giotto, 
 e front of the church 
 t bare unsightly walls ; 
 casion of some ducal 
 ig Medici had it shab- 
 o, and in that condi- 
 upward of a century, 
 icana, the merchants 
 if old Florence, with 
 .St cathedral was ori- 
 ifford to lavish costly 
 precious marbles ; but 
 rprise, aiid wealth of 
 ered a sad blight un- 
 vernment which suc- 
 veallh, and the grand- 
 ovide a little plaster 
 ilding which was the 
 It was the glory of the 
 de Medici — that fami- 
 63 whose virtues and 
 ie lamps lacking oil, 
 iHer their assumption 
 -kept their marbles, 
 isper, agate, and all 
 their own inglorious 
 of San Lorenzo ; and 
 t of their vanity and 
 ver finished. 
 8, three in front and 
 ive admittance to the 
 ce cathedral. These 
 lamented. Giovanni 
 idaio both employed 
 m. The floor of the 
 I rich variegated mar- 
 autiful manner. Ital- 
 erve our love by the 
 in they have paid to 
 that the pavement of 
 Ie was laid down by 
 alio ; that round the 
 e and great Michael 
 t by Giuliano di Bac- 
 windows are smaller 
 , and the glass being 
 ;p rich tints common 
 Ing, admits but a sub< 
 lyth observes, " Here 
 sligious light' which 
 levout minds." This 
 " a darkness visible" 
 :upola or dome under 
 
 'J 
 
 lilWHiHWIIflttl' 
 
 mammtim 
 
 J 
 
IMH 
 
 «'• 
 
 n 
 
 660 
 
 CATHEDRAL OF FLOHKNC i 
 
 whicl; it stanils is clos, il at top, and arlmits 
 no fliMjd of hunshine like the dome of St. 
 Peer's The choir is in itself a blemish. 
 It IS of an octaijon.il f,irm, to correspond 
 with the shape of the cupola, which is not 
 circular, but octagonal, or eight-sided. It 
 is enclosed by a colonnndn which is fine, 
 considered apart and by itself, but its 
 Ionic elevation is at variance, and jars 
 with the rest of the building. Some cu- 
 rious bassi reliovi enrich the choir, and 
 high overhead the interior of the cupola is 
 covered with fresco paintings — the work of 
 Federico Zuccheri and Giorgio Vasari. 
 
 The solemn old church is rich in asso- 
 ciations and historical recollections. Here 
 are the tombs of Giotto ifie painter, Bru- 
 nellesco the architect, and Marsilius Fici- 
 nus, the reviverofthe Platonic philosophy, 
 and the friend and instructor of Lorenzo 
 the Magnificent. Here, on the 26th day 
 of April, 1478, when high mass was per- 
 forming, and just as the priest held up the 
 host, the blood of Giuliano de Medici was 
 shed by the Pazzi ; and his brother Lo- 
 renzo, clinging to the horns of the altar, 
 and afterward flying into the sacristy, es- 
 caped with difficulty from those deter- 
 mined conspirators, who would have re- 
 stored liberty to their country, but who set 
 about it in a w ■ a way, and mostly from 
 violent and M.vxidii} motives, and who, 
 moreover, l-.'.n,cil -.hemseWes with the 
 king of Napln.-*, rbe jjrealesv tyrant in Italy, 
 and with otior «;•• pots who hated liberty 
 even more thau i/iey hated the Medici. 
 Here, some years before, when Constan- 
 tinople was trembling at the approach of 
 the Turks, the Greek emperor, half a fu- 
 gitive, and wholly a mean supplicant and 
 beggar, sat side by side with the pope, 
 consenting to renounce the schisms and 
 heresies of the Greek church ; and enga- 
 ging (without consulting them) to bring all 
 his people into the bosom of the church 
 of Rome, on conditions agreed upon, that 
 the pope should procure him arms, treas- 
 ures, and the assistance of the catholic 
 princes of Europe. Hero the German em- 
 peror, Frederick III., forgetting that the 
 holy spirit of the place was one of pefice 
 and good-will to ail men, knighted some 
 scores of the bravest or fiercest of his cut- 
 throat soldiery. A portrait recalls the 
 memory of the greatest of all Florentines, 
 
 and shows ilic tardy repentance of his nn- 
 gratefnl countrymen. " .\n ancient pic- 
 ture by Orcagna, in whi^h is paint«'d ilie 
 divine poet Dante, is placed hero in con- 
 sequence of an I pre« ■ decree of the 
 Floreniinc republic ; ai , '>ms is the only 
 public memorial wo poss. of that great 
 master of Tuscan poetry." Such are the 
 melancholy words of an old Florentine 
 writer, who, like all hi^ countrymc i, de- 
 plored that the bii. should have died in 
 poverty and exile, and have ioA his >,trict- 
 ly-gijarded ashes in a foreign s tie. Next 
 to this picture of Dante '■■» the portrait of 
 an English soldier of iWrtuno— the re- 
 nowned and infamous coi, ntiero Sir John 
 Hawkwood, who betrayed rj ,1 sold llu; 
 Pisans, in whose service lie was, to their 
 bitter enenucs the Florentines. 
 
 In another pan of the church there is a 
 curious old portrait of Gioo. I! nellesco 
 has the honor of a bust, as well us ih;.t of 
 a Latin epitaph, on his tomb, 'i'liis ■ pi- 
 
 faph, which was written by Carlo A ^r- 
 zuppini of Arezzo, " poet and secretary o*^ 
 the republic," is remarkable, as it inclu'iii 
 the original idea of the inscription '•< S> 
 Paul's to the memory of Sir Chribi.»pli. 
 Wren. The Florentine inscription tells 
 the reader to look at the cupola to form a 
 notion of Brunellesco's excellence in ar- 
 chitecture. The inscription to Wren, 
 which is better turned, says, " Reader ! if 
 you would behold his monument, look 
 around you." 
 
 In various parts of the cathedral, there 
 are statues by Baccio Bandanelli, Savino 
 Rovezzano, and other early artists. The 
 chapels which shoot off from the side 
 aisles are rich in pictures, sculpture, and 
 relics. The campanile or belfry, which 
 is the square tower that the reader will 
 see in our engraving, surmounted with a 
 flag, is close to, but wholly detached from, 
 the body of the cathedral. This was a 
 common method in old Italian churches, 
 where the bells were hung, not in the 
 temple, but in a separate tower near to it. 
 Instances of this occur at the celebrated 
 cathedral of Pisa, at the church of Santa 
 Chiara in Naples, and in many other 
 places. The campanile of Florence is 
 light and airy. It is coated on the out- 
 side with variegated marble, and studded 
 h';re and there with statues. Giotto the 
 
 'I 
 
^IkA 
 
 JANUAUV. 
 
 551 
 
 Y repentance of his nn- 
 J. " An ancient pic- 
 
 whivh is paint»>(l ilui 
 SI placed hero iii con- 
 
 prof" decree of the 
 ; ai 'his is the only 
 
 po8H> of thrit grt'iu 
 uetry." Siiih .r-' the 
 of an old Flore i tine 
 I hk countrym< , de- 
 
 shouhl have died in 
 nd have ieA 'lis hiricf ■ 
 n foreign stste. Next 
 mte !i the portrait of 
 
 of 'ortuiiu — the re- 
 8 coil iltiero Sir John 
 strayed ?i:,,l sold the 
 rvicc li.: was, to tht ,r 
 lorentines. 
 
 the ( hurch there is a 
 f Gi( '<•>. II nellesco 
 ust, as well as ih!>t of 
 his tomb. This 'pi- 
 rilien by Carlo ' ' 
 poet and secret:i 
 irkable, as it inciiui, 
 the inscription ■ • S; 
 y of Sir Chrisi.ijih. 
 lino inscription tells 
 iho cupola to form a 
 I'a excellence in ar- 
 iscription to Wren, 
 d.says, " Reader ! if 
 liis monument, look 
 
 ■ the cathedral, there 
 3 Bandanelli, Savino 
 r early artists. The 
 t off from the side 
 tures, sculpture, and 
 lile or belfry, which 
 that the reader will 
 , surmounted with a 
 'holly detached from, 
 edral. This was a 
 •Id Italian churches, 
 e hung, not in the 
 ate tower near to it. 
 ;ur at the celebrated 
 the church of Santa 
 ind in many other 
 [lile of Florence is 
 coated on the out- 
 marble, and studded 
 statues. Giotto the 
 
 ,. 'I 
 
 painter drew the designs on which it was 
 erected. And licre it is worthy of remark 
 that nearly ev. .ne of i; -se early artists 
 wa« not a mere linter, (n uljitor, or ar- 
 chiuct, but uniti d in hini.si the knowl- 
 edge and prac ' r of all the iiiree arts, be- 
 Hides being skiiled in civil engineering, 
 ^nd, in most cases, a poet, or an accum- 
 IilisJK I iii'isician, to boot. They were a 
 wonderful ofnn wlii< suddenly sprung 
 u|i md flourished, md filled their native 
 cities with beauty, in the midst of a most 
 lurlnilent liberty, when wars and factions 
 nIk. k ''le peninsula from one end to the 
 other, and every citizen or burgess of the 
 free states of Tuscany and Loinbardy was 
 of necessity a soldier. The impulse they 
 gave lasted some years after the decline 
 of freedom ; bii' Italy never saw such men 
 in the tranqiiilluy that arose out of con- 
 (irned despotism. 
 
 Oj H)siio to the principal entrance of 
 the cathedral there stands another de- 
 tacl. l building, which the reader wiJl see 
 in our vi This is the baptistery, which 
 
 it was lual not to include in the 
 
 church Lit to erect apart. At Pisa, as 
 here, and if many other places, the bap- 
 tistery is a separate edifice, rising near the 
 cathedral. This baptistery was not con- 
 fined to one parish : all the children born 
 in the city and suburbs used to be christ- 
 ened in it ; and as the population in the 
 thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centu- 
 ries, was immense, the baptismal fonts 
 must have presented very busy Gcenes. A 
 notion may be formed of the extent of the 
 population from a fact mentioned by Ma- 
 chiavelli. He says that the bells of the 
 campanile sounding the tocsin would, in 
 a few hours, bring together one hundred 
 and thirty-five thousand well-armed men, 
 and all these from Florence alone with the 
 adjoining valley of the Arno. 
 
 The baptistery is an octagonal biii' 'mg 
 with a low dome supported by mai^ ^(an- 
 ite columns. Its interior walls are lined 
 and the pavement is inlaid with marble. 
 The concave of the dome is covered with 
 mosaic, the work of Andrea TSfi, one of 
 Cimabue's pupils. But the glory and mar- 
 vel of the baptistery lie in its three great 
 bronze portals, which are wrought into 
 bassi-relievi of exquisite beauty. The 
 most ancient of the three was by Andrea 
 
 Pisano, and I irs the date of 1330. The 
 other two, w re still more excellent 
 
 in style, a i autiful, that Michael 
 
 Angelo wan .iicd to say they were 
 
 worthy of b( : gates of paradise, were 
 
 the work of uy> (Jhiberti. The fig- 
 
 ures and groups ol the rclievi refer to 
 events in the life of St. John the Baptist. 
 By the sides of the principal entrance 
 there are two porphyry columns, given to 
 the repiiblii by the Pisans in 1117, iii 
 gratitude for important services rendered 
 \'V the iben friendly Florentines, who had 
 i. j)t wat h and ward in Pisa while its 
 warlike ■ "Mis wont to the conquest of 
 Majo ri ' irca. Close at ham!, as 
 
 siho r parts of the city, are 
 
 soil luiit memorials. They are 
 
 link -ssy iron chain, with which, 
 
 wh> .re, the Pisans used to shut up 
 
 ami idtheir celebrated port. In 130'J 
 
 the iitines took the Porto Pisano, car- 
 
 ried away the chain, and hung up frag- 
 ments of it in their own city as trophies 
 of victory. 
 
 The column surmounted by a cross 
 which stands in front of the baptistery is 
 said to have been erected as early as the 
 year 408, in commemoration of a miracle 
 performed on the spot by St. Zenobi, at 
 that time bishop of Florence. 
 
 The procession seen crossing the piazza 
 or square of the cathedral in our view is 
 one that annually takes place on the day 
 of Corpus Domini — the Fete Dieu of the 
 French. 
 
 JANUARY. 
 
 IVILIZED nations in 
 general now. agree to be- 
 gin reckoning the new 
 year from the first of Jan- 
 uary. Yet it may seem 
 strange to call that a new 
 season when everything 
 is most inactive and life- 
 less — when animals are 
 benumbed by the cold, and vegetables arc 
 all dead or withered. For this reason, 
 some have thought it best to begin the 
 year in spring, when the face of nature is 
 
 l^|gB}Ki-':£^^9d£Sn'^t£S£aatfim!S££l!:«^^ffiKff^ - ' 
 
 J 
 
. ;'/ ^ 
 
 im 
 
 ^ 
 
 552 
 
 THE LIFE BOAT. 
 
 rrnlly renewed. Dut as this happens at 
 ilirturent times in diflerent years and cli- 
 mutes, it has at length beer: determined to 
 date the commenc'inent of the year, as at 
 present, within a few days afker the win- 
 ter solstice, or shortest day. This always 
 titkes place on the 21st of December ; and 
 from that time the days are gradually 
 lengthened till the middle of '■ummor : so 
 that the year may properly be said to be 
 now turned. 
 
 January, which now stands the first in 
 the calendar, was so placed by Numa Pom- 
 pilius, when he added it, together with 
 February to Komulus's year ; its name is 
 supposed to be derived from the Latin 
 word_;'ffni.a, a gate ; and us Janus was con- 
 sidered by the Romans to preside over the 
 gates of heaven, the name of the month is 
 supposed to have reference to the opening 
 of a new era, or renewal of time. The 
 Saxons denominated this month " IVolf- 
 monat ; because people were always, in 
 that «ionth, more in danger of being de- 
 voured by wolves than in any season else 
 of the year ; for that, through the extremi- 
 ty of cold and snow, those ravenous crea- 
 tures could not find other beasts sufficient 
 to feed upon." 
 
 Nothing can be more wonderful than 
 the effects of frost. To see the running 
 stream stopped in its course — the lake, 
 that was curled by every breeze, convert- 
 ed into a firm plain — the moist ground 
 dried up, and made as* hard as rock ; and 
 all this done by an invisible power, in the 
 space of a single night, would be infinite- 
 ly surprising to one unaccustomed to the 
 sight. 
 
 Water, when frozen, is expanded : that 
 is, takes up more room than before : hence, 
 ice is lighter than water, and swims upon 
 it. From this cause, if a bottle full of wa- 
 ter hard-corked, bo set to freeze, the bottle 
 will be broken, for want of room for the 
 expansion of the water. Water-pipes of- 
 ten burst from the same cause, and hoops 
 fly off from barrels ; nay, even a gun-bar- 
 rel or a cannon, filled with water, and 
 screwed up at the muzzle, has been burst 
 in an intense frost. 
 
 The same property produces a very 
 beneficial effect to the husbandman ; for 
 the hard clods of the ploughed fields are 
 loosened and broken to pieces by the 
 
 "Welling of the water within them when 
 frozen. Hence the earth is crumbled, ami 
 prepared for receiving the seed in spring. 
 Snow is the water of clouds, frozen : on 
 a close examination, it is found to be all 
 composed of icy darts, or stars. Its white- 
 ness is owing to thn small particles into 
 which it wiis divided. Ice, when pound- 
 ed, becomes equally white. .Smtw is very 
 useful, by covering the plants, and jiro- 
 tectingthem from the severity of the fro^t • 
 for, at a certain depth under the snow, the 
 etld always continues the same. 
 
 THE LIFE-ROAT. 
 
 ^ HE heavy seas which 
 J*^ break upon the rugged 
 coasts of Norihumb(^r- 
 land and Durham ren- 
 der that part of Ijrit- 
 ain the frequent scene 
 of the most disastrous 
 shipwrecks. In the 
 year 1789, the ship Adventure, of New- 
 castle, was stranded, on the south side of 
 Tynemouth Haven, in the midst of tremen- 
 dous breakers. The crew climbed up in- 
 to the shrouds for safety, whence they 
 dropped into the sea in the presence ol 
 thousands of spectators, not one of whom 
 dared to venture out to their assistance in 
 the common description of boats, although 
 stimulated by the prospect of a high re- 
 ward. The inhabitants of South Shields 
 were so strongly affected by this melan- 
 choly occurrence that a public meeting 
 was called, at which a committee was 
 formed, and empowered to offer premiums 
 for plans of a boat on a principle which 
 should render it impossible to sink in the 
 heaviest sea. Among many which were 
 laid before the committee, that of Mr. Hen- 
 ry Greaibrcd obtained the most general 
 approbation ; and, in pursuance of their 
 orders, the first life-boat was constructed 
 by him, and launched on the 30th of Jan- 
 uary, 1790. The value of this invention 
 was soon fully proved, and its importance 
 to the mercantile navy acknowledged. Mr. 
 Greatheed had made his models public, 
 and therefore did not himself receive 
 
 lu 
 
 -• 
 
 .J.^^C< 
 
 ^. ■ .A^S:--'^. 
 
\ltr within t]iom wlit>n 
 Boarlli is criiMibled, and 
 inX tim set'd in spring, 
 ar of cliiiidn, fntzon : vn 
 ri, it is found to lin all 
 irts, ur stars. Its white- 
 1(1 small partichis into 
 ed. Ice, when ponnd- 
 y white. SriDW is very 
 < tlio plants, and pro- 
 lie seventy of the frovi • 
 ith under tiip snow, tiic 
 lies the saiiiu. 
 
 IFE-ROAT. 
 
 ^ HE heavy seas which 
 S break upon the rujfged 
 ' coasts of Northntnbnr- 
 land and Durham ren- 
 der that part of Urii- 
 ain the frequent scene 
 of the most disastrous 
 shipwrecks. In the 
 J Adventure, of New- 
 J, on the south side of 
 in the midst of tremen- 
 le crew climbed up in- 
 safety, whence they 
 la in the presence of 
 tors, not one of whom 
 . to their assistanco in 
 tion of boats, although 
 rospect of a high re- 
 ants of South Shields 
 Fectod by this melan- 
 !iat a public meeting 
 ch a committee was 
 3red to offer premiums 
 on a principle which 
 lossible to sink in the 
 ng many which were 
 ittee, that of Mr. Hen- 
 led the most general 
 n pursuance of their 
 boat was constructed 
 d on the 30th of Jan- 
 alue of this invention 
 3d, and its importance 
 y acknowledged. Mr. 
 e his models public, 
 not himself receive 
 
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those advantages which, in justice, he 
 ought to have derived from his ingenuity. 
 In 1802 he accordingly petitioned the 
 house of commons, for the purpose of ob- 
 taining from the nation such reward as, in 
 consideration of these circumstances, he 
 might be thought to deserve. The peti- 
 tion was referred to a committee, which 
 particularly directed its inquiries as to the 
 utility of the life-boat, and the originality 
 of the invention claimed by Mr. Great- 
 heed. On the first point, several old sea- 
 men and persons employed in shipping 
 were examined. One of the former stated 
 that he had himself been in the life-boat, 
 and had seen her go off scores of times, 
 and never saw her fail in bringing away 
 the crew from wrecks or vessels in dis- 
 tress. No other boat could have gone 
 from the shore at the time the life-boat 
 went. He also stated that, in the event 
 of the life-boat filling with water, she 
 would still continue upright, and not foun- 
 der, as boats of the common construction 
 did. Ho had seen her como ashore so full 
 of water that it ran over each side. An- 
 other individual had been witness to the 
 wreck of several ships at the same time. 
 Out of one vessel the life-boat took fifteen 
 men, who would otherwise inevitably have 
 perished, as the ship went to pieces im- 
 mediately after, and the wreck came on 
 shore almost as soon as the boat. The 
 crew of one of these vessels took to their 
 own boat, which sunk, and all but two 
 were lost. It was stated that, on one oc- 
 casion, when the boat was full of water, 
 the crew all went to one side, in order to 
 try the possibility of upsetting her, which 
 they were unable to accomplish. At the 
 time when this committee was appointed, 
 twelve years had elapsed since Mr. Great- 
 heed's invention, during which period at 
 least three hundred persons had been 
 brought on shore from wrecks and ships 
 in distress off Shields alone. It was fully 
 established that no sea, however high, 
 could upset or sink the life-boat. The 
 originulity of the invention being also 
 clearly due to Mr. Greatheed, parliament 
 voted him the sum of twelve hundred 
 pounds sterling, " as a reward for his in- 
 vention of the life-boat, whereby many 
 lives have already been saved, and great 
 security is afforded to seamen and proper- 
 
 ty in cases of shipwreck." The subscri- 
 bers to Lloyd's presented Mr. Greatlieed 
 with one hundred guineas, and voted two 
 thousand pounds for the purpose of en- 
 couraging the building of life-boatt, in dif- 
 ferent ports of the kingdom. Two years 
 afterward, the emperor Alexander present- 
 ed Mr. Greatheed with a valuable diamond 
 ring. 
 
 Owing to the dangerous character of 
 the Durham and Northumberland coast, 
 and the quantity of shipping belonging to 
 the northeastern ports, tho life-boat is of- 
 tener launched here than from any other 
 part of Great Britain ; and, under the gui- 
 dance of its crew, more frequently snatch- 
 es the mariner from destruction. 
 
 The great characteristic of the life-boat 
 is its buoyancy, ^i possesses this recjui- 
 site quality in consequence of the bottom 
 being hollow and perfectly air-tight ; and 
 the sides are also surrounded by several 
 boxes, rr ron^partments, which are also 
 air-tight. We believe that boats are com- 
 ing into use provided with a set of coppii- 
 tubes. One upon this plan has lately been 
 constructed at Sunderland. The division 
 of the sides into several parts prevents the 
 boat being endangered incase of its hex g 
 struck by a cross wave. This, however, 
 can seldom occur, because, both ends be- 
 ing formed alike, the direction of the boat 
 can be changed without exposing it to the 
 rude shocka to which it would be subject- 
 ed by turning from one point to another in 
 a tempestuous sea. It is also contrived 
 that when the boat ascends the waves, 
 any water which it may have shipped pas- 
 ses out at the lower end ; and there are 
 also holes at the bottom, through which 
 whatever remains is immediately dis- 
 charged. The Sunderland boat was built 
 in the year 1800, ten years after Mr. 
 Greatheed's invention had become known. 
 It is twenty-six feet in length, and the 
 width is nine and a half feet. This boat, 
 on one occasion, would have been knock- 
 ed to pieces by a cross sea but for the di- 
 vision of the sides into various pans. In 
 the bottom are six air-holes, which are so 
 proportioned to the size and gravity of the 
 vessel that, when full of water, it is dis- 
 charged in forty seconds. She is man- 
 aged by six or ten men, as the urgency of 
 the case may require, two of whom steer 
 
 
■MP 
 
 eck." The subscri- 
 siited Mr. Greailiecd 
 iiieas, and votud two 
 the purpose of eii- 
 g of life-boala in dif- 
 ngdotn. Two years 
 ir Alexander present- 
 h a valuable diamond 
 
 geious character of 
 irthumbcrland coast, 
 flipping beh)nging to 
 s, thu lifo-boat is of- 
 than from any other 
 ; and, under the gui- 
 re frequently snatch- 
 estriiction. 
 ristic of the life-boat 
 )ossesses this reijui- 
 uence of the bottom 
 fectly air-tight ; and 
 rrounded by several 
 nts, which are also 
 ! that boats are com- 
 with a set of copper 
 plan has lately been 
 and. The division 
 al parts prevents the 
 1 incase of its bei j 
 6. This, however, 
 laiise, both ends be- 
 lirection of the boat 
 ut exposing it to the 
 it would be subject- 
 ! point to another in 
 [t is also contrived 
 iscends the waves, 
 y have shipped pas- 
 md ; and there are 
 om, through which 
 
 immediately dis- 
 rland boat was built 
 n years after Mr. 
 had become known, 
 in length, and the 
 If feet. This boat, 
 I have been knock- 
 s sea but for thedi- 
 
 various pans. In 
 lioles, which are so 
 3 and gravity of the 
 jf water, it is dis- 
 ids. She is man- 
 , as the urgency of 
 two of whom steer 
 
 ^m 
 
 . ill 
 
556 
 
 AUTOGRAPHY. 
 
 with sevonteen-feet oars. The ours are 
 secured in their places by a coiled rope. 
 Tlio boiit iy preserved in repair, and its 
 crew paid, by a small iinpost on ships en- 
 tcriiiff the harbor. When out of service, 
 it is kept under a substantial shed near the 
 beach, mounted upon a four-wheeled car- 
 riage. As soon as tho thrilling cry " A 
 wreck !" is heard, tho lieutenant of the 
 boat assembles his men ; and, after a sur- 
 vey of the ill-fated ship, each proceeds to 
 his place in the boat. When all their ar- 
 rangements arc completed, two or more 
 horses are harnessed to the carriage, and 
 the boat is drawn to the water's edge. By 
 a mechanical contrivance, the frame of tho 
 carriage is then brought into a sloping po- 
 sition, and the boat is launched amid the 
 breakers, to pursue its benevolent enter- 
 prise. 
 
 The men who compose the crew of a 
 life-boat often acquire a sort of moral dig- 
 nity, occasioned by the exercise of the 
 manly virtues which a faithful discharge 
 of their duties demands, and the sympa- 
 thetic feelings to which they are habitua- 
 ted by the nature of their vocation. A fine 
 fellow at Tynemouth said to the artist who 
 made the sketches which accompany this 
 description, patting the sides of his boat 
 as if it were a favorite animal, " Have you 
 made a picture of my boat, sir ? — She's a 
 good one, and has been with me at the 
 saving of twenty-seven lives in one morn- 
 ing." 
 
 The boats, in general, of this descrip- 
 tion, are painted white on the outside, this 
 color more immediately engaging the eye 
 of the spectator when rising from the hol- 
 low of the sea. The person who steers 
 her should be well acquainted with the 
 course of the tides, in order to take every 
 possible advantage : the best method, if 
 the direction will admit of it, is to head 
 the sea. The steersman should keep his 
 eye fixed upon the wave, or breaker, and 
 encourage the rowers to giv way as the 
 boat rises to it ; being then aided by the 
 force of the oars, she launches over it with 
 vast rapidity, without shipping any water. 
 It is necessary to observe that there is of- 
 ten a strong reflux of the sea occasioned 
 by the stranded wrecks, which requires 
 both despatch and care in the people em- 
 ployed, that the boat be not damaged. 
 
 When the wreck is reached, if tho wind 
 blows to the land, the boat will como in- 
 shore without any other eflbrt than steer- 
 ing. 
 
 In case of a ship being stranded on a 
 part of the coast where the services of the 
 life-boat are inaccessible, it has been rec- 
 ommended to fasten a boom to the boat's 
 bow, by which means tho violence of the 
 waves are broken. In a treatise oi\ " Prac- 
 tical Seamanship," by Mr. Hutchinson, an 
 instance is mentioned of the preservation 
 of ten men in a small boat only twelve 
 feet long, by means of a log of wood tied 
 to the boat's bow, which kept her eiul on 
 to the waves, and preserved her fr./m fill- 
 ing with water. 
 
 Life-boats of somewhat similar construc- 
 tion are found in most harbors of our own 
 seaboard, and attached to most of our lar- 
 ger vessels and packet-ships. 
 
 AUTOGRAPHY. 
 
 HE first thing one 
 docs on receiving a 
 letter, is to look whe- 
 ther we recognise the 
 writing as that of a 
 hand familiar to us. 
 "Oh, this is from A," 
 or " This is from B," 
 is a familiar exclama- 
 tion. At one glance we recognise A or B, 
 as distinctly as if either stood before us 
 face to face, though both perhaps may be 
 thousands of miles off. Then, again, we 
 collect the various signatures of our friends, 
 or of celebrated persons whom we may 
 never have seen, or known only by their 
 works or fame, and paste them into our 
 albums, and take a delight in looking on 
 them, and comparing their resemblances 
 or differences ; in short, every observation 
 of the kind leads us to the conclusion that 
 almost every person's handwriting differs 
 from another, and that there is almost as 
 complete an individuality in their mode 
 of writing as in their countenances, iheii 
 gait and gestures, or as in their minds. 
 
 There is scarcely a collector of such 
 signatures who is not also a diviner of the 
 
reached, if tlio winJ 
 le boat will come in- 
 thor eflbrt than stuer- 
 
 l)ping stranded on a 
 !rc the services of the 
 sibie, it has l)een rec- 
 
 a boom to the boat's 
 19 the violence of the 
 n a treatise on " Prac- 
 ly Mr. Hutchinson, an 
 id of the preservation 
 nail boat only twehc 
 of a log of wood tied 
 hich kept her end on 
 reserved her from fill- 
 
 whatsimilarconstruc- 
 st harbors of our own 
 ed to most of our lar- 
 tet-ships. 
 
 IRAPHY. 
 
 HE first thing one 
 does on receiving a 
 letter, is to look whe- 
 ther wc recognise the 
 writing as that of a 
 hand familiar to us. 
 "Oh, this is from A," 
 or " This is from 13," 
 is a familiar exclania- 
 1 we recognise A or B, 
 ither stood before us 
 both perhaps may be 
 )flr. Then, again, we 
 ;natures of our friends, 
 sons whom we may 
 known only by their 
 paste them into our 
 delight in looking on 
 g their resemblances 
 lort, every observation 
 to the conclusion that 
 's handwriting differs 
 at there is almost as 
 uality in their mode 
 r countenances, theii 
 as in their minds, 
 f a collector of such 
 it also a diviner of the 
 
 AUTOGllAPHY. 
 
 00( 
 
 character of the person as deduced from 
 his handwriting. How often do we hear 
 it ob.servud, " This is the writing of a prim, 
 nietliodical, cold, reserved mortal ;" — or, 
 " That is the signature of a gay, volatile, 
 and careless being." How unecjuivocally 
 can we mark out the writing of a lady from 
 that of a gentleman. How readily that of 
 a lawyer or merchant from that of a fash- 
 ionable idler, or a " man of wit or pleasure 
 about town." To many, it might appear 
 a very absurd thing to say that there ex- 
 ists an intimate relation between the color 
 of a man's hair and his handwriting, and 
 yet it is well known that the initialed in 
 this matter pretend infallibly to distinguish 
 the writing of a fair-haired person from 
 that of a dark. 
 
 A very ingenious writer has afforded a 
 physiological reason for the diversities of 
 handwriting. This diversity he attributes 
 to temperament ; that is, a certain condi- 
 tion of the physical and mental constitu- 
 tion of the individual which constitutes his 
 peculiar character. Of these tempera- 
 ments there are atlea.st half a dozen kinds, 
 pretty distinct and well marked, and per- 
 haps half a dozen more of blended or mixed 
 tenipcramenls, where the shades are less 
 distinguishable. The two extremes of nat- 
 ural temperament or complexion ave well 
 known to every one. We shall take, for 
 instance, a man with light auburn hair, 
 blue sparkling eyes, a ruddy complexion, 
 ample chest, and muscular, well-rounded, 
 and agile frame. Such a man will rarely 
 fail to have a smile on his countenance, or 
 a cheerful, perhaps witty saying on his 
 lips. You will never find him moping in 
 a solitary corner, biU flitting about in the 
 sunshine and bustie of society, joining in 
 everyihing, and dwelling on nothing long. 
 Wlicn such a man sits down to write, he 
 makes short work of it : he snatches the 
 first pen that comes in the way — never 
 looks how it is pointed — dabs it into the 
 ink, and then dashes on from side to side 
 of the paper in a full, free, and slip-slop 
 style, his ideas — or at all events his words 
 — flowing faster than his agile fingers and 
 leaping muscles can give them a form. 
 Such a one's handwriting can never be 
 mistaken ; it is like his own motions, hop- 
 step-and-jump. But, on the contrary, se- 
 lect a man with deep black ha:r, black 
 
 eyes, brown or sallow complexion, and 
 thin spare form, you will generally tind 
 him alone, and silently mudilaiing, or sit- 
 ting solitary amid crowds — of few words, 
 of slow and deliberate action. Von need 
 scarcely be told how such a man sets 
 about writing. After weighing well his 
 subject in his mind, he sits down deliber- 
 ately, selects and mends his pen, adjusts 
 his paper, and in close, still", and up'iigh. 
 characters traces with a snail's pace his 
 well-weighed and sententious composition. 
 There can bo no mistake in tracing the 
 two handwritings which we have just do- 
 scribed ; and an ad^pt in the science can 
 not fail in astonishing his audience with a 
 sketch of the leading peculiarities ol the 
 mind and maimers of each. W:. there 
 are many intermediate shades of temj)era- 
 ment, and many circumstances whieii go 
 to modify the natural teiuhincies of the 
 mode of writing, which fall to bo consid- 
 ered. We shall, in the first place, give 
 the following classified table of tempera- 
 ments : — 
 
 1. Vigorous, light-haired, excitable tem- 
 perament, what is commonly called the 
 sanguine. The handwriting large, llow- 
 ing, open, and irregular. 
 
 2. Dark-haired, excitable tem])erament, 
 with brown florid complexion. The wri- 
 ting small, equal, and rather free and easy, 
 with a firm and full stroke. 
 
 3. Light-haired, little excitable tempera- 
 ment ; the complexion brown or sallow ; 
 the form spare. The writing less free and 
 more methodical than No. 1, but less vig- 
 orous and less decided than No. 2. 
 
 4. Dark-haired, slowly excitable tem- 
 perament ; dark complexion, spare form, 
 and melancholic habit. Small, cramp, up- 
 right writing, without ease or freedom — 
 evidently slowly penned. 
 
 5. Feeble, light-haired, little excitJjle 
 temperament; chaiacter timid and nerv- 
 ous. The writing small, unequal, and fee- 
 bly traced, or not written with decision. 
 
 6. Mixed temperament, combining two 
 or more of the above. 
 
 There are various combination:*fif these, 
 which it would be unnecessary to partic- 
 ularize. Education and particular train- 
 ing of course make great changes on the 
 natural tendency of the handwriting : thus 
 a:sn of business ac^juire aineclianical siyle 
 
 U! 
 
 ! 
 
 
 ;*»" 
 
558 
 
 THE ORANGE-TREE. 
 
 of writing, which obliterates all natural 
 cliaractcristics, unless in instances where 
 the character is so strongly individual as 
 not to be modified into the general mass. 
 The female liand is also peculiar. Gen- 
 orriily it is more feeble and less individual 
 tlmn that, of the male. In the present day, 
 all females seem to be taugiit after one 
 model. In a great proportion, the hand- 
 writing is moulded on tliis particular mod- 
 el : those only who have strong and deci- 
 ded character retain a decided handwri- 
 ting. We often find that the style of hand- 
 writing is hereditary : sons frequently 
 write very like their fathers ; and this they 
 do independent of all studied imitation, be- 
 cause the temperament happens to be he- 
 reditary also. A delicate state of health, 
 especially if it has occurred in boyhood, 
 has a considerable eireet in modifying the 
 natural form of the handwriting ; thus some- 
 times connecting the free and flowing hand 
 of the sanguine temperament into a more 
 staid and methodical one. 
 
 A deficiency of early culture must also 
 have a considerable inilucnce on the form 
 of writing. The forms, too, have varied 
 in diireriuit historical eras. Before the in- 
 troduction of printing, more pains seem to 
 have been bestowed on penmanship. An- 
 cient manuscripts are often found written 
 in a beautiful, upright, and well-formed 
 character, more in the style of print than 
 the modern careless and (lowing lines. 
 This is easily to be accounted for : almost 
 all that is worth preser-ing is now commit- 
 ted to that mighty engine of intelligence, 
 both to present and future ages, the press, 
 and therefore less care is bestowed on the 
 original manuscript. The compositor and 
 the pressman have now taken the place of 
 the ancient scribe and copyist. 
 
 But even the individual handwriting va- 
 ries from its character at various periods 
 of life. In youth it is raw and unformed ; 
 in manhood it assumes its full character ; 
 and in old age it suflers somewhat of de- 
 cay. Circumstances also affect its form 
 not inconsiderably. No man is likely to 
 dash off" a note on his marriage-day in the 
 same style that he would set about wri- 
 ting out his last will and testament Our 
 moments of joy are impressed upon the 
 symbolical representations of them, just as 
 are our hours of biaerest sorrow. We of- 
 
 ten approach our familiars in a scrawl, ns 
 if imprinted by birds'-daws instead of quill 
 feathers, and which wo would nf)t de li!)- 
 orately despatch to those that we are ac- 
 customed to look up to with respect or 
 awe. 
 
 Ease and freedom, ind an indiflVronci^ 
 to jilease, are the prerogatives of rank and 
 fashion ; and hence it is prob;d)Ie that tlio 
 most wretched scrawls have betujuie fash- 
 ionable among those who ever strive to 
 ape the manners of tlie great. There are 
 also, no doubt, national peculiarities m 
 handwritiug as well as individual. The 
 Frenchman will show a volatility and spir- 
 it in his writing very different from the 
 sedate and thoughtful German. The nor- 
 thern Knss or the Calmuk Tartar must 
 have a different fist altogether from tn;il 
 of the soft and voluptuous native of Ilm- 
 dostan. 
 
 We throw out these few hints to collec- 
 tors of autographs. Let them arrange and 
 classify their specimens, and form ot tiiem 
 a catalogue raisonnec. Thus, in the end, 
 may some philosopher among their num- 
 ber elevate the pursuit into a science, at 
 least not inferior to the ancient ones of 
 palmistry, astrology, and divination, or to 
 the modern ones of mesmerism, hypnotism, 
 homoeopathy, or hydropathy. 
 
 THE ORANGE-TREE. 
 
 HE citron family of 
 ^ijJ plants comprehends 
 \ four distinct species 
 — the citron, tlie lem- 
 on, the orange, and 
 the shaddock ; and 
 the orange and lem- 
 on have many varie- 
 ties. Even in the 
 East, where they are native, they arc not 
 a little capricious in their growth, the fruit 
 and even the leaves frequently altering, so 
 that it is not easy to say which is a dis- 
 tinct species and which a variety. They 
 continue flowering during nearly all the 
 summer, and the fruit takes two years to 
 come to maturity ; so that for a considera- 
 ble period of each year, a healthy tree ex- 
 
w 
 
 liars in a scrawl, as 
 ■lawM instead of(]iiill 
 .•0 would lint d(lib- 
 loso that we are ac- 
 to with respect or 
 
 and an indifTtTc^nrn 
 Di^ativcs of rani; and 
 
 is probable that tho 
 s have iieconie fanh- 
 wlio ever strive to 
 lo great. There are 
 nal peculiarities in 
 18 indi\idiiul. 'I'lio 
 
 a volatility and sjiir- 
 ' difTcreiit from the 
 German. 'Die nor- 
 )alniuk Tartar must 
 lUogether from tiiat 
 uous native of Ilm- 
 
 3 few hints to collec- 
 jct them arrange and 
 fis, and form oi them 
 Thus, in the end, 
 !r among their nuin- 
 it into a science, at 
 the ancient ones of 
 md divination, or to 
 smerism, hypnotism, 
 jpathy. 
 
 GE-TREE. 
 
 IE citron family of 
 lauts comprehends 
 jur distinct species 
 -the citron, the lem- 
 n, the oranj^e, and 
 le shaddock ; and 
 :ie orange and lem- 
 n have many varie- 
 les. Even in the 
 native, they arc not 
 leir growth, the fruit 
 equently altering, so 
 say which is a dis- 
 :h a variety. They 
 King nearly all the 
 takes two years to 
 that for a considera- 
 ir, a healthy tree ex- 
 
 THE ORANOKTUEE. 
 
 559 
 
 hiliits every stage of tho production, from 
 the flowiT-butl to the ripe fruit, in perfec- 
 tion at the same time. They are all either 
 small trees or shrubs, with brown stems, 
 green twigs and leaves, bearing some re- 
 semblance to those of the laurel. We can 
 not, however, judge of the size of tho or- 
 ange-tree from the specimens ordinarily 
 seen in England and other northern coun- 
 tries. In parts of Spain there are some 
 old orange-trees forming large timber ; in 
 the convent of St. Sabina, at Rome, there 
 is an orange-tree thirty-one feet high, 
 which is said to be six hundred years old ; 
 and at Nice, in 1781), there was an orange- 
 tree which generally bore five thousand or 
 six thousand oranges, and was fifty feet 
 high, with a trunk requiring two men to 
 embrace it. The size depends much upon 
 the age of the plant. 
 
 All the citron family are natives of the 
 warmer parts of Asia, though they have 
 been long introduced into the West Indies, 
 the tropical parts of America, the Atlantic 
 isles, the warmer countries of Europe, and 
 even Britain. The orange is a taller and 
 more beautiful tree than either the citron 
 or the lemon ; but, like them, has prickly 
 branches in its native country. It was 
 originally brought from India. Whether 
 it was originally a Chinese fruit seems 
 doubtful, as it is not mentioned by Marco 
 Polo, who is so circumstantial in descri- 
 bing all the productions of that empire. 
 Vet the Portuguese found it there, and 
 one of the missi tries relates that the 
 tree was still sta.. 1 .g at Canton, from 
 which the deed was 1 iken by the mission- 
 aries and seat to Portugal. The first dis- 
 tinct mention of the orange is by the 
 Arabs. It is noticed by Avicenna ; and 
 Galessio (in whose " Traite du Citrus," 
 published at Paris in ISII, the history of 
 lids fruit w^as first carefully traced) slates 
 that, when the Arabs peuolrated to India, 
 they found tho orange tribe there further 
 in the interior than Alexander had ad- 
 vanced. They brought them thence by 
 two routes : the sweet ones, now called 
 China oranges, through Persia to Syria, 
 and I'atHce to the shores of Italy and the 
 soi-ili of France ; and the bitter oranges, 
 commonly called Seville oranges, by Ara- 
 bia, Egypt, and the north of Africa, to 
 Spain. At the time that the people of 
 
 Europe first visited tho Levant in great 
 numbers — that is, during the crusades for 
 the delivery of Syria from the douiinio'i 
 of the Saracens — oranges were found to 
 bo ainindant in that country. Though 
 they were in reality cultivated trees, their 
 number, and tho beauty and excellenco of 
 their fruit, naturally caused the adventur- 
 ers (who were not very conversant with 
 natural history, and not a little prone to 
 romance and credulity) to believe and state 
 that these were indigenous to the country, 
 and formed a portion of the glories of the 
 " Holy Land," The faliles of tiie profane 
 writers, and the ambiguity of the descrip- 
 tion of vegetables in holy writ, helped fur- 
 ther to confirm this opinion. As tho or- 
 anges were of the form of apples, and the 
 color of gold, it did not reijuirc much 
 stretch of the imagination to make them 
 the golden apples of the garden of the 
 Hesperides. 
 
 There is certainly no evidence to show 
 that the orange was known lo the ancients 
 either in Europe or Syria ; but there is 
 much to demonstrate that we are indebted 
 for the first knowledge of it to the Arabs, 
 who, with their zeal to propagate the ve- 
 ligion of the Koran, were also anxious to 
 exttnd the advantages of agriculture and 
 medicine. The sweet orange which they 
 introduced was not, strictly speaking, that 
 which has since been called the China 
 orange, and which under that name has 
 been introduced info Spain and Porlugal, 
 as well as St. Michael's, and oil,, r Allan- 
 tic isles, and the West Indies ; but rather 
 ihe orange which was known in Italy be- 
 fore Vasco de Gama doubled the cape of 
 Good Mope : when the Portuguese raached 
 India, they found the orange there, and 
 also in China, which v/as visited for the 
 first time by sea in the early part of the 
 sixteenth century. Although the oranges 
 of St. Michael's in the Azcr(!S are now 
 the best that are to met with in the Euro- 
 pean market, they are not indigenous pro- 
 ductions of that island ; but wore sent 
 there by the Portuguese, as tiie same fruit 
 was originally seat to the American con- 
 tinent by the Spaniards. In the middle 
 of a forest, on the banks of tho llio Cede- 
 no, Humboldt found wild orange-trees la- 
 Jden with large and sweti fruit. They 
 I were probr.idy the remains of some old 
 
 4^ 
 
 .^B^ 
 
^?= 
 
 rm 
 
 THR OIIANOB THEE. 
 
 IndiHii pl.mliitions : for lli(!ornngo can not 
 In- ri'ckonci! iminni; tlic spoDiaiifous pro- 
 (liK tions of tliH New Worlil. 
 
 Miiiiy variciic'i of tht; (irain,'c fiiiiiily jiro 
 now ciillivntcd in f»orlui;nl. S|)aiii, Franco, 
 Italy, and Greece. In tlie (Irst two coun- 
 tries thry 6sp(!cially almiind — in Alijarve, 
 and in tlie fine plains of Andalusia, on the 
 baidin of tlio fiuadaliiuiver. The latter is 
 tlm place from which the hitler or .Seville 
 oranjrex are chiefly obtained. In Algarvo 
 and Andalusia tlie orantje-trces are of great 
 size. Extensive orchards of them have 
 formed the principal revenue of the monks 
 for s(!veral centuries ; and in the latter 
 province, the craggy mountains of which 
 are covered with gardens, and vineyards, 
 and forests abounding in fruit, the flowers 
 of the orange fill the air with their per- 
 fume, and lead 'he imagination hack to 
 those days which the Moorish historians 
 and poets delight in describing, when the 
 land which they conquered was adorned 
 with all the refinements of their taste and 
 intelligence, and the luxuries of the East 
 were naturalized in the most delicious re- 
 gions of the West. In Cordova, the seat 
 of Moorish grandeur and luxury, there are 
 orange-trees still remaining, which are 
 considered to be six hundred or seven hun- 
 dred years old ; the trunks of these old 
 trees have begun to decay, and when they 
 are diseased they are covered with a kind 
 of lichen which is supposed to be pecu- 
 liar to the orange. 
 
 The precise time at which the orange 
 was introduced into England is not known 
 with certainty, but probably it may have 
 taken place not long after its introduction 
 into Portugal, which was in the early part 
 of llie sixteentli century. The first or- 
 anges, it has been stated, were imported 
 into England by Sir Walter Raleigh ; and 
 it is said that Sir Francis Carew, who 
 married the niece of Sir Walter, planted 
 their seeds, and they produced the orange- 
 trees at Beddinglon, in Surrey, of which 
 Bishop Gibson, in his additions to Cam- 
 den's " Britannia," speaks of as having 
 been there a hundred years previous to 
 1G95. As these trees always produced 
 fruit, they could not have been raised from 
 seeds ; but they may have been brought 
 from Portugal, or from Italy, as early as 
 the close of the sixteenth century. The 
 
 trees nt B.'ddiiigton were planted in the 
 "p<-n ground, with a iiic.vca!)|e cover to 
 screen them from the iiielemeiu-y of the 
 winter-months. In the begiiming of the 
 eighleeiith century they hud attained the 
 height of eighteen feet, and tlie stems w.'ic 
 about nine inches in diameter ; while the 
 spread ()f the largest of the nunil)er was 
 twelve feet one way and nine the other. 
 There had always been a wall on the north 
 side of thorn, to screen them from the cold 
 in that quarter; but they were at such a 
 distance fron', the wall as to have room to 
 spread, with plenty of air and li^ht. In 
 1738 they were surrounded iiv a perma- 
 nent enclosure, like a greenhouse. They 
 were all destroyed by the great frost o"f 
 the following winter ; but wh(;thcr this was 
 wholly owing to the frost, or partly to the 
 confinement and dump of the jM^rmanent 
 enclosure, can not now be ascertained. At 
 Hampton Court there are many orange- 
 trees, .some of which are said to bo three 
 hundred years old. They are generally 
 moved into the open air about the middle 
 of June, when the perfume of their blos- 
 soms is most delicious. Orange and lem- 
 on trees have been cultivated in the open 
 air in England. For a hundred years, in 
 a few gardens of the south of Devonshire, 
 they have been trained as peach-trees are 
 against walls, and sheltered only with 
 mats of straw during the winter. 
 
 The orange, naturally produced in wann- 
 er climates than our own, has been ren- 
 dered our property by commerce in a v(!ry 
 remarkable degree. It is common in 
 Florida and other parts of the south, and 
 may bo procured at little more cost than 
 the commonest of our domestic fruits in 
 the more northern states ; while it is per- 
 haps the most refreshing and healthy of 
 all the fruits of warm countries. It has 
 thus become a peculiar blessing to us ; for 
 while it oirers a gratification witliin the 
 reach of the poorest, it is so superior to 
 other fruits, that it can not be despised for 
 its cheapness, eveti by the richest. The 
 duty upon oranges imported into Great 
 Britain in the year 1834 amounted to six- 
 ty-eight thousand pounds sterling, at the 
 rate of two shillings sixpence for a pack- 
 age not exceeding five thousand cubic 
 inches. Assuming the cubical contents 
 of an orange as ten inches, there were five 
 
were plnntntl in the 
 
 I in<ivcii!)l(< cover to 
 I' inclcmciu-y of llio 
 lllf! Ilojiiimimr of tile 
 
 hey hud iittaineij tlio 
 t, ;iii(| iFk! sforns wcro 
 iliariiitcr ; wliile tho 
 t of th(! iiumtjor wns 
 and nine the (ithor. 
 "11 a wall oil the norlh 
 
 II ihvin from the cold 
 thoy wcro at such a 
 II as to liave room to 
 f air ami light. In 
 ouiid»!d I)y a pcniia- 
 
 (^reeiihouso. They 
 <y the {Treat frost of 
 but whether this was 
 rost, or partly to tlio 
 p of tho iwrmanont 
 V he ascertained. At 
 3 are many orange- 
 are said to he three 
 They are generally 
 air ahoiit the middle 
 rfunic of their hios- 
 s. Orange and htin- 
 JJtivated in the open 
 a hundred years, in 
 south of Devonshire, 
 il as peach-trees are 
 heltercd oidy with 
 tho winter, 
 y produced in wann- 
 own, has been ren- 
 connnerce in a very 
 It is common in 
 ts of the south, and 
 itile more cost than 
 r domestic fruits in 
 es; while it is pei- 
 ling and healthy of 
 I countries. It has 
 r blessing tons ; for 
 ilication witliin the 
 it is so superior to 
 not be despised for 
 r the richest. The 
 nported into Great 
 It amounted to six- 
 iids sterling, at the 
 ixpence for a pack- 
 ve thousand cubic 
 e cubical contents 
 lies, there were live 
 
562 
 
 HISTORY. 
 
 hiindrcil in rnrh p;u;kii{c ; nnd thus wo 
 ncT ilint two liuiiilrod and Mcvrnty-two mil- 
 lions of lliii fruit wore annimlly imported, 
 nllo'vin;} (ihoiit n dozim oranmis n year to 
 ovory mJividuul of tho population. 
 
 HISTORY. 
 
 T may be asked how 
 arc we to judge of llm 
 geiiernl coiiHfciuences of 
 priiicii)|<'.i unlimited in 
 their operation ? Tho 
 l)rii f spun of human ox- 
 istfiico will permit us 
 to make hut few, very 
 few, ohservntions upon 
 tho course of human nfTairs, ere the cur- 
 tain falls, and tho scene of l;""' 'i^ ended. 
 
 But are we then left like the benighted, 
 tempest-tost mariner, with tho deep, im- 
 fathomahle gulf of oblivion behind, and the 
 dark, portentous clouds of doubt and im- 
 certainty brooding over tho future ? with- 
 out chart to designate our relative situa- 
 tion with respect to those nations which 
 in times gone by have risen, flourished, 
 and fallen — to point to the rocky shoals 
 upon which so many noble sliips of state 
 have been wrecked ? — nor to tho awful 
 whirlpool of luxury and ellVminacy, of 
 mental, moral, and physical degeneracy 
 and degradation within whose chaotic vor- 
 tex nation after nation has been engulfed 
 and sunk to rise no moio ? Have we nei- 
 ther compass nor pole-star, by wiiich our 
 course may be directed to tho fair haven 
 of peace and pronperity ? Yes, thank 
 Heaven ! we are presented witii the most 
 inestimable treasury of human experience ; 
 the storehouse of wisdom is at hand, and 
 he who will may open the golden portals, 
 enter tho sanctuary of knowledge, and be- 
 come tho recipient of those joys insepara- 
 ble from the benign influence of that men- 
 tal illumination which shall insure moral 
 rectitude. Upon the historic page, with 
 a retrospective glance, we may behold 
 generation following generation in rapid 
 succession upon the theatre of life. Here, 
 to the philosophic mind which reasons of 
 causes from their consequences, is pre- 
 
 I sented a truth of mighty import : which \n, 
 that to a want of rr-seurch and investiga- 
 tion is to bo attributed ihc degeneracy of 
 those holy impulses of reverence and ado- 
 ration toward the sovereign Arbiter of the 
 universe, which constitute the basis of 
 nre.ient felicity and of liture hope. Thus 
 have designing hypocrites, in the cupidity 
 of their hearts, been enabled to shackle 
 tho unsuspicious, unrelh-ciing mind, and 
 rear upon the dark foundations of igno- 
 ranco the deformed superstructure of cred- 
 idous superstition, nnd instiiute those rites 
 the observance of which woidd better com- 
 port with the ferocious disposition of the 
 tiger, that, delighting in blood, bathes liis 
 fangs in tho gore of defenceless flocks and 
 herds, than that love of benevolence and 
 mercy which shoidd characterize man. 
 Who can without emotion reflect upon 
 the horrid scene of thousands and tens of 
 thousands sacrificing themselves before 
 tho car of Juggernaut ?— multitudes per- 
 ishing in the waves of the Ganges ?— the 
 Indian widow writhing in the agonies of 
 death, upon tho flaming fagots of her hus- 
 band's funeral-pile ?-or the hosts of beau- 
 teous youth, who, like summer flowers 
 withered and laid low by the blasts of 
 livid lightning, have been oflered as vic- 
 tims upon Moloch's blood-stained altars ? 
 Yet these are to be imputed to the blind 
 submission of men to the dictation of lead- 
 ers, whose declarations, however devoid 
 of reason, are adopted as oracular truths, 
 to question which is little less than here- 
 sy, and in support of which are enlisted 
 all those inveterate prejudices and every 
 impulse of bigotry of which the uninstruct- 
 ed mind is susceptible. 
 
 To tho same cause are also to bo re- 
 ferred the fanatical proceeilings of the fol- 
 lowers of the hermit Peter, who, in their 
 crusades, not only spread dismay and death 
 through the land of Palestine, but literally 
 whitened the country over which they 
 passed in their way thither with the bleach- 
 ing bones of tho wretched votaries of that 
 wild delusion. 
 
 Though the increased knowledge of 
 later days has tended to destroy the pow- 
 er of fanaticism over the minds of men 
 where intelligence abounds, still tho same 
 elements are at work wherever ignorance 
 is found. 
 
 
lity import : which in, 
 K^urch uiiil irivt'Mtif,'ti- 
 I'll tlio ilr>,'i'iuTacy of 
 ;)l' rovfrt'iico innl nilo- 
 >'eniij,'n ArbitiT o( the 
 ii^tituto thn liaNJiH of 
 f liituro hopo. 'I'lnis 
 iriicM, in tlio rupidiiy 
 I (MKildcd to Nliiirklf) 
 irctlnciiiiy rninil, niid 
 fouridiiiions of iyno- 
 iiptTstriictiiroof cred- 
 d iiHtiiiiH- tlio.sc rilrs 
 ii-li would iji'ltcrcfun- 
 iH dispositioti of the 
 
 ill blood, l)<itlii>8 }iis 
 I'lViirtdt'ss (loi'ks iiiid 
 
 of bormvolciieo and 
 1 cliaractt'ri/.t; man. 
 motion rellcct upon 
 fiousands and tons of 
 f tlieniNolvcs before 
 lit ? — multitudes per- 
 >f the Cianyet) ? — the 
 ig in tlio ai,'oiiio.s of 
 iig fa^ot.s of iicr hus- 
 ■or the ho^tsof beau- 
 ko summer tlowers 
 )w by the blasts of 
 been on"<!rod as vic- 
 'looil-stiiiiu'd altars ? 
 imputed to ilie blind 
 tlio dictation of lead- 
 iis, however devoid 
 1 as oracular truths, 
 itllo less tliiin licrc- 
 
 which are enlisted 
 rejudires and every 
 vhichtlie uninstruct- 
 
 ) are also to bo re- 
 oceedings of the Ad- 
 Peter, who, in tlicir 
 ad dismay and death 
 ilestine, but literally 
 Y over which iliey 
 iherwith the bleach- 
 :hed votaries of that 
 
 ised knowledge of 
 to destroy the pow- 
 the minds of men 
 lunds, still the same 
 wherever ignorance 
 
 niAKACTER OF FHANKLIN. 
 
 r*(;3 
 
 Portrait of Hunjuuilii Fmuliliii. 
 
 CHARACTER OF FRANKLIN. 
 
 E\V men over pos- 
 sessed such opportu- 
 nities or talents for 
 contributing to the 
 welfare of mankind ; 
 fi wer still have used 
 them to better pur- 
 pose : and it is pleas- 
 ant to know, on his 
 own autliority, that such extensive ser- 
 vici!9 were riMidered without any sacrifice 
 of his happiness. In his later correspond- 
 ence he freipiently alludes with compla 
 cenry to a favorite sentiment which he has 
 also introiliicnd into his "Memoirs" — that 
 "he would willingly live over again the 
 same course of life, even though not al- 
 lowed the privilege of an author, to cor- 
 rect in a second edition the faults of the 
 first." 
 
 Ilis remarkable success in life and in 
 the discharge of his public functions is not 
 to be ascribed to genius, unless the term 
 
 be extended to that perfection of common 
 sense and intimate knowledge of mankind 
 which almost entitled his sagacity to the 
 name of prescience, and made " Franklin's 
 forebodings" proverbially ominous among 
 those who know him. His pre-emiiunce 
 appears to have resulted from the hal)itual 
 cultivation of a mind originally shrewd and 
 observant, and gil'ted with singular powers 
 of energy and self-control. There was a 
 business-like alacrity about him, with a 
 discretion and integrity which conciliated 
 the respect even of his warmest political 
 foes ; a manly straight-forwardness before 
 which no pretension could stand uiire- 
 Suked ; and a cool tenacity of temper and 
 , urpose which never forsook him under 
 the most discouraging circumstances, and 
 was no doubt exceedingly provoking to his 
 opponents. Indeed, his sturdiness, how- 
 ever useful to his country in time of need, 
 was perhaps carried rather to excess ; his 
 enemies called it obstinacy, and accused 
 him of being morose and sullen. No bet- 
 ter refutation of such a charge can be 
 wished for than the testimony borne to "'lis 
 
 Itfe 
 
 
564 
 
 PEIDE— OFFENSIVE AKD DEFENSIVE. 
 
 disposition by Priestley, a rnan whom 
 Franklin was justly proud to call his 
 friend. In private life ho was most esti- 
 mable ; two of his most favorite maxims 
 were, never to exalt himself by lowering 
 others, and in society to enjoy and con- 
 tribute to all innocent amusements without 
 reserve : his friendships were consequent- 
 ly lasting, and chosen at will from among 
 the most amiable as well as the most dis- 
 tinguished of both sexes, wherever his 
 residence happened to be fixed. 
 
 His chief claims to philosophical dis- 
 tinction are his experiments and discover- 
 ies in electricity ; but he has left essays 
 upon various other matters of interest and 
 practical utility — an end of which he nev- 
 er lost sight. Among these are remarks 
 on ship-building and lighthouses ; on the 
 temperature of the sea at different latitudes 
 and depths, and the phenomena of whi't is 
 called the Gulf-stream of the Atlantic; on 
 the effect of oil poured upon rough water, 
 and other subjects connected with practi- 
 cal navigation ; and on the proper con- 
 struction of lamps, chimneys, and stoves. 
 His suggestions on these subjects are very 
 valuable. His other writings are numer- 
 ous : they relate chiefly to politics, or the 
 inculcation of the rules of prudence and 
 morality. Many of them are light and 
 even playful ; they are all instructive, and 
 written in an excellent and simple style ; 
 but thr^ are not entirely free from the im- 
 putation of trifling upon serious subjects. 
 The most valuable of them is probably his 
 autobiography, which is unfortunately but 
 a fragment. 
 
 As a speaker, he was neither copious 
 nor eloquent ; there was even a degree of 
 hesitation and embarrassment in his deliv- 
 ery. Yet, as he seldom rose without hav- 
 ing somotliing important to say, and al- 
 ways spoke to the purpose, he commanded 
 the attention of his hearers, and generally 
 succeeded in his object. 
 
 His religious principles, when disen- 
 gaged from the skepticism of his youth, 
 aj)i)car to have been sincere, and unusu- 
 ally free from sectarian animosity. 
 
 Ujion the whole, his long and useful 
 life forms an instructive example of the 
 force which arises from the harmonious 
 combination of strong faculties and feel- 
 ings when so controlled by sense and prin- 
 
 ciple that no one is suffered to predomi- 
 nate to the disparagement of the rest. 
 
 PRIDE, OFFENSIVE AND DEFENSIVE. 
 
 HE French Imve two 
 words to express pride 
 — la fierte, and Por- 
 gucil. A lady being 
 fskedtodefine the dif- 
 ference, replied very 
 promptly and happily 
 that the first was "de- 
 fensive" and the second " offensive pride." 
 The distinction is important. Of the first, 
 it is impossible to have too much ; of the 
 second, it is equally impossible to have 
 too little. Defensive pride is that proper 
 self-respect which will not allow its pos- 
 sessor to commit an unworthy, a base, or 
 a mean action. It is that which urges us 
 to distinguish ourselves above the crowd 
 of the i(Jle, the ignorant, the dilatory, and 
 the variable, by our industry, our wis- 
 dom, ourpersevorance, and our'constancy ; 
 and which prompts us to win the applause 
 of our fellows by our goodness, and con- 
 sequent greatness. Defensive pride is the 
 shield with which we keep off the assaults 
 of those who, openly or insidiously, would 
 brinw us down to a lower morallevel than 
 our judgment and our conscience inform 
 us we ought to hold : it is the amulet with 
 which we preserve ourselves from the 
 machinations of evil, and the perfume by 
 aid of which we may wa4k amid the haunts 
 of vice without contamination. Without 
 a due proportion of pride like this, in some 
 one of its various developments, no man 
 yet has ever arrived at distinction, or left 
 behind him a name which the world holds 
 in honor. It is the nurse of emu': ».ion and 
 ambition, and becomes, when properly or 
 opportunely excited, the spur to urge the 
 timid or the sluggish to do the good which 
 another has left undone — the steel upon 
 some flinty nature, eliciting heat and light 
 which might otherwise have remained la- 
 tent for ever. Pride of this kind sits as 
 well upon the humblest as upon the lofti- 
 est. It is the pride of a man independent 
 of his rank, his wealth, or his station ; the 
 
 
• eufTert'd to preilomi- 
 Joienl of tho rest. 
 
 E AND DEFENSIVE. 
 
 IIE French Imve two 
 words to express pride 
 — la ficr/e, and Por- 
 gucil. A lady being 
 f «!;ed to define the dif- 
 ference, replied very 
 promptly and happily 
 tliattlie first was "de- 
 nd " ofTensive pride." 
 portant. Of the first, 
 ive too much ; of the 
 r impossit)lo to have 
 ) pride is that proper 
 ill not allow its pos- 
 unworthy, a base, or 
 i that wliich urges us 
 ves above the crowd 
 ant, the dilatory, and 
 I industry, our wis- 
 B, and our constancy ; 
 i to win the applause 
 r goodness, and con- 
 )efensive pride is the 
 keep off the assaults 
 or insidiously, would 
 wer moral level than 
 ir conscience inform 
 it is the amulet with 
 ourselves from the 
 and the perfume by 
 ivirik amid the haunts 
 miination. Without 
 ide like this, in some 
 velopments, no man 
 It distinction, or left 
 liich the world holds 
 irse of einul: 'ion and 
 s, when properly or 
 he spur to urge the 
 ;o do the good which 
 me — the steel upon 
 'iting heat and light 
 e have remained la- 
 of this kind sits as 
 st as upon the lofti- 
 f a man independent 
 I, or his station ; the 
 
 
 PRIDE-OFFENSIVE AND DEFENSIVE. 
 
 5r.5 
 
 pride of the gold, and not of the stamp 
 upon it. I'ride of this kind has found its 
 most poetical and at the same time its best 
 and truest utterance in the song of Robert 
 Bunrj, " A man's a man for a' that." Ev- 
 ciy one wno feels his heart glow at the 
 sentiments expressed in that glorious lyric, 
 feels defensive pride ; and if he continues 
 to feel it, and makes it the guide of his 
 life, he becomes — though he toil all day, 
 and far into the night, for hard and scanty 
 bread ; though he " wear hodden gray," 
 and dwell in a hut scarcely sheltered from 
 ihe winds and rains of heaven — an orna- 
 ment to his kind, and a blessing to him- 
 self. 
 
 Ofi'cnsive pride, on the other hand, shows 
 
 the little mind, as defensive pride exhibits 
 the great one. It is the pride of externals, 
 as defensive pride is that of internals ; the 
 pride of the adventitious circumstances in 
 which a man is placed, and not of the qual- 
 ities of the man himself. Oifensive pride 
 assumes various forms, and is in all of 
 them etiually a proof of ignorance, pre- 
 suuiption, andheartlessness. To the man 
 of sense, it is always ridi-iulous; and wher- 
 ever it does not excite the anger, it is . ire 
 to excite the contempt of the well-minded. 
 When we see a man proud of his high 
 lineage, and expecting that we shall do 
 homage to him for the virtues of his an- 
 cesters, although he have none of his own, 
 we despise him all the more for the high- 
 ness of his name ; his pride and his lordly 
 airs gall us, if we are of stern nature ; and 
 provoke us to laughter, if we are of the 
 nuuiber of those who can find amusement 
 iu the contemplation of human folly: proud 
 men of this class have been happily com- 
 pared to turnips and potatoes — all the best 
 part of them is under ground. 
 
 Eciually, if not more offensive, is the 
 pride of wealth. This pride is the parent 
 of every meanness. We may be quite 
 sure, when we see a man proud of his 
 money, that he has gained it in a dirty 
 manner, and that he makes really, though 
 not perhaps visibly to all men's eyes, a 
 dirty use of it. If'he have a large house, 
 it is not for use, but for ostentation. If he 
 have fiue carriages, valuable horses, and 
 footmen in gay liveries, it is that he may 
 excite more attention from the frivolous 
 and unthinking, than some one else who 
 
 has hitherto rivalled him. If he give 
 splendid entertainments, it is that he may 
 make the earls or the barons who conde- 
 scend, or the poor dependents who fawn 
 and cringe, to appear at them, envious of 
 the wealth which their own can never 
 equal. If he give charity, it rs that it may 
 be blazoned abroad ; for he will refuse a 
 dollar to a deserving object if the dona- 
 tion is to remain secret, when he would 
 give a hundred to a less deserving one if 
 the fact could be trumpeted in the news- 
 papers. Such a man pays for the publi- 
 cation of his charitable deeds ; and not 
 only does not hide from his left hand svluit 
 his right hand does, but fees the connnon 
 ciier of the streets to promulgate it with 
 embellishments. Such a man is not proud 
 of being charitable, but of being t'>ouglit 
 so — not thankful for wealth, because it 
 enables him to do good, but proud of it 
 because it gives him the means of attract- 
 ing more worldly attention than better 
 men, and enables him to ride and drink 
 wine when superior merit walks and can 
 only afford small beer. 
 
 There is also a "-ride of beauty, a pride 
 of strength, a pride of skill, and a pride of 
 talent, which all become offensive if they 
 are loudly expressed, and are unsupported 
 by other qualities which it is the province 
 of a defensive pride to foster in the mind. 
 When a woman is proud of her beauty, 
 and has neither wit, nor sense, nor good 
 nature, nor any charm of mind that will 
 endure when beauty fades, her pride is 
 offensive. When a man vaunts his skill 
 in any particular pursuit —a skill which 
 may be undoubted — and thrusts it inoppor- 
 tunely and pertinaciouslyforward,his pride 
 is offensive : and when a man who has 
 gained some credit for talent is always 
 fearful that he will lose it, imless he daily 
 and hourly impresses the recollection of it 
 upon those with whom he may be brought 
 in contact, his pride is offensive, and is 
 that of a little talent only, and imt of a 
 great one. Combined, on the contrary, 
 with defensive, and not with offensive 
 pride, beatify, strength, skill, and talent, 
 become enhanced in our eyes. Beauty 
 then knows and acts upon the knowledge 
 that goodness will lend her additional 
 charms ; physical strength learns not to 
 be proud merely of that which it has in 
 
 J**;*' 
 
 jgaH 
 
 y 4 
 
 / 
 

 ■wtvt»*»»fejh n 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 566 
 
 THE WILD TURKEY. 
 
 common with the brutes, but to be strong 
 in ftiind ; and skill and talent, conscious 
 that self-praise is no recommendation to 
 the world, resolve to win the world's ap- 
 plause by future good deeds, and not by 
 boasting vaingloriously of the deeds that 
 are past. 
 
 There is another great difference be- 
 tween defensive and offensive pride — 
 which is, that while the one invariably 
 keeps its thoughts to itself, the other as 
 invarial)ly shouts them into all men's ears. 
 Defensive pride never makes a boast ; but 
 offensive pride is never easy but when 
 the boast is on its tongue. The one is si- 
 lent, the other is loquacious. Defensive 
 l)ride is retiring ; offensive pride is for- 
 ward ; and the one lives upon the rewards 
 of conscience, while the other only exists 
 upon the babble of the crowd. 
 
 There are other kinds of pride which 
 are as offensive as those already men- 
 tioned. We would cite, especially, " sen- 
 sitive pride," and the " pride that apes hu- 
 mility." Sensitive prido is founded, not 
 upon a proper self-respect, but upon inor- 
 dinate vanity, linked with some degree of 
 cowardice. If it has taken root in the 
 breast of a poor man, or one of inferior 
 station in society, it leads him to imagine 
 insults from the rich and the lofty which 
 are not intended, and to suppose that all 
 the world are thinking how they can show 
 hitn disrespect, when, in fact, the world 
 IS not giving itself the slightest concern 
 about him. But this truth never enters 
 into his mind ; for if it did, he would be 
 still more miserable. His consolation is, 
 that the world hates him, and tries to tram- 
 ple him down, and he flies to that rather 
 than to the thought— annihilating to his 
 vanity and self-conceit— that the world 
 most hkely does not even know of his ex- 
 istence. In a rich or powerful man, this 
 pride generally springs from some defect, 
 physical or moral, but most often from the 
 former, as in the case of Lord Byron and 
 his lameness. Upon this point his prido 
 was ridiculously sensitive and offensive, 
 and laid bare the weaknesses of his men- 
 tal constitution— a vanity pained to be con- 
 scwus of a physical deformity, which ren- 
 dered him less perfect than the most per- 
 fect of his fellow-creatures, and a coward- 
 ice that prevented him from rising superior 
 
 to the possible sneers of the thoughtless or 
 unfeeling. 
 
 Of the " pride that apes humility," il 
 may be truly said that it is, of all kinds of 
 pride, the most offensive. In addition to 
 the bad qualities inherent in a false and 
 unfounded estimate of self, it possesses 
 that of hypocrisy, and no junction can be 
 more odious than that of hypocrisy and 
 pride. Foolish pride may offend, but hypo- 
 critical pride offends and disgusts us. The 
 pride of wealth, of rank, of power, of beau- 
 ^Y' °\ of talent, though they may be unjus- 
 tifiable, at least lean upon something that 
 exists or is supposed to exist ; but the 
 pride that apes humility loans upon a lie, 
 which n knows to be a lie. It unites the 
 bad qualities of every other kind of pride, 
 and is, in a manner, the concentrated es- 
 sence of offensiveness. 
 
 THE WILD TURKEY. 
 
 HE native country of 
 the wild turkey ex- 
 tends from the north- 
 western territory of 
 the United Stales to 
 the isthmus of Pana- 
 ma; south of which it 
 is not to be found. In 
 Canada, and the now 
 densely-peopled parts of the United States, 
 this bird was formerly very abundant ; but 
 the progress and aggressions of man have 
 compelled them to seek refuge in the re- 
 mote interior. It is not probable that the 
 range of the wild turkey extends to or be- 
 yond the Rocky mountains. The Mandan 
 Indians, who a few years ago visited the 
 city of Washington, considered it one of 
 the greatest curiosities they had seen, and 
 prepared a skin of one to carry home for 
 exhibition. 
 
 It is not necessary to be particular in 
 describing the appearance of a bird so well 
 known in its tame state. The difference 
 consists chiefly in the superior size and 
 beauty of plumage in the wild turkey; for, 
 under the care of man, this bird has great- 
 ly degenerated, not only in Europe and 
 Asia, but in its native country. When full 
 
 ! l ii |, i m i J HI>' iJ|i, i,i a|)ill lli |i« ■M IM H .I m > l . |l |l|| I H] . 1 HJ U MUJ i H i llM 
 
!rs of the thoiiglitlcss or 
 
 hat apes humility." it 
 bat it is, of all kinds of 
 3nsive. In addition to 
 nherent in a false and 
 I of self, it possesses 
 md no junction can be 
 that of hypocrisy and 
 3 may ofTend, but hypo- 
 I and disgusts us. The 
 ank, of power, of beau- 
 gh they may be unjus- 
 i upon something that 
 led to exist ; but the 
 lility loans upon a lie, 
 e a lie. It unites the 
 y other kind of pride, 
 ', the concentrated es- 
 )ss. 
 
 D TURKEY. 
 
 HE native country of 
 the wild turkey ex- 
 tends from the north- 
 western territory of 
 the United States to 
 the isthmus of Pana- 
 ma; south of which it 
 is not to be found. In 
 Canada, and the now 
 J of the United States, 
 y very abundant ; but 
 ressions of man have 
 iek refuge in tho re- 
 not probable that the 
 iey extends to or bo- 
 itains. The Mandan 
 'ears ago visited the 
 considered it one of 
 >s they had seen, and 
 le to carry home for 
 
 r to be particular in 
 inceof a bird so well 
 ite. The difference 
 e superior size and 
 the wild turkey; for, 
 , this bird has great- 
 'uly in Europe and 
 country. When full 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ Hf 
 
^1 
 
 5C3 
 
 THE WILD TURKEY. 
 
 grown, the male wild turkey is nearly four 
 I'eet in length, and nearly five in extent 
 (from wing to wing), and presents in its 
 plumage a rich assortment of colors, brown 
 predominating, which might be vainly 
 sought in the domesticated bird. Alto- 
 gether his appearance is such as, with 
 other considerations, disposed Dr. Frank- 
 lin to regret that he, rather than the bald 
 oagle, had not been selected as the na- 
 tional emblem of the United States. 
 
 The wild turkeys do not confine them- 
 selves to any particular food : they eat 
 maize, all sorts of berries, fruits, grasses, 
 beetles ; and even tadpoles, young frogs, 
 and lizards, are occasionally found in their 
 crops ; but where the pecun-nut is plenty, 
 they prefer that fruit to any other nourish- 
 ment. Their more general predilection, 
 however, ia for the acorn, on which they 
 rapidly fatten. When an unusually pro- 
 fuse crop of acorns is produced in a par- 
 ticular section of country, great numbers 
 of turkeys are enticed from their ordinary 
 haunts in the surrounding districts. About 
 the beginning of October, while the mast 
 still remains on the trees, they assemble 
 in flocks and direct, their course to the rich 
 bottom lands. At this season they are ob- 
 served in great numbers on the Ohio and 
 Mississippi. 
 
 The males, usually termed gobblers, as- 
 sociate in parties numbering from ten to 
 one hundred, and seek their food apart 
 from the females ; while the latter either 
 move about singly with their young, then 
 nearly half grown, or — in company with 
 other females and their families — form 
 troops, sometimes consisting of seventy or 
 eighty. They are all intent on avoiding 
 the old males, who, whenever opportunity 
 olTers, attack and destroy the young by re- 
 peated blows on the scull. All parties, 
 however, travel in the same direction, and 
 on foot, unless they are compelled to seek 
 their individual safety by flying from the 
 dog of the hunter, or their progress is im- 
 peded by a large river. When about to 
 cross a river, they select the highest emi- 
 nences, that their flight may be the more 
 certain ; and here they sometimes remain 
 ibr a day or more, as if for the purpose of 
 consultation, or to be duly prepared for so 
 hazardous a voyage. During this time 
 the males gobble obstreperously, and etrul 
 
 with extraordinary importanre, as if thev 
 would animate their companions and in- 
 spire them with hrirdihood. The females 
 and young also assume much of tiio pomp- 
 ous air of the males, the former spremliii!^ 
 their tails and moving silently nround. M 
 length the assembled nmltitude mount to 
 the tops of the highest trees, whence, at a 
 signal-note from a leader, the whole to- 
 gether wing their way toward the oppo- 
 site shore. Immediately after these birds 
 have succeeded in crossing a river, they 
 for some time ramble about without any 
 apparent unanimity of purpose, and a great 
 many are destroyed by tiie hunters, though 
 they are then least valuable. 
 
 When the turkeys have arrived in their 
 land of abundance, they disperse in small 
 flocks, composed of individuals of all ages 
 and sexes intermingled, who devour all the 
 mast as they advance : this occurs about 
 the middle of November. It has been ob- 
 served that, after these long journeys, the 
 turkeys become so familiar as to venture 
 on the plantations, and even approach so 
 near the farmhouses as to enter the sta- 
 bles and corn-cribs in search of food. In 
 this way they pass the autumn and part 
 of the winter. During this season groat 
 numbers are killed by the inhabitants, who 
 preserve them in a frozen state, in order 
 to transport them to a distant market. 
 
 Early in March they begin to pair. The 
 sexes roost apart, but at no great distance, 
 so that when the female utters a call, ev- 
 ery male within hearing responds, rolling 
 note for note, in the most rapid succes- 
 sion ; not as when spreading the tail and 
 strutlii. near the heti, but in a voice re- 
 sembling that of the tame turkey when he 
 hears any unusual or frequently-repeated 
 noise. Where the turkeys are numerous, 
 the woods — from one end to the other, 
 sometimes for hundreds of miles — resound 
 with this remarkable noise, uttered re- 
 sponsively from their roosting-places : this 
 is continued for about an hour ; and, on 
 the rising of the sun, they silently de-scend 
 from their perches, and the males begin to 
 strut, as if to win the admiration of their 
 mates. Their process of approach to the 
 females is remarkably pompous and cere- 
 monious ; and, in its course, the males of- 
 ten encounter one another, and desperate 
 bailies ensue, when the conflict is only 
 
 I 
 
THE WILD TURKEY. 
 
 5C0 
 
 nportiiiipo, as if thny 
 
 companions and in- 
 iliootl. 'I'lic fonialps 
 e inufh of the ponip- 
 tliP fornior sproiulinEf 
 ,'silontlynrounii. At 
 I innltitiidc mount to 
 it trees, wlience, at a 
 eader, the wiiolo fo- 
 ay toward the oppo- 
 tciy after these birds 
 rossinijf a river, tlioy 
 B about without any 
 'purpose, and a great 
 y llie liunlers, though 
 ihial)le. 
 
 have arrived in their 
 ey disperse in small 
 idividuals of all a<ros 
 d, who devour all the 
 
 : tiiis occurs about 
 )er. It has been ob- 
 e long journeys, the 
 miliar as to venture 
 d even approach so 
 as to enter the sta- 
 
 search of food. In 
 le autumn and part 
 ig this season ;.;reat 
 the inhabitants, who 
 ozen state, in order 
 
 distant market. 
 y begin to pair. The 
 It no great distance, 
 lie utters a call, ev- 
 iig responds, rolling 
 most rapid succes- 
 reading the tail and 
 , but in a voice re- 
 me turkey when he 
 frequently-repeated 
 •keys are numerous, 
 
 end to the other, 
 s of miles — resound 
 
 noise, uttered re- 
 josting-places : this 
 
 an hour ; and, on 
 ey silently descend 
 I the males begin to 
 admiration of their 
 i of approach to the 
 pompous and cere- 
 aurse, the males of- 
 ■her, and desperate 
 xe conflict is only 
 
 terminated by the flight or death of the 
 vamiuislu'd. With the hen whose favor 
 is thu.s ()!)inincd the male is mated for the 
 season, iliough he docs not hesitate to be- 
 stow his aitcnlions on several females 
 whenever an opportunity oflers. One or 
 more females, thus associated, follow their 
 (avorito and rest in his immediate neigh- 
 borhood, if not on the same tree, until they 
 begin to lay, when they shun their mates, 
 in-order to save their eggs, which the 
 male uniformly breaks if in his power. At 
 this perit)d the sexes separate, and the 
 males, being much emaciated, retire and 
 conceal themselves by prostrate trees, in 
 secluded parts of a forest, or in the almost 
 impenetral)le privacy of a canebrake. By 
 thus retiring, using very little exercise, and 
 feeding on peculiar grasses, they recover 
 their flesh and strength, and when this ob- 
 ject is attained again congregate and re- 
 commence their rambles. 
 
 About the middle of April, when the 
 weather is dry, the female selects a prop- 
 er place in which to dcposito her eggs, 
 secured from the encroachment of water, 
 and as far :is possible concealed from the 
 watchful eye of the crow. The nest is 
 jilaced oji the ground, either on a dry 
 ridge, in the fallen top of a dead leafy tree, 
 uniler a thicket of sumach and briers, or 
 by the side of a log : it is of a very simple 
 structure, 'being composed of a few dry 
 
 leaves. In this receptacle the eggs are 
 deposited, sometimes to the number of 
 twenty, but more usually from nine to fif- 
 teen ; they are like those of the domestic 
 bird. 
 
 The female uses great caution in the 
 concealment of her nest : she seldom ap- 
 proaches it twice by the same route ; and 
 on leaving her charge, she is very careful 
 to cover the whole with dried leaves in 
 such a manner as to make it very difficult 
 even for one wl.o has watched her motions 
 to indicate the exact spot. Nor is she 
 easily driven from her post by the ap- 
 proach of apparent danger ; but if an ene- 
 my appears, she crouches as low as pos- 
 sible, and sufl"ers it to pass. They seldom 
 abandon their nests on account of being 
 discovered by man ; but should a snake or 
 other animal suck one of the eggs, the pa- 
 rent leaves ihcm altogether. If the eggs 
 be removed, ?>ho aj?aiu seeks the male and 
 
 recommences laying, though otherwise she 
 lays but one set of eggs during the season. | 
 Several turkey-hens sometimes associate, 
 perhaps for mutual safety, deposite their 
 eggs in the same nest, and rear their broods 
 together. Mr. Audidjon once found three 
 females sitting on forty-two eggs. In such 
 cases the nest is commonly guarded by 
 one of the parties, so that no crow, raven, 
 or even polecat dares approach it. The 
 mother will not forsake her eggs, when 
 near hatching, while life remains : she 
 will sufl'er an enclosure to be made around 
 and imprison her rather than abandon her 
 charge. 
 
 As the hatching generally occurs in the 
 afternoon and proceeds but slowly, the 
 first night is commonly spent in the nest ; 
 but afterward the mother leads them to 
 elevated dry places, as if aware that hu- 
 midity, during the first few days of their 
 life, would be dangerous to them, they 
 having then no other protection than a 
 delicate, soft, hairy down. In rainy sea- 
 sons wild turkeys are scarce, because 
 when completely wetted the young rarely 
 survive. At the expiration of about two 
 weeks the young follow their mother to 
 some low, large branch of a tree, where 
 they nestle under herbroadly-curved wings. 
 The time then approaches when they seek 
 the open ground or prairie land during the 
 day in search of berries and grasshoppers, 
 thus securing a plentiful supply of food, 
 and enjoying the genial influence of the 
 sun. The young turkeys now grow rap- 
 idly, and in the month of August, when 
 several broods flock together and are led 
 by their mothers into the forest, they are 
 stout, and able to secure themselves from 
 the unexpected attacks of their enemies, 
 by rising quickly from the ground and 
 reaching with ease the upper limbs of the 
 tallest tree. 
 
 It is rather surprising that, though the 
 introduction of this bird into Europe is 
 comparatively modern, its origin has been 
 so much lost sight of, that eminent natural- 
 ists of the last century expressed them- 
 selves with great uncertainty concerning 
 its native country. Thus Belon, Aldro- 
 vand, Gessner, Ray, and others, thought 
 that it came originally from Africa and the 
 East Indies, and end'cavered to recognise 
 11 in sonvs of the domey.fic birds of the an- 
 
 
 I 
 
T- 
 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 5(0 
 
 THE GRANDEUR OF GOD. 
 
 cients But its American oriijin is now 
 clearly ascertaineu. This bird was sent 
 from Mexico to Spain early in the six- 
 teenth century ; and from Spain it was in- 
 troduced into England in 1524. Since 
 that period they have been bred with so 
 much care, that in England, as we read in 
 ancient chronicles, their rapid increase 
 rendered them attainable at country feasts, 
 where thoy were a much-esteemed dish, 
 so early as 1585. 
 
 THE GRANDEUR OF GOD. 
 
 ' At His cnmmand tl\e lurid litrhtning flips, 
 bhiiliuji tiiu (inn globe, and tires tlio vaulted skies." 
 
 OT one of the four 
 ■^elements so magnifi- 
 1^ cently displays the 
 ►^Z grandeur of God as 
 fp|that of fire. Well 
 ^^^ might the ancients 
 '^ suppose it to consti- 
 tute the human soul, 
 for they are similar 
 in their operations. The soid pervades 
 every part of the body, and fire exists in 
 every particle of nature. Like the soul, 
 we observe it quiescent in one body and 
 in another we see it in all its terrific sub- 
 limity. Like the soul, we see it in one 
 instance a slave, and in another the mas- 
 ter of the world. As the soul is the cen- 
 tre of motion to the human body, so is the 
 burning sun to the solar system. When 
 the soul ceases to move the body, every 
 linil) i.s motionless ; and when Joshua com- 
 manded the sun to stand still on Gibeon, 
 the earth and moon were still, for they re- 
 ceive their motion from his diurnal revolu- 
 tion. The language of Scripture is cor- 
 rect, for though the sun is fixed in his or- 
 bit, he has diurnal f.iotiou, and when that 
 ceases, his attendant planets must cease. 
 This has iieen an eye-sore to many deists. 
 Let them i effect that when the large wheel 
 of a mill is at rest, the whole of the ma- 
 chinery is at rest also. We see the op- 
 erations of the soul, but not its essence • 
 and we see the effects of fire, but not its 
 substance. 
 
 Fire is the mighty autocrat of the uni- 
 
 verse-its throne is the footstool of God 
 —and its empire is the grand alembic of 
 nature. Like the Olympian Jove when 
 he arose and rocked the skies with his 
 wrath, it sends forth its herald into the 
 stormy clouds, and shakes tlie pillars of 
 the universe with its tremendous roar. 
 When the spirit of the storm is roused, it 
 goes forth to battle— it awakens the deep 
 thunders of the artillery of lieavcn— and 
 sets the skies on fire. The clash of re- 
 sounding strife rings in our ears. The 
 mighty master comes forth from the dark 
 dungeon in which he was chained, ho 
 rides round the ethereal dome in liis rapid 
 car wheeled by the whirlwinds, and the 
 halls of heaven echo with the crash of 
 clouds. The mighty monarchs of the 
 earth tremble when the dreadful autocrat 
 levels his artillery at the globe. It. was 
 the same autocrat with whom the immor- 
 tal Franklin made a league, and entered 
 into amicable negotiations. lie sent forth 
 his ambassador to the gloomy palace of 
 the autocrat, who was conducted to his 
 presence in a chariot of glass. Peace was 
 settled between them— the dark siorm of 
 elemental war rolled away— and the uni- 
 versal rainbow banner was hung out in 
 the east. But the autocrat escaped from 
 the dungeon of the philosopher ; he was 
 seen again in battle with the spirits of the 
 storm : and Franklin raised his bayonets 
 against him from every steeple. lie was 
 again seen enveloped in his grand and 
 brilhant fireworks in the heavens, and 
 scattering his thunderbolts in every direc- 
 tion. Such is electricity ! 
 
 We dwell peaceably on the surface of 
 the earth, while oceans of fire roll beneath 
 our feet. In the great womb of the globe 
 the everlasting forge is at work. How 
 dreadful must an earthquake be, when we 
 ^are told by Pliny that twelve cities in Asia 
 Minor were swallowed up in one right I 
 Not a vestige remained : they were lost in < 
 the tremendous maw for ever ! Millions I 
 of human beings have been swallowed up i 
 while flying for safety. In the bowels of 
 the earth the great Jehovah performs his 
 wonders, at the same moment that he is 
 firing the heavens with his lightnings. 
 His thunders roll above our heads and be- 
 neath our feet, where .he eye of mortal 
 man never ptnetrated. In the vast vor 
 
 J 
 
is tho footstool of God 
 s tlie grand alembic of 
 
 Olympian Jove when 
 led the skies witii his 
 rth its henild into tho 
 
 shakes the pillars of 
 
 its 'troincndous roar. 
 
 the storm is roused, it 
 — it awakens the deep 
 tillery of heaven— and 
 re. The clash of re- 
 gs in our ears. The 
 es forth from the dark 
 
 he was chained, ho 
 oreal dome in his r.ipid 
 i whirlwinds, and tho 
 dio with the crash of 
 hly monarchs of the 
 
 the dreadful autocrat 
 at the globe. It was 
 villi whom the immor- 
 a league, and entered 
 ations. lie sent forth 
 the gloomy palace of 
 ivas conducted to his 
 t of glass. Peace was 
 m— the dark siorm of 
 d away — and the uni- 
 ner was hung out in 
 autocrat escaj)ed from 
 philosopher ; lie was 
 with tlie spirits of the I 
 in raised his buyimets 
 3ry steeple. I!e was I 
 sd in his grand and | 
 n the heavens, and : 
 irbohs in every direc- ' 
 ricity ! j 
 
 ibly on the surface of 
 ms of fire roll beneath 
 iat womb of the globe 
 is at work. How 
 diipiake be, when we 
 t twelve cities in Asia 
 'ed up in one right ! 
 ed ; they were lost in 
 ' for ever ! Millions 
 e been swallowed tip 
 y. In the bowels of 
 Fehovah perforins his 
 3 moment that he is 
 with his lightnings, 
 ive our heads and be- 
 e ihe eye of mortal 
 d. In the va&t vor- 
 
 J 
 
 THE ISLAND OF CAPRI. 
 
 5T1 
 
 tcx of the volcano the universal forge emp- 
 ties its melted metals. Tho roar of Etna 
 has been the knell of thousands, when it 
 poured forth its cataract of fire over one 
 of the fairest portions of the earth, and 
 swept into ruins ages of industry. In the 
 reign of Titus Vespasian, A. D 79, the 
 volcano of Vesuvius dashed its fiery bil- 
 lows to the clouds, and buried in the burn- 
 ing lava the cities of Horculaneum, Sta- 
 bice, and Pompeii, which then flourished 
 near Naples. The streets of Pompeii were 
 paved with lava, and it has been discovered 
 that its fdundaiion is composed of the same 
 —proving that the spot had been deluged 
 previous to the birth of Christ. In the 
 streets once busy wiih the hum of indus- 
 try, and where the celebrated ancient walk- 
 ed, liie modern philosopher now stands and 
 ruminates upon fallen grandeur. While 
 the inhabitants were unmindful of the dan- 
 ger which awaited iliem — while they were 
 busied with schemes of wealth and great- 
 ness— the irresistible flood of fire came 
 roaring from the mountain, and shrouded 
 them in the eternal night. Seventeen hun- 
 dred years have rolled over them, and 
 their lonely habitations and works remain 
 as their monuments. They are swept 
 away in the torrent of time ; the waves of 
 ages have settled over them ; and art alone 
 has preserved their memory. Great God, 
 how sublime are thy works ! How grand 
 are thy operations ! How awful thy wrath ! 
 Natioiis can not stand against thee— a 
 world is but an atom in thy sight ! 
 
 THE ISLAND OF CAPRI. 
 
 jK HIS most picturesque 
 l^^^of islands is sitULiied 
 under the same me- 
 ridian as the city of 
 Naples, which it im- 
 mediately faces, and 
 from almost all parts 
 of which it is visible. 
 It is, indeed, one of the finest and most 
 striking features of the rich and varied 
 scenery which surrounds that capital. It 
 stands at the entrance of the Neapolitan 
 gulf, almost on the line of the horizon ; it 
 
 37 
 
 is distant about two and a half miles from 
 Cape CampanoUa, which terminates tho 
 bold promontory wher^ Sorrento, Amalfi, 
 and other towns of old fame, are situated ; 
 it is about twelve miles from Capo Miseno 
 on tho other side of tho bay, and rather 
 more than twenty from the city of Naples 
 at the end of the bay. It is composed of 
 hard, calcareous rocks, which are dis- 
 posed in two picturesque masses with a 
 considerable break or hollow between 
 them. The highest of these two masses, 
 which is to the west, and is called Ana- 
 capri, rises between sixteen and seventeen 
 hundred feet above the level of the sea. 
 The whole of the island, when seen at a 
 little distance, looks so precipitous and in- 
 accessible, that the stranger is disposed to 
 wonder how the little towns and white 
 villatTes he sees on the face of its clilfs 
 ever got there. The color of the masses 
 of roc'k, when not aft'ected by the glow of 
 sunset, is a pale, sober gray. Tracing all 
 tho indents and sinuosities of the rocks, 
 the circumference of the island does not 
 exceed nine miles ; yet within this narrow 
 space is crowded an astonishing variety of 
 scenic beauties, remains of antiquity, and 
 historical recollections. The entire sur- 
 face of Capri is wild, broken, and pictu- 
 resque. The ancient name of the island 
 was Caprea;, and it is said it was so called 
 from being inhabited by wild goats. Ac- 
 cording to antiquaries, its first human in- 
 habitants were a colony of Greeks from 
 Epirus, who, after many ages, were dis • 
 possessed by the citizens of Neapolis (Na- 
 ples), which then formed part of Magna 
 Gra>cia, and which, like all the places of 
 note in that portion of Italy, owed its ori- 
 gin to the Greeks. The Roman emperor 
 Augustus seems to have taken entire pos- 
 session of the island for himself, and to 
 have given the Neapolitan citizens lands 
 in the neighboring island of Ischia as an 
 equivalent. Suetonius, the historian, has 
 recorded a visit to Capri made by Augus- 
 tus at the close of his life. With a shat- 
 tered constitution and broken spirits, the 
 world's master left Rome to find a place 
 of quiet rest. Having recruited his spir- 
 its a little at Astura, on the shores of the 
 Tyrrhenian sea, and near the mouth of 
 the Tiber, he coasted Campania Felix, 
 and, with a few chosen friends, arrived at 
 
 
 J/£;^*iCifi.^ai>.s 
 
Wm 
 
 ..mi 
 
 mm 
 
 THK ISLAND Ol'' CAl'UI. 
 
 57;j 
 
 Hiiia;. lien? lin took shippinj,' for CupreiB. 
 As his f;,illt'y shot iicross iho I'utcohiii l)iiy, 
 ii was iiH'i l>y !i trailinu-vt'Msi'l Irom A\vx- 
 iiiiilria in HKypl. tli« cew of whidi, aware 
 of ihi' moinircli's iipproacli, hail (Irt'ssi-d 
 ihciiist Ivi's ill white, ami irowiii'd their 
 hiaiis witli I'hapiets ; and, wlien lio was 
 slill nearer to tiiein, they liurned ineeiisi; 
 helore liiiii, swearinu to live (or him, and 
 tor liiin H) iiavijiaic tiuj seas. These tes- 
 tlMioiiials of a'l'cciion — or tliis aclulaiir)n — 
 I'lieiri'd lor a moment the (lyin;,' (^npcror. 
 Hedistril'Uted money among his l'olU)\vers, 
 debirin;^ tliem to spend it in purehasinj,' 
 th(! Ahxandrian merchandise. At Capri, 
 Anj^UMius, (hiermininiL; to fori;et the cares 
 of f;ov(;rniin'nt, ;,'ave np his wlioU; sonl lo 
 ease and allalile intercourse ; Iml this se- 
 cession from toil, and the enjoyment of 
 till) tratiipiillity and the balmy atmosphere 
 of the place, and the magical scenery 
 uroimd liim, could not restore tiie old and 
 wornout man, who died shortly alter at the 
 town of Nola in Campania, and almost 
 within sight of the island. 
 
 Capri is, however, much more momo- 
 rahle as heing the constant retreat for sev- 
 eral years of Augustus's successor, the 
 e.xecrahle Tiberius. For the honor of hu- 
 man nature, it is to bo hoped that those 
 who have described the life and impurities 
 of iliis systematic tyrant and debauchee, 
 have in some instances sacrificed truth to 
 eloquence and effect : but still enough will 
 remain to excite our abhorrence, and our 
 re'jret that his name should be associated 
 Willi so beautiful a spot of earth. Shut up 
 with the infamous ministers of his tyranny 
 aii'l lust in this rocky, inaccessible island, 
 Tiberius ruled the vast Roman empire. It 
 was here he committed or ordered some 
 of the most atrocious of his cruelties ; it 
 was here he wrote the " verbose and grand 
 epistle" to the senate at Home, immortal- 
 ized in its infamy by Juvenal ; it was here 
 the arbiter of the fate of millions trembled 
 in his old age at what might be his own 
 destiny, and sat on " the august rock of 
 Capreie with a Chaldean band" — a band 
 1 of astrologers and impostors — to consult 
 ■ the stars. He here built twelve palaces 
 ' or villas, which were all strongly fortilied, 
 I and erected many other works, the ruins 
 of which still bear his name. The poor 
 islanders of the present day, indeed, at- 
 
 tribute every ancient building or fragment 
 found on the island to " Tiberio Cesare," 
 whoni they amusingly call "emperor of 
 Capri, and king of Rome." It is also very 
 amusing to hear how they talk tradition> 
 ally of the tyrant, and of the deeds and 
 vi'.!'.;'j recorded l.'y Tacitus, Suetonius, and 
 .luvenal. 
 
 The sail from Naples lo Capri on a 
 fine summer evening, when favored by the 
 reiilo (Ii term, or land liriieze iVoiii the 
 main, is one oi' the most delijihifid that can 
 be imauiniid. The only aecessilili^ point 
 ii the island is called the Sliarco di < ' ipri, 
 or the landing-|)lace. This is below the 
 town of Cajiri, lo which there is an ascent 
 by means ot a rude Cyclopism lli'^ht of 
 steps, steep and ruggi!iJ in the extreine, 
 ;V lew lortilications might render the isl- 
 and altogether inaccessible to an enemy, 
 and entitle Capri lo tiii! name that was 
 commonly givi'ii to it during the last war 
 of \ai>oleon, vi/.., the Lutle Cihraliar. 
 During acc^riain part of that long siruggie, 
 when the French arms had driven the 
 king of the Two Sicilies from Naples to 
 Sicily, the English held the island for that 
 sovereign. They kept possession of it 
 during the whole of the short reign at, Na- 
 ples of .loseph Bonaparte ; but when he 
 went to Spam, ami Murat replaced him in 
 Italy, it was attacked with an imiiosing 
 force, and, being most absurdly dtlended, 
 it fell into the hands of the French. 
 
 The principal town, or, as it is pomp- 
 ously called, the " meti()])olis of Capri," 
 stands on a shelving rock toward the e^ st 
 of the island. It consists of a group of 
 some two or three hnndred sm.ill but tol- 
 erably neat houses, live or six churches 
 and chapels, with a confined piazza, or 
 sipiare, in the midst. It is surrounded by 
 vineyards and orchards, and some small 
 olive-groves stand on ledges of the cl ill's 
 above it. There is only one more town 
 in the island. This is called Anacapri, 
 and is situated high up, on a narrow ledge 
 of the western mass of rock that goes by 
 the same name. The fishermen, sailors, 
 and traders, live in the chief town, and the 
 lower parts of the island and Anacapri are 
 almost solely inhabited by frugal, indus- 
 trious peasants. It is one of the cleanest 
 places that eye can behold. Its inhabit- 
 ants communicate with the other town and 
 
 «? 
 
r 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 574 
 
 THE ISLAND OJ* CAPRI. 
 
 nil ilio cast of tlio island by nn'fins of a 
 fliKlii of five hunilrcd and tliirly-ci>{lit steps, 
 which zigzags in a curious manner down 
 the fact) of a precipice. On a still loftier 
 precipice, in the rear of the town of Ana- 
 capri, are the pictures(iiie ruins of a castlo 
 of the middle ages. 
 
 The villages — if groups of three or four 
 vine-dressers' houses may bo so railed — 
 are nestled here and there in little hol- 
 lows, or are perched on steps in the clilTs, 
 chiefly on the eastern half of the island. 
 Wherever it has been possible to make 
 them grow, thoy are surrounded by trees 
 and vineyards. The persevering industry 
 of the islanders is very admirable. By 
 hewing out rocks here— !.y piling them up 
 to form terraces and retain the scanty soil 
 there — by removing the earth from places 
 where it was exposed to bo washed away, 
 and depositing it in well-defended, secure 
 places — they have covered considerable 
 patches of liio northern front of Capri with 
 beauty and fertility. The back of the isl- 
 and is so precipitous, that it is altogether 
 impracticable. The cultivable parts pro- 
 duce most kinds of vegetables and fruits, 
 a small quantity of excellent oil, and wine 
 in abundance. The wine, which is well 
 known to all who have resided at Naples, 
 is of two sorts — Capri russo and Capri bi- 
 anco — or red and white Capri. The qual- 
 ity of both is very good, being devoid of 
 that volcanic, sulphurous flavor common 
 to most of the wines produced near Na- 
 ples. 
 
 Quails form another important article of 
 export. These birds of passage, which 
 come in countless flights from the coast of 
 Africa in spring, and return thitherward 
 in autumn, are caught on the island in 
 large nets spread out in hollows on the 
 tops of the rocks, through which, season 
 after season, the quails are sure to pass. 
 In some years, as many as one hundred 
 thousand of these delicate birds, without 
 counting those consumed at home, have 
 been sent to the Neapolitan market Cap- 
 ri, which is now united to the see of Sor- 
 rento, once had a bishop of its own ; and, 
 in former days, that dignitary's revenue 
 was derived almost entirely from the trade 
 in quails. 
 
 in 182G, the whole population of the 
 island amounted to about four thousand 
 
 Hotils. There wen^ two or three schiioU 
 established by government. The people 
 seemed very healthy, contenteil, and cheer- 
 ful — free and eijual in their intercourse 
 with one another — and, like most island- 
 ers, much attached to the place of ilieir 
 birth. None of them could i)e called ricii, 
 even according to the low scale of that 
 part of the world, but then very few were 
 abjectly poor. Like the inhabitants of the 
 contiguous penir.sula, the Sorrentini, the 
 AmallitJini, &.c., the people of Ca|)ri inva- 
 riably leave nn agreeable recollection in 
 the mind of the traveller. 
 
 The bold, perpendicular clifl" at the east- 
 ern extremity of the island, which is cor- 
 rectly represented in our engraving, is the 
 the too-celebrated Saltus Ca[)roarum, over 
 which, if history speaks truly, Tiberius 
 was accustomed to have his tortured vic- 
 tims driven. The clilT still retains its 
 name, Italianized, the islanders always 
 calling it " II Salto," or the leap. It rises 
 seven hundred feet above the level of the 
 sea. Not far from the brow of this clifT 
 are very considerable remains of the Villa 
 Jovis, oneof the tyrant's twelve mansions, 
 which all stood on this half of the island. 
 The guides assure the stranger that some 
 arched subterranean chambers, communi- 
 cating with one another, that are found 
 here, were the torturing clunueons of Ti- 
 berius. A fine mosaic pavement, some 
 columns o( giallo antico,a, Greek statue of 
 a nymph, with many cameos and intaglios, 
 were found at the Villa .Fovis many years 
 since. Indeed, this small island and these 
 Tiberian villas, of which we need not give 
 a minute description, as little remains of 
 them but sub-structures and dismal cells, 
 have contributed largely to modern muse- 
 ums, churches, and palaces. The four 
 magnificent columns of giallo antico — and 
 all of one piece — that now decorate the 
 chapel of the king of Naples in the palace 
 of Caserta were dug up in one of the vil- 
 las A splendid mosaic, which Murat's 
 wife, Caroline Bonaparte, caused to be re- 
 moved and laid down as a flooring to her 
 own boudoir in the palace at Portici, was 
 found in another ; and each of the villas, 
 from amid their crumbling ruins, have fur- 
 nished rosso, giallo, and verdo antico, la- 
 pis lazuli, other beautiful stones, and a 
 peculiar sort of marble called Tiberian, in 
 
re two or tlirco schools 
 vorniin'iit. Tlio |)iM)[)|t> 
 ly.coiilcnted, anil c-Ikm.t- 
 lul in tlioir intercourse 
 -unil, liku rnuHt ishiinl- 
 d to llio place of llit'ir 
 oin could be callt;d rirli, 
 I tlio low scale of lliiit 
 l)iil then very few were 
 kc the inliubitantH of the 
 lula, tlio Sorrontini, tlic 
 le people of Capri inva- 
 ^retiuble recollection in 
 aveller. 
 
 ndicular clilT at the east- 
 lie island, which is* cor- 
 in our enj^'ravinjr, is the 
 Sallus Caproaruni, over 
 speaka truly, Tiberius 
 a have his tortured vic- 
 
 cliflT still retains its 
 , tlio islanders always 
 o," or the leap. It risits 
 !l above the level of the 
 n tlie brow of this clill' 
 ible remains of the Villa 
 ^'rant's twelve mansions, 
 
 1 this half of the island. 
 3 the stranger that some 
 an chambers, communi- 
 anolher, that are found 
 rturiiijr dunueons of Ti- 
 nosaic pavement, some 
 antico,& Greek statue of 
 ny cameos and intaglios. 
 
 Villa Jovis many years 
 lis small island and these 
 
 which we need not give 
 ion, as little remains of 
 :tures and dismal cells, 
 largely to modern muse- 
 md palaces. The four 
 ms of giallo anlico — and 
 —that now decorate the 
 ; of Naples in the palace 
 lug up in one of the vil- 
 
 mosaic, which Mural's 
 naparte, caused to be re- 
 jwn as a flooring to her 
 lC palace at Portici, was 
 
 and each of the villas, 
 rumbling ruins, have fur- 
 lo, and verde anlico, la- 
 beautiful stones, and a 
 arble called Tiberian, in 
 
 ffl' 
 
 1^ 
 
 .'m4 
 

 616 
 
 DrSCIPLINB or THK EYES. 
 
 %. 
 
 wotMlrrful |iri>riiHi(>ii. Siihucn nml bimt^ 
 ill iiiitrl'lo itiiil liroir/.)*, iiml of oxipii'iiio 
 vvitrkm:iiitlii|i, iiicdiU iiihI Imssi-rMlirvi, 
 nml other uliircts of art, li.ivc iiUo ln-cii 
 toiiml iinil carritjil iiway in uriMt(|tiantiti('H 
 iliiriiiK till) coursn of ci'iiturii"*. 'I'Iid iiik- 
 M:iic<i ami rorintliiiiii ('n|iit:i ii of tlii> 'I'i- 
 licrian villas aro fsperially coiiMiilereil as 
 modfld of ])('rfi'(tii)ri of thrir kiml. All 
 lliisn twi'lvo niamiilicciii villas wore in- 
 cliiilfd in a npnce, the circumfercnco of 
 whirli does not rxcfi-d four niilos. Tlio 
 wfalih of iho emperor was omployod for 
 years iii nrcctini; and adorninir tln'in. 
 
 'I'lio very curious cavern rfprusi'iiied in 
 the fngraving was roceiiily and accident- 
 ally diicovored. The water in tlio cavern 
 ami the stalactites on its roof are vepre- 
 Hfiiii'd as boinj; tinged with the most i-x- 
 ipii'site bliin. Hence its Italian nanio of 
 '•("avorna.or Grotla Azurra,"or " Caverna 
 lila"— the HIno Cavern. 
 
 A low-pitched and narrow aperture in 
 the rocks west of the usual landing-place 
 at (Japri, and ahuut one and a half miles 
 (iisiant froiii it, leads into an immense cir- 
 cular cavern, recently discovered — well 
 worth notice, and distinguished by the 
 name of " La (Jrotta Azurra." Persons 
 who visit this sapphire cell are obliged to 
 place themselves horizontally in the little 
 imrk destined to convey tliem through the 
 above low and narrow aperture, which is 
 so small as to excite an alarm of finding 
 darkness within ; but, on the centrary, if 
 the day be cloudless, all is light — light 
 that would dazzle, were it not blue. The 
 color of the water which fills the cavern 
 precisely resembles that of the largo bot- 
 tles of vitriol, with lamps behind them, 
 seen at chymists' windows ; and this wa- 
 ter appears to act like the lens of a tele- 
 scope, by conducting tlie rays of the sun 
 and the retleclion of the brilliant skies of 
 Magna Cira-iia into the cavern. After the 
 eye has been for a fvw nuiments locus- 
 tomod to a Iinhf 1,0 iiiM^ical, thi; aiupen- 
 dous taulto Ji ...4 gig.witic bath are dis- 
 cerniijle, richly studded with stalactites, 
 and assuming, in consequence of a strong 
 reflection, from the transparent blue water, 
 exactly the same lint. The cavern con- 
 tains broken steps leading to a subterra- 
 nean passage, the length of which is un- 
 known, it being impossil)ie to reach the 
 
 end, ow'u\g to an impediment foriinil hv 
 earth and .sioneH, .Masonry seemt to have 
 been iMn|)loyi'd in the iMiisiriiitioii of tiiii 
 steps ami piHsaye, which proliildv roni- 
 iimnicateil either with one of 'I'lberiii't's 
 villas or that of Julia, the niece of .Vugiis- 
 tus ; but the cavern, although it may have 
 been used us a bathing-place, is evidently 
 the work of nature. 
 
 DLSCIPMN'E OF THE EYES. 
 
 »» ISION isoneoftliemosl 
 important ami the most 
 r* coriiprehensivo of the 
 senses, yet it is one that 
 can not bo exercised in 
 its full erticieruy with- 
 out considerable practice 
 and self-tniiion. 'i'liis 
 fact, well known in theory, was first <hici- 
 dated by experiment in tlie case of the 
 boy who was cured of blindness at the a!,'e 
 of fourteen. A case of equal interest oc- 
 curred lately in Loudon, a report of which 
 by Dr. Franz is given in the Phihisophit al 
 Transactions. The leading results in both 
 cases exactly coincide. 
 
 If a person totally blind from birth were, 
 at a mature age, a;id in possession of all 
 his other faculties, at once to obtain the 
 full use of his eyes, one would be apt to 
 imagine that he would perceive objects 
 around him just as other grown-up per- 
 sons usually do. This, however, is by no 
 means the case. There is none of the 
 senses so deceptive, taken by itself, as tliat 
 of vision. No just idea can be rorined of 
 any obJ(!ct by the eye alone ; and it is only 
 j by the aid and experuiice of ibe other 
 : senses, as well as by repeated practice in 
 I vision, that an accurate notion of oven the 
 ! simfilest object can be ol)taiiied. To tlie 
 inexperienced eye all objects are flat, or 
 seem only as surfaces. All objects, loo, 
 however near or distant, appear as if in 
 one plane ; so that form, size, distance, 
 are all indistinguishable. Ev n color de- 
 pends upon proximity to the »'ye, for the 
 brightest objects at a reinotii distance ap- 
 jiear dim and almost colorless. 
 
iii|i)'(liiiitMit rorini'i) liv 
 Mii*i>rirv Ni'ciMJi li> Inn c 
 iIm* iMiistriii'tiiii) of iliH 
 , wliK'li proliiililv rotn- 
 villi oiiK ol' 'I'llicrm-i'-* 
 ill, ilu' iiipcfi (if Auyiis 
 I, altli<>ui{li it iiiiiy li:ivi' 
 ling-pluco, iii cviiloiiily 
 
 OF THE EYES. 
 
 ^lON is ono of tliomosl 
 nportiiiit and iho most 
 Diiiprolu'itsiv*) of the 
 iMisi's, y(>t it is Olid lh;it 
 u) not ho oxorcistMl in 
 s full efricicncy witli- 
 ut coiisiiltTiiliIe |)riiitic(' 
 [)(l seif-tiiitioii. Tlii?* 
 
 llii'ory, wjis (irxt cliici- 
 lit in llio cu»o of tlio 
 of bliiuiiios^ at llio ii!i[(' 
 10 of tMjuiil iiitrro»ti o{!. 
 idoii, a report of wliJcli 
 on in tlu) IMiiio.so|)liii':il 
 ) leading results in bulli 
 •ide. 
 
 y blind from birti» were, 
 id in posMOSsiun of all 
 at oiico to ohtain llie 
 a, one would !><; apt to 
 fould perceive objects 
 i other grown-up |)it- 
 riiis, however, is by no 
 'J'here is none ol' the 
 <, taken by itself, as iliut 
 
 idea citn be liuiiied of 
 •e alono ; and it is only 
 pericnce of ilie other 
 by repeated practice in 
 rale niitioii of ovt-n the 
 
 he. obtained. 'J'o the 
 all objects are flat, or 
 ces. All objects, too, 
 istant, appear as if in 
 t form, size, distance, 
 lable. E\^n color dc- 
 lity to the eye, for the 
 
 a remote distance ap- 
 it colorless. 
 
 DIlCiPLINB or THK RYRS. 
 
 bit 
 
 l| 
 
 •rii« cimo opernted upon by iJt. Franx 
 was that of a young gentlemen of »e' . n- 
 li-eii years of a({e, the son of a phVMtian. 
 Ho bad bweii blind from birth. Min riubi 
 eye w i- quite insensible lo li ;lit. and in 
 ll'int St ite called (imdiimtte. Hi* left eye 
 r.iiitiiiii ! anopuquclen.'),orcntar:ii I : with 
 it he eould dl'itiMUui'di a strong li^'tit, ami 
 even vivid eoh)rs, bul be had no idt lof the 
 forms ol objects. It W.1S Oil this left eye 
 tliiit tin operiilion was performed, and for- 
 tiiiiiiicl) It pi -veil successful. As th« 
 voiiiig iiiaii possessed an intelligent mind, 
 and had been carefully educated as far ii , 
 hi^ coiidiiion would allow, the oppirtunily 
 was a fivoraiih) one to lost the accuracy 
 of former cxperiinents. 
 
 " On opining the eye," says Dr. Frnnz, 
 " for the I'nst time on the third day after 
 the operation, I asked tiie patient what ho 
 could sre. He answered that ho saw an 
 cxiiiisive field of I i^hl, in which overy- 
 lliiiiy appeared dull, lonfused, and in mo- 
 tion, lie could no ilistingiiish objects, 
 and the pain proiliici 1 by tho light forced 
 linn to close tho eye i, amediately." Two 
 diivs afterward the eye 'vas again exposed. 
 " lie now described A'hat he saw as a 
 iiuiiiber of op.'iquo wai> v spheres, which 
 uuived with the moveiii'iits of the eye ; 
 but when tho eye was it rest, remained 
 stationary, and then parii lly covered each 
 oilier. Two days after this the cyo was 
 af,'iiiii opened : the same |iSenomeiia were 
 again observed, but the s|i leros were less 
 opacpie, and somewhat tra sparent — their 
 iniivemeiits more steady, an 1 they appeared 
 to eovi:r each other more tli in before. He 
 was now for the lirst time apable, as ho 
 said, to look llirough tho s !ieres, and to 
 perceive a diirerence, but m rely a difl'er- 
 ence. in the surrouniling obj -cts. When 
 he directed his eye steadily t >ward an ob- 
 ject, tlie visual impression w. ^ painful and 
 iin|)erfect, and the iiitolerai o of light 
 obli>;ed him to desist. Tin ippearance 
 of spheres diminished daily ; :ey became 
 smaller, clearer, and more pellucid, and 
 after two weeks disappeared. Dark brown 
 spots {miiscce vulUantcs) floatcu before tho 
 eye every time it was opened ; and when 
 shut, especially toward evening, dark blue, 
 violet, and red colors, appearei in an up- 
 ward and outward direction." 
 
 As scon as the stale of the p; lent per- 
 
 mitted, the following oxperimenu on hit 
 sv nse of vision were iii«ititiiied. 'i'hey 
 were performed in succession, ;uid on dif- 
 fereiil days, so as not to laiiniif tin- eye 
 too much. In the first expi rimiiit, silk 
 ribands of diiroront colors, fastened «»n a 
 black (ground, were employi'd to show, 
 tirst the primitive, and linn ilie emnple- 
 nieiitary colors 'I'lie palii-nt r'-connised 
 the dilfereiit colors, with the exciplion of 
 yellow I! ml green, which he In ipienlly 
 ronfounded. but could distinguish when 
 both wen xhihit. d at the ^ ime time. 
 (Jray pleasei.' him best, becaiur iliis i dor, 
 he said, prodi ed an ai>reealile ai< 1 urato- 
 ful seri^alion. ''ho effect of red. orange, 
 and ye "w, wa painful, but ii"' disngroo* 
 able ; tl if viokt and brown ,.it painful, 
 but very sagreerible ; tho hi n-r he called 
 ijly. rt k proiiiieod sii'ijectioned col- 
 ors, and w 111 OCT sioned tlie nicnrrence 
 of mHsrai vui'lunten i u vehement degree. 
 In the sece 1(1 experiment, tho patient 
 ■ ' ' '. to tho light, and kept 
 
 A sheet of paper, on 
 ; 111 ick lines hiid been 
 ,iori/ontal, the other vcr- 
 •d before him at the dis- 
 hreo feet. He was now 
 ■ e eye, and, after atten- 
 lie called the lines by 
 lalions. When he was 
 villi his linger the hori- 
 1 fc! his hand slowly, as 
 it leeling, and pointed to tho vertical line : 
 but after a short le, observiri>r liis error, 
 ho corrected him>i li the outline in black, 
 of a square six inchi in diameter, within 
 which a circle had be drawn, and within 
 the latter a triangle, \v^s, after careful ex- 
 amination, recognised and correctly de- 
 scribed by him. When ho was asked lo 
 point out either of the figures, he never 
 moved his hand directly and decidedly, 
 but always as if feeling, and with the 
 greatest caution : he pointed them out, 
 however, correctly. A line consisting of 
 angles, or a zigzag and a spiral line, both 
 drawn on a sheet of paper, he observed to 
 be different, but could not describe them 
 otherwise than by imitating their forms 
 with his finger in the air. He said he 
 had no idea of these figures. 
 
 In a third experiment, light being ad- 
 mitted into the room at one window only, 
 
 sat with hi 
 his eye d 
 which two 
 drawn — ih 
 lical — was pl.i 
 taiice of abotii 
 allowed to opi' 
 tive examinai. 
 tlnir right deii. 
 asio'd to point 
 Xdiiial line, he i 
 
 1ft 
 
 m 
 
i 
 
 
 678 
 
 DISCIPLINE OF THE EYES. 
 
 to wliich the patient's back was turned, a 
 solid cube and a sphere, eacli four inches 
 in diameter, were placed before and on a 
 level with the eye at the distance of three 
 feet. Allowing him to move the head in 
 a lateral direction no more than v/as ne- 
 cessary to compensate the point of view 
 of the right eye, which was visionlcss, he 
 was now desired to open his eye, and say 
 what the objects were. After attentively 
 examining llieni, he said he saw a quad- 
 rangular and a circular figure, and after 
 some consideration he pronounced the 
 one a square and the other a disk. His 
 eye being again closed, the cube was ta- 
 ken away, and a flat disk of equal size 
 placed next to the sphere. On opening 
 his eye, he observed no diflerenco in these 
 objects, but regarded them both as disks. 
 The solid cube was now placed in a some- 
 what obii([uu position before his eye, and 
 close beside it a figure cut out of paste- 
 board, representing a plain outline pros- 
 pect of the cube when in this position : 
 both oi)jects he took to be something like 
 flat quadrates. A pyramid placed before 
 him with one of its sides toward his eye, 
 he saw as a plain triangle. This object 
 was now turned a little, so as to present 
 two of its sides to view, but rather more 
 of one side than of another. After con- 
 sidering it for a long time, he said that 
 this was a very extraordinary figure : it 
 was neither a triangle, nor a quadrangle, 
 nor a circle. He had no idea of it, and 
 could not describe it. When subsequent- 
 ly the three solid bodies, the sphere, the 
 cube, and the triangle, were placed in his 
 hands, he was much surprised that he had 
 not recognised them as sucli by sight, as 
 he was well acquainted with these solid 
 mathematical figures by touch. 
 
 There was another peculiarity in his 
 impressions : when he first began to look 
 at objects, they all appeared to him so near, 
 that he was sometimes afraid of coming in 
 contact with them, though many were in 
 reality at a great distance. He saw ev- 
 erything much larger than he had sup- 
 posed, from the idea obtained by his sense 
 of touch. All moving, and especially liv- 
 ing objects, such as men and horses, ap- 
 peared to him very large. If he wished 
 to form an estimate of the distance of ob- 
 jects from his own person, or of two ob- 
 
 jects from each other, without moving from 
 his place, he examined the objects from 
 different points of view, by turning his 
 head to the right and to tlie left. Of per- 
 spective in pictures, he had, of course, no 
 idea. He could distinguish the individu- 
 al objects in a painting, but could not un- 
 derstand the meaning of the whole picture. 
 It appeared to him unnafural, for instance, 
 that the figure of a man represented in the 
 front of the picture should be larger than 
 a house or a mountain in the back;|round. 
 Every surface appeared to him perfectly 
 flat. Thus, though he knew very well by 
 his touch that the nose was prominent, 
 and the eyes sunk deeper in the head, he 
 saw the human face only as a plane. 
 Though he possessed an excellent memo- 
 ry, this faculty was at first quite deficient 
 as regarded vision : he was not able, for 
 example, to recognise visiters unless he 
 heard them speak, till he had seen them 
 very frequently. Even when he had seen 
 an object repeatedly, he could form no 
 idea of its visible qualities in his in)agina- 
 tion, without having the real objec's before 
 him. Formerly, wlien he had dreamt of 
 persons — of his pnrcnts, for instance — he 
 felt them, and heard their voices, but nev- 
 er saw them ; but now, after having seen 
 tham frequently, he saw them also in his 
 dreams. 
 
 The human face pleased him more than 
 any other object presented to his view. 
 The eyes he thought most beautiful, espe- 
 cially when in motion ; the nose disagree- 
 able, on account of its form and great 
 prominence ; the movement of the lower 
 jaw in eating he considered very ugly. 
 Although the newly-acquired sense aflbrd- 
 ed him many pleasures, the great number 
 of strange and extraordinary sights was 
 often disagreeable and wearisome to him. 
 He said that he saw too much novelty, 
 which he could not comprehend ; and oven 
 though he could see botli near and remote 
 objects very well, he would nevertheless 
 continually have recourse to the use of 
 the sense of touch. 
 
 Such are the nature of our impressions 
 in early infancy, before vision becomes 
 to us a true exposition of the forms and 
 relative positions of objects. And such 
 is the effect of habit and association, that 
 the actual deceptions which the sense of 
 
ler, without moving from 
 mined tho objects from 
 f view, by turnin<j his 
 md to tlie left. Of per- 
 is, he had, of course, no 
 listinguish the individu- 
 nting, but could n»t un- 
 iigof the whole picture. 
 1 unnatural, for instance, 
 . nuin represented in the 
 •e should be larger than 
 itain in the background, 
 leared to him perfectly 
 li he knew very well by 
 ) nose was prominent, 
 deeper in the head, he 
 face only as a piano, 
 sed an excellent memo- 
 s at first quite deficient 
 I : he was not able, for 
 nise visiters unless he 
 , till he had seen them 
 FaVCu when he had seen 
 lly, he could form no 
 ualities in his imagina- 
 g the real objec's before 
 vhen ho had dreamt of 
 rents, for instance — ho 
 rd their voices, but nev- 
 now, after having seen 
 e saw them also in his 
 
 pleased him more than 
 iresented to his view, 
 lit most beautiful, espe- 
 ion ; tho nose disagree- 
 of its form and great 
 uovement of the lower 
 considered very ugly, 
 .^-acquired sense aflbrd- 
 ures, the great number 
 traordiriary siglits was 
 and wearisome to him, 
 saw too much novelty, 
 comprehend ; and even 
 e both near and remote 
 lie would nevertheless 
 e course to the use of 
 
 :ure of our impressions 
 lefore vision becomes 
 ition of the forms and 
 of objects. And such 
 lit and association, that 
 ns which the sense of 
 
 now TO GET HICH.-IN8ANITV. 
 
 579 
 
 sight, when taken alone, is continually 
 presenting to us, can only be appreciated 
 or detected by the philosophic inquirer. 
 
 HOW TO GET RICH. 
 
 LMOST every 
 merchant has at 
 some point of his 
 life been rich, or 
 at least prosper- 
 ous ; and if he is 
 poor now, he can 
 see very well how 
 he might almost 
 certainly have avoided the disasters which 
 overthrew his hopes. He will probably 
 see that his misfortunes arose from neg- 
 lecting some of the following rules : — 
 
 Be industrious. Everybody knows that 
 industry is a fundamental virtue in the 
 man of business. But it is not every sort 
 of industry which fends to wealth. Many 
 men work hard to do a great deal of busi- 
 ness, and after all make less money than 
 they would if they did less. Industry 
 should be expended in seeing to all the 
 details of business : in carefully finishing 
 up each separate undertaking, and in the 
 inaintenaiK-e of such a system as will keep 
 everything under control. 
 
 Be economical. This rule also is fa- 
 miliar to every one. Economy is a virtue 
 lo ne practised every hour in a great city. 
 It is to be i)ractised in pence as much as 
 in dollars. A shilling a day saved, amounts 
 to ai» estate in tiie course of a life. Econ- 
 omy is especially important in the outset 
 of lifi', until the foundations of an estate 
 are laid. Many men are poor all their 
 days, because wlien their necessary ex- 
 penses were light, they did not seize the 
 opportunity to save a small capital, which 
 would have changed their fortunes for the 
 whole of their lives. 
 
 Stick to your own business. Let spec- 
 ulators make their thousands in a year or 
 a day — mind your own regular trade, nev- 
 er turning from it to the right hand or to 
 the left. If you are a merchant, a profes- 
 sional man, or a mechanic, never buy lots 
 
 or stocks unless you have surplus money 
 which you wish to invest. Your own 
 business you understand as well as other 
 men ; but other people's business you do 
 not understand. Let your business be 
 some one which is useful to the commu- 
 nity. All such occupations possess the 
 elements of profit in themselves, while 
 mere speculation has no such element. 
 
 Never take great hazards. Such haz- 
 ards are seldom well balanced by the pros- 
 pects of profit ; and if they were, the habit 
 of mind which is induced is imfavorable, 
 and generally the result is bad. To keep 
 what you have, should be the first rule ; 
 to get what you can fairly, the second. 
 
 Don't be in a hurry to get rich. Grad- 
 ual gains are the only natural gains, and 
 they who are in haste to be rich, break 
 over sc<:;id rules, fall into temptation and 
 dislreP;- 'H various sorts, and generally 
 fail oi' th(".( objects. There is no use in 
 getting rich suddenly. The man who 
 keeps his business under control, and 
 saves something from year to year, is al- 
 ways rich. At any rate, he possesses the 
 highest enjoyment which riches are able 
 to afford. 
 
 Never do business for the sake of doing 
 it and being accounted a great mercliant. 
 There is often more money to be made by 
 a small business than a large one ; and 
 that business will in the end be most re- 
 spectable which is most successful. Do 
 not get deeply in debt ; but so manage as 
 always, if possible, to have your financial 
 position easy, so that you can turn any way 
 you please. 
 
 Do not love money extravagantly. We 
 speak here merely with reference to being 
 rich. In morals, the inurdinate love of 
 money is one of the most degrading vices. 
 But the extravagant desire of accumula- 
 tion induces an eagerness, many times, 
 which is imprudent, and so misses its ob- 
 ject from too much haste to grasp 'it. 
 
 Insanity. — In Italy there is one insane 
 man to 4,879 ; in France, one to 1,000 ; 
 Wales, one to 800 ; England, one to 862 ; 
 Scotland, one to 574 ; Russia, one to 666 ; 
 United States, one to 500. Among the 
 Chinese, insanity is almost unknown. 
 
 i 
 
;i, 
 
 11 
 
 
 it' « 
 
THK SHAni)0(:KTllEi:.-l'lI()SPn()llLS. 
 
 5 SI 
 
 THE SHADDllClv-TilKK. 
 
 11 F, sliiiddocli (C(/rM.? 
 KileciimiiiKi) is OIK! of 
 (he four tlisiinct or 
 leading specit.'S into 
 which' till) oninge- 
 tril)e of pifidisis divi- 
 ded. Tho shaddock 
 is larger thi;ii the or- 
 ange, l)oth in ihe tree 
 The tree has spreading, 
 prickly brunches : the leaves are egg- 
 sliiipeil and rather acute, and the leaf-stalks 
 are furnished with remarkably large heart- 
 slia|)ed wings : the flowers are white, with 
 rellexed petals, and very sweet-scented. 
 The fruit, which is from two and a half to 
 eight inches in diameter, is spheroidal, of 
 a greenish yellow color, and has twelve 
 or more cells, containing, according to the 
 variety, either a red or whi'e pulp. The 
 juice is sweet in some varieties, and acid 
 in others ; it is rather insipid, but is ex- 
 cellent for quenching thirst. The rind, 
 which is of a disagreeable bitter flavor, is 
 very thick, in consequence of which the 
 fruit can be much longer preserved during 
 sea-voyages than that of any other species 
 of citrus. 
 
 The shaddock is a native of China and 
 the neighboring countries, where the name 
 of " sweet-ball" is given to it. Its common 
 name is derived from Captain Shaddock, 
 who brought it from China to the West 
 Indi'js. It has, however, been neglected 
 there, and is now but seldom entitled to its 
 oriental name of sweet-ball. Instead of 
 propagating the shaddock by budding, as 
 is done in China, and which is the only 
 way it can be improved, or even kept from 
 degenerating, they have reared it from 
 seed, and have in consequence only ob- 
 tained a harsh and sour sort of little value. 
 Tlie shaddock came to England from the 
 West Indies, and was cultivated by Miller 
 in 1739. In the West it is certainly the 
 least valuable of the genus to which it be- 
 longs ; and for the attention which it has 
 received it is chiefly indebted to the show- 
 iness both of the tree and the fruit. In Us 
 native country the fruit attains a much 
 greater size than in the West. Thunberg 
 says that it is commonly of the size of a 
 child's head in Japan ; Dr. Sickler de- 
 
 scribes it as weiuhing fourieen pounds, 
 and as having a diumeicr of riiim seven to 
 eight inches. Their acecuiils are con- 
 firmed by Uishop Ileber, who thus de- 
 scribes the shaddock of India: "The 
 shaddock resembles a melon externally, 
 but it is in fact a vast orauye, with a rind 
 of two inches tliick, the pulp much less 
 juicy than a common oraiigi;, and with 
 rather a bitter flavor— certainly a fruit 
 which would be little valued in England, 
 but which in this burning weather I thought 
 rather pleasant and refreshing." The shad- 
 dock is. sometimes sold under the name of 
 " forbidden fruit." 
 
 PHOSPHORUS. 
 
 HOSPIIORUS, an el- 
 ementary non-metallic 
 substance, was acci- 
 dentally discovered by 
 Brandt, an alchymist 
 of Hamburgh, while he 
 was attempting to dis- 
 cover, in human urine, 
 a substance capable of 
 converting silver into gold ; it was alter- 
 vard discovered by Kimkel, who knew 
 that Brandt had prepared it from urine, 
 but he knew not Brandt's method of prep- 
 aration ; afterward it was discovered by 
 Boyle, an English chymist. 
 
 Under the name of English phosphorus, 
 it was, for some years, supplied to all Eu- 
 rope, by Godfrey Hawkitz, the assistant 
 
 of Boyle. 
 
 Phosphorus was prepared from urine, 
 by the action of acetate or nitrate of lead, 
 which is decomposed, and a phosphate of 
 lead precipitated : this being well washed, 
 dried, and distilled in a stone-ware retort, 
 yields phosphorus. In the year 1796, 
 Gahn discovered that it was contained in 
 bones, in union with lime ; Scheele soon 
 after contrived the following process by 
 which it is now obtained from this source. 
 
 The bones are calcined (to destroy the 
 animal matter) till they become white, in 
 which state they contain phosphate of 
 lime, with a little carbonate of lime ; this 
 substance is then decomposed by about 
 
0' 
 
 582 
 
 PHOSPHORUS. 
 
 two thirds of its weight of sulphuric acid ; 
 to this is addeJ water, and the insoluble 
 8ulj)hate of lime precipitates, and is sepa- 
 rated by filtration from the superphosphate 
 of lime in solution : this liquid is then 
 evaporated to the consistency of sirup, 
 when it is intimately mixed with powdered 
 charcoal, to form a thick paste ; it is then 
 well rubbed in a mortar, and having been 
 dried in an iron vessel, it is introduced into 
 an earthenware retort, the beak of which 
 is immersed in water ; the heat is gradu- 
 ally raised till the retort be heated to white- 
 ness. During this process, gaseous bub- 
 bles issue from the beak of the retort, some 
 of which rise to the surface of the water 
 and take fire ; at last a substance, having 
 till! appearance of melted wax, drops from 
 the beak of the retort, and conpeah i.n the 
 water : this is phosphorus, the formation of 
 whicii depends on the union of carbon 
 with oxygen at a high temperature ; these 
 two gases unite, and form carbonic oxyde, 
 consequently the phosphorus is all along 
 accompanied with that gas. 
 
 Wiihler has recommended the use of 
 ivory black, which is a mixture of phos- 
 phate of lime and charcoal (carbon). His 
 method was to calcine the ivory black with 
 fine quartzy sand and a little ordinary char- 
 coal, at a high temperature ; to the cylin- 
 der containing the materials, a bent tube 
 of copper was fixed, one end of which de- 
 scended into a vessel of water. 
 
 At the ordinary temperature, phospho- 
 rus is a soft substance, of a light amber 
 color, and perhaps white, if absolutely 
 pure ; when cut with a knife, it appears 
 like wax : by the action of light it assumos 
 a red tint. It undergoes oxydation in the 
 open air, and white vapors of an unpleas- 
 ant and suffocating odor arise from it. In 
 the dark, they are luminous, and attended 
 with a sensible degree of heat ; during 
 their exhalation, the phosphorus is cov- 
 ered with small drops of phosphorous acid, 
 produced by attracting oxygen from the at- 
 mosphere ; it may, in consequence of its 
 low degree of combustion, undergo spon- 
 taneous fusion ; it is necessary to be cau- 
 tious in handling phosphorus, as a burn 
 from it is exceedingly severe. Although 
 phosphorus is sO readily oxydised in the 
 atmosphere, it may be kept from combus- 
 tion even at a temperature of 200° (Gra- 
 
 ham), by the presence of certain gases, 
 such as defiant gas, vapors of naphtha, oi 
 sulphuric ether, and oil of turpentine. In 
 pure oxygen gas it may be kept without 
 undergoing oxydation. 
 
 Phosphorus alTords some of the most 
 brilliant experiments : — 
 
 Experiment 1. Rub together in a mor- 
 tar ten grains of chlorate of potash, auii 
 one grain of phosphorus : violent delona 
 tions will result. 
 
 2. Put together, in a glass, a little rhio 
 rate of potash and phosphorus ; pour gen 
 tly on them, so as not to displace the ma 
 terials, a little water ; and, by means of a 
 drop-tube, let fall immediately on them > 
 little strong sulphuric acid : combustioi 
 under water will result. 
 
 3. To the ingredients of the last experi 
 ment add a small piece of zink, then jioui 
 on the sulphuric acid. 
 
 4. To the same materials add a smah 
 piece of phosphoret of lime : and combi- 
 nation, both on the surface and in the wa- 
 ter, will result. 
 
 5. Take the quantity of chlorate of pot- 
 ash and phosphorus named in experiment 
 1 ; mix them intimately and carefully to- 
 gether on a piece of paper by means of a 
 knife ; throw the mixture into a little strong 
 sulphuric acid : the contact of these cold 
 substances will produce detonation and 
 fiame. 
 
 6. Into a retort put a little water and 
 potash ; boil the mixture, and drop in a 
 piece of phosphorus ; plunge the mouth of 
 the retort under water : phosjJioirticd hy- 
 drogen gas will rise to the surface of tlie 
 water, and immediately take fire. 
 
 Phosphorus is soluble in oil and ether ; 
 the solution in oil may with impunity be 
 rubbed on any part of the body. II' the 
 solution in ether, in small portions, be 
 poured on hot water, a beautiful ligiu will 
 result. This experiment should be per- 
 formed in a dark room. 
 
 Phosphorus unites with the alkalies and 
 earths ; perhaps it is most readily united 
 with lime. 
 
 In a glass tube, sealed at one end, put 
 some pieces of phosphorus, and over these 
 some recently-made quicklime in small 
 pieces ; put a piece of paper loosely into 
 the mouth of the tube ; put a coating of 
 clay over that part of the tube which con- 
 
ICO of certain gases, 
 vapors of naphtha, ol' 
 oil of turpentino. In 
 may be kept without 
 n. 
 
 Is some of the mosi 
 I : — 
 
 lib tofrether in a mor- 
 lorato of potash, and 
 orus : violent dutona 
 
 I a glass, a little chio 
 lospiiurus ; pour gen 
 )t to displace the ina 
 ; and, by means of ^ 
 imediately on them > 
 ic acid : conibustioi 
 ult. 
 
 nits of the last experi 
 ;ce of zink, then jioui 
 
 laterials add a smab 
 of lime : and combi- 
 Lirface and in the wa- 
 
 ity of chlorate of pot- 
 named in experiment 
 tely and carefully to- 
 paper by means of a 
 ture into a little strong 
 contact of these cold 
 duce detonation and 
 
 ut a little water and 
 ixture, and drop in a 
 ; plunge the mouth of 
 sr : phos/:horrlfi'(l hy- 
 to the surface of the 
 ely take fire, 
 ible in oil and ether ; 
 lay with impunity be 
 jf the body. If the 
 1 small portions, be 
 
 a beautiful light will 
 ment should be per- 
 m. 
 
 with the alkalies and 
 I most readily united 
 
 ialed at one end, put 
 ihorus, and over these 
 quicklime in small 
 of paper loosely into 
 )e ; put a coating of 
 f the tube which con- 
 
 I 
 
 QIBIIALTAR. 
 
 583 
 
 tains the lime, and expose it to heat in a 
 cliafllng-dishof charcoal ; then apply heat 
 to the phosphorus, and the vapors will 
 unite with the heated lime, and form phos- 
 plioret of lime. If carbonate of lime be 
 used instead of quicklime, the carbonic 
 acid will be decomposed by the phospho- 
 rus, which will unite with the oxygen and 
 form pliosphoric acid , this unites with the 
 lime, and forms phosphate of lime. The 
 carbon is deposited as charcoal. 
 Th(! following brilliant experiment is by 
 
 Davy : — 
 
 liito an ale-glass put one part of phos- 
 nhoret of lime, in pieces about the size of 
 a pea (not in powder), and add to it a half 
 part of hvpcr-oxvgenized (from vncf,, over) 
 muriate of potash. Fill the glass with 
 water, and put into it a funnel, with a long 
 pipe, or narrow glass tube, reaching the 
 bottom. Through this pour three or four 
 parts of strong sulphuric acid, which will 
 decompose the hyper-oxygenized salt, and 
 the phosphoret also decomposing the wa- 
 ter at the same time, flashes of fire dart 
 from the surface of the fluid, and the bot- 
 tom of the vessel is illuminated by a beau- 
 tiful green light. 
 
 Phosphorus unites with oxygen m four 
 proportions : namely, oxide of phosphorus 
 (2 P + O), two equivalents of phosphorus 
 and one of oxygen ; hypophosphorous acid 
 not insoluble (P -f 0), one equivalent ol 
 phosphorus and one of oxygen ; phospho- 
 rous acid (P + 30),one equivalent of phos- 
 phorus and three of oxygen ; and phospho- 
 ric acid (P + 50), one equivalent of phos- 
 phorus and five of oxygen. The last is a 
 I powerful acid. . 
 
 The oxide of phosphorus is obtained 
 by burnin>; phosphorus in the air or in 
 oxygen gas (when it aflbrds a brilliant 
 light). . 
 
 It is a yellow powder, not soluble in 
 
 water or alcohol. 
 
 Phosphorous acid may be obtained by 
 exposing to the atmosphere a stick of phos- 
 phorus in a bent tube, one end of which 
 terminates in an empty glass bottle ; after 
 a time, the phosphorus will have disap- 
 peared, and a liquid will be found in the 
 bottle : this is phosphorous acid. If sev- 
 eral sticks of phosphorus be exposed to 
 the atmosphere at the same time, they 
 must be kept separate by putting each into 
 
 a small glass tube, rather larger than the 
 stick of phosphorus. 
 
 Pure phosphoric acid may be obtained 
 by adding gradually to nitric acid heated 
 on a matrass, a few pieces of phosphorus ; 
 the nitric acid is decomposed, and the 
 phosphorus unites with it and forms plws- 
 phone acid. 
 
 If any nitric acid remain undccomposed, 
 it maybe separated by distillation in a re- 
 tort, when a dry mass of phosphoric acid 
 will remain ; if pure, it will readily dis- 
 solve in water. 
 
 Phosphorous acid unites with the alka- 
 lies and earths, and forms the class called 
 phosphites. 
 
 Phosphoric acid unites with the alkalies 
 and earths, and forms the class called plio.^- 
 phates. The most important, and the only 
 one used in medicine, is phosphate of soda. 
 Phosphorus is exceedingly poisonous, 
 even when taken in small quantities, as in 
 the stomach it undergoes combustion. In 
 the treatment of a case, the stomach is usu- 
 ally filled with liquid, having magnesia in 
 solution, which neutralizes the phosphoric 
 acid formed, and vomiting results. 
 
 GIBRALTAH. 
 
 ESIDES its admirti 
 ble advantages as a 
 place of strength, this 
 promontory may be 
 said, owing to the nar- 
 rowness of the strait 
 uponwhichitjtitsout, 
 to command, not only 
 the corner of Andalu- 
 sia immediately under it, but the whole of 
 the western coast of Spain, comprising 
 nearly two thirds of the whole maritime 
 circumference of that country. It eflcctu- 
 ally cuts off all communication by sea be- 
 tween that part of Spain which is bound- 
 ed by the Mediterranean and those parts 
 which are bounded by the Atlantic. 
 
 It appears, however, to have been late 
 before the importance of this rock was dis- 
 covered. The ancients had a fable that 
 I Europe and Africa were originally joined 
 
 •»* 
 
 m 
 
 HWBiWii 
 
II 
 
 l1 
 
 II 
 
 
 !' n. 
 
 
 
 EM- 
 mm 
 
 m 
 
 ^'^JtSS^iSSSBhaigfT-i^fe^^-, 
 
'U Mr, 
 
 III 
 "llil 
 
 
 ii 
 liNllllllililll 
 
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 III.' 
 
 mi 
 
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 lllllillllllllil!''!! 
 ii 
 
 A 
 
 GIBRALTAR. 
 
 585 
 
 iit this point, nntl that the two continents 
 wort! rivon asunder by Hercules, and a 
 [)iis-;ai,'e ihcrehy opened between the At- 
 l;inti<- and the Mt-diterranean. Gibraltar, 
 under tlie name of Calpe, and Mount Al)y- 
 iii opposite 10 it on the African coast, were 
 called ilio Pillars of Hercules, and appear 
 to havi! hecn in very early ages regarded 
 bv llie jjeopie dwelling to the east of them, 
 inchidiii!,' liie Carthaginians, the Greeks, 
 and till' Uonians, as the western boundary 
 of the world. It was probably long before 
 na'\ig;iiioti penetrated beyond this limit. 
 Even in after-times, however, when Spain 
 became well known to the Romans and a 
 province of their empire, wo do not read 
 of any fori being erected on the rock of 
 Calpe. It is doubtful if it was even the 
 site of a town. No Koman antiquities 
 have ever been found on the spot or in the 
 neighborhood. 
 
 The place appears to have been fust 
 seized upon and converted into a military 
 station by the Moors when they invaded 
 Spain in the beginning of the eighth cen- 
 tury. From their leader, Tarif, it was in 
 consequence called Gibel-Tarif, or the 
 Mountain of Tarif, of which Arabic name 
 Gibraltar is a corruption. Soon after es- 
 tablisiiing tlieinselves here, the Moors 
 erected a lofiy and extensive castle on 
 the northwest side of the mountain, the 
 ruins of which still remain. Gibraltar 
 continued in the possession of the Moors 
 for between seven and eight centuries, 
 with the exception of about thirty years, 
 during which it was held by the Christians, 
 having been taken soon after the com- 
 mencement of the fourteenth century by 
 Ferdinand, king of Castile. It was re- 
 covered, however, in 1333, by Abomelek, 
 the son of the emperor of Fez, and the 
 Moors were not finally dispossessed of it 
 till the middle of the following century. 
 After that it remained a part of the king- 
 dom of Spain down nearly to our own 
 times. 
 
 The j.romontory of Gibraltar forms the 
 southwestern extremity of the province of 
 Andidusia, running out into the sea in 
 jieariy a due south direction for about 
 three miles. The greater part ol this 
 tongue consists of a very lofty rock. It 
 rises abruptly Irotn the land to the height 
 of fully thirteen hundred feet, presenting 
 
 a face almost perfectly perpemlicular, and 
 being consequently from that, its northiTii 
 extremity, completely inacccssiblt!. The 
 west side, however, and the southern ex- 
 tremity, consist each of a series of pnui- 
 pices or declivities which admit of being 
 ascended The town, now conliiiniii<,' a 
 population of above seventeen thous;ni(l 
 persons, is built on the west side. Along 
 the summit of the mountain, from norili to 
 south, runs a bristling ridge of nicks, fonn- 
 ina; a ragTed and undulating line a^ainsi 
 the sky when viewed from the east or 
 west. The whole of the western breast 
 of the promontory is nearly covered witli 
 fortifications. Anciently, it is s:iid, it used 
 to be well wooded in many places ; hut 
 there are now very few trees to he s(hmi, 
 although a good many gardens are scat- 
 tered up and down both in the town and 
 among the fortifications. A great i)art of 
 the rock is hollowed out into caverns, 
 some of which are of magnificent dimen- 
 sions, especially one called St. George's 
 Cave, at the southern point, which, al 
 
 though having only an o|)ening of live leet. 
 expands into an apartment of two hundred 
 feet in length by ninety in breadth, from 
 the lofty roof of which descend numerous 
 stalactical pillars, giving it the appearance 
 of a Gothic cathedral. These caves seem 
 to have been the chief thing for whicii 
 Gibraltar was remarkable among the an- 
 cients. They are mentioned by the Ro- 
 man geographer, Pomponius Mela, who 
 wrote about the middle of the first centurj' 
 of our era. The southern termination of 
 the rock of Gibraltar is called Europa 
 Point, and has been sometimes spoken of 
 as the termination in that direction of the 
 European continent ; but Tarifa Point, to 
 the west of Gibraltar, is fully five miles far- 
 ther south. 
 
 It is impossible for us here to attempt 
 any description of the fortifications wliich 
 now cover so great a part of this celebra- 
 ted promontory. Gibraltar was first forti- 
 fied in the modern style by the German 
 engineer, Daniel Speckel, at the command 
 of the emperor Charles V., toward the close 
 of the sixteenth century. But little of what 
 was then erected probably now remains. 
 Since the place fell into the possession of 
 the English, no expense has been spared 
 to turn its natural advantages to the best 
 
 ii 
 
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 THE FALLACY OP PROVKEBS. 
 
 587 
 
 account, and aJJitions have r»'pcatoilly 
 been niailc lo tho old Ibriifications on the 
 most extensivo scale. It is now, without 
 doubt, tlie most coinpleto fortress in tho 
 
 worlil. 
 
 More than half a century ago Gibraltar 
 was accounted by military men almost im- 
 pregnable. " No power whatever," says 
 Colonel James in his " History of the llcr- 
 culanean Straits," published in 1771, " can 
 lake that place, unless a plague, pestilonco, 
 or fiiniine, or the want of ordnance, mus- 
 ketry, and ammunition, or some unfore- 
 seen stroke of Providence, should hap- 
 pen." It is certainly now much stronger 
 than it was then. One improvement which 
 has especially added to its security is tho 
 formation of numerous covered galleries 
 excavated in the roi k, with embrasures 
 for firing down upon both the isthmus and 
 the bay. The interior of part of these 
 works is represeiUed in the engraving. 
 
 Gibraltar was taken by an English fleet, 
 under the command of Sir George Rooke 
 and the prince of Hesse Darmstadt, in 
 .July, 1704. The project of the attack was 
 very' suddenly formed at a council-of-war 
 held on board the admiral's ship, while the 
 lleet was cruising in the Mediterranean, 
 and it was apprehended that it would be 
 obliged to return to England without hav- 
 ing performed any exploit commensurate 
 to the expectations with which it had been 
 fitted out. The affair proved a very easy 
 one : tho garrison, which consisted of one 
 hundred and fifty men, having surrendered 
 after a bombardment of only a few hours. 
 Tho assailants lost only sixty lives, the 
 greater part by a mine which was sprung 
 after they had effected a landing. In the 
 latter part of the same year a most reso- 
 lute effort was made to recover tho place 
 by the combined forces of France and 
 Spain, which failed after it had been per- 
 severed in for several months, and had 
 cost the besiegers not less than ten thou- 
 sand men. The loss of the garrison "3 
 about four hunJrod. 
 
 At the peace of Utrecht, in 1713, the 
 possession of Gibraltar was confirmed to 
 England. In 1727, however, another at- 
 tempt, on a formidable scale, was made by 
 Spain to dislodge the foreigners. An ar- 
 my of twenty thousand men having en- 
 camped in tho neighborhood, tho attack 
 
 was commenced in February and contin- 
 ued till the 12lh of May, when it was put 
 an end to by the general peace. In this 
 siege the garrison lost three Imndrcd in 
 killed and wounded ; but the loss of the 
 besiegers was not less than three thou- 
 sand. Tho guns in tho fortifications, it 
 is worthy of remark, proved so bud, that 
 seventy cannons and thirty mortars burst 
 iu tho course of the firing. 
 
 THE FALLACY OF PROVKliBS. 
 
 Thst " Beggars muit not be choo»Br»." 
 
 NE may as well 
 try to change the 
 motion of the tides 
 as to correct a sen- 
 timent which has 
 passed into tho fa- 
 miliarity of a prov- 
 erb. But is there 
 not an error in the 
 one we have set at the head of this para- 
 graph ? 
 
 To say that a beggar shall 'Ot be the 
 chooser, is the same as to say hat a man 
 shall not ask for what he wants. It is de- 
 nying to tho beggar the first prr. iplc.thc 
 rudiment, the alphabet, of our nne of 
 human equality. That a beggar shall not 
 choose ? Who shall, then ? Who knows 
 what the beggar wants T Who can step 
 into his shoes ? Or who would wish to, 
 if he could 1 
 
 Indeed, it is putting a man on a pretty 
 small allowance, to say that he may beg, 
 but shall not beg for the supply of his 
 wants. Every man who begs is pre- 
 sumed to be a juil- () of his own feelings ; 
 and if ho asks he benevolent man for 
 somewhat to appease his hunger, it is but 
 insulting his calamity to offer him a draught 
 to quench his thirst. And then, bo it re- 
 membered, the beggar has feelings as well 
 as the man who fares sumptuously every 
 day— feelings, too, whijli are as sacred ; 
 and it is a poor compliment mhis discern- 
 ment to tell him that he does not know 
 whether he is hungry or thirsty. 
 
 We need no revelation to assure us that 
 when a man asks for bre.. 1, it is not suffi- 
 
 38 
 
 1" 
 
 ►*• 
 
 ■•'■tf 
 
rr 
 
 v., 
 
 588 
 
 FEBRUARY. 
 
 <-.k 
 
 ••*,. 
 
 >»««tii'i 
 
 cient to give him a ntono ; and it \a any- 
 thing but humanity to ofTor him a serpent, 
 when he asks for a fiHti. If wo give a 
 man something different from what ho 
 asks for, wo do not give it to him as a beg- 
 gar, but because wo, by a very strange 
 presumption, claim to know liis wants bet- 
 ter than himself. Wo err in this thing. 
 The begf,'ar is and must l)e the chooser. 
 Ho knows his wants, and we know our 
 means of giving. Wo arc both the high 
 contracting parties : and if in the negotia- 
 tion we do not like his terms, we can tell 
 him, in so many words, 'hat we do not en- 
 trrtain his proposition with favor. But we 
 have no right to go a step further. 
 
 Salesmen sometimes tell their custom- 
 ers, " We know exactly what you want, 
 and we have somethi '^- which will suit." 
 Gentlemen, you kno'v no such thing ; and 
 you insult your cus'omei, when you show 
 him anything diireront from what he r.sks 
 for. But the beggar is on diflerent ground 
 from either of us. Ho tells his story. His 
 wants are many ; and they are chiselled 
 into his face like the lines and fissures of 
 age upon granite. If we have wherewith 
 to relieve him, let us do it. If we have 
 not, ; a c!3 " say so, and say no more." 
 
 St. V .'ter, we know, had not " silver and 
 gold ;' but he gave the beggar what was 
 better. When we do as Peter did, then 
 may wo answer as Peter did. 
 
 If we can restore an eye to the blind, or 
 an arm to the maimed, then we may refuse 
 to the beggar a cup of water or a loaf of 
 bread. But until we have the gift of heal- 
 ing, we do our duty by giving the beggar 
 wliat he ivants, or giving him nothing. 
 And wo do him wrong — we reduce him 
 even below the humility incident to his 
 condition, when we turn aside from his 
 entreaties, by hinting to him that icy 
 proverb — that " beggars should not be 
 choosers." 
 
 That " a rolling stone gathers no moss." 
 To be sure it doesn't, and very glad we are 
 that it is so. Moss is a production of idle- 
 ness. Macninery that is used gathers no 
 rust. Ba'js, whose treasures are often 
 counted, take no moth. If moss be a de- 
 sirable commodity, this proverb is of value 
 to the world. Let the wheels of the uni- 
 verse cease their motion, and the Babel- 
 builders go to their rest, and future gener- 
 
 ations will have a harvest. Th<! old gray 
 pyramids must have a stock on hand by 
 this time. For paihenng moss, those gi- 
 ganiic pillars are t.iccelleiit. But for ev- 
 ery other purpose, the rolling stono is just 
 the thing. And how easy it is to over- 
 throw the pretensions of this old saw, by 
 a thousand otht rs of a contrary import ! 
 " The still bee gathers no honey." — " The 
 still fliut .'trikes out no spark." — " The still 
 water is not pure." These are clinchers : 
 there is no ; reaping from them ; and if 
 they do not put to (light the old heresy 
 about " rolling stones," we are no judge. 
 It is all fallacy. It is foolishness, and a 
 lie. The Yankee contradicts the spirit of 
 it in every lino of his history, lie is a 
 living, constant proof of its folly. He be- 
 gins "down East," and rolls along till he 
 reaches the base of the Rocky mountains. 
 And nobody questions his shrewdness : ho 
 understands himself and his fellows. If 
 he can sell his wares, if his notion.^ take 
 with the people, he will stay where ho is, 
 and lay his bones with his fathers'. If 
 not, his stakes are up at once, and to-mor- 
 row morning he is ready to start for Afri- 
 ca, to civilize the Mendians. In all this 
 ho works his card well, and " gathers no 
 moss." He is your true " rolling stone." 
 Moths eat not in his purse, for he keeps 
 the silver rolling. Why should a man set- 
 tle himself down upon the soil, as if he 
 grew from the earth ? Why be fastened 
 on it, like barnacles to the keel of a ves- 
 sel ? He is not a part of the soil ; and, 
 while living, was not intended to be a fix- 
 ture to it. The old proverb is bad in prin- 
 ciple, and should never be suH'ered to 
 creep into a man's political economy. The 
 true poHcy on the subject is this : if you 
 want the snow-ball to grow larger, roll it 
 over. 
 
 FEBRUARY. 
 
 So named from Februa, Fr.bruaca, or 
 Februalis, names of Juno. Our Saxon 
 ancestors named it Sprout-kile : moaning, 
 by kele, the kele-wurt, called by us cole- 
 wurt, an herb in great use among our fore- 
 fathers. 
 
 _^.^jMMaa 
 
 amm 
 
L harvest. TIki old jjray 
 ivf a stock on hiiiid by 
 fathering; moss, tlio»e gi- 
 I (;xcellt!iit. Dill lor ev- 
 !, tlio rolliiijjstono is just 
 
 liow niisy it is to (rvf-r- 
 iioiis of this old saw, by 
 rs of a coiitniry import ! 
 tliurs no honey." — " 'I'ho 
 nt no spiirk."—" The still 
 " These are clinchtrH : 
 [)inK from thoin ; imd if 
 to lli>,'ht tho old heresy 
 ones," wo are no juds^o. 
 It is foolishness, and a 
 10 contradicls the spirit of 
 if his history. Jle is a 
 iroof of its lolly. lie be- 
 t," and rolls along till ho 
 
 of the Rocky mountains, 
 tions his shrewdness : he 
 self and his fellows. If 
 wares, if his notions take 
 ho will slay where ho is, 
 es with his fathers'. If 
 ■e up at once, and to-mor- 
 
 is ready to start for Al'ri- 
 B Mendians. In all this 
 rd well, and " yathers no 
 i^our true " rolling stone." 
 I his purse, for he keeps 
 . Why should a man set- 
 1 upon the soil, as if he 
 arth ? Why be fastened 
 des to the keel of a ves- 
 ; a part of tho soil ; and, 
 i not intended to be a fix- 
 old proverb is bail in prin- 
 Id never be snllered to 
 s political economy. Tho 
 ho subject is this : if you 
 )all to grow larger, roll it 
 
 EBRUARY. 
 
 om Februa, Februacn, or 
 13 of Juno. Our Saxon 
 I it Sprotit-kik : meaning, 
 e-wurt, called by us cole- 
 1 great use among our fore- 
 
 THB 1(\Y TiiEi 
 
 589 
 
 11 
 
 The days are now sensibly lengthened ; 
 ihe cold uenerally Uegiiis to abate, and the 
 sun has oceasioiially pow<'r e*loilgh grad- 
 uallv 10 melt away the snow and ice. 
 StniK'times a sudden thaw comes on with 
 a houih wind and rain, which all at once 
 dis.Milvcs the snow. Torrents of water 
 tiien descend from tli(( hills ; every little 
 brook ami nil is swelled to a large stream ; 
 and the ice is swept away with great vio- 
 lence from the rivers. 
 
 Tilt: r.AY-TRKK. 
 
 3^ IlK bay-tree [T.anrus 
 ^nohilts), or, as the 
 French call it, .Apol- 
 lo's laurel, which our 
 engraving rej)resents 
 amid the ruins of that 
 country with the an- 
 citMit literature and fa- 
 illes of which it is so closely connected, 
 is a species of the rather extensive tribe 
 of plants which botanists distinguish by 
 the name of Laurus (the ancient Latin 
 name of the bay-tree), and which, besides 
 the present, includes several interesting 
 species, such as tho cinnamon, camphor, 
 benzoin, «Ste., which wo arc not at pres- 
 ent required to notice particularly. The 
 geography of tho laurel tribe is thus given 
 by Or. Lindley : " These trees inhabit tho 
 tropics of either hemisphere ; in a very 
 few instances only straggling to the north- 
 ward in North America and Europe. * No 
 genus is known to exist in any part of tho 
 continent of Africa, except the paradoxical 
 Cassyiha. This is the more remarkable, 
 as several species of Laurus huve been 
 fnund both in Teneriffe and Madeira, and 
 soine other genera exist in Madagascar 
 and in the isles of France and Ijourbon." 
 Of all the species, the English bay-tree 
 seems tho best qualified to struggle with 
 a colder climate than the tribe can in gen- 
 eral bear, and is, in fact, the only one that 
 is indigenous in Europe, his very com- 
 mon in the East, in the isles of Greece, 
 and upon the coast of Barbary. Entire 
 forests of bay-trees exist in the Canaries. 
 It has been perfectly naturalized in Italy 
 
 nnd in the south <ii France ; and it even 
 bears the British climate very well, form- 
 ing one ni the n isi desirable evergreens 
 of that country, although its growth is 
 ■low. 
 
 In its southern habitat the height of the 
 bay-tree sometimes exc<'ed8 thirty feet. 
 The leaves are of a rich deep green, lii^h- 
 ly and pleasantly aromatic ; the llowers 
 are of a pahf-yellow color, and are all'mil- 
 ed by old trees only ; the fruit is of a mar- 
 ly lilack-red cohir, and abmil the size of a 
 small cherry — never, we believe, perfect- 
 ed in liritain, but plentiliil iii Itdy. Tiiis 
 is one of the trees which have been most 
 celebrated i)y the ancient poets. Ovid re- 
 lates, with great beauty, tlie f..ble of the 
 change of Dapbiio into a laurel by Jupiter, 
 to save her from the imrsuit of .\pollo, 
 who thenceforth adopted tiiu tree as his 
 own : — 
 
 " liL'cMiti*' tliDU I'finHt not Ho 
 
 My iiTinlii'SH. I (■H|i(iii.^i' tiii!o fcir my trpo. 
 1 iIh- \<rW. 
 
 Wr tliiMi IIh- |irwf nf Ikpiidi- ami rciiinviu 
 Till' tlialiilcwH piiet uikI tin' ikmmii cniwii. 
 Tliciii shall till' lliiiiiiiii lo-livulH uiliini. 
 Anil, hIUt |MirlH, lio liy victors worn." 
 
 In consequence of this dedication to the 
 god of poetry and music, the leaves of the 
 plant were consich-red a suit.ible crown lor 
 the heads of poets, and came also to l)e 
 bestowed on triumphant warriors, and on 
 tho victors in the Olympic games. Poets, 
 warriors, and kings, continue still to re- 
 ceive the laurel crown in poetry, on siat- 
 u?s, and on coins ; and tho court-jioet still 
 retains tho title of laureate as a memento 
 of tho laurel crown he formerly wore. In 
 the middle ages, it was customary to place 
 on the heads of young doctors a crown of 
 laurel ; such persons, as well as the poets 
 who were sometimes solemnly crowned, 
 as in the case of Petrarch at Uome in 1 li 1 1, 
 seem to have been called haccnhnini, from 
 which word some etymologists derive the 
 word " bachelor," when used as a literary 
 title of honor. 
 
 The bay-tree is useful in medicine ; the 
 leaves whcp bruised between the fingers 
 exhale a pleasant odor, and alibrd when 
 burnt a grateful incenie. This aromatic 
 property occasions the employment ot the 
 leaves for culinary purposes, and hence 
 they are an article of export from the coun- 
 tries which rirord the tree, being a branch 
 of commerce even between Great Britain 
 
 H- 
 
 .*f 
 
•%^ 
 
 Li.. 
 
 -■'?7!UT»WW«5»*M!E!Wn'?'W^«»W'«''iP«*^ 
 
CHINA AND THE CHINE8B. 
 
 r.oi 
 
 nnd the riiiltd Slntcs. The liusks of llm 
 lierrifH comiiin n gri'iit (|Uiiiitity of vdhililu 
 oil, which in vt-ry aroinaiic ; anil the kcr- 
 iicls iilso furnish l)y fxprosmiDU n fut oil, 
 whii'li is niurh cniiihtyed for umhrociitimia. 
 1 1 is jjri'fMiish in colui, and llio tnni'll \h a 
 faint exhibjiioa of ibul of bay-lcavos. 
 
 CHINA AND THE CIIINKSE. 
 
 VKRYTIIINGrfk- 
 ting to a nation which 
 has books writl(!n iin 
 ag(! hcforo tho hirlh 
 of Christ must, of ne- 
 cessity, be inter«!»t- 
 ing. It lias been the 
 /jT'^ gericral ojiiniun that 
 
 iho Chinese are illil 
 rrato.nnd more like animals than humans 
 This ojiinion no doubl had its origin in cs 
 liniates made of the charrieterof the " out 
 sillers," a race only half Chinese, being a 
 mongrel of the former and the Tartar. 
 They subsist partly upon what they steal 
 friiin sailors, and partly upon rats, mice, 
 iJDgs, and rice. Their habitations arc iloat- 
 iny junks, out of which they seldom go, as 
 tliev can not land upon the coast or enter 
 any of the cities without paying a sort of 
 entrance-fee or toll. They are f-'Hixt leger- 
 deiuainists, and their keen kno'vlcuge, as 
 well as tho constant practice ol the mys- 
 teries of slcight-of-hand, enables them to ] 
 swindle unwary " barbarians" with perfect 
 impunity. They arc very e.vpert counter- 
 feiters, and deal largely in spurious silver 
 coin. Until within a few months no oth- 
 er class of the people of China have been 
 viisible to foreign eyes : hence, as we sup- 
 pose, the unfavorable opinion which pre- 
 vails with regard to the intellectual ca- 
 pacities of the Celestials. Tho Chinese 
 arc, as a nation, highly educated— versed 
 in the arts, and, so far as literature goes, 
 exceedingly well advanced in mental cul- 
 ture. In mechanical ingenuity they <!xcel 
 all others. For industry they are uiipar- 
 alleled, for the whole empire is like a bee- 
 hive. 
 
 Cheap literature flourishes apace among 
 this strange people. Books are numerous 
 
 and constantly piihlished, ns in Europe. 
 
 ' The greater a celestial'M learning, the hiuh- 
 'cr his rank in the esteem of his fellows. 
 In politics the ("liinese are as wideawake 
 as we arc. The people have as much to 
 say with regard to public men and meas- 
 ures as the most democratic conclave of 
 Americans, and the government is obliged, 
 in all instances, to succumb to the popu- 
 lar will. One fault has relardi^l tlie desi- 
 rable progress of tho Chinese, and that is 
 epicurean indolence. Everything in the 
 way of social intcrcourso is managed on a 
 drcan'y system of ease. In their episto- 
 lalory conversation, the written salutation 
 invariably is, " I wish you tranquillity and 
 promotion." How p. people who eat soups 
 with chopsticks, can bo tranquilly dispos- 
 ed, is a mystery. 
 
 The Chinese assert that their popnl.a- 
 lion is equal to threo hundred and fifty 
 millions. This will not seem at all un- 
 worthy of credence, when we reflect that 
 China is as largo as Europe, and that the 
 water is inhaliited (by means of the afonj- 
 suid juidis) as densely as tho laml : there 
 are thousands of the Chinese who are born, 
 live, and die, on tho water, and are ipiito 
 worthy of the title of amphibii. A nation 
 numbering so many souls (H(;;/i< to be pow- 
 erful, but is not, simply because martial 
 skill is not considered a necessary nation- 
 al accomplishment. If they were good 
 warriors, they might not only defy the ag- 
 gressimis of foreign powers, but overrun 
 and subdue the lands bordering on their 
 own. Thus we see that the '• Peace So- 
 ciety" would, if ibey could gain us over 
 to the support of their doctrines, enervate 
 us as a nation, and present us an easy 
 prey to the ambitious designs of antago- 
 nistic governments. 
 
 The Chinese are brave ; no men die 
 more fearlessly on the field of battle : they 
 are as impetuous as tigers, and as devoid 
 of coolness and precision as a community 
 of enraged cats. They are great newspa- 
 per readers, and newspapers circulate as 
 freely in the princijial cities as they do in 
 Gotham. The " I'ekin Gazet* ' is the 
 principal newspaper, and penenates to 
 every part of the empire. 
 
 The names and emoluments of public 
 officers are annually given in tho " Red 
 Book," a publication somewhat similar 
 
Hi 
 
 ^|i 
 
 
 59a 
 
 THE MANI8. 
 
 mt 
 
 to our " Blue Book," only ten times as | 
 Iiiriie. 
 
 China, too, is a country which is abun- 
 dant in its resources. She needs no for- 
 eign trade — her own territory produces ev- 
 erything that is requisite for their support. 
 Tliey trade with forcitsners entirely afjuinst 
 their wishes, and would avoid everything 
 in the way of connnerce with other na- 
 tions if they could. 
 
 Another very remarkable fact connected 
 with the customs of this curious nation is, 
 that they have no beasts of burden The 
 country is so densely crowded, that they 
 could not find pasturage. Besides, tene- 
 ments are too numerous to admit of car- 
 riage-ways in the streets of cities. The 
 streets are only narrow footpaths, scarcely 
 adequate to the purposes of pedestrianism. 
 
 A great cause for Chinese congratula- 
 ting Chinese is the fact that all the im- 
 provements in the arts upon which Europe- 
 ans pride themselves, were known among 
 tiie cultivators of " mild oolong" years be- 
 fore any other people had an inkling of 
 them. Look at the sagacity of these peo- 
 ple ! They are ingenious to a fault : yet 
 machinery, the use of which would throw 
 thousands of that dense population out of 
 employment, has never been put in opera- 
 . tion. The government asserts that the 
 adoption of the use of labor-saving ma» 
 chinery would create a revolution in the 
 empire and overturn it. It is thought that 
 the introduction of English and American 
 manufactures will, at some future day, pro- 
 duce the same disastrous results. 
 
 It is somewhat singular that the Chinese 
 are miserable musicians. Their instru- 
 mental music is a wretched noise made by 
 the baniboo and a diminutive drum, and 
 their vocal accomplishment consists of the 
 emission of a few guttural whines, and a 
 series of harsh cries, resembling, in some 
 degree, the music of the North American 
 Indians. 
 
 The annual loss to Great Britain by 
 shipwreck is 610 ships, 15,000 lives — 
 2,000,000/. sterling ! 
 
 Gas (the German of " ghost") was first 
 used for giving light in 1805, in Manches- 
 ter, England, for lighting cotton-mills. 
 
 THE MANIS. 
 
 UITE extraordina- 
 ry is the appearance 
 presented by the aii- 
 vimals of this genus 
 ^(Maiiis); as remark- 
 able, in fact, as that 
 of the arniadilli) (ril)e 
 — being covered on 
 _ every part, with the 
 
 exception of the belly, with exceedingly 
 strong, large, and horny scales. Thi;sc, 
 when the animals roll themselves up, fur- 
 nish a siiit of armor by which they are de- 
 fended much more clfectually than even 
 the armadillo is against the assaults of 
 their enemies. This armor is a compen- 
 sating circumstance in their structure, giv- 
 ing them the security which, from thinr 
 want of teeth, their inability to grasp with 
 their feet, and their perfectly harmless na- 
 ture, they would otherwise want. Tlie 
 external covering, together with the unu- 
 sual length of the body and tail, gives to 
 these creatures an appearance so u)uch re- 
 sembling that of the lizard, that they have 
 been called " scaly lizards." These ani- 
 mals have, however, no proper alliance 
 with the lizard tribe ; yet, on a general 
 view of the animal kingdom, they may be 
 admitted to be a link in the chain of be- 
 ings, which connects the proper quadru- 
 peds with the reptile class. 
 
 With the exception of their scaly cov- 
 ering, the animals of this genus have 
 much resemblance to the ant-eaters in 
 their structure and general habits. Like 
 them, they live by thrusting their long 
 tongue into the nests of ants and other in- 
 sects, and then suddenly retracting it into 
 their mouths and swallowing their prey. 
 They are natives of India and the Indian 
 isles. Our engraving represents the two 
 species of the genus which are distin- 
 guished as long-tailed and short-tailed. 
 
 The long-tailed or four-toed manis {>na- 
 nis tetradaclyla) is known in India by the 
 name of the phatagen. It is of a very long 
 and slender form. The head is small ana 
 the snout narrow. The whole body, ex- 
 cept beneath, is covered with broad but 
 sharp-pointed scales, which are striated, 
 or divided by small channels like those 
 
UI T E extraordina- 
 ry is the appearance 
 presented by the an- 
 simals of tliis pemis 
 ^(Maiiis) ; as rcriiark- 
 able, in fact, as that 
 of the armadillo irihe 
 — being covered on 
 every part, with the 
 lly, with exceedingly 
 )rny scales. These, 
 11 themselves up, fur- 
 by which they are de- 
 edectiially than even 
 ainst the assaults of 
 3 armor is a coinpen- 
 in their structure, giv- 
 ty which, from their 
 liability to grasp with 
 lerfcctly harmless na- 
 herwiso want. 'J'he 
 igether with the unu- 
 ody and tail, gives to 
 ipearance so much re- 
 lizard, that they have 
 lizards." These ani- 
 r, no proper alliance 
 3 ; yet, on a general 
 ;ingdom, they may be 
 k in the chain of be- 
 s the proper quadru- 
 } class. 
 
 m of their scaly cov- 
 of this genus have 
 to the ant-eaters in 
 jeneral habits. Like 
 thrusting their long 
 i of ants and other in- 
 lenly retracting it into 
 allowing their prey. 
 India and the Indian 
 ng represents the two 
 us which are distin- 
 id and short-tailed, 
 r four-toed manis (ma- 
 Lnown in India by the 
 II. It is of a very long 
 The head is small and 
 The ivhole body, ex- 
 vered with broad but 
 3, which are striated, 
 1 channels like those 
 
fir 
 1 
 
 594 
 
 THE LAST LOOK. 
 
 of cockle-shells, throughout their whole 
 length. The throat and belly are covered 
 with hair. The tail is more than twice 
 the length of the body, an'l tapers gradu- 
 ally to the tip. The legs are very short : 
 each foot is furnished with four claws, of 
 which those of the fore-feet are stronger 
 than those of the hind. B«th the tail and 
 the legs are scaled in the same manner as 
 the body. The color of this animal is of 
 a uniform deep brown, with a cast of yel- 
 lowish, and with a glossy polished surface. 
 It grows to the average length of five feet, 
 from the tip of the nose to the extremity 
 of the tail. 
 
 The short-tailed or five-toed manis {ma- 
 nis pcntadactyla) is generally called in In- 
 dia the pangolin ; but in Bengal it is called, 
 in the Sanscrit language, vajracite, or the 
 thunderbolt-reptile, on account of the ex- 
 cessive hardness of its scales, which are 
 said to be capable of even striking fire like 
 a flint. This species differs from the for- 
 mer in being of a much thicker and short- 
 er form. The tail in particular is very 
 difl''erently proportioned, not being so long 
 as the body : it is very thick at the base, 
 and tlicp.ce tapering gradually, but termi- 
 nating very obtusely. It has also five in- 
 stead of four claws to each foot : of '-hich 
 those on the fore-feet are of great strength, 
 excepting the exterior one, which is much 
 smaller than the rest. This species is 
 scaled in the same manner as the prece- 
 ding, but the scales differ in shape, and 
 are much larger and wider in proportion 
 to the body and tail. In the larger speci- 
 mens of this species of pangolin the scales 
 are smooth ; but in those that are smaller 
 they are slightly striated about half way 
 from the base. In some specimens a few 
 bristles are found between th3 scales, but 
 in others this is not observed. The parts 
 without scales are covered with hair. The 
 animal is of a very pale yellow-brown col- 
 or, with a surface as glossy as in the pre- 
 ceding species. 
 
 It walks very slowly with its claws bent 
 under its feet, and would be the prey of 
 every ravenous beast, had it not the pow- 
 er ol rolling itself up, and opposing to its 
 adversary a formidable dd'erice of erected 
 scales. The natives despatch the animal 
 with blows of a stick, sell tho skin to Eu- 
 ropeans, and eat the flesh. 
 
 THE LAST LOOK. 
 
 HERE are few in 
 'ij^this world who have 
 \ not lost some near and 
 
 dear friend, linked to 
 them either by the 
 ties of blood, or by a 
 pleasant companion- 
 ship enshrined in their 
 hearts, and hallowed 
 and held sacred by a true and disinterested 
 affection. The insatient tomb has robbed 
 almost every one whom it has spared, of 
 some being on whom his eye rested with 
 pleasure, who softened for him the asperi- 
 ties of life's rough pathway, and into whose 
 bosom he poured his own heart's rich 
 treasures — feelings, confidence, and love. 
 They have seen them droop and die grad- 
 ually, perhaps. They have seen the rose 
 fade, tho flesh waste, the muscles relax, 
 and the eye grow lustreless, or beam with 
 that unnatural light which is sometimes 
 born of disease, and only tells of its prog- 
 ress. They have watched in gnvi and 
 tears the shiftings of fever — the slow sink- 
 ing away of life, the hours of agony, the 
 days of quiet and apparent convalesce'ice, 
 the hopeless relapse, and the final iriii:n])h 
 of death. They have paced the room 
 where the poor body lay shrouded for the 
 grave, and where Death almost seemed 
 visibly present, casting a shadow upon ev- 
 ery wall and object, and gazed on the rigid 
 form, the marble aspect, the soulless, un- 
 speaking features. They have felt, too, 
 that deep oppression and heart-sickness 
 which comes over every one upon such 
 an occasion, where the grim tyrant seems 
 to be watching and gloating over his vic- 
 tim, and the riot of decay is already be- 
 ginning to be seen. All this has lacera- 
 ted and crushed their hearts ; but pcirhaps 
 the bitterest pang of all came with the last 
 look into the giave, when the coffin had 
 been lowered, the loved object consigned 
 to its long, dreamless rest, and the busy 
 spade of the sexton was throwing back the 
 senseless earth upon it, and hiding it for 
 ever. 
 
 During sickness we have ilic object be- 
 fore us, wasted and sadly cLAuijfd it may 
 be, but still capable of co.ninunuig with 
 us, of appreciating our kindness, of return- 
 
1ST LOOK. 
 
 HERE are few in 
 ^this world who have 
 not lost some near and 
 dear friend, linked to 
 them either by the 
 ties of blood, or by a 
 pleasant companion- 
 ship enshrined in their 
 hearts, and hallowed 
 I true and disinterested 
 utient tomb lias robbed 
 horn it has spared, of 
 m his eye rested with 
 led for him the asperi- 
 ilhway, and into whose 
 his own heart's rich 
 confidence, and love. 
 !m droop and die grad- 
 ley have seen the rose 
 te, the muscles relax, 
 istreless, or beam with 
 ; which is sometimes 
 only tells of its prog- 
 watched in grief and 
 ■ fever — the slow sink- 
 e hours of agony, the 
 iparent convaiesce nee, 
 ;, and the final iriu:n])h 
 lave paced the room 
 y lay shrouded for the 
 Death almost seemed 
 ing a shadow upon ev- 
 and gazed on the rigid 
 pect, the soulless, uii- 
 They have felt, too, 
 in and heart-sickness 
 every one upon such 
 the grim tyrant seems 
 gloating over his vic- 
 decay is already be- 
 AU this has lacera- 
 ir hearts ; but perhaps 
 " all came with the last 
 when the colhn had 
 ived object consigned 
 ss rest, and the busy 
 was throwing back the 
 1 it, and hiding it for 
 
 ive have tlie object be- 
 sadly cLAugt'd it may 
 ) of coininumng with 
 ur kindness, of return- 
 
 THE CERE0PSI8 OP NEW HOLLAND. 
 
 595 
 
 ing our love, and of throwing a few rays 
 of sunliglit over the cloud of our sorrow— - 
 faint, indeed, yet still enough to gild its 
 gathering gloom. There is still the old 
 smile running now and then over the fea- 
 tures, and lighting them up with some- 
 thing of their former expression. The 
 voice, too, though it is not what it once 
 was, falls upon our ears, and we follow 
 our friend with a sort of lingering hope, 
 convinced of his doom, yet half looking for 
 deliverance, down to the very banks of 
 death's river. And even when that voice 
 IS hushed, and the last smile h?.2 'aded, 
 when the bolt of doom has been launched, 
 and the wreck of mortality lies before us, 
 we somehow take a melancholy pleasure 
 in gazing at the expressionless features, 
 and linger in blind devotion at the shrine, 
 though the deity which hallowed it has 
 departed ! 
 
 But when we gaze into the closing 
 grave, we feel that our friend has indeed 
 gone and hidden from us for ever. He has 
 made his final exit from the stage of life, 
 the curtain has fallen, and we shall see 
 him no more, till we ourselves pass be- 
 hind the scenes. 
 
 We know that we can listen to his voice 
 no more breathing eloquence in public, or 
 cheerfulness in the daily intercourse of 
 life. We can never gaze into his eyes 
 again. Hashing with genius, beaming with 
 kindness, or shedding tears for human suf- 
 fering. We shall meet him no more in 
 the busy crowd, or at the quiet fireside. 
 The grave has received him to its re- 
 morseless embrace, and his sensible pres- 
 ence is lost to us for ever. 
 
 All these thoughts rush upon the mind 
 at that moment and sweep over the heart 
 in a tempest of wild and bitter agony. 
 The brightness of the past but renders the 
 present more dark, the future more gloomy. 
 The pinions of hope, though unbroken, 
 are wet and heavy with tears, and scarce- 
 ly bear the heart above the grave into which 
 it looks, and where its idol lies. Oh! 
 the last look into the graves of kindred, on 
 the cherished companions of life, would 
 indeed scarcely be endurable, did not rev- 
 elation assure us of a resurrection, and 
 whisper to our hearts the sweet promise 
 of immortality. God help the man who, 
 at such aQ hour, has no faith in that prom- 
 
 ,1 . - 
 
 ise, and believes all which was his f .end 
 is thenceforth nothing but dust ! Iiifulelity 
 shrinks away from the grave, offering no 
 consolation to the belie .ers of her barren 
 creed, and nothing but Christianity can 
 throw any light upon the butial-hour, and 
 the resting-place of the dead. 
 
 THE CEllEOPSIS OF NEW HOLLAND. 
 
 EW HOLLAND is 
 the native country of 
 the cereopsis ; — and 
 although most voya- 
 gers who have visit- 
 ed the distant shores 
 on which it abounds 
 have alluded to it as 
 a species of swan or 
 goose, it is only within the last few years 
 that naturalists have gained an accurate 
 knowledge of its true character and its 
 natural affinities. The first introduction 
 of the cereopsis into the records of science 
 was by the venerable ornithologist Ur. La- 
 tham, in the year 1802. He published at 
 that time a figure and description of the 
 bird in question in the second supplement 
 to his " General Synopsis," regarding it 
 as the type of a new genus among the 
 waders, and to this genus he gave the title 
 of ccmopsis — the specific designation ol 
 I the bird, of which indeed he had seen on- 
 ly one example, being Cvrmpsis Nuv(P. 
 Hullandice. The term coreopsis contains 
 aa allusion to the large cere covering the 
 base of the bill, but which Dr. Latham, 
 misled by an apparently imperfect speci- 
 men, supposed to be extended on the fore- 
 head and face : as it is, however, the cere 
 is so extensive as to justify the title. 
 
 The habits of the cereopsis, in a state 
 of nature, have been succinctly detailed 
 by various voyagers. Most probably it is 
 migratory, at least to a certain extent ; for 
 Captain Flinders found it more abundant 
 on Goose island in some seasons than in 
 others. It frequents grassy districts and 
 the shore, but rarely takes to the water, its 
 food being exclusively grass. Both at 
 Lucky bay and Goose island these birds 
 were very abundant, and so tame that the 
 
 4i 
 
 m 
 
 ■•nMM 
 

 II 1 »; < 
 
 in 
 
 U=; 
 
 ^tt'--„ir3'a^'?Vif:v,-Tef*i^PK«H:&-i*".^ 
 
n 
 
 AUSCULTATION. 
 
 591 
 
 cn-w of Captain Flinders hiul no diiriculty 
 i„ knocking them down with sticks, or 
 even in tiikinj; ihem alive. M. BaiHy re- 
 ports to the same elTect rospectin<; those 
 s,.,.n by him at Preservation i.>sland ; and 
 Liil.illanliijre says that at first i\wy were 
 so iilth! ;ilann<!d by the presence of man, 
 „s to sulVer themselves to be taken by the 
 iiaiul ; but in a short time they became 
 uware of their danger, and took to flight 
 o„ the approach of any one. All agree 
 iis to the delicacy of its llesh. l rom the 
 ease with which the cprrnpsis becomes 
 domesticated, we are not without hope ot 
 seein'T tliis bird added to the list of those 
 which enliven our farmyards, and contrib- 
 ute to the luxuries of our table. 
 
 Thou.rh rightly separated as a distinct 
 gonus from that of the common goose, the 
 crrenpsts belongs to the great family of 
 AnatuliE, or swimming birds : in the com- 
 oiirative length, however, of the legs — 
 which are naked for a short space above 
 the knee, and in the imperfection of the 
 webs between the toes— it departs in some 
 de-rrce from the more typical of the hmuly. 
 It exhibits, in fact, the characters that are 
 peculiar to the goose, and which separate 
 them from the duck, carried out to a still 
 further extent. The goose is organized 
 less expressly for water than the duck, or 
 some others of the Anatidm, and the -^ere- 
 opsis still less ; consequently the beak is 
 , shorter, the legs longer, and the feet less 
 I webbed. Its food is entirely vegetable : 
 
 same color extends from the base of the 
 bill over the clieeks, encircles the eye, and 
 nearly joins the stripe down tlie neck— 
 which, having attained to the back, spreads 
 and divides into three broad riliands, one 
 of which passes down the centre of the 
 back, while one passes along eacli side, 
 and occupies the undevelopt^d wiiius ; tlie 
 chest and under surface are clouded wuh 
 brown. When in charge of their young 
 the adults are very pugnacious, driving 
 other birds to a distance with great spirit. 
 
 AUSCULTATION.' 
 
 ROM the earliest pe- 
 riod, physicians have 
 known that disease in 
 thecavily of the chest 
 might occasionally be 
 detected by the ear ; 
 but it was not until 
 about seventy years 
 ago that any express 
 rules were laid down upon this subject 
 ! The me.it of being the first methodical 
 auscultator is duo to Dr. AvENnauooKK, 
 a physician of Vienna, who publisluul a 
 short treatise on this subject in the year 
 It is written in Latin, anu is enii- 
 
 1761. X. •= - . - . ,. ,, 
 
 wohluMl Its looa IS enure. y vcgu.u„.. . tied " A New Discovery of the Art ot ue- 
 rKstoitWlUs requisite L plucking tecting Diseases in the^"-;- J' ^^^^^ 
 if nt, from the eround. In size this beau- Chest by Percussion. ' When the cnesi 
 "S^:;::^^ the con^mon f-^U the patient rs strj^kj^ the htig^^ 
 but its bill, as we have said, is shorter, the physician, if it »^, Jf^;^?', '' ^^^^^^^^ 
 bein. very thick at the base, and some- sound, says Dr. AvenbruSge hkc^ tha^o 
 w Im arched above. The top of the head '. a drum covered with cloth ; whereas, it t 
 IS pale o ay : the rest of the plumage i, , is diseased the sound produced is as if 
 .hi, Trrav each feather on the back and ! solid flesh had been struck, 
 hould 'being mg"^ with a paler j In performing this -f-^--^^^^ 
 imwh le he .reater coverts and the sec- chest of the patient must be covered wh 
 d^rv mil fea hers have a round dusky ! his shirt, or else the fingers of the phys - 
 i ne^ the eS^^^^ the qmlls and cian with a glove, which must not be made 
 SfLtherl dusky blacV; tip o'f the bill ; of gh.sy leather ; for if t e bare chest^s 
 Mack ; cere yellow . tarsi orange-yellow ; --^^^ -h the b^^^^ 
 
 ^" TCtl:S;:^^;^the young, while y.| Sll — J^H ^J^Xl^VS 
 covered with down, are very singular : the nal one. 1 he toUowing ei„o g 
 ground color is white, but a stripe of gray- 1 ^ ^^.^ ^^^^ ^^^^^^^^ listening; but, in mediciae, 
 ish-brown passes along the top ot the head ^^^^^ „,g ^,^ of disiinguishinij diseases by ii.e Bcuse 
 atid back of the neck ; and a dash of the of hearing 
 
 ^♦1 
 

 m 
 
 ^*^, 
 
 
 598 
 
 AUSCULTATION. 
 
 
 nilps are clear, correct, and well ex- 
 pressed : — 
 
 1 . The didler the sound is over the 
 chest, and the nearer it approaches the 
 sound of solid flesh, the greater is the 
 disease. 
 
 2. The larger the space over which 
 this duines8 extends, the greater is the 
 disease. 
 
 3. It is worse for the left side to be af- 
 fected than the right. 
 
 4. It is less dangerous that the front 
 and upper part o.' the chest (viz., from the 
 collar-bone to the fourth rib) should be 
 destitute of sound than the lower part. 
 
 5. It is more dangerous that the sound 
 be absent in the posterior part of the tho- 
 rax than in the front and upper part. 
 
 [This rule is evidently the same as the 
 last, in different words.] 
 
 6. If one side of the chest is entirely 
 destitute of sound, it is a fatal sign. 
 
 7. If the sternum (viz., the front and 
 central part of the chest) is without sound, 
 it is a fatal sign. 
 
 8. If the place which the heart occu- 
 pies gives the sound of solid flesh over a 
 grp.it space, it is a fatal sign. 
 
 The reason of the last rule is this : the 
 heart from its solidity, produces a loss of 
 resonance over the space which it occu- 
 pies ; and, therefore, a great extension of 
 this dulness shows a great enlargement of 
 the heart — an incurable disease. 
 
 When there is a fluid in the chest there 
 will be a loss of resonance : just as there 
 is when the lungs, having lost their natu- 
 ral sponf^y texture, have become solid — a 
 disease which Avenbrugger calls schirr:>s 
 of the lungs ; but which is now termed 
 fippatization, from hrpar, the Greek word 
 for livor. Percussion, however, will al- 
 most always succeed in determining whe- 
 ther the loss of sound is produced by the 
 presence of a fluid or by hepatization ; for, 
 in the former case, the patient, by altering 
 his attitude, will change the position of 
 the fluid, and thus transfer the dulness of 
 sound from one spot to another ; but thi-j 
 ingenious method of disciiininating the 
 nature of the disease will, of course, fail 
 in those rare cases in which one side of 
 the chest is entirely filled with fluid. 
 
 But little advance seems to have been 
 made from Avenbrugger io Laennec, the 
 
 distinguished inventor of the stethoscope. 
 This is a tube, usually made of wood, one 
 end of which is applied to the chest of 
 the patient, and the other to the ear of the 
 physician. By this contrivance, the sound 
 of the patient's respiration, as well as 
 voice, is transmitted in the most distinct 
 manner, and the minutest variations from 
 the healthy standard can be distinguished 
 by a practised ear. In children, for in- 
 stance, the sound produced by respiration 
 is louder and more acute than in adults ; 
 but this acute breathing often occurs in 
 grown-up persons, when, one lung being 
 diseased, the other is forced to work for 
 both. It is known among stethoscopists 
 by the name oi puerile respiration. Or, let 
 us suppose a patient in an advanced stage 
 of consumption, in whose lungs cavities 
 have been formed by the sui)puration of 
 tubercles ; if the stethoscope be applied to 
 the chest of such a patient when he is 
 speaking, his voice will be heard echoing 
 from the cavities in his lungs ; this mor- 
 bid resonance is called pectoriloquy. Such 
 are a few of the more interesting points 
 depending on auscultation, a subject on 
 which large volumes not only might be, 
 but have been, written. In comparing the 
 methods of Avenbrugger and Laennec, we 
 must acknowledge that, if percu.ssion is 
 more simple, the stethoscope aflords more 
 information ; but then this advantage is 
 perhaps counterbalanced by the extreme 
 difficulty of its application — a difliculty so 
 great as not always to be surmounted by 
 years of study. It is for this cause that 
 we h;ive touched but slightly on the use 
 of the stethoscope, or chest-viewer, as we 
 thought it needless to perplex general read- 
 ers with refined distinctions which harass 
 the scientific, and even left Laennec him- 
 self .sometimes at fault. 
 
 We touch upon subjects of this nature 
 principally to show by what slow steps 
 the knowledge of diseases has advanced, 
 — what slight symptoms indicate healthy 
 or deranged functions — how delicate are 
 the tests which they present, even to the 
 most practised physician — and how con- 
 temptible, therefore, are those pretensions 
 which would make the medical science 
 consist in a few empirical rules, applied 
 with little observation and less philoso- 
 phy. 
 
or of the stethoscopo. 
 Ily made of wood, oiip 
 plied to the chest of 
 Dther to the ear of tlic 
 contrivance, tlio sound 
 spiration, as well as 
 in the most distinri 
 nutest variations from 
 can be distinguislied 
 In children, for in- 
 oduced by respiration 
 iciite than in adults ; 
 hing often occurs in 
 ^hen, one lung being 
 is forced to work for 
 among stethoscopists 
 /fl respiration. Or, let 
 in an advanced stage 
 whose lungs cavities 
 )y the suppuration of 
 hoscope be applied to 
 I patient when he is 
 >vill be heard echoing 
 his lungs ; this mor- 
 id pectoriloquy. Such 
 ire interesting points 
 Itation, a subject on 
 s not only might be, 
 n. In comparing the 
 fger and Laennec, we 
 hat, if percu.ssion is 
 hoscope affords more 
 3n this advantage is 
 iced by the extreme 
 :ation — a difficulty so 
 to be surmounted by 
 is for this cause that 
 t slightly on the use 
 • chest-viewer, as we 
 perplex general read- 
 nctions which harass 
 an left Laennec him- 
 ilt. 
 
 ibjects of this nature 
 by what slow steps 
 leases has advanced, 
 >ms indicate healthy 
 IS — how delicate are 
 present, even to the 
 cian — and how cori- 
 ire those pretensions 
 the medical science 
 pirical rules, applied 
 >n and less philjsu- 
 
 TIIK U8K9 OF THINGS.— HUMANITY 
 
 59'J 
 
 THE USES OF THINGS. 
 
 UCII error and 
 misunderstand- 
 ing of things has 
 Nf 'VIVX M>' uffipx been produced 
 v\h^ v*>.tf ' lifflK^ '" '''■'* world of 
 ours, from the 
 extremely lim- 
 ited and imper- 
 fect sense in 
 which the word u$e has come to be em- 
 ployed. It is a common error to apply 
 iliis expression to those things only which 
 arc of manifest and immediate advantage 
 —to those whose effects upon us are vis- 
 ible and material, and can be estimated in 
 tiie scale of mercenary gain. Hence iitil- 
 iiy h:is come to be associated with the idea 
 oiiiarrownL'ss and illiborality. The man 
 who meets every object, custom, and ainen- 
 itv of life, with the ever-recurring question, 
 "What is the use?" and accepts or con- 
 demns it according as he is able to give 
 :in answer, is regarded, and justly, of an 
 illiberal and contracted mind. Such a iran 
 i.s perpetually on the rack to discover what 
 is bcycnd his power to discern ; he is 
 haunted by a phantom which for ever 
 eludes his pursuit. He is unable to sur- 
 render himself to an object or enjoyment, 
 .simply for its own sake, and thus mars his 
 own happiness, by a constant and ever- 
 resiless anxiety. 
 I All this arises, as we have said, from a 
 '■ misapprehension of wherein utility con- 
 i sists. It is from making money, which is 
 ! the universal standard of all value with 
 j mankind, the standard of utility. So that 
 ' nothing is deemed useful, but what either 
 ' directly brings or may become the pander 
 of this all-potent requisite. Now a great 
 ' part, and by far the greatest part of the 
 i blessings of life, do not admit of this esti- 
 '' mate ; Uiey are ioo fine and inestimable 
 ■ to bo weighed in the gross scale of dollars 
 '"■ and cents. Such are poetry, music, the 
 pleasures of taste, and the principle of 
 beauty in general. We have known per- 
 sons who could not discover the use of a 
 rose, or a beautiful landscape, or the gor- 
 geouslv-woveu hues of sunset. To such I 
 person's they are tridy without any use. j 
 They lack the sense to discern and ap- 
 preciate it. But is any one of all the lav- , 
 
 ish gifts and creations of nature entirely 
 without use ? Alas ! no. Nothing which 
 comes from her lii)eral hand is crealeil in 
 vain. The humblest flower that blends its 
 fragrance with the breath of nu)rning, as 
 well as the sun-braidei rainbow that con- 
 nects earth with heaven, has a tise and 
 most emphatic meaning to him who opens 
 his heart to receive it. How ought tUe 
 exuberance, the unstinted liberality, the 
 varied and surpassing beauty of nature, to 
 correct the narrow and self-formed views 
 which some men entertain of utility ! — 
 These are useful in a higher and finer 
 sense than is theirs to comprehend : noth- 
 ing, it may be affirmed, is altogevher use- 
 less, which tends to retine and liberalize 
 the human mind— to make men wiser, bet- 
 ter, less selfish in their ends, and more in 
 sympathy with others. 
 
 There are some things of which it is 
 improper, and a perversion of nature, to 
 affirm that thiy have any use : which ex- 
 isls in, and for themselves, and are to be 
 pursued for their own sake. It would be 
 a strange misapplication of Kuiguage to in- 
 quire what is the use of truth, or virtue, 
 or, as we conceive, of beauty. That is a 
 poor and false philosophy which attempts 
 to found all beauty on the basis of utility. 
 It degrades this divine and exalted prin- 
 ciple from its true sphere, where God has 
 placed it, to the low level of adventitious 
 circumstance. It is perverting that which 
 claims only love and admiration, to bo the 
 ignoble pander of profit and advaiitige. 
 That is the highest perfection where beau- 
 ty and utility are found united, but the one 
 is no more dependent on the other than 
 the principles of geometry are dependent 
 on artificial lines and angles. The one 
 is the highborn and eternal child of rea- 
 son, the other the base offspring of want 
 and necessity. 
 
 Humanity.— True humanity consists 
 not in a squeamish ear ; it consists not m 
 starting or shrinking at tales ot misery, 
 but in a disposition of heart to relieve it. 
 True humanity appertains rtther to the 
 mind than to the nerves, and prompts men 
 to use real and active measures to execute 
 the actions which it suggests. 
 
 jik 
 
f l, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
1 
 
 m 
 
 '^:!h 
 
 - >'^^ 
 
 R& 
 
 x; 
 to 
 
 a 
 o 
 
 a 
 
 £ 
 
 IM 
 
 THE DllOrriNO.VVELL AT KNAUKSBOROTTOn.-MOTIVKS. 
 
 GOl 
 
 THE DUOl'PINO-WKll AT KNARES- 
 lUIROUOH. 
 
 NAKESBOROUGIl, 
 an ancient town in 
 Yorkshire, Enuliuul, 
 tliou^li not of lar<;o 
 extent, is sitiialeil in 
 
 U"*' ^^^\ an inlcrestinj,' p.-irtol 
 
 -^T^-Z^nTT'^ some interestiMixliis- 
 ' ^ ■ ■' torical anil tradition- 
 al assoeintions conneif.l will. it. 'Hie 
 town iisMf is not p.riieuluriy r.-miukiibl.. ; 
 it is a piirliamrntary borousli, --'"'l 'I'-'nan- 
 
 ,„■„,,„,. of linen is cnrrie.l on m it to m 
 eon^i.i.M■;ll,le extent. Tl.e Nidd runs close 
 ,KiM it - :i Ntreuin of minor importance ^en- 
 Irailv, l.nt whiel., in its sl.ori course Iroin 
 ih.' r.ioli moorlinds till it joins the Ouse. 
 ,!.,ws^hron«h soM.e .leliKhtful scenery 
 0„un.■^:ie of the river (tin; side on which 
 
 ,h,. lowi. lies) ar.' the inins of Kn^res- 
 
 l.oro.ioh ea>tle. Opposite is the lann.us 
 
 Uroppmu-Well, and in the cliifs, or steep 
 
 ' iMok', are caves or excavations made m 
 
 ! aM.irntMMd modern liines,hut alike in the 
 
 \ euvuM.stanee ..f havin- been h.rmed by 
 
 pcrsrvenou hut misMpphed induslrv. One 
 
 1 Lcavation hears the nam,- of St. Robert s 
 i Cave (St. Kol)ert was a famous ascetic o 
 ': il.c ihtile.-nlli century, whoso chapel and 
 : her.uii:i-e are also shown here), but which 
 ' is r.nd.-fed more remarkable as having 
 l„.n> the scene of tin- murder committed 
 l,v the sdioolmaster Eufreue Aram, whose 
 \. .ncMu.HV has been end.almed in a novel. 
 ' Oihei' excavations were formed by an m- 
 ' dusirious weaver and his s.m, who also 
 cut the cliir into terraces, rising one above , 
 anolUer, and planted them with llowenn- ■ 
 shrulis and everfrreens. 
 
 The walk along the river to the Urop- 
 pino-Well is delighttul. The spring rises 
 al the foot of a limestone rock, at some 
 little distance from the rock, where it 
 spreads an<l trickles over, iallii.g in a 
 nuuilu-r of liule streams, with a kind ol 
 tinkling sound. Dr. Short's description 
 of the well, wiiuen in 1731, seems to be 
 the progenitor of suhseiiuent accounts. 
 He says : " The most noted of the petrily- 
 iu" waters in Yorkshire is the Dropping- ^ 
 W'ell at Knaresborough, which rises up ^ 
 about fou:teen yards below the top ol a j 
 
 small mountain of niarlestono (properly a 
 limestone of a very coarse grain), on the 
 west side of the town and riv.^r, and about 
 twenty-six yards from the bank of the 'Mnhl; \ 
 llicn it falls down in the same contiacteil 
 rapid stream about a yard, and at a second 
 fall at two yards' distance it conn-s two 
 feel lower, then three or four, and so falls 
 upon an easy ascent, divides and sjireads 
 its(df upon the top of an isthmus of a pet- 
 rilied rock generatc-il out of the water, and 
 tln-re falls down round it : about four or 
 five yards from the river, the top of this 
 isthmus or rock hangs over its bottom four 
 
 yards." ^ , , 
 
 ' The petrifying property of the water ol 
 the Dropi)ing-Well is owing to a gritty 
 or simrry matter, which eIlcrll^ts the ob- 
 jects it is deposited on. Mr Dela Heche 
 says : " Springs are s(dilom or ever <piite 
 pure, owing to the solvent property of wa- 
 ter, wliich, percolating through thi' earth, 
 always becomes more or h'ss chiir-iMl with 
 foreign matter Dr. WM-.ter de- 
 scribes the hot springs of Furnas (m the 
 volcanic district of St. Michael, Azores) 
 as respectively varying in temp<-r.ture 
 from 733 to 207^ Tahrenheit, an.l depos- 
 iting large ciuantities of clay and siliccms 
 matter, which envelop tlie grass leaves 
 and other vegetable substances that lall 
 within their reach. These they render 
 more or less fossil. Tl.e vegetables may 
 be observed in all stages of petri action. 
 
 MOTIVES. 
 
 ^ HE knowledge that 
 'J^we are rational be- 
 ings, and that as such 
 we should ever well 
 consider ere we de- 
 termine to act, seems 
 to have induced the 
 (^ \ ueiieral bidief that ac- 
 
 tion, or the omitting h. act, is always pre- 
 c'ded by some immediate impelh.ig mo- 
 tive. Accordingly, the i.np.uing ol mo- 
 tives is one of the most common occur- 
 r..nces in life. No matter what the nature 
 of the subject-be it great or sm .11, im- 
 portant or non-important-slraiglnway is 
 
 1 
 
 ^ 
 
i1 
 
 •y*, 
 
 *•*•, 
 
 '■•«>i 
 
 
 
 C02 
 
 MOTIVES. 
 
 it believed to have had its origin in 8om«i 
 rnotivo. If a party give the right instead 
 of tho left side of the wr-y, ho is supposed 
 to 1)0 actuated by some prcconsideration ; 
 if ho address you as " Dear sir," instead 
 of " ^Ty dear sir," there is no doubt about 
 it ; if he subscribe himself " Yours obedi- 
 ently," instead of " Yours faithfully," it is 
 e(|u;illy certain ; if ho omit to take wine 
 with you, tho whole afluir is as clear as 
 tho light of day. Now, nothing can be 
 more incorrect than tliis view — nothing 
 more true than that on ordinary occasions 
 wo all act indopendenlly of any motive 
 whatever. In going home from the city, 
 for (!.\amplo, wo perhaps invariably walk 
 on one side of the way, although we may 
 have no motive for doing so — not even 
 that of convenience. Perhaps we are oc- 
 casionally taciturn, and not disposed at all 
 times to be conversible ; and yet it may be 
 that for such silence we have not a single 
 discoverable motive. Every or any thing 
 else but motive may have an influonco in 
 producing tho particular state or occur- 
 rence complained of or remarked on. Hab- 
 it, peculiar temperament, accident, thought- 
 lessness, unavoidable circumstances, may 
 each occasion its portion of the results usu- 
 ally attributed to this otherwise certainly 
 important cause of men's actions ; but they 
 are all overlooked in an account of the mat- 
 ter. One party will become exceedingly 
 suspicious at the non-answering of a let- 
 ter, another very angry at the omission to 
 acknowledge a bow or other compliment. 
 The correspondent in the one case had 
 simply forgotten tho letter of his friend — 
 a great oHenco no doubt, but still not so 
 important as that imputed— and the ofTond- 
 ing party in the other had omitted to re- 
 turn the bow or other compliment from 
 mere inadvertence. Now, had anything 
 but a motive been thought of, or rather had 
 no motive been assigned, all would have 
 been right. But no : wo are, as we have 
 observed, reasonable beings, and therefore 
 must be supposed to act at all limes with 
 a view to results and consequences. 
 
 Motives iirc of course divisible into good 
 and evil ; and a good motive, if imputed, 
 can not well be productive of unpleasant- 
 ness. The misjbrtune, however, is, that 
 we are more prone to attribute the evil 
 than tho good. This unfortunate propen- 
 
 sity is occasionally productive of serious 
 consequences. O.i tho occasion of the 
 non-answering of .1 letter rcquirin;; an an- 
 swer, as on that of tho non-return of a com- 
 pliment, if a motive bo imputed at all, it 
 can not bo a favorable one ; hence cool- 
 ness, severance of friendship, quarrels. In 
 that of simple taciturnity, wo have all the 
 evils resulting from a false couvicti(»n of 
 pride, ill-feeling, desire of concealing some 
 important circumstance, as influencing tho 
 party uisposed to hold his peace. How 
 much 1 lore good feeling would there be 
 in the world, and how much more friendly 
 communion among those inhabiting it. 
 were it but possible to eradicate this erro- 
 neous practice I 
 
 Ono great reason why it should be erad- 
 icated is, that tho evil or injustice remains 
 not against the parly improperly suspected, 
 but reflects in an equal degree upon our- 
 selves. It is a veritable principle in mor- 
 al as in physical science that like begets 
 like. Let as attribute improper motives 
 and wo shall find that tho same will be 
 attributed to us ; nay, wo shall perhaps 
 also discover that hero was good reason 
 for that which possibly arose from acci- 
 dent or inadvertence. On the oilar hand, 
 let us impute those which are good ; and 
 if there be one single spark of feeling or 
 principle in tho composition of the parly 
 to whom wo attribute them, we shall find 
 that he will reciprocate : and whether ho 
 have good feeling or not, that he will give 
 us credit for having deserved a good o])in- 
 ion, or at any rate will not conclude that 
 wo merited the neglect which had been 
 exhibited toward us. These principles 
 are in daily operation. Apart from the 
 subject of motive, which perhaps implies 
 some circumstance with which wo are in- 
 dividually connecteo, lut us unjustly ac- 
 cuse an individual of a desire to act un- 
 fairly, and wo shall discover that he repels 
 tho charge with indignation. Lotus give 
 him credit, equally unjustly, for a desire 
 to do that which is honorable, and we per- 
 ceive that he endeavors to deserve it : our 
 feeling and passions seem so consitituted, 
 as reciprocally to act on their like when 
 excited. Thus benevolence acts on be- 
 nevolence, anger on anger, pride on pride, 
 and self-esteem on self-esteem. Every 
 one knows how the principle operates 
 
BHAKINQ HANDS. 
 
 6U3 
 
 • productivo of serious 
 1 tho occasion of the 
 letter reqiiirimj iiii an- 
 ho non-return oraeoni- 
 n bo iniputuil at all, it 
 ilile one ; henno corjl- 
 rionilsiliip, (]ii,-irreU. In 
 iirnity, wo liuvo all the 
 1 a falso conviction of 
 siro of conecalinjj some 
 mce, 08 influencinj,' tho 
 lold Ilia |)eu(;e. How 
 Deling would there ho 
 ow much more friendly 
 [ those inhul)ititi}r it, 
 ) to eradicate this erro- 
 
 why it should ho erad- 
 .il or injustice remains 
 ' improj)frly suspected, 
 jual degree upon our- 
 tablu principle in n)or- 
 ;icnce that like hegets 
 into improper motives 
 that tho same will bo 
 lay, we shall perhaps 
 here was good reasou 
 iibly arose from acci- 
 I. On tho other hand, 
 which are good ; and 
 ^'lo spark of feeling or 
 nposition of the party 
 te them, we shall find 
 L-ate : and whelher he 
 r not, that he will give 
 deserved a good oj)in- 
 vill not conclude that 
 gleet which had been 
 IS. These principles 
 ion. Apart from the 
 vhich perhaps implies 
 with which we are in- 
 su, lot us unjustly ac- 
 jf a desire to act un- 
 liscover that he repels 
 iguation. Let us give 
 unjustly, for a desire 
 honorable, and we per- 
 vors to deserve it : our 
 s seem so constituted, 
 ct on their like when 
 levolenee acts on be- 
 angcr, pride on pride, 
 1 self-esteem. Every 
 he principle operates 
 
 with resppct to tho education of children ; 
 and it is only to be regretted that it ii not 
 more generally regarded in riper life. 
 
 It may be true that to impute good mo- 
 tives at all times would be ridiculous. 
 There are cartnin circumstances under 
 which they can not be presumed to exist, 
 and which of course are not inr'.uded in 
 iheso remarks. It may be also true that 
 in imputing ihom, we sometimes throw 
 oiir own conduct open to misconstruction. 
 This can only be, however, when we act 
 without due regard to a principle, and 
 when we impute good motives at one pe- 
 riod and bad at another, just according as 
 our whim and caprice dictate. It can not 
 happen where we make it .he rule always 
 to adopt the former iiourse, until we are 
 certain that we are wrong in doing so. In 
 imputing a good motive, we may occasion- 
 ally find that we have been mistaken: 
 but the mistake will be on the better side ; 
 and it will never occur that we have com- 
 mitted an injustice, or that we have un- 
 necessarily or foolishly lost a friend. 
 
 SHAKING HANDS. 
 
 MONO the first 
 things which we 
 remember taking 
 notice of in the 
 manners of the 
 people, were two 
 errors in the cus- 
 tom of shaking 
 hands : some we 
 observed grasped everybody's hand alike 
 — with an equal fervor of grip ; you would 
 have thought Jenkins was tho best friend 
 they had in the world ; but on succeeding 
 to the squeeze, though a slight acquaint- 
 ance, you found it equally flattering to 
 yourself ; and on the appearance of some- 
 body else (whose name, it turned out, the' 
 operator had forgotten), the crush was no 
 less complimentary : the face was as ear- 
 nest, and beaming the " glad to see you" 
 aa syllablical and sincere, and the shake 
 as elose, as long, and as rejoicing, as if 
 tho semi-unknown was a friend come 
 home from the deserts. 
 
 39 
 
 On tho other hand, there would b« a 
 gentleman, now and then, as coy of his 
 hand as if he were a prude, or had a whit- 
 low. It was in vain that your pretensions 
 did not go beyond tho " civil salute" of the 
 ordinary shaiie, or that being introduced 
 to him in u friendly manner, and expected 
 to shake hands with tho rest of the com- 
 pany, you could not in decency omit his. 
 His fingers half coming out and half re- 
 treating, seemed to think you were doing 
 them a mischief, a'ld when you got hold 
 of them, the whole of the shako was on 
 your side ; the other hand did but jiroudly 
 or pensively acquiesce — there was no 
 knowing which ; you had to sustain it as 
 you might a lady's, in handing her to a 
 seat, and it was an equal perplexity to 
 shake it or let it go. The one seemed a 
 violence done to the patient, the other an 
 awkward responsibility brought upon your- 
 self. You did not know, all the evening, 
 whether you were an object of dislike to 
 the person— till on the party's breaking 
 up, you saw him behave like an equally 
 ill-used gentleman to all who practised the 
 same unthinking civility. 
 
 Both of these errors, we think, might 
 as well be avoided ; but of the two, we 
 must say we prefer the former. If it does 
 not look so much like particular sincerity, 
 it looks more like general kindness ; and 
 if these two virtues are to bo separated 
 (which they assuredly need not be, if con- 
 sidered without spleen), the world can bet- 
 ter afford to dispense with an unpleasant 
 truth than a gratuitous humanity. Be- 
 sides, it is more difficult to make sure of 
 the one than to practise the other, and 
 kindness itself is the best of all truths. 
 As long as we are sure of that, we are 
 sure of something, and of something pleas- 
 ant. It is always the best end, if not in 
 every instance the most logical means. 
 
 This manual shyness is sometimes at- 
 tributed to modesty, but never, we sus- 
 pect, with justice, unless it be that sort of 
 modesty whoso fear of committing itself 
 is grounded in pride. Want of address is 
 a better reason, but this particular instance 
 of it would be grounded in the same feel- 
 ing. It always implies a habit of either 
 pride or mistrust. We have met with 
 two really kind men who evinced this 
 soreness of hand. Neither of them, per- 
 
 I 
 
904 
 
 UABSACaS 07 THE MAMELUKES BY MUHaMMKU ALL 
 
 
 i-lft 
 
 ''^€. 
 
 ■ Ik: 
 
 haps, thought himself inferior to anybmly 
 about him, and both had good reason to 
 think highly of themselves, but both had 
 been sanguine men, contradicted in their 
 early hopes. There was a plot to meet 
 the hand of one of thetn with a fish-slice, 
 in order to show him the disadvantage to 
 which ho had put his friends by that flat 
 salutation ; but the conspirator had not the 
 courage to do it. Whether he heard of 
 the intention we know not, but shortly af- 
 terward he took very kindly to a shake. 
 The other was the only man of a warm 
 set of politicians, who remained true to 
 his first hopes of mankind. lie was im- 
 patient at the change in his companion, 
 and at the folly and inattention of the rest ; 
 but though his manner became cold, his 
 constancy became warm, and this gave him 
 a right to be as strange as he pleased. 
 
 MASSACRE OF THE MAMELUKES BY 
 MOHAMMED ALL 
 
 HE Mamelukes pre- 
 sented, formerly, one 
 of the greatest obsta- 
 cles to the consolida- 
 tion of Mohammed 
 Ali's rule in Egypt : 
 he therefore resolved 
 on a scheme for their 
 
 destruction, which, al 
 though ^ucce8sfuI, was at once treachor- 1 noble horses ; 
 
 Shah, had made Egypt to I'eel their pow- 
 or, were nearly deitlroyed by M«)hamme(l 
 Ali. They had received orders to hold 
 themselves in readiness to take part in a 
 grand ceremony, which was to precede 
 the departure of his son for Mecca. ' That 
 day,' said an iohabitant of Cairo to me, 
 ' the sun rose the color of blood !' The 
 pacha looked dark and melancholy : but 
 recollecting that he was to preside at one 
 of the most brilliant (dies of the mussul- 
 mans, he assumed a smile which contrast- 
 ed remarkably with his general appear- 
 ance. He had addressed the Mamelukes 
 as the ' Elder Sons of the Prophet ;' and 
 called upon them, by the peace which 
 subsisted between them, to celebrate with 
 him the departure of his son for the Holy 
 Tomb. 
 
 " In the meantime a number of faithful 
 Albanians were concealed upon the ram- 
 parts, the towers, and behind the walls of 
 the citadel. The Mamelukes arrived with 
 the utmost confidence, and the gates were 
 closed upon them. The pacha had placed 
 himself on the summit of a terrace, seated 
 on a carpet, smoking a magnificent nar- 
 guile (Persian pipe), whence he could see 
 every motion without being seen ; behind 
 him were three of his confidential oilicers. 
 He regarded the scene below v/iih a fixed 
 and terrible look, without speaking a word. 
 The order was given to ' Fire !' aiul ilm 
 massacre of the Mamelukes menced. 
 They were adorned, or rather encumbered, 
 with their finest arms, aud mounted on 
 but th(nr numbers, their 
 
 ous and ferocious. He invited those of 
 the body who were living in the neighbor- 
 hood of Cairo to be present at a grand 
 festival to be given on the Ist of March, 
 1811, in honor of his son's being invested 
 with the command of an expedition against 
 Mecca. To this ceremony all the Mame- 
 lukes repaired ; and when they were with- 
 in the gates of the pacha's castle, which 
 were closed on them, a shower of mus- 
 ketry was poured down upon them, from 
 which they had no means of escaping. 
 The engraving representing this scene is 
 taken from Count Forbin's " Voyage dans 
 de Levant." The following is the count's 
 description of the scene : — 
 
 " That audacious militia, the Mame- 
 lukes, which, since the time of Maiek 
 
 courage, all were useless — they were de- 
 stroyed !" 
 
 Such of the Mam lakes as escaped the 
 indiscriminate massacre within the walls 
 of the castle were seized, carried out, and 
 beheaded ; and numbers in the towns and 
 villages, on the calamity which had be- 
 fallen their brethren being made known, 
 shared a like fate. The remnant retired 
 to Dongola in Nubia ; but they were scat- 
 tered by Ibrahim Pacha : and from that 
 period the total destruction, or at least the 
 complete subjugation of the once proud 
 Mamelukes, may be dated. 
 
 Mohammed Ali is a remarkable man. 
 He came into Egypt about the year 1800, 
 a mere soldier of fortune, and gradually 
 raised himself until he was made pacha. 
 
MKD ALL 
 
 ^,jypt to lad thuir pow. 
 miroyed by M<>hHiiim«(l 
 ■eceivod ordorw to hold 
 liiieMH to tnko part in n 
 which was to precede 
 if) son for Mecca. ' That 
 d)itant of Cairo to mo, 
 ! color of blood !' The 
 k and nitdancholy : but 
 le was to presido at one 
 imt ffiies of the miMsid- 
 i a smile which contrast- 
 ith his general nppear- 
 Idressod the Mamelukes 
 18 of the Prophet ;' and 
 i\, by the peace which 
 I them, to celebrate with 
 I of his son for the Holy 
 
 ime a number of faithful 
 oncealed upon the ram- 
 
 and behind the walls of 
 Mamelukes arrived with 
 ence, and the gates were 
 The pacha had placed 
 mmit of a terrace, seated 
 king a magnificent nar- 
 )e), whence he could see 
 hout being seen ; behind 
 ' his confidential oiHcers. 
 scene below with a fixed 
 without speaking a word. 
 ;iven to ' Fire !' hihI i!i«> 
 Mamelukes nienceJ. 
 
 ed, or rather encumbered, 
 
 arms, and mounted on 
 lut their numbers, their 
 ) useless — they were de- 
 
 ami'Kikes as escaped the 
 la^sacre within the walls 
 e seized, carried out, and 
 umbers in the towns and 
 calamity which had be- 
 iren being made known, 
 B. The remnant retired 
 ubia ; but they were scat- 
 a Pacha : and from that 
 lestruction.or at least the 
 ation of the once proud 
 r be dated. 
 
 ill is a remarkable man. 
 gypt about the year 1800, 
 of fortune, and gradually 
 iitil he was made pacha. 
 
'■V.t,j 
 
 !•• 
 
 
 i 
 
 
 1^4 
 
 JUGGLERS OF INDIA. 
 
 UGGLERS came for- 
 ward on one occasion 
 to perform publicly in 
 the yard of the bar- 
 racks of Madras : ma- 
 ny hundreds of peo- 
 ple, of all kinds, ages, 
 And denominations, in- 
 cluding the soldiery of 
 the establishment, assembled to witness 
 the exhibition, and some little temporary 
 arrangements were made that all might 
 hear conveniently. The leader of the 
 jugalers (who were all, of course, natives 
 of Hindostan) requested the commanding 
 officer to place a guard of men around the 
 scene of display — a precaution which was 
 adopted, and proved a very wise one. 
 The flooi of the court, be it observed, was 
 composed of sand, firm and well-trodden. 
 On this ground, then, after some prelimi- 
 nary tricks of an inferior kind, one man 
 was left alone with a little girl, the latter 
 seeming about eight or nine years old. 
 Beside them stood a tall narrow basket, 
 perhaps three or four feet high, by little 
 more than a foot in width, and open at the 
 top. No other object, living or inanimate, 
 appeared upon the ground. After a short 
 period spent by the man in conversing 
 with the girl, he seemed to get angry, and 
 began to rail loudly at her neglect of some 
 wish of his ; the child attempted to soothe 
 him, but he continued to show an increased 
 degree of irritation as he went on. By 
 degrees he lashed himself into such ap- 
 parent fury, that the foam actually stood 
 upon his lips ; and being naturally of an 
 unprepossessing countenance, he looked 
 to the white spectators at least as like an 
 enraged demon as might be. Finally his 
 wrath at the girl rose seemingly to an un- 
 controllable height, and he seized her and 
 put hgr beneath the basket ; or rather, 
 turned the open mouth of the basket over 
 her person. She was thus shut entirely 
 up — the turned bottom of the basket clo- 
 sing her in above. Having thus disposed 
 of the child, in spite of lier screams and 
 entreaties, the man drew his sword, which 
 was as bright as the surface of a mirror, 
 and he appeared as if about to wreak some 
 further evil on the object of his ire. Af- 
 
 ter some moments, during which he talked 
 to himself and to the enclosed girl, as if 
 justifying his anger, he did actually at 
 length plunge the sword down into the bas- 
 ket, and drew it out dripping with blood, 
 or at least blood-red drops ! The child 
 screamed piteously from her prison, but in 
 vain ; for the man plunged the weapon 
 again and again into the scene of her con- 
 finement. As he did so, the cries of the 
 girl became faint by degrees, and in the 
 end died away altogether. The deed of 
 death was consummated. 
 
 So, at least, thought most of the horror- 
 struck persons who witnessed this action. 
 And well it was for the chief performer in 
 it that he requested a guard to be placed ; 
 for it required all the exertions of this 
 guard to prevent the aroused soldiery, who 
 believed this to be no trick, but a diaboli- 
 cal butchery, from leaping into the arena 
 and tearing the man to pieces. The ex- 
 citable Irishmen among the number, in par- 
 ticular, ground their teeth against one an- 
 other, and uttered language not very com- 
 plimentary to the juggler. Even the offi- 
 cers, whose better education and experi- 
 ence made them less open to such feelings, 
 grew pale with uneasiness. But observe 
 the issue of all this 
 
 When the man seemed to have carried 
 his rage to the last extremity, warned per- 
 haps by the looks of the soldiers that it 
 would be as well to close the exhibition 
 without delay, he raif rd his bloody sword 
 for a moment before the eyes of the assem- 
 blage, and then struck the basket smartly 
 with it. The basket tumbled over on a 
 side ; and on the spot which it had cov- 
 ered, in place of the expected corpse of 
 the girl whose last groans had just been 
 heard, there was seen — nothing ! No 
 vestige of dress, or any other thing to in- 
 dicate that the girl had ever been there ! 
 The amazement of the spectators was un- 
 bounded ; and it was if possible rendered 
 more intense, when, after the lapse of a 
 few seconds, the identical little girl came 
 bounding from the side of the courtyard — 
 from among the spectators' feet, it seemed 
 — and clasped the juggler around the knees 
 with every sign of affection, and without 
 the slightest marks of having undergone 
 any injury. We have said the astonish- 
 ment of the assembly was immeasurable ; 
 
Is, (luring which he tallted 
 3 the enclosed girl, as if 
 iger, he did actually at 
 I sword down into the has- 
 out dripping with blood, 
 1-red drops ! The child 
 \\y from her prison, but in 
 lan plunged the weapon 
 into the scene of her con- 
 e did so, the cries of the 
 t by degrees, and in the 
 dtogether. The deed of 
 mmated. 
 
 ought most of the horror- 
 'ho witnessed this action, 
 for the chief performer in 
 ted a guard to be placed ; 
 all the exertions of this 
 the aroused soldiery, who 
 )e no trick, but a diaboli- 
 m leaping into the arena 
 man to pieces. The ex- 
 among the number, in par- 
 leir teeth against one an- 
 d language not very com- 
 ; juggler. Even the offi- 
 ter education and experi- 
 less open to such feelings, 
 jneasiuess. But observe 
 his 
 
 n seemed to have carried 
 ist extremity, warned per- 
 ks of the soldiers that it 
 1 to close the exhibition 
 3 raif rd his bloody sword 
 ore the eyes of the assem- 
 struck the basket smartly 
 asket tumbled over on a 
 e spot which it had cov- 
 r the expected corpse of 
 ist groans had just been 
 as seen — nothing ! No 
 , or any other thing to in- 
 [irl had ever been there ! 
 of the spectators was un- 
 
 was if possible rendered 
 hen, after the lapse of a 
 s identical little girl came 
 le side of the courtyard — 
 spectators' feet, it seemed 
 e juggler around the knees 
 
 of affection, and without 
 rks of having undergone 
 3 have said the astonish- 
 mbly was immeasurable ; 
 
 JUGGLERS OF INDIA. 
 
 607 
 
 and it might really well be so, seeing that 
 the feat was performed in the centre of a 
 court, every point of the circumference of 
 which was crowded with spectators, whose 
 eyes were never off the performers for one 
 instant. As to the notion of a subterra- 
 nean passage, the nature of the ground 
 put that out of the question ; and, besides, 
 that nothing of that kind existed, was made 
 plain to all who chose to satisfy themselves 
 on the subject, by looking at the scene of 
 performances when they had closed. Ev- 
 ery one was sure that the girl had been 
 put below the basket, and that she did not 
 get out of it in the natural way. But she 
 did get out— and how ? It is impossible 
 to say, though there can be no doubt that 
 it was accomplished by some skilful ma- 
 noeuvre. 
 
 A somewhat similar feat is sometimes 
 ; performed with animals. A juggler -.vill 
 I place a lean dog below one of the baskets, 
 I and— presto, pass ! — when he lifts it up, 
 you will behold a litter of as fine pups as 
 ever whipper-in could desire. But most 
 people will probably think the tree-trick 
 11 more wonderful one than any of these. 
 A juggler, in performing this, chooses ei- 
 ther a°small spot of earth, of the extent of 
 two or three feet square, and in the open 
 air, or he takes a large flower-pot and fills 
 it with mould for his purpose. Either of 
 the ways will do. Having this small plat 
 of earth before him, and his spectators 
 ranged around at a distance of two or 
 three feet, the juggler shows to the com- 
 pany a mango-stone, or the stone found in 
 the centre of the eastern fruit known by 
 iliat name, which varies in size from that 
 of an apple upward. This stone the jug- 
 gler then plants in the earth, at the depth 
 of several inches, and covers it up. Not 
 many minutes elapse until the spectators 
 behold a small green shoot arise from the 
 spot. It increases visibly in height and 
 size every moment, until it attains the al- 
 titude of a foot or so. It then begins to 
 send off branches from the main stem ; on 
 the branches leaves begin to appear, bear- 
 ing the natural hue of vegetation. Buds 
 next present themselves ; the whole affair, 
 meanwhile, assuming the regular aspect, 
 in every particular, of a miniature tree 
 some four feet high. The buds are fol- 
 lowed by blossoms, and finally the green 
 
 fruit of the mango meets the astonished 
 eyes of all the spectators. " Look, but 
 touch not," is all this time the juggler's 
 word ; and he himself also preserves the 
 character of a looker-on. When the fruit 
 has arrived at something like a fair growth 
 for such a tree, the originator of this ex- 
 traordinary vegetation plucks it and hands 
 it to the spectators. This is the winding 
 up of the charm. The assembled persons 
 handle the fruit, and see nothing in it the 
 slightest degree different from the ordina- 
 ry produce of the mango, elaborated by 
 the slow vegetation of months. Our in- 
 formant on these points ate a portion of 
 the iuit brought forth by this jugglery, 
 and found it to taste exactly ilke the raw 
 mango. The whole process now detailed 
 usually occupies about a quarter of an 
 hour, from the ))lanting of the stone to the 
 production of the fruit. Though he gives 
 away the fruit, the performer does not part 
 with the tree. This feat, which is per- 
 fectly familiar to all who have been in 
 India, is certainly an extraordinary one, 
 and affords the most effectual evidence of 
 the power of deception to which the race 
 of jugglers has attained. 
 
 The feat of sitting, without seeming sup- 
 port, in the air, is one of the few first-rate 
 Indian tricks which have been performed 
 in Europe ; but even this is now held 
 somewhat cheap, the mode of performing 
 it being pretty clearly understood. The 
 feat is performed in this way : In the cen- 
 tre of a ring of spectators, stands the jug- 
 gler with an assistant. When all is ready 
 for the performance, the assistant holds an 
 ample cloak or awning over the juggler, 
 which covers him completely for the time. 
 In a few minutes this covering is remov- 
 ed, -ind the juggler is discovered seated 
 cross-legged in the air— unsubstantial air 
 
 at the height of a for t or so from the 
 
 ground. He is in the thin dress of his 
 country, and on one of his arms, which is 
 extended horizontally, in a bent form, and 
 which, as well as the other, has a wide 
 sleeve upon it, a fold of a cloak was neg- 
 ligently thrown; the remainder of the 
 cloak hanging down to, and resting on, 
 the ground. This slight contact of the 
 elbow with the cloak is all that connects 
 the man with terrestrial things. Other- 
 wise, he is totally left in air ; and 'lOw he 
 

 fell' 
 
 f- 
 
 
 m 
 
 maintains himself there is inexplicable to 
 appearance. But the cloak alluded to 
 seems to be in careless contact with an- 
 other cloak or portion of attire that rests 
 on the ground further off. Now, it is to 
 be believed that, at the point where the 
 cloak touch 38 the elbow, a spring of a 
 powerful kind passes up the sleeve to the 
 arm, and bends down under bis body, pla- 
 cing him probably upon a hoop. The oth- 
 er end of the spring passes off, and finds 
 its support under the second or further-off 
 cloak. The spring, in all likelihood, can 
 be folded up into divisions, so as • be ea- 
 sily concealed while the awning is thrown 
 over the juggler at the close of the per- 
 formance, and before he gives liberty to 
 the spectators to examine the spot, which 
 he usually does. This is the received ex- 
 planation of the feat, but there is some dif- 
 ficulty still in understanding the nature of 
 the weight or support which is placed be- 
 neath the cloak. This must evidently be 
 of considerable power to sustain his frame ; 
 and how he gets it out of the way, is not 
 easily seen. The feats are the result of 
 surprising art, address, or contrivance— 
 and for such the natives of India certainly 
 far excel the whole world. 
 
 THE WALRUS. 
 
 HE walrus, or morse, 
 |Vin the general shape 
 of the body and posi- 
 tion and structure of 
 the limbs, closely re- 
 sembles the seal, be- 
 tween which group of 
 animals and the Herb- 
 ivorous Cetacea, namely, the manatee, du- 
 gong, &c., it seems to constitute an inter- 
 vening form. Like the seal, the walrus 
 is clothed with short stiff hair, and its 
 body, of great cirr»mference round the 
 chest, gradually diminish 38 to the hinder 
 paddles ; its proportions, however, are 
 more thick and clumsy. In size this ani- 
 mal equals the largest of the seal-tribe, 
 often attaining to the length of twenty 
 feet, and being ordinarily from twelve to 
 sixteen, with a body superior to that of 
 
 the largest ox. But besides its huge bulk, 
 the walrus is very remarkable for the con- 
 struction of the scull, and ''.e character of 
 its dentition — points in which it differs 
 from any of the larger seals, animals 
 which, in other respects, it nearly resem- 
 bles. 
 
 The head of the living walrus is round, 
 and, instead of terminating in a snout, pre- 
 sents two swollen protuberances, forming 
 a sort of tumid muzzle, divided by a longi- 
 tudinal furrow, above which the nostrils 
 open, as it were, midway between the lips 
 and eyes. From these protuberances, cov- 
 ered with thick wiry bristles, depend two 
 enormous tusks, which, in conjunction 
 with the bright and sparkling eyes of the 
 animal, give to the physiognomy an ex- 
 pression of ferocity which its disposition 
 does not warrant. The round form of the 
 head is not relieved by external ears ; a 
 small valvular orifice, aa in most of the 
 seals, being all that outwardly denotes the 
 situation of th * "njans. It is on the pe- 
 culiarities c' cull that the swollen 
 appearance »jf ;uo muzzle and the situa- 
 tion of the nostrils depend. The two 
 tusks, which in situation and character are 
 analogous to those of the elephant, are im- 
 bedded in enormous alveoli, occupying 
 each side of the muzzle anteriorly, and 
 rising above the level of the scull ; so that 
 the scull appears as if concealed behind 
 two large mounds of bone, between which, 
 and at some distance above the mouth, 
 opens the nasal orifice. The tusks have 
 open roots, as have those of the elephant ; 
 they are directed downward, curve gently 
 back, and are compressed at the sides. 
 They vary in length from eighteen inches 
 to two feet, and are of a proportionate 
 stoutness. The lower jaw, which is des- 
 litute both of incisor and canine teeth, is 
 prolonged and compressed at its anterior 
 angle in order to allow this part to pass 
 betM een the huge tusks, and advance to 
 the anterior margin of the upper ju^y, in 
 which (between the tusks) are two inci- 
 sors, resembling the molars in form, and 
 which, though implanted in the intermax- 
 illary bone, have by many been regarded 
 as molars. In young individuals there are 
 also between these molar like incisors two 
 small and pointed teeth, which, however, 
 are soon lost ; and indeed so are the other 
 
besides its huge bulk, 
 (markable for the coii- 
 I, and '^.e character of 
 s in which it differs 
 larger seals, animals 
 )ect8, it nearly resem- 
 
 living walrus is round, 
 nating in a snout, pre- 
 irotuberances, forming 
 tie, divided by a longi- 
 ve which the nostrils 
 Jway between the lips 
 !se protuberances, cov- 
 y bristles, depend two 
 ifhich, in conjunction 
 
 sparkling eyes of the 
 I physiognomy an ex- 
 yr which its disposition 
 
 The round form of the 
 id by external ears ; a 
 ice, as in most of the 
 
 outwardly denotes the 
 ■•ijans. It is on the pe- 
 
 ouU that the swollen 
 muzzle and the situa- 
 s depend. The two 
 lation and character are 
 of the elephant, are im- 
 0U3 alveoli, occupying 
 muzzle anteriorly, and 
 vel of the scull ; so that 
 8 if concealed behind 
 if bone, between which, 
 ince above the mouth, 
 ifice. The tusks have 
 ! those of the elephant ; 
 iownward, cuive gently 
 inpressed at the sides, 
 ih from eighteen inches 
 are of a proportionate 
 3wer jaw, which is des- 
 ior and canine teeth, is 
 npressed at its anterior 
 allow this part to pass 
 ! tusks, and advance to 
 in of the upper jaw, in 
 he tusks) are two inci- 
 he molars in form, and 
 planted in the intermax- 
 by many been regarded 
 ing individuals there are 
 i molar like incisors two 
 
 teeth, which, however, 
 I indeed so are the other 
 
% 
 
 
 !llji 
 
 610 
 
 ORIGIN OF THE ABOEIQINES OF AMERICA. 
 
 incisors, for in aged sculls they are sel- 
 dom or never to be found. The molars, 
 four on each side above and below, are 
 short and obliquely truncate cylinders. 
 The tumid appearance of the muzzle, so 
 remarkable in the living walrus, depends 
 then, as is easily seen, upon the enormous 
 development of the alveoli, for the recep- 
 tioii of the roots of the tusks In propor- 
 tion to the size of the scull, these alveoli 
 are larger than those of the elephant, and 
 far more prominent ; and the scull, instead 
 of rising above them, falls back and sinks 
 behind them. 
 
 The walrus is a native of the polar re- 
 gions, and in many of its habits resembles 
 the seals. It lives in troops, which visit 
 the shore, or extensive fields of ice, as a 
 sort of home, where they rest and where 
 the females produce their young. In as- 
 cending steep icebergs, or the precipitous 
 borders of an ice-bound sea, the walrus 
 uses ks tusks with great advantage, and 
 secures itself from slipping by striking 
 their points into the glassy surface, or by 
 lodging them amid the irregularities, and 
 in the fissures or pits of the craggy mass 
 on which it takes its repose. They are 
 also instruments by which the animal tears 
 up the submarine vegetables on which it 
 in a great measure subsists. Its favorite 
 food is said to be the fucus digitatus, a 
 coarse kind of sea-weed growing in great 
 abundance in the latitudes which the ani- 
 mal freiiuents. To this, fish and other 
 matters of a similar kind are most proba- 
 bly added. As weapons of defence, the 
 tusks of the walrus are very elfective ; and 
 it is said to use them to great advantage 
 in defending itself from the attacks of the 
 polar bear, next to man, its most formida- 
 ble enemy. It would appear, indeed, that 
 man has either thinned the numbers of the 
 walrus, or driven the herds to localities 
 seldom visited. 
 
 Formerly, the walruses used to assem- 
 ble in almost incredible multitudes in the 
 gulf of St. Lawrence, at the setting in of 
 the spring, and take possession of the 
 Magdalene islands, which they still visit, 
 but in very inconsiderable numbers. As 
 the shores of these islands have a gentle 
 trtope, with but few precipitous rocks, they 
 are very accessible ; and here the animals 
 are said to remain for many days without 
 
 food, as long as the weather is fine, but to 
 hasten to sea on the slightest appearance 
 of rain. The traffic in the oil and skin of 
 the walrus have both tended to thin their 
 numbers, and to drive the remnant to oth- 
 er places of refuge. Tho fishermen are 
 accustomed to kill them, during the dark- 
 ness of the night, by torchlight, by the 
 glare of which the creatures are bewil- 
 dered, and fall an easy prey. 
 
 ORIGIN OF AMERICAN ABORIGINES. 
 
 HATEVERpartof 
 the world America 
 may have been peo- 
 pled from, the first 
 and most important 
 question is that of 
 the TIME at which 
 that event musi have 
 occurred. We find 
 in America more than one hundred lan- 
 guages, which, however similar in struc- 
 ture, differ entirely in their vocabulary or 
 words. This difference must have origi- 
 nated either before or after America was 
 inhabited. The first supposition implies 
 that of America having been settled, not by 
 a few distinct nations, which is very possi- 
 b «, but by more than one hundred distinct 
 tribes, of different origin, and speaking en- 
 tirely different languages. This supposi- 
 *ion is inconsistent with tho great similari- 
 ty, in their physical type and the structure 
 of their languages, between almost all the 
 tribes which inhabited America when dis- 
 covered by the Europeans. If the prodi- 
 gious subdivision of languages took place 
 in America, for producing such radical di- 
 versity we want the longest time that we 
 are permitted to assume. We can not see 
 any reason that should have prevented 
 those who, after the dispersion of mankind, 
 moved toward tho east and northeast, from 
 having reached the extremities of Asia and 
 passed over to America within five hun- 
 dred years after the flood. However small 
 may have been the number of those first 
 emigrants, an equal number of years would 
 have been more than suflicient to occupy 
 in their own way every part of America. 
 
 '--J" 
 
 , if 
 
eather is fino, but to 
 slightest appearance 
 in the oil and skin of 
 
 tcuded to thin their 
 I the remnant lo oth- 
 
 Tho fishermen are 
 em, during the dark- 
 y torchlight, by the 
 creatures are bewil- 
 y prey. 
 
 CAN ABORIGINES. 
 
 jHATEVERpartof 
 the world America 
 may have been peo- 
 pled from, the first 
 and most important 
 question is that of 
 the TIME at which 
 that event musi have 
 occurred. We find 
 n one hundred lan- 
 i^er similar in siruc- 
 
 their vocabulary or 
 ice must have origi- 
 r after America was 
 
 supposition implies 
 g been settled, not by 
 which is very possi- 
 one hundred distinct 
 ;in, and speaking en- 
 ges. This supposi- 
 th the great similari- 
 pe and the structure 
 tween almost all the 
 1 America when dis- 
 leans. If the prodi- 
 anguages took place 
 cing such radical di- 
 ongest timo that we 
 ne. We can not see 
 uld have prevented 
 spersion of mankind, 
 t and northeast, from 
 tremities of Asia and 
 ica within five hun- 
 >od. However small 
 lumber of those first 
 imber of years would 
 sufficient to occupy 
 ry part of America. 
 
 s 
 

 ■it 
 
 . .eTM-Sai-.I.'P-.iJ"?..")- 
 
THE OLD BILLOP H0U8K. 
 
 613 
 
 THE OLD BILLOP HOUSE, 
 
 4T BENTLEY, 8TATEN ISLAND, NEW YORK. 
 
 BT o. r. DiaoswAT. 
 
 N approachiriK New 
 York from Philadelphia 
 by the Amboy route, few 
 objects are more stri- 
 king to tlie traveller's 
 eye, than a high, an- 
 cient-looking stone edi- 
 fice, situated near the 
 water, on the extreme 
 west end of Staten Is- 
 lanJ. This is the " Old Billop House" 
 
 church steeple of that town. As soon as 
 they saw him enter his abode, they ran to 
 their boats, rapidly crossed the river, and 
 he was soon their captive. 
 
 The British now in possession of New 
 1 York, had confined in irons several Amer- 
 icans who had been made prisoners ; und 
 to retaliate for this measure, Col. Billop 
 was taken to Burlington jai We have 
 copied the mittimus, as a matter of curi- 
 osity, and the method of doing such thinc;s 
 at that eventful period. Elisha Boudinot 
 was then commissary of prisoners lor 
 New Jersey. 
 
 " To the keeper of the common jail 
 for the county of Burlington, greeting :— 
 •'You are hereby commanded to re- 
 ceive into your custody, the body of Col. 
 Christopher Billop, prisoner-of-war, here- 
 with delivered to you, and having put irons I 
 „„ %,;= v.o,wla uni\ feet, vou are to chain 
 
 at Bentley, of which we present a very 
 correct sketch in our present iiumber. 
 Amid the general search for new designs, 
 is it not strange that this beautiful spot 
 
 has escaped the notice of the artist and wiuiueu»ci<=u.w ;«„, „. . 
 
 histo^an until now ? The place too has on his hands and feet, you are to chain 
 some interesting associations worthy of a | him down to the floor in a close room, in 
 
 record. „., 
 
 More than a century ago, a Capt. bil- 
 lop of the British Navy, took out a patent 
 for the land, embracing 921 acres, which 
 was increased by a second to 1600. At 
 the period of the American revolution, 
 Bentley was owned by Christopher Bil- 
 lon, a gentleman of property, and a mem- 
 ber of the house of assembly, who had 
 always opposed the measures which led 
 
 always opposea ine lueauuico «...^.. — 
 to a rupture with Great Britain. As soon 
 as the war broke out, he became a parti- 
 san leader, and accepted the commission 
 of colonel of the Staten Island militia. 
 Lord Howe, with a large force, took pos- 
 session of Staten Island on the 4ih of Ju- 
 ly, 1776, and it was held by the British 
 during the whole war ; and hence it be- 
 came the theatre of frequent predatory in- 
 cursions from the Americans, many ol 
 whom had taken up their abode on the op- 
 po^ate shores of New Jersey. By most 
 of these parlies violence was committed, 
 and in some instances blood was shed, 
 and lives were lost. Col. Billop. at 'he 
 time a warm party man and military lead- 
 er, was closely watched, and it is said 
 was twice taken from his own house, by 
 armed bands from " the Jerseys," and thus 
 made a pri.ioner. Ambo^y is in sight, and 
 upon one of these occasions, he was ob- 
 served by some Americans, who had sta- 
 tioned themselves with a spy-glass m the 
 
 the said jail, and there to retair urn, giv 
 ing him bread and water only for his lood, 
 until you receive further orders from ine, 
 or the commissary of prisoners for iIk 
 state of New Jersey, for the time being. 
 Given under my hand, at Elizabethlown, 
 this 6th day of Nov., 1779. 
 
 " Elisha Joudinot, 
 
 » Com. Pris., New Jersey." 
 The commissary at the same time re- 
 
 gretted to Billop that necessity made such 
 treatment necessary, " but retaliation is di- 
 rected, and it will I most sincerely hope, 
 be in your power to relieve yoursell Irom 
 the situation, by writing to New York to , 
 procure the relaxation of the suflerings ol ] 
 John Leshier, and Capt. Nathaniel Ran- 
 
 dal."« c X c 
 
 At this period. Col. Simcoe of the la- 
 mous "queen's rangers," had command 
 of a oost in Richmond, whence he made 
 a sL'.^den and rapid incursion into New 
 Jersey wis' his dragoons, and during 
 the fight, his horse was killed, and he 
 himself stunned by the fall was captured 
 by the American militia. 
 
 He also was taken to Burlington, and 
 unexpectedly became the ftl'ow-pnsoner 
 of Col. Billop. Simcoe severely com- 
 plained to Governor Livingston of New 
 
 • Fitz Randolph was the correct name. Ho was a 
 bold soldier, a celebrated patriot, and gallantly tell, in 
 one of the New Jersey batUes. 
 
 I 
 I 
 
 4 
 
 ■i. 
 
%i 
 
 ik 
 
 Itlfcll,,,, 
 
 I, ,. 
 
 614 
 
 THE OLD BILLOP HOUSE 
 
 Jersey, of their treatment, and adtlrefised 
 General Washington, urging his and Bil- 
 lop's exchange, which was soon after- 
 ward effected. Several plans had been 
 laid for the liberation of Simcoe ; and the 
 day before his exchange, forty friends of 
 the British cause had reached the neigh- 
 borhood of Burlington with horses to res- 
 cue him. 
 
 At the close of the war, Col. Billop 
 with a number of British subjects, loft the 
 island for St. John, New Brunswick ; 
 and thus his estate at Bentley became 
 confiscated. The old mansion is built of 
 stone, its walls thrc feet thick, and bears 
 the marks of former affluence and ele- 
 gance. Like most buildings of the "old- 
 en lime," it has its ghost and other roman- 
 tic stories. " There," said the person who 
 now occupies the house, as wo entered 
 one of the upper story front rooms, " that 
 spot on the floor, we have never been able 
 to wash out. It is supposed to be blood, 
 and a murder is said to have been perpe- 
 trated here. This too is the ghost room, 
 but I have never been disturbed by such 
 visiters, and believe neither of these sto- 
 ries." 
 
 A person had visited an adjoining apart- 
 ment last winter, searching for hidden 
 treasure. He had been told by some mes- 
 merist or fortune-teller of New York, that 
 money was to be found concealed in one 
 of the walls of this room, and absolutely 
 picked with hammer and chisel a large 
 opening, but finally gave over the search 
 as hopeless. This strange credulity was 
 here exhibited in the winter of 1844 ! 
 
 In the cellar of the building, there is a 
 brick vault, 30 feet long, and about 13 
 wide, finely arched, and may have been 
 used as a place of retreat, or the recepta- 
 cle for valuable articles in cases of emer- 
 gency. 
 
 As Billop was a well-known ' tory," 
 and a military character also, his house 
 must have witnessed many an interview 
 of such men as Lord Howe, General 
 Kniphausen, Col. Simcoe, and other of- 
 ficers of rank in the British service, who 
 had command at various period on the is- 
 land. Immediately after the severe bat- 
 tle on Long Island, Lord Howe sent a 
 communication to Congress then assem- 
 bled in Philadelphia, soliciting that a com- 
 
 mittee from that body might meet him, to 
 confer on the difilcultie^i between the two 
 nations. For this purpose, Ik-iijamiti 
 Franklin, John Adams, and Edward Rut- 
 K'dge, were appointed. Th<5 interview 
 took place in this house, and these noble, 
 patriotic, American spirits, declined every 
 proposition for peace, that would not ac- 
 knowledge the independence of their be- 
 loved country ! Lord Howe expressed 
 his distress, that he would be obliged to 
 take suoh severe measures against the 
 Americans, whom he so much regarded. 
 Dr. Franklin in replying, assured him tliat 
 the Americans would endeavor to lessen 
 as much as possible, the pain he might 
 feel on their account, by taking the ut- 
 most care of themselves. 
 
 When the committee took leave of Lord 
 Howe, he had them conveyed to Amboy 
 in his own barge, and as they approached 
 the wharf, Dr. Franklin began to jingle 
 some gold and silver in his pockets. Up- 
 on their arrival, he oflcred a handful of 
 the money to the sailors, but the com 
 manding officer, not permitting them to re- 
 ceive it, he replaced it in his pocket. Af- 
 terward he explained his conduct to his 
 associates, by observing, " As these peo- 
 ple are under the impression that we have 
 not a fartlfing of hard money in the coun- 
 try, I thought I would convince them of 
 their mistake. I knew at the same time 
 that I risked nothing by an offer, which 
 their regulations and discipline would not 
 permit them to accept." 
 
 There is a beautiful lawn before the 
 house, extending quite down to the wa- 
 ter's edge. The views from the mansion 
 are extensive, and rich in natural beauties. 
 Directly in front the eye rests on Amboy 
 bay, the town itself beyond, and the Rar- 
 itan river, which here expanding into the 
 general body of waters, the whole soon 
 Hows onward to the mighty Atlantic. 
 
 Toward the south, at a more remote 
 distance, are seen the mountains of Mon- 
 mouth, and the most striking of all, the 
 bold summits of Neversink, upon whose 
 lofty highlands, the beacon-fires of 1776 
 blazed, to alarm the country upon the ex- 
 pected approach of the enemy. 
 
 What a blessing is Pkace ' How 
 changed the scene ! Upon these rery 
 heights now glister nightly the cheering 
 
might meet liiin, tu 
 e.i between the two 
 purpoHc, UeiiJHiiiiri 
 I, 1111(1 Edward lUit- 
 J. The iiilorviow 
 ie, and these noble, 
 irits, declined every 
 that woidd not ac- 
 ndcnco of their be- 
 1 Howe expressed 
 'ouM be oblif^ed to 
 lasures against the 
 80 much regarded. 
 ig, assured him that 
 endeavor to lesseti 
 the pain he migiit 
 , by taking the ul- 
 es. 
 
 ) took leave of Lord 
 onveyed to Amboy 
 as they approached 
 lin began to jingle 
 n his pockets. Uj)- 
 ffered a handful of 
 ilors, but the com 
 irniitting them to re- 
 in his pocket. Af- 
 his conduct to his 
 ig, " As these peo- 
 'ession that we have 
 money in the coun- 
 l convince them of 
 w at the same time 
 by an oHer, which 
 lisciplino would not 
 
 il lawn before the 
 3 down to the wa- 
 s from the mansion 
 
 in natural beauties. 
 ye rests on Amboy 
 syond, and the Rar- 
 
 expanding into the 
 rs, the whole soon 
 ighty Atlantic. 
 
 at a more remote 
 mountains of Mon- 
 striking of all, the 
 srsink, upon whose 
 aeon-fires of 1776 
 Buntry upon the ex- 
 3 enemy, 
 is Pkace ' How 
 
 Upon these very 
 ightly the cheering 
 
 TRUTH— THE AYE AYE. 
 
 015 
 
 rays of the lighthouse, welcoming the 
 traveller of every nation, to our land of 
 freedom and happiness ! Where once 
 was heard the horrid din and clarion of 
 war, here now the anvil rings, the merry 
 wheel dances, and the carol of the peace- 
 fid p!.)ughboy resounds, while he traces 
 the enriching and silent furrow ! 
 
 The excellent view of the •' Old DiHop 
 House," which accomppnies this descrip- 
 tion, was sketched by Alfred He Groot, 
 a promising and native young artist of 
 Siaten Island. It is a faithful represen- 
 tation of this interesting and now vener- 
 able spot, and which it is the object of 
 this article, to save from neglect and pe»- 
 haps oblivion. 
 
 TRUTH. 
 
 " Think on whatever things are true." 
 The operation of the mind in regard to 
 truth is twofold. The first is to acquire 
 a knowledge of the truths, and to examine 
 the evidence on which we are to receive 
 them. In respect to those great truths 
 which concern our relation to God, this 
 leads us to a diligent study of the word of 
 God, as well as of his works— ajnd a care 
 and diligence to examine what opinions 
 we have formed on this supreme inquiry, 
 and on what ground we have formed them ; 
 what are the objects of belief which we 
 have received as true, and why we have 
 done so. Having by such a careful exer- 
 cise of the powers of attention and judg- 
 ment, acquired a knowledge and a convic- 
 tion of the truths, the next exercise of the 
 mind is to make them subjects of thought, 
 in such a manner that they may produce 
 their proper influence on the moral condi- 
 tion. Now there may be much knowl- 
 edge of truth, and careful study of evi- 
 dence, while this great mental exercise is 
 neglected ; and the most important truths 
 may thus be received as matters of cold 
 and barren speculation, yielding no results, 
 and exerting no influence over the char- 
 acter. It is against this mental condition 
 that the exhortation of the apostle seems 
 to be directed, calling upon us not only to 
 know the truths, but to make them sub- 
 jects of thought and reflection, so that they 
 
 may fix their influence on the moral econ- 
 omy of the mind. 
 
 Do we believe it to bo the truth that wo 
 are every moment exposed to the inspec- 
 tion of a Being of infinite perfection and 
 infinite purity, from whose all-seeing eye 
 nothing can cover us, and to whoni even 
 the thoughts of the heart and the whole 
 moral condition within are constantly 
 open ? If we make this solemn truth the 
 subject of frequent and serious thought, 
 what influence must it not produce u\n>u 
 the discipline of the heart, and the whole 
 of our conduct in every relation of life. 
 No man can put away from him the truth 
 that a day is fast approaching when he 
 must lie down in the grave ; but it is also 
 a truth, thi'» another day will come with 
 equal certainty, when, at the voice of the 
 Eternal One, the graves shall yield up 
 their dead, and those who have slept in 
 death shall arise to judgment. Did we 
 think of this truth with a seriousness in 
 any degree adapted to its solenm interest, 
 and make the reflection a frequent and 
 habitual exercise of the mind, it could not 
 fail to make us feel the value of the soul 
 which is to live for ever ; and to force up- 
 on us the habitual conviction, how triv- 
 ial in importance are the highest concerns 
 of time, and how big with momentous in- 
 terests are the concerns of eternity. 
 
 i 
 
 THE AYE-AYE. 
 
 ^ HlSextraordinaryan- 
 ^imal, respecting the 
 true situation and af- 
 finities of which a 
 great many conflicting 
 opinions have been 
 advanced, and upon 
 which naturalists are 
 still "divided, is a native of Madngascar, 
 where it is either extremely rare, or at 
 least a tenant of remote solitudes seldom 
 visited by the aborigities of the island, 
 and never by Europeans. One specimen 
 alone exists in Europe, brought home by 
 Sonnerat, its discoverer, in 1781, which 
 is carefully preserved in the Royal Mu- 
 seum of Paris. Sonnerat observes that 
 
 .4* 
 
 I 
 
i' 
 
 - "'iM 
 
 H 
 
 >ll 
 
 
 n 
 
 >iiMj|«. 
 
 .^1i 
 
t 
 
 ,% 
 
 m 
 
 >!< 
 
 r-itj 
 
 
 ^r^ 
 
 wm,i 
 
 TH« AVE AYE-UKCttEATIONS IN NATU RAL HISTORY . 
 
 fin 
 
 i^^-^' - •!i^.'.«T.T' i =; 1 7h» ;:™ ^^-V^ rz,,ri::i 
 
 keys, and 'ho Bquirrels ; and Bubsequent 
 writer. hav« lakeiiopposilo views, accord- 
 ing as ihciy have been biased by one par 
 of its organization or another. Ouided 
 bv its singular dentition. Pennant placed 
 
 ' 1 : I. itio rnrniAr unt T 
 
 11 among the squirrels, the former un 
 the title of the aye-aye squirrel, the lalicr 
 un(!.-r that of scixirus Mudagascanensts. 
 Of its habits we know nothing but from 
 the account of M. Sonnerat, who kept 
 iwo of these animals, viz., a male and a 
 female, alive in captivity. It would ap- 
 pear that their habits are nocturnal. Uy 
 day they see with difficulty, and the eyes, 
 whi( h are of an ochre color, resemble 
 Uiose of an owl. Timid, quiet, and inof- 
 fensive, Ihey pass the day in sleep, and 
 are not aroused without difficulty ; when 
 awake, their motions are slow, as those 
 of the U)ri, and they have the same fond- 
 ness for warmth ; their thick fur indeed 
 sufficiently proves their impatience of co d. 
 the more n.r,lful. a.s night (between the 
 tenineraiure of which and laal of the day 
 in I'.ieriropical counirics there is a great 
 dUVer.i.ce) is the season of their activity. 
 During the day the aye-aye shinbers in 
 1 iis sucliuled retreat, namely, some hole or 
 ' cavity, in which it conceals itsell, and from 
 ■ which on the approach o( genial darkness 
 ; it issues forth in quest of food ; as the 
 structure of its teeth indicate, its diet con- 
 ' sisis of buds, fruits, and other v^egetable 
 matters, to which n.ay be added insects 
 and their Iarv«, for which il is said to 
 search in the crevices and chinks of the 
 bark of trees, dislodging them by means 
 
 . /■ . ■ .1 1 tinrrartt and hV 
 
 The term aye-aye is the native name of 
 this «ingular animal, and is said to ho a 
 resemblance of its voice, which is a fee- 
 bio cry, consisting of iwo plaintive sylla- 
 
 Notwithstanding the length of time that 
 has intervened from the discovery of the 
 ayo-aye by Sonnerat. to the present day. 
 and visited as the island of Madagascar 
 has been by Kuropeaus. nay more, not- 
 withstanding the residence of Luroponns 
 within its shores, it is somewhat strange 
 that no additional information should have 
 been collected respecting the habits and 
 manners of this animal-that no addition- 
 al specimens should have been obtained, 
 and that not a single notice of a living in- 
 dividual having been seen or captured 
 should have appeared in the records oi 
 I science. 
 
 RECREATIONS IN NATUR.\l HTSTORV. 
 
 > HE following anec- 
 ■^^ doles have been col- 
 lected together, from 
 the belief that they 
 are too wonderful to 
 be lost. They illus- 
 trate principally the 
 ^ . instinct of animals. 
 
 There can not bo a doubt of their an then- 
 t city, for we assure ou. readers that they 
 Mciiy. i"» :„,..w vvth a few ex- 
 
 barn 01 irees, uioiu"6>"5 ' , , 
 
 of its long claw-furnished fingers, and by 
 the same means conveying them to its 
 mouth. The individuals alluded to, which 
 were kept alive by Sonnerat for about two 
 months, were fed upon boiled rice which 
 they took up with their long slender fin- 
 eers. using them much in the same man- 
 ner as the Chinese use their eating-sticks. 
 Sonnerat remarks, that during the whole 
 of the time these animals lived, he never 
 observed them set up their long bushy 
 tail in the same manner as the squirrel 
 does, but that, on the contrary, it was al- 
 ways kept lrailiri!4 at length. 
 
 Of the number of young produced, noth- 
 ing is known, but we may conclude that 
 ihey amount at the most to not more than 
 
 tinlV. lOr we U03U10 "... 
 
 have appear.-l previously, with a few ex- 
 .■ ' :„ ^r^i.nirv newsnapers. 
 
 ceptions, in 
 The turil 
 
 country newspapers 
 me .uru. IS naturally of a sluggish 
 temperament, but when roused it has been 
 known to do fearful things. Gunter, the 
 greaT Swiss naturalist, tells an anecdote 
 of one that is quite dramatic in its pathos. 
 He had presented a very fine specimen of 
 a urtle I the lord-mayor, who sent it to 
 the London tavern to be taken care of. f| 
 The day before the 9th of November this 
 turtle was allowed to walk up and down 
 the pave..ent in front of the tavern ; bu 
 tS prevent people running over it, a label 
 was hung round its neck, on -hich was 
 written. " V m.l be killed to-morrow. 
 This seemed to prey heavily upon the tur- 
 tle's mind, for it waddled to and fro. evi- 
 
618 
 
 RECHKATI0N8 IN NATUUAL HISTOIIY. 
 
 '■<♦■«» 
 
 i.i 
 
 '^^1 
 
 i-b! 
 
 ■t-« 
 
 
 ■■H-. 
 
 
 (lently in a very excited Htnte, and a tear 
 wna seen distinctly to course down its left 
 cheek, and bedew Uio surrounding flair- 
 stones. The poor creature rolled about 
 with increasing uneasiness every minute, 
 till the lord-mayor's slate ciirringo happen- 
 ing to pass, it slipped off the pavement, and 
 foil deliberately under the forowhcels of 
 the cumbrous vehicle. It was picked up 
 a shapeless mass of hopeless callipash, 
 and mutilated callippee. " There is no 
 doubt," says Gunter, " that this was a pre- 
 meditated act of suicide, for it was proved 
 afterward that nothing but th^^ immense 
 weight of the lord-muyor's carnage could 
 have crushed the shell. Grief at its im- 
 pending fate evidently impelled the dis- 
 trartod turtle to the rash act." 
 
 Horses have been known to predict a 
 frost by going to the blacksmith's the day 
 before to ' c rough-shod. Franconi tells 
 a story os a mare who would never per- 
 form on the stage unless she was i-n the 
 side of the French. Her spirit of nation- 
 ality was such, that if she was carrying 
 an Englishman or an Austrian, she would 
 inv?niably throw him and then run over to 
 the side of the emperor. In this way she 
 has ol\en thrown Blucher and the Duke 
 of Wellington. Napoleon hearing of this 
 extraordinary trait of patriotism in a horse, 
 went expressly to the Cirque, and having 
 witnessed the fact with his own imperial 
 eyes, offered Franconi a whole regiment 
 of cavalry in exchange for the mare ; but 
 the French Ducrow, to his credit let it be 
 said, would not part with her. Napoleon 
 was piqued, but afterward decorated the 
 mare with the grand cross of the legion of 
 honor. 
 
 Pigs have been taught to spell. A sin- 
 gular anecdote is told of one, that indu- 
 bitably proves the force of early habit in 
 animals generally, but in a pig especially. 
 A learned sow, that was called " Bacon," 
 would always spell Vauxhall with a W. 
 This w!is always a matter of wonderment, 
 till it was ascertained that she had been 
 born on a market day in Smithfield mar- 
 ket. The inveterate misuse of the W at 
 once confirmed her cockney origin. 
 
 Le Vaillant, the African traveller, tells 
 some wonderful stories about the instinct 
 of the baboon. He travelled with one for 
 a long time as a guide. Its name was 
 
 Snees. Ho know the shops where the 
 best sherbet was to bo got. Being short 
 of butter once, Sneos brought him a num- 
 ber of cocoa-nuts, which he had thrown 
 about till the milk inside had become 
 churned. He watched by his master's 
 side evrry night, killing the nul^fl]uitoos 
 and fleas which swarm about the hanks 
 of the Nile. He often helped Lo Vail- 
 lant in unrolling the mummies, and pack- 
 ing up his trunks. Le Vaillant brought 
 this baboon to Europe, and Snees showed 
 his gratitude by saving his master's life. 
 Thieves were plundering the house, when 
 Snees ran to the alarm-bell, and never 
 ceased pulling it till the inmates were 
 alarmed ; the thieves were apprehended 
 just in time, for Le Vaillant says, when 
 he awoke there were two gentleme- .. 
 his bedside, the one with a pistol, t'.e oth- 
 er with a carving knife. The ■ ay Le 
 Vaillant died, this sagacious baboo j b' ke 
 a blacking bottle — whether accidem dlv or 
 not is not proved — which blacked ' 'ui 
 from head to foot ; but many persons r. ..o 
 knew Snees well, declare this was done 
 purposely, from a desire of the faithful an^ 
 imal to show respect to the memory of his 
 kind master, by going into mourning for 
 him. 
 
 The instinct of bears is equally won- 
 derful. There was one at th»i Zoological 
 gardens, who would never mount the pole 
 on a Sunday, because on that day no cakes 
 are allowed to be sold. 
 
 A lady of title informed Buffon that she 
 knew a blackbird who looked at the barom- 
 eter every morning, and would not go out 
 if it pointed to wet. An anecdote told by 
 a German naturalist of a beaver, is no less 
 wonderful than the above : he declares ho 
 saw a beaver weeping over the crown of 
 an old hat. Soon another beaver ap- 
 proached it, and she cried more piteously 
 than the first : then a number of young 
 beavers, attracted by their sobs, came run- 
 ning np, and they all cried too He ac- 
 counts for this by saying, th .r the hat 
 being made of beaver, the .iimals had 
 evidently recognised in it the skin of one 
 of their own kindred. " Who can say," 
 he asks, " whether this very hat was not to 
 them the sad remains of an affectionate 
 son — the only remembrance of a favorite 
 brother V 
 
r. 
 
 V the hhops where the 
 to 1)1) got. Deing Hhort 
 lecs liroiight him a nuin- 
 I, which ho had thrown 
 Ik inside had become 
 itched by his mustor's 
 
 killing thu tmisiiuitooM 
 iwarrn about tliu l)iuiks 
 
 often helped Lo Vail- 
 de mummies, and pack- 
 Le Vaillant brought 
 rope, i\iid Sncos showed 
 aving his master's life, 
 idering the house, when 
 I alarm-bell, and never 
 
 till the inmates were 
 ives were apprehended 
 iO Vaillant says, when 
 were two gentleme* ... 
 ne with a pistol, t' o oth- 
 I knife. The uy Le 
 
 sagacious babor i b'- ke 
 -whether accident ill) or 
 i — which blacked ' m.i 
 ; but many persons r. ..o 
 , declare this was done 
 desire of the faithful an- 
 ect to the memory of his 
 {oing into mourning for 
 
 f bears is equally won- 
 as one at thn Zoologioil 
 ild never mount the pole 
 luse on that day no cakes 
 sold. 
 
 informed Buflbn that she 
 who looked at the barom- 
 g, and would not go out 
 3t. An anecdote told by 
 ist of a beaver, is no less 
 ) above : he declares he 
 iping over the crown of 
 3n another beaver ap- 
 she cried more piteously 
 en a number of young 
 by their sobs, came run- 
 all cried too He ac- 
 »y saying, th f the hat 
 eaver, the amals had 
 jed in it the skin of one 
 Ired. " Who can say," 
 r this very hat was not to 
 lains of an affectionate 
 nembrance of a favorite 
 
 OBOTTO OF NEPTt'NB AT TlS OLI. 
 
 019 
 
 Cipliiin Tarry tells a story of a polar 
 boiir, wiiieh puts the iiixiincl of this ani- 
 Miitl beyond uil doubt ; lie had ^iveii it to 
 one of his sailors, who with this small 
 t:i|>i .1, stiirtid showman, and having 
 tau«bt the bear to danee, used to take it 
 about tile streets. The sailor afterward 
 ossureil Cu|)tain Parr) that ho never could 
 get the beiir to pass a barber'N shop; ho 
 aeeounted lor this by saying, that a» 
 " Ikar's grease was sold only at those 
 pjiitus, the animal was in a constant state 
 oi' fear, lest it should bo its fate to bo sold 
 in sixponnv pots." . 
 
 S Tho soi'iiii grosbeak, a bird which is 
 ' found aliout the cape of Good Hope, dis- 
 plays great ingenuity in builiimg its nest, 
 winch is construeteil as strongly nx pos- 
 sible, so as to keep out the March rains. 
 A (iciievese traveller records tho fact of 
 finding a wholo row of their nests, cov- 
 ered over at the roof with l)its of an old 
 mackintosli, which they had evidently 
 picked up from ono of the freciueiil wrecks 
 olV the coast. What but instinct could 
 hav tuid these sociabl. grosbeaks that 
 mackintoshes wore waterproof? 
 
 Many singular anecdotes are told of the 
 instinct of tho fox. Tho most probable 
 of lliobo wo have read, i.^ the ono of the 
 fox plundering a hen every morning of its 
 eggs, and leaving a piece of chalk, of the 
 same size as an egg, for every one he 
 
 stole. 
 
 The following is amusing, for it proves 
 ' that tho piirrot is not .so .stupid as he is 
 generally represented. Jack Sheppard, 
 when he had just escaped from Newgate 
 heard called out in a shrill voice, " Does 
 your mother know you're out ?' Jack was 
 frigUteiied at first, but recovered his usual 
 courage, when he found it was only a 
 parrot that was hanging over a green gro- 
 cer's door. 
 
 Tho instinct of the dog, and tho cat, and 
 the rat, is so well-known, thil ono anec- 
 dote we think, will sulhce to illustrate the 
 three. A terrier and a tom-cat were pur- 
 suing a largo rat down the street. The 
 rat was almost caught, when it dodged 
 suddenly and ran into a sausage shop. 
 The eat and dog stopped convulsively at 
 the door, and looking up at the yards of 
 sau=iages, hung down their heads and 
 slunk away quite terror-siricken. ihis 
 
 anecdote indubitably shows that solf-pres- 
 ervation is t' " first law of naliin-, lieside-i 
 proving that the feeling of veneration lor 
 the dead i^ much stronger in iinimals than 
 in men. 
 
 The following anecdoto is so astonish- 
 ing that wo can not help repeating it. We 
 should really doubt the truth of it, unh'ss 
 It was supported oy tho tcstunony of the 
 celebrated Walker. .Mr. Tiedein.iiin, tlic! 
 famous Saxon dentist, hail a valuaiile tor- 
 toise-shell cat that for days had done noth- 
 ing but moan. Guessing tlie cause, he 
 looked into its mouth, and seeing a de- 
 cayed tooth, soon relieved it of its pain. 
 .Vhe following morning there were at least 
 f.n cats outside his door— tho nay after 
 .;.!'. • .venty ; and they went on increasing 
 at such a rate, that ho was obliged to keep 
 a bull-dog to drive them away. lUit noth- 
 ing would help him. A cat who had the 
 tooih-acho, would como any number of 
 miles to sibmit its jaw to him. It would 
 como do-, u the chimney even, and not 
 leave tho i om till ho had taken its tooth 
 out. It grew such a nuisance at last, that 
 ho never w.s free from one of these fe- 
 line patients. However, being one morn- 
 ing very nervous, ho broke accidentally 
 tho jaw of an old tabby. The news of 
 this spread like wildfire. Not a single cat 
 ever came to him afterward. It is extra- 
 ordinary how tho cats, in the above in- 
 stance, acted like human beings ! 
 
 GROTTO OF NEPTUNE AT TIYOLI. 
 
 N ancient times, the falls 
 and wind'vgs of the 
 river Anio, constituted 
 the pride and ornament 
 of Tivoli, and they aro 
 no less celebrated at the 
 present day. Eustace 
 has described them in 
 his " Classical Tour," 
 The modern name of the Anio is the 
 Teverone. " This river," he says, " hav- 
 [u<r meandered from its source through the 
 vates of Sabina, glides gently through 
 Tivoli, till coming to the brink of a rock 
 
 I 
 
 » 
 
 
 i 
 
 40 
 

 
 
 
 wmjf 
 
 
 *a ;: 
 
 K 
 
 
SEiivrruDE. 
 
 (121 
 
 mm 
 
 
 
 »». * 
 
 i)i< 
 
 it precipitates itself in one mass down the 
 steep, and then, boiling for an instant in 
 its narrow channel, rushes headlong 
 through a chasm in the rock into the cav- 
 erns below. The first fall may be seen 
 from the window of the inn or from the 
 temple ; but it appears to the greatest ad- 
 vantage from the bridge thrown over the 
 narrow channel a little below it. From 
 this bridge also you may look down into 
 the shattered well, and observe, far be- 
 neath, the writhings and agitation of the 
 stream, ytruggling through its rocky pris- 
 on. To view the second fall, or descent 
 into the cavern, we went down through a 
 garden, by a winding path, into the nar- 
 row dell, through which the river flows 
 alK;r the cascade ; and placing ourselves 
 in unt of the cavern, beheld the Anio, in 
 two immense sheets, tumbling through two 
 different apertures, shaking the mountain 
 in its fall, and filling all thv3 cavities around 
 with spray and uproar. Though the rock 
 rises to the height of two hundred feet, 
 in a narrow semicircular form, clothed on 
 one side with shrubs and foliage, yet a 
 sufficient light breaks upon the cavern to 
 show its pendent rocks, agitated waters, 
 and craggy borders. About a hundred 
 pirces from the grotto, a natural bridge, 
 formed by the water working througii the 
 rock, enables the spectator to pass the riv- 
 er, and to take another view of the cas- 
 cade, less distinct with regard to the cav- 
 ern, but more enlarged, as it includes a 
 greater portion of the super-incumbent 
 rock in front, with the shagged banks on 
 both sides. The rock immediately above 
 and on the left is perpendicular, and 
 crowned with houses, while from an aper- 
 ture at its side, at a considerable height, 
 gushes a rill, too small to add either by its 
 sound or size, to the magnificence of the 
 scenery. The bank on the opposite side 
 is steep and shaggy, but leaves room for 
 little gardens and vineyards. On its sum- 
 mit stands the celebrated temple common- 
 ly called of the Sibyl, though by many an- 
 tiquaries supposed to belong to Vesta." 
 The path which leads to the GroUo of 
 Neptune is highly picturesque. 
 
 Tivoli IS but 20 miles from Rome ; and 
 few leave that city without visiting a place 
 possessed of such grand and striking sce- 
 nery, and so rich in classical associations. 
 
 SERVITUDE. 
 
 T is a curious consid- 
 eration, that at all times 
 there should have been 
 so large a proportion of 
 mankind in the condition 
 of servitude. This state 
 is found in all but the 
 rudest ami most meager 
 conmumities, such as 
 that which overspread North America be- 
 fore its colonization ; and even in these 
 communities there is a form of service, 
 in as far as the women are compelled by 
 the men to do the hardest and meanest 
 work. It seems to bo natural in human 
 society for a certain number, comparative- 
 ly small in amount, to take the i)laee of 
 masters over the rest — or (to change the 
 form, without changing the substance of 
 the idea) for a certam large number to fall 
 into the place of servants under the rest. 
 The proportions of the numbers are dif- 
 ferent in diflercnt societies, and in differ- 
 ent conditions of tiiese societies, but nev- 
 er to so great an extent as to affect the 
 proposition, that the great bulk of the peo- 
 ple are in a dependent state. There are 
 also diflerenees in the character of ser- 
 vice : an early form of it is attended by 
 a complete surrender of personal free- 
 dom — in short, slavery ; afterward, this is 
 modified into the state of feudal service, 
 where the person is not absolutely the 
 property of the master, but only the will 
 is at his command ; finally, the relation of 
 a servant to a master is improved into a 
 simple legal bargain, by which certain du- 
 ties are undertaken for wages or hire. 
 Still, in all these characters there is one 
 distinct feature, a power in the one party 
 to order and direct, accompanied by a ne- 
 cessity in the other to concede and obey. 
 And this arrangement has existed indiffer- 
 ently in connexion with all forms of gov- 
 ernment, despoticiil, republican, and mix- 
 ed, as if it were a matter with which ]w- 
 litical arrangements had nothing to do, or 
 as if the master part of the community 
 wtjre the only persons concerned in af- 
 fairs of state. Even slavery, the worst 
 form of service, has existed quietly for 
 centuries under republican forms, as in 
 
"■'t-w„ 
 
 '':^m 
 
 ill 
 
 ■■•., ! 
 
 022 
 
 SEaVITUDE. 
 
 Greece and Rome: tlie masters, in these 
 iiistiuices, manifesting all possible zeal 
 against any encroachment on their politi- 
 cal liberties, withont ever once dreaming 
 that their poor helots were human beings 
 like themselves, who might be supposed 
 to feel at least as much vexation at a to- 
 tal deprivation of their personal liberty, as 
 their superiors experienced when some 
 little interference was attempted with their 
 elective rights, or a Pericles or a Caesar 
 began to enjoy a dangerous degree of in- 
 llucnce in the areopagus or the senate. 
 
 An arrangement so universal as servi- 
 tude, and so conspicuous at almost all 
 times, and under almost all circumstances, 
 may be presumed to be founded in nature. 
 If not so, it is at least remarkably accom- 
 modated to nature ; but the more rational 
 supposition, is, that nature dictates the ar- 
 rangement, and provides for it. A careful 
 observer will, I think, be at no loss to see 
 evidences of the truth of this proposition 
 in common life. Individuals, who have 
 long acted extremely well, and lived hap- 
 pily, as servants, or while employed and 
 directed by others, are often found to do 
 very differently when they become mas- 
 ters. A demand seems then to be made 
 upon them for faculties which they do not 
 possess. They appear to want powers 
 of management, firnmess, and energy, to 
 play a Jirst part well ; they hesitate, gel 
 confused, and take wrong courses ; or they 
 are facile, and submit to be misled by un- 
 worthy counsel. Their utter failure in 
 the objects they had in view, is the una- 
 voidable consequence, and they sink once 
 more into subordination, there to be again 
 at ease, and happy. Nay, so nicely does 
 nature work, that there is a class of minds 
 which seem specially fitted to be seconds 
 in command — having a charge over some, 
 but subject to one other, of energy a de- 
 gree superior. Such was Ajax to Achil- 
 les ; such Murat to Napoleon. General- 
 ly, these lieulenautb are possessed of some 
 excellent qualities— unshrinking courage, 
 unshakable fidelity, untiring zeal and de- 
 votion, but want the very highest powers 
 of intellect, and therefore when, by fatal 
 chance, made masters, go utterly wrong, 
 and come to destruction — .Murat himself 
 an example. It is therefore to be pre- 
 sumed that they were designed by Provi- 
 
 dence only for the second place. While 
 kept there, they are fulfilling their mis- 
 sion : let them aspire to a higher, and they 
 at once go out of their proper sphen? ; 
 their powers and duties are out of harmo- 
 ny ; and they fail as a matter of course. I 
 Perhaps it would not be too mt:ch to say, | 
 that even third and fourth degrees of com- ; 
 mand are provided for in the many various ' 
 mental constitutions which nature produ- 
 ces. Not that, in every case, these par- 
 ticular constitutions are fixed at one point 
 throughout the whole of life. Many must 
 advance from one point to another by the 
 natural progress of the mind from its non- 
 age to its maturity, or in consequence o{ 
 educating and edifying circumstances. 
 Upon this depends that system of promo- 
 tion which exists in all liberal institutions, 
 as well as private establishments. Hut it 
 is nevertheless true that particular minds, 
 in the particular conditions in which they 
 are for the time, are specially adapted for 
 such grades of command, and for no other. 
 It must here also bo observed, that in- 
 dividuals who are at first in the condition 
 of service, often emerge into that of mas- 
 tership, and act as well in the one capa- 
 city as the other. This is no exception to 
 the rule ; it is only an additional illustra- 
 tion of it. Circumstances, not nature, 
 were the cause of the original situation ; 
 but nature brought about the change. 
 These individuals were fitted by their 
 mental constitution for the higher function, 
 and could not rest till they attained it. 
 Fortune gave them their first place, not 
 the second, though it is customary to speak 
 of such changes as the work of the blind 
 goddess. So also does it sometimes hap- 
 pen, that those born above service decline 
 into it ; and this in like manner, is gener- 
 ally the effect of natural character opera- 
 ting in despite of circumstances. 
 
 To dwell a little longer on the idea of a 
 natural institution for producing this great 
 social arrangement — it seems to depend 
 more immediately and expressly on gen- 
 eral force of character, than upon any 
 special powers of intellect. Pevsons in 
 subordinate situations often display great 
 ingenuity and very considerable powers 
 of thought ; otherwise, indeed, they would 
 not be fitted for the duties which they are 
 expected to perform. But they are usu- 
 
lecond place. While 
 B fulfilling their inis- 
 p toaliight>r, and they 
 their proper sphere ; 
 ties are out of hiirtno- 
 is a matter of course, 
 /t be too m!:ch to say, 
 fourth degrees of com- 
 or in the many various 
 which nature produ- 
 jvery C3se, these par- 
 are fixed at one point 
 le of life. Many must 
 oint to another by the 
 the mind from its non- 
 or in consequence oi 
 ifying circumstances, 
 that system of proino- 
 all liberal instilutionr,, 
 istablishments. Hut it 
 
 that particular minds, 
 nditions in which they 
 e specially adapted for 
 mand, and for no other. 
 D be observed, that in- 
 it first in the condition 
 nergo into that of mas- 
 well in the one capa- 
 rhis is no exception to 
 ■ an additional illustra- 
 mstances, not nature, 
 the original situation ; 
 It about the change. 
 
 were fitted by their 
 for the higher function, 
 it till they attained it. 
 n their first place, not 
 it is customary to speak 
 s the work of the blind 
 does it sometimes hap- 
 n above service decline 
 1 like manner, is gener- 
 latural character opera- 
 circumstances, 
 i longer on the idea of a 
 for producing this great 
 It — it seems to depend 
 and expressly on gen- 
 iracter, than upon any 
 ' intellect. Persons in 
 ons often display great 
 •y considerable powers 
 .vise, indeed, they would 
 e duties which they are 
 rm. But they are usu- 
 
 SEllVITUDE. 
 
 G2.3 
 
 ally deficient in self-confidence and nmbi- 
 lioii ; they are ofien timid, and disposed 
 to rest satisfied with a moderate certainty, 
 rather than undertake a risk for the sake 
 of even the most tempting advantages. 
 Their tastes and propensities have gener- 
 ally consideralile power over them ; and, 
 these being gratified, they wish for noth- 
 ing more. It seems to be mainly owing 
 to such causes that the gr(!at bulk of man- 
 kind are ccuitont to give their entire servi- 
 ces to those who can only afford them the 
 necessaries, and a few of the luxuries of 
 life. What, on the other hand, prompts 
 men to seek the master position, and do 
 all they can to maintain themselves in it, 
 seems "to be mainly a general energy of 
 nature, which knows not to submit, and 
 will not rest with humble things. Self- 
 esteem, the love of distinction, the desire 
 of gain, and the feeling which delights to 
 meet and overcome ditficulties, appear to 
 be main elements in this impulse ; and all 
 of these are not intellectual, but ser.dment- 
 al faculties. There may also be superior 
 imellecv ' . -nany cases ; but what I would 
 conteiiii ,' , that the impulsive part of 
 our natui • Is probably what is most con- 
 cerned in selecting the individuals who 
 are to form the class of masters. On any 
 such subject as this, it is well to ascertain, 
 if possible, what is the declaration of na- 
 ture herself. Those who look into phys- 
 iology for explanations of our mental sys- 
 tem, find that the larger volumed brains 
 are those which usually rise to the higher 
 places in society ; and some curious proofs 
 of this proposition have been adduced. 
 It is sometimes the practice of hat-makers 
 to have four sizes for crowns, the smallest 
 of which is required for the hats of boys, 
 the next for day-laborers and servants, 
 while the largest size is required by the 
 professional and upper classes. An ex- 
 tensive hat-maker in London has stated 
 that the sizo of hats generally required 
 there for the men who fulfil the duties of 
 the humbler walks of life, ure under sev- 
 en inches in diameter at the part in con- 
 tact with the head, while the hats required 
 in other departments of society are gen- 
 erally above seven inches. This seems 
 to show that the entire volume of the head, 
 not that minor part alone which is sup- 
 posed to be devoted to the intellectual 
 
 functions, is what produces the grades of 
 society. 
 
 It may perhaps occur to some, that there 
 is a disrespect toward a large portion ol 
 mankind, in considering ihem as placed 
 by a natural institution in inferior positions. 
 But this idea will vunish when the sub- 
 ject is viewed in a proper li'^ht. There 
 is, in reality, nothing either flattering to 
 one party, or derogatory from the other, 
 in attributing peculiarities which are sim- 
 ply the gift of nature : the possession of 
 a super-average brain is no more a boast 
 than the being six feet high ; neither is 
 the having a small one more a discredit 
 than the being only five feet six. Nature 
 makes both for ends which are intended 
 to be generally beneficial, and the one is 
 as essential to the grand design as the 
 other. Considering that in general ser- 
 vice is the natural destiny for which a 
 large portion of mankind seems fitted, it 
 becomes the duty of all who are placed in 
 that situation to rest satisfied with an en- 
 deavor to turn it to the best account in 
 their power, and to be very careful to as- 
 certain if they have a real vocation to a 
 higher position, before venturing out of 
 •heir original sphere. They may be ful- 
 ly assured that, if only formed for a sub- 
 ordinate function, and io live as depend- 
 ents of some stronger minds which can 
 take care of them, they will not be secu- 
 ring Uieir happiness, but endangering it, 
 by aspiring to become masters. It may 
 be born m mind by them, that, in the 
 lowlier place, if less honored and distin- 
 guished, they are also saved from many 
 evils which are hazaru^ ^ r-ndured by 
 
 their superiors. These, <i^ I'ying ''•" 
 
 front rank, have to bear the of eve- 
 
 ry battle. Loaded with graw . tirs, and 
 harassed by anxieties, they oaen spend 
 far more wretched lives than the humblest 
 of serfs. And how often do all their best- 
 laid and most steadily-pursued schemes 
 end in disappointment ! Alas for man, 
 and his many aims and doings, how little 
 distinction is there to be seen, in many in- 
 stances, at the last, between tlie life that 
 has appeared most brilliant, and that which 
 has seemed the most obscure ! How of- 
 ten is the exalted seen to be foolishly 
 pufled up, and the lowly most needlessly 
 invidious ! On the other hand, the advau- 
 
 
f 
 
 ilia 
 
 Oi 
 
 
 I»tt|» 
 
 C24 
 
 THE LANDING OF JULIUS CjESAU IN ENGLAND. 
 
 I«M»| 
 
 ta"os enjoyed by 'hose who serve reed 
 scarcely be enumerated, as they are so 
 obvious — an abnost certain supply of all 
 the ni:iiii requisites of life — duties which, 
 being definite, occasion no feverish ex- 
 citement or fret — exemption from all the 
 taxing responsibilities which so much em- 
 biiter the existence of their superiors. 
 The results of the lives of both classes 
 seem to come more nearly to an equality, 
 than the fact of its being a point of ambi- 
 tion to rise from the one to tlie other would 
 seem lo indicate. We deceive ourselves, 
 if we think this ambition an acknowledg- 
 ment of there being a real superiority in 
 the one state over the other. It is only 
 the exponent of a kind of mind to which 
 the lower state is imsuitable, and which 
 desires to be engaged in circumstances 
 and duties in harmony with itself. 
 
 If the relation of master and servant — 
 superior and dependant — were correctly 
 understood, an improvement to the happi- 
 ness of both parties might be the conse- 
 quence. It is simply an arrangement for 
 a distribution of duties with a regard to the 
 natural or acquired qualifications of indi- 
 viduals, and therefore does not necessarily 
 imply any right on the one side to domi- 
 neer, or a duty on the other to be over-obse- 
 quious. The commands and obediences 
 which the relation implies, may very well 
 consist with a degree of kindly regard on 
 the master's part, and of respectful attach- 
 ment on the servant's, which would tend 
 to make the situation of both agreeable. 
 There is one point in the conduct of the 
 former to which too much attention can 
 not be given — an avoidance of everything 
 in language and in deed that can make a 
 servant feel his situation to be one at all 
 compromising his personal respectability 
 or freedom. 
 
 Servants are often cooped up in a more 
 or less solitary manner, without permission 
 either to go abroad or to receive visits, and 
 are expected in these circumstances to be 
 perfectly happy, as well as cheerfully as- 
 siduous in the performance of their duties. 
 It is an outrage on nature, and therefore 
 nothing but evil can come of it. The so- 
 cial feelings of servants call for exercise, 
 as well as those of their masters and mis- 
 tresses, and a reasonable indulgence should 
 be allowed to them. 
 
 LANDING OF JFLIUS CESAR IN 
 ENGLAND. 
 
 T ten o'clock on 
 a morning in an- 
 tuinii (llalley the 
 astronomer, has 
 p.hnosi demon- 
 strated, in a pa- 
 per in the " Phil- 
 osophical Tran- 
 sactions," that it 
 must have been 
 on the 26lh of August, B. C. 55), Cresar 
 reached the British coast, near Dover, at 
 about the worst possible point to effect a 
 landing in face of an enemy, and the Brit- 
 ons were not disposed to be friends. The 
 submission they had offered through their 
 ambassadors was intended only to preveiit 
 or retard invasion ; and seeing it fail of 
 either of these effects, on the return of 
 their ambassadors with Comins, as Cic- 
 sar's envoy, they made that prince a pris- 
 oner, loaded him with chains, prepared 
 for their defence as well as the shortness 
 of time would permit ; and when the Ro- 
 mans looked from their ships to the steej) 
 white cliffs above them, they saw them 
 covered all over by the armed Britons. 
 Finding that this was not a convenient 
 landing-place, Ctesar resolved to lie by 
 till the third hour after noon, in order, he 
 says, to wait the arrival of the rest of his 
 fleet. Some laggard vessels appear to 
 have come up, but the eighteen transports, 
 bearing the cavalry, were nowhere seen. 
 Caesar, however, favored by both wind 
 and tide, proceeded at the appointed hour, 
 and sailing about seven miles further along 
 the coast, prepared to land his forces, on 
 an open, flat shore, which presents itself 
 between Walmer Castle aiid Sandwich. 
 The Britons on the cliffs, perceiving his 
 design, followed his motions, and sending 
 their cavalry and war-chariots before, 
 marched rapidly on with their main force 
 to oppose his landing anywhere. Caesar 
 confesses that the opposition of the na- 
 tives was a bold one, and that the difllcul- 
 ties he had to encounter were very great 
 on many accounts ; but superior skill and 
 discipline, and the employment of some 
 military engines on board the war-galleys, 
 to which the British were unaccustomed, 
 
^:n 
 
 lND. 
 
 'LI us CESAR IN 
 LAND. 
 
 T ten o'clock on 
 a morniiiL' in aii- 
 tiiinn (Hallcy tbo 
 astronomer, luis 
 p.linost (Ifinon- 
 ix strated, in a pa- ! 
 '^^ per in the " Pliil- 
 osopliicnf TriiiT- 
 saetions," that it 
 must liave be';n 
 ust, B. C. 55), CiPsar 
 1 coast, near Dovor, at 
 sible point to effect a 
 n enemy, and tiie Brit- 
 led to be friends. The 
 d offered through their 
 tended only to prevent 
 ; and scein<» it fail of 
 iecis, on the returT> of 
 with Comins, as Cre- 
 ade that prince a pris- 
 with chains, prepared 
 1 well as the shortness 
 lit ; and when the ]?o- 
 heir ships to the steep 
 them, they saw them 
 ly the armed Britons, 
 was not a convenient 
 tar resolved to lie by 
 fter noon, in order, he 
 rival of the rest of his 
 ird vessels appear to 
 ;he eighteen transports, 
 ■, were nowhere seen. 
 avored by both wind 
 I at the appointed hour, 
 jven miles further along 
 to land his forces, on 
 , which presents itself 
 Castle aiid Sandwich, 
 e cliffs, perceiving his 
 s motions, and sending 
 1 war-chariots before, 
 J with their main force 
 ,ng anywhere. Caesar 
 opposition of the na- 
 le, and that the difficul- 
 lunter were very great 
 ; but superior skill and 
 I employment of some 
 I board the war-galleys, 
 ih were unaccustomed, 
 
>N 
 
 . 4 
 
 ■ v i 
 
 
 
 '■■ .*«* 
 
 626 
 
 LANDING OP JULIUS CiESAR IN ENGLAND. 
 
 and which projected missiles of various 
 kinds, at last triumphed over them, and 
 ho disembarked his two legions. Wo 
 must not o.Tiit llic aot of tho standard- 
 bearer of the tenth Ji.'frion, wlu.'h has been 
 thought deserving of particuiiit conmem- 
 oration by his gcn«,Jal. Whilo tho ilo uin 
 soldiers were ii;>sita;ing to leave th-; nhips, 
 chiefly deterrr*', a.cor iing ?:; (/ffisn';; ac- 
 count, by the depth uf thu water, l;ii.v 3fli- 
 cer, having firs' solemnly besought the 
 gods that what he was about to do might 
 j,..rove fortunate for the legion, and then 
 'jxclaiming with a loud voice, " Follow 
 me, mv fellow-soldiers, vnlcss you will 
 f;ive Uj) yoivr f;a;]lo to tho enemy ! I, at 
 least, ivill do my duty to (he repuiiUc and 
 to our LCen-jril !" loippd iiUo the Kea as he 
 spoke, iin(i dished vhh his ensign among 
 the enemy '« ranks. The men instantly 
 followed their heroic leader ; and the sol- 
 diers in tho other ships, excited by the 
 example, also crowded forward along with 
 them. The two armies were for some 
 time mixed in combat ; but at length the 
 Britons withdrew in disorder from the 
 well-conteM .1 beach. As their cavalry, 
 however, wa- not yet arrived, the Romans 
 could not pursue them or advance into the 
 island, which Caesar says prevented his 
 rendering the i ictory complete. 
 
 The native maritime tribes, thus defeat- 
 ed, sought the advantage of a hollow peace. 
 They despatched ambassadors to Ceesar, 
 offering hostages and an entire submission. 
 They liberated Comius, and restored him 
 to his employer, throwing the blame of the 
 harsh treatment his envoy had met with 
 upon tho multitude or common people, and 
 entreating Ctesar to excuse a fault which 
 proceeded solely from tne popular igno- 
 rance. The conqueror, after reproaching 
 them for sending of their own accord am- 
 bassadors into Gaul to sue for peace, and 
 then making war upon him without any 
 reason, forgave them their offences, and 
 ordered them to send in a certain number 
 of hostages, as security for tiieir good be- 
 havior in future. Some of these hosta- 
 ges were prr seated iumiediately, and the 
 Britons pri, .;• 1 to deliver the rest, who 
 lived at a iV ...t-e, in the course of a few 
 dayp. Tl ' siative forces then seemed en- 
 tirely i'>c!'.?mued, and the several chiefs 
 came v.- i uJour's camp to offer allegiance, 
 
 and negotiate or intrigue for their own 
 separate interests. 
 
 On the day that this peace was conclu- 
 ded, and not before, the unlucky transports 
 with the Roman cavalry, were fiiabled to 
 quit their port on the coast of Gaul. They 
 stood across the channel with a gentle 
 gale ; but when they ncared the British 
 coast, and were even within view of Csb- 
 sar's camp, they were dispersed by a tem- 
 pest, and were finally obliged to return to 
 the port where they had been so long de- 
 tained, and whence they had set out that 
 morning. That very night, Ca;sar says, 
 it happened to be full moon, when the 
 tides always rise highest, " a fact at that 
 time wholly unknown to the Romans," 
 and the galleys which he had with him, 
 and which were hauled up on the beach, 
 were filled with the rising waters, while 
 his heavier transports, that lay at anchor 
 in the roadstead, were either dashed to 
 pieces, or rendered altogether unfit for 
 sailing. This disaster spread a general 
 consternation through the camp ; for, as 
 every legionary knew, there were no oth- 
 er vessels to carry back the troops, nor 
 any materials with the army to repair the 
 ships that were disabled ; and as it iiad 
 been from the beginning Caisar's design 
 not to winter in Britain, but in Gaul, he 
 was wholly unprovided with corn and pro- 
 visions to feed his troops. Suetonius 
 says, that during the nine years Caisar 
 held the military command in Gaul, amid 
 a most brilliant series of successes^ ho 
 experienced only three signal disasters ; 
 and he counts the almost entire destruc- 
 tion of his fleet by a storm in Britain as 
 one of the three. 
 
 Nor were the invaded people slow in 
 perceiving the extent of Caesar's calamity, 
 and devising means to profit by it. They 
 plainly saw he was in want of cavalry, 
 provisions, and ships ; a close inspection 
 showed that his troops were not so nu- 
 merous as they had fancied, and probably 
 familiarized them in some measure to their 
 warlike weapons and demeanor; and they 
 confidently hoped, that by defeating this 
 force, or surrounding and cutting oil" their 
 retreat, and starving them, they should 
 prevent all future invasions. The chiefs 
 in the camp, having previously held secret 
 consultations among themselves, retired, 
 
ntriguo for their own 
 
 liis peaco was conclu- 
 
 the unlucky transports 
 I'alry, wcro enabled to 
 I coast of Gaul. They 
 hannel with a gentle 
 ey neared the British 
 sn within view of Cae- 
 re dispersed by a tem- 
 ly obliged to return to 
 ! had been so long de- 
 
 they had set out that 
 ry night, Cocsar says, 
 full moon, when the 
 ghest, " a fact at that 
 wn to the Romans," 
 lich he had with him, 
 uled up on the beach, 
 3 rising waters, while 
 irl„, that lay at anchor 
 vere either dashed to 
 1 altogether unfit for 
 ster spread a general 
 gh the camp ; for, a? 
 iw, there were no oth- 
 
 back the troops, nor 
 the army to repair the 
 cabled ; and as it hud 
 nning Cffisar's design 
 itain, but in Gaul, ho 
 led with corn and i)ro- 
 s troops. Suetonius 
 ho nine years Ca;sar 
 Humand in Gaul, amid 
 ries of successesj ho 
 iree signal disasters ; 
 Eilmost entire destruc- 
 
 a storm in Britain as 
 
 vaded people slow in 
 It of Caesar's calamity, 
 
 to profit by it. They 
 J in want of cavalry, 
 IS ; a close inspection 
 )ops were not so nu- 
 
 fancied, and probably 
 
 some measure to their 
 id demeanor; and they 
 hat by defeating this 
 g and cutting otf their 
 ig them, they should 
 ivasions. The chiefs 
 
 previously held secret 
 I themselves, retired, 
 
 THE IRON AGE. 
 
 ('.•27 
 
 by degrees, from the Romans, and began 
 to draw the islanders together. Cajsar 
 says, tiiat though he was not fully apprized 
 of their designs, ho partly guessed them, 
 and from their delay in sending in the hos- 
 tages promised from a distance, and from 
 other circumstances, and instantly took 
 measures to provide for the worst, lie 
 set part of his army to repair his shattered 
 fleet, using the materials of the vessels 
 most injured to patch up the rest; and as 
 the soldiers wrought with an indefatigabil- 
 ity suiting the dangerous urgency of the 
 case, he had soon a number of vessels 
 fit for sea. He then sent to Gaul, for oth- 
 er materials wanting, and probably for 
 some provisions also. Another portioa of 
 his troops he employed in foraging parties, 
 to bring into the camp what corn they 
 could collect in the adjacent country. 
 This supply could not have been great, 
 for the natives had everywhere gathered 
 in their harvest, except in one field ; and 
 there, by lying in ambush, the Britons 
 made a bold and bloody attack, which had 
 well nigh proved fatal to the invaders. 
 As one of the two legions that formed the 
 expedition were cutting down the corn in 
 that field, Ca;sar, who was in his fortified 
 camp, suddenly saw a great cloud of dust 
 in that direction. He rushed to the spot 
 wiih two cohorts, leaving orders for all 
 the other soldiers of the legion to follow 
 as soon as possible. His arrival was 
 very opportune, for he found the legion 
 which had been surprised in the cornfield, 
 and which had suffered considerable loss, 
 now surrounded and pressed on all sides 
 by the cavalry and war-chariots of the 
 British, who had been concealed by the 
 neighboring woods. He succeeded in 
 bringing off the engaged legion, with 
 which he withdrew to his intrenched 
 camp, declining a general engagement for 
 the present. Heavy rains, that follo^yed 
 for some days, confined the Romans with- 
 in their intrenchments. Meanwhile, the 
 British force of horse and foot was in- 
 creased from all sides, and they gradu- 
 ally drew round the intrenchments. Cae- 
 sar, anticipating their attack, marshalled 
 his legions outside of the camp, and, at 
 the proper moment, fell upon the island- 
 ers, who, he says, not being able to sus- 
 tain the shock, were soon put to flight. 
 
 In this victory he attaches great impor- 
 tance to a body of thirty horse, which Co- 
 mius, the Atrebalian, had brought over 
 from Gaul. The Romans pursued tlie fu- 
 gitives as far as their strength would per- 
 mit ; they slaughtered many of then), set 
 fire to some houses and villages, and then 
 returned again to the protection of their 
 camp. On the same day the Britons 
 again sued for peace, and Cicsar, being 
 anxious to return to Gaul as quickly as 
 possible, " because the equinox was ap- 
 proaching, and his ships were leaky," 
 granted it to them on no harder condition 
 than that of doubling the number of hos- 
 tages ihey had promised after their first 
 defeat He did not even wait for the hos- 
 tages, but a fair wind springing up, he set 
 sail at midnight, and arrived safely in Gaul. 
 
 THE IRON AGE. 
 
 ^E live in the iron 
 age, as poets, from 
 time immemorial, 
 sung of the days in 
 which they lived. 
 Who has not heard 
 that the ago of chiv- 
 alry is gone — that 
 the spirit of poe- 
 try has left this world — that the sordid 
 vices of Mammon, restless and vigilant, 
 have extinguished in our time the true 
 constituents of happiness — faith, hope, and 
 love. 
 
 There was much of poetical and moral 
 beauty, and of philosophical truth, though 
 darkly obscured, in many opinions and 
 superstitions which, literally understood, 
 were erroneous or idolatrous. In the degra- 
 ding system of polythei.>'in itself, the dev- 
 otee dimly recognised the power and pres- 
 ence of the only and universal God, who by 
 day and night, through the varied phenom- 
 ena of nature, ever speaks with a still 
 voice to the soul of the intelligent and pi- 
 ous worshipper. And llius in many an 
 error and superstition of bygone ages there 
 was originally a moral and a meaning 
 which we have not always advantageous- 
 ly exchanged for the proud intelligence of 
 
 
!^ 
 
 iliai 
 
 '^! 
 
 !!t:i 
 
 
 
 028 
 
 THE IRON AOE. 
 
 *«•«»!. 
 
 our own. But those who deem that poe- 
 try and romaeicn have left us, proclaim on- 
 ly tlifir own (iuiness. Nature is yet fresh 
 in her ix-auly as she was ccnlnries ago — 
 the skies, rivers, forests, lakes, the blue 
 oeean, the overlasiing mountains, ami the 
 varyiu!^ Measons arc all to him " who has 
 a soul aliiniod ariyht," as glorious as ever. 
 Tlie luipcM anil buoyancy of youth — over 
 extinguished by advancing years and re- 
 produced in till) child — the calmer and 
 more resolute passions of inaturcr age — 
 " whatever stirs this mortal frame," shall 
 furnisli the materials of romance .and po- 
 etry so l(in;» as tlio world and tlio divine 
 portions of our nature continue to exist. 
 
 Wo live in the iron age, but iron has 
 aceomplislieil for us results of which the 
 poet or alchymist never dreamed. The 
 native of our woods coidd only by a most 
 wearisome process fell the tree which the 
 iron axo so quickly prostrates — the instru- 
 ment through which the ground, so rucenl- 
 ly covered with I'oresis and tenanted by 
 wild animal, bus become dotted by the 
 lloeks and cities of a civilized nation, 
 whose rapid peopling of an entire conti- 
 nent, familiar and common-place to us, 
 shall be the theme of poetry and wonder 
 to many a future age. Our weapons, more 
 terrible than lightning, teach us the folly 
 of war. One instrument of science shows 
 us myriads of animated beings, susceptible 
 of pleasure and pain in the drop of stag- 
 nant water, and covering in similar pro- 
 portions nearly all matter, while another 
 disjjlays to our vision the mountains and 
 oceans of hea\ enly orbs, and teaches us 
 that far in the regions of infinite space 
 are innumerable worlds, each it may be 
 e(iualling our own, and like it, teeming in 
 its atoms, with life incalculable. Ma- 
 chinery which to the Roman or Greek 
 would have appeared impossible, propels 
 the huge train of carriages on the iron 
 road, and urges the iron boat against the 
 power of wind and water, through the 
 storms of mid-ocean, or the crashing and 
 solemn icebergs, where the ordinary ship 
 must inevitably perish. 
 
 A recent publication of high authority 
 assures us that " writing paper has been 
 manufactured from iron, and that books 
 with both leaves and binding have been 
 made from the same material." 
 
 Manufncturing machinery performs the 
 work of millions of men ; and chymislry 
 in a thousand methods produces cliaiigea 
 more beneficial than the avaricious alchy- 
 mist vainly toiled to discover When ilio 
 Macedonian conqueror .Vlexandt r wished 
 to prove the truth of the Delpiii.in oracle, 
 knowing no better test, Ik asked to bo 
 told what his father then at a distance was 
 doing. Our magnetic telegraph, claiming 
 no supernatural agency, might accurately 
 have answered — and by the same myste- 
 rious and subjugated power, the recent 
 corpse ilse !f, starling rudely as if indig- 
 nant at the interruption of its last repose, 
 may bo roused into energy wild and lil'o- 
 like, but transient. The discoverit j of 
 science, and varied information of the arts 
 and thoughts of other men and n:itions, 
 are dillused through the iiiediiim of the 
 iron press. We in our iron ajj<' have re- 
 alized things more wonderful, than nursed 
 amid the romance of wild Arabia, 
 
 " Tlio wandering tribos ro'|uiic, 
 Strotclicd in llic desert round tlio ovniing; firo." 
 
 It is true that the fairy tales and strange 
 legends which our forefathers ceased to 
 believe have now become almost extinct. 
 The chivalry and glory, pomp and savage 
 sports of feudalism have departed, but like 
 a gaudy and imperfect picture, or the illu- 
 minated transparency of a theatre, the fas- 
 cination of feeling which we experience 
 when regarding them through distance 
 or darkness, changes upon a closer view 
 in the light of day to indignant dissatis- 
 faction. Rather than admire the spirit of 
 those times, which colored and gilt by 
 time and imagination may sometimes ap- 
 pear poetically beautiful, as clouds of nox- 
 ious vapor receive from the sun a brillian- 
 cy which is not their own, we should re- 
 gret that in dark places of the earth are 
 legends and stories as unreasonable as ev- 
 er, and that ancient feudalism, tyrannical 
 as it was, is surpassed by modern slavery. 
 
 A few only of the sublime and wonder- 
 ful discoveries of our age have been men- 
 tioned. Volumes would not suffice to tell 
 all. The riches of the past, most of its 
 histories, experience, literature, and in« 
 ventions — itself no poorer for the legacy — 
 the vast discoveries and powers of the 
 present day— and the bright hope for the 
 future, which, reasoning from that which 
 
 
nschinery performs the 
 )f men ; and diymislry 
 lio'ls produciJS tliiiiiiifa 
 m the aviiriciou'f alcliy- 
 to discover. W'Ik'ii ilio 
 icror Alcxaiidir wislicd 
 of tlio Di'ljiiiiiii oratlo, 
 r t(!st, he iiskrd to 1)0 
 r tluMi at a distanre was 
 otic telegrapli, chiiiiiing 
 ;ency, might accurately 
 md by tho samo myste- 
 ited power, tho recent 
 :ing rudely ns i( iudig- 
 iption of its last r(!poso, 
 
 energy wild and lifo- 
 t. Tho discoverii i of 
 
 1 information of tho arts 
 )lher men and nations, 
 gh the medium of tiio 
 n our iron ag(^ have re- 
 
 I wonderful, than nursed 
 
 of wihl Arabia, 
 
 eriiig tribes ro(|iiii'o, 
 
 icrl round tlic ovoiiiii3 firo." 
 
 le fairy tales and strange 
 
 r forefathers ceased to 
 
 become almost extinct. 
 
 glory, pomp and savage 
 
 II have departed, but like 
 rfect picture, or tlie iilu- 
 acy of a theatre, tlie fas- 
 [ which we experience 
 them through distance 
 ges upon a closer view 
 ly to indignant dissatis- 
 han admire the spirit of 
 :h colored and gilt by 
 ion may sometimes ap- 
 autiful, as clouds of nox- 
 
 I from the sun a brillian- 
 leir own, we should re- 
 places of the earth are 
 s as unreasonable as cv- 
 it feudalism, tyrannical 
 (sed by modern slavery, 
 the sublime and wonder- 
 our age have been men- 
 would not suffice to tell 
 of the past, most of its 
 nee, literature, and in- 
 3 poorer for the legacy — 
 ies and powers of the 
 the bright hope for the 
 soning from that which 
 
 f 
 
 HAUPLIA. 
 
 r.-29 
 
 lias already occurred, we dare not limit- 
 are all lor us , but in tiinuits hiiinililij we 
 axk oiirsrlvcx if the inrnnse of liaj>iiinfss 
 and virtue is prupuiiwiiiilc to the increase 
 of kiiouUilfr, — whether as children of the 
 ninvlreiith century, heirs to its we.ijth aid 
 power, ue use our inheritance to the bust 
 advantage , 
 
 NAUPLIA. 
 
 ^, HE town of Nauplia, 
 S or Napoli di Roma- 
 nia, is situated along 
 tho foot of an abrupt 
 rocky promontory of 
 considerable eleva- 
 f'ifjy^^!'^ tion, which projects 
 V » into the sea at the 
 
 liead of the gulf bearing tho same name. 
 It occupies the whole length of tho nar- 
 row strip of low land between tho clilfs 
 and the siiore, so that further enlargement 
 is impracticable. It is well foriilied, and 
 enclosed by walls on which the " winged 
 lion" is still visible, in proof of their Ve- 
 netian construction, and though miserably 
 bad, is, upon the whole, one of the best 
 l)uilt towns in the Morea, of which it is 
 justly considered t(» be tho maritime key. 
 It is admirably situated, both in a mili- 
 tary and conunercial point of view ; but 
 the place is very unhealthy, partly owing 
 to the neighboring marshes in the plains of 
 Argos, and partly owing to the total want 
 of cleaidiness. Fevers are very preva- 
 lent, and the town has often been ravaged 
 by plaiiue. In 1824 it was visited with a 
 dieadl'iil epidemic, which carried off about 
 one third of the population. The interior, 
 with the exception of one square, consists 
 of very narrow, lilthy streets, from which 
 the breeze is always excluded by the up- 
 per stories of the houses projecting one 
 al)ove the other till they almost meet, 
 i'he larger houses generally have been 
 buili by the Venetians, and are now made 
 subservient to public purposes ; but the 
 greater part are Turkish, though very dif- 
 Ifreui from the light well-built houses of 
 Constantinople. In these the lower part 
 is invariably appropriated as a stable for 
 
 the horses, whence a miserable and often 
 unsafe staircase leads to the u|)per inliab- 
 ited apartments. The shops are princi- 
 pally for the sale of wine, provisions, and 
 arms. 
 
 At present Napcli is tho seat of govern- 
 ment and residence of King Otho, and 
 may therefore be considered the caj)iial 
 of Greece ; but although it nnisl ever bo 
 a place of groat importance as a military 
 and commercial post, it is by no means 
 calculated to liecome the metropolis of the 
 kingdom, from its unhealthiness and \ery 
 circumscribed extent. Tho population 
 may amount to 5,000 or 0,000, but lluctu- 
 ates greatly ; it is, however, one of the 
 most thickly-peopled cities in tho world, 
 averaging three or four inmates to eacli 
 room. Since tho arrival of King Otho, 
 Nauplia has undergone considerable im- 
 provement ; and, as security of property 
 becomes more certain, will doubtless make 
 rapid advances, a great number of emi- 
 grants from Europe having already estab- 
 lished themselves in trade here. The 
 market of Napoli is well supplied with 
 fruit and vegetables in great variety and 
 abundance ; but butcher's meat is indifl'er- 
 ent. The adjacent country is rich and 
 fertile ; even tho wildest and most uncul- 
 tivated parts are covered with beds of 
 thyme, fennel, and mint, which afford in- 
 exhaustible materials for honey ; but this 
 indulgence must be gratified with caution, 
 as the honey is medicinal in its proper- 
 ties. 
 
 The port is exceedingly good and eligi- 
 ble for shipping, being perfectly safe and 
 easy of access. From the bay, the view 
 is at once pleasing, picturesque, and ex- 
 citing ; the lofty, majestic rock, surmount- 
 ed by the citadel ; the busy town and port ; 
 the plain and town of Argos, with its Acrop- 
 olis, backed by a range of lofty mountains, 
 and the snowy summits of Taygetus to 
 the west ; all heightened by the associa- 
 tions of former times— contribute to ren- 
 der the surrounding scenery highly inter- 
 esting. But as soon as the stranger puts 
 his foot on shore, the enchantment ceases 
 and his enthusiasm vanishes ; all feelings 
 of pleasure give way to nausea and dis- 
 gust. 
 
 Prior to the revolution, Napoli was the 
 depot for all the produce of Greece ; and 
 
U \\t 
 
 "■ %*i% 
 
 \ '8,! 
 
 
 (;:}0 
 
 NAUPLIA. 
 
 aliliouuli ihis cxchisive trndo has latterly 
 been shared bj' other ports, there is still 
 an extensive commerce carried on in wine, 
 oil. corn, wax, honey, 8pon>;is, and col!on. 
 The transport of these articles is priiK '- 
 pally limit! .1 (o kaiks, or open boats of 11, 
 teen' or thirty tons burden. Napoli oilers 
 no facility for ship-buddrnfj ; but, as ■^ome 
 of iht! islands engage largely in 'liis oc- 
 cupation, it may be expected that, .is the 
 inerc'iiiiile navy increases, commerce will 
 also emerge from tiie narrow bounds, to 
 which it has hitherto been lonlined. Al- 
 i-eady, indeed, it has begun to experience 
 the eiu ouraging elFects of freedom, order, 
 and peace. The sea-breeze blows furi- 
 ously up the gulf of Nauplia during the 
 d.iy, and it is the custom, therefore, for 
 vessels to leave the anchorage in the even- 
 ing, when they catch the land-breeze, 
 which blows duiug the niglu, and gener- 
 ally carries them out of the gulf before 
 morning. 
 
 The strength of Napoli is the citadel, 
 which is called the Palamedi, over whose 
 lurreicd walls a few cypresses raise their 
 sombre heads ; it stiinds on the eastern- 
 most :ind highest elevation of the promon- 
 tory, and comflettl." overhangs and v.* n- 
 mands the to\ n. To all appearance ii 
 is impregnable, and from its situation and 
 aspect has In ;i termed the " Gibraltar o) 
 Greece," nri appellation v\ , , when in a 
 better staio of dcience, ii may deserve. 
 It is 720 liet above the soa, and has only 
 one <(>> dablo point where a narrow isth 
 mus connects it with the main land — and 
 this is overlooked by a rocky precipice : 
 the asc'-iil is by flights of steps cut in the 
 nick. UeneatU the I'alimedi, the land 
 continues ai the elevalio "f about I '^0 
 feet to the extreme point i the promon- 
 tory, and on this are various forts, &c, 
 Tl; present fortifications are chiefly Ve- 
 netian, repaired at van 'is limes by the 
 Turks and Greeks ; but he ruins of an- 
 cient walls of Cyclop* i masonry, 'n 
 which those of 'ho Palarvisdi are bah; i, 
 may still be seea. Man\ pieces of Ve- 
 netian oni lauce remain on tie walls to this 
 day. Th Palamedi, i aich some ex- 
 cellent banacks have lately been 'milt, is 
 capable ol ontaining a large gar -son. 
 Besides these points, and the walls which 
 enclose the town and are defended by bas- 
 
 tions, there is a small rocky islet in lb'- 
 harbor on which stands the castle of Si 
 'I'heodore, which, though commnnded by 
 the upper forts, wmiM be very formidabli' 
 to an assailing sipiadron of ships. Tlii- 
 Greeks, in the siege of Napoli, olitaiiicd 
 possession of this post very early, "nd 
 in spite of Us disadvantageous jMisition, 
 contrived to annoy, not only the town, but 
 the TuiKish garrison in the ujiper forts ; 
 it is at present used as a stale-prison. 
 The town of Napoli is supplied with wa- 
 ter by a stream issuing from the celebra- 
 ted fountain of Cunathus. It passes by 
 an ocpuiduct under tlio clifls of the I'ala- 
 medi, and admits of being easily cut oil' 
 by tin besiegers, as it was by the Cireeks. 
 The ancient Nauplia is said to have 
 been built by Nauplius, the son of Nep- 
 tune, before the Trojan war, Nauplia 
 vvas sulisetpiently the chief naval ar lal 
 of the Argives, It was desolate i die 
 time of Pausanias, who saw only the ru- 
 ins of the V ills and of a temple of .Nep- 
 tune rrinaiiii.,4. The Venetians obtained 
 pos- ision of it in 1460. In M'.)5 it sur- 
 rendered to Hajazet, but was again taken 
 by the Venetians, under M< ; >/ini, in Au- 
 gust, 1586, al'tei a month's siege, and be- 
 came the headquarters of that nation in 
 the M( "a In 1714 it was treacherously 
 given 1 > \\i Coumourgi, and vvas the 
 seal of 1 ., ish government ami residence 
 m 'le paclia of the \Iorea till Tripolizza 
 ^elec'«'d as being more central, when 
 
 . bocanv ubjec to the bey of Argos. 
 The cr * rt iiairi' 1 uninterrujiledly 
 
 flying on t, •'»»" ss till the 12ih of De- 
 cember, 18.;,i, ., it surrendered to the 
 ( reeks, at'ii r a long aid tedious blockade, 
 liieTurki^ii garrison having been reduced 
 to such a hlale of starvation as to feed on 
 the corpses of tlc'ir companions. h\ 1825, 
 Ibrahim Pacha made a fruitleh.s 
 to surprise the place ; and it has 
 stronghold of the Greeks in tliei, 
 for liberty. In April, 1826, the 
 sion of government held their 
 here, but were obliged to re. re to iE<; i 
 on acco nt of civil disseii-sions, and i " 
 of the revolted chiefs beinir in pos -^sioii 
 of the Pahunedi, luring u * piuNidency 
 
 •f Capo d'Istriii , who always resided (and 
 was assassinated) in the tow: it again 
 became the seat of government and on 
 
 ttempt 
 
 ■ lilO 
 
 iimis- 
 
 Mitiii_-i 
 
I 
 
 imall rocky islot in t'. 
 stiiiids t'.iC castle of S 
 
 tliiHiph coihiiihiiiUmI l)y 
 (III!, I be very ('oniiiiliil)!!' 
 lii;t<lron of Hliips. 'i'lii' 
 pg« of Napoli, ohtairii'il 
 3 post vrry rnrly, 'nil 
 saclvniit!i|,'<'oiis |)()Miti(»ii, 
 ,•, not only lln' lowo, i)tii 
 ioii in the upper forts ; 
 nsed hs ii Mtate-priwoii. 
 oli is supjdii'il wiili \vn- 
 Hiiinjj j'roin the c(.'lehr;i- 
 "aiiiitlnis. It piissi's l)y 
 r tlm clifls of ihe Puhi- 
 
 of being easily cut olf 
 as it was l>y tlie (Ireeks. 
 Jaupiia is saiil to have 
 iipliua, the son of Nep- 
 
 Trojan war. Nunplia 
 
 the chief naval iir ml 
 
 It was desolate , ue 
 i, who saw only the ru- 
 ind of a temple of Nep- 
 The Venetians obtained 
 1 14G0. In M'.).3it sur- 
 iet, bi!t was again taken 
 
 under M< >/ini, in Au- 
 i month's ssiej;n, and l)e- 
 larters of that iKilioii in 
 714 it was treacherously 
 'oumourgi, and was the 
 )verninent anil residence 
 he Morea till Tripolizza 
 t'ing more central, when 
 to the bey of Argos. 
 ;iittinf>d uninterruptedly 
 r«88 till the rith of De- 
 it fi it surrendered to the 
 ng ind tedious l)lot:kadn, 
 son having been reduced 
 
 starvation as to feed on 
 r cotnpanions. 'u 1825, 
 iiade a fruiih' ^ itempt 
 ice ; and it bus bt n die 
 Greeks in tlteir si iggle 
 Lpril, 1826, the < > umis- 
 lent held their "-iitin.^ 
 diged to ri re to JEu • < 
 vil dissensions, and i " 
 liefs being in pos ssion 
 ' )uring lilt pre-money 
 who always resided (and 
 ) in the tow it again 
 of government and on 
 
H 
 
 M ^ 
 
 nv 
 
 
 ■i w »• i,-.u, 
 
 ■fc^%'il»..^ 
 
 839 
 
 HUMOROUS PEOPLB. 
 
 ho 3 1st of January, 1833, tho princo of 
 Havaria arrived here as first king of re- 
 «(orc(l (ireece. 
 
 HUMOROUS PEOPLE. 
 
 ERSONS who are in- 
 nocently j{oo(l hiMtiitreJ 
 1110 very useful in tlii» 
 world, by difluHing n 
 g( finrous ilieorfiilness 
 among all who ap- 
 proach them. Habit- 
 ual vivacity lias the 
 rccoinmondation of not 
 only its own plnuHurablo feelings, but it 
 has a sanitary bcnelit ; for it keeps the 
 blood in proper circulation, (juickons tho 
 iinderstandini,', and even hel[)' ligestion. 
 Indeed it conduces to long lilV; ; while, 
 on the other hand, the habit oi yieldinsf 
 i{» and fostering sadness of heart, embit- 
 ters and shortons tho days of tho young. 
 It is well said by Solomon, that " a merry 
 heart doeih good liko a medicine ; but a 
 .broken spirit drieth the bones." In later 
 times, Bolingbroku gave it as his experi- 
 ence tliat, " in tliis farce of lilV*, wise men 
 pass their time in mirth, while fools only 
 are serious," an observation that recalls to 
 memory the linos of the poet — 
 
 " Sporlsrnoii fiml svuodcooks by thoir eyes, 
 Ab fools aro known by looking wise." 
 
 If this be so, it is surely best lobe cheer- 
 ful, and, in tho words of Byron, 
 
 " To luiigli at all things, for wo wish to know 
 What, iiltt't all, aro all Uiiiigs but a show ? 
 
 Sheridan Knowles, in his play of " Wil- 
 liam Tell," has happily described the bles- 
 sings of a cheerful temper : — 
 
 " Who would not have an eye 
 To see the sun, where othci see a cloud : 
 A frame so vt-riml, as, in spite of snow, 
 To think it gonial siiniiner all year round 7 
 I do not know tha fu'il would not bo such 
 A man !" 
 
 Humorists would be much more in fa- 
 vor, could they only be taught what are 
 and what are not the proper times and 
 subjects for the exercise of their jocular- 
 ity. Above all things, they ought to re- 
 frain from playing off their jests upon the 
 reputations and manners of their friends. 
 The little incidents of the passing hour, 
 
 and the lively fancies of llin imnL'iniilion, 
 ought solely to supply the fun of the friend- 
 ly circle. Natural iniperfoelii)ns tiiid blem- 
 ishes ought never to be aeleeii 1 as markx 
 for ridicule to shoot its HhaftM at. It is 
 well to "lauKh at all ihini,'s" tint may Im- 
 properly laughed at ; but it is still more 
 commendable to resist all temptations to 
 raise a laugh by personal allnsioiis which 
 hurt the feelings of some one individual 
 in tho company. When tint virliitius for- 
 bearance is strictly observed, a humorist's 
 society becomes an enjoyment to all, for 
 each feels sure that there is no danger of 
 the flying shall pcMietraliiig the saneinary 
 of frienilly secresy, or going beyond the 
 bounds of good lireeding. Hy sporting 
 with another's weaknesses, infirmities, and 
 personal singularities, we may certairdy 
 divert tho company for a moment, and 
 gratify our own selfish vanity, which is 
 ambitious to show superiority ; but, as 
 Chesterfield justly observes, this is a pret- 
 ty sure way to make enemies for ever, for 
 " even those who laugh, will, upon rcllee- 
 tion, fear and despise us : it is ill-natured, 
 and a good heart desires rather to conceal 
 than expose other people's weaknesses or 
 misfortunes. If wo have wit, wo should 
 use it to please, and not to hurt : we may 
 shine, liko the sun in tho temperate zone, 
 without scorching." Conversation may 
 impart pleasantry and cheerfulness, with- 
 out having even the slightest recourse to 
 pnsonality, an indulgence in which is an 
 infallible sign of an uneducated and una- 
 miable disposition. Barrow, in his " Ser- 
 mon against Foolish Jesting," remarks, that 
 " The weaknesses of ukmi, of what kind 
 soever (natural or moral, in quality or in 
 act), considering whence they spring, and 
 how much we are .always subject to them, 
 do need excuse, and in fairness call for 
 compassion, not for mirth, to be drawn 
 from them ; they, in respect to common 
 hutnanity, should rather bo studiously con- 
 nived at and concealed, or mildly excused, 
 than wilfully laid open and wantonly des- 
 canted on ; they are rather to be secretly 
 deplored than to be openly derided." 
 
 The truly pleasant and well-behav» J 
 humorist will scorn to convert his wit ii.io 
 a sparring weapon or an offensive missile ; 
 but will ever be mindful of the observation 
 of St. James, " If any man offend not in 
 
ii'N of tlin imnL'iiiuliiin, 
 ily tile fun of the frit- iiil- 
 iiii|K'rfL'Ctir>n>< uttil bictn- 
 ;o on 81'ltirti 1 qm murks 
 K)t it.i nlmfis nt. It is 
 ill iliirisrs" that may Im 
 It ; but it in Htill iiioru 
 ?NiHt nil tiMiiptatiotiM to 
 srsonal allusioiis wliicli 
 if HOiiit! one inilividiial 
 When tlii't virliiiMis for- 
 ■ ()l).srrvt'il, a liiiniorist'!) 
 n enjoyment to nil, for 
 ,t tlicro is no danjjcr of 
 ujtratini; llu' sanciiniry 
 ■, or j,'oiny: licyond tlic 
 ireedinj;. Hy sporlini; 
 knessrH, inlirmitie.s, and 
 ics, we may cerlairdy 
 iiy for ii inoniinit, anil 
 [■Ifisii vanity, wliidi is 
 f superiority ; but, as 
 observes, this is a pr(!l- 
 io enemies for ever, for 
 augli, will, upon reflee- 
 ise us : it is ill-natured, 
 esires rather to conceal 
 people's weaknesses or 
 liavo wit, wo should 
 d not to hurt : we may 
 in the temperalo zone, 
 ." Conversation may 
 ind cheerfulness, with- 
 
 slightest recourse to 
 ulgcncc in whicli is an 
 a uneducated and ima- 
 
 Barrow, in his " Ser- 
 i Jesting," remarks, that 
 
 of men, of what kind 
 moral, in quality or in 
 henco they spring, and 
 dways subject to them, 
 rid in fairness call for 
 )r mirth, to bo drawn 
 in respect to common 
 ither be studiously con- 
 iled, or mildly excused, 
 pen and wantonly des- 
 e rather to be secretly 
 
 openly derided " 
 ant and well-behav 1 
 
 1 to convert his wit uuo 
 or an ofTensive missile ; 
 idful of the observation 
 any man ofTend not in 
 
 -^IIE MINU UEYONH THE OUAVK. 
 
 (i;j;j 
 
 word, he is a p.-rfect man." Ill-natured 
 wits miuiit take an improving leHson from 
 un anecddle or two which we may herr 
 relate: In the midst of a gay party at 
 Versiiilles, Louis XIV. conuneneed a fa- 
 celioiis -.tdi), but concluded ilaliruptly ami 
 ii,,ipully. Presently, one of the company 
 liaving left the room, the king said, " I am 
 sure you must have observed how very 
 uiiiiiieic>itiii;.; my anecdote was. After I 
 hud couiuieiiued, I recollected liiat it re- 
 llocled liiilier severely on the imuuidiato 
 ancestor of tlie prince of Armagnac, who 
 has just tpiitted us ; and on this, us on 
 every other occasion, I think it far better 
 to spoil a good story than distress tlio feel- 
 ings of a worlhy man." The celebrated 
 mimic, (irilleii, wus asked to imitate the 
 person, manner, and singularly awkward 
 delivery of Dr. Woodward, the geologist 
 and physician, in the character of Dr. 
 I'ossil, I'li a farce tiien preparing under tiie 
 title of "'I'hreo Hours after Marriage." 
 The mimic dressed himself up as a coun- 
 tryman, and went to the doctor to ask his 
 advice aliout a long series of diseases with 
 which ho pretended his poor wife was af- 
 llicted. All this he did 'o justify and pro- 
 long the interview, that he might have 
 sullici(^ut time to study the doctor's man- 
 ner. Tiiis accomplished, ho offered him 
 the fee of a guinea, which the doctor de- 
 clined, saying, " Keep your money, poor 
 man ! keep your money ! you have need 
 of all your cash and all your patience too, 
 with such a load of diseases at home." 
 'I'he actor, on his ri urn to the farce- wri- 
 ter, related this conversation, and conclu- 
 ded by declaring that ho would sooner die 
 than prostitute his talents by making a pub- 
 lic laughing-stock of Dr. Woodward, who, 
 rcceiviiig liim as a poor man. hud shown 
 tender humanity and compassionate sym- 
 patliy at the narrative of his assumed ca- 
 lamities. 
 
 As the more a person manifests un- 
 easiness at the direct attacks of a heart- 
 less humorist the better sport he proves to 
 him, it is wisest to receive his sallies with 
 apparent indiliuieiice, however acutely one 
 may feel his cruel jokes. 
 
 He who refuses to do justice to the de- 
 fenceless, will often be found making un- 
 reasonable concessions to the powerlul. 
 
 THE Mi:'li MYOND TIIH flllAVK. 
 
 \Vk -v. • - but feel that we are being* 
 of a tw .''d nature— that our jourti< y to 
 the tomb IS short, and the existence be- 
 yond it immortal. Is there any attainment 
 that we may reserve when we lay down 
 the body ? We know that of the gol.l 
 which perishes we iiuiy tuke none with 
 us when dust retnrneth to ilust ( »f the 
 treasures which the mind ai'cumulnes, 
 may we carry augln with uh to " that 
 bo'iriio whence no traveller returns" >. 
 
 Wo may have b'eii deliuiU'il with the 
 studies of nature, and penetrated into those 
 caverns where she perfect?, her ehymistry 
 in secret. Composing and decomposing, 
 changing matter into nameles- ibrms, pur- 
 suing the subtlest essences tlirongh the 
 an, and resolving even that iuto its origi- 
 nal elements, what will be the g tin when 
 we pass from material to immaterial, and 
 this great museuiii and laboratory, the 
 time-worn CJirih, shall dissolve in its own 
 central lires 1 
 
 Wo may become adef)ls in the physiol- 
 ogy of man, scanning ibe meehiiiism of 
 the eye, till light itself unfolds its invisible 
 laws, of the ear, till its most hidden retic- 
 ulations confessed tlieir mysterious agei;- 
 cy with sound, of the heart, till tint cita- 
 del of life rovealecl its hermit policy, but 
 will these reseavchcs bo availai)le in a 
 state of being which ♦' eye haih not seen, 
 nor ear hoard, nor ihe heart of man con- 
 ceived" ? 
 
 Will he who fathoms the waters, and 
 computes its pressure and power have 
 need of this skill viicre there is no sea I 
 Wil' the mathematician exercise the lore 
 by which he measures the aveiis, of the 
 astronomer, the science wi.icli discovered 
 the stars, when called to go beyond that 
 
 Those who have penetrated most deep- 
 ly into the intellectual structure of man, 
 lifted the curtain from the birth-place ot 
 thought, traced the springs of attention to 
 their fountain, and thrown the veiled 
 shrinking motive into the crucit)le, per- 
 ceive the object of their study taking a 
 new form, eu'er into a dibembodied and 
 unknown state of existence, and receiv- 
 ing powers adapted to its laws and modes 
 of intercourse. 
 
 Mtiaof-mMtm Ui i 
 
* ••Hit- »». 
 
 '%im 
 
 nt 
 
 
 '*=?;;.. , 
 
 
 634 
 
 LIGHT FROM FLOWERS— THE MOCKING BIRD. 
 
 We have no proof that the sciences to 
 which years of labor have been devoted 
 will survive the tomb. But the impres- 
 sions they have made, the dispositions they 
 have niirtiired, the good or evil they have 
 helped to stamp npon the soul, will go 
 with it into eternity. The adoring awe, 
 with deep humility, inspired by the study 
 of the planets and their laws, the love of 
 truth which he cherished, who pursued the 
 science that demonstrates it, will find a 
 response among arch-angels. The praise 
 that was learned amid the melodies of na- 
 ture, or from the lyre of consecrated ge- 
 nius, may pour its perfected tones from a 
 seraph's harp. This goodness taught in 
 the whole frame of creation, by the flow- 
 er lifting its honey-cup to the insect, and 
 the leaf drawing its green curtain around 
 the nursing chamber of the smallest bird, 
 by the pure stream, refreshing both the 
 grass and the flocks that feed on it, the 
 tree, and the master of its fruits, the ten- 
 der charity caught from the happiness of 
 the humblest creature, will be at home in 
 his presence, who hath pronounced him- 
 self the '• God of love." 
 
 The studies, therefore, which we pur- 
 sue as the means of intellectual delight, 
 or, the instruments of acquiring wealth or 
 honor among men, are valuable at the close 
 of life only as they have prompted those 
 dispositions which constitute the bliss of 
 an unending existence. Tested by its 
 bearing and result, it transcends all other 
 sciences. The kiwwledge which it im- 
 parts does not perish with the stroke which 
 disunites the body from its ethereal com- 
 panion. While its precepts lead to the 
 highest improvement of this state of pro- 
 bation, its spirit is congenial with the in- 
 eflable reward to which we aspire. It is 
 the preparation for immortality, which 
 should be daily and hourlj- wrought out, 
 amid all the mutations of time. 
 
 LIGHT FROM FLOWERS. 
 
 Among the remarkable efiects produced 
 through the agency of light, a singular phe- 
 iiumenon in natural history is given in 
 " Dick's Practical Astronomer," as related 
 by a Swedish lecturer. One evening, he 
 
 perceived a faint flash of light repeatedly 
 dart from a marigold. Surprised at such 
 an uncommon appearance, he resolved to 
 examine it with attention ; aiul, to he as- 
 sured it was no deception of the eye, he 
 placed a man near him, with orders to 
 make a signal at the moment when he ob- 
 served the light. They both saw it con- 
 stantly at the same moment. The light 
 was most brilliant on marigolds of an or- 
 ange or flame color, but scarcely visible 
 on the pale ones. The flash was frequent- 
 ly seen on the same flower two or three 
 times in quick succession, but more com- 
 monly at intervals of several minutes ; 
 and when several flowers in the same place 
 emitted their light together, it could be ob- 
 served at a considerable distance. The 
 phenomenon was remarked in the months 
 of July and August at sunset, and for half 
 an hour when the atmosphere was clear; 
 but after a rainy day, or wnen the air was 
 loaded with vapors, nothing of it was seen. 
 The marigold, monk's-hood, orange-lily, 
 and Indian pink, emitted flashes more or 
 less vivid. As to the cause of this phe- 
 nomenon, says Dick, difl'erent opinions 
 may be entertained. From the rapidity of 
 the flash and other circumstances, it may 
 be conjectured that electricity is concerned 
 in producing this appearance. Mr. Hag- 
 gem of Sweden after observing the flash 
 from the orange-lily, the anthera; of which 
 are at a considerable distance from the 
 petals, found that the light proceeded from 
 the petals only ; whence he concludes 
 that this electrical light is caused by the 
 pollen, which, in flying ofl" is scattered on 
 the petals. 
 
 THE MOCKING-BIRD. 
 
 HIS very extraordi- 
 ^nary bird, which, in 
 extent and variety of 
 vocal powers, stands 
 unrivalled by all the 
 feathered songsters 
 of America <■>'• per- 
 haps any other coun- 
 try, is prculiar to the New, World ; and 
 inhabits a very considerable extent of both 
 
 m 
 
 ^i-i*i^- 
 
ash of light repeatedly 
 (1. Surprised at such 
 arance, he resolved to 
 DUtiori ; ai:d, to be as- 
 ception of the eye, he 
 r him, with orders to 
 e moment when he ob- 
 They both saw it con- 
 5 moment. The light 
 in marigolds of an or- 
 r, but scarcely visible 
 Fhe flash was frequent- 
 3 flower two or three 
 ession, but more com- 
 
 of several minutes ; 
 )wers in the same place 
 ogether, it could be ob- 
 erablo distance. The 
 ;markcd in the months 
 
 at sunset, and for half 
 tmosphere was clear; 
 y, or wnen the air was 
 nothing of it was seen, 
 [ik's-hood, orange-lily, 
 litted flashes more or 
 he cause of this phe- 
 ck, diflerent opinions 
 From the rapidity of 
 circumstances, it may 
 electricity is concerned 
 ppearance. Mr. Ilag- 
 ter observing the flash 
 ', the antherac of which 
 )le distance from the 
 le light proceeded from 
 whence he concludes 
 light is caused by the 
 i^ing off is scattered on 
 
 ]KING-BIRD. 
 
 HIS very extraordi- 
 \nary bird, which, in 
 extent and variety of 
 vocal powers, stands 
 unrivalled by all the 
 feathered songsters 
 of America f"" per- 
 haps any other coun- 
 ho New. World ; and 
 iderable extent of both 
 
 "1 
 
 41 
 
 J 
 
* ""Ml? 
 
 
 i 
 
 ' •'{■•■■. 
 
 ^'1 ^ 
 
 636 
 
 THE MOCKING BIRD. 
 
 North and South America, havirjg been 
 traced from the states of New England to 
 Brazil, and also among many of the adja- 
 cent islands. They are, however, much 
 more numerous in those states south than 
 those north of the river Delaware ; being 
 generally migratory in the latter, and res- 
 ident (at least many of them) in the for- 
 mer. A warm climate, and low country 
 not far from the sea, seems most congenial 
 to their nature ; the species are accord- 
 ingly found to be less numerous to the west 
 than east of the great range of Allegany, 
 in the same parallels of latitude. In these 
 regions the berries of the red cedar, myr- 
 tle, holly, many species of smilax, togeth- 
 er with gum berries, gall berries, and a 
 profuse variety of others, abound, and fur- 
 nish them with a perpetual feast. Winged 
 insects also, of which they are very fond 
 and very expert in catching, are there plen- 
 tiful even in the winter season. 
 
 The precise time at which the mocking- 
 bird begins to build his nest varies accord- 
 ing to the latitude in which he resides, 
 from the beginning of April to the middle 
 of May. There are particular situations 
 to which he gives the preference. A sol- 
 itary thorn-bush, an almost impenetrable 
 thicket, an orange-tree, cedar, or holly- 
 bush, are favorite spots and frequently se- 
 lected. It is no great objection to the bird 
 that a farm or mansion-house happens to 
 be near ; always ready to defend, but nev- 
 er over-anxious to conceal his nest, he 
 very often builds within a small distance 
 of the house, and not unfrequently in a 
 pear or apple-tree, rarely at a greater 
 height than six or seven feet from the 
 ground. The nest varies a little accord- 
 ing to the conveniency of collecting suit- 
 able materials. Generally it is composed 
 of, first, a quantity of dry twigs and slicks, 
 then withered tops of weeds of the pre- 
 ceding year, intermixed with fine straw, 
 hay, pieces of wool and low ; and, lastly, 
 a thick layer of fine fibrous roots, of a light 
 brown color, lines the whole. The fe- 
 male sits fourteen days, and generally pro- 
 duces two broods in the season, unless 
 robbed of her eggs, in which case she will 
 even build and lay the third time. She is, 
 however, very jealov ' of her nest, and very 
 apt to forsake it if rruch disturbed. Du- 
 ring the period o. incubation, neither 
 
 cat, dog, animal, nor man, can approach 
 the nest without being attacked. The 
 cats, in particular, are persecuted whenever 
 they make their appearance, till obliged to 
 retreat. But his whole vengeance is more 
 particularly directed against that mortal 
 enemy of his eggs and young, the black 
 snake. Whenever the insidipus approach- 
 es of this reptile are discovered, the male 
 darts upon it with the rapidity of an arrow, 
 dexterously eluding its bite and striking it 
 violently and incessantly about the head, 
 where it is very vulnerable. The snake 
 soon becomes sensible of its danger, and 
 seeks to escape ; but the intrepid defend- 
 er of his young redoubles his exertions, 
 and, unless his antagonist be of great mag- 
 nitude, often succeeds in destroying him. 
 AH his pretended powers of fascination 
 avail it nothing against the vengeance of 
 this noble bird. As the snake's strength 
 begins to flag, the mocking-bird seizes and 
 lifts it up partly from the ground, beating 
 it with its wings, and when the business 
 is completed, he returns to the nest of his 
 yrung, mounts the summit of the bush, and 
 pours forth a torrent of song in token of 
 
 v'*='"'"y- ... J I, If 
 
 The mocking-bird is nine and a halt 
 
 inches long and thirteen across when its 
 wings are spread. Some individuals are, 
 however, larger and some smaller, those 
 of the first hatch being uniformly the lar- 
 gest. The upper parts of the head, neck, 
 and back, are a dark brownish ash, and 
 when new moulted, a fine light gray; 
 the wings and tail are nearly black, the 
 first and second rows of coverts tipped 
 with white ; the primary, in some males, 
 are wholly white, in others tinged with 
 brown. The three first primaries are 
 white from their roots as far as their cov- 
 the white on the ntxt six extends 
 
 erts , ."« -- - 
 
 from an inch to on« and three fourths lur- 
 ther down, descending equally on each 
 side the feather; the tail if cuneiform; 
 the two exterior feathers wholly white, the 
 rest, except the middle ones, tipped with 
 white ; the chin is white ; sides of the 
 neck, breast, belly, and vent, a brownish 
 white, much purer in wild birds than in 
 those that have been domesticated ; iris 
 of the eye, yellowish cream colored, in- 
 clining to golden ; bill black ; the base of 
 the lower mandible whitish ; legs and feet 
 
1 
 
 )T man, can approach 
 being attacked. The 
 ■e persecuted whenever 
 pearance, till obliged to 
 hole vengeance is more 
 id against that mortal 
 
 and young, the black 
 the insidipus approach- 
 re discovered, the male 
 he rapidity of an arrowr, 
 r its bite and striking it 
 'santly about the head, 
 ulnerable. The snake 
 sible of its danger, and 
 3Ut the intrepid defend- 
 edoubles his exertions, 
 igonist be of great mag- 
 eeds in destroying him. 
 
 powers of fascination 
 rainst the vengeance of 
 \a the snake's strength 
 mocking-bird seizes and 
 om the ground, beating 
 and when the business 
 eturns to the nest of his 
 
 summit of the bush, and 
 ent of Bong in token of 
 
 Bird is nine and a half 
 hirteen across when its 
 Some individuals are, 
 ind some smaller, those 
 being uniformly the lar- 
 r parts of the head, neck, 
 dark brownish ash, and 
 lied, a fine light gray; 
 ail are nearly blacky the 
 
 rows of coverts tipped 
 primary, in some males, 
 e, in others tinged with 
 ree first primaries are 
 roots as far as their cov- 
 on the next six extends 
 )ne and three fourths fur- 
 sending equally on each 
 ; the tail if cuneiform; 
 feathers wholly white, the 
 middle ones, tipped with 
 I is white ; sides of the 
 Uy, and vent, a brownish 
 rer in wild birds than in 
 
 been domesticated ; iris 
 owish cream colored, in- 
 1 ; bill black ; the base of 
 ible whitish ; legs and feet 
 
 THE MOCKING BIRD. 
 
 637 
 
 black and strong. The female much re- 
 senihliis the male, and is only distinguish- 
 able by the white of her wings being less 
 pure and broad, and her black feathers hav- 
 ing a niore rusty hu". 
 
 It will be seen from this description, 
 liiiit though the plumage of the mocking- 
 bird is none of the homeliest, it has noth- 
 ing gaudy or brilliant in it ; and, had he 
 nothing else to recommend him, would 
 Bcircely entitle him to notice. But his 
 figure is well proportioned and even hand- 
 sDiae. The ease, elegance, and rapidity, 
 of his movements, the animation of his 
 eye, and the intelligence he displays in 
 listening and laying up lessons, from al- 
 most every species of the feathered crea- 
 tion within his hearing, are really surpri- 
 sing, and mark the peculiarity of his ge- 
 nius. To these qualities may be added 
 that of a voice full, strong, and musical, 
 and capable of almost every modulation, 
 from the clear, mellow tones of the wood- 
 ihiush to the savage scream of the bald- 
 eagle. In measure and accent he faith- 
 fully follows his originals ; in force and 
 sweetness of expression he greatly im- 
 proves upon them. In his native groves, 
 mounted on the lop of a tall bush or half- 
 grown tree, in the dawn of the morning, 
 while the woods are already vocal with a 
 multitude of warblers, nis admirable song 
 rises pre-eminent over every competitor. 
 The ear can listen to his music alone, to 
 which that of aU the others seems a mere 
 accompaniment. Neither is his strain al- 
 together imitative. His own native notes 
 are bold and full, and varied seemingly 
 beyond all limits. They consist of short 
 expressions of two, three, or, at the most, 
 five or six syllables, generally interspersed 
 with imitations, and all of them uttered 
 with great emphasis and rapidity, and con- 
 tinued with undiminished ardor for half an 
 hour or an hour at a time. His expanded 
 wings and tail, glistening with white, and 
 the buoyant gaye»y of his action, arresting 
 the eye as his song most irresistibly does 
 the ear, he sweeps round with enthusias- 
 tic ecstacy, and mounts and descends as 
 his song swells or dies away. While thus 
 exerting himself, a bystander, destitute of 
 sight, would supporie that the v/hole feath- 
 ered tribes had assembled together on a 
 trial of skill, each strivmg to produce his 
 
 utmost elTect. He often deceives the 
 sportsman, and sends him in search of 
 birds that are not, perha;>s, within miles 
 of him, but whosn note he exactly imi- 
 tates : even birds themselves are frequent- 
 ly imposed upon by this admirable mimic, 
 and are decoyed by the fancied calls of 
 their matfis, or dive with precipitation 
 into the depth of thickets ut the scream 
 of what they suppose to be the sparrow- 
 hawk. 
 
 The mockiiig-bird loses little of the pow- 
 er and energy of his song by confinement. 
 In his domesticated state, when he com- 
 mences his career of song, it is impossi- 
 ble to stand by uninterested. He whistles 
 for the dog ; Cesar starts up, wags his 
 tail, and runs to meet his master. He 
 squeaks out like a hurt chicken, and the 
 hen hurries about with hanging wings and 
 bristled feathers, chuckling to protect its 
 injured brood. The barking of the dog, 
 the mewing of the cat, the creaking of a 
 passing wheelbarrow, follow with great 
 truth and rapidity. He repeats the tune 
 taught aim by his master, though of con- 
 siderable length, fully and faithfully ; he 
 runs over the quaverings of the canary, 
 and the clear whistlings of the Virginia 
 nightingale, or red-bird, with such supe- 
 rior execution and eifect that tne mortified 
 songsters feel their own inferiority, and 
 become altogether silent, while he seems 
 to triumph in their defeat by redoubling 
 his exertions. 
 
 This excessive fondness for variety, 
 however, in the opinion of some, injures 
 his song. His elevated imitations of the 
 brown thrush are frequently interrupted by 
 the crowing of cocks ; and the warbhngs 
 of the blue-bird, which he exquisitely 
 manages, are tningled with the screaming 
 of swallows or the cackling of hens. 
 Amid thr simple melody of the robin, one 
 is suddenly surprised by the shrill reiter- 
 ations of the whip-poor-will, while the 
 notes of the kildeer, blue-jay, martin, bal- 
 timore, aiid twenty others, succeed, with 
 such imposing reality, that the auditors, 
 look round for the originals, and with as- 
 tonishment discover that the sole peribrm- 
 er in this singular concert is the admira- 
 ble bird now before us. During ihib ex- 
 
 hibition of his powers, he spreads his 
 wings, expands his tail, and throws him- 
 

 ^m 
 
 M 
 
 i 'i ■ 
 
 m 
 
 638 
 
 THE MOMENT OF SUCCESS. 
 
 self around the cage in all the ecstacy of 
 enthusiasm, seeming not only to wing but 
 to dance, keeping time to the measure of 
 his own music. Both in his native and 
 domesticated state, during the stillness of 
 the night, as soon as the moon rises, he 
 begins his delightful solo, making the 
 whole neighborhood resound with his in- 
 imitable medley. The mocking-bird is 
 frequently taken in trap-cages, and, by 
 proper management, may be made suf- 
 ficiently tame to sing. The usual price 
 of a singing-bird, is from seven to fifteen, 
 and even twenty dollars. Mr. Wilson has 
 known fifty dollars paid for a remarkably 
 fine singer ; and one instance where one 
 hundred dollars wer*! refused for a still 
 more extraordinary one. Attempts have 
 been made to induce these charming birds 
 to pair, and rear their young in a state of 
 confinement, and the result has been such 
 as to prove it, by proper management, per- 
 fectly placticable. 
 
 THE MOMENT OF SUCCESS. 
 
 N the fair bowers of 
 paradise, ere the ser- 
 pent had accomplished 
 his deadly work, or the 
 tree of knowledge yield- 
 ed its fatal gift, labor 
 and care were unknown. 
 Fruitful nature yielded, 
 unsought, her richest 
 treasures, and the bounties of heaven, 
 gently as its own dew, descended upon 
 man, demanding no return save gratitude 
 and enjoyment. But, when he had passed 
 the precincts of that happy plr.ce, for ev- 
 er closed against him by the flaming 
 sword of the angelic guard, far different 
 were the conditions of his being. la the 
 swTsat of his brew was he to eat his bread ; 
 with labor, toil, and suffering, was he to 
 purchase all earthly good. Stern as was 
 this decree of tho Almighty, mercy was 
 eHclosed therein — dark as was the cloud 
 of human destiny, the rainbow of peace 
 and joy was painted upon it. Rest was 
 to be doubly sweet after toil — prosperity 
 more bright after adversity — success more 
 
 glorious after obstacles surmounted and 
 diflUculties vanquished. True it was, the 
 soft vales of paradise were no longer to 
 be his inheritance, and the bright inhabi- 
 tants of heaven his familiar guests no 
 more ; yet some flowerets of bliss, lovely 
 as those of Eden, were to gladden his ex- 
 ile with their beauty, and still to be to hitn 
 and his descendants, the sweet teachers 
 in the lessons of happiness. Yes, surely, 
 in this desolate world, 
 
 " Some momonts aro to mortals given. 
 With less of earth in tliein tlian lieaven." 
 
 Some brief seasons, which fully compen- 
 sate for years o*" toil and pain, bringing to 
 the soul an intensity of enjoyment, which 
 makes it conscious of its vast capabilities 
 of happiness, when the fetters of mortal- 
 ity shall be broken. In the arrangements 
 of Infinite Wisdom, such feelings have 
 been decreed to man, as the reward of ex- 
 ertion in the attainment of laudable ob- 
 jects — the laurel crown of well-directed 
 effort. No faculty of our being, exercised 
 in its proper sphere, can fail to bring this 
 promised blessing. And, though all ex- 
 perience in kind this happiness, from the 
 child, who triumphantly sees his tiny 
 house stand secure, to the sovereign, who 
 beholds successfully carried out his vast 
 plans for a nation's welfare, yet the de- 
 gree must depend on the greatness of that 
 purpose, and the difficulties that have im- 
 peded its accomplishment. 
 
 Who can know what a moment was that 
 for Columbus, when after years of untiring, 
 ever-baffled effort for the attainment of his 
 favorite object— after a thousand dangers 
 of an unknown ocean, and many a sleep- 
 less and anxious night, he ^aw floating 
 near his vessel a green herb — the joyful 
 herald to his troubled spirit, of the long- 
 sought object of his ardent hopes. And 
 when these joyful anticipations were con- 
 firmed by the sight ot that lovely island, 
 reoosing upon the ocean in all its green- 
 ness and beauty, inhabited by an unknown 
 race — perhaps the neighbor of a mighty 
 continent, which was l-y i, i o be be- 
 queathed to the world, y.uil become the 
 perpetual monument of hi. fame, what 
 emotions must have /uied his soul ! A 
 joy so pure, so deep, to concentrated, as 
 to have outweighed whole years of suffer- 
 ing ! What though his childhood had 
 
itacles surmounted and 
 
 shed. True it was, the 
 
 Use were no longer to 
 
 , and the bright inhabi- 
 
 his familiar guests m: 
 
 lowerets of bliss, lovely 
 
 were to gladden his ex- 
 
 ity, and still to be to hitn 
 
 nts, the sweet teachers 
 
 lappiness. Yes, surely, 
 
 arid, 
 
 re to mortals given, 
 
 h in ihcm than lieavRn." 
 
 IS, which fully compen- 
 oil and pain, bringing to 
 ,ty of enjoyment, which 
 s of its vast capabilities 
 jn the fetters of mortal- 
 1. In the arrangements 
 )m, such feelings have 
 lan, as the reward of ex- 
 inment of laudable ob- 
 crown of well-directed 
 f of our being, exercised 
 re, can fail to bring this 
 f. And, though all ex- 
 ;his happiness, from the 
 iphantly sees his tiny 
 e, to the sovereign, who 
 lly carried out his vast 
 I's welfare, yet the de- 
 on the greatness of that 
 litHculties that have iin- 
 ishment. 
 
 what a moment was that 
 sn after years of untiring, 
 for the attainment of his 
 iter a thousand dangers 
 !e.in, and many a sleep- 
 night, he ^aw floating 
 green herb — the joyful 
 bled spirit, of the iong- 
 lis ardent hopes. And 
 I anticipations were con- 
 it ot that lovely island, 
 ) ocean in all its green- 
 nhabited by an unknown 
 e neighbor of a mighty 
 was by <iii ; o be be- 
 worM, ?.iid become the 
 lent of '. i. fame, what 
 ave iiiied his soul ! A 
 leep, 10 concentrated, as 
 ;d v^hole years of sufier- 
 igh his childhood had 
 
 THE MOMENT OF SUCCESS. 
 
 639 
 
 been spent in the midst of privations and I 
 (!aiiger.s, and the fountains of joy peculiar j 
 to that happy season, to liini alnnist uii- i 
 known; wiiat though the bright dn; anis | 
 of his youlhfu! imagination were indulged , 
 in the .silence of solitude, finding in no 
 synii):iiliiziiig breast an answering chord ; I 
 and the dei'p yearnings of his enthusiastic j 
 nature made known, only to be chilled and I 
 repressed by llie disapprobation of dull 
 mediocrity ? What though his more ma- 
 ture years were marked by disap(i(unlmenl 
 and "sorrow, and that agony that a noble 
 mind can so deeply feel, when, conscious 
 of its own greatness, and the loftiness and 
 integrity of its purposes, it finds them un- 
 appreciated, or met with indifVcrence or 
 contempt? What though he had left the 
 siiores of Spain, amid the jeers and male- 
 dictions of the spectators, denounced as a 
 visionary — a mark for the finger of scorn, 
 with a world of dread uncertainty present 
 to his imagina'ion, and none to ask the 
 blessing of Heaven on an enterprise so 
 cliiinencal, or commend him to that Being, 
 who holds the waters in the hollow of his 
 hand ? Was there ever prospect .so 
 gloomy — ever circumstances so disheart- 
 ening '. liut, in that moment of success — 
 111 the realization of all those brilliant 
 hopes of life's fair morning — in the actual 
 possession of the goal, to gain which his 
 •.vhole life had been consecrated to self-de- 
 nial and sufl'ering, the trials of the past 
 were remembered no more. He was to 
 return to his adopted land in triumph— to 
 see himself an object of applause and ad- 
 miration, where but late, ha liad been one 
 ol piiy and contempt ; to be welcomed to 
 the presence of royalty, bearing with him 
 a gill that even majesty would be proud to 
 accept — the gift of a new world. 
 
 From Columbus, we turn U) another of 
 the sons of genius, one who discovered, 
 not a world, but the secret and invisible 
 chain that binds all worlds — the immortal 
 Newton. We are told by his biographer, 
 that when he perceived that the great law 
 of gravitation — a law whose existence for 
 years he had susjiected, and labored to 
 prove, was about to be esiablishrtd beyond 
 a doubt, by his calculations, so deeply was 
 he aliected by the grandeur of the discov- 
 ery, and the astonishing effects resulting 
 from it, that he was obliged to commit to 
 
 the firmer hand and cooler judgment of a 
 friend, the completion of what was to give 
 his name to inunortality. It was a tri- 
 umph of intellect, that sliook the pillars of 
 the frail tenement, that oiistrucied its far- 
 seeing vision, and limited its heavenward 
 aspirations. What had he not accom- 
 plished ? Truly, he had become the high 
 priest of science, and entered within the 
 veil never before lifted to mortal vision! 
 Before him was spread out the illimitable 
 universe, with its systems of worlds, all 
 revolving in their aerial and unwearied 
 journeys, in allegiance to that same sim- 
 ple but grand and beautiful law that 
 brought the apple to the ground. What 
 though, since touched by the hand of Om- 
 nipotence, the complicated machinery of 
 the material world, had moved in " sol- 
 emn silence," it was now compelled, at 
 the mandate of genius, to disclose its se- 
 crets, and reveal to mortal ear its harmo- 
 nies. In that moment of success, he must 
 have fell that his name henceforth was to 
 be linked with the beautiful order of the 
 universe, and his fame written in the heav- 
 ens. 
 
 On the page of history stands another 
 name, more uear to every American heart 
 than that of the discoverer of this vast 
 continent, or the promulgator of nature's 
 hidden laws — our own beloved Washing- 
 ton. In the glorious success that crowned 
 his noble purposes and indelatigable exer- 
 tions for his country's good, another bright 
 example is left to the aspirant after those 
 imperishable honors, that encircle the brow 
 of him who becomes the benefactor of his 
 race. Do they not oid him, when he feels 
 within him the upspringing of a lofty sen- 
 timent — a consciousness of powers that 
 may contribute to ihe elevation of man, to 
 press on through dilliculties and dangers, 
 with duly for his watchword, and the arm 
 of Omnipotence for his defence, till the 
 object is attained— the victory won? And 
 how boundless is ths field of laudable am- 
 bition ! True, ri no far distant ocean, may 
 an unknown world be awaiting the ap- 
 proach of genius to give it a name in the 
 annals of tune — no grand universal truth, 
 may, at his bidding, stand confessed to the 
 admiration of the world ; nor, like Wash- 
 ington, may it be his to bring to a succoss- 
 i ful issue a great political revolution, and 
 
iiisiitj 
 
 ■^1 ii' 
 
 W'wRpMijjIiHI 
 
 **'U^,4ii 
 
 »«!'S««|,S...;|; 
 
 640 
 
 THE OROTTO OF ADKLSBEIIO. 
 
 to be the founder of a republic, whose 
 name is a disiiiiguished star in the con- 
 stellation of nations. Along these bright 
 paths his destiny may not lead him ; yet, 
 let him remumber that in the moral and 
 physical world, the cause of truth still 
 calk for champions— that from the great 
 hea.t of humanity, may still be heard the 
 unceasing groan, extorted by sullenng, ig- 
 norance, and guilt ; that the field of doing 
 good is everywhere ripe unto harvest, and 
 success certain, if the spirit faints not. 
 Nor should he forget that in this struggle 
 for the supremacy of the nobler principles 
 of our nature, the lowest soldier, if he 
 stands his ground, and fearlessly unsheaths 
 his weapon, contributes to the victory, and 
 will share the reward ; that every noblo 
 thought sent fonh from hk own soul, will 
 find, like the winijed seed, its resting-place, 
 and perchance, vierve some arm more vig- 
 orous than hie own, or like a wheel with- 
 in a wheel, set in motion the energies of 
 some spirit, that shall prove to the world 
 a Washington or a Newton. In the noble 
 cause of good to man, surely nor.e should 
 despair, for — 
 
 " Lives of great men all remintl un. 
 We can moke our Uvea subliine, 
 
 And, departing, leave behind us. 
 Footsteps ( 'he sands of time. 
 
 Let as, then, b i up and doing, 
 With a heart for any fate ; 
 
 Still achieving, still pursuing, 
 Learn to labor and to wait" 
 
 GROTTO OF ADELSBERG. 
 
 .^HE circle of Carni- 
 f^ola is one of the most 
 interesting portions of 
 the dominions of Aus- 
 tria. Its bare and cal- 
 careous mountains are 
 grand and striking, 
 and their geological 
 structure is peculiar. The waters of sub- 
 terraneous rivers issue from their recesses, 
 and the lake of Zirknitz is celebrated on 
 account of the singular fact that at stuted 
 times it suddenly becomes dry, its contents 
 being drained iiito the bowels of the moun- 
 tains, and after the lapse of a certain pe- 
 riod, they again issue into their usual ba- 
 
 sin. Adelsbcrg is situated half-way be- 
 tween Laybach and Trieste, in the district 
 which overhangs the Adriatic, and, as 
 shown in the engraving, is placed at the 
 foot of a considerable eminence. Thertt 
 ar.. two apertures in this eminence, one of 
 whi^h receives the river Poick. One of 
 these openings seems, from its regular ap- 
 pearance, to be the work of art rather than 
 of nature, while the other aperture has 
 none of this regularity, but is broken into 
 jagged shapes. The entrance by which 
 visiters are conducted hito these caverns 
 is considerably higher than that by which 
 the river disappears ; and the gallery which 
 it forms is divided from the other cavern 
 i)y a partition, which is broken through in 
 various places, the visiter hearing the wa- 
 ters rushing beneath along their subterra- 
 neous bed. This gallery runs but a short 
 way into the mountain, while, " as you 
 advance, the murmurings of the stream 
 and the distant gleams of daylight die away 
 together, and the silence and darkness of 
 ancient night reign around." Such is the 
 entrance to the cavern of Adelsberg ; but 
 its recesses can liot be penetrated without 
 the assistance of lights. The visiter can 
 then proceed along the passage above de- 
 scribed, which graubUy widens, until it 
 opens into an immens ; "' • ^rn, or rather 
 there are two caverns, L> is crossed by 
 a ledge of rock, which does not rise ' 
 the roof. This ledge forms a naluri^i 
 bridge, on one side of which the waters 
 furiously pursue their course, and further 
 on they have worn a passage through ll o 
 partition which divides the cavern. Tht 
 darkness is opprussive and impenetrable, 
 and the lights, which are too feeble to 
 pierce through the obscurity, only render 
 it more striking. The waters rush along 
 with a heavy and indistinct sound. It is 
 only within a comparatively recent period 
 that any one has been so adventurous as 
 to proceed any further than this ledge, as 
 it sinks down precipitously. At ihe point 
 where the descent is the least abrupt, a 
 flight of steps was cut, the partition was 
 pierced, and steps were cut on the other 
 side, which land the visiter on the lloor 
 of the larger cavern. Here the river 
 flows steadily -long in a well-indented 
 channel, and it enters the mountain at the 
 opposite wall of the cavern. A wooden 
 
 :'^& 
 
 ■■-^^^jr'sh;: 
 
3 situated lialf-way bo- 
 il Triosle, in tlie district 
 the Adriatic, mid, us 
 raving, is placed at tht! 
 iible eminence. TIj^-rH 
 in this eminence, one of 
 e river Poick. One of 
 jms, from its regular ap- 
 I work of art rather tliiui 
 the other aperture has 
 arity, but is broken into 
 The entrance by which 
 cted mto these caverns 
 gher than that by which 
 rs ; and the gallery which 
 1 from the other cavern 
 ich is broken through in 
 6 visiter hearing the wa- 
 ath along their subterra- 
 I gallery runs but a short 
 luntain, while, " as you 
 rmurings of the stream 
 Jams of daylight die away 
 silence and darkness of 
 m around." Such is the 
 avern of Adelsberg ; but 
 ■ot be penetrated without 
 lights. The visiter can 
 mg the passage above de- 
 jraubUy widens, until it 
 nmeiis ; '' • irn, or rather 
 irerns, fi>- r is crossed by 
 which does not rise • 
 ledge forms a naturiil 
 de of which the waters 
 their course, and further 
 rn a passage through l\ o- 
 livides the cavern. Thk; 
 essive and impenetrable, 
 which are too feeble to 
 he obscurity, only render 
 The waters rush along 
 d indistinct sound. It is 
 njparatively recent period 
 I been so adventurous as 
 urther than this ledge, as 
 ■ecipitously. At the point 
 ent is the least abrupt, a 
 ras cut, the partition was 
 ps were cut on the other 
 i the visiter on the floor 
 cavern. Here the river 
 j,iong in a well-indented 
 enters the mountain at the 
 f the cavern. A wooden 
 
 S 
 
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 M 
 
 NKMnM 
 
 liltoNKiJtniit. 
 
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 642 
 
 GROTTO OF ADELSIIERO. 
 
 bridge is thrown across the river, and the 
 terininatiiig wall of the cavern apparently 
 opposes all further progress. About twen- 
 ty years ago some individual, by means of 
 the projecting points of rock, reached the 
 top of this wall, which is al)out forty feet 
 iiigh. His adventurous spirit was reward- 
 ed by discovering that the wall was not so 
 high as the roof, and another cavern pre- 
 sented itself. Steps were cut on the op- 
 posite side, a;id beyond this there was 
 found a succession of immense caverns, 
 branching ofT in two separate series. 
 
 The suite of caverns to the left is the 
 more extensive, ample, and majestic, but 
 the one which branches to the right, 
 though smaller, is richer in varied and 
 fantastic forms. They are all different in 
 size and form and ornament, and are con- 
 nected by passages which are sometimes 
 low and bare, sometimes spacious and 
 lofty, supported by pillars, and fretted with 
 cornices of the purest stalactite. The col- 
 unuis are sometimes uniform in their mass 
 and singularly placed ; sometimes they 
 are so regularly arranged, and consist of 
 smaller pillars so nicely clustered togeth- 
 er, that one believes he is walking up the 
 nave of a Gothic cathedral. Many of 
 these columns, which are entirely insula- 
 ted, have a diameter of three, four, and 
 even five feet. Frequently the pillar is 
 interrupted as it were in the middle, lo- 
 sing its columnar form, and twisting, di- 
 viding, or spreading itself out into innu- 
 merable shapes. Sometimes it dilates in- 
 to a broad thin plate, almost transparent in 
 the light of a lamp ; sometimes this plate 
 curves itself round in a circular form, 
 sometimes the descending part tapers to a 
 point, which rests on the broad surface of 
 the ascending stalagmite. The walls are 
 entirely coated with the substance, and, in 
 the smaller grottoes, it is so pure, that trav- 
 ellers have covered it with names written 
 in pencil, which have already resisted the 
 moisture five or six years. The other 
 division is more spurious, and extends 
 much further. The caverns which com- 
 pose it are wider and loftier, but not so 
 beautifully adorned as in the other. The 
 enormous clustered columns of stalactite 
 that seem to support tlie everlasting roof 
 from which they have ordy originated, of- 
 ten tower to such a height, that the lights 
 
 do not enable you to discover their sum- 
 mit ; but, though infinitely majestic, they 
 are rougher, darker, and more shapeless 
 than in the smaller suite. The further 
 you advance, the elevations become bold- 
 er, the columns more mausive, and the 
 forms more diversified, till, af' anning 
 about six miles into the earth, i. ■. scene 
 of wonderment terminates with the ele- 
 ment with which it began, water. A 
 small subterraneous lake, deep, clear, cold, 
 and dead-still, prevents all further prog- 
 ress. It has not been passed ; it would 
 therefore be too much to say that nothing 
 lies beyond. 
 
 One of the most spacious and regular 
 of any of the caverns, of an oval Ibrm, 
 about sixty feet long and forty broad, and 
 whoso roof is not visible owing to its 
 great height, is used as a ball-room by the 
 peasantry of Adelsberg once a year, on 
 the festival of their patron saint. The 
 floor is smooth ; the walls are covered 
 with stalactite, but are otherwise less orna- 
 mented than the other caverns ; a few nat- 
 ural stone seats and wooden benches con- 
 stitute the furniture, and candles are light- 
 ed in rustic chandeliers, formed of a wood- 
 en cross stuck horizontally on the top of a 
 pole. Here, many hundred feet beneath 
 the surface of the earth, and a mile from 
 the light of day, the rude music of the 
 Carniolian resounds through more mag- 
 nificent halls than were ever built for mon- 
 archs. The flame of the uncouth chan- 
 deliers is reflected from the stalactite walls 
 in a blaze of ever-changing light. A vast 
 stalactite has formed from the ceiling, hav- 
 ing the appearance of the most beautiful 
 alabaster, and the form is that of a most 
 perfectly arranged drapery. The trick- 
 ling of the water at the edges has thick- 
 ened them, and given the appearance of 
 an edging or border to the drapery. The 
 substance being semi-transparent, the 
 guides who show the cavern put their tor- 
 ches behind it, in order to display its 
 beauty to the greatest advantage amid the 
 surrounding darkness. 
 
 Gigantic. — So vast is the Atlantic 
 ocean, that it has been said that all the 
 ships in the world might be so dispersed 
 over it that none would be able to see one 
 another. 
 
 
 
 ^Mik-Mk 
 
> discover iheir sum- 
 fiiiitfily m;»jestic, tlicy 
 , ami riiore shapeless 
 ■ suite. The further 
 jvatioiis become bold- 
 )re maiisive, and the 
 ied, till, aP aniiiiig 
 the earth, i.,t, scene 
 niriales witli tlie eie- 
 it began, water. A 
 lake, deep, clear, cold, 
 Jilts all I'urlher prog- 
 een passed ; it would 
 :h to say that nothing 
 
 spacious and regular 
 irns, of an oval Ibrin, 
 : and forty broad, and 
 visible owing to its 
 as a ball-room by the 
 lerg once a year, on 
 r patron saint. The 
 e walls are covered 
 e otherwise less orna- 
 ir caverns ; a few nat- 
 wooden benches con- 
 and candles are light- 
 ers, formed of a wood- 
 ontally on the top of a 
 [lundred feet beneath 
 urlh, and a mile from 
 e rude music of the 
 through more mag- 
 sre ever built for mon- 
 of the uncouth chan- 
 )m the stalactite walls 
 anging light. A vast 
 from the ceiling, hav- 
 )f the most beautiful 
 orm is that of a most 
 Irapery. The trick- 
 the edges has thick- 
 :n the appearance of 
 to the drapery. The 
 emi-transparent, the 
 ) cavern put their tor- 
 order to display its 
 t advantage amid the 
 
 ast is the Atlantic 
 ;en said that all the 
 ight be so dispersed 
 Id be able to see one 
 
*!!•"»' ! 
 
 1- 
 
 ll<>*iiti 
 
 1^ 
 
 ■*»«« 
 
 **"ti..,* 
 
 ii"^v,,^ 
 
 
 
 644 
 
 DY.^ BP8IA. 
 
 DYSPEPSIA. 
 
 casing, the shncj 
 
 DARKLY poelical no- 
 tion was current among 
 "ur forefathers, that a 
 jierson of a morose, un- 
 amiabh 'lisposition wan 
 po8sesse(' of a devil. 
 They h Ueved that he 
 was merely the outer 
 /a (l(»ihiitg of a ort of 
 supernatural wolf; tl uif the visible shell, 
 ill the likeness of man, could be removed, 
 then! would Mt'peat lo the t. rrified vision" 
 of the multituil i figur wiih horns, hoi ,,, 
 a tail, and the very iiarp gon 1 with which 
 it was supposed to prick on its victim to 
 say spiteful things, and to do bad actions. 
 This idea of our forefathers has been 
 proved by an lorn) md physiology (of 
 which they knew nothing) to be ite er- 
 loneous as far as refrurds ''e bnr' pres- 
 ence of the evil spirit. Scuuce has 
 robbed us of the horns, th ^ ifs, and the 
 tail ; Out it has, with all its pt ry-spoiling 
 diacoveiies, still left us 'he . ssential de- 
 mon. 1 lie monster is calud b losologists 
 " dyspepsia," and by the rest of the world 
 indigestion. 
 
 Many a snapuish, disagreeable man, 
 who is feared at iiome as a domestic ty- 
 rant, shunnea abroad as a social Tartar, 
 and denounced ererywhere as the wilful 
 incarnation of ill-temper, is nothing more 
 than the victim of tlie demon dyspepsia. 
 Perhaps he was in his early years as good- 
 humored and kind a being as ever breathed. 
 Gradually, his ti lends and relations per- 
 ceived a change in his disposition. This 
 began, in all probability, by snappishness 
 to his wife, scolding his children, and oc- 
 casionally kicking his dog. When expos- 
 tulated with for allowing these causeless 
 improprieties to grow upon him, he is 
 ready enough to own his faults, but at the 
 same time equally ready to make excuses 
 for them. He declares business is going 
 wrong, though you know it never prospered 
 better ; or that his children worry him, 
 though it is evident he has terrified them 
 into taciturnity and shrinking obedience. 
 He makes every excuse but the right one ; 
 because, poor wretch, he is perfectly ig- 
 norant of the real cause. He really be- 
 
 lieves what he says, and thinks that he is 
 on the road to tb ' iikrupt ourt, and that 
 his ofTspring reall) ^ediKolf 'ient. Alas! 
 it is I • of th« cl) .racteristi 'f the in- 
 sidious ! inoii h is possesseii with, to 
 liiil«i itscit from it) ken of its victim. 
 I ven when the monster lUtuiges his bud- 
 uy health, and drives him to the doctor, he 
 describes evf " symp' in I it those which 
 are i dicativo of (In loal disease. The 
 skilful physician, howt^ver, finds it out in 
 s[iito of, or rather in consequence of, his 
 niystif"'ations, and proceeds to exorcise 
 the evil ijnrit — not after the ancient plan 
 wiih bt II, book, and candle — but with pill, 
 drauf^ht, and plenty of exercise. 
 
 When, therefore, we meet with such a 
 man as we have described, let us be a lit- 
 tle charitable. I'lm't let us denounce him 
 without remorso or mitigation. Pity is 
 the jif'fier .sentiment which be should 
 awaken Human nature is not so iniiat<;ly 
 viciousi as some philosophers imagine; 
 instiiuuvi'l our good impulses pre- 
 dominate, would remain dominant, 
 were they often blunted, checked, 
 and strui _,,u.l »y dyspepsia. Imagine 
 yourself in a dyspeptic condition, and 
 then ask whether you could bo amiable to 
 your fellow-creatures, or l.-e able to as- 
 sume that virtue when you have it not ? 
 Fancy yourself in a state which, when 
 asked about it, you are obliged to describe 
 as a something which makes you wretch- 
 edly uncomfortable, but you don't know 
 what ; a condition which, nevertheless, 
 unfits you for occupation ; a feeling which 
 imparts a distressing craving fur food, 
 combined with a disgust at the very idea 
 of eating it ; a constant drowsiness, with- 
 out the power of sleeping ; a sensation of 
 overwhelming fatigue and weariness, with 
 a longing to take exercise ; a weight over 
 the brow, a weight at each joint, a weigh? 
 at every extremity, and a still grr 
 weight in the stomach. Then as tu the 
 state of your nerves : co -jeive yourself 
 in the lowest of low Sj .rits ; in hourly 
 dread of some misfortune ; haunted with 
 suspicions regarding your dearest friends ; 
 looking upon your whole household as a 
 set of conspirators against your comfort : 
 feeling all this, I say, with a thorough 
 conviction that such sensations mislead 
 you ; that in reality no misfortune impends ; 
 
nys, and thinks that he is 
 e bankrupt 'uurt, ami that 
 \y redisobi I lent. Alus! 
 cb iracluristiv -, >r the in- 
 b" is posoesseil with, to 
 he ken of ih victim, 
 nuiister ilci uige» liis liud- 
 rives him tu the doctor, lie 
 syiiiji' in I tit those wiiich 
 r (h< tuul disnuse. The 
 , hout'ver, finds it out in 
 er in consequence of, his 
 nd proceeds to exorcise 
 lot after the ancient pinii 
 and candle — but wilh pill, 
 nty of exorcise, 
 •re, we meet with such a 
 described, let us bo a lit- 
 I^oit't let us denounce him 
 I or mitigation. Pity is 
 :iment which bo should 
 n nature is not so innately 
 s philosophers innugine ; 
 ir good impulses pre- 
 would remain dominant, 
 ■ often bhniled, checked, 
 oy dyspepsia. Imagine 
 Jyspeptic condition, and 
 r you could bo amiable to 
 ituros, or L<e able to as- 
 a when you have it not ? 
 in a state which, when 
 ou are obliged to describe 
 Arhich makes you wretch- 
 ble, but you don't know 
 ion which, nevertheless, 
 cupation ; a feeling which 
 essing craving for food, 
 I disgust at the very idea 
 constant drowsiness, with- 
 f sleeping ; a sensation of 
 itigue and weariness, with 
 B exercise ; a weight over 
 ght at each joint, a weight 
 nity, and a still gp i 
 tomach. Then as tu ihe 
 lerves : co "jeive yourself 
 if low b, .nts ; in hourly 
 misfortune ; haunted with 
 ding your dearest friends ; 
 our whole household as a 
 ors against your comfort : 
 , I say, with a thorough 
 such sensations mislead 
 ity no misfortune impends ; 
 
 DYSPEPSIA. 
 
 645 
 
 nti'l 
 Th 
 ben 
 
 our family love you dearly, 
 ht, instead of enjoying the 
 
 fCi swccl rontorcr, bnlmy ilnrp," 
 you at, ■isitf'd bv your attendant demon's 
 terrible ally, niglltmare, who inllicts even 
 ar.iiicr tortures on you than his daytime 
 colleague. " In a half-waking or inter- 
 soiii.iious condition," saith the learned IJr. 
 Voa DrulFelof Berlin, " you behold a mon- 
 ger of some kind— a goblin, a fiery horse, 
 1 wild gigantic man— glide slowly toward 
 This apparition seals itself on the 
 your suiinach, and presses you with 
 ishing weight that you can nei- 
 ilie uoT move a limb." Vmi are 
 1( ep ; you are suiricienlly awake to 
 , that could you but move your little 
 „ger the charm would be broken, and the 
 lie nightmare galL.p away. Bm y<»ii t"^" 
 not : all power is removed, and there the 
 imaginary quadruped remains, caprioling 
 upon your devoted breast, like a heavily- 
 shod war-horse on parade. Even when 
 you fall asleep you are no better off. You 
 have horrid visions. You dream yourself 
 to be the most detestable villain in exis- 
 tence. In the short space of an hour's 
 nap, you inflict tortures on some dear 
 friend which would have frightened a 
 Spanish inquisitor. You commit crimes 
 of unheard-of atrocity, and only escape 
 the gibbet by waking, the victim of re- 
 morse and despair. 
 
 After enduring all this, picture yourself 
 seated at breakfast, and though surrounded 
 with every comfort administered by a most 
 affectionate household, just say whether 
 you think it to be within the pale of hu- 
 man probability iliat you could look, speak, 
 or behave pleasantly ? If your wife were 
 to offer you the sincerest sympathy, and 
 the tenderest condolences, would not the , 
 internal demon " dyspepsia," incite you to 
 accuse her of " teasing" you ? Can you 
 for a moment believe that, in such a stale 
 of mind and stomach, your expostulation 
 would be mild and Christian-like, if the 
 butter were bad, or the egg you had just 
 broken somewhat too odoriferous 1 Would 
 you, if ever so coaxingly asked, hand oyer 
 a check for your wife's milliner's bill with- 
 
 out grumbling ? If you could do all these 
 things, you are more than mortal. 
 
 Let me repeat, therefore, when you heat 
 
 an individual denounced as a monster oi 
 ill-humor, do not be too harsh upon his 
 moral character, before you have inquired 
 into his physical syin|>lom». Many a man 
 who is accused of having a bud heart, 
 ought rather to be described as having a 
 bad stomach, for the immenso influence 
 which that organ exercises over (lie world- 
 ly conduct of mankind is greatly over- 
 looked. A femide patient of the celelira- 
 ted French physician I'mel, who was ful- 
 ly possessed with the demon dyspepsia, 
 and knew it, thus details her condition ;— 
 '• The foundation of all my misforlunt^s is 
 in my stomach. It is so sensitive, iliat 
 pain, grief, pleasure, and, in a word, all 
 sorts of moral affections, seem to take 
 their origin in it. Even a frown from a 
 friend wounds me so sensibly, tliat my 
 whole system is disagreeably affected by 
 it, I think by means of my stomach, if 
 I may bo allowed so to express myself." 
 How many apparently evil-disposed per- 
 sons whom one meets wilh may be pre- 
 cisely in this lady's condition, and think 
 and act from the dictates of the stomach, 
 or rather from those of the demon con- 
 tained in it— dyspepsia! How frequently, 
 therefore, may not our judgment err m the 
 matter of first causes, regarding petty 
 cruellies and small tyrannies ? When, (or 
 example, a rich debtor refuses a poor cred- 
 itor a long-deferred payment, may not this 
 piece of injustice be the result, not so 
 much of sheer dishonesty, as of deranged 
 digestive organs f May we not attribute 
 it less to a defect in 'he moral sentiments, 
 than to evil influences diffused over his 
 nervous system by a piece of undigested 
 pigeon-pie? 1 knew a whole family 
 whose happiness seemed to depend upon 
 what the head of it ate for dinner. His 
 dietar' was watched, especially by the 
 younger branches, with incessant anxiety. 
 After mutton-chops and boiled nco, they 
 could— provided he abstained from pud- 
 ding— coax papa out of anything. Boiled 
 beef boded evil ; and in that case they 
 cared very little to come in as «sua to 
 lake their share of dessert. When lob- 
 ster-salad had been partaken of, they crept 
 about the house like mice, and kept as 
 much as possible out of papa's way. Uu- 
 ring his paroxysms of ill-humor, reason- 
 ing was vain ; neither the expostulations 
 
 Bp^SewBw*-**'-^*"'""'- ■■' 
 
«.». 
 
 i 4Jt 
 
 ill 
 
 lt-*«w»iii*, 
 
 •**.* 
 
 *««t 
 
 ^•^« 
 
 C46 
 
 THE RKOALIA OF THK BHITI8H CROWN. 
 
 of his brother tho roctor, nor the kind en- 
 treaiics of a wife whom he devotedly 
 loved, were elTtcliial in reslraiiiinjf hin 
 tetcliy (iliulliiiotiH of nplenn. Tho demon 
 within 1,'row diiily more inHufntial, till he 
 began to l>o shunned by his I'riendH. No 
 good ''flTect was produced oven by that. 
 At length a medical adviser was consulted 
 reHpecling his cadaverous appearance and 
 certain pains which " shot" across tho 
 shoulders. The doctor ordered him to 
 Chelteidiarn, placed him on a strict regi- 
 men, enjoined frequent visits to tho pump- 
 room, ^»nd in three months our friend re- 
 turned, to all appearance an angel of good 
 temper. The banished roses returned to 
 his cheeks — he felt strong and hearty, and 
 never spoke a cross word. His meals 
 were no longer watched, fur the juveniles 
 found him ever kind and complying, no 
 matter what vvas for dinner. It was, how- 
 ever, observed tiiat he ate much more 
 sparingly than formerly, and never would 
 allow such a thing as a round of salt beef 
 or a lobster to enter his door. 
 
 It is not too much to aflirm, that half 
 the crimes to which human frailty is lia- 
 ble are concocted in the stomach. Tho 
 poor are incited to mischief by the cra- 
 vings of their digestive organs for some- 
 thing to do ; while the rich are often im- 
 pelled to wrong, because they give their 
 digestive powers more than they can do. 
 If the former could keep fuller stomachs, 
 and the latter emptier ones, there would 
 assuredly be fewer evil deeds in tho world 
 than are perpetrated at present. 
 
 POWER OF THE VOICE OVER 
 CHILDREN. 
 
 It is usual to attempt the management 
 of children either by corporeal punish- 
 ment, or by rewards addressed to the sen- 
 ses, or by words alone. There is one 
 other means of government, the power 
 and importance of which are seldonj re- 
 garded — I refer to the human voice. ^ 
 blow may be inflicted on a child, ac': o.i'.- 
 panied by words so uttered as to counte- 
 act entirely its intended eflect ; or ihe 
 parent may use language, in the correction 
 of the child, not objectionable in itself, y<;t i 
 
 spoken in a tone which more than defeats 
 its influence. IiCt any one endeavor to 
 recall the imago of a fond moilwr long 
 since at rest in heaven. Ilor swcjel sniilo 
 and ever clear countenance are brought 
 vividly to recollection ; and so also is her 
 lice, and blessed is that parent who is 
 endowed with a pleasing utterance. What 
 is it which lulls the infant to repose ? It 
 is no array of mere words. There is no 
 charm to the untaught one in letters, syl- 
 lables, and sentences. It is tlie sound 
 which strikes its little ear that soothes 
 and composes it to sleep. A few notes, 
 however unskilfully arranged, if uttered 
 in a soft tone, are found to possess a 
 magic influence. Think wo, that this in- 
 fluence is confined to tho cradle ? No ; 
 it is difl'used over every age, and ceases 
 not while the child is under the parental 
 roof. In the pressure of duty, we are 
 tempted to utter ourselves hastily to our 
 children. Perhaps a throat is expressed 
 in a loud and irritating tone ; instead of 
 allaying the passions of the child, it serves 
 directly to increase them. Every fretful 
 expression awakens in him the same spir- 
 it which produced it. So does a pleasant 
 voice call up agreeable feelings. What- 
 ever disposition, therefore, we would en- 
 courage in a child, the same we should 
 manifest in the tone in which we address 
 them. 
 
 THE REGALIA OF THE BRITISH 
 CROWN. 
 
 ^ HE regalia, deposit- 
 I\ed in a room recently 
 appropriated to that 
 purpose, presents a 
 magnificent specta- 
 cle. Here is the an- 
 cient imperial crown 
 of Ch, lies II. ; prince 
 the aniient queen's 
 t niagniiicent display 
 :4 Eiigland's regalia is the crov/n of her 
 presoni. majesty. The cap is of purple 
 velvet. With silver hoops covered with 
 diamonds ; on the top of these hoops is 
 a ball covered with smaller diamonds, with 
 
 of WhIos' 
 crju.i, but 
 
 crovii, 
 the n-r' 
 
jssm 
 
 N. 
 
 'hich mnro thnit dwfeata 
 
 t any one onilenvor to 
 if a fond inodicr loiii; 
 ivcn. Hfjr 8W(!i't smile 
 iiintoriaiico an' hroiiylit 
 iuii ; and so also is her 
 in that parent wlio is 
 asiiig nttorancp. U'li'it 
 
 infant to roposo ? It 
 B words. Thoro is no 
 light oni) in letters, syl- 
 ices. It is the hoiiikI 
 
 littlo ear that sooilies 
 J sleep. A few notes, 
 ly arranged, if uttered 
 re found to possess a 
 Think wo, that tins in- 
 
 1 to the cradle ? No ; 
 every age, and ceases 
 
 Id is under the parental 
 ssuro of duty, wo are 
 urselves hastily to our 
 i a threat is expressed 
 ating tone ; instead of 
 ns of the child, it serves 
 them. Every fretful 
 IS in him the same spir- 
 it. So does a pleasant 
 uablo feelings. What- 
 erefore, we woulil en- 
 l, the sanio we .should 
 e iu which we address 
 
 OF THE BRITISH 
 lOWN. 
 
 ^ HE regalia, deposit- 
 \ed in a room recently 
 appropriated to that 
 purpose, presents a 
 magnificent specta- 
 cle. Here is the an- 
 > cient imt'erial crown 
 of Ch r.esn. ; prince 
 the an.:i<?nt queen's 
 'I niagniiicent display 
 ia is the crov/n of her 
 The cap is of purple 
 r hoops covered with 
 top of these hoops is 
 smaller diamonds, with 
 
 --.a^R)i/M;MaiMt ' aat^ '' !^^4?iri.e«»sS-iaMM-!l8^ 
 

 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-S) 
 
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 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 
 
 (716)8721503 
 
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 Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques 
 
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648 
 
 THE REGALIA OF THE BRITISH CROWN. 
 
 a cross of brilliants, containing a remark- 
 able central sapphire. On the front is a 
 hcarl-shaped ruby, said to have been worn 
 by Edward the black prince. This dia- 
 mond weighs one and three fourths pounds, 
 and is valued atone million pounds. The 
 baptismal font with stand of silver gilt, 
 which was used at the baptism of her 
 present majesty, and the prince of Wales, 
 IS lour feet high, and cost forty thousand 
 pounds (two hundred thousanr'. dollars). 
 A large silver wine fountain is also ex- 
 hibited, weighing ninety-six pounds, and 
 which cost fifty thousand dollars. There 
 are various other costly parapiiernalia be- 
 longing to the regalia, such as St. Ed- 
 ward's stair, of pure gold, four feet seven 
 inches in length; the royal sceptre, of 
 gold, two feet nine inches long, the rod of 
 equity, of gold, three feet seven inches 
 long, the queen's ivory sceptre, mounted 
 in gold, with a dove of white onyx ; the 
 orb, Hve inches in diameter, edged with 
 pearls, and surmounted with roses of dia- 
 monds. The sovereign holds this orb in 
 the left hand at the coronation ; the swords 
 of Justice, temporal and ecclesiastical ; 
 and numerous other articles which we 
 can not mention. The value of the whole 
 regalia is estimated at three millions of 
 pounds equal to fourteen millions five hun- 
 dred and twenty thousand dollars ! 
 
 The regalia represented in the group in 
 our engraving, exhibits not only the rega- 
 lia, properly so called, but also those which 
 are used when a queen consort is crowned. 
 The reader will please to bear in recollec- 
 tion the difference between a queen reg- 
 nant, and a queen consort. A queen reg- 
 nant occupies the kingly office, as of right. 
 She IS the king, and is called queen as 
 being a female. But a queen consort is 
 called queen, as being the wife of the 
 king, and her only right (if right it can be 
 called) to be crowned lies in the will and 
 pleasure of her husband. 
 
 The regalia, properly so called, are rep- 
 resented grouped on the left side of the 
 engraving. The two crowns are the crown 
 of state and the imperial crown. The im- 
 perial crown is also called St. Edward's 
 crown, as having been made for the cor- 
 onation of Charles II. to supply the place 
 of the old crown (whicii bore the name 
 of Edward the confessor) destroyed, along 
 
 with the other ancient rogalia by order of 
 parliament. The imperial crown is •' the 
 crown royal, which is set upon the ki.ijr\s 
 head ,;" the crown of state is for the ac- 
 commodation of the king, to be worn in 
 procession. The crown of state w;,s 
 made for the coronation of George IV 
 the old one having been broken up A 
 new crown of state has been made for the 
 present queen, which contains all the jf-w- 
 els of the former crown, with many ad- 
 ditional ones. 
 
 Four swords are used at a coronation 
 1 he sword of state, sheathed in its orna- 
 mented 3cabbard, and the three swords of 
 mercy and of justice. The sword of n.or- 
 cy is Curtana, or the pointless sword ; the 
 sword of spiritual justice is obtusely point- 
 ed ; but the sword of justice of the tei.i- 
 porahty is acutely pointed. St. Edward's 
 staff IS represented as crossing the impe- 
 rial crown ; it is a large golden rod, wuh 
 a mound and cross at the top, and is car- 
 ried before the king in the procession to 
 the coronation. The sceptre and the 
 virge, or rod, are represented crossed in 
 the foreground of the engraving. The 
 sceptre, surmounied by a mound and cross 
 IS placed in the king's right hand ; and the' 
 virge, or rod, surmounted by a cross and 
 dove, is placed in the left hand. The 
 globe, or orb, surmounted by a cross, is 
 supposed to have been used originally as 
 a type or emblem of sovereignty. The 
 other portions of the regalia are the .spurs, 
 of fino gold, curiou-dy wrought, the ring, 
 and the armil, or armilla, which is used in 
 the ceremony of investiture. 
 
 That portion of the regalia which is 
 used when a queen consort is crowned, 
 consists of a crown of state, a circlet of 
 gold, an orb, similar to the king's scep- 
 tres, and a ring. They are grouped on 
 the right side of the engraving, the sword 
 of state crossing them. 
 
 Kino.— The word " king," is of Teu- 
 tonic or German origin, and is very gen- 
 erally stated by etymologists to be derived 
 from the same root as " cunning," used in 
 Its old signification of skill or capacity. 
 The title of cuning, cyning, cyng, and 
 now "king," was bestowed by consent 
 and acclamation on the bold leader who 
 shewed his capacity for the post. 
 
It rugalia by order of 
 penal crown is •' tlie 
 » set upon the kiiiir\s 
 state is for the ac- 
 king, to be worn in 
 rown of state w.is 
 lion of George IV., 
 aeon broken up. A 
 as been made for tlio 
 contains all the jcw- 
 own, with many ad- 
 
 i«d at a coronation, 
 heathod in its orna- 
 the three swords of 
 
 The sword of nior- 
 lointless sword ; the 
 ice is obtusely point- 
 justice of the ter.i- 
 ited. St. Edward's 
 
 orossing the impe- 
 de golden rod, with 
 the top, and is cur- 
 i the procession to 
 ' sceptre and the 
 esented crossed in 
 5 engraving. The 
 ' a mound and cross, 
 right hand ; and the 
 ted by a cross and 
 e left hand. The 
 ited by a cross, is 
 
 used originally as 
 sovereignty. The 
 sgalia are the .spurs, 
 wrought, the ring, 
 a, which is used in 
 iture. 
 
 J regalia which is 
 )nsort is crowned, 
 ' state, a circlet of 
 
 the king's scep- 
 iy are grouped on 
 graving, the sword 
 
 king," is of Teu- 
 , and is very gen- 
 •gists to be derived 
 cunning," used in 
 skill or capacity. 
 'yning, cyng, and 
 owed by consent 
 I bold leader who 
 the post. 
 
 MARCH. 
 
 649 
 
 ARCH, named 
 so by Romulus, 
 from the heath- 
 en deity, Mars, 
 by the Saxons, 
 Length-Monetk, 
 because, in this 
 month, the days 
 begin in length 
 to exceed the nights. The sun has now 
 acquired so much power, that on a clear 
 day we often feel all the genial influence 
 of spring, though the naked shrubs and 
 trees still give the landscape the comfort- 
 less appearance of winter. But soft, 
 pleasant weather, m the month of March, 
 is seldom of long duration. 
 
 A'^ soon as a few dry days have made 
 the land fit for working, the farmer goes 
 to the plough; and, if the fair weather 
 continue, proceeds to sowing oats and 
 hurley ; though this business is seldom 
 fuiislied till the next month. The impor- 
 tance of a dry season for getting the seed 
 early and favorably into the ground, is ex- 
 pressed in the old proverb, 
 " A buciiel of March dust is worth a king's ransom." 
 The mellow note of Jie throstle, who 
 sings perched on the naked bough of some 
 lolty tree, is heard iVom the beginning of 
 the month : at the same time, the ring- 
 dove coos in the woods. The lesser 
 white throat, and the chiff-chaff, arrive to- 
 ward the end of the month. The rookery 
 is now all in motion, with the pleasing la- 
 bor of building and repairing nests ; and 
 highly amusing it is, to observe the tricks 
 and artifices of the thievish tribe, some to 
 defend, and others to plunder, the materi- 
 als of their new habitations. These birds 
 are accused of doing much injury to the 
 farmer, by plucking up the young corn, 
 and other springing vegetables ; but some 
 think this mischief fully repaid by their 
 diligence in picking up the grubs of va- 
 rious insects, whicii. if suffered to grow 
 to maturity, wouM occasion much greater 
 damage. For this purpose, they are fre- 
 quently seen following the plough, or set- 
 tling in flocks on uewly-iurned-up lands. 
 " Rooks,"' says an intelligent observer 
 of aatufo, "appear to have a language 
 
 among themselves, which is understood 
 by the whole community ; and a peculiar 
 note, from a bird set to watch and warn 
 them of approaching danger, is ([uite suf- 
 ficient to make them lake flisiht, and al- 
 ways in an opposite direction to that from 
 which the danger is apprehended." 
 
 Frogs, which during winter lie in a 
 torpid state at the bottoms of ponds or 
 ditches, are enlivened by the warmth of 
 spring, and early in this month rise to the 
 surface of the water in vast numbers. 
 They are at first very timorjus, and dive 
 to the bottom with great quickness as one 
 approaches ; but in the coupling season 
 they become bolder, and make themselves 
 heard to a great distance by their croak- 
 ing. 
 
 Those most elegant fish, smelts or spar- 
 lings, begin to run up the rivers in this 
 month, in order to spawn. They are of 
 so tender a nature, that the least mixture 
 of snow water in the river will drive them 
 back again lo the sea. But nothing in the 
 animal creation is a more pleasing spec- 
 ;■. ' , than the sporting of the young lambs, 
 most of which are yeaned during this 
 month, and are trusted abroad when the 
 weather is tolerably mild. 
 
 Another most agreeable token of the 
 arrival of spring is, that the bees begin to 
 venture out of their hives about the mid- 
 dle of this • nth. As their food is the 
 honey-likt ; fo".nd in the tubes of flow- 
 ers, their comli. .broad is a certain sign 
 that flowers aro now to be met with. No 
 creature seems possessed of a greater 
 power of foreseeing the sttte of the weath- 
 er ; so that their appearance in the morn- 
 ing may be reckoned a sure token of a fair 
 day. 
 
 " My bees," says Mr. Jesse, " are a con- 
 stant source of amusement to me ; and 
 the more I study them, the more I am led 
 to admire their sagacity. Few things, 
 however, surprise me more, than the pow- 
 er A«liich they possess of communicating 
 what I can only call intelligence to each 
 other. This I observe to be almost inva- 
 riably the case before they swarm. Some 
 scouts may then be observed to leave the 
 hive, and for sometime to hover round a 
 particular bush, or branch of a tree ; after 
 which, they return to the hive. In a lit- 
 tle while, the new swarm quits it and set- 
 
 !.r 
 
 1! i1 
 
 ■ "i 
 
 (ipaii 
 
 

 650 
 
 VISIONS OP GOOD MEN-CHAMOIS HUNTING. 
 
 lies on the branch which had been previ- 
 ously fixed upon by the scouts. The 
 same power of communication may be 
 observed in the ant. I have often put a 
 small green caterpillar near an ant's nest ; 
 you may see it immediately seized by one 
 of the ants, which, after sevaral ineffect- 
 ual efforts to drag it to its nest, will quit 
 it, go up to another ant, and they will ap- 
 pear to hold a conversation together by 
 means of their antennae, after which they 
 will return together to the caterpillar, and, 
 by their united efforts, drag it where they 
 wish t<» deposite it. 
 
 " Each crawling insect holds a rank 
 important in the plan of Him who framed 
 this scale of beings." 
 
 In the latter part of this month, the 
 equinox happens, when day and night are 
 of an equal length all over the globe ; or 
 rather, when the sun is an equal time 
 above and below the horizon ; for the 
 morning and evening twilight make appa- 
 rent day considerably longer than night. 
 This takes place again in September. 
 The first is called the vernal, the latter 
 the auiuumal equinox. At these times, 
 storms and tempests are particularly fre- 
 quent, whence they have always been the 
 terror of mariners. March winds are 
 boisterous and vehement to a proverb. 
 
 VISIONS OF GOOD MEN. 
 
 How many beautiful visions pass be- 
 fore the mind in a single day, when the 
 reins are thrown loose, and fancy feels no 
 restraints ! How curious, interesting, 
 and instructive, would be the history of 
 a single mind for a day ! How many im- 
 aginary joys, how many airy castles, pass 
 before it, which a single jostle of this 
 rough world at once destroys ! Who is 
 there of my readers who has not imagined 
 summers fairer than ever bloomed, scepery 
 in nature more perfect than was ever com- ' 
 bined by the pencil, abodes more beauti- 
 ful than were ever bestowed, homes more 
 peaceful than were ever enjoyed, compan- 
 ions more angelic than ever walked this 
 earth, and bliss more complete, and joys 
 more thrilling, than were ever allotted to 
 man ? You may call these the dreams of 
 
 the imagmation, but they are common to 
 the student. The man who lives for this 
 world alone, these visions of bliss, poor 
 as they are, are all that ever come. But 
 good men have their anticipations— not 
 the paintings of fancy, but the realities 
 which faith discovers. Good men have 
 the most vivid conceptions. Witness 
 those of old. As they look down the vale 
 of time, they see a star arise, the everlast- 
 ing hills do bow, the valleys are raised, 
 and the moon puts on the brii>htnoss of 
 the sun. The deserts and the dry places 
 gush with waters. Nature pauses. 'J'lio 
 serpent forgets his fangs; the lion and tlie 
 Iamb sleep side by side, and the hand oi 
 the child is on the mane of the tiger. Na- 
 tions gaze till they forget the murderous 
 work of war, and the garments rolled in 
 blood. The whole earth is enlightened, 
 and the star shines on till it brings in ev- 
 erlasting day. Here are glowing concep- 
 tions, but they are not the work of a de- 
 praved imagination. They will be all re- 
 alized. Sin and death will long walk 
 hand in hand on this earth, and their foot- 
 steps will not be entirely blotted out till 
 the fires of the last day have melted the 
 globe. But the head of the one is, already 
 bruised, and the sting is already taken 
 from the other. They may long roar, but 
 they walk in chains, and the eye of faith 
 sees the hand that holds the chains. But 
 we have visions still brighter. Wo look 
 for new heavens and a new earth where- 
 in dwelleth righteousness, where no sin 
 will mar the beauty, no sorrow diminish 
 the joy, no anxiety corrode the heart, or 
 cloud the brow. 
 
 CHAMOIS HUNTING. 
 
 HE chamois hunter 
 sets out i;iion his ex- 
 pedition of fafiguo and 
 danger gonera y in 
 the night. His ob- 
 ject is to find himself 
 at the break of day, 
 in the most elevated 
 pastures, where the chamois comes to 
 feed before the flocks shall have arrived 
 
y are common to 
 who lives for this 
 •ns of bliss, poor 
 ever come, lint 
 inticipations — not 
 but the realities 
 Good men have 
 Hions. Witness 
 )ok down the vale 
 rise, the everiast- 
 illeys are raised, 
 the l)rightness o 
 id tile dry places 
 ire pauses. Tim 
 ; the lion and the 
 and the hand ol 
 f the tiger. Na- 
 t the murderous 
 rments rolled in 
 
 I is enlightened, 
 
 II it brings in ev- 
 glowing coiicep- 
 ! work of a de- 
 3y will be all re- 
 will long walk 
 h, and their foot- 
 y blotted out till 
 lave melted the 
 le one is, already 
 3 already taken 
 ly long roar, but 
 Ihe eye of faith 
 he chains. But 
 liter. We look 
 w earth where- 
 
 , where no sin 
 orrow diminish 
 le the heart, or 
 
 riNG. 
 
 ■hamois hunter 
 n r.pon his ex- 
 m of fatigue and 
 ' gonera y in 
 ght. His ob- 
 to find himself 
 break of day, 
 most elevated 
 lois comes to 
 1 have arrived 
 
652 
 
 THE MISSISSIPPI AND THE NILE. 
 
 thero. The chamois feeJs only at morn- 
 ing and evening. When the hunter has 
 nearly reached the spot where he expects 
 to fnul his prey, ho reconnoitres with a 
 telescope. If he finds not the chamois, 
 he mounts still higher: but if he discovers 
 him, lie endeavors to climb above him and 
 get neiirer, by passing round some ravine, 
 or gliding behind some eminence or rock. 
 When he is near enough to distinguish 
 the horns of the animal (which are small, 
 round, pointed, and bent backward like a 
 hook, as in our engraving), he rests his ri- 
 fle upon a rock, and takes his aim with 
 great coolness. He rarely misses. This 
 rifle is often double-barrelled. If the 
 chamois falls, he runs to his prey, makes 
 sure of him by cutting the ham-strings, 
 and applies himself to consider by what 
 way he may best regain his village. If 
 the route is very diflicult, he contents him- 
 self with skinning the chamois ; but if 
 the way is at all practicable with a load, 
 he throws the animal over his shoulder, 
 and bears it home to his family, undaunt- 
 ed by the distance he has to go, and the 
 precipices he has to cross. 
 
 But when, as is more frequently the 
 case, the vigilant animal perceives the 
 hunter, he flies with the greatest swiftness 
 into the glaciers, leaping with incredible 
 speed over the frozen snows and pointed 
 rocks. It is particularly difficult to ap- 
 proach the chamois when there are many 
 together. While the herd graze, one of 
 them is planted as a sentinel on the point 
 of some rock, which commands all the 
 avenues of their pasturage ; and when he 
 perceives an object of tlarm, he makes a 
 sharp, hissing noise, at the sound of M'hich 
 all the rest run toward him, to judge for 
 themselves of the nature of the danger. 
 If they discover a beast of prey or a hunt- 
 er, the most experienced puts himself at 
 their head, and they bound along, one af- 
 ter the other, into the most inaccessible 
 places. 
 
 It is then that the labors of the hunter 
 commence ; for then, carried away by the 
 excitement, he knows no danger. He 
 crosses the snows, without thinking of 
 the precipices which they may cover ; he 
 plunges into the most dangerous passes 
 of the mountains — he climbs up, he leaps 
 from rock to rock, without considering 
 
 how he can return. The night often finds 
 him in the heat of the pursuit ; but he 
 does not give up for this olistaclo. He 
 considers that the chamois will stop du- 
 ring the darkness as well as himself, and 
 that on the morrow ho may asrain roach 
 them. Ho passes then the night, not at 
 the foot of a tree, nor in a cave (Dvered 
 with verdure, as the hunter of the plain 
 docs, but upon a naked rock, or upon a 
 heap of rough stones, witlioui any sort 
 of shelter. He is alone, without firo, 
 without light ; but he takes from his bacr 
 a bit of cheese, and some of the barley- 
 bread, which is his ordinary food — bread 
 so hard that he is obliged to l)reak it l)e- 
 tween two stones, or to cleave it with the 
 axe which ho always carries with him to 
 cut steps which shall serve for his ladder 
 up the rocks of ice. His fruy;al meal 
 being soon ended, he puts u stuno under 
 his head, and is presently asleep, dream- 
 ing of the way the chamois has taken. 
 He is awakened by the frcshn<-ss of the 
 morning air ; he rises, pierci'd through 
 with cold ; he measures wiih his eye the 
 precipices he must yet climb to reaeh the 
 chamois ; he drinks a littlo brandy (of 
 which he always carries a small provis- 
 ion), throws his bag across his shoulder, 
 and again rushes forward to encounter 
 new dangers. These daring and perse- 
 vering hunters remain whoie days in the 
 dreariest solitudes of the glaciers of Cha- 
 mouni ; and during this liinf?, their fami- 
 lies, and, above all,' their Uiihappy wives, 
 feel the keenest alarm for their safety. 
 
 THE MISSISSIPPI AND THE NILE. 
 
 Y the Greeks the 
 space included with- 
 in the mouihs of the 
 Nile, was called the 
 Delta, from its resem- 
 blance to the letter (A) 
 of that name. This 
 space embraced all 
 of that part of Kgypt, 
 from the site of ancient Mempins. or mod- 
 ern Cairo, to the Mediterranean sea. It 
 was the great alluvial formation of the 
 
The m'sht often finds 
 the pursuit ; but he 
 or this oliMtiicIn. He 
 chamois will stop ihi- 
 s well as liimarir, and 
 ' ho may uuain r(!ach 
 ihnn the ni^lii, not at 
 lor in a cave (overcd 
 e hunter of tin; plain 
 aked rock, or upon a 
 les, without any sort 
 
 I alone, without fire, 
 le takes from his bag 
 
 some of the barley- 
 ordinary food — bread 
 bliged to break it be- 
 r to cleave it with the 
 's carries wiih him to 
 
 II serve for liis ladder 
 JO. His fruiial meal 
 he puts H stone uiuler 
 (sently asleep, dream- 
 3 chamois has taken. 
 
 the freshness of the 
 ises, piercrd throujfh 
 ures wiih his eye the 
 f'et climb to reach the 
 s a litilo brandy (of 
 arries a siiiaii provis- 
 
 across his shoulder, 
 forward io otieounter 
 se daring and perso- 
 ■in whole days in the 
 f the frlaciers of Cha- 
 this iimf% their fami- 
 their uahappy wives, 
 ■m for their safety. 
 
 : AND THE NILE. 
 
 Y the Greeks the 
 space included with- 
 in the inouihs of the 
 Nile, was called the 
 Delta, from its resem- 
 blance to the letter (A) 
 of that name. This 
 space embraced all 
 of that part of Fgypt, 
 nt Mempnis. or mod- 
 idilerranean sea. It 
 ial formation of the 
 
 THE MISSISSIPPI AND THR NILR. 
 
 c:.3 
 
 Nile. It constitutes a triantjio, nearly 
 ('([uiliteral, the sides of which average 
 almiit eighty miles. The wliole tjreat val- 
 ley of ihe Nile is about nine huudred miles 
 Idiiy, and. on an average, al)out six miltss 
 jjioail. Within this narrow space all that 
 oih;i> was great in the world was centred. 
 It was the kin},'dom of Egypt — the foun- 
 t.iiu of civilization — the mistress of the 
 civili/ed W(uld. Wo read of the glories 
 of riielu'S and Memphis with incrcduliiy. 
 'rii.ir hundred brazen gates, anil the sixty 
 lliousand armed men which could at all 
 liuii's issue from them, though they are 
 fails related liy grave historians, from Ile- 
 rodi/ius downward, seriously tax our pi.iw- 
 ors of belief. But when we remember 
 that the chosen people of Heaven were 
 but a race of uneducated sheplierds when 
 Il|,'vpl was a powerful, enlightened king- 
 (lo;n — when we gaze upon the heaviui- 
 reared, eternal pyramids, and explore the 
 vast excavated temples — the !)uilders of 
 which are not known, and the date of 
 which can not be fixed, we must acknowl- 
 edge that this little river, this narrow val- 
 ley, shows to mankind what man can do. 
 To Egypt we trace all civilization ; from 
 the Egyptians we must confess that we 
 have derived most of the arts of life. Her 
 early history is veiled in obscurity, hut hi;r 
 niimuments stand, and will for ever, the 
 admiration and the wonder of mankind. 
 
 The valley of the Nile, and that of the 
 Mississippi, have often been compared, 
 but save in their fertility, wherein do tliey 
 resemble each other ? The one is a long 
 narrow strip of land, skirted by sandy des- 
 erts, depending for its yearly capacity to 
 sui)ply human wants upon the rise of the 
 river — the other extends in length more 
 than fourteen hundred miles, and in 
 br(!adth from the Alleganies to the Rocky 
 mountains, and embraces a soil of inhe- 
 rent and perpetual fertility ; the one is 
 watered by a single river, without branch- 
 es or tributaries ; the other possesses more 
 than eight thousand miles of navigable 
 streams. If the people who heretofore 
 inhabited the valley of the Nile, could 
 construct works so stupendous, and exer- 
 cise upon all succeeding time an influence 
 so remarkable — who can say what shall 
 be the destiny of the citizens of this great 
 valley of the " ff.ther of waters" \ What 
 
 is not in their power? who can imagine 
 the strength which they will wield, or the 
 glories they will achieve ? 
 
 When the great Alexander had con- 
 (piered the world, ho was desirous of leav- 
 ing to |)ost(!rily some record of his lame. 
 The shattered walls, the ruined temples, 
 and the falling columns of the citi<'s which 
 he had destroyed, nmst shortly disa|>pear. 
 He wished to impress his name upon a 
 living and enduring inoninnent. He had 
 the world in which to select its site, and 
 he chose the Delta of the Nile. The city 
 of Alexandria was at once a testimony to 
 his power and his sagacity. Connected 
 by a canal with the western opening of the 
 Nile, it commanded the whoh; commerce 
 of the valley — its galleys covered the 
 Mediterranean, and a thousand carivans, 
 traversing the deserts of Asia and Africa, 
 poured into it the untold wealth of thosi; 
 extensive regions. For years it was the 
 first city of the world ; and after ages of 
 wars, domestic revolutions, and foreign 
 plunder, it is said that at its final conipiest 
 by the lieutenant of the calif Omar, it 
 contained a population of 600,000. 
 
 If such was Alexaiulria, the capital of 
 Egypt, the emporium of the valley of the 
 Nile, what may not .New Orleans, the nat- 
 ural outlet of our great valley, become ' 
 We are not dependent on caravans, traver- 
 sing the deserts ; we are not bona led by 
 the narrow limits of the Mediterranean ; 
 we have not for our sole support 6,000 
 square miles of territory ; we are not 
 ground down by a tyranni"'.! gover.iment; 
 how far, then, must we ; , 'ss the proud 
 city of Egypt in her palmiest days ! What 
 the Atlantic and Pacific are to the Medit- 
 erranean, what the Mississipj)i is to the 
 Nile, what steamships are t(» two-banked 
 galleys, must this emporium be to Alexan- 
 dria. The prospect before us is indeed 
 bright and cheering. The full accom- 
 plishment of the most sanguine hopes de- 
 pend only upon ourselves Nature has 
 done everything that is necessary — 'it on- 
 ly remains for man to do his share. 
 
 Maxlms. — Persevere against discour- 
 agements. Employ leisure in study, and 
 always have some work in hand. Be 
 punctual and methodical in business, and 
 never procrastinate. 
 
 ^!?»^ 
 
 ^l**^^ 
 
 
654 
 
 THE PATHWAY OF 8CIBNCE. 
 
 THE PATHWAY OF SCIENCE. 
 
 E have been read- 
 ing of the wonder- 
 ful properties of the 
 electro-magnetic tel- 
 egraph, and it has 
 set our fancy afloat 
 in the wide field of 
 speculation. The 
 mind soars upward 
 and onward, awakened in all its energies, 
 struggling, grasping, expanding, with the 
 magnificent conceptions which are awa- 
 kened in the pathway and the progress 
 of science ! 
 
 Science ? what is it? where was it en- 
 gendered ? What are its achievements, and 
 what are the limits which God has ascribed 
 to its astounding developments ? Did it 
 belong to antiquity, or is it ours ? Science ! 
 In the academy, in the lyceum, or the 
 porch at Athens, shall we search for it ? 
 Will we go to the dark ages to trace its 
 foot-prints ? Those ages, with their 
 " wonderful" and " illuminated" doctors, 
 and their magnificent creeds. Ages which 
 brought the hoary-headed Galileo, before 
 the solemn convocation of the wise and 
 learned, to pronounce upon him, through 
 seven grave cardinals, the anathema of 
 the church — "That to maintain the sun to 
 be immovable and without local motion in 
 the centre of the world, is an absurd prop- 
 osition, false in philosophy, heretical in 
 religion, and contrary to the testimony of 
 the scripture ; that it is equally false and 
 absurd in philosophy to assert that the 
 earth is not immoveable in the centre of 
 the world, and, considered theologically, 
 equally erroneous and heretical!" The 
 dark ages, with Copernicus imprisoned 
 by the pope to recant his " absurd dog- 
 mas"-— with Faustus flying from Paris af- 
 ter his fatal bibles had been exposed for 
 sale — the dark ages with the ponderous 
 tomes of Thomas Aquinus, Abelard Duns 
 Scotus, and Peter Lombard, piled up on 
 groaning shelves— the science of the dark 
 ages ! We come to the Baconian era. 
 Bacon, the genius of inductive science, 
 is born. He defines its lines and teaches 
 its limits. His pathway is upward — ama- 
 zing truths — amazing developments ! 
 
 " Eirth'i dl«cmboweloil I meRHurad sre the iikluil 
 Stari oro dclccu-il in llio ilecp rofeu ! 
 Crnation vrliloiml vnn(|iiiiihuil imttiro yioltla, 
 Ilur •cereta «ru oxtortod t art prnvaiU ; 
 What monumunt of guiiiai, apirit, power I" 
 
 Science ha.t been manifesting God 
 Where is God in nature ? The illiterate 
 and the savage see him in the whirlwind 
 and the storm, but in ten thousand beauti- 
 ful combinations is ho revealed to the sci- 
 entific. The earthquake causing moun- 
 tains to totter on their bases, ocean to 
 heave her immense volumes in au!»usi 
 majesty to the sky, and bare her profound 
 cavern.s — the earthquake thundering riv- 
 ers from their channels, rocking down 
 cities, and swallowing them up in yawn- 
 ing abysses — these are God to trembling 
 man universally revealed— God in his 
 might, in his awful magnificence ! iJm, 
 oh, to a few only is he in the soft beauty of 
 the landscape, the meandering stream, the 
 rippling fountain, tlie cascade, the zephyr 
 bearing on its wings Flora's balmy fra- 
 grance, the blade of grass, the pebble, the 
 shell— God the kind and attentive parent, 
 God the benefactor, the friend, minister- 
 ing with equal hand to the great family of 
 living existence. 
 
 Take up the book of astronomy — Go 
 with the astronomer and contemplate the 
 illimitable empire of worlds, and, like 
 Newton, overpowered to trace the great 
 law that connects them together. Exam- 
 ine your own earth, if you please. See 
 it selecting with mathematical precision 
 the only permanent axis out of an infinity 
 of others on which it might have revolved. 
 Observe the position of that axis too- 
 perpendicular or parallel to the ecliptic, 
 where would have been the seasons and 
 animal life? What else would have 
 reigned throughout this wide domain but 
 solitude ? dreary, dreadful, interminable 
 solitude ! The poet was not over-enthu- 
 siastic when he exclaimed — 
 
 " An andcvoat aatronomer is mad I" 
 
 Contemplate with the chymist the great 
 law of definite proportions without emo- 
 tion. Trace the polarization of light, the 
 magnet, electricity's subtle and powerful 
 fluid pervading nature — see with the min- 
 eralogist the regular-formtd and polished 
 crystals which the great Architect has 
 fashioned — the earth unboweled to the 
 
<ll msMnrad are the akioal 
 tliii cliTp roreiiHl 
 rii|iiUhuil imturo yioIJa, 
 tuil I art (imvaiU ; 
 joiiiua, apirll, power I" 
 
 em manifesting God 
 mture ? The illiteiato 
 I him in the whirlwind 
 in ten thousand hciiuti- 
 
 ho revealed to tiie sci- 
 liqiiake causing moun- 
 
 their bases, ocean to 
 se volumes in aufjusi 
 , and bare her profound 
 iquake thundering riv- 
 annels, rocking down 
 king them up in yawn- 
 i are God to trembling 
 revealed — God in his 
 I magnificence ! Bm, 
 he in the soft beauty of 
 meandering stream, the 
 lie cascade, the zephyr 
 gs Flora's bahny fra- 
 f grass, the pebble, the 
 d and attentive parent, 
 r, the friend, minister- 
 \ to the great family of 
 
 ok of astronomy — Go 
 r and contemplate the 
 of worlds, and, like 
 red to trace the great 
 lem together. Exam- 
 1, if you please. See 
 lathematical precision 
 axis out of an infinity 
 t might have revolved. 
 m of that axis too— 
 irallel to the ecliptic, 
 been the seasons and 
 lat else would have 
 this wide domain but 
 Ireadful, interminable 
 t was not over-enthu- 
 lairaed — 
 
 itronomer ia mad I" 
 
 he chymist the great 
 onions without emo- 
 iarization of light, the 
 
 subtle and powerful 
 re — see with the min- 
 -formtd and polished 
 
 great Architect has 
 h unboweled to the 
 
 GREENWICH 0B3KHVAT0aY. 
 
 655 
 
 geologist, its mighty mountains penetra- 
 ted to trace their structure and arrange- 
 ments — jtfl fossils sought out and inter- 
 preted in evidence of rolling thousands 
 and thousands of ages ! Examine with 
 the lK)tanist and the anatomist organic sen- 
 Bibility and organic insensible nature. 
 Everywhere and everything excites an 
 intensity of emotion ! All is great, all is 
 wonderful, all is inexplicable ! Or if men- 
 tal philosophy bo admitted to the dignity 
 of science, the single discovery that tho 
 lawN of association which influence mem- 
 ory are in them-selves indestructible — that 
 an aflection of tho body stimulates their 
 action — that submitted to certain modifi- 
 cations the whole train of past thoughts, 
 feelings, and affections, which now seem 
 shrouded in the dark vista of the past, 
 may be completely developed so that no 
 one item of life shall be lost. This fact, 
 if clearly established, completes the dig- 
 nity of the effect, man, and the cause, 
 God, and is a field for the exercise of 
 deep and profound thought. 
 
 GREENWICH OBSERVATORY. 
 
 MONO the exis- 
 ting iiistituti(ms 
 of this descrip- 
 tion, the observ- 
 atory at Green- 
 wich, of which a 
 representation is 
 arinextid, has long 
 held an ernnent 
 place. It stands on the most 1 1< v ited 
 spot in Greenwich park, and con. .sts of 
 two buildings, one a low oblong edifice, 
 which is properly the observatory, and the 
 other a house for the astronomer royal. 
 The upper part of the latter, however, be- 
 sides serving as a library-room, is also 
 filled with instruments ; and there is a, 
 ca^nera-obscura on the top of the house. 
 The library contains many scarce and val- 
 uable works, principally on scientific sub- 
 jects. The observatory is divided into 
 , four apartments, fitted up with transit cir- 
 cles, quadrants, clocks, sectors, and other 
 astronomical instruments. Among them \ 
 
 ia an instrument for observini^ the ptwage 
 of the diflerent heavenly bodies over the 
 meridian, of eight feot in length, which is 
 famous as having beeni that used by Hal- 
 ley, Uradley, and Maskelyne. Bradley's 
 zenith sector id also in one of the rooms, 
 with which ho made the observations at 
 Kew, from which ho deducwd his discov- 
 eries of the aberration of light and the 
 mutation of the earth's axis. Two snvall 
 buildings, with hemispherical sliding 
 domes, stand to tho north of tho observa- 
 tory, which are fitted up chiefly for the 
 observation of comets. Most of the old 
 observatories were provided with a deep 
 well, from the bottom of which the stars 
 might be observed in the daytime ; and 
 that of Greenwich had also formerly an 
 excavation of this kind, descending to the 
 depth of a hundred feet, in tho southeast 
 corner of the garden. It is now, howev- 
 er, arched over. 
 
 Greenwich observatory stands on the 
 site of an old fortified tower belonging to 
 tho British crown, said to have been first 
 erected in the early part of the fifteenth 
 century, by Humphrey, Duke of Glouces- 
 ter, the brother of Henry V., one of tho 
 earliest patrons of learning in that coun- 
 try. It was either repaired or rebuilt by 
 lienry VIII. in 1526 ; and continued long 
 afterward to be considered a place of some 
 strength. Paul Hentzner, the German 
 traveller, says that, in the time of Eliza- 
 beth, it was known by the name of " iVIire- 
 deur," and was supposed to be the same 
 which is mentioned in the romance of 
 " Aniadis de Gaul." 
 
 The foundation-stone of the building 
 was laid on the tenth of August, 1675. 
 Flamsleed was appointed the first super- 
 intendent of the establishment, under the 
 title of astronomer royal ; and he com- 
 menced his observations in August of the 
 following year. This great astronomer 
 continued to reside at the observatory till 
 his death, on the thirty-first of December, 
 1719, forty-three years after his appoint- 
 ment. The results of his laborious ob- 
 servations and calculations during the 
 whole of this period were given to the 
 world in 1725, in three volumes folio, un- 
 der the title of " Historia Celeslis," an 
 immortal monument of his industry and 
 genius. Flamsteed was succeeded as as- 
 
 
 
 titm9ki 
 
 ■'it 
 
 .Ml 
 
 KW^"* 
 
?^^ 
 
 ,!il: 
 
 'f-!^iyy^:w"':^'^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 REPRODUCTION OF I'LANTS. 
 
 657 
 
 tronomer rciynl by tlio ({rcot Halluy, who 
 oociipiril th<i Miluaiion lw«;nly-lhro(> yearn, 
 haviiij; iliod in 17'1'J, at the agi^i of cighty- 
 tivo. Hit Miicuessur was arioihor most 
 (liMtinguishml aBtronomor, Bradloy, tho dis- 
 coviTer of tho iiborraiion of light, or that 
 diiriiri'rir'o hctwoon tlia apparuiit and tho 
 true pluco of any of tho fixed otars, which 
 in occaHioncd by the motion of the earth 
 and the motion of light from tho star to 
 tho observer. After Hradloy'H death, 
 which took i)lace in 1762, Mr. IJliss held 
 tho otfuM- for two years, when ho died, 
 and gave place to the lute eminent Dr. 
 Maskelyne. who enjoyed ir for a period 
 not much short of half a century, having 
 survived till ItilO. He was succeeded by 
 till! present astronomer royal, Mr. Pond. 
 Siiico 17G7, tho observations made by tho 
 astronomer royal at Greenwich have been 
 annually published, under tho superinten- 
 dence of the royal society. The admira- 
 ble instruments with which tho observa- 
 tory is providiid, together with tho ability 
 and high character of the successive as- 
 tronomers, have secured to the Greenwich 
 observations a reputation for accuracy 
 scarcely rivalled by those of any other 
 similar institutions. 
 
 REPRODUCTION OF PLANTS. 
 
 HE main object of 
 ,a plant during growth 
 seems to be the repro- 
 duction of its kind. 
 Whether the term of 
 its existence be lim- 
 
 Ctf^flMT ^^ ited by a day, by a 
 » year, or by centuries, 
 
 its sole effort — as it proceeds from leaf to 
 stem, from stem to branch, and from branch 
 to (lower and fruit — is the muhiplication of 
 itself. This is effected variously ; by 
 seeds, by spores or germs, by tubers, by 
 runners, which put forth shoots as they 
 elongate, by branches which send down 
 roots, by slips or detached branches; or 
 even by single leaves. We shall notice 
 the more remarkable of these modes as 
 exhibiting at once the perfection of de- 
 sign, and the inexhaustible contrivances 
 
 which nainre ha* ovnr at her ndo|)tion for 
 the ru;(:om|ilishment uf the end in view. 
 
 Increase by seed is the most familiar 
 modo of reproduction, beii^ coninioii to 
 all (lowering plants. Sends are mi^rely 
 leaves preserved in peculiar cereincnis till 
 tho return of tho season of growth. And 
 hero it may bo remnrked, that wherever 
 we have a healthy-growing leaf, or num- 
 ber of leaves, there is no ditFicnlty in rear- 
 ing an independent plant, since, according 
 to tho doctrines of morphology, the lout" 
 is the primary organ from which all other 
 parts take Mioir form and development. 
 A numerous class of vegetables have their 
 seeds composed of two leaves or lobes, as 
 may bo seen in the bean and apple ; in 
 another class, as tho oat and cocoa-nut, 
 tliey consist of a single lobe. Hut wheth- 
 er they have one or two lobos, in all of 
 them the function of reproduction is of tho 
 most perfect description. To produce a 
 fertile seed, the pollen or dusty gr:'nules 
 which tip the stigmas must l)e C(...jyed 
 to the pistil, and through the pistil to the 
 embryo in the ovary. For this purpose a 
 thousiiad beautiful adaptations have been 
 called into existence. These precious 
 granules, liable to bo swept away by jvery 
 breeze and shower, are protected by tho 
 sheltering calyx and corolla, which turn 
 their backs to tho wind, or droop like a 
 pent-house to ward off the rain. And 
 even should the pollen be scattered by ac- 
 cident, the pistil is covered with a fine 
 muci'ige, wliiidi intercepts and retains it 
 in spite of every antagonist force. Some 
 plants have the stamen.s and pistils in one 
 and the same flower; in ''hers tho stig- 
 mas are in one flower and the pi.stil in 
 another ; while in not a few the iikiIu and 
 female flowers are produced on separate 
 stems — yet in all, the means of fertiliza- 
 tion are seldom rendered nugatory. If 
 the male and femalo flower are near, ♦hey 
 are placed to be brought in contact by the 
 slightest waving of a branch ; or if dis- 
 tant, the passing breeze and the limbs of 
 the wandering bee, r.re the agents by which 
 the pollen is carried to the destined re- 
 ceptacle. When properly matured, a seed 
 must be provided, first, with the means of 
 dispersion and preservation, and second- 
 ly, with a sufficiency of internal nourish- 
 ment for the embryo plant, till its roots 
 
 r"' 
 
 ti 
 
 
 »w*<"C 
 
 •■»^-"^V^', 
 
'■ 
 
 658 
 
 EEPRODUCTION OF PLANTS. 
 
 have struck into the soil, and its leaves 
 have expanded in the atmosphere. Ac- 
 cordingly, some seeds are farinaceous, oth- 
 ers albuminous, and many oleaginous — all 
 of those products being converted, during 
 germination, into those elements which 
 enter into the structure of a growing plant. 
 For the conversion of these products, a 
 certain amount of heat and moisture is 
 necessary ; but too much heat would parch 
 them, and too much cold or moisture would 
 destroy their vitality. To provide against 
 such contingencies, nature has conferred 
 on the seeds of plants the most ingenious 
 and perfect coverings. The cocoa has a 
 tough fibrous coir and woody nut, imper- 
 vious alike to draught and rain ; the chest- 
 nut has a compact leathery envelope ; the 
 plum a hard stony drupe ; the apple a 
 fleshy pome, enclosing leatheiy cells ; the 
 rose a flesh hip, packed with down ; the 
 pea and bean a pod of parchment ; and 
 seeds apparently naked have either a co- 
 riaceous membrane, or have the exterior 
 tissue so condensed that they look as if 
 they had come from the hand of a japan- 
 ner. Thus, the protection against cold, 
 drought, moisture, and other destructive 
 agencies, is so complete, that seeds which 
 have been buried for centuries, have, on 
 being brought to the surface sprung up 
 into healthy plants ; even a r rop of wheat 
 has been reared from grain found in the 
 case of an Egyptian mummy more than 
 three thousand years old. 
 
 Equally perfect with this protection is 
 the means for their dispersion over the 
 surface of the globe. What could be bel- 
 ter adapted for floating from island to 
 island than the cocoa-nut, with its light, 
 waterproof, fibrous coir, and woody shell ? 
 What more easily caught up by the slight- 
 est breath of air than the seeds of the 
 thistle or dandelion, with their little paia- 
 chutes of down ? Or what more aptly fit- 
 ted for attachment to the coats of wander- 
 ing animals, than the hooked heads of the 
 teasel and burdock? Nor does contri- 
 vance end here. Many when ripe, nre 
 ejected from the vessels which contain 
 them with considerable force by means of 
 elastic valves and springs. The carda- 
 mine impatient throws its ripe seed to a 
 distance on being touched ; so does the 
 squirting cucumber, the geranium, the 
 
 common broom, and others, as if they were 
 endowed with vitality, and had a care for 
 their embryo progeny. Some do not ever, 
 part with their seeds till these have struck 
 root as independent plants. Thus the man- 
 grove, which flourishes amid the mud of 
 tropical deltas and creeks, retains its ber- 
 ries till they have sent down long thread- 
 like radicles into the sill below, as if it felt 
 that the water and slime by which it was 
 surrounded were elements too unstable to 
 be intrusted with its ofl'spritig. 
 
 Plants that reproduce themselves by 
 spores or germs, belong lo the cryptogamic 
 or flowerless class of vegetation, as the 
 ferns, sea-weeds, mosses, mushrooms. In 
 many of these the reproductive spores are 
 so minute, that they float in the air unseen ; 
 and not a dried mushroom or pufl'-ball that 
 is struck by the wandering foot, but dis- 
 perses thousands of iis kind around it. 
 The littl'o brown specks on the leaf of the 
 fern, the snufl'-like powder of the pufl^'-ball, 
 or the dust arising from the mould of a de- 
 cayed cheese, are all alike the germs of 
 future plants ; and when we consider how 
 minute each individual is, how liable to be 
 borne about by winds, by water, and by 
 the coverings of animals, to which they 
 may adhere, we shall cease to wonder at 
 the fact, that there is not a portion of sur- 
 face, organic, or inorganic, that may not 
 be covered with their growth. The spores 
 of the fuci, or sea-weeds, which are al- 
 ways surrounded by water, and covered 
 with a mucilage that enables them to ad- 
 here to whatever solid body they touch ; 
 and, what is peculiar in this adhesive sub- 
 stance, it is insoluble in water. " Let 
 chymistry," say M'CuUoch, in his " Illus- 
 traiions of the Attributes of a God," " name 
 another mucilage, another subsstance, which 
 water can not dissolve, though apparently 
 already in solution with water, and then 
 ask if this extraordinary secretion was 
 not designed for the special enr' attained ? 
 and whether, also, it does not afford an 
 example of that Power which has only to 
 will that it may produce what it desires, 
 even by means the most improbable ?" 
 
 Many plants, as the potato, reproduce 
 themselves by both seed and tubers. Both 
 modes, howeve'', do not take place with 
 equal exuberance at one and the same 
 time. In its native region of South Amer- 
 
 IjWSJI*'-'^ 
 
others, as if they were 
 ;y, and had a care for 
 y, Some do not even 
 J till these have struck 
 ilants. Thus the man- 
 hes amid the mud of 
 reeks, retains its ber- 
 snt down long thread- 
 1 silt below, as if it felt 
 lime by which it was 
 ;ments too unstable to 
 
 ofl'spritig. 
 
 )duce themselves by 
 »ng to the cryptogamic 
 of vegetation, as the 
 sses, niuehrooms. In 
 productive spores fire 
 loat in the air unseen ; 
 iroom or puff-ball that 
 ndering foot, but dis- 
 its kind around it. 
 cks on the leaf of the 
 owder of the puff-ball, 
 om the mould of a de- 
 1 alike the germs of 
 'hen we consider how 
 lal is, how liable to be 
 Is, by water, and by 
 imals, to which they 
 ,1 cease to wonder at 
 i not a portion of sur- 
 )rganic, that may not 
 growth. The spores 
 ^feeds, which are al- 
 ' water, and covered 
 
 enables them to ad- 
 lid body they touch ; 
 : in this adhesive sub- 
 )le in water. " Let 
 'ulloch, in his " Illus- 
 ites of a God," " name 
 it'.ier substance, which 
 ^0, though apparently 
 with water, and then 
 inary secretion was 
 special enf' attained ? 
 t does not afford an 
 rer which has only to 
 luce what it desires, 
 lost improbable ?" 
 he potato, reproduce 
 »ed and tubers. Both 
 
 not take place with 
 t one and the same 
 Bgion of South Amer- 
 
 EEPaODUCTION OF PLANTS. 
 
 659 
 
 ica, where the climate is better adapted 
 for blossom and maturation of seed, the 
 potato (lowers luxuriantly, but yields an 
 insignificant crop of small acid tubers. 
 Acting upon the know'sdge of this prin- 
 ciple, the farmer in Europe cuts off the 
 flower-buds of the potato-plant to increase 
 his crop of tubers ; just as the tulip or 
 hyacinth fancier prevents his plants from 
 flowering, in order to increase the stock 
 of his bulbs, which throw out a number 
 of offsets from their bases. There is, it 
 would seem, a certain amount of vital 
 force in every plant, and if that force be 
 expended on flowering, tubers will not be 
 produced, and if on the production of an 
 underground progeny, the seed will not be 
 matured, as is the case with the horse- 
 radish and Jerusalem artichoke. Here, 
 however, it must be remarked, that tubers 
 are not roots in the botanical sense cf the 
 word ; they are true underground . s, 
 which, instead of terminating in fruii and 
 seed, terminate in nodes full of eyes or 
 leaf-buds, and supplied with a quantity of 
 farinaceous mailer for the support of the 
 young budp, till they have struck their 
 roots, in the soil sufficient to elaborate 
 their own sustenance. Let any one un- 
 earth a potato-plant with care, and ho will 
 ai once perceive the difference between 
 the true roots spreading out into minute 
 fibres, and the underground stems termi- 
 nating in tubers. The former are tough 
 and fibrous, diverging into minute radicles, 
 each lipped with its little suckiiig point or 
 spongiole ; the latter are soft and succu- 
 lent, undivided, and ending in a mass of 
 farinaceous matter, studded with young 
 buds. Each of these buds, if detached 
 with a portion of the tuber, and placed in 
 proper soil, will spring up into a perfect 
 plant— the farinaceous fragment supplying 
 it with food, until roots and leaves are 
 formed. 
 
 The manner in which plants reproduce 
 themselves viviparoushj differs according 
 to the conslitulional character of the indi- 
 vidual. Some, a° »he elm and poplar, 
 have their roots furnished with buds, 
 which, sooner or later, sprout forth into 
 offsets and suckers, as they are called, 
 and these annually increase in bulk and 
 height — ultimately becoming, under prop- 
 er conditions, perfect trees. Others, as 
 
 the greater number of bulbs and tubes, 
 multiply themselves by sending out run- 
 ners, eachof which produces several young 
 plants ; and herbaceous perennials extend 
 themselves in the same way, either by 
 runners underground, as the couch-grass, 
 or above ground, as the strawberry. Most 
 people must have observed the continual 
 efforts of t^e latter plant to extend itsolf 
 in this way ; and so it is with many oth- 
 ers — the propensity being most powerful 
 where there is the least opportunity of 
 bringing forth seed. It is often highly in- 
 teresting to watch the progress of these 
 runners. Where the soil is soft and fa- 
 vorable throughout, the young shoots are 
 developed at about equal distances ; but 
 where the soil is hard, or covered with 
 stones, the runner pushes its way over 
 these obstructions, refusing to put forth a 
 single bud until the proper conditions for 
 its maintenance be reached. We have of- 
 ten seen a gravel-walk thus crossed by a 
 strawberrj runner, the runner being as 
 budless as a piece of copper wire, until 
 it had arrived at the soil on th* other side, 
 where it immediately put forth its young 
 progeny in abundance. Instances of this 
 kind are often ascribed to vegetable in- 
 stinct ; and were it not for the essential 
 differences which evidently e.xisl between 
 vegetables and animals, one would be al- 
 most tempted to assign to it a higher des- 
 ignation. Some plants produce living 
 seeds in the vessels where the ordinary 
 seed is matured, as may be seen in cer- 
 tain species of the onion family — known 
 as tree and apple onions ; and others, like 
 some of the lilies, yield little perfect ijulbs 
 in the axile of the stem leaves. 
 
 Another manner in which trees multi- 
 ply themselves is by their branches bend- 
 ing downward till they touch the ground 
 with the growing points, which then take 
 root and spring up into independent stems. 
 This frequently happens among trailing 
 shrubs, as the bramble and honeysuckle, 
 and may also be witnessed among our 
 garden roses and gooseberries. A some- 
 what similar mode of extension is pre- 
 sented by the banyan, which becomes en- 
 larged without the assistance of either 
 seeds or suckers. Roots are produced by 
 the under-side of the lower branches; 
 these hang dangling in the air for many 
 
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 iiwwik 
 
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 REPRODUCTION OF PLANTS. 
 
 months before 'hey reach the ground ; this 
 at last ihey penetrate, and become stems 
 to a new head of branches. An old tree 
 of this kind presents a most magnificent 
 object, forming concentric corridors over 
 a great extent of surface. Acting upon 
 the principles hero pointed out by nature, 
 gardeners propagate many of their favor- 
 ites by layers ; that is, by bending a branch 
 or shoot till a portion of it be buried in 
 tlie soil, where it throws out roots, and 
 establishes itself as an independent plant. 
 This being done, it is removed from the 
 parent stock and placed in another situa- 
 tion. 
 
 Trees are also propagated by slips ; that 
 is, by detached young shoots being thrust 
 into the soil, where they usually throw 
 out roots, anil grow up into healthy indi- 
 viduals. All plants of course can not be 
 slipped with the same facility ; but gener- 
 ally speaking, where there are well-devel- 
 oped Ical'-buds in the axiles of the perfect 
 leaves, and where there is true wood 
 formed, the slip will be found to take root 
 and grow. Budding is another artificial 
 mode of propagation ; it is, in fact, mere- 
 ly slipping at an earlier stage of growth. 
 In the one case there are many leaf-buds 
 on a common stem, in the other there is 
 only a single bud. The operation is per- 
 formed by taking the leaf-bud from one 
 tree, and neatly inserting it under the cu- 
 ticle of another, where, fed by the neces- 
 sary juices, it extends into a new bough 
 or arm. 
 
 Perhaps the most curious mode of nat- 
 ural reproduction is that by the leaf. It 
 is well-known, that many leaves, as those 
 of the echeveria, malaxis, gloxinia, or- 
 ange, and others, when fallen to the ground 
 in a young and growing state, put forth 
 roots and become perfect plants. This 
 fact is at present exciting much attention ; 
 and since all parts of a plant are but spe- 
 cial developments of this single organ, it 
 is argued i ..it there is nothing to prevent 
 the propagation of any species of vegeta- 
 tion by this simple means. Considering 
 the truth and universality of the doctrines 
 of morphology, we can not see why there 
 should ; and feel justified in the hope, 
 that, once gardeners have arrived at a 
 knowledge of the proper times and modes, 
 they shall be enabled to rear any form 
 
 of vegetation from this universal organ. 
 What a curious view of vegetable life 
 do tbo principles of reproduction unfold! 
 namely, that all parts of a plant, whether 
 root, tuber, bulb, stem, branch, leai*, or 
 seed — will under certain conditions, grow 
 up into a perfect individual, similar to the 
 parent from which it has sprung. All 
 modes do not take place at the same 
 time, for nature is never prodigally waste- 
 ful of her resources ; but where climate 
 or other conditions interrupt production by 
 one source, another is developed more ex- 
 uberantly than usual to supply its place. 
 If we have not conditions to mature fruit 
 and seed, there will be tubers, or suckers, 
 or runners instead ; ajid just as the chan- 
 ces of failure are great, so are the modes 
 of reproduction proportionally increased. 
 There is nothing corresponding to this in 
 the animal kingdom, unless among the 
 very lowest forms, as the polyps and 
 sponges, which also increase by division. 
 Lop away a branch from a tree, and its 
 place may be supplied by another ; break 
 off the limb of a crab or insect, and anoth- 
 er limb will shortly take its place; but 
 while the detached branch will spring up 
 into a tree similar to its parent, all vitality 
 has fled from the separated limb of the 
 crustacean. Higher animals than insects 
 and crustaceans have no power to repro- 
 duce lost parts ; but while devoid of this 
 vegetative-like power, they have a more 
 exalted sentient development ; and if de- 
 nied the power to reproduce a lost limb, 
 they are endowed with faculties which 
 can better protect them. 
 
 The Earth.— The surface of the earth 
 is 196,862,266 square miles, and its 
 solidity 257,726,934,416 cubic miles. 
 Not more than one fifth of the whole 
 earth is habitable by man. The mean 
 depth of the ocean is about three miles, 
 and the mean height of mountains above 
 the level of the ocean is one and three 
 fourths miles. 
 
 Distribute this land over the bottom 
 of the ocean, and the waters would im- 
 mediately rise to such a height as to 
 cover the whole face of the earth. The 
 mean annual temperature of the earth is 
 fifty degrees. 
 
SEBASTIAN CABOT. 
 
 6G1 
 
 lis universal organ. 
 V of vegetable life 
 oprodiiction unfold! 
 of a plant, whether 
 m, branch, leaf, or 
 lin conditions, grow 
 idual, similar to the 
 t has sprung. All 
 place at the same 
 er prodigally waste- 
 but where climate 
 ;rrupt production by 
 developed more cx- 
 lo supply its place, 
 ions to mature fruit 
 5 tubers, or suckers, 
 id just as the chan- 
 t, so are the modes 
 rtionally increased. 
 3sponding to tiiis in 
 unless among the 
 s the polyps and 
 icrease by division. 
 ■om a tree, and its 
 by another ; break 
 r insect, and anoth- 
 ike its place ; but 
 nch will spring up 
 s parent, all vitality 
 arated limb of the 
 iiimals than insects 
 10 power to repro- 
 hile devoid of this 
 they have a more 
 pment ; and if de- 
 roduce a lost limb, 
 th faculties which 
 
 surface of the earth 
 e miles, and its 
 16 cubic miles, 
 fth of the whole 
 man. The mean 
 about three miles, 
 f mountains above 
 is one and three 
 
 over the bottom 
 waters would im- 
 i a height as to 
 f the earth. The 
 re of the earth is 
 
 m 
 
 Portrait of Sebastian Cabot. 
 
 SEBASTIAN CABOT. 
 
 N 1497, John Cabot, 
 and his son Sebastian, 
 from Bristol (England), 
 arrived at Newfound- 
 land, or, more probably 
 I^abrador ; but no inti- 
 4^vc^qp/. y> mation is afforded of his 
 iSiM^^!^^\X^^ * having sailed to any dis- 
 tance along the coast. 
 In 1498, however, his son Sebastian, with 
 two vessels, made an extensive survey, 
 beginning in the latitude of 56 degrees, 
 and terminating, it is said, in that of the 
 straits of Gibraltar, or about 36 degrees. 
 This must have brought him to the mouth 
 of the Chesapeake, or even of Albemarle 
 soimd ; and it is impossible not to regret 
 that no details should be extant of this 
 memorable voyage. He soon after sought 
 the service of the Spanish monarch, and 
 was created a member of the council of 
 the Indies. In 1517, he is again found 
 employed, though only as second to Sir 
 
 Thomas Pert, in an expedition from Eng- 
 land, by which the exploration of Hud- 
 son's bay was certainly effected, though 
 not actively followed up. Returning to 
 Spain, he was promoted to the rank of 
 chief pilot of that kingdom, and sailing 
 under its flag, made the important discov- 
 ery of the Rio de la Plata. Lastly, at an 
 advanced age, being again in England, he 
 was nominated grand pilot, and governor 
 of the company of merchant-adventurers, 
 in which capacity he drew up instructions 
 for Sir Hugh Willoughby's noble ea&t."rn 
 expedition. He appears to have ranked 
 second to Columbus among the navigators 
 of that age, superior in science, and rival- 
 ling him in enterprise, gallantry, and hon- 
 orable feeling. 
 
 If a seaman should put about every 
 time ho encountered a head wind, it 
 would be impossible for him ever to make 
 a voyage. So the person who permits 
 himself to be baffled by adverse circum- 
 stances, will never make the voyage of 
 life. 
 
 v}.4 
 
 th'- 
 
 ii««iiiii 
 
 " 'fit 
 
 110^'^' 
 
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 662 
 
 EE8USCITATI0N. 
 
 RESUSCITATION. 
 
 HE purpose of res- 
 piration is to expose 
 the portion of tin 
 blood which has re 
 turned to the heart, 
 after it has circulated 
 through the body, and 
 which has acquired 
 during that circulation the properties of 
 dark or venous blood, to the influence of 
 atmospheric air in the lungs. The oxy- 
 genous portion of the air so received in- 
 to the lungs converts this venous blood in- 
 to florid or arterial blood ; that is, into a 
 state for being again circulated through 
 all parts of the system. Any interruption 
 to this process — by submersion in waler, 
 exposure to choke-damp, strangulation, 
 and the like — if continued beyond a few 
 minutes, is destructive of life. Recovery 
 is, however, possible within certain limits ; 
 hence tha resuscitative appliances to ca- 
 ses of " suspended animation." 
 
 The restoratives generally resorted to 
 are warmth, friction, electricity, and, above 
 all, supplying of the lungs with fresh or 
 properly oxygenated air, eiiher by free ex- 
 posure to an external current, or by artifi- 
 cial injection. The cause of the latter 
 appliance is sufficiently obvious, as the 
 cessation of the heart's action, techni- 
 cally called asphyxia, is occasioned by the 
 interruption of respiration, or rather by 
 the interrup'ion of the effect produced by 
 that function on the blood. Any means, 
 therefore, that can restore the process of 
 respiration, or otherwise supply its place, 
 till the action of the heart has been estab- 
 lished, must be of value in resuscitation, 
 and especially so where they can be ap- 
 plied with ease and rapidity. Various ap- 
 paratus have been invented for the injec- 
 tion of common air ; but as this fluid con- 
 tains only about twenty parts in the hun- 
 dred of pure oxygen, its effect upon the 
 blood in the lungs can not be so rapid as 
 that of a mixture containing a greater 
 proportion, and still less so than oxygen 
 itself. This gas has accordingly been 
 long recommended ; but the difficulty of 
 obtaining it with sufficient rapidity has 
 hitherto proved a barrier to its application. 
 A new mode has, however, been proposed 
 
 by Dr. George Wilson, of Edinburuh, by 
 which an unlimited supply can be obtained 
 and administered in a few minutes, and it 
 is to this that we would direct more 
 eral attention. 
 
 It has been some time known that the 
 chlorate of potassi if mixed with a metal- 
 lic oxydo — such as the peroxyde of iron, 
 or the black oxyde of manganese — and 
 heated to redness, will give off oxygen in 
 a copious stream, and without any inter- 
 ruption, so long as there is any of that gas 
 in the compound. The proportion of the 
 metallic oxyde to the chlorate, is a matter 
 of difference among chymists; but Dr. 
 Wilson has found by repeated experiment 
 that about one of the former to five of the 
 latter is the most advantageous. We were 
 recently invited to witness in his chymical 
 class-room an exhibition of the apparatus 
 by which he proposes to administer the 
 gas, and which, in the opinion of medical 
 men, is likely to prove efficacious. In this 
 case the supply was on a limited scale 
 only — some 600 or 800 cubic inches in 
 four minutes — but from the rapidity and 
 certainty with which the gas was produced 
 and administered to a fictitious patient, it 
 left the most favorable impression upon 
 the minds of the spectators. A glass re- 
 tort containing four or six ounces of the 
 mixture, was heated with a spirit-lamp, 
 and in a few seconds the gas began to be 
 evolved, the evolution increasing in rapid- 
 ity, till at the second minute it flowed over 
 in a continuous stream, and was conveyed 
 into an ordinary telescope gasometer. 
 From this reservoir it was extracted by 
 means of injection bellows fitted with 
 flexible tubes, and then conveyed to the 
 lungs of the supposed patient. This con- 
 trivance wao next abandoned, and the 
 head of the patient placed in an air-tight 
 box, into which the gas was conveyed 
 from the gasometer. This box was fitted 
 with a glass-slip for watching the changes 
 produced on the countenance of the pa- 
 tient ; and the necessary inspirations 
 and expirations were caused by external 
 pressure on the chest, as is done in ordi- 
 nary cases of administering atmospheric 
 air. Indeed several methods of applying 
 the gas were suggested ; but to these we 
 need not advert, as the great merit of the 
 proposal consists in the rapidity with 
 
r El]inbur^h, by 
 can be obtained 
 ' minutes, and it 
 irect more gen- 
 known that the 
 ad with a metal- 
 sroxyde of iron, 
 langanese — and 
 e off oxygen in 
 thout any inter- 
 I any of that gas 
 roportioii of the 
 rate, is a matter 
 mists ; but Dr. 
 ited experiment 
 3r to five of the 
 ous. We were 
 in his chymica! 
 f the apparatus 
 administer the 
 lion of medical 
 Lcious. In this 
 I Hmited scale 
 ubic inches in 
 e rapidity and 
 I was produced 
 ious patient, it 
 ipression upon 
 1. A glass re- 
 ounces of the 
 a spirit-lamp, 
 as began to be 
 asing in rapid- 
 it flowed over 
 was conveyed 
 )e gasometer. 
 1 extracted by 
 </8 fitted with 
 nveyed to the 
 It. This con- 
 med, and the 
 in an air-tight 
 ivas conveyed 
 box was fitted 
 ig the changes 
 ice of the pa- 
 ir inspirations 
 id by external 
 I done in ordi- 
 I atmospheric 
 Is of applying 
 It to these we 
 t merit of the 
 rapidity with 
 
 BOTANIC GARDEN AT BRUSSELS. 
 
 6(53 
 
 which the supply can be produced and ad- 
 ministered. On this head we think Dr. 
 Wilson deserving of the thanks of the 
 public, and especially for the pains he has 
 taken in laying it before the medical fac- 
 ulty, the directors of humane societies, 
 and others capable of making the applica- 
 tion. Of the individuals who are asphyx- 
 iated by submersion, exposure to choke- 
 damp, &c., only a small percentage are 
 resuscitated by the appliances at present 
 in use ; but there is every reason to con- 
 clude, that if a supply of oxygen were 
 obtained by the means above proposed, 
 and kept in readiness at the offices of hu- 
 mane societies and otherwise, the recov- 
 eries would be trebled, or even quadrupled. 
 It is agreed on all hands that pure oxygen 
 is more efficacious in asphyxia than com- 
 mon air ; and certainly no plan could be 
 more rapid or more economical than that 
 proposed by Dr. Wilson. 
 
 THE PERSPIRATORY TUBES OF 
 THE SKIN. 
 
 Taken separately the little perspiratory 
 tube, with its appended gland, is calcula- 
 ted to awaken in the mind very little idea 
 of the importance of the system to which 
 it belongs ; but when the vast number of 
 similar organs composing this system is 
 considered, we are led to form some no- 
 tion, however imperfect, of their probable 
 influence on the health and comfort of the 
 individual. We use the words " imper- 
 fect notion" advisedly, for the reality sur- 
 passes imagination and almost belief. To 
 arrive at something like an estimate of the 
 value of the perspiratory system in rela- 
 tion to the rest of the organization, we 
 counted the perspiratory pores on the palm 
 of the hand, and found three thousand five 
 hundred and twenty-eight in a square inch. 
 Now, each of these pores being the aper- 
 ture of a little tube of about a quarter of 
 an inch long, it follows that in a square 
 inch of skin on the palm of the hand, 
 there exists a length of tube equal to eight 
 hundred and eighty-two inches, or sev- 
 enty-three feel and a half. Surely such an 
 amount of drainage as seventy-three feet 
 
 in every square inch of skin, assuming 
 thi) to be the average for the whole body, 
 is something wonderful, and the thought 
 naturally intrudes itself, what if this 
 drainage were obstructed ? Could we 
 need a stronger argument for enforcing 
 the necessity of attention to the skin ? 
 On the pulps of the fingers, where the 
 ridges of the sensitive layer of the true 
 skin are somewhat finer than in the palm 
 of the hand, the number of pores on a 
 square inch little exceeded that on the 
 palm ; and on the heel, where the ridges 
 are coarse, the number of pores on the 
 square inch was two thousand two hun- 
 dred and sixty-eight, and the length of the 
 tube five hundred and sixty-seven inches, 
 or forty-seven feet. To obtain an esti- 
 mate of the length of the tube of the per- 
 spiratory system of the whole surface of 
 the body, we think that two thousand eight 
 hundred might be taken as a fair average 
 of the number of pores in the square inch, 
 and seven hundred, consequently, of the 
 number of inches in length. Now, the 
 number of square inches of surface in a 
 man of ordinary height and bulk, is two 
 thousand five hundred ; the number of 
 pores, therefore, seven millions, and the 
 number of inches of perspiratory tube, 
 one million seven hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand ; that is, one hundred and forty-five 
 thousand, eight hundred and thirty-three 
 feet, or forty-eight thousand six hundred 
 yards, or nearly twenty-eight miles. 
 
 BOTANIC GARDEN AT BRUSSELS. 
 
 RUSSELS has long 
 been celebrated for 
 its " Jardin Botan- 
 ique." It occupies 
 the side of a hill 
 which slopes upward 
 from the Boulevard 
 Botanique,on the nor- 
 thern rampart of the 
 city. It is about half a mile long, by a 
 quarter broad, and now contains a range 
 of hothouses, four hundred feet long, or- 
 namented with a rotunda and porticoes, 
 and has an extensive collection of plants. 
 
 I'WtKSill 
 
 VW^f"' ' 
 
 lrtH*s"tt1?! 
 
 '**■*-.■ -^W t 
 
 
 
 1 
 
f 
 
 \ 
 
 ! 
 
 I 
 
PIASAU nocK. 
 
 605 
 
 I, ^ 
 
 '1,1' 
 
 
 The roof of the houses is formed of cur- 
 vilinear iron bars, and the whole is heat- 
 ed by steam, The principal range of hot- 
 houses is shown in our engraving. It is 
 on the terrace, having several fountains 
 and broad (lights of steps in front of it. 
 The plants are labelled with their com- 
 mon and scientific names, and in some 
 cases with the names of their countries. 
 Opposite to the hothouses are the herba- 
 ceous grounds, laid out in a circular man- 
 ner, and divided into small compartments 
 for the Linniean classification. The 
 grounds generally are laid out in walks, 
 and beds of well-cultivated native plants, 
 intermingled with parterres of the more 
 gaudy exotic races. They are also adorned 
 with ponds and cisterns for aquatic vege- 
 tation, and at the west end is a small ar- 
 boretum. In front of the hothouses is a 
 " parade," furnished with seats ; Brussels 
 is seen from it with great advantage. 
 
 The gardens are open to the public three 
 limes a week, on Tuesdays, Thursdays, 
 and Saturdays, from ten o'clock till three. 
 They arc open every day for students and 
 Ibrei^'iiers. The society to whom this 
 yoiuig but liberally ..nd excellently man- 
 aged institution belongs, is composed cf 
 natives and foreigners ; they have half- 
 yearly exhibitions at the rotunda, which is 
 at the back of the central conservatory. 
 
 PIASAU ROCK. 
 
 \^... 
 
 lASAU, or Pi-as-sau 
 Rock, so called from a 
 remarkable legend con- 
 nected with it, is situ- 
 ated on the northern 
 confines of the city of 
 i^^ ciV> Alton, immediate on 
 "V^'^^^^ th^ Mississippi, from 
 
 the surface of which it 
 rises to a height of nearly one hundred 
 feet, including a receding base of broken 
 and shelving rock, extending about thirty 
 feet from the wnter's edge, and about the 
 same distance in height. Its summit is 
 sparsely studded with dwarf cedars, and 
 it pre sents a cragijy and jagged front, with 
 the exception of a space of about fifty feet 
 
 by forty, which is smooth and even. On 
 this space is emblazoned the figure of a 
 hybridous animal, having a head resem- 
 bling that of a fox, from which protrude 
 large horns or antlers ; its back is supplied 
 with wings, and it has a long curling tail, 
 and four feet, or rather, four huge claws. 
 The sketch of th<! figure is voiy roujili, 
 and evidently executed by no nuister hand. 
 It seems to have been first drawn with a 
 species of red paint, and afterward rubliiil 
 over and polished with lime, or some oth- 
 er white substance. Inmiediaiely in the 
 r(!ar is another figure, but so obliterated by 
 time, and by being marked over with 
 names of ambitious visiters (who have 
 taken this only available method of ma- 
 king themselves known to fame), that it is 
 im()ossible to trace its outline ; it is prob- 
 able, however, from the few marks visible, 
 that it was intended to represent an ani- 
 mal similar to the former, but in a difier- 
 ent position. The figure, which remains 
 entire, is about ei .jht feet long, and five in 
 height, to the tip of the wing which is 
 thrown u|)ward over the back. The Pi- 
 asau rock is the lower extremity of the 
 lilufTs, which, commencing at Alton, ex- 
 tend northward up the Mississippi river. 
 It has been marked as we have described, 
 " from the time whereof the memory of 
 man runneth not to the contrary ;" and 
 what is most remarkable, the tradition con- 
 nected with it, is not confined to a few 
 tribes of Indians only, but si'ems to exist 
 among all the aboriginal inhabitants of 
 the great west, none of whom even to this 
 day, pass the rock without discharging 
 their arrows or rifles at the figure, upon 
 and around which, are. innumerable marks 
 of balls and other missiles. 
 
 The legend, as we have heard it, is as 
 follows : The numerous and powerful 
 nation, called the Illinois, formerly inhab- 
 ited the state which now bears their name, 
 over the greater portion of which their 
 hunting grounds extended. For very 
 many years they continued to increase in 
 numbers and prosperity, and were deemed 
 the bravest and most warlike of all the 
 tribes of the Great Valley. At length, in 
 the most populous district of their coun- 
 try, near the residence of their greatest 
 chief, there appeared an enormous animal, 
 part beast, part bird, which took up its 
 
 ^IF' 
 
 iiwiiiii 
 
 
 m 
 
r 
 
 r 
 
 » 
 
 OR 
 
 6C6 
 
 PIASAU ROCK. 
 
 kbode on the rock, and banqueted daily 
 upon numbcra uf the people, whom it bore 
 oil in its immense talons. It was covered 
 with scales of every possible color, and 
 had a large tail, with a blow of which it 
 could shake the earth ; from its head, 
 which was like the head of a fox with the 
 beak of an eagle, projected immense horns, 
 and its four feet were armed with power- 
 ful claws, in each of which it could carry 
 a bulTalo. Tiie flapping of its enormous 
 wings was like the roar of thunder; and 
 when it dived into the river, it threw the 
 waves far upon the land. To this animal 
 they gave the name of the " Bird of the 
 Pi-as-sau," or the bird of the evil spirit. 
 In vain did the " medicine men" use all 
 their powers to drive away this fearful vis- 
 iter. Day by day the number of their 
 tribe diminished, to feed his insatiate ap- 
 petite. At last the young chief of the 
 nation, VVassatogo, who was beloved by 
 his people, and esteemed as their bravest 
 and best warrior, ailed a council of the 
 priests, in a secret cave, where, after fast- 
 ing for many days, they slept, and the 
 Great Spirit came to the young chief in 
 his sleep, and told him the only way to 
 rid his people of their destroyer, was to 
 offer himself as a sacrifice. Wassatogo 
 started up with joy, and aroused the slum- 
 bering priests, informed them what had 
 occurred to him, and of his detcrmination 
 to make the sacrifice required. He then 
 assembled the tribe, and made a speech — 
 recounting his deeds of valor, acquainting 
 them of his dream, and exhorting them, 
 like him, to be ever ready to die for their 
 people. Wassatogo then dressed himself 
 in his chieftain's garb, put on his war- 
 paint, as if going to battle, and taking his 
 bow, arrows, and tomahawk, he placed 
 himself on a prominent point of the rock, 
 to await the coming of the monster bird. 
 Meanwhile, as he had been directed in his 
 vision, a band of his best braves had been 
 concealed in the interstices of the rock, 
 each with his arrow drawn to the head, 
 waiting the moment when their chief 
 should be attacked, to wreak their last 
 vengeance on their enemy. High and 
 erect the bold Wassatogo stood, chanting 
 his death dirge, with a calm and placid 
 countenance, when suddenly there came 
 a roar as of awful thunder, and in an in- 
 
 stant the bird of the Pi-as-sau, uttering a 
 wild scream that shook the hills, darted 
 upon and seized the chieftain in his tal- 
 ons ; at that moment Wassatogo dealt it 
 a blow in the head with his tomahawk, and 
 his braves let fly their arrows from the 
 ambush, and the unwieldy carcass of the 
 bird rolled down the clifl', while the cliiuf- 
 tain remained unhurt. The tribe now 
 gave way to the wildest joy, and hi-ld a 
 great feast in honor of the event, and to 
 commemorate it, painted the figure of the 
 bird, on the side of the rock on whose 
 summit Wassatogo had stood, and there 
 it has endured for ages, a mark lor the ar- 
 row or bullet of every red man, who has 
 since passed it, in descending the great 
 father of waters. 
 
 Every people have had their traditions 
 of monsters and strangely-formed destruc- 
 tive animals. The ancient Greeks and 
 Romans had their stories of centaurs and 
 of hydras ; the Moors and Egyptians, 
 their tales of anthropophagi and various 
 other hideous creatures ; and even the 
 English have transmitted a legend of the 
 winged dragon vanquished by St. George. 
 Historians have traced the probable caus- 
 es, and reconciled to nature the fables of 
 the monsters of antiquity by allowing 
 largely for the workings of the imagina- 
 tion, among a semi-barbarous people. It 
 may be, that the tradition of the Pi-as-sau 
 bird is not without a foundation in truth, 
 when we reflect on it, in connexion with 
 the enormous fossil remains found in va- 
 rious places in the west, and allow for the 
 imperfect skill of the limners who sketched 
 its portrait, and for the natural love (or the 
 marvellous in man, as well as for the ad- 
 ditions made by the fancy of the rude sav- 
 ages who have perpetuated it in oral lore ; 
 and, taking these considerations together 
 with the resemblance of many jjarts of the 
 animals of tradition, to the' skeletons of 
 the mammoth, the mastodon, and the rais- 
 sourium, it would be no uneasy or unreason- 
 able task, to believe thai some one of those 
 animals formed the basis on which the 
 imagination of the savage has erected his 
 legend of the bird of the Pi-as-sau. In 
 coimexion with this subject, and with a 
 view of throwing out a hint tliat may be 
 useful to others, we make a few extracts 
 concerning bones that have been found at 
 
Pi-as-sau, uttering a 
 uok th(5 hills, durtod 
 
 chioftaiii in Iuh taU 
 Wassatojfo dealt it 
 :h his toiiKthawk, and 
 eir arrows from the 
 ielily carcass of the 
 did', while the eliief- 
 ft. The trilie now 
 dest joy, and hidd a 
 
 of the event, and to 
 ited the figure of the 
 
 liio rock on whose 
 lad stood, and there 
 ea, a mark for the ar- 
 ■y red man, wiio has 
 iescending tiie great 
 
 had their traditions 
 igely-formed destruc- 
 ancient Greeks and 
 iries of centaurs and 
 urs and Egyptians, 
 pophagi and various 
 ires ; and even the 
 tted a legend of the 
 ished by St. George, 
 id the probable caus- 
 nature the fables of 
 tiquity by allowing 
 ngs of the iniagina- 
 irbarous people. It 
 tion of the Pi-as-sau 
 
 foundation in truth. 
 , in connexion with 
 emains found iu va- 
 38t, and allow for the 
 imncrs who .sketched 
 e natural love for the 
 I well as for the ad- 
 ancy of the rude sav- 
 uated it in oral lore ; 
 isiderations together 
 of many i)arts of the 
 
 to the skeletons of 
 stodon, and the mis- 
 » uneasy or unreason- 
 lat somo one of those 
 basis on which the 
 I'age has erected his 
 f the Pi-as-sau. In 
 subject, and with a 
 
 a hint tiiat may be 
 nake a few extracts 
 
 have been found at 
 
 THE KINKAJOU. 
 
 667 
 
 dilfcrcnt periods and places. Dr. William 
 Goforlh, of Cincinnati, in a letter to Thom- 
 as Ji'llerson, dated in December, 1800, in 
 describing some boiKis taken by him from 
 Uig-boiio liick, Kentucky, says : " The 
 bones of one paw nearly filled a flour bar- 
 rel ; it had four claws, and when the bones 
 were regularly placed together, measured 
 from the oscalists to the endof either mid- 
 dle claw, five feel two inches. The bones 
 of this paw were similar to those of a 
 bear's foot. Where I found these bones, 
 I found largo quantities of bear's bones at 
 the same time, and had an opportunity of 
 arranging and comparing the bones togeth- 
 er, and the similarity was striking in ev- 
 ery particular, except the size. The ver- 
 tebric of the back and neck, when ar- 
 ranged in order with the os sacrum and 
 coccygis, measured nearly sixty feet, al- 
 lowing for cartilages ; though I am not 
 confident the bones all belonged to one 
 animal, and the number of vertebra; I can 
 not lecoUect. I had some thigh bones of 
 incognita of a monstrous size, when com- 
 pared with any other animal," &c. 
 
 Ill 1839, Mr. Albert Koch, proprietor 
 of the St. Louis Museum, procured a large 
 quantity of bones, from the vicinity of the 
 iSulpluir springs, on Little Rock creek, in 
 Jctibrson county, Missouri, about twenty- 
 two miles south of St. Louis. To a skel- 
 eton formed of some of these bones, he 
 gave the name of Koch's Missourium. 
 This animal had a trunk, and enormous 
 tusks and claws, and was much larger 
 than the Mastodon. Among the bones 
 found by Mr. Koch, was the " head of an 
 undescribed animal from which it appears 
 that it exceeded the elephant from four to 
 six times." 
 
 TJie tradition of the Indians certainly 
 bears strong alTinity to the existence of 
 those immense animals, which have left 
 us no trace of their being, except their 
 bones. What an extensive scheme for 
 conjecture and research, do they atford to 
 the anticjuarian, tho naturalist, and the phi- 
 losopher I 
 
 Reme.mber that labor is indispensable 
 to excellence. This is an incontrover- 
 tible truth, although vanity can not be 
 brought to believe, or indolence be made 
 to heed it. 
 
 THE KINK.\JOU. 
 
 F solitary and re- 
 
 cluHo hal)it'<, this 
 
 animal furiln' most 
 
 Al'TVil ' '-Jf'Jl/ P'^""'' lives among 
 
 trees in largo for- 
 ests, and is in ev- 
 ery respect well 
 adapted for climbing ; being, however, 
 decidedly nocturnal, it is but little exposed 
 to the observation even of those who so- 
 journ among the places frequented by it. 
 During tho day it sleeps in its retreat, 
 rolled up like a ball, and, if roused, ap- 
 pears torpid and inactive. As soon, how- 
 ever, as the dusk of evening sets in, it is 
 fully awake, and is all activity, displaying 
 the utmost restlessness and address, climb- 
 ing from branch to branch in quest of food, 
 and using its prehensile tail to assist itself 
 in its manccuvres. Few mammalia are 
 more incommoded by light than the kin- 
 kajou ; the pupils of the eyes contract to a 
 mere round point, even when the rays of 
 the sun have not been very bright, while 
 the animal at the same time testifies by its 
 actions its aversion to tho unwelcome 
 glare. 
 
 In size tho kinkajou is equal to a full- 
 grown cat, but its limbs are much stouter 
 and more muscular, and its body more 
 firmly built. In walking, the sole of tho 
 foot is applied fairly to tho ground, as in 
 the case of the badger. Its claws are 
 strong and curved, the toes on each foot 
 being five. The ears are short and round- 
 ed. The fur is full, but not long, and very 
 closely set. The kinkajou was not un- 
 known to Bufibn, who, however, for a long 
 time confounded it with the glutton, nor 
 was he aware of his error until an oppor- 
 tunity occurred of his seeing two of these 
 animals. One was exhibited at St. Ger- 
 main in 1773, under the title of " an ani- 
 mal unknown to naturalists." The other 
 was in the possession of a gentleman in 
 Paris, who brought it from New Spain. 
 This latter individual was suffered to go 
 at large, being perfectly tame ; and, after 
 rambling about all night, would return to 
 its accustomed sleeping-place, v/here it 
 was always to be found in the morning. 
 Without being docile, it is familiar, but 
 
 43 
 
 f-f'fl 
 
 Pi 
 
 i)»«»kii 
 
 
 Aiii^ 
 
r 
 
DESCIUI'TION OF TKXA8. 
 
 fifi!) 
 
 ^-^ 
 
 MTfej, 
 
 rtHV' 
 
 Ail^ 
 
 
 
 ^^j\ 
 
 ffi' 
 
 only rrcogtiisc's iti masior, ami will fdl- 
 |(i\v liin. It drinks civery lluiil — water, 
 (■iiiri'c, milk, wiin-, and oviiu brandy, if 
 swi'itcned with sugar, with wliicii latter 
 it will lu'ciMUo intuxicatvil ; but it is ill lor 
 Movcral days afterward. It eats, with the 
 sanu! indiir«Teni;e, bread, meal, pnUe, 
 roolM, and espi.'ciully t'rnits. It is pasnion- 
 aifly fund »>!' HutMits, and eagerly devours 
 sugar and sweutinoats. 
 
 DESCRIPTION OF TEXAS. 
 
 UK stato of Texas 
 , now divided into 
 ^ thirty-five counties, 
 viz., Galveston, Har- 
 ris, Hrazoriu, Mata- 
 gorda, Victoria, Gou- 
 rales, San I'atrucia, 
 Refugio, Goliad, Mi- 
 liin, Jackson, Boxar, Hastrop, Trivis, Fay- 
 iMU!, Colorado, Austin, Fort Uend, VVash- 
 iiiylon, lluberlson, Montgomery (the giant 
 c. uiiiy). Liberty, Jefferson, Jasjjer, llous- 
 t(pii, SabiiK^, Nacogdoches, Rusk, San Au- 
 ;fiistine, Shelby (more I'amiliarly known 
 as state, of Tuiiuiha}, Harrison, Howie, 
 Red River, Fanning, and Lamar. 
 
 Of thes(^ Montgomery is the most pop- 
 ulous of the interior counties, and Galves- 
 ton the most [wpulous of those situated 
 on the coast. Galveston is the largest 
 <ity of Texas, though Houston, perhaps, 
 contains about the same number of inhab- 
 ilanis. The next city of imjmrtanco is 
 Sun Augiistino, in which are located the 
 Washington college, with about one hun- 
 dred and forty students, and a seminary, 
 w itli from sixty to sevcnty-livo. It has a 
 population of about fifteen hundred. 
 
 Austin, tho seat of government, in 
 Travis county, at the foot of the San Sa- 
 ba mountains, and figuratively called the 
 " City of the seven hills," is beautifully 
 situated on the Colorado, in one of the 
 most picturesque and romantic portions of 
 Texas, It has a population of twelve or 
 liiteen hundred, and is rapidly increasing. 
 The new constitution provides that the 
 seat of government shall continue at Aus- 
 tin until 1850, when, should the slate be 
 
 divided in tho mcanlinie, tlin pn)l)al)ility 
 is that it will be remturd furilur east. 
 
 San .\ntunio de Mexar, ne.ir ihe extreme 
 woslern fnmlier of T«'xas, on ilie Sun .An- 
 tonio rivor, is ihn oldest and best built 
 town in Texas. It was settled about two 
 liuuilred vi'ars ag((, under the aiispii es of 
 an a.sMoi'iation of Spanish monks, ami at 
 on« time contained about liiteen ihun.s.inil 
 inhabiiants. Hut it has itevorul times 
 been nearly depnpidate 1 within the last 
 century by the allacks ftoin tliu (>'amiinilie 
 Indians, it never !ia\ing been ailecjuately 
 defended by its inhabitants, or the Sj)aii- 
 ish and .Mexican governments, nor until 
 its partial 0(CU|)atioii by Texan or Ameri- 
 can cilizi'iis. The town is l)uilt entirely 
 of stone, and now contains a population 
 of about lifteen hundred, primip:illy Mex- 
 ican. 
 
 Tho Alama, a dismantled fortress, tho 
 memoralde scene of tiio lamented fate of 
 Travis, liowie, and Oockett, is situated 
 on the east bank ol' the San Antonio riv- 
 or, opposite the town, and Ci)ntains within 
 its walls a (.liurcii in a partial state of pres- 
 ervation, 'i'liere is also in the city a largo 
 catholic cathedral, used by the Mexicans 
 as a place of worship, This, like aU the 
 churches in the vicinity, of which tluie 
 are five, are built in an ancient style ot 
 architecture, and give to the stranger the 
 impression that he is wandt'ring amid the 
 Castilian edilices of old Spain. 
 
 There an; two largo public sipiares in 
 the city of San Antonio, one called the 
 Military square, intended for military oc- 
 cupation, and th(! other the C^ivil sciuare, 
 containing the public buildings of tho mu- 
 nicipal auihorities. 
 
 About live miles above tho city are 
 tho sources of the San Antonio riv- 
 er. These consist of four " fountains," 
 or springs, the largest covering nt;arly an 
 acre, and tho others smaller in size. The 
 water of these fountains is so transjiarent 
 that a ten-cent piece may be seen at the 
 depth of forty feet. Tho outlets to tl esc 
 fountains unite a short distance belovi, and 
 at a point about three miles above the city, a 
 dam of solid masonry is thrown across 
 tho stream, and aijueducts are thence 
 constructed, on either side of the river, to 
 convey the water from the main reservoir 
 to tho houses and gardens of die city and 
 
 fiiltfVi 
 
 
HHaMM«»' 
 
 t 
 
 f 
 
 i 
 
 * :0 
 
 BAM ROCK. 
 
 *li- ili^>im holow Tlieso aquotluct.i 
 
 \s, iii t. istnicted pcrtinp* 4 ceiitwry anil 
 ahull ug,, '»)• lliv (ilholic pslMh!i>l ■ ''nl; 
 mill uii'liT I iir rcgiil.iiions then i'mi l^|l^^ll •■' 
 tlie jiropriftiir of each li.iciondo was, a=4 ;> 
 saiil, |)f'rmilli>il to use the wattsr for irriga- 
 fjiifr Ills ciiliro j)l K <iion an often a« ro- 
 (juiK il, and in <iu:inii,, s jiroporlioncd to 
 f)"* extent of liiH possrssioni*. 
 
 flwre aro three old catholic itii ion- 
 ary wslahlishrn'-nts in the vicinity of .San 
 Anioiuo, siiuato on tlio rivor below the 
 oily, at iiilrrvaU of a few miles. These, 
 Conception, .^>an Jose, and San .Iiian, are 
 eaeh a ehnrch, snrroundnd by a wall in- 
 tended for purposes of defence. Within 
 these walls aro also erected nnmerous 
 small buildings for the shelter and protec- 
 tion of the neighboring farmers, and their 
 families during the predatory visits of the 
 Indians. 
 
 It is a ctjrious fact, that in a city like 
 .San Anionio, with the improvements do- 
 seribed, its antique eliurehes and other 
 pul)lic edifices, should have existed for 
 centuries, comparatively unknown, near 
 the extrcino western frontier of this now 
 infant republic of the wildernes.^. 
 
 The other principal towns of Texas, 
 are Matagorda, at the mouth of the Colo- 
 rado, on -Matagorda bay ; Washington, on 
 the Hrazos ; Corpu.s Christi, just sjfrung 
 into existence, and numbering about 2,000 
 besides the United States army, of near 
 'iftOO, making in all a population of 7,000 ; 
 iNucogdochos, Hrazoria.on the Hrazos riv- 
 er, and Montgomery, tho capital of the 
 coumy of tho same name. 
 
 Cotton is principally raised, and to best 
 advantage, on the Colorado, IJrazos, Trin- 
 ity, and lied rivers ; but is also profitably 
 cultivated in other sections. Tho sugar 
 region is near the coast, and lying south 
 of latitude 30^. Wheat, and the fine 
 grains, are raised to most advantage in 
 the mountains and hilly regions u! the 
 upper Colorado, Hrazos, and Trinity riv- 
 ers. Of the wilderness region above this 
 point, toward Santa Fe, but little compar- 
 atively is known. 
 
 '•"he principal streams are the Red riv- 
 e. navigable within Texas about 500 
 mi. . ■ <n8 Sabine, navigable four months 
 il. ths .. .bou* -100 mile.T ; the Neches, 
 for il (i ^ .J9 " iiod, about 150 miles ; the 
 
 Trinity, for ievon months, about fiOO miles ; 
 the Hullalo Hayoii, navigiitrd by sleani- 
 boats overv day in the year, from lions- 
 ton to (ialveston, about 100 miles, and 
 the greatest thorcuighfiire of thi! (ouiilry ; 
 the Hrazos, four nioiiths in the veiir, \M 
 miles, and may be easily remii rod na\ i- 
 gablo ;J00 miles; tho Colorado, wliieli by 
 removing tho raH at its moutli, may be 
 navigated at least 400 miles ; the (luada- 
 loupe, navigable about fifty inilis ; the 
 Nueces, about 100 miles ; and tho Uio 
 Hravu del Norto, about GOO niilei). 
 
 BASS HOCK. 
 
 AS.S Rock is one of 
 the first obj(!ct8 seen 
 in crossing the .Scot- 
 ti.sh border by Her- 
 wiek. This remark- 
 nhlo rock in the sea, 
 lies ut tho mouth of 
 the Frith of Forth, at 
 the distance of a mile 
 and a half from tin- 
 coast of East Lothian. It is about a mile 
 in circumference, and not much more than 
 400 feet above the level of tho sea, but 
 looks considerably higher. The water 
 that washes its precipitous sides is from 
 30 to 40 fathoms deep. Tho rock can bo 
 approached in safety only in fine weath- 
 er ; and its stark, rugged cliffs, are only 
 accessible by one narrow passage that fa- 
 ces tho mainland. Close by this only 
 landing-place is a castle, now in ruins, 
 but once a place of great strength and 
 some importance in history, consisting of 
 four square towers and connecting works. 
 During the war of religion between 
 Charles II. and mc ccrei.vaers, this cas- 
 tle was converted ii'i ;.. state-pria r 
 and became ;i s.'ii.rv residence of 
 many west-country whigs »nd recusants. 
 When the dynasty of the Stuarts was 
 driven from the throne of tho United 
 Kingdom, the Bass Rock was occupied 
 by a brave garrison devoted to that ill-fa- 
 ted family, who obstinately defended it for 
 several years, and gained for the place tho 
 dubious honor, of its being tho last spot 
 
ilm, about fiOO milcij ; 
 fivij,Mt(il liy Nli'iiin. 
 I) yeur, friun llnui- 
 Hit 100 niilcH, luiil 
 irc of llii' rniiniry ; 
 liM ill llic vi'ur, l.'iO 
 isily ri'iiili ii'tl nin i- 
 ('oldriidit, wliifli l)y 
 its iiioutli, miy lie 
 milps ; the (Jiiadu- 
 iit lifty iniliH ; ilif 
 iilcs ; ami tlio Hio 
 t COO miU-H. 
 
 lOCK. 
 
 SS Rock is one of 
 first ohjoctH soeii 
 crossing iho Scot- 
 ih border by Uor- 
 ick. This nmnrk- 
 de rock in tho hpix, 
 38 at tho mouth of 
 
 Trith of Forth, at 
 e distance of a milo 
 id a half from tin- 
 It is about a mile 
 
 not much more than 
 vol of tho sea, but 
 igher. Tho water 
 )ilou3 sides is from 
 The rock can be 
 )n!y in fine weaih- 
 ged clifls, aro only 
 i)w passage that fa- 
 ^loso by this only 
 stlo, now in ruins, 
 great strength and 
 story, consisting of 
 
 1 connecting works, 
 religion between 
 
 rouJVMers, this cas- 
 110 .'. state-prid -i-, 
 itury residence of 
 ligs »nd recusants, 
 tho Stuarts was 
 no of tho United 
 ock was occupied 
 voted to that iil-Ai- 
 ifely defended it for 
 ed for tho place the 
 jeing tho last spot 
 
 ■^M'S 
 
 U=-. 
 
 
 -*^( 
 
 
m 
 
 072 
 
 INCIDKNTS IN THE HISTOUY OF WASHINGTON. 
 
 of British grouml to yield to the improveil 
 and more consiitiitiotuil government in- 
 troduced by the revolution of IfiSS. 
 Besides the cnsth; there seems once to 
 hnve been a hermitnge and some other 
 lialwtiitions on tiiis rock ; but soldiers, 
 monks, prisoners, and peasants, have all 
 been long gone ; and now the only inhab- 
 itants ot the Bass, are immense (locks of 
 •Solan geese, and some score of sheep, 
 liiat contrive to climb up its precipitous 
 sides and find ])asture on its summit. 
 
 The base of the rock is perforated com- 
 pletely through from east to west, by a 
 natural cavern fearfully dark in the centre, 
 and through which the sea frequently dash- 
 es and roars with astounding violence, but 
 which may be examined at low water on 
 a calm day. When the tide is out, the 
 water remaining in this curious fissure, at 
 a few yards from its mouth, is not more 
 than knee-deep. The young fishermen 
 often go through it, though its aspect is 
 exceedingly teiiific. At one of the en- 
 trances to this cavern it appears as if the 
 Bass were composed of two immense 
 rocks, the larger of which leans diagon- 
 ally against the smaller, leaving this nar- 
 row chasm between them at the bottom, 
 but closely joining with each other at all 
 other points. There are several other 
 caverns of considerable length, the open- 
 ings into which resemble fretted gothic 
 windows or doors that have been made to 
 deviate from the perpendicular by time or 
 violence. The pencil of an able artist 
 alone could convey an idea of their sin- 
 gularity and beauty. 
 
 INCIDENTS IN THE HISTORY OF 
 WASHINGTON. 
 
 ,E are all familiar 
 ' with the fact, as de- 
 clared by an Indian 
 chief on the treaty 
 ground, that he had 
 three times taken 
 deliberate aim (du- 
 ring the battle which 
 ended in the del'eat 
 of Braddock), at Washington, then com- 
 
 ! manding the provincials, and missed every 
 j time. The following anecdotes nlatiiiiv I'o 
 ' the same individual are not so generally 
 known : — 
 
 1 Col. Ferguson of the British army, who 
 ' lay with part of his ridemen on the" skirls 
 of a wood in front of Gen. Knyphansen's 
 division, writing to his brother Dr. A. Fer- 
 guson, the day after the battle at Brandy- 
 wine creek, states " we had not lain lonl', 
 when a rebel officor, remarkable by a hus- 
 sar dress, passed toward our army, within 
 a hundred yards of my right flank, not per- 
 ceiving us. He was followed by anoth- 
 er dressed in dark and blue, mounted on 
 a good bay horse, with a remarkably large 
 high cocked hat. I ordered three good 
 shots to steal near to them and fire at them, 
 but the idea disgusted me ; and I recalled 
 the order. The hussar in returning made 
 a circuit, but the other passed within a 
 hundred yards of us ; upon which I ad- 
 vanced from the wood towarJ him. Up- 
 on my calling he stopped, but after look- 
 ing at me, proceeded. I again drew his 
 attention, and made a sign to him to stop, 
 levelling my piece at him ; but he slowly 
 continued his way. As I was within that 
 distance at which, in the quickest firing, I 
 could have lodged half a dozen balls in or 
 about him, before he was out of my reach, 
 I had only to determine, but it was not 
 pleasant to fire at the back of an unof- 
 fending individual, who was acquitting 
 himself very coolly of his duty ; so I let 
 him alone. The day after, 1 had been 
 telling this to some wounded ofl^cers who 
 lay in the same room with*ie, when one 
 of our surgeons, who had been dressing 
 the wounded rebel ofBcers, came in and 
 told us, that they had been informing him, 
 that Gen. Wasliington was all the morn- 
 ing with the light troops, and only attend- 
 ed by a French officer in a hussar dress, 
 he himself dressed and mounted in every 
 point as above described. I am not sorry 
 that I did not know at the time who it 
 was." 
 
 Immediately after the organization of 
 the present government. General Wash- 
 ington repaired to Fredericksburg, to pay 
 his humble duty to his mother, prepnralo- 
 ry to his departure to New York. An af- 
 fecting scene ensued. The son feelingly 
 remarked the ravages which a lingering 
 
 I 
 
TON. 
 
 icials, .11111 missed rvory 
 'ig aiiucdotes rdatina lo 
 il are not so ijencrallv 
 
 the Briti.sh army, wlio 
 i riHoiiion on tlic skins 
 of Gen. Knyphaiiscii's 
 his brother Dr. A . I'cr- 
 r the battle at Brandy- 
 ' we had not lain lonu', 
 r, remarkable by a hiis- 
 •ward our army, within 
 my right flank, not per- 
 as followed by anoth- 
 and blue, mounted on 
 vith a remarkably large 
 
 I ordered three good 
 ) them and fire at them, 
 ed me ; and I recalled 
 ssar in returning made 
 )tlier passed within a 
 IS ; upon which I ad- 
 lod towaru him. Up- 
 opped, but after look- 
 ed. I again drew his 
 
 a sign to him to stop, 
 It him ; but he slowly 
 As I was within that 
 n the quickest firing, I 
 lalf a dozen balls in or 
 3 was out of my reach, 
 rmine, but it was not 
 the back of an unof- 
 
 who was acquitting 
 
 of his duty ; so I let 
 ay after, 1 had been 
 wounded oflicprs who 
 m withotne, when one 
 10 had been dressing 
 
 officers, came in and 
 d been informing him, 
 ton was all the morn- 
 oops, and only attend- 
 cer in a hussar dress, 
 and mounted in every 
 ibcd. I am not sorry 
 V at the time who it 
 
 r the organization of 
 nent. General Wash- 
 redericksburg, to pay 
 lis mother, preparalo- 
 a New York. An af- 
 i. The son feelingly 
 es which a lingering 
 
 THE WHALE, AND WHALE-CATCHINQ. 
 
 C73 
 
 disease had made upon the aged frame of 
 his parent, mid thus addressed her : — 
 
 " The p'iople, motlier, have been pleas- 
 ed, with the most flattering unanimity to 
 elect me to the chief magistracy of the 
 United States, but, before 1 can assume 
 tiio functions of that oflice, I have come 
 to bid you an afl'ectioi.nte farewell. So 
 soon as the public business, which must 
 necessarily be encountered in arranging a 
 now government, can be disposed of, I 
 shall hasten to Virginia, and — " 
 
 Here the matron interrupted him : " You 
 will see me no more. My great age, and 
 the disease that is fast approaching my 
 vitals, warn me that I shall not bo long in 
 ihis world. I trust I am somewhat pre- 
 lared for a better. But go, George, fulfil 
 ^he high destinies which Heaven appears 
 •o assign you ; go, my son, and may that 
 (leaven's and your mother's blessing be 
 iviih you always." 
 
 The president was deeply aflfected. His 
 head rested upon the shoulder of his pa- 
 reiit, whose aged arm feebly yet fondly 
 encircled his neck. That brow on which 
 fame had wreathed the greatest laurel 
 virtue ever gave to created man, relaxed 
 from its lolly bearing. That look which 
 could have awed a Roman senate, in its 
 Fabrician day, was bent in filial tender- 
 ness upon the timeworn features of this 
 venerated matron. 
 
 The great man wept. A thousand rec- 
 ollections crowded upon his mind, as 
 memory, retracing scenes long past, car- 
 ried hiin back to his paternal mansion, and 
 the days of his youth ; and there the cen- 
 tre of attraction was his mother, whose 
 care, instruction, and discipline, had pre- 
 pared him to reach the topmost height of 
 laudable ambition; yet how were his 
 glories forgotten while he gazed upon her 
 from whom, wasted by time and malady, 
 he must soon part to meet no more on 
 earth! 
 
 The matron's predictions were true. 
 The disease which had so long preyed 
 upon her frame completed its triumph, aiid 
 she expired at the age of 85, confiding in 
 the promises of immortality to the humble 
 believer. 
 
 St. Paul exhorts to pray without ceas 
 Ig — habitual piety is ceaseless prayer. 
 
 THE WHALE, AND WHALE-CATCHING. 
 
 N giving a description 
 of the whale, wc must 
 necessarily repeat much 
 that has been written 
 by others ; but one who 
 has seen them, in their 
 native element, ;iiul has 
 often met them in all 
 their terrors, can at least 
 strip his description of the exaggeration in 
 which most writers have indulged. 
 
 The whale may be properly divided 
 into two genera : the bone whale and the 
 sperm whale. I prefer this description lo 
 the scientific one usually given, as it will 
 more definitely mark the diflerence of 
 these animals than classic words, to which 
 we attach littlo meaning. The bone 
 whales are of several species, all agree- 
 ing in general habits and character, but 
 each having some distinct characteristic. 
 The first and most important is the black 
 whale, or, as the Americans call him, the 
 right whale. This animal is usually about 
 fifty-six feet in length, the largest may 
 reach to sixty feet. Their color is black 
 on the back, and white on the centre of 
 the belly. Occasionally he is spotted 
 with white. The head of this creature is 
 about one third of his whole length. The 
 eyes are placed upon the sides of the 
 head, near the body, and from its great 
 size, it is consequently unable to see either 
 directly forward or behind it, so that it 
 may be approached very near, without 
 being alarmed. But the most singular 
 part of the animal is its mouth, and its 
 adaptation for collecting the food upon 
 which it lives. The upper jaw opens at 
 least fifteen feet in length, and is provided 
 with over five hundred laminae, or slabs 
 of thin black bone, which are hairy on the 
 inner side, and when seen without, have 
 the appearance of a Venetian blind, placed 
 perpendicularly. The under jaw is broad, 
 and when closed receives the ends of this 
 bone upon its soft gums. It is also pro- 
 vided with two immense lips, one on each 
 side, which are large enough to close the 
 whole mouth and cover the bone. Some 
 idea of these lips may be formed, when 
 we know that the longest bone, is fourteen 
 feet in length, and the largest lip will 
 
 .#^'»|| 
 
 ■ ■ 1 ; 
 
 .^^,„ ••■*i 
 
 ■4 
 
 
 x_ 
 
I 
 
mt 
 
 
 THE WHALE, AND WHALE-CATCHING. 
 
 675 
 
 maki; tlirco barrels of oil. The body is 
 from forty to fifty feet in circumference, 
 and liiis two fins just behind the head, in 
 which wli;il(>mcn, owing to the peculiar 
 situation of the bones, trace a fanciful re- 
 sembiauco to the human hand and fingers. 
 Tiie use of the fins appears to be to direct 
 their course, and not to assist them in 
 s^vimming. The body is thick for the 
 greater part of its length, but it tapers 
 near the end, and finishes in a tail, or as 
 it is usually called, in flukes. These 
 flukes are from twelve to fifteen feet in 
 breadth, aiul in them is placed the animal's 
 moans of offence and defence. With its 
 flukes it strikes blows which may be 
 heard at the distance of miles, and from 
 their force, one would suppose that noth- 
 ing could sustain them, but we find that, 
 ii\ their contests ^s'ith each other, they 
 seiilom or never produce death. 
 
 'i'liis whale feeds upon the animalculae 
 of the ocean, more particularly upon a 
 very minute species of shriinp, by the 
 whalemen called britt, which is found 
 without the tropics, both in the northern 
 and southern oceans. This is obtained 
 by swinuning with its mouth partly opened, 
 until a sufllcient quantity is collected and 
 retained by the hairy bone of the upper 
 jaw, when the lips are closed, and by 
 means of its tongue this small food is col- 
 lected and swallowed. Its manner of 
 feeding would remind you of the grazing 
 of the ox — the same disproportion between 
 the size of its focd and the animal to be 
 supported. But when we reflect upon 
 the fact that the ocean is teeming with 
 life, and remember tho immense net-like 
 mouth of the whale, we shall at once see 
 that the end is not disproportioned to the 
 means. Like the ox too, this animal 
 feeds industriously for a few hours, and 
 then either rises above the surface and 
 sleeps, or exercises itself in awkward 
 gambols. If playful, it beats the water 
 with its flukes, or sinks to the depths of 
 the ocean, and ascends with such velocity 
 that it throws its whole body out of the 
 water. It can not remain long under the 
 water at one time, but must ascend for res- 
 piration. Its usual time of breathing is 
 once in fifteen minutes. It has two ori- 
 fices on the top of the head which answer 
 for nostrils, and when it throws out its 
 
 breath it is detected by the spray or steam 
 which it throws up ; owing to this, it be- 
 comes the prey of tho whalemen. 'J'his 
 animal is sought for its oil ami bono. 
 
 The other species of bone whale are 
 tho humpbacked whale, tho finback, and 
 a species called the sul[)hur-b()ttoni, by 
 American whalemen (perhaps answering 
 to the razor-back of the English). Tlie 
 luiipback is killed for his oil, but his 
 bone is small and of no value ; he dillers 
 from tho black whale in having a large 
 hump on the back, and in his fins, which 
 are at least fifteen feet in length, with 
 which he strikes severe blows, and will 
 readily destroy a boat. Tlie finback whale 
 is ninety feet in length, being much longer 
 than either of the others; is distinguisheci 
 from them by throwing his spout nmch 
 higher, and by having a fin on the top of 
 his back, and never lifting his flukes out 
 of the water. He is also much fleett;r 
 than the l)lack or humpbacked whales. 
 For while they usually move but three or 
 four miles an hour, and when excited can 
 only for a short time accelerate their mo- 
 tion to ten or twelve miles, and must then 
 stop and rest, the finback can readily move 
 at the rate of twenty miles an hour (at the 
 least), and will continue that rate for a 
 length of time, that render all attemptD to 
 take him unavailing. The last aivl largest 
 of the whale species, is the sulphur-bottom 
 or razor-back whale. They have been 
 met with at the estimated length of one 
 hundred and thirty feet, they ciiU'or little 
 in appearance from the finback, except 
 that the back fin is nearer the tail, and 
 their motion is much slower, seldom ex- 
 ceeding five miles an hour. Thoy feed 
 in the same manner as the black whale, 
 and like them are killed for their oil. 
 AH tho species of bone whale are alike 
 in their habits, being all timid and cow- 
 ardly, trusting to flight when attacked, 
 and never if they can avoid it, defending 
 themselves by injuring others. 
 
 The bone whales have but one known 
 enemy except man. This is a fish called 
 by whalemen " the killer," about twenty 
 feet long, rather large in the body, and 
 armed with strong teeth, which attacks 
 the bone whale for the sake of his tongue. 
 He first fastens upon the blow-holes or 
 nostrils of the whale until he is forced to 
 
 f 
 
 ^nmm\ 
 
 ■tmf**'^' 
 
 
 "ft' 4^ 
 
ii 
 
 67G 
 
 THE WHALE, AND WHALE-CATCniNG. 
 
 open his mouth to breathe, which then 
 entering, lie fastens upon the tongue and 
 devours it, thus killing this immense ani- 
 mal, wliicli would appear from its bulk to 
 be safe from the attack of all minor crea- 
 tures. 
 
 The sperm wliale differs from the bone 
 whale in its feeding The food of the 
 sjierin whale is a species of animated vege- 
 table, called squid, usually found in deep 
 water. As this substance has much con- 
 sistency, the whale is provided with thirty- 
 six large teeth on the under jaw, with 
 which it rends its food from the rocks to 
 which it is attached. The head of the 
 sperm whale is square at the end, and 
 seems unlit for rapid motion, but it is so 
 hard that it is unatfected by collision with 
 hard substances, and one means of offence 
 with this aniiiial is to strike with the head. 
 Its head is not only one third the length 
 of the body, but contains one third of the 
 oily matter of the whole creature ; its up- 
 per jaw is frequently fourteen feet in thick- 
 ness. Its upper surface of about six or 
 eight feet in thickness (in a very large 
 whale) is called junk, being formed of 
 hard muscular fibres filled up with very 
 fat oily matter. Beneath this is a cavity 
 called the case, in which is contained a 
 semi-liquid matter, which is spermaceti 
 mixed with a little oil. This whale is not 
 so timid as the bone whale, and has more 
 means of offence. It can attack with its 
 square head, its jaw, or its flukes, and 
 either of them are usually fatal to its op- 
 ponent. It is the monarch of the ocean, 
 and probably the leviathan of Job. It is 
 not usually dangerous or malicious, but 
 when aroused and aware of its enemy, its 
 ferocity is terrible ; it is not satisfied with 
 beating him off, but pursues him to his 
 destruction. It pursues the boat of the 
 whalemen until he has dashed it in pieces ; 
 but they who man it are too contemptible 
 an enemy for this terror of the deep : when 
 the apparent enemy is destroyed, the men 
 are left to their fate, and are safely picked 
 up by another boat. 
 
 The sperm, like the bone whale, breathes 
 air, but is capable of remaining longer 
 under the water. It is usually supposed 
 that the sperm whale remains as long un- 
 der the water as he does on the surifa;;e ; 
 and the largest have been known to be 
 
 one hour and a quarter on the surface, 
 breathing, and the same time below. This 
 whale has but one nostril or spout-hole, 
 and in breathing blows the spray forward 
 and low. Ho moves slowly ilirough the 
 water when not excited, but when attack- 
 ed is capable of moving seven or (.'i;,'ht 
 miles an hour, and continuing at that rate 
 for a great length of time. The mule of 
 the sperm whale is much larger tliau the 
 female ; the largest male whales having 
 produced from one hundred and fifty to 
 two hundred barrels of oil, while the 
 largest female never yields more than 
 forty barrels. Of the same genus as the 
 sperm whale are the porpoise and 1)lack 
 fish. Their habits are similar, and their 
 oil of the same kind. All whales produce 
 their young alive, one every year, and the 
 young are suckled like the calf until they 
 are capable of providing for their own 
 sustenance. 
 
 Having given a short account of the 
 habits of whales, and the character of the 
 different species, I shall now describe the 
 manner of taking them and saving the oil. 
 
 A whale-ship is usually fitted with three 
 or four boats, according to her size. Each 
 boat is manned with six people — one mate, 
 one harpooner, or boat-steerer, and four 
 sailors. Besides the boats' crews, she 
 has six or eight men to keep the ship 
 when the boats are in pursuit of whales ; 
 having in all from twenty-five to thirty- 
 three men on board. Each boat is provi- 
 ded with a tub containing thirteen hundred 
 and fifty feet of tow-line, which, when 
 used, is made fast to two harpoons. She 
 also has several lances, which are sharp 
 weapons five feet in length and made fast 
 to a pole, and used io despatch the whale 
 after the boat is made fast to him by the 
 barb-harpoon. There are also several 
 minor articles attached to the boat, which 
 conduce to the safety of the men in case 
 of accident. The ship is also provided 
 with two or three large iron pots, capable 
 of containing from one hundred and sixty 
 to two hundred and twenty gallons each, 
 for the purpose of boiling out the oil. 
 Thus provided, the ship takes her depart- 
 ure in search of the monsters of the deep. 
 At this time commences the toil and ex- 
 citement of the whalemen, which I shall 
 now attempt to describe, using the Ian- 
 
 ^ 
 ^ 
 
fs^i^mm 
 
 rter on the surfiice, 
 retime below. This 
 lostril or spout-hole, 
 va the spray forward 
 i sk)\vly tlirDujrh ihc 
 ed, but wheu attack- 
 iving seven or eiyht 
 ontiuuing ut that rate 
 time. Tlie male of 
 nuch larger lliau the 
 male whales having 
 hundred and fifty to 
 ) of oil, while the 
 r yields more than 
 B same genus as the 
 
 porpoise and black 
 ire similar, and iheir 
 
 All whales produce 
 ! every year, and the 
 le the calf until they 
 ding for their own 
 
 hort account of the 
 the character of the 
 lall now describe the 
 n and saving the oil. 
 ually fitted with three 
 g to her size. Each 
 X people — one mate, 
 )at-steerer, and four 
 3 boats' crews, she 
 n to keep the ship 
 1 pursuit of whales ; 
 iventy-five to thirty- 
 Each boat is provi- 
 ling thirteen hundred 
 -line, which, when 
 two harpoons. She 
 3S, which are sharp 
 ength and made fast 
 despatch the whale 
 ) fast to him by the 
 e arc also several 
 d to the boat, which 
 of the men in case 
 ip is also provided 
 ;e iron pots, capable 
 B hundred and sixty 
 wenty gallons each, 
 soiling out the oil. 
 ip takes her depart- 
 onsters of the deep, 
 as the toil and ex- 
 }men, which I shall 
 ibe, using the Ian 
 
C78 
 
 THE WHALE, AND WHALE CATCHINO. 
 
 piinge of the whalemen where it is intel- 
 ligible to lanilsmen. 
 
 The ship goes on her course with an 
 ofTirfr at her mainmast head, and a sailor 
 ar her fore. All is industry on deck. 
 WJion the look-out aloft cries, " There she 
 blows," instantly he is answered from the 
 ofTirer of the deck, with the shrill cry, 
 " Where away ?" He answers, giving the 
 direction in which the fish is from the 
 ship. Now all is hustle, hut all is order. 
 The captain with his telescope, ascends 
 the mast, and observes the spout, and di- 
 rects the ship to steer for the expected 
 prey. The mates and boat-steerers pre- 
 pare their weapons for the conflict. The 
 men are all on the look-out to catch the 
 first view of the whale from the deck. 
 The old and seasoned whaleman looks 
 forward to the strife with hope and ex- 
 citement, and perhaps amuses himself by 
 friglitening the landsmen with the dangers, 
 they are about to encounter. At last 
 comes the order, " Haul aback the main- 
 yard, lower away the boats." In breath- 
 less haste the orders are obeyed, the boats 
 are gone, the ship lies like a log on the 
 waters, and all is silence and expectation. 
 The boats speed toward their object, the 
 old sailors recklessly indifferent to the 
 danger, and highly excited with the hope 
 of gain, and the pride of conte.st, the lands- 
 men doubting but usually firm, and too 
 proud to yield when others will lead. 
 
 Unaware of his danger, the leviathan of 
 the deep lies idly on the water. His foe 
 is upon him. All is silence and e.vertion ; 
 now comes the stern order to the harpoon- 
 er, " Stand up — dart," and the barbed iron 
 is buried deep in his vitals. Then is 
 heard the shout, " Stern all" (to escape the 
 danger of the agonized exertions of the 
 wounded monster), and the reckless ex- 
 ultation of the daring whaleman ; then 
 writhing with pain he lashes the waters 
 with his tail, and in the words of the He- 
 brew poet, " he maketh the sea to boil 
 like a pot, one would think the deep to be 
 hoary." But this soon passes away, his 
 strength is exhausted, and he lies trem- 
 bling on the waters, or he seeks safety in 
 flight. Now the boat by its tow-line is 
 brought near to him, and the mate with 
 his lance, strikes him to the heart ; he 
 throws blood from his nostrils ; his breath- 
 
 ing is choked ; in his agony he lashes the 
 water ; the ocean resounds wiili his bel- 
 lowing ; his strength can endure no more, 
 he rolls a lifeless mass on the waters, the 
 prize and scorn of his puny enemy. Yet 
 in all this there is but little danger to tlic 
 bold and experienced whaleuian. \lf 
 watches the motions of his timid foe, ho 
 avoids the agonized blows of his ttil, an^l 
 suflers him to exhaust his great strengih 
 in futile exertions. 
 
 When the whale is dead commences 
 the labor of saving the oil. The animal 
 is brought along side of tlic ship, and se- 
 cured by a chain around the small part of 
 the body where it joins the flukes. Large 
 tackles (or pulley-blocks with ropes rove 
 through them) are made fast at the main- 
 mast head, one end of the fall or rope is 
 passed around the windlass forward ; and 
 to the lower block is attached a large 
 hook. A hole is now cut in the blubber 
 or outer coat of the whale, and the hook 
 is placed in it ; the men at the windlass 
 then heave up the hook, a strip of about 
 four feet in width of the blwbljor is cut by 
 the officers of the sliip, and the fat or 
 bhibber is peeled ofli'as the bark is peeled 
 from a tree. When a piece extendinir 
 from the animal to the head of the main^ 
 mast is hove up, a new hole is cut and 
 another tackle is made fast below, and the 
 part above is cut oflT and lowered into the 
 hold. The other tackle is hove up witli 
 another piece, rolling the whale over and 
 over, until the whole of the blu!)ber is 
 taken into the ship. When everything 
 valuable is secured, preparation is' made 
 to boil out the oil. Two men commence 
 cutting the blubber into small oblong pie- 
 ces. It is then passed to two others, who 
 with large knives mince it thin, when 
 it is placed in the large pots and heated 
 until the oil flows from it, and all the wa- 
 ter is expelled. The oil is then bailed 
 into a large copper vessel from which it 
 runs through a strainer into a large pot, and 
 is thence put into casks and rolled away 
 to cool. The scraps or solid matter of the 
 blubber are used for fuel, so that every 
 part IS useful ; and if it were not for the 
 scraps, no ship could carry wood enough 
 to boil out its oil. When the oil is cooled 
 it is sent below into casks in the hold, by 
 means of leather hose, and is there done 
 
is ai,'ony he lashes thn 
 esoiinils witli his hoi- 
 1 can endure no more. 
 ass on tlio waters, the 
 lis puny enemy. Yet 
 Hit little (Innfrer to the 
 cod whaleman. lie 
 s of his timid foe, ho 
 blows of his tail, and 
 list his great strength 
 
 is dead commences 
 the oil. The animal 
 i of tlic ship, and se- 
 innd the small part of 
 ns the flukes. I,aru;e 
 looks with ropes rove 
 ado fast at the main- 
 3f the fall or rope is 
 indlass forward ; and 
 is attached a larjje 
 w cut in the hhiliber 
 whale, and the hook 
 iTien at the windlass 
 look, a strip of about 
 the blublier is cut by | 
 ship, and the fat or 
 as the bark is peeled 
 1 a piece e.vtending 
 lie head of the main- 
 lew hole is cut and 
 le fast below, and the 
 and lowered into the 
 :kle is hove up with 
 the whale over and 
 e of the blubber is 
 When cvervthinir 
 preparation is made 
 Pwo men commence 
 ito small oblousr pie- 
 id to two others, who 
 lince it thin, when 
 •ge pots and heated 
 m it, and all the wa- 
 e oil is then bailed 
 essel from which it 
 • into a largo pot, and 
 ks and rolled away 
 3r solid matter of the 
 fuel, so that every 
 it were not for the 
 carry wood enough 
 'hen the oil is cooled 
 asks in the hold, by 
 e, and is there done 
 
 PERSISTENCY OF FAMILY FEATUUES. 
 
 Gt9 
 
 with until the ship arrives at home. The 
 description of a whale-ship boiling at 
 nii;ht, may amuse, and would convey no 
 bid idea of the fancied infernal regions of 
 former days. If the observer were placed 
 near enough to see the general movements, 
 and yet not so contiguous as to let dull 
 reality dispel the illusion of appearance, 
 and could fiiiicy the heaving ocean glaring 
 in the fitful light to bo liquid sulphur, he 
 would have the material hell of our precise 
 ancestors before him. The men feeding 
 their huge fires, and now stirring them 
 into fierce action, the briglit blaze flaring 
 wide over the oce;in and throwing in bold 
 relief visages blackened by smoke, un- 
 shorn and shaggy, their bright steel forks 
 and pikes now flashing in the light, and 
 now indistinct as the flickering blazo fades 
 away, and again seen as the master-demon 
 throws boiling oil into the blaze (to give 
 light to his operations), the hasty move- 
 ments of the men passing suddenly before 
 the fires and then lost in darkness, or their 
 forms thrown at length before the blaze in 
 liio moments of relaxation — a mcbid fan- 
 cy might easily make it an image of terror, 
 or a lighter mood might laugh at the 
 ridiculous pageant as it passed before 
 him. 
 
 PERSISTENCY OF FAMILY FEATURES. 
 
 T is well known that 
 personal pecuUarities of 
 all kinds, defects as well 
 beauties, casts of fea- 
 tures, and traits of ex- 
 pression, are transmit- 
 -.f^^^SSfl ^ ted from parents to their 
 '^C^^\\'^<S. ' children. The fact 
 stares us in the face 
 whenever we enter a family parlor, for 
 there it is invariably seen that the young 
 people bear a resemblance in one respect 
 or another to their father or mother, or to 
 both. This is a subject which has never, 
 as far as we are aware, been honored with 
 more than a transient notice at the hands 
 of the learned ; yet it might be worthy of 
 philosophical investigation. We merely 
 propose, in this place, to illustrate it by a 
 
 few facts, wliich we have picked up either 
 from personal observation, or from books. 
 
 Sometimes the reproduction of face and 
 figure in the chihl seems almost perfect. 
 Sometimes face is borrowed from one pa- 
 rent, and form of head, or of body, or of 
 some of the limbs, from the other. Occa- 
 sionally, there is a remarkable blending 
 of the two throughout the whole or parts 
 of the person. Even peculiarities in the 
 carriage of the head or of the mode of 
 walking are transmitted, and a family voice 
 is nearly as common a marvel as a family 
 face. A man, in a place distant froni his 
 home, and where he was totally unknown, 
 has been distinguished as the brother of 
 one known there by the sound of his voice 
 heard in a neighbormg apartment. But 
 the almost perfect reproduction of the el- 
 der Kean's voice in the younger, is per- 
 haps the most convincing illustration we 
 could adduce upon this point. It will al- 
 so be found that children resembling eith- 
 er parent externally, have a stronger af- 
 finity of mental character to that parent 
 than to the other. A gentleman, very in- 
 timately known to us, is strikingly like his 
 father, who has been deceased since his 
 early youth : he also exhibits the same 
 dispositions and intellectual tendencies in 
 a remarkable degree, delights in the same 
 studies, has the same turn for the percep- 
 tion of human character; nay, he often 
 feels, in the simplest procedure of com- 
 mon life, so absolute an identity with what 
 he remembers of his father in the same 
 circumstances, and at the same period of 
 life, as expressed by gesture and conver- 
 sation, that it seems to him as if he were 
 the same person. Nor can this, he says, 
 be a result of imitation ; it is something 
 which takes place independently of all de- 
 sign, and which he only remarks, in gen- 
 eral, after the act or feeling or movement, 
 which recalls his father, has passed. 
 
 But it is not parents alone who are thus 
 reproduced in new generations. In a 
 large family familiarly known to us, as are 
 all its relationships, we see, in the young 
 persons, resemblances both to the father 
 and mother and to one or other of the 
 two grandfathers and grandmothers, not- 
 withstanding that, in one or two instances, 
 the intermediate generation did not bear 
 those features of the first which are traced 
 
 HMiiii 
 
 .-ria< 
 
 impssi 
 
 :)jW"r"' 
 
r 
 
 680 
 
 PERSISTENCY OF FAMILY FEATU11E8. 
 
 in the third. It thus appears that a pecu- 
 linrity will sink in one generation, and re- 
 appear in the next. Perhaps even more 
 jrenerations than one are occasionally 
 passed over. In this family, several of 
 the children are totally diflerent from the 
 rest ; complexion, form, gesticulations, 
 voices, all peculiar. This seems to bo 
 owiiij,' to their 'Making after" diileretit pa- 
 rents, or the families to which the dilTer- 
 ent (larents belonged. What makes this 
 the more remarkable, is, that one of these 
 cliiMren, while iu all respects unlike cer- 
 tain brothers and sister.s, has one feature 
 strikingly recalling the imago of a distant 
 cousin — a character of feature not seen 
 in any other existing member of the fam- 
 ily, and not remembered of any that are 
 decisased. It would appear as if these mi- 
 niitiic of I'amily characters llitted about fit- 
 fully and vaguely, and ordy settled now 
 and tben upon individuals in a clan, some- 
 times uj)on not more than two, or perhaps 
 upon one only, in the same ago. From 
 all of these facts, it may be inferred that 
 the strong resemblances sometimes re- 
 marked between cousins, are indications 
 of their representing a common original, 
 aiul of their being in reality more consan- 
 guineous than are many brothers and sis- 
 ters. The unsuiiableness of such rela- 
 tions for matrimonial alliances, must of 
 course be allecled by this consideration. 
 Whore resemblances exist, their union 
 may be held as even more decisively con- 
 denmed by nature, than is that between 
 brothers and sisters who are not observ- 
 ably alike. 
 
 'riie limitation of portrait-painting as to 
 time, is a bar to our knowledge with re- 
 gard to instances of long transmission of 
 family faces and features. Yet enough 
 is ascertained to establish the law of the 
 case. In the royal family of England, 
 a certain fulness of the lower and lateral 
 parts of the face is conspicuous in the 
 portraits of the whole series of sovereigns, 
 from George I. to Victoria. It has been 
 equally seen in other members of the fam- 
 ily. The Duke of Cumberland who fig- 
 ured at CuUoden, presents generally the 
 same visage as several of the sons of 
 William IV. This physiognomy may be 
 traced back to Sophia, the mother of 
 George I. ; how much further, we can 
 
 not tell. It is equally certain that a thick- 
 ness of tlie imder lip, peculiar to the im- 
 perial family of Austria (Maria Louisa is 
 said to bo charactc^rized by ii), has been 
 hereditary in the race since a marriat."' 
 some centuries ago with thr- Polish house 
 of Jagellon, whence it c;ime. 
 
 A remarkable anccdyte ilhi:5trafive of j 
 this subject was told us, some years ago, ' 
 by a gentleman who has since dislin- i 
 guished himself in the walk of fictitious 
 literature. Horn in Nova Scotia, where i 
 his family, originally Scotch, had been 
 settled for the areatcr part of a century, 
 he had not an opportiiiiiiy of visiting Siiot- 
 land till past the middle of life. Here he 
 endeavored to sec as many as possible 
 of the individuals bearing his rather im- 
 common name, and in this (piest he 
 often took journeys to considerable dis- 
 tances. Having beard of a family of the 
 name residing at a lonely farm among the 
 Lammernmir hills, he proceeded thither on 
 foot from the nearest market town. As is 
 not uncommon in such situations, the ap- 
 proach of a visiter could be observed from 
 this house while he was yet fully a milo 
 
 distant. Mr. II' was observed at that 
 
 distance by some of the children, who 
 immediately cried out with one voice, 
 " There is Uncle George !" When the 
 stranger arrived at the house, the seniors 
 of the family fullj' acknowledged the gen- 
 eral resemblance of the figure ami carriage 
 to the person called uncle George ; and 
 it was asc( tained, after a little conversa- 
 tion, that the Nova Scotian was in reality 
 their cousin at two or three removes. 
 
 When Mr. William Howitt visited Strat- 
 ford-on-Avon, in order to write respecting 
 the places connected with Shakspere, the 
 schoolmaster informed him that a descen- 
 dant of a near relation of the poet was 
 one of his pupils. " He marshalled his 
 laddish troop in a row," says Mr. Howitt, 
 " and said to me, ' There, now, sir, can 
 you tell which is a Shakspere.' I glanced 
 my eye along the lino, and quickly fixing 
 it on one boy, said, 'That is the Shak- 
 spere.' ' You are right,' said the mas- 
 ter, 'that is the Shakspere — the Shak- 
 spere cast of countenance is there. That 
 is William Shakspere Smith, a lineal de- 
 scendant of the poet's sister.' The lad," 
 continues Mr. Howitt, " was a fine lad of 
 
y certain that a tliick- 
 I, ppciiliar to iho im- 
 ria (Maria Louisa is 
 izod by it), lias Ix-iii 
 CO since a niarriatii' 
 villi the Polish house 
 it came, 
 ccilpte illustrative of 
 
 us, soino years a<>o, 
 10 has since tlisiin- 
 he walk of fictitious 
 
 Nova Scotia, where 
 y Scotch, had been 
 ■r part of a century, 
 unity of visitin}^ Scot- 
 Idlu of life. Hero he 
 IS many as possible 
 Niriii!! his rather uii- 
 1 ill this ([uest ho 
 
 to coiisiihrable dis- 
 ird of a family of the 
 anely farm amoncr the 
 3 proceeded thither on 
 t market town. As is 
 eh situations, the ap- 
 )uld be oljserved from 
 
 was yet fully a iiiilo 
 - was observed at that 
 )f the children, who 
 out wiili one voice, 
 jcorjje !" When the 
 lie house, the seniors 
 :knowk'dged the gen- 
 ;he figure and carriage 
 J uncle George ; and 
 after a little convcrsa- 
 Scotian was in reality 
 >r three removes. 
 n Ilowitt visited Strat- 
 er to write respecting 
 1 with Shakspere, the 
 ed him that a descen- 
 tion of the poet was 
 
 " He marshalled his 
 w," says Mr. Howitt, 
 
 There, now, sir, can 
 hakspere.' I glanced 
 ae, and quickly fixing 
 , 'That is the Shak- 
 
 right,' said the nias- 
 hakspere — the Shak- 
 mance is there. That 
 re Smith, a lineal do- 
 t's sister.' The lad," 
 itt, " was a fine lad of 
 
 PBB8I8TENCY OF FAMILY FRATUHE8. 
 
 681 
 
 perhaps ten years of ago ; and certain- 
 ly the resemblance to the bust of Shak- 
 spere, ill the church at Siratl'ord, is won- 
 derful, iiMisideriug he is not descended 
 from Sliaksperc himself, but from his sis- 
 ter, a!id that the seventh in descent. What 
 is odJ enough, whether it be mere acci- 
 dent or not, the color of the lad's eyes, a 
 liirht htizol, is the same as that given to 
 tlitise of the Shakspere bust, which it is 
 well known was originally ccdored, and of 
 which e.vact copies remain." These oli- 
 servalionsof Mr. Howitt are confirmed by 
 a jKirliait of the youth, which ho gives in 
 his hook. Wo are the less disposed to 
 eiiteitain doubts on the subject, in conse- 
 quence of circunibtauces which have fallen 
 under our own notice. Some years ago, 
 a young man in humble life came forward 
 to claim the restoration of the forfeited ti- 
 tles of the Seatons, carls of Wintoun, his 
 grandfather having been assured that he 
 was a legilim;ito though obscurely born 
 son of ihc noble, who lost honors, and 
 lands, by joining in the insurrection of 
 1715. From want of evidence, the claim 
 was a hopeless one, and it was not prose- 
 cuted ; but of one fact there could be no 
 doul)t that the young man so nearly resem- 
 bled the sons of the liftli Lord Scaton, as 
 represented in a family picture painted by 
 Antony More, that ho might have passed 
 for their brother. These persons lived in 
 the latter half of the sixtienth century. 
 
 The doubts which might rest on cases 
 of particular resemblance in families, ought 
 perhaps to be in a great measure dispelled, 
 when we reflect on the evidence that ex- 
 ists with respect to the persistency of ex- 
 ternal characters in sets and races of 
 people. Not only have we such facts as 
 the ])revalent tallness in the inhabitants 
 of Potsdam, where Frederick I. assembled 
 his regiment of longitudinal guards, and a 
 strong infusion of Spanish features in the 
 people of the county of Galway, in which 
 some centuries ago several Spanish set- 
 tlements were made ; but we are assured 
 by Major Bevan that he could distinguish 
 the several castes in India by their pecu- 
 liarhies of countenance ; and the Jews are 
 the same people in Egyptian entablatures 
 of three thousand years ago, as they are 
 in some countries at the present day. Mr. 
 Kohl, in his travels in Austria, speaks of 
 
 ^1) 
 
 I Prague as a very garden of beauty. " For 
 the young ladies of 18n,"say.«» he, " 1 
 am ready to give my testimony most un- 
 reservedly, and many an enraptured travel- 
 ler has left us his books as living wit- 
 nesses to the loveliness of the grand- 
 mothers and great-granduiotherH of the 
 present generation. The old chromeler, 
 Hammerschmidt, and his (!oiileni|)oniries, 
 dwell with (Mpial jdeasure on the sweet 
 faces that smiled upon them in their d:iys, 
 and the picture-gallery of many a Dohe- 
 mian castle is there to testify to the truth 
 of their statements. One witness there 
 is to the fact, whoso right (v\v will ijues- 
 tion to decide on such a point. Titian, 
 who studied the faces of lovely women 
 for ninety-six years, and who, while at the 
 court of Charles V., spent five years in 
 Germany, tells us it was among the ladies 
 (if Prague that ho fotind his iilntl of a 
 beautiful fem.'lo head. If we go back 
 beyond the times of Titian, we have the 
 declaration of Charles IV., that Prngno 
 was a hortiis (Jiliriariirn, and whoever has 
 read the life of that emi)eror, will scarcely 
 doubt that beautiful women iiiist have 
 been included in the delights of a cripit.il 
 so apostrophized. Nay, the tiim^-honored 
 nobility of the beauty of Prague may he 
 said to go back even to the earliest tradi- 
 tion, where we find it celebrated \fi \\u'. 
 legends of Libussa and Vlasta, and the 
 countless songs composed in honor of the 
 Deviy Slavanske or Tshekhian damst's." 
 While there is a law of persistency, 
 there seems also to be one modifying it, 
 a law of variation. The contiiuiance of 
 national features depends much on ad- 
 herence to the same region of the earth, 
 and the same mode of living. NVlien a 
 peojde migrate to a remote and difl'crenily 
 characterized clime, they are often seen 
 to undergo, in the next generation, a 
 change of features and of figure. Thus 
 the unctuous Saxon of Kent and Suflblk, 
 when transferred to Massachusetts, be- 
 comes metamorphosed into the lank anu 
 wiry New-Eiiglander. Descendants of 
 British settlers in the West Indies have 
 been remarked, after several generations, 
 to acquire some of the peculiar features 
 of the aboriginal Americans, particidarly 
 high cheek-bones and eyes deeply set in 
 the head. It has also been remarked in 
 
r 
 
 682 
 
 KETEOSPECTION.. 
 
 I 
 
 n 
 1 
 
 4 
 
 15" 
 I 
 
 if 
 
 
 i 
 
 ct 
 
 Now South Wales, that tho generation of 
 English l)()rn tliero aro chan^'ed from tlieir 
 pr()j,Mnit()rf* — taller, aiul le^s rolnist, ho- 
 biilest having a share of that nasal toiiO 
 which ia found in tho American English. 
 Tlu'80 aro curious facts, conveying tho 
 impression that national forms have been 
 ih'ierminetl to some extent by peculiarities 
 of climate and other external influences. 
 
 In the main, ono generation is repre- 
 sented in another succeeding it. We die 
 as individuals, but tho character in mind 
 and body, " with a difreronco," ia 'iCveJ 
 and continued by those who come after 
 us, and the tissue of human races is a kind 
 of immortality. 
 
 POPE'S TREE. 
 
 ^ HE village of Binfield, 
 f^in Berkshire, situated 
 about seven miles 
 west of Windsor, and 
 within the precinct of 
 the forest, is remarka- 
 
 fgjyjf^^j^^lK-^^ ]y\Q ffQf,^ having been 
 » the residence of Alex- 
 ander Pope, during his early years. The 
 father of tho poet, having accumulated a 
 considerable fortune by business in Lon- 
 don, retired to this place during the infan- 
 cy of his son, and here purchased a house 
 and estate. 
 
 Speaking of this house, which, although 
 probably much altered from its original 
 state, is still standing. Pope calls it — 
 
 " my paternal cell. 
 
 A little house, with trees a-row. 
 And, like its master, very low." 
 
 About half a mile from the house, an 
 interesting memorial of the poet still re- 
 mains, or at least did so a few years since. 
 There is here a fine grove of beeches, 
 pleasantly situated on the gentle slope of 
 a hill, which commands an agreeable 
 though not extensive view of the surround- 
 ing country. This grove was a favorite 
 resort of Pope's, who is said to have com- 
 posed many of his earlier pieces sitting 
 under 'he shade of one of the trees, below 
 which a seat was then placed. The rec- 
 ollection of this circumstance was pre- j 
 
 served by Lady Oower, an adinin-r of tho 
 poet .ho catisnd tho words " II nun I'oi-r 
 sii.Nii," to bo cut in largn leif.rs in llio 
 bark, at some height from the groniid , 
 and as this inscription, at tho time \\n 
 mention, was distinctly legible, it was ns 
 doubt, at ono period, occasionally renewed. 
 
 RETROSPECTION. 
 
 E know of no spec- 
 tacle so well calcu- 
 lated to teach hu- 
 man humiliation, and 
 convince us of tho 
 utter fnj'ility of tho 
 proudos! monuments 
 of art, as tliu relics 
 which remind us of 
 vast populations that have passed from the 
 eartii, and the empires that have crumbled 
 into ruins. Wo read upon the ruins of 
 the past tho fate of the present. Wo feel 
 as if the cities of men were built on foun- 
 dations beneath which tho eartluiuake 
 slept, and thnt we abide in tho midst of 
 tho same dc j, i which has already swal- 
 lowed so mu'.h ol the records <A' mortal 
 magnificence. Under such emotions, wo 
 look on all human power as foundation- 
 less, and view the proudest nations of the 
 present as covered only with the mass of 
 their desolation. 
 
 The Assyrian empire was once alike 
 the terror and wonder of the world, and 
 Babylon was perhaps never surpassed in 
 power and gorgeous magnificence. But 
 where is there even a relic of Babylon 
 now, save on the faithful pages of Holy 
 Writ? Tho very place of its existence 
 is a matter of uncertainty and dispute. 
 Alas ! that the measure of time should bo 
 doomed to oblivion ; and that those who 
 first divided the year into months, and in- 
 vented the zodiac itself, should take so 
 sparing of immortality as to be, in tho 
 lapse of a few centuries, confounded with 
 natural phenomena of mountain and val- 
 ley. 
 
 Who can certainly show us the site of 
 the tower that was " reared against heav- 
 en" ? Who were the builders of the pyra- 
 
 BS'iiiiiDamiiiiiiawii 
 
 mmBsmmm 
 
iTTltfiwj Hi 
 
 ECTION. 
 
 E know of no spec- 
 tacio so woll calcu- 
 lated to t(:a<h hu- 
 man liiiiniliatiun, and 
 convinci! iis of llio 
 utter fniMlily of the 
 proudos! nioMuinciits 
 of art, as tliu relics 
 which remind us of 
 lave passed from I ho 
 that have cruiiihlcd 
 upon the ruins of 
 e present. We feel 
 were built on fuun- 
 ch tho eartluiunko 
 de in tho midst of 
 ;i has already swal- 
 3 records of nuirtal 
 : such emotions, wo 
 )wer as foundation- 
 iidest nations of the 
 ily with the mass of 
 
 >ire was onco alike 
 r of the world, and 
 
 never surpassed in 
 magnificence. But 
 a relic of Babylon 
 thful pages of Holy 
 ice of its existence 
 tainty and dispiuo. 
 •e of time should bo 
 and that those who 
 into months, and in- 
 lelf, should take so 
 y as to be, in the 
 es, confounded with 
 
 mountain and val- 
 
 show us tho site of 
 ■eared against heav- 
 builders of the pyra- 
 
 fijii 
 
 I 
 
 ntfm*' 
 
r 
 
 «?' 
 
 n- 
 
 ifi. 
 
 ws' 
 
 084 
 
 LEEDS CA8TLK, KKNT. 
 
 m'uh iliiit have excited ho much the aston- 
 i»liirii-nt of modern nutioiis ? 
 
 Wlitre ia Home, tho irronintiWo mon- 
 arch of tho cast, iho terror of iho world ' 
 Whcro iiro tho proud odiCicPs of her ^lory, 
 the fame of which has reached even to 
 our time in classic vividness ? Ahis, she, 
 too, has faded away in sins and vices. 
 Time lias swept his iinspiring scythe over 
 her j>lori()s, and shorn tliis prince of its 
 towering diadems. 
 
 " Ilcr hinoly rnlumnn itanit »ubllmn, 
 KliiiK'HiB ll"'i'' sliii'l"W» fri'iri nii hiijh, 
 Mkc iliiiN which llic wiiiinl Tiinp 
 Hath ruisptl, to count his age» by." 
 
 Throiipliout tho range of our western 
 wilds, down in Mexico, Yucatan, Bolivia, 
 &.C., travellers have been able to discover 
 the most indisputable ovidiMices of extinct 
 rac> s of men highly skilled in learning 
 and the arts, of whom we have no earthly 
 record, save tho remains of their wonder- 
 ful works which time has spared for our 
 contemplation. On the very spot where 
 forests rise in unbroken grandeur, and 
 seem to have been explored only by their 
 natural inhabitants, generation after gene- 
 ration has stood, has lived, has warred, 
 grown old, and passed away ; and not only 
 their names, but their nation, their lan- 
 guage, has perished, and utter oblivion has 
 closed over their once-populoua abodes. 
 Who shall unravel to us the magnificent 
 ruins of Mexico, Yucatan, and Bolivia, 
 over which hangs tho sublimest mystery, 
 and which seem to have been antiquities 
 in the day of Pharaoh? Who were tho 
 builders of those gorgeous temples, obe- 
 lisks, and palaces, now tho ruins of a 
 powerful and highly-cultivated people, 
 wlio.se national existence was probably be- 
 fore that of Thebes or Rome, Carthage or 
 Athens ? Alas ! there is none to tell the 
 tale ; all is conjecture, and our best infor- 
 mation concerning them is derived only 
 from uncertain analogy. 
 
 How forcibly do these wonderful rev- 
 olutions, which overturn the masterworks 
 of man, and utterly dissolve his boasted 
 knowledge, remind us that God is in them 
 all ! Wherever the eye is turned, to what- 
 ever quarter of tho world the attention is 
 directed, there lie the remains of more 
 powerful, more advanced, and more highly 
 skilled nations than ourselves, the almost 
 
 obliterated recordu of tho mighty pust, 
 Mow seemingly woll-founded was llie de- 
 lusion, and indeed how current even now, 
 that the discovery of Colimibns first open- 
 ed the way for a cultivated people in the 
 '• new world." And yet how great reason 
 is there for the conrlusion, that wliile the 
 country of Ferdinand and Isiibitlla was yet 
 a stranger to the cultivated arts, America 
 teemed with power and grandeur — with 
 cities and temples, pyramids and mounds, 
 in comparison with which the liiiildiMi^s 
 of Spain bear not the slightest resemblance, 
 and before which the relics of the old 
 world are shorn of their grandeur ! 
 
 All these great relics of still greater na- 
 tions, should thoy not teach us a lesson 
 of humiliation, confirming, as they do, the 
 truth that God is in histnrii which man 
 can not penetrate? If tho historian tell.i 
 us truly that a hundred thousand men, re- 
 lieved every three months, were tliirty 
 years in erecting a single Egyptian pyra- 
 mid, what conclusion may we not rcason- 
 ablv form of the intiquities of our own 
 continent, which is almost by way of de- 
 rision, one would suppose, styled the " new 
 world!" 
 
 LEEDS CASTLE, KENT. 
 
 N a wild park south- 
 east of Maidstone about 
 five miles, stands Leeds 
 Castle, an extensive pile 
 of military architecture, 
 principally of the thir- 
 teenth, fourteenth, and 
 fifteenth centuries. In 
 its history, there is little 
 beyond that attaching to every other sim- 
 ilar building, which can " point a moral 
 or adorn a tale." It passed several times 
 from the crown to the favorites or faithful 
 servants of the sovereign. Having by its 
 strength and importance excited the jeal- 
 ousy of Edward I., the family which then 
 held the fief resigned it to Edward II., 
 who, about 1318, granted it in exchange 
 to the " rich Lord Badlesmere of Leeds." 
 This nobleman is said by Philipot, in his 
 " Villare Cantianum," to have lost it by his 
 
 il 
 
of ihn mighty pint. 
 l-f('iin<l«!il w(is ilii« ill'- 
 Kiw ciirront <nfii now, 
 f ('oluintm-j lirst opfii- 
 illivatcil p<!oplo ill tlin 
 1 yt<t how nr«ti»t fcasun 
 c-hi^iiMi, tliiit wliijt' tiio 
 (1 niul Isiibt;il;i was yet 
 illiviited iiriN, AiiuTica 
 • and tfnmdfiir — with 
 pyraini'lM and inouiidH, 
 1 which the i)iiiidint,'s 
 
 Hlightesl rt'!(eiiii)liuic<', 
 iho ridics of iho ohl 
 tliuir sranth'ur ! 
 dic8 of still nunilPT na- 
 lot teach us n lesson 
 irmini;, as they do, tlio 
 in historij which man 
 If tlio historian tolls 
 Ircd thoiisund men, re- 
 I months, were thirty 
 , single Egyptian pyra- 
 on may wo not reason- 
 intiiiiiiiies of our own 
 I almost by way of de- 
 ippose, styled the " new 
 
 lSTLE, KENT. 
 
 N a wild park south- 
 east of Maidstone about 
 five miles, stands Leeds 
 Castle, an extensive pile 
 of military architecture, 
 principally of the thir- 
 teenth, fourteenth, and 
 fifteenth centuries. In 
 its history, there is little 
 ling to every other siin- 
 ;h can " point a moral 
 It passed several times 
 the favorites or faithful 
 vcreign. Having by its 
 rtance excited the jeal- 
 ., the family which then 
 gned it to Edward II., 
 granted it in exchange 
 Badlesmere of Leeds." 
 said by Philipot, in his 
 im," to have lost it by his 
 
 i 1 
 
 m%\ 
 
 4 
 
 ■•-1! 
 
 ;• J : 
 
 '-1 
 
 i*^i« 
 
 ■•..'•<«»4. 
 
 «^'^* 
 
086 
 
 PARIS AT THE PRESENT DAY. 
 
 was'! 
 
 ^-fe: 
 
 castellain refusing to receive Isabel, queen 
 of Edward II., and her train, on a prog- 
 ress to Canterbury, because the messen- 
 gers brought the castellain no authority 
 from his lord. The king was so much 
 incensed at this uncourteous treatment, 
 t'lat orders were given to besiege the cas- 
 tle, which was taken, and the unfortunate 
 keeper was hung. The lady and children 
 of Lord Badlesmere were sent to the 
 Tower, and the Lord Badlesmere joined 
 the barons then in arms, but he and his 
 associates and their followers being de- 
 feated by the royal forces, he was put to 
 death at Canterbury. Richard II. resided 
 at Leeds Castle at several periods ; and 
 during an alarming visitation of the plague, 
 in the second year of the reign of Henry 
 IV., that king also made it his residence. 
 George III. and his consort visited the 
 castle in 1779, and reipuined there two 
 days. 
 
 The first stack of buildmgs on approach- 
 ing the castle from the east, consists of the 
 remains of tov/ers, once of almost im- 
 pregnable strength ; but they are now 
 sapped to their foundations by a otream 
 of water from the surrounding moat, which 
 is fed by a rivulet called the Len. In 
 whatever point of view it is regarded, the 
 most picturesque combinations are visible ; 
 the great lines are finely broken ; the mass- 
 i s boldly projected ; the colors chastely 
 blended, and in many places beautifully 
 relieved by groups of ash and other trees, 
 which cluster round the older and more 
 decayed towers ; and the picture is fin- 
 ished by an amphitheatre of umbrageous 
 hills. 
 
 PARIS AT THE PRESENT DAY. 
 
 LACE de la Concorde 
 is the casket in which 
 is contained the rich- 
 est jewels in the crown 
 of Paris, I might say 
 of all the capitals in 
 the world. There are, 
 in many cities, monu- 
 ments, which, when ta- 
 ken separately, are as beautiful as those 
 
 which form the frame of this magnificent 
 picture, but nowhere are they brought to- 
 gether as in this place. Let us endeavor 
 to station ourselves in the middle of this 
 panorama, that we may understand it as a 
 whole and in its details. 
 
 In the middle of the square, rises the 
 obelisk of Luxor, that speaking witness 
 of Egyptian grandeur, from the height of 
 which the empire of the Sesostris, and 
 the genius of past ages, looks down upon 
 the grandeur and genius of the present 
 time. On each side of this page of his- 
 tory, cut in granite, two magnificent foun- 
 tains throw their sheets of water over 
 groups of bronze, the wonders of modern 
 art. Each basin, set in an embankment 
 of asphaltum, is surrounded by fifteen or 
 twenty candelabras. The whole surface 
 of the Place is also covered with asphal- 
 tum, and surrounded with monumental can- 
 delabras, the stands and gilded branches 
 of which give to the whole place a deli- 
 cate yellow tint, which is in harmony with 
 the tone of the obelisk. A passage has 
 been arranged for carriages from the four 
 cardinal points of this compass, of which 
 the obelisk forms the hieroglyphic needle. 
 A more noble portico could not have been 
 formed for the Champs- Elysees, the fabu- 
 lous name of which, has now become a 
 truth. Lighted by gas from one end to 
 the other, and in every direction, the sides 
 of the paths of this drive have become a 
 bed of lava which tempts the delicate feet 
 of pedestrian ladies. Basins, statues, 
 sumptuous restorateurs, have sprung up 
 on every side. The Olympian circus 
 carries there, during the summer, its 
 equestrian spectacles, for which a scene 
 has been prepared worthy the Roman am- 
 phitheatres. On the other side the pano- 
 rama displays its magical canvass. Ev- 
 erywhere, travelling artists, ropedancers, 
 musicians, punches, dispute for your at- 
 tention, and attract your eyes, by the pre- 
 liminary games which compose les baga- 
 *elles de la parte. While the crowd sepa- 
 rates into difTerent groups, walking, seat- 
 ed, grouped together before the mounte- 
 banks, the cocoa merchant glides from one 
 to the other, and his silver bell appeals to 
 thirsty throats ; the dealer in sweetmeats 
 and barley sugar drives a rival trade, and 
 while boys are led away by these tempt- 
 
me of this magniricent 
 re are they brought to- 
 lace. Let us endeavor 
 ) in the middle of this 
 
 may understand it as a 
 Btails. 
 if the square, rises the 
 
 that speaking witness 
 eur, from the height of 
 
 of the Sesostris, and 
 
 ages, looks down upon 
 
 genius of the present 
 de of this page of his- 
 ;, two magnificent foiin- 
 
 sheets of water over 
 the wonders of modern 
 set in an embankment 
 urrounded by fifteen or 
 s. The whole surface 
 30 covered with asphnl- 
 jd with monumental can- 
 Is and gilded branches 
 
 the whole place a deli- 
 hich is in harmony with 
 ijelisk. A passage has 
 
 carriages from the four 
 
 this compass, of which 
 the hieroglyphic needle, 
 tico could not have been 
 amps-Elysees, the fabu- 
 ich, has now become a 
 y gas from one end to 
 3very direction, the sides 
 is drive have become a 
 I tempts the delicate feet 
 dies. Basins, statues, 
 ateurs, have sprung up 
 
 The Olympian circus 
 iring the summer, its 
 :les, for which a scene 
 1 worthy the Roman am- 
 the other side the pano- 
 
 magical canvass. Ev- 
 ng artists, ropedancers, 
 es, dispute for your at- 
 :t your eyes, by the pre- 
 hich compose les baga- 
 While the crowd sepa- 
 t groups, walking, seat- 
 ther before the mounte- 
 merchant glides from one 
 his silver bell appeals to 
 tie dealer in sweetmeats 
 drives a rival trade, and 
 id away by these tempt- 
 
 PARIS AT THE I'RESENT DAY. 
 
 fi87 
 
 ers, the little babies who have not yet the 
 use of their legs are drawn about in small 
 carriages, to each of which four little goats 
 are harnessed. On the course, brilliant 
 c(iiiipages, on their way to the Bois de 
 Hologne, meet omnibuses and coucoos, re- 
 turning from Chailly and Neuilly. As the 
 crown to this moving scene, this Parisian 
 fair, the triumphal arch of the star, lifts in 
 the distance its gigantic form, which is not 
 equalled in proportion or richness, by any 
 of tiie monuments of the kind which have 
 remained from Grecian and Roman antiq- 
 uity. This triumphal arch was finished 
 before 1837 ; the Hippodrome has recent- 
 ly been built beside it. The Champs- 
 Elysecs has become the favorite rendez- 
 vous of Parisians, of both sexes, the fa- 
 mous alleys of the Tuilleries itself, are 
 almost abandoned for this unrivalled prom- 
 enade. Now that you have a feeble idea 
 of the moving picture which is offered by 
 the Uhamps-EJysees, look into this ka- 
 leidoscope from the middle of the Place 
 de la Concorde — seize upon these thou- 
 sand details, and then turn to contemplate 
 the shady alleys of the garden of the Tuil- 
 leries, the beautiful marble groups with 
 which it is decorated, and the imperial and 
 royal palace to which are affixed so many 
 recollections of grandeur, of terror, and of 
 glory — on the right, salute the Magdalene 
 and her Grecian portal, the Garde-Meuble, 
 and the Hotel de la Marine, with their 
 terraces and uniform colonnades ; on the 
 left, turn your eyes to the bridge, Louis 
 XV., which has been judiciousl)' relieved 
 Iroia the colossal statues which crushed 
 it — to the severe front of the Chamber of 
 Deputies — to ihe Dome des Invalides, 
 which to meet yotir eye lifts its head of 
 gold and bronze above the roofs — follow 
 the .Seine, which, changing its color in ac- 
 cordance with the objects reflected from 
 its sides, goes off toward Passy, looking 
 back with regret — and you will say it is 
 a .sii»ht, unique in the world. But it is not 
 by daylight that is to be looked at ; it is 
 ill the evening, at night, when two or three 
 hundred gas-burners, from the Place de la 
 Concorde, and five or six hundred from 
 the Champs-Elysees, are lighted up at 
 once. Then the picture is fairy-like, the 
 eyes are dazzled by these legions of spark- 
 ling lights, by these sheaves of water. 
 
 which murmur and shine, by this moving 
 crowd, these rolling carriages, these chil- 
 dren singing, women laughing, coachmen 
 shouting, the whole city in motion, and fi- 
 nally by their thousand gigantic and phan- 
 tasmagoric shadows. It is Nineveh, Bab- 
 ylon, Thebes, Rome ; it is all these, and 
 more than r!l these — it is Paris ! 
 
 Paris covers at the present day a sur- 
 face of more than 6,900 French acres, is 
 peopled by a million of inhabitants, and 
 contains 32,000 houses. This last item 
 does not saein at first as high as might 
 have been supposed. But it will be per- 
 ceived to be immense, when it is borne in 
 mind, that these are not houses, separated 
 as in London by frequent squares, and that 
 they all have from five to eight stories. 
 
 'i'he total length of all the public ways, 
 is about 500,000 metres or 125 leagues; 
 that is the distance from Paris to Lyons. 
 
 The public streets count at the present 
 time 3,210,000, square metres of pave- 
 ment, and 800,000 of streets not paved, 
 not including the Champs-Elysees and the 
 Champ de Mars. 
 
 The subterranean aqueducts under Par- 
 is make a length of 110,000 metres, or 
 leagues. 
 
 L'J0,000 metres of pipe carry the water 
 into every quarter. They supply 1 26 pub- 
 lic fountains, 15 fountains for merchandise, 
 and 1,600 private fountains. 
 
 150 leagues of pipe distribute the gas 
 which lights the city, into all its quarters. 
 
 Add to all this a continuous wall, sur- 
 rounded by ditches and bastions, covering 
 a circumference of 14 leagues, and pro- 
 tected by sixteen Titans of stone and 
 bronze, sixteen fortresses — a work of na- 
 tional defence which has no equal in the 
 records of any nation, and which is the 
 most grand of all the enterprises conceived 
 and executed by Louis Philippe — that in 
 which he has most largely wrought into 
 masonry and melted into bronze, his im- 
 mortality — that which would redeem, if 
 necessary, in the eyes of intelligent pa- 
 triots, all his errors or his faults, because 
 it secures for the future the national inde- 
 pendence, by rendering invulnerable the 
 heart and the head of France, and meets 
 the invaders of the country with the tac- 
 tics of a strategy different from that which 
 made the success and caused the reverses 
 
 27^ 
 
 M'iftal 
 
 1 
 
688 
 
 THE SPIUNGER ANTELOPE. 
 
 of Napoleon. Place before your eyes all 
 these wonders, all these great works, and 
 the ant-heap moving within this triple en- 
 closure of granite and of brass. Such is 
 Paris. 
 
 THE SPIUNGER ANTELOPE. 
 
 ,^ HE antelope repre- 
 l^sented in the engra- 
 ving, is one of the 
 most beautiful of the 
 various species of an- 
 telopes which inhab- 
 it southern Africa. — 
 It has received from 
 the Dutch colonists the name of springbok, 
 from the bounding leaps which it takes, 
 and also pronkbok, showy or beautiful 
 buck, from the colors which it discloses 
 in leaping. This latter ellect is caused 
 by two folds of the skin, which, ascend- 
 ing from the root of the tail, and tormina- 
 ling upon the croup, dilate when the ani- 
 mal is bounding, and expose a large trian- 
 gular space, otherwise concealed, of pure 
 white-colored hair, edged by two dark 
 streaks. The head of the animal is rath- 
 er short, with somewhat of the expression 
 of a lamb : the neck is slender, the body 
 comparatively bulky, and the legs slender 
 and elegantly turned. It is larger than 
 the gazelle, but of the same make and 
 color. 
 
 It resides on the plains of south Africa, 
 to an unknown distance in the interior, in 
 (locks, assembling in vast herds, and ini- 
 graiing from north to south, and back wiih 
 ihe monsoons. These migrations, which 
 are said to take place in their most nume- 
 rous form only at the intervals of several 
 years, appear to come from the northeast, 
 and in masses of many thousands, devour- 
 ing, like locusts, every green herb. The 
 liun has been seen to migrate, and walk 
 in the midst of the compressed phalanx, 
 with only as much room between him and 
 his victims as the fears of those immedi- 
 ately around could procure space by pres- 
 sing outward. 
 
 The migrations of innumerable compa- 
 nies of springboks from unknown regions 
 
 ill the interior of Africa to the abodes of 
 civilization, are among the most extraor- 
 dinary examples of the fecundity of ani- 
 mal life. The vast quantity of a species 
 of birds of South America, which produce 
 the guano (a manure) in sufficient abun- 
 dance to be a great article of commerce — 
 the flocks of pigeons of North America — 
 the locusts of Africa — are not more stri- 
 king than the herds of springboks. 
 
 It is scarcely possible for a person pas- 
 sing over some of the extensive tracts of 
 the interior and admiring that elegant an- 
 telope, the springbok, thinly scattered over 
 the plains, and bounding in playful inno- 
 cence, to figure to himself that these or- 
 naments of the desert can often become 
 as destructive as the locusts themselves. 
 The incredible numbers which sometimes 
 pour in from the north during protracted 
 droughts, distress the farmer inconceiva- 
 bly. I 
 The springbok, like the hare, conceals ! 
 itself in cover during the day, and resort.s i 
 to the open plain in the evening and at j 
 night, for the purpose of feeding only. \ 
 The Cape antelope, in fact, perfectly re- 
 sembles the hare in all its characteristics, 
 it lies continually in its form, leaving it 
 oidy to procure food, or to escape from its 
 enemies. 
 
 The bok is shot in great numbers by t'ue 
 Dutch boors. This sport is usually pur- 
 sued on horseback, and in the heat of the 
 day. The animal is then lying in its ha- 
 bitual lair, and on being disturbed by the 
 sportsman, springs from it with a succes- 
 sion of bounds, than which nothing can 
 be more beautiful or graceful. 
 
 The Dutch boor is generally an uner- 
 ring shot ; but in case the antelope should 
 be only wounded, the buck-dog (a species 
 j of large mongrel) is always at the heels 
 ; of his master's horse, and, at the report 
 I of his gun, darts forward and secures the 
 I animal. It is then placed behind the sad- 
 j die, ill the way showi in the engra* ing. 
 I The horse used in buck-shooting is the 
 i hardy serviceable animal common to tlie 
 country. Many of them are so well 
 trained, that they stop the instant the bok 
 gets up, but in most cases a sHght check 
 IS necessary ; the rein is then dropped on 
 tl#j horse's neck, and he remains motion- 
 I loss. 
 
rica to the abodes of 
 ng the most extraor- 
 the fecundity of aiii- 
 quantity of a species 
 lerica, which produce 
 i) in sufficient abun- 
 irlicle of commerce 
 s of North America- 
 I — are not mo 
 of springboks 
 sible for a person pas- 
 le extensive tracts of 
 liring that elegant an- 
 i, thinly scattered over 
 ding in playful iniko- 
 limself that these or- 
 Brt can often become 
 e locusts themselves, 
 bers which sometimes 
 orth during protracted 
 ^e farmer inconceiva- 
 
 ike the hare, conceals 
 kg the day, and resorts 
 n the evening and at 
 lose of feeding ouly. 
 ), in fact, perfectly re- 
 all its characteristics, 
 in its form, leaving it 
 1, or to escape Irom its 
 
 n great numbers by •be 
 is sport is usually pur- 
 and ilk the heat of the 
 is then lying in its ha- 
 jeing disturbed by the 
 from it with a succes- 
 L»n which nothing can 
 >r graceful. 
 
 r is generally an uner- 
 ase the antelope should 
 he buck-dog (a species 
 is always at the heels 
 )rse, and, at the report 
 >rward and secures the 
 placed behind the sad- 
 i\\.\ in the engravinsi. 
 in buck-shooting is the 
 animal common to the 
 >f them are so well 
 itop the install the bok 
 St cases a slight check 
 rein is then dropped on 
 kud he remains motion- 
 
690 
 
 PRESENCE OF MIND. 
 
 PRESENCE OF MIND. 
 
 HE differences of the 
 conduct of individuals 
 in situations of danger 
 and sudden emergen- 
 cy are very striking ; 
 nor do we always find 
 the best conduct in 
 such circumstances 
 from those who act best in the ordinary 
 affairs of life. Often has it happened that 
 a clever shrewd man of the world, has lost 
 all reflection and power to act when un- 
 expectedly overtaken by danger ; and not 
 less frequently do we see prompt and vig- 
 orous conduct manifested, on like occa- 
 sions, by women who have never before 
 given token of their being in any respect 
 endowed above their neighbors. Pres- 
 ence of mind thus appears as something 
 not necessarily to be found in union with 
 high intellect or skill. A cunning bravery 
 of the timid, a cowardly, but laudably 
 cowardly adroitness of the brave, it some- 
 times almost appears as an inspiration ; 
 and yet we know thnt it is but a natural en- 
 dowment, capable, like all others, of being 
 cultivated in everybody by the use of ap- 
 propriate means. We have heard of a 
 gentleman who took his son to bathe, and 
 actually threw him into a situation of dan- 
 ger, in order to elicit and train his pres- 
 ence of mind : we also know that barbar- 
 ous nations of warlike character use simi- 
 lar methods with their youth, by way of 
 fitting them for every kind of peril and 
 ambuscade. It is not, perhaps, desirable 
 that any such plans should be resorted to 
 in our present civilized circumstances ; 
 but certainly there is much need to pre- 
 pare the minds of the young for difficulties 
 and crises, by a full explanation of such 
 as are still likely to occur in the course of 
 life, and by accustoming them as far as 
 possible to habits of prompt action and 
 self-reliance. Much might be done in 
 parlor existence, merely by establishing a 
 certain cool manner for the treatment of 
 all extraordinary matters ; for we are so 
 greatly creatures of habit, that, if we al- 
 low ourselves to be thrown into an excite- 
 ment by all the little out-of-the-way occur- 
 rences of life, we are extremely likely to 
 
 be thrown into a paroxysm of the same 
 feeling by events of greater moment ; nor 
 is it less true that a steady and sober way 
 of viewing small matters will fit us for 
 viewing great ones without the excitement 
 which produces confubion of mind. Wo 
 verily believe that the stupid habit of get- 
 ting up a clamor about trifles, has led in 
 many instances to that wildness of alarm 
 in cases of danger which not only forbids 
 escape to the unhappy being exhibiting it, 
 but tends to paralyze and endanger others. 
 The general safety often depends on an 
 entire suppression of excitement and out- 
 cry, and it is therefore of the greatest con- 
 sequence that every person should be 
 trained to a quiet, not to speak of a firm 
 manner of acting under trivial difficulties. 
 
 The value of such conduct on occasions 
 of peril involving many lives, was never 
 perhaps better exemplified than in the de- 
 struction of the Kent East Indiaman by fire, 
 when not even from the women and chil- 
 dren was one sound of alarm heard, the 
 consequence of which was, that the of- 
 ficers and sailors were enabled to do all 
 that was possible in the circumstances for 
 the preservation of the people on board, 
 'nd the whole of the procedure connected 
 with their transference to the saving-ves- 
 sel was conducted with as much regularity 
 and almost as much safety, as if it had 
 taken place on an ordinary occasion. In 
 striking contrast was the scene on board 
 the Halsewell, where the two daughters 
 of the captain, losing all seh-command, 
 threw themselves upon their father with 
 such frantic cries and lamentations, as 
 overwhelmed his naturally intrepid mind, 
 and thus extinguished the energies upon 
 which at the moment so much depended. 
 
 We 80 continually, in the journals of 
 the (lay, see evil consequences from want 
 of presence of mind, in circumstances 
 where the proper rionduct has long been 
 generally agreed upon, that we might be 
 tempted to believe it a quality beyond 
 mortal reach, if we were not awa.e how 
 many things, which appear notorious to all, 
 are in reality unknown to many. Hardly 
 a week passes without telling us of a fe- 
 male having caught fire and lost her life in 
 consequence of rushing out into the open 
 air, instead of rolling herself in a carpet, 
 or at least prosuating herself on the floor. 
 
PRESENCE OF MIND. 
 
 G91 
 
 roxysm of the same 
 greater moment ; nor 
 steady and sober way 
 altera will fit us for 
 ithout the excitement 
 usion of mind. We 
 e stupid habit of get- 
 )ut trifles, has led in 
 lat wildness of alarm 
 'hich not only forbids 
 »y being exhibiting it, 
 
 and endanger others, 
 often depends on an 
 ' excitement and out- 
 re of the greatest con- 
 i person should be 
 It to speak of a firm 
 ler trivial difficulties. 
 
 conduct on occasions 
 lany lives, was never 
 plified than in the de- 
 East Indiaman by fire, 
 the women and chil- 
 
 of alarm heard, the 
 ch was, that the of- 
 ere enabled to do all 
 the circumstances for 
 the people on board, 
 
 procedure connected 
 ce to the saving-vcs- 
 th as much regularity 
 
 safety, as if it had 
 •dinary occasion. In 
 
 the scene on board 
 e the two daughters 
 ig all sell-command, 
 jon their father with 
 md lamentations, as 
 lurally intrepid mind, 
 id the energies upon 
 t 80 much depended. 
 y, in the journals of 
 isequences from want 
 id, in circumstances 
 iduct has long been 
 m, that we might be 
 
 it a quality beyond 
 were not awavo how 
 ppear notorious to all, 
 vn to many. Hardly 
 )ut telling us of a fe- 
 re and lost her life in 
 ing out into the open 
 g herself in a carpet, 
 g herself on the floor. 
 
 Panics occasionally take place in theatres 
 and churche.s, and scores of lives are lost 
 by a crowding to the door : not one instance 
 do wo remember of an alarm in such 
 places of resort being attended by the prop- 
 er conduct — sitting still. Individuals are 
 also stilk much given to throwing them- 
 selves out of runaway carriages, an act 
 which may be pronounced the very oppo- 
 site of the proper conducl. But the fact 
 is, that, wliile some of these errors are the 
 consequence of mere confusion of mind, 
 many are also the result of ignorance. 
 The right conduct in situations of difliculty 
 is far from being generally impressed, as 
 it ought to bo, on the minds of the young. 
 Or, if it has been taught as a lesson, there 
 has at least been no efibrt to train the 
 mind to look to it as the only course of 
 action in which there is the least safety ; 
 so that when the critical moment arrives, 
 we are still too prone to act upon some 
 mere instinct for self-preservation. 
 
 Presence of mind is exemplified in its 
 simplest form, where all that is necessary 
 is to take a deliberate view of the circum- 
 stances, and then do that which seems 
 most advantageous. It may be shown, 
 for example, in a choice between the door 
 and window in a case of fire, or in the 
 selection of something to be saved, as that 
 which is most important. In the year 
 1716, when a captain came with his troop 
 to execute the vengeance of the govern- 
 ment upon the house of a Jacobite gentle- 
 man in Perthshire, he humanely gave the 
 inmates a few minutes to remove whatever 
 they deemed most valuable. A lady, the 
 sister of the absent landlord, flew to the 
 storeroom, thinking to save the plate ; 
 when she afterward inspected the con- 
 tents of hei apron on the lawn, she found, 
 too late, that she had oidy rescued a quan- 
 tity of old candlesticks, butter-boats, and 
 similar trash. A gentleman just escaped 
 from a fire in his house, joyfully told his 
 congratulating friends that, in the midst 
 of the confusion, he had been able to open 
 a drawer and save his principal papers. 
 He emptied his pockets, and found only 
 scraps of no use, which had chanced to 
 lie in the same place. We have also 
 heard of a gentleman and his wife who 
 escaped with great difficulty from their 
 burning house, he bearing, as he thought, 
 
 their infant in his arms. It proved to be 
 but a pillow which ho had snatched up in 
 his haste ! A moment devoted to a steady, 
 thoughtful consideration of the circumstan- 
 ces, might in all these cases have been 
 attended with the opposite consequences. 
 
 Presence of mind is occasionally shown 
 in quick conception of some device or ex- 
 pedient, such as we usually suppose to bo 
 an emanation of superior intellect. This 
 has been repeatedly exemplified in ren- 
 contres with the insane. A lady was one 
 evening sitting in her drawing-room altne, 
 when the only other inmate of the house, 
 a brother, who for a time had been be- 
 traying a tendency to unsoundness of mind, 
 entered with a carving-knife in his hand, 
 and shutting the door, came up to her and 
 said, " Margaret, an odd idea has occur- 
 red to me. I wish to paint the head of 
 .lohn the Baptist, and I think yours might 
 make an excellent study for it. So, if you 
 please, I will cut off your head." The 
 lady looked at her brother's eye, and seeing 
 in it no token of a jest, concluded that he 
 meant to do as he said. There was an 
 open window and a balcony by her side, 
 with a street in front ; but a moment sat- 
 isfied her that safety did not lie that way. 
 So putting on a smiling countenance, she 
 said, with the greatest apparent cordiality, 
 •' That is a strange idea, George ; but 
 wouldn't it be a pity to spoil this pretty 
 new lace tippet I have got? I'll just step 
 to my room to put it off, and be with you 
 again in half a minute." Without waiting 
 to give him time to consider, she stepped 
 lightly across the floor, and passed out. 
 In another moment she was safe in her 
 own room, whence she easily gave an 
 alarm, and the madman was secured. 
 
 Some anecdotes of escapes from assas- 
 sins and robbers, by the prompt exercise 
 of presence of mind, are much to the same 
 purpose. A young man, travelling in one 
 of the public coaches, was much interested 
 by the accounts of robberies which his 
 fellow-passengers were detailing. An old 
 gentleman mentioned that he always took 
 the precaution of secreting his money in 
 his boot, merely keeping silver for his in- 
 cidental expenses in his pocket. The old 
 gentleman appeared to be captivated with 
 the politeness and intelligence of the young 
 man, to whom he addressed much of his 
 
 . I 
 ' -i 
 
 M«i, 
 
 
 ft :1 
 
 *.f 
 
 /^■d. 
 
 
692 
 
 PRKSENCE OP MIND. 
 
 
 
 m^ 
 
 'lia* 
 
 ■Wl«:i, 
 
 
 aa^i 
 
 JWt^i 
 
 conversation, who on his part was equally 
 pleased with the kindness and urhaiiiiy of 
 liis elder companion. Thu8 some hours 
 had passed agreeably, when, just at night- 
 fall, as they were passing a wild and 
 lonely moor, tlio coach was stopped by 
 robl)ers, who rifled the pockets of those 
 nearest to them, giving the old gentleman 
 a hearty execration for having his purse 
 so badly furnislied. They came last to the 
 young man, who was seated in the far 
 corner, and demanded his purse. " I 
 never carry any noney," said he. " We'll 
 not take your word for that," said his as- 
 sailants. " Indeed I don't,"' said the young 
 man ; " my uncle always pays for us both, 
 and there he is," continued he, pointing to 
 the old gentleman, '• and he has got our 
 money in his boot." The old gentleman 
 was dragged from the coach, his boot pul- 
 led ofl", and three ten-pound notes were 
 found. He was then suirered to resume 
 his seat, and the coach drove on. Hot 
 was his anger, and biiter were his upbraid- 
 ings, af;ainst his betrayer, whom he did 
 not hesitate to accuse both of treachery 
 and pusillanimity. 'J'he young man lis- 
 tened in silence, as if ashamed and con- 
 science-stricken. They passed over some 
 miles, and at length reached an inn by the 
 wayside. The travellers alighted, and on 
 going in, the young man requested the old 
 gentleman would allow him to say a few 
 words in private. They retired into a 
 room by themselves. " 1 have not only to 
 a.sk your pardon, my dear sir," said the 
 young man, " but to thank you for the for- 
 tunate expedient with which your confi- 
 dence furnished me, and to hand to you 
 the sum of thirty pounds, in lieu of that 
 which I appeared so unceremoniously to 
 point out to the robbers. I am sure you 
 will Ibrgive me, when I tell you that the 
 note-case in my pocket contained notes 
 for £bQO, the loss of which would have 
 been utter ruin to me." It need scarcely 
 be added, thiil the adopted uncle shook 
 hands cordially with his young acquaint- 
 ance, and took him into more marked favor 
 than ever. 
 
 But there are more painful tests to 
 which presence of mind may be put than 
 even personal danger, however great. It 
 is when, seeing a beloved object in immi- 
 nent peril, one inadverte-il word, one pas- 
 
 sionate exclamnlion, one burst of sensibil- 
 ity, might increase the risk tenfold. It 
 were needless to insist on the urgent ne- 
 cessity of presence of mind, in the form 
 of self-command, at such a time, and we 
 will merely illustrate the subject by an ex- 
 ample where the strongest sensibilities of 
 our nature were suppressed, while some, 
 without one particle more of affection, but 
 many thousand degrees less of sense and 
 self-control, would have screamed, or 
 fainted, or acted so as to hurry on the ca- 
 tastrophe most dreaded. A lady one day 
 returning from a drive, looked up and saw 
 two of her children, one about five, and 
 the other iibout four years old, outside the 
 garret window, which they were busily 
 employed in rubbing with their handker- 
 chiefs, in inutation of a person whom they 
 had seen a few days before cleaning the 
 windows. They had clambered over the 
 bars which had been intended to secure 
 them from danger. The lady had sufTi- 
 cient command over herself not to appear 
 to observe them ; she did not utter one 
 word, but hastened up to the nursery, and 
 instead of rushing forward to snatch them 
 in, which might have frightened them, and 
 caused them to lose their balance, she 
 stood a little apart, and called gently to 
 them, and bade them come in. 'I'hey saw 
 no appearance of hurry or agitation in 
 their mamma, so took their time, and de- 
 liberately climbed thu bars, and landed 
 safely in the room. One look of terror, 
 one tone of impatience from her, and the 
 little creatures' might have become con- 
 fused, and lost their footing, and been de- 
 stroyed. 
 
 It has sometimes happened that, in hur- 
 ry and confusion, a wrong medicine has 
 been administered by the hand of one who 
 would have sacrificed life to save a be- 
 loved object from the danger with which 
 they were threatened by a sudden illness 
 or accident, and who, had they preserved 
 their presence of mind, might have been 
 spared one of the bitterest misfortunes 
 that can be conceived. To have self-pos- 
 session in such a case, may be life and 
 health to one who is everything to us. It 
 may happen, too, that illness or accident 
 may overtake us while away from medi- 
 cal aid, or distant from any friend. 
 
 Presence of mind may also be brought 
 
 
one burst of sonsibil- 
 the risk tenfolJ. It 
 iist on the urgent ne- 
 of mind, in the form 
 such a time, an<l we 
 the subject by an ox- 
 )ngest scnsihiiiiies of 
 pressed, while some, 
 more of afleclion, biii 
 ees less of sense and 
 have screamed, or 
 s to hurry on the ca- 
 ed. A lady one day 
 e, looked up and saw 
 one about five, and 
 years old, outside the 
 ch tliey were busily 
 ; with their handker- 
 f a person whom they 
 i before cleaning the 
 d clambered over the 
 1 intended to secure 
 The lady had sufli- 
 herself not to appear 
 le did not utter one 
 p to the nursery, and 
 rward to snatch them 
 frightened them, and 
 e their balance, she 
 and called gently to 
 como in. They saw 
 lurry or agitation in 
 k their time, and de- 
 10 bars, and landed 
 One look of terror, 
 ce from her, and the 
 It have become con- 
 footing, and been de- 
 
 lappened that, in hur- 
 wrong medicine has 
 ' the hand of one who 
 id life to save a be- 
 e danger with which 
 by a sudden illness 
 ), had they preserved 
 nd, might have been 
 bitterest misfortunes 
 1. To have self-pos- 
 ase, may be life and 
 everything to us. It 
 it illness or accident 
 ile away from medi- 
 m any friend, 
 may also be brought 
 
 NEAPOLITAN MACCARONI-EATKIIS. 
 
 f503 
 
 to bear with good effect in iniiriy of the 
 trivial ccHijuiictures of life. It is oflcn 
 shown ill a ready answer, turning aiigir 
 into good humor, or ovorluriiiiig a fnise 
 accusation, whii'h otherwise luiglit have 
 proved troublesome. There can be no 
 question that it may be impnived for se- 
 rious emergencies by being cultivated in 
 these familiar and more simple cases, 
 liut there is one caution to be observed — 
 let presence of mind be used only as a de- 
 fence. When employed for purposes of 
 deception, or to advance selfish objects, 
 we may admire it as an intellectual fea- 
 ture, but regret itiust at the same time 
 arise, that the direction given to it is one 
 in which we can not sympathise. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 What is that strange enchantment which 
 results from harmonious sounds given 
 forth by an instrument or the human voice ? 
 We call it music, but what is there in the 
 harmony of sounds or the melody of voices, 
 that should so strangely aflect the human 
 mind ? The infant falls into a gentle slum- 
 ber while listening to the cradle-song of a 
 watchful mother or nurse. The proud and 
 haughty spirit of the boy is subdued by the 
 charms of song. The wayward youth is 
 roused from bis profligacy and melted to 
 tears and penitence, by the recurrence of 
 some simple melody heard often in child- 
 hood. The heart of manhood is chastened 
 and mellowed, and the soul lifted from 
 earth as it listens to or joins in the swel- 
 ling anthems of the sanctuaries of God. 
 Under the influence of martial music, the 
 soldier rushes heedless to slaughter and 
 death. The spirit-stirring drum must be 
 beaten and heard above the discharge of 
 musketry and roarof cannon, to nerve him 
 to conflict. The Marseilles hymn will 
 rouse the populafe of France to madness, 
 and the British soldier dies upon the field 
 of battle in triumph, if he can but listen to 
 his national anthem. And why is this, if 
 the soul of man be not itself an exquisite 
 instrument, attuned to the harmonies of the 
 universe — an immortal harp, whose strings 
 catch the breath of every melody ? 
 
 NEAPOLI'IWN MACCARONI-EATEUS. 
 
 ACC.\R()\Ior 
 miiceheroni (the 
 learned are di- 
 vided as to the 
 orlhograpliyiiiid 
 etymology of tlie 
 woril)is the prin- 
 cipal foot! of the 
 poon^r, and the 
 favorite dish of all classes of Neapolitans. 
 So much is this the case, that the people 
 of Naples have had for many ages the 
 nickname of" Mangia-maccaroni,"or mac- 
 caroni-eaters. 
 
 The best maccaroni is made entirely of 
 the grano duro ; but, in the inferior quali- 
 ties, this is sometimes mixed with soft 
 wheat. The conversion of the flour — 
 which is somewhflt more coarsely ground 
 than that intended for bread — into the long, 
 round strings called maccaroni, is efliected 
 by a very simple process. With the ad- 
 dition of water alone, the flour is worked 
 up into paste, and this paste is kneaded 
 for a length of time, by a heavy, loaded 
 block of wood, which beats into the 
 trough where the paste is deposited ; this 
 block or piston is attached to a beam, act- 
 ing as a lever, whose fulcrum is near to 
 the block, while the other extremity of the 
 beam is some eight or ten feet from the 
 fulcrum. One or more men or boys seat 
 themselves astride at the further end of 
 this beam, and descending with their own 
 weight, and springing up by putting their 
 feet to the ground, give the requisite re- 
 ciprocating motion to the lever. They, in 
 fact, play at see-saw with the block at the 
 shorter end of the lever ; and the efl*ect pro- 
 duced on the eye of a stranger by a large 
 manufactory where several of these ma- 
 chines and a number of sturdy fellows, 
 nearly naked, and lU bobbing up and 
 down, are at work, has something exceed- 
 ingly ludicrous in it. When the p;iste has 
 been sulHciently kneaded, it is forced, by 
 simple pressure, through a number of cir- 
 cular holes, the sizes of which determine 
 the name to be given to the substance. 
 That of superior diameter is maccaroni, 
 that smaller is vermicelli, and that smaller 
 still is called fedelini. The maccaroni is 
 hollow throughout, and many persons have 
 
 S»«||| 
 
 »•«"*'#» 
 
 
m 
 
 
 ■"•in-.,. 
 
 3^ 
 
 *rtE!t 
 
 
,«*5r\^ ■ 
 
 ■ "' il 
 
 
 THE FLIGHT OP TIME. 
 
 095 
 
 hot") iuzzled to know how it is formed 
 into tueso long tubes. Nothing is more 
 simple. Over each of the larger holes 
 meant for macaroni, a small copper bridge 
 is eroded, which is sufficiently elevated to 
 permit the paste to pass under it into the 
 hole : from this bridge depends a copper 
 wire, which goes right through the hole, 
 and of course leaves hollow the paste that 
 kscends through the hole. Such of our 
 readers as have seen our common clay 
 pipes for smoking manufactured, will read- 
 ily understand this, for this part of the 
 process is the same for maccaroni as for 
 pipes. There are some minor distinctions 
 in the preparation of these respective ar- 
 ticles, which it would be tedious to ex- 
 plain, but the material and main process 
 are the same in all. When the paste has 
 been forced through the holes, like wire 
 through a wire-drawer's plate, a workman 
 takes up the maccaroni or vermicelli, and 
 hangs it. across a line to dry. From the 
 long kneading it has received, the sub- 
 stance is very consistent, and dries in un- 
 broken strings that are two or three yards 
 in length. 
 
 This paste forms the principal food of 
 the poorer classes of Neapolitans, many 
 of whom do not eat meat for weeks, nay 
 months together, but they care not for 
 this if they can have their maccaroni, 
 which is to them a substitute for every 
 eatable. 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF TIME. 
 
 N every age of the 
 world the rapid flight of 
 time has been a subject 
 of deep and solemn con- 
 sideration. When the 
 patriarch of Israel stood 
 before the monarch of 
 Egypt and listened to 
 his question — " How old 
 art thou?" it seemed to throw a melan- 
 choly interest over the past. Long as 
 this aged man had lived, the time appeared 
 to him but as a dream, and as he looked 
 upon the numbered years which had laid 
 his fathers itt their sepulchres, and brought 
 
 himself near to their resting-place, a spirit 
 of sadness came over him. 
 
 No orator has been more eloquent npon 
 the flight of time than the man of Vz — 
 " Man that is born of a woman is of few 
 days and full of trouble. He cometh 
 forth like a flower, and is cut down. Ho 
 fleelh also as a shadow and continuoth 
 not. His days are swifter than a weaver's 
 shuttle ; they are passed away as llu^ swift 
 ships, and as the eagle that nasteth to his 
 prey." 
 
 Coming down the tide of time still fur- 
 ther, we find the noble monarch of Israel 
 and the sublime Isaiah, sending forth their 
 sad numbers. " The days of man are as 
 grass. As a flower of the field, so he 
 flourishelh. For the wind passeth over it, 
 and it is gone, and the place thereof shall 
 know it no more," — " All flesh is grass, 
 and the goodliness thereof as the flower of 
 the field." 
 
 The great apostle to the Gentiles writes to 
 the Corinthians to be careful of their earth- 
 ly rciaiions, for the " time is short," and an- 
 other apostle assures us that " life is but a 
 vapor that appeareth for a little time and 
 then vanisheth away." Whatever may be 
 the true cause, in an apostate world, the 
 flight of years casts a shadow over its 
 generations. If sin had never entered the 
 world, probably the tide of time would 
 produce no such feelings as we now ex- 
 perience in its rapid passage. Death and 
 decay would be unknown. Age succeed- 
 ing age would bring no sad reverse, no 
 melancholy change. If time departed, it 
 would only add wisdom, loyalty, and love, 
 to sinless hearts. But this is not the 
 case. We are in a world where sin has 
 entered, where the process of decay is 
 constantly going on, and where death is 
 busily and always at work. We see mon- 
 uments of arts and genius arise under the 
 hand of man. The finger of time touches 
 them and they turn to ashes. The proud- 
 est productions of human power, the most 
 magnificent structures which the skill or 
 pride of man can rear, are destined to fall 
 before the devouring ravages of time. 
 
 Surrounded thus with the evidences of 
 frailty and decay, warned at every step of 
 the certainty of our dissolution, as well as 
 that grand catastrophe when the world 
 shall burn and the elements melt with fer- 
 
 
 ''»4»ij 
 
 IK^^fMI 
 
 ■2:»i 
 
9a 
 
 W^ 
 
 696 
 
 AFIIIL— MUSCULAll STllENGTH. 
 
 vonl lieat, wisp will it be for us so to num- 
 ber our (lectinj; Jays as to apply our hearts 
 unto wisdom, and cause tho fugilivo hour 
 to bear record of good to Him in wiioso 
 hands an; all our times, and who com- 
 mands our breath. 
 
 Miin 
 
 APRIL. 
 
 PRIL is usually 
 supposed to be 
 derived from the 
 Latin word ajx:- 
 ric, to open : our 
 Anglo-Saxon an- 
 cestors called it 
 Oster Monat, and 
 Easter Moneth, 
 and are said to 
 h:ivo held a feast in celebration of the 
 goildoss lutstrc. 
 
 April weather is become a proverbial 
 expression f(ir a mixture of the bright and 
 gloomy. The pleasantness of tho sun- 
 shiny days, with the delightful view of 
 fresh greens and newly -opened flowers, is 
 untniualled ; but they aro frequently over- 
 cast with clouds, and chilled by rough 
 wintry blasts. 
 
 This month gives the most perfect im- 
 age of spring ; for its vicissitudes, of warm 
 gleams of sunshine and gentle showers, 
 have the most powerful efl'ects in hasten- 
 ing the universal springing of the vegeta- 
 ble tribes ; whence the season derives its 
 appellation. J^pril generally begins with 
 raw, uii|)lea8ant weather, the influence of 
 the equinoctial storms still in some degree 
 prevailing. 
 
 Early in the month, that welcome guest 
 and harbinger of summer, the swallow, re- 
 lurtis. Tlie kind first seen is the chim- 
 ney or house-swallow, known by its long 
 forked tail and red breast. At first, here 
 and there only one appears, glancing quick 
 by us, as if scarce able to endure the cold. 
 But in a few days, their number is much 
 increased, and they sport with seeming 
 pleasure in the warm sunshine. 
 
 As these birds live on insects, their ap- 
 pearance is a certain proof that some of 
 this minute tribe of animals are now got 
 
 abroad from their winter retreats. " Th« 
 migration of birds," say.s tho excellent Mr. 
 Ray, "from a hotter to a colder i'dumIiv, 
 or a colder to a hotter, accurdirig to tlic 
 season of the year, as their nature is, I 
 know not how to give an account of, it is 
 80 strange and admirable. What moves 
 them to shift their quarters ? you will say, 
 the disagreeableness of the temper of tim 
 air to tho constitution of their bodies, or 
 want of food. liut how come they to ln^ 
 directed to tho same place yearly, tlioii<jli 
 sometimes but a little island, as tht^ Sohm 
 geese to the Bass of Edinburgh Irilii 
 which they could not possil)ly see, and s,> 
 it could have no inlliience upon them iliui 
 way. The cold or tlio heal might possi 
 biy drive them in a direct line from either , 
 but that they should impel land birds to 
 venture over a wide ocean, of which they 
 can see no end, is strange and unaccouiit. 
 able ! one would think that tho sight «,." sc 
 much water, and present fear of drown 
 ing, should overcome tho sense of hunger, 
 or disagreeableness of tho temper of tlifi 
 air. Besides, how come they to steei 
 their course aright to their several quar 
 ters, which, before the compass was in 
 vented, was hard for a man himself to do, 
 they being not able, as I noted before, to 
 see them at that distance ? Think we that 
 the quails, for instance, could see quite 
 across the Mediterranean sea ? and yet it 
 is clear they fly out of Italy into Africa, 
 lighting many times on ships in the midst 
 of the sea, to rest themselves wlien tired 
 and spent with flying. That they should 
 thus shift places is very convenient for 
 them, and accordingly we see they do it ; 
 which seems to be impossible they should, 
 unless themselves were endued with rea- 
 son, or directed and acted upon by a su- 
 perior intelligent Cause." 
 
 MUSCULAR STRENGTH. 
 
 The power exerted by the action of the 
 muscles in the human body is immense. 
 Borellus first demonstrated that the force 
 exerted within the body greatly exceeds 
 the weight to be moved, and that nature, 
 in fact, employs an astonishing, we might 
 
nior rftronls. " T!if 
 »;iyft iho pxcpllf'iit .Mr, 
 
 to a ci)l(lf;r ciiimliv, 
 Icr, iicxMirdiiii; in tlw 
 , as their tiittiin* is, I 
 'o an iiecoiint (if, it ii 
 iriiblo. What inoviis 
 larters ? you will s;iy, 
 I of llio tciiipi-r (jf lliH 
 n of thfir budiis, or 
 how como thoy to hn 
 
 place yearly, tlioii^li 
 B island, as the Sohiu 
 
 of Edinburgh liitli 
 t possibly sec, and s,^ 
 itencc upon ilieni thai 
 ho heat might possi 
 lireet lino from either , 
 1 impel land birds tu 
 ocean, of which thoj 
 range and unaccount- 
 Ilk that iho sight o." sc 
 escnt fear of drown 
 ! the sense of hunger, 
 
 of the temper of ths 
 
 como they to stcei 
 o their several quar 
 :he compass was in 
 
 a man himself to do, 
 
 as I noted before, lo 
 ,nce ? Think we thai 
 nee, could see quite 
 nean sea ? and yet it 
 
 of Italy into Africa, 
 on ships in the midst 
 eraselves when lirt-il 
 y. That they should 
 
 very convenient for 
 ly we see they do it ; 
 ipossible they should, 
 ere endued with rea- 
 
 acted upon by a su- 
 
 J80." 
 
 STllENGTH. 
 
 d by the action of the 
 an body is immense, 
 itrated that the force 
 jody greatly exceeds 
 ved, and that nature, 
 slonishing, we might 
 
 THB SALTMINES OF CAHDONA. 
 
 G97 
 
 ulinost say superfluous power, to move a 
 Minall wt ii>ht. it has been calculated that 
 the deltoid muscle, alone, which is situated 
 near the top of tlio shoulder, when em- 
 ployed in supporting a weight of fifty 
 pounds, exerts a force equal lo two thou- 
 Band four hundred and sixty-eight pounds. 
 An iilea of the force exerted by the hu- 
 man body when in progressive motion, 
 may be formed from the violence of the 
 shock received when the foot unexpect- 
 edly strikes against an object in running. 
 The slronaest bones are sometimes frac- 
 tured by the action of the muscles. 
 
 'I'he muscular power of the human body 
 is indeeil wonderful. A Turkish porter 
 will trot at a rapid pace, carrying a weight 
 of six hundred pouTids. Milo, a celebra- 
 ted athlete of I'rooua, in Italy, early ac- 
 customed himself lo carry the greatest 
 burdens, and by degrees became a mon- 
 ster in stivnglh. it is said that he carried 
 on his shoulder an ox four years old, 
 vveigbing upward of one thousand pounds, 
 lor above forty yards, and afterward killed 
 ii wiili one blow of his fist, lie was 
 seven tiPies crowned at the I'yphian games, 
 and six at tiie Olympian, lie presented 
 liimM'lf the sevenih time, but no one had 
 the courage to enter the list against him. 
 j He was one of the disciples of Pythago- 
 ras, and to his uncomiuon strength the 
 learned preceptor and his pupils owed 
 their lives. The pillar which supported 
 the roof of the school suddenly gave way, 
 but Milo supported the whole weight of 
 the building, and gave the philosopher 
 time to escape. In his old age, Milo at- 
 tempted to pull up a tree by its roots and 
 break it. lie partly efl'ected it, but his 
 strength being gradually exhausted, the 
 tree, when half cleft, reunited, and his 
 hands remained pinched in the body of it. 
 He was then alone, and being unable to 
 disengage himself, died in that position. 
 
 lialler mentions that he saw a man, 
 whose finger being caught in a chain at 
 the bottom of a mine, by keeping it forci- 
 bly bent, supported by that means the 
 weight of his whole body, one hundred 
 and lii'ty pounds, until he was drawn up 
 to the surface, a height of six hundred feet. 
 Augustus II., king of Poland, could roll 
 up a silver plate like a sheet of paper, and 
 twist the strongest horseshoe asunder. 
 
 A Frenchman, who was allached to 
 Rockwell (k Slone's circus, hist spring, 
 was alile to resist the united strength of 
 four horses, as was witnessed by hundreds 
 in New V ork and other places. A lion is 
 said to have left the impression of his 
 teeth upon a piece of solid iron. 
 
 Th(! most prodigious power of muscle 
 is exhibited by fish. The whale moves 
 with a velocity ihroiigli the dense medium 
 of water, that would carry him, cominned 
 at the same rate, round the world in little 
 less llian a fortnight ; and a sword-fish 
 has been known to strike his weapon 
 quite through the oak plank of a ship. 
 
 THE SALT-MINES OF CAIID0N.\. 
 
 AUDONAisasmallbnt 
 interesting town, scarce- 
 ly known to geograplnirs 
 or oven to the .Sj)anish 
 government, but it will 
 repay the visit of the 
 traveller who, in pro- 
 ceeding from France to 
 Barcelona, takes the way 
 of Sou Urgel instead of 
 the one by Perpignan, and after passing a 
 fine forest of oak and hazel-nut will find 
 this picturesque mountain-town lying be- 
 tween Solsona and Manresa. The mines 
 are situated about three miles to the east 
 of the town, and resemble a huge stone- 
 quarry, about twelve miles in circumfer- 
 ence. You descend by a flight of five or 
 six broad steps cut in the rock on the 
 north side. It is most truly an ocean of 
 salt, for there is not the smallest particle 
 either of mould or gravel. The Cardon- 
 era, a mountain stream not more than 
 twenty feet wide, flows through the midst 
 of the mine in a bed of salt, which looks 
 almost like the work of human hands. 
 For many miles of its course it deposites 
 salt upon its banks, and the country peo- 
 ple along its whole extent till its junction 
 with the Llobregat, where it loses it saline 
 qualities, use the water for culinary pur- 
 poses in lieu of salt. Fine flocks of 
 sheep feed on its banks. 
 
 On the left hand of the entrance into 
 
 '>a>#Wii 
 
 -*^**» 
 
 
TIIR PULSE. 
 
 C99 
 
 the mine is awuuilon btiiklinff used as a ron- 
 idcMicc for tiio inspector. A sort of lar){() 
 ciHtnrn, i-xcavaiod as far back as the ri'iKn 
 of Cliiirio^i III., for tho purpose of awf.t- 
 tainiiij,' tlu' dcptti of tho mine, had been 
 dug to the drpth of above 150 feet, when 
 a Htop 'vax put to tlio work. Tho salt, 
 wiiich litis «'xponi'd, consists of an cnor- 
 niouH muss of rock of dazzling whiteness, 
 nnd till' blocks i)liistfid in tho mine are 
 about the sizi) of largo building stones. 
 When the sun throws its rays upon this 
 mine, which is cnclnsod on three sides 
 by rnountiiins, tho rellected light is as 
 slroni; as tluit of llin sun itself. 
 
 Numerous other beds of salt are 
 found in those lofiy mountains, but as 
 ihey are overijrown with foresis of pine, 
 cork, and ciirol)-lries, the salt does not lie 
 80 near iho surface ; no attempt, however, 
 has ever been made to work them, nor in- 
 deed would it be reiiuired, as tho mine of 
 Cardona alone could supply for centuries 
 the wants of tho whole of Europe, with- 
 out any apparent diminution of its re- 
 sources. 'I'lie salt contained in the moun- 
 tains is not, however, white, being found 
 of all colors, rose, scarlet, blue, green, vi- 
 olet, yellow, and brown of various shades, 
 some veined like marble, and others again 
 shining with a silvery lustre. On being 
 pounded, every vestige of color disap- 
 pears, and it becomes as wlr as that 
 found in tlio mine. Att.-npts li...»e been 
 made to preserve spei .iiu us, but in a few 
 years they fade and crumble to pieces. 
 Those which have been constantly e.^- 
 posed to the weather possess greater per- 
 manence. 
 
 About two !uindred men are employed 
 in the min. Their labor consists in 
 blasting the enormous masses of rock salt, 
 piliuij them up in exposed pyramidical 
 magazines in the mine, rehewing those 
 which have stack from the action of rain- 
 water, and loading the mules which are 
 to convoy the salt to the neighboring 
 towns and the ports of Barcelona and Tar- 
 ragona, whence it is exported to England 
 and tho northern stales of Europe. A 
 single handful of Cardona salt has twice 
 the virtue of that obiained from the sea at 
 Iriza and Cadiz, and yet, strange to say, 
 the natives of Estremadura, Leon, Gali- 
 cia, Asturias, Biscay, Navarre, and Old 
 
 45 
 
 C'astilo get their siipplv of ault from Por- 
 tugal, nay, oven from the English vessels, 
 which bring it from the northern counties. 
 If it be asked why half .Spain does not 
 avail itself of its own exhaiistless treas- 
 ure?, tho answer given is, that ilie Oar- 
 dona salt, though of superior ipiality, 
 comes denror on the whole, Wlienco 
 does this arise, seemg that tho supply is 
 so abundant ? From no other cause but 
 that there is no road to Cardona ; and yet 
 this pretty little town is but twenty le;ii;ues 
 from iho much-frequented harbor of Bar- 
 celona. Tho only access to Cardona is 
 by a footway across tho mountains, so 
 narrow as scarc(dy to admit of two laden 
 mules passing each other, and in fact, at- 
 tended with so many delays and difficid- 
 ties, that tho journey takes six days, at 
 the end of which tho mules are so ex- 
 hausted as to require several days' rest. 
 
 THE PULSE. 
 
 VEHY one knows 
 that among the nu- 
 merous inquiries and 
 examinations which 
 precede the prescrip- 
 tion of n areful phy- 
 sician, the state of 
 the pulse is never 
 omitted ; yet as it is 
 probable that few of our readers are ac- 
 (j 'ainted with the reasons for this inquiry, 
 or, what is the same thing, with the facts 
 to be learned from it, we think it may not 
 be uninteresting if we (^numerate some of 
 the more prominent ones. 
 
 It is ainost unnecessary to premise that 
 by the pulse is meant tho beat of an ar- 
 tery, and thnt i!ie one commonly chosen 
 for exapiinatioii is the radial artery, which 
 beats at the wrist. The first point gene- 
 rally attend' d to is the number of the 
 beats ; and since in this, as in all other 
 medical questions, it is necessary to be 
 acquainted with ihe state of health in or- 
 der to recognise any deviation from it, we 
 must mention the ordinary frequency of 
 the pulse at different ages. In the new- 
 born infant, it is from 130 to 140 in a 
 
 ••W 
 
 
 
 ■**-tftti 
 
 
700 
 
 ARTICLES OF DHESS. 
 
 minute, btit decreases in frequency as life 
 advances ; so that, in a middle-aged adult 
 in perfect health, it is from 72 to 75. In 
 the decline of life it is slower than this, 
 and fulls to about 60. It is obvious that 
 if we could suppose a practitioner igno- 
 rant of these plain facts, he would be lia- 
 ble to make the most absurd blunders, and 
 
 but there is one so remarkable as to de- 
 serve particular mention. It will Ir'.pjion 
 sometimes that the interval between two 
 beats is so much longer than was expect- 
 ed, that it would seem that one iteat had 
 been omitted ; in this case the pulse is 
 saiu to be an intertnitlent one. When the 
 action of the heart is irregular, th'' beat of 
 
 might imagine a boy of ten to be laboring i the pulse is so likewise ; but it will occa- 
 under some crrievous disease, because his I sionally happen that the latter irregularity 
 
 pulse had not the slow sobriety of his 
 grandfather's. A more likely error is, to 
 mistake the influence of some temporary 
 cause for llie effect of a more permanent 
 disease : thus, in a nervous patient, the 
 
 takes place without the former one, from 
 some morbid cause existing between the 
 heart and the wrist, it is hardly neces- 
 sary to observe, that in all doubtful cases, 
 the physician examines the pulsation of 
 
 doctor's knock at the door will quicken the heart as well as that at the wrist — 
 the pulse some 15 or 20 beats in a minute.! just as the diligent student, disc'onienled 
 
 This fact did not escape the notice of the 
 sagacious Celsus, who says : " The pulse 
 will be altered by the approach of the 
 physician, and the anxiety of the patient 
 doubling what his opinion of the case may 
 
 with the narrow linjits of |)rovincial infor- 
 mation, repairs to the metropolis to puisne 
 his scientific inquiries. 
 
 The strength or I'eebleness of the pulse, 
 its hardness or softness, and iiinumiTalilo 
 
 be. For this reason, a skilful physician ' other qualities, might be discussed here ; 
 will not feel the pulse as soon as he comes ; j but from the great difTiculty attending any 
 but he will first sit down with a cheerful | examination of these points, and the tech- 
 
 countenance, and ask how the patient is, 
 soothing him, if he be timorous, by the 
 kindness of his conversation, and after- 
 ward applying his hand to the patient's 
 arm.— (Uo Medica, lib. iii., cap. 7.*) 
 
 Granting, however, that these sources 
 of error are avoided, the quickness of the 
 pulse will allbrd most important informa- 
 tion. If in a person, for example, whose 
 pulse is usually 72, the beats rise in num- 
 ber to 98, some alarming disease is cer- 
 tainly present ; or, on the other hand, 
 should it have permanently sunk to 50, it 
 is but too probable that the source of the 
 circulation, the heart itself, is laboring un- 
 der incurable disease, or that some other 
 of the great springs of life is irremediably 
 injured. 
 
 Supposing, again, the pulse to be at 72, 
 each beat ought to occur at an interval of 
 five sixths of a second ; but should any 
 deviation from mis rhythm be perceived, 
 the pulse is then said to be irregular. 
 The varieties of irregularity are infinite ; 
 
 • The lapse of eighteen centuries has not de- 
 stroyed the ulilily, much less the beauty, of the 
 eiglil bonks ou medicine bequeathed by Celsus to 
 posterity ; thoy are unrivalled for perspicuous ele- 
 gance and Icicoiiic good sense. Celsus is one of the 
 writers of tlie Auijustan age, and is worthy of the 
 times in whicli lie flourished. 
 
 nical niceties involved in anything uKire 
 than a bare mention of them, we omit 
 them. There is one point, however, 
 which it would be unpardonable to pass 
 over in silence : sometimes no pulsaiion 
 can be felt at the usual part of the wrist. 
 This may proceed from so great a languor 
 of the circulation that it is iuipercepiible 
 at the extremities ; or from the radial ar- 
 tery (the one usually felt) being ossified ; 
 or from an irregular distribution of the ar- 
 teries of the fore-arm. 
 
 ARTICLES OF DHESS. 
 
 ATS are not a 
 modern invention 
 as they were used 
 by some of the 
 ancient Greeks. 
 In the time of 
 Edward III. and 
 of Richard II., 
 white hats were 
 worn at Ghent as the badge of a political 
 party. Hats were confined to tlie wealthy 
 
 
so remarkiible as to do- 
 inenlioii. It will li;'.|)|ioii 
 tlie interval between two 
 1 longer than was expect- 
 l seem that one heat had 
 in this case tlie pulse is 
 ermilient one. When tlie 
 art is irreguliir, thi' heat of 
 ikewise ; but it will occa- 
 that the latter irresfularity 
 lOUt the former one, from 
 luse existing between the 
 'rist. it is harilly neces- 
 that in all (loubtliil cases, 
 sxamines the pulsation of 
 ell as that at ilie wrist — 
 sent stuJent, 'liseonienled 
 ' limits of i)rovincial irifor- 
 ;o the metropolis to pursue 
 ^uiries. 
 
 or fecdileness of the pulse, 
 softness, and iiiMumrral)!e 
 might be discussed hern ; 
 3at dilFiculty attending any 
 these points, and liie t(?ch- 
 nvolved in anytliing more 
 ention of ihem, we omit 
 is one point, however, 
 be unpardonal)lo to pass 
 : sometimes no pulsuiion 
 16 usual part ol' the wrist, 
 ed froin so great a languor 
 on that it is imperceptible 
 ies ; or from tlie radial ar- 
 3Ually felt) being ossified ; 
 »ular distribution of the ar- 
 re-arm. 
 
 IES OF DRESS. 
 
 ATS are not a 
 
 modern invention 
 
 as they were used 
 
 by some of the 
 
 ancient Greeks. 
 
 In the time of 
 
 Edward III. and 
 
 Vof Richard II., 
 
 white hats were 
 
 . as the badge of a poiiiical 
 
 vere confined to the wealthy 
 
 ECHOES. 
 
 701 
 
 until the reign of Henry VIII, In the 
 rriiin of l>lizal)elh, high frowns cami; in 
 I'asiiioii, and were often pointed and coni- 
 cal. At that time hats were restricted by 
 act of Parliament to the upper classes of 
 SDcii'i y ; the middle and lower class being 
 cdiiluied to the use of knit caps. This 
 act being rei)caled, felt hats came into 
 common use. During the commonwealth, 
 broaJ-brims were generally usiid. These 
 being olteii inconvenient, it btH:ame the 
 ctisioin to turn up one or two sides, wliich 
 K'd to the tlin;e-cocked hat, in the time of 
 Qiicca Anne. About 1750, round hats 
 being j)revaieiit among the lower orders, 
 tlie coiked hat was the distinction of a 
 ifCiitlemau. About 17'JO, Cdckt.'d hats were 
 laid aside, and ever since round hats have 
 been the universal wear. 
 
 Shoes were worn by the ancient Egyp- 
 tians. Several Egyptian slioes are pre- 
 served in the British museum, made of 
 mailing, the bark of papyrus, leather, and 
 other materials. Shoes were worn by 
 the Greeks and Romans, although they 
 generally wore sandals, which were mere- 
 ly soles tied on the feet with thongs. 
 The most simple kind of shoes appear to 
 have been a piece of leather bound round 
 the foot ; shoes of this kind are still used 
 in the remote parts of ihe Highlands of 
 Scollund. In the reign of Edward IV., 
 shoes were pointed at the toes, and had 
 long beaks of four or five inclies, turned 
 up and fastened at the knees by a chain. 
 Afterward they were quite round at the 
 toes, and in the reign of Charles I., the 
 toes were square, and boots came only 
 half up to the knee, with wide lops turned 
 down. The leather of which shoes were 
 made was of dillerent colors. Blacking 
 is a very late fashion. 
 
 Glovks are not a modern invention. 
 They were worn, as we are informed by 
 Herodotus, by the ancient Persians ; they 
 were also in use among the ancient Ro- 
 mans. In the early ages of Christianity, 
 gloves were a part of monastic costume, 
 and in later periods formed a part of the 
 ejiiscopal habit. The glove was employed 
 by jninces as a token of investiture ; and 
 to deprive a person of his gloves wa.s a 
 mark of divesting him of his office. 
 Throwing down a glove constituted a 
 challenge, and the taking it up an accept- 
 
 ance ; this custom .'ontiiuied until the 
 reign of Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 STOCKi\(is, as now made, are compar- 
 atively a modern inveiuion. Prcv iimsly 
 to the lime of Henry VII., kniitcd stock- 
 j ingsof silk wen; nnknowii. " Kmci Uin- 
 I ry Vlll. did wear only cloth hose," says 
 I Siowe in his Chronicle, "or hose cut out 
 I of ell broad laflata ; or that by [>reai 
 j chance there came ;ipair of Spanish silk 
 I stockings from Spain." Silk sloekinys 
 I were articles of great rarity in tiio time 
 of Elizabeth. Stockings continued to be 
 knit by hand until loS'J, when a slocking- 
 loom was invented by William Lee, near 
 Notlingham. Lee, not being sndiiuently 
 patnmized in England, removed lu Uoiien, 
 in France, where ho established his man- 
 ufacture. 
 
 ECHOES. 
 
 HE word signifies a 
 sound rcfiected or 
 reverberated from a 
 solid concave body, 
 and so repeated to the 
 ear. 
 
 The ancients, being 
 wholly unaccpiainted 
 with the true cause of the echo, ascribed 
 it to several, which are whimsical. But 
 the moderns, who know sound to consist 
 in a certain tremor or vibration in the 
 sonorous body, communicated to the con- 
 tiguous air, and by that means to the ear, 
 give a more consistent account of echoes. 
 For a tremulous body, striking on another 
 solid body, may evidently be repelled 
 without destroying or diminishing its 
 tremor ; and consequently a sound may be 
 redoubled by the resolution of the tremu- 
 lous body of the air. In order to produce 
 an echo, it would seem a kind of vaulting 
 is necessary, in order to collect, and by 
 collecting to heighten and increase, and 
 afterward reflect, the sound ; as we find 
 is the case in reflecting the rays of light, 
 where a concave mirror is required. 
 
 In efTect, as often as a sound strikes 
 perpendicularly on a wall, behind which 
 is anything of a vault or arch, or even 
 
 iM^i 
 
 «>'! 
 
702 
 
 ECHOES. 
 
 mtn 
 
 another parallel wall, so often will it be 
 reverberated in the same line, or other 
 adjacent ones. 
 
 For an echo to be heard, therefore, it is 
 necessary that the ear should be in the 
 line of reflection ; for the person who 
 made the sound to hear its echo, it is ne- 
 cessary that he should be perpendicular to 
 the j)lace which reflects it ; and for a 
 manifold echo it is necessary that there 
 should be a number of walls and vaults, 
 or cavities, either placed behind or front- 
 ing each other. A single arch or cavity 
 can scarcely ever stop and reflect all the 
 sound ; but if there be a convenient dis- 
 position behind it, part of the sound pro- 
 pagated thither being collected and reflect- 
 ed as before, will return another echo ; or 
 if there be another concavity opposed at a 
 due distance to the former, the sound re- 
 flected from one upon another will be tossed 
 back again by the latter. 
 
 Echoes are distinguished into different 
 kinds. Si7igle echoes are those which re- 
 turn the voice but once. Of these, some 
 are tonical, which only return a voice when 
 modulated into some particular musical 
 tone ; and olhexs, poly syllabical, which re- 
 turn many syllables, words, and sentences. 
 Multiple or tautological echoes, are those 
 which return syllables and words often- 
 times repeated. 
 
 At the sepulchre of Metella, wife of 
 Crassus, there was an echo which repeated 
 what was said five times. Authors also 
 mention a tower at Cyzicus, where the 
 echo repeated seven times. One of the 
 first echoes we read of is that mentioned 
 by Barthius, in his notes on the Thebais 
 of Statius, which repeated the words utter- 
 ed seventeen times ; it was situated on the 
 banks of the Naha, between Coblentz and 
 Bipgen. Barthius assures us, that he had 
 proved what he writes, and had counted 
 seventeen repetitions. 
 
 We subjoin an account of a remarkable 
 echo detailed by a writer in the philosoph- 
 ical transactions : " As to echoes, there 
 is one at Brussels that answers fifteen 
 times. But when I was at Milan I took 
 a coach to go two miles thence to a noble- 
 man's palace, not now in great repair, and 
 only a peasant (Contandine) living in ono 
 end of it. The building is of some length 
 in the front, and hap two wings jutting 
 
 forward, so that it wants only one side of 
 an oblong figure. About one hundred 
 paces before the house, there runs a small ! 
 brook, and that very slowly, over which 
 you pass from the house into the garden. 
 We carried some pistols with us, and firing I 
 one of them, I heard fifty-six reiterations , 
 of noise. The first twenty were with I 
 some distinction ; but then, as the noise ' 
 seemed to fly way, and answer to a great 
 distance, the repetition was so doubled, as 
 you could hardly count them all, seeming 
 as if the principal sound was saluted in its 
 passage by reports on this and that side at 
 the same time. There were of or' com- 
 pany that reckoned above sixty reiterations 
 when a louder pistol went ofl"; and indeed 
 it was a very grateful divertisement. But 
 on the other side of the house, on the op- 
 posite wing, it would not sound ; and only, 
 to this advantage, in a certain chaml)er, 
 here two stories high from the ground." 
 
 In the neighborhood of Edinburgh, are 
 several remarkable echoes ; and one author 
 mentions hearing, in its immediate vicinity, 
 the notes of martial music with the noise 
 of viewless cannon thundering from the 
 clifls of Salisbury. Near the castle of 
 Horn, in the county of Argyle, is a ruined 
 chapel, opposite to which is a precipice, 
 in the recess of which, if a person calls 
 or speaks a sentence, an echo repeats it 
 to one who stands near the cemetery of 
 the chapel, clearly and unbrokenly. In 
 the cemetery of the Abercorn family, at 
 Paisley, in the county of Renfrew, there ;, 
 is an echo exceedingly beautiful and ro- | 
 mantic. When the door of the chapel is .• 
 closed with any degree of violence, rever- j 
 berations are equal to the sound of thunder, y 
 Breathe a single note in music, and the | 
 tone ascends gradually with a multitude of j 
 echoes till it dies in soft bewitching num- 
 bers. If the effect of one instrument is 
 delightful, that of several in concert is 
 captivating — for it excites most tumultuous 
 and rapturous sensations. Near the Cape 
 of Good Hope is a rock called the " Honey 
 Rock," which has an echo that repeats 
 several syllables successively ; and in a 
 tower at Bahavia, is anothei which echoes 
 nine syllables. A singular echo is also 
 heard in Castle Comber, in Ireland. No 
 reverberation is observed till the listener 
 is within fifteen or sixteen feet of the ex- 
 
it wants only one side of 
 
 0. About one huiidri'd 
 house, there runs a small 
 very slowly, over which 
 e house into the garden, 
 pistols with us, and firing 
 
 leard fifty-six reiterations 
 first twenty were with 
 ; but then, as the noise 
 ay, and answer to a great 
 etition was so doubled, as 
 count them all, seeming 
 I sound was saluted in its 
 ts on this and that side at 
 There were of oi" corn- 
 ed above sixty reiterations 
 stol went ofT; and indeed 
 Lteful divertisement. But 
 s of the house, on the op- 
 ould not sound ; and only, 
 e, in a certain chamber, 
 high from the ground." 
 srhood of Edinburgh, are 
 le echoes ; and one author 
 ;, in its immediate vicinity, 
 •tial music with the noise 
 non thundering from the 
 try. Near the castle of 
 inty of Argyle, is a ruined 
 to which is a precipice, 
 which, if a person calls 
 ence, an echo repeats it ; 
 ids near the cemetery of 
 irly and unbrokenly. In ^ 
 the Abercorn family, at i 
 county of Renfrew, there ■ 
 edingly beautiful and ro- ; 
 the door of the chapel is 
 degree of violence, rever- 
 lal to the sound of thunder. 
 i note in music, and the 
 idually with a multitude of 
 s in soft bewitching nuin- 
 Feet of one instrument is 
 of several in concert is 
 it excites most tumultuous 
 nsations. Near the Cape 
 I a rock called the " Honey 
 bas an echo that repeats 
 i successively ; and in a 
 
 1, is anothei which echoes 
 A singular echo is also 
 
 Comber, in Ireland. No 
 observed till the listener 
 , or sixteen feet of the ex- 
 
 TIIE REIGN OF TERROR. 
 
 103 
 
 iremity of the grotto ; at which place a 
 (li'li<,'hirul echj enchants the ear. The 
 coIel)rated rock near Mulcross Abbey, 
 sends forth the most fascinating repercus- 
 sions. Sound a bugle-horn, echoes equal 
 to a hundred instruments answer to the 
 call. Report a single cannon, the loudest 
 thunders reverberate from the rock, and 
 die in endless peals along the distant 
 mountains. On the lake of Keswick, a 
 pistol is reported thirty times ; and a quar- 
 ter of a minute frequently elapses between 
 each report. Echoes multiplied every 
 sound in the grotto of Delphi, and in- 
 creased the vensralion which prompted 
 thousands to visit the Temple of Apollo, 
 the splendor of which, in marble and in 
 statues of gold and silver, was for many 
 ages unequalled in Greece. In Norway 
 and upon the lake Ontario, and in many 
 of the West India islands, the echoes are 
 enchanting ; while among the Orisons 
 there reigns an eternal silence. Clothed 
 in a winding-sheet, not an echo repeats 
 the fall • -' I torrent, or the ruins of an 
 amlanc'-' i.i the baptistry of St. Gio- 
 vanne -tc uesimo, there was an echo 
 that repeated a note of music six times. 
 Lucretius mentions one that repeated seven 
 notes ; and it is said that there is one echo, 
 betweeu Confians and Charenton, which 
 repeats ten times. A few miles from 
 Narbonne, the traveller is led by his guide 
 to a bridge, beneath which is heard an 
 echo which repeats twelve times ; and 
 Migron mentions one in a tower, below 
 Lausanne, on the bord<jrs of the lake of 
 Geneva, which repeated twelve syllables. 
 In limes when men were less interested 
 in the investigation of the causes of the 
 phenomena they heard or saw, the echo 
 must have exceedingly perplexed them. 
 Were we permitted to indulge imagination, 
 it would not be difficult to picture to our- 
 selves the amazement and consternation 
 with which an inhabitant of the newly- 
 peopled earth would be seized, when he 
 first heard the rocks far and near reitera- 
 ting the broken sentences that escaped 
 fr;»ia his lips, as he wandered along by 
 the banks of a river, or chased the deer 
 in the mountains. There is much in ex- 
 ternal nature calculated to awaken the 
 consciousness of invisible power, which 
 resides in every virtuous bosom. 
 
 THE REIGN OF TERROR. 
 
 ^ ME Reign of Terror ! 
 fallow many recollec- 
 tions of horror are 
 associated with these 
 words ! Even at tlie 
 distance of more th;m 
 half a century, the 
 imagination shrinks, 
 the blood curdles at their sound ; and 
 centuries hence, that era will probably be 
 regarded as exhibiting the " bloodiest pic- 
 ture in the book of time." 
 
 This name was applied to express that 
 period in French history which intervened 
 between the execution of Louis XVI. and 
 the overthrow of Robespierre, to whom 
 mainly it is supposed to have owed its ori- 
 gin. Some terrible scenes had previou.sly 
 been witnessed. In September, 179 J, 
 shortly after the overthrow of the monar- 
 chy, when the passions of the populace 
 were excited to the highest pitch by the 
 intelligoiico of the approach of the allied 
 army, a bai':i of assassins had at midday, 
 while the assembly were sitting, proceed- 
 ed to the various prisons of the metrop- 
 olis, and there commenced tlio work of 
 destruction on the inmates. Tliese recep- 
 tacles had previously been filled with 
 hosts of " e ' i^hest society in the capital, 
 who haa i ^n collected, in terms of a law 
 named ih.it of " suspicion," after a search 
 of three days, during which no one was 
 allowed to leave his residence, but a body 
 of delegated municipal authorities pro- 
 ceeded from house to house, and seized 
 all who fell within its sweeping denunci- 
 ation. Eighty monks, incarcerated in a 
 temple, were first assailed, and most of 
 them either struck down on the ground, 
 or shot in the trees of an adjoining gar- 
 den to which they fled for refuge. The 
 great prisons of L'Abbaye, La Force, and 
 the Conciergie, were the next objects of 
 the assassins' fury, and in each the pris- 
 oners had their throats cut in hundreds. 
 A sort of mock tribunal was established, 
 and these homicides constituted them- 
 selves as judges. The wretched prisoner 
 was brought out alone, and after a few 
 questions from his accusers atone end of 
 the court-yard, he was consigned to th»" 
 knives of the assassins, who quickly des 
 
 ir 
 
 1^ 
 
 m 
 
!•« 
 
 704 
 
 THE REIGN OF TERllOll. 
 
 patcliod liim at the other. Soiiio tch)- 
 griiph or cant pliniso was gorieially cm- 
 |)li)\ <!(1 as tlie signal. At th(! prison of 
 L'Al)l)aye, for instance, the (ala! sentcni.'c 
 was the "« la Furcp. .'" and while llie ii;i- 
 suspeciing prisoner went on is the suppo- 
 sition tlia' he was to be transferred to 
 that hlion; 'i!)ld of incarceration, he was 
 sniideuiy assailed and j)Ut to death amid 
 the laughter of the assassins, wlio amused 
 themselves with his fearl'ul misapprehen- 
 sion. During three days these terrible 
 scenes proceeded ; neither the legislature 
 nor the civic authorities, in the meantime, 
 ollering the slightest interruption. The 
 assassins, who did not exceed two hun- 
 dred in number, throughout the whole pe- 
 riod coolly went and returned to their 
 meals, as if they had been engaged in 
 their usual avocations. The women were 
 worse than the men, and either joined ac- 
 tually in the massacre, or stayed at home to 
 discharge the others' duties, that their 
 liusbands might, as they said with horrid 
 coolness, " woik in the Abbey." Nay, 
 more, when the horrid " work" was com- 
 j)leted, they actually had the audacity to 
 proceed to the city hall and demand pay- 
 ment for their deeds — a demand with 
 which the approving or terrified munici- 
 pality were forced to comply ; and the 
 sums paid to these murderous " laborers" 
 for a long time remained a disgrace duly 
 recorded in the civic records of Paris. It 
 is impossible to calculate the number 
 struck down on this occasion in Paris and 
 Versailles, which, with one or two of the 
 smaller towns in the neighborhood, fol- 
 lowed the capital's example. By the 
 most moderate calculation they have been 
 reckoned a thousand or twelve hundred, 
 tlviugh the list has been swelled to thrice 
 the amount. Many persons of distinction 
 fell during the massacre ; among whom 
 were the famous Madame de Barri, mis- 
 tress of Louis XV., who died uttering the 
 most piercing cries, and exhibiting the 
 most abject, yet natural timidity, and the 
 slill more celebrated Princess de Lam- 
 balle, whose beauties and virtues had not 
 been able to save her, as the friend of 
 Maria Antoinette, from the fury of the 
 mob. She was put to death under cir- 
 cumstances of peculiar atrocity, and her 
 head was carried aloft on a pike, to be 
 
 ' exhibited before the windows of tlie (piern 
 in the Temple, altachment to whom seiMns 
 
 I to have been the least of her merits and 
 
 j the chief of her crimes. 
 
 lUit t(;rril)le as these scenes in IT'Ji 
 were, far greater horrors were perjietra- 
 ted — and in the name of justice, too— in 
 the following year and the first half of 
 1791, by the sanguinary revolutionary 
 tribunal which had been cslalili.slied by 
 Danton. This dread triumvir himself 
 perished by its agency in the early jian 
 of the last-named year, and while bewail- 
 ing his fall!, and that of an amiable wom- 
 an, who a short time before had been uni- 
 ted lo him in marriage, he then deeply 
 deplored his instrumentality in its erec- 
 tion, calling the Almighty to witness tliat 
 he had never contemplated the crimes it 
 had achieved : but his regret (as regret 
 generally is) was unavailing. .Shortly 
 after its creation, the revolutionary tribu- 
 nal commenced its proceedings with the 
 most fearful rapidity, and under the dir(;c- 
 tion of Fouquier Tinville — a sort of fiend 
 in human shape, who laughed and jested 
 with his victims while he sent them lo the 
 scaffold — whole hecatombs were soon de- 
 stroyed. The slightest suspicion was 
 fatal in the eyes of this atrocious wretch, 
 and those who appeared in court as wit- 
 nesses were frequently sent to the guillo- 
 tine as criminals. Almost every one tried 
 before him was at length condemned. 
 The Girondists were struck down in a 
 body, on the denunciation of Robes|)ierre ; 
 the venerable Malesherbes, for defending 
 the late king, was, with the whole of his 
 family, consigned to the scafTold, to which 
 he proceeded with a gay aspect, and an 
 air so careless, that, chancing to stumble, 
 he said, " it was a bad omen, and a Ro- 
 man would have turned back." Danton 
 and the whole of his associates were con- 
 demned, by the instigation of the same 
 gloomy tyrant, who felt that that bold dem- 
 agogue formed the chief obstacle to the 
 dictatorship to which he now aspired. 
 He exhibited less courage, and for a mo- 
 ment his feelings seemed about to give 
 way, when he thought of his young wife, 
 of whom he plaintively e.'cclaimed, " I 
 shall never see thee more !" but immedi- 
 ately recovering himself, and uttering the 
 
 I words " Courage, Danton !" he died with 
 
 "^ 
 
window.s of tlic <|ii('rii 
 [iinoiitto whom SiM-irts 
 iisl of Iht mt'rils ami 
 lies. 
 
 lese scenes in 17'J2 
 )rrovs ivcro jxTpi'trii- 
 iie of justico, too— in 
 and the first h:iif of 
 [uinary revohiiioiKiry 
 been cstalilishoil by 
 id triumvir iiiniseh' 
 icy in llie early part 
 lar, and while bewail- 
 t. of an amiable woin- 
 : before had been uiii- 
 iage, he then deeply 
 iientality in its er(;u- 
 lighty to witness that 
 nplated the crimes it 
 his regret (as regret 
 
 unavailing. Shortly 
 e revolutionary tril)u- 
 jiroceedings with the 
 , and under the direc- 
 iville — a sort of fiend 
 lio laughed and jested 
 le he sent them to the 
 a'ombs were soon de- 
 hiest suspicion was 
 this atrocious wretch, 
 ared in court as wii- 
 iily sent to the guillo- 
 Vlmost every one tried 
 , length condemned, 
 re struck down in a 
 ation of Robespierre ; 
 iherbes, for defending 
 ivith the whole of his 
 
 the scalTold, to which 
 a gay aspect, and an 
 
 chancing to stumble, 
 bad omen, and a Ho- 
 rned back." Danton 
 
 associates were con- 
 tigalion of the same 
 ell that that bold dein- 
 cliief obstacle to the 
 ch he now aspired, 
 ourage, and lor a ino- 
 eemed about to give 
 [lit of his young wife, 
 lively exclaimed, " I 
 ■ more !" but immedi- 
 tiself, and uttering the 
 laiitoa !" he died with 
 
 TIIR IlEIGN OP TEUIlOa. 
 
 705 
 
 fortitude. Others of a less daring temper- 
 anie It showed still more tranquillity ; and 
 death at last became so common that it 
 lost iis terrors. Numbers proceeded to 
 the guillotine uttering jibes and wHticisms, 
 often extemporaneous, but in other in- 
 siances studiously prepared for the occa- 
 sion ; and the victims at last vied almost 
 in coolness with the crowds, who daily 
 beheld processions to the guillotine with 
 as nnich iiidiirerence, or rather as much 
 zest, as they would have regarded any 
 exhibition at the theatres, which were 
 never more crowded in Paris than during 
 tliis dismal period. 
 
 While such was the .state of affairs in 
 the capital, matters were still worse in the 
 provinces. In Paris, condemnation was 
 nude a jest, and the names of those who 
 had received sentence were bawled out in 
 a street list, named, with disgusting levity, 
 "the evening paper," from which they 
 friupieiitly, for the first time, received in- 
 telligence of their approaching death on 
 the morrow, or were said to have " drawn 
 prizes in the holy lottery of the guillo- 
 tine ;" but in the rural districts, execution 
 itself was made a theme of merriment. 
 In the north, one Lebas, an apostate monk, 
 the revolutionary judge, generally presided 
 at the guillotine with the whole of his 
 friends ; and in the south, another, Le Bon 
 (literally, "the good," and probably a 
 name bestowed in jest), publicly enter- 
 tained the executioner, as a distinguished 
 functionary, at his table. Horrors scarcely 
 inferior were perpetrated in the other dis- 
 tricts of the republic, to which these san- 
 guinary wretches were sent by the revo- 
 luiionary tribunal in Paris, delegated with 
 all its powers ; and the guillotine at length 
 became so much in demand, that it was 
 proposed to have a set of what were 
 termed " perambulating" machines of death 
 constructed, to move from one part of a 
 province to another, on wheels. Every 
 being, who, by his opposition or his wealth, 
 had excited the indignation or cupidity of 
 these emissaries, was guillotined. Were 
 an old public functionary incorrect in his 
 accounts, or a general unsuccessful with 
 the enemy, ho experienced the same fate. 
 Westermann, a fierce republican general ; 
 Biron, a better soldier ; Beauharnois, the 
 husband of the amiable Josephine, Napo- 
 
 leon's future empercss, and others of the 
 same rank, were thus struck down ; and 
 tho dreadful instrument was at hist so fa- 
 miliarized, under the auspi'\'s of Foiujuier 
 Tinville, th.at Robespierre hinnelf h:ul to 
 interfere, and declare " it was doseenUed." 
 But even these scenes yiehluil m hor- 
 ror to the enormities commiited in the 
 western part of the kingdom on the un- 
 happy peasantry of La Vendee. Sliortly 
 after the revolution broke out, resi.stance 
 arose to it there. The inhabitants of that 
 sequestered district, where the proprie- 
 tors, generally inconsiderable, lived chielly 
 on their own domains, had escaped the 
 severity of the ancient goverinnent. In- 
 stead of being ground down by the nobles, 
 they lived on a footing of comparative 
 equality, joining in their hunting parlies, 
 and participating in their hospitality ; most 
 of the proprietors cultivated iheir own 
 grounds, or were but liltle removed in 
 rank above their tenants. Here, accord- 
 ingly, tho new principles met with a stea- 
 dy opposition. Encouraged by their land- 
 lords, who were attached to the ancient 
 regime, and instigated by their priests, who 
 were averse to the modern oath, the peas- 
 ants took the field in bodies, and resisted 
 all who attempted to introduce revolution- 
 ary doctrines into their district. Success 
 at first attended their arms. Their habits 
 as hunters having made them experienced 
 marksmen, and their knowledge of the 
 country given them a great advantage ov ir 
 their opponents, they in the ( utset bore 
 down the republican troops, who, while 
 marching unsuspicious through the forest 
 ravines with which the district teemed, 
 were frequently fired on by unseen foes, 
 a".;! while in confusion, struck down by 
 the peasants, who then rushed from their 
 ambuscade. Whole bodies of men were 
 thus cut ofT;. and the insurgents, becoming 
 bolder by success, and assembling in lar- 
 ger numbers, at last defeated not only 
 several republican generals, but captured 
 Nantes and some adjacent towns. Under 
 the direction of Larochejacquelein, a 
 young and enthusiastic nobleman ; Char- 
 rette, a wagoner ; StofHet, a barber ; Les- 
 cure, a pious gentleman ; and D'Elbee, an 
 o'.d naval officer, they at last attempted 
 higher aims, and in a body a hundred 
 thousand strong, crossed the Loire with 
 
 "fUl 
 
 rr 
 
 1 
 
 4** 
 
 ,.i*" 
 
 1 k 
 
 I! 
 
 ;14* 
 
 +1' 
 
 ■?^* 
 
 nf!f» 
 
T06 
 
 THE REIGN OF TEllUOR. 
 
 Ml W 
 
 SI?-., 
 
 .Ull.<|it 
 
 ■->. ...^ 
 
 the design of marching upon Paris. But 
 all their habits and tactics unfitted them 
 for this purpose. They generally took 
 the field for fighting in the same form as 
 they had been accustomed to equip them- 
 selves for hunting ; seldom carried above 
 three days' provisions with them ; and, 
 whether successful or defeated, could 
 rarely be retained for a longer period from 
 home. In conflict, too, they were more 
 successful in sudden and sharp attacks, 
 than qualified to cTidure the steady and 
 sustained action of regular troops. Hence, 
 in this great excursion, they wholly failed 
 in their object. In several engagements 
 with the rejjublican troops, after varied 
 success, they were finally defeated ; La- 
 rochejacquelein, their favorite, though not 
 ablest leader, was struck down, and his 
 followers fled, notwithstanding his inspi- 
 ring war-whoop, " If I fly, slioot me ; if I 
 advance, follow me ; if I fall, avenge me !" 
 Most of their other generals, being accus- 
 tomed to charge with their men, were 
 either killed or disabled ; and their wives 
 and children having followed them in this 
 excursion, a crowd of a hundred thousand 
 wretched beings were at last found, de- 
 feated, dismayed, and disordered, on the 
 banks of the Loire — assailed by the ex- 
 asperated republicans on the one hand, 
 cut off from their country by the river on 
 the other ; abandoned a prey to hunger, 
 cold, wind, hail, and stiow ; and left to 
 contend with horrors which disposed their 
 supersiitious imaginations to surmise the 
 approacliing termination of the world in 
 their sinking cause. 
 
 It was upon these unhappy wretches, 
 or sucii of them as had escaped those 
 dangers, that the Jacobin fury was now to 
 be wreaked ; and though the peasants 
 themselves had frequently been cruel in 
 putting their prisoners to death, assuredly 
 they never perpetrated such atrocities as 
 those of which they were now the vic- 
 tims. An insHrument which, like the guil- 
 lotine, decapitated only one at a time, was 
 of course wholly unable to act with suffi- 
 cient promptitude for vengeance ; and they 
 were accordingly struck down in scores, 
 and lii'iies, and hundreds, by musketry and 
 grape-shot. Neither age nor sex was 
 spared on these occasions, though the sol- 
 diers, the stern executioners, svere fre- 
 
 quently interrupted by their victims, when 
 children, clinging to their knees. Hut 
 even this mode of putting them to death 
 became too tiresome at last ; and when 
 the earth was threatened with a pestilence 
 from their pu'rifying carcases. Carrier, an 
 ex-friar, but no^r revolutionary pro-consul 
 at Nantes, devised a more horrible plan 
 for destroying them by water. Bands of 
 wretched beings were conveyed in boats, 
 and thrown into the lakes or rivers ; and 
 when some of them escaped, or attempted 
 to escape, by swimming, the infernal ex- 
 pedient was chosen of carrying them out 
 enclosed in vessels constructed with false 
 bottoms and closed hatchways for the pur- 
 pose, when the trap being withdrawn, the 
 waters closed over all. Thousands were 
 thus inhumanly drowned, and these Nutj- 
 adcs, as they were termed, at last only 
 ceased when the fishes were poisoned by 
 gorging on human flesh, and the waters 
 became not less pestilential than the air. 
 
 The public mind at last sickened under 
 these accumulated horrors, and Robes- 
 pierre's associates in the capital became 
 alarmed by the apprehension that hu de- 
 signed to destroy them in turn, with ih(i 
 view of appropriating power to himself 
 alone. The government of the country 
 had, on the abolition of the monarchy, 
 been vested in two comniitlens — one of 
 which, the committee of public safety, 
 watched over the general interests of the 
 republic ; while the other, named that of 
 general safety, was intrusted with the su- 
 perintendence of Paris alone. It was 
 chiefly in the municipality that the inter- 
 ests o{ this body lay ; but though confined 
 to the capital, and made subservient to l\v3 
 committee of public safety, it had gradu- 
 ally extended its power, and by means of 
 the aifiliations or offshoots of the Jacobin 
 club, which were dispersed over every 
 village, acquired an influence throughout 
 all France. And this was the body wbich 
 ilebespierre designed to render instru- 
 mental to his views when he had been 
 dismissed from the committee of public 
 safety, in conformity with a law which 
 enjoined that two of the ten members 
 should go out every two months in rota- 
 tion, or when he had refused to re-euier it 
 in consequence of some quarrel with his 
 colleagues. 
 
victims, when 
 kncos. Hut 
 hcni to ileath 
 it ; and when 
 h a pestilence 
 3S, Ciinior, an 
 »ry pro-consul 
 horrible plan 
 ir. Bands of 
 syed in boats, 
 r rivers ; and 
 , or attempted 
 B infernal ex- 
 ying them out 
 ted with false 
 ys for the pur- 
 iihdrawn, the 
 ousaiids were 
 id these A'o^- 
 at lust only 
 3 poisoned by 
 id the waters 
 than the air. 
 ckenod under 
 and Robes- 
 apital became 
 n lliat he de- 
 turn, with thi! 
 !r to himsulf 
 r the country 
 le monarchy, 
 tens — one of 
 |)ublic safety, 
 terests of the 
 lamed tiiat of 
 1 with the su- 
 one. It was 
 hat the inter- 
 uugh conlined 
 servient to iImj 
 it had gradu- 
 1 by niL'iins of 
 f the Jacobin 
 d over every 
 ce througliout 
 le body which 
 ender instru- 
 he had been 
 tee of public 
 a law which 
 ten members 
 inths in rota- 
 [ to re-enier it 
 irrel with his 
 
 THE REIGN OP TERROH. 
 
 107 
 
 To all it was apparent that a death- 
 strufi^lc drew nigh, and both parties pre- 
 pared for it with the full conviction that 
 their lives were dependent on the issue. 
 The committee trusted to the influence it 
 posbcssod wiih the army, whose move- 
 ments Carnot, the ablest and best of its 
 members, wholly controlled : Robespierre 
 conlided in the support of the municipal- 
 ity, and, above all, in that of the .Jacobin 
 club. In the convention his power was 
 also greit ; for that body invariably joined 
 the strofii,a'r party, and it had recently sup- 
 ported a law which he brought in chiefly 
 to justify the late massacres, and after pas- 
 sing which he had retired for a month from 
 power, in order, as was supposed, to de- 
 popularize his colleagues by the odium of 
 executing it. But this strat..gem failed, 
 if it were ever designed, and his retire- 
 ment proved as fatal to him as a similar 
 retrciit had been to Danton. That bold 
 leadi^r of the populace had fallen a victim 
 chiedy to the artifices which Robespierre 
 had employed to undermine him at the 
 Jacobins' in his absence ; and he had died 
 exclaiming tUut in three months his de- 
 ceiver would follow him to the block. 
 The prrdiction was fulfilled • the commit- 
 tee of public safety seized the same op- 
 portunity to destroy Robespierre, and with 
 the same success. On the 26th of July, 
 1794, after a month's absence during 
 which his followers had almost worship- 
 ped him as a divinity, he reappeared in 
 the convention, and delivered one of those 
 long, mysterious, and ominous addresses 
 with which he was accustomed to usher 
 in his sanguinary proposals. The assem- 
 bly, slavish as ever, applauded him to the 
 echo as before ; but a different reception 
 awaited him when he next day prepared 
 to impeach three of his late associates in 
 the committee of public safety, and several 
 of their adherents in the chamber. These 
 men hud iu the interval received intelli- 
 gence of his intentions, and they prepared 
 to defend themselves with the courage of 
 despair. So soon as he renewed his 
 speech, they boldly interrupted him by 
 their hostile acclamations, and Robes- 
 pierre's voice, for the first time, was si- 
 lenced in an assembly where it always 
 before had been heard with reverence in- 
 spired by dread. The chamber at first 
 
 stood mute, like himself, with astonish- 
 ment ; but as the cries of his foes grew 
 louder, and vocifera i<ins of "Down with 
 the tyrant !' were heard, it prepared to 
 adopt another course ; and when HarriTe, 
 a profligate ex-noble, and member of the 
 committee of public safety, who invaria- 
 bly ranged himself with the stronger, and 
 on this occasion had prepared a speech for 
 either side — drew from his pocket and 
 coolly proceeded to deliver a studied re- 
 port against Robespierre, the cowardly 
 legislature no longer remained uncertain, 
 but fiercely joined in the h >o tliat struck 
 him down. Foaming at the mouth, Rob- 
 espierre withdrew, and hastened for safe- 
 ty and succor to his adherents in the mu- 
 nicipality and JacoI)in club. 
 
 But it was too late. His enemies knew 
 that either his life or theirs must be ex- 
 tinguished in the struggle, and one or 
 more of them had attended the chamber 
 with the resolution of destroying either 
 him or themselves if he carried his pro- 
 posal. " Should it pass," said they, 'we 
 shall have no alternative but to blow out 
 our brains ;" and the legislature was soon 
 convinced that its own members were in 
 similar danger. A decree was quickly 
 passed to outlaw him ; but there was dif- 
 ficulty in getting parties to execute it ; for 
 Henriot, the commander of the Parisian 
 guard, was an adherent of Robespierre's, 
 and already at the town-hall l)y his side. 
 But fortune, or the frailty of this associate, 
 aided them. Henriot, when he attempted 
 to take the command of his troops, was so 
 inebriated that he with ditliculty retained 
 his seat on horseback, and his soldiers 
 either misunderstood his orders or refused 
 to obey him. In these circumstances he 
 rode back in dismay to the city-hall, and 
 his cannoneers were easily persuaded by 
 some members of the legislature to turn 
 their guns from against it to the hostile 
 edifice. A few adherents of the commit- 
 tee or chamber accompanied them, and 
 boldly burst into the room where Robes- 
 pierre and his associates were. Their 
 triumph was easy : the confederates at- 
 tempted no resistance ; but some of them 
 endeavored to escape by the windows, 
 while others essayed to avoid a public ex- 
 ecution by suicide. St. Just, a violent but 
 disinterested fanatic, made this attempt 
 
 i , 
 
i 
 
 H 
 
 »i ',. 
 
 ■«**..,' 
 
 . V 
 
 Si :. ... 
 
 ]*t 
 
 p^y.^- 
 
 »*'»^ik 
 
 108 
 
 THE STUDY OF NATURE. 
 
 olTiT tlifinselves lo his iiolice, prcMciilinir 
 iiifmite diversity of form, and ohviuiisly 
 adapted, by their coiistructii)ii ;iiid imhils, 
 to occupy various and widciy-dill'tTdiit sit- 
 uations. The caridoss lounjj;i'r, indexed, 
 untaught to mark tiio less ohtiusivc and 
 minuter features of the hindsc;i|ii', sees, 
 perhaps, tlic cattle grazing in the liidd ; 
 watches the swallows as tiuy ghmco 
 alonsr, or listens wiih undelined cmoimns 
 of pleasure to the vocal choir of unseen 
 ] feathered songsters ; and content with 
 these symptoms of life around him, passes 
 unheeding onward. Nut so the curious 
 and enlightened wanderer, inipiisitivn to 
 understand all that he finds amund him : 
 his prying eye and mind intclligc.ni, not 
 only cr;' appreciate the grosser hi^autics 
 of the scene, and gather full enjoyment 
 from the survey, but perceive ol)jects of 
 wonder multiply at every step he takes : 
 the grass, the trees, the Hovvers, the earth, 
 the air, swarm with innumerable kituls of 
 active living creatures : every stone up- 
 turned reveals some instxt wonder ; nay. 
 
 and failed ; his pistol snapped in the act, 
 and was seized before he could renew the 
 ellurl. ('onilian, a sanguinary wretch, 
 who, thtiiiyli half dead with palsy, talked 
 of deaili and nmrder in the blandest ac- 
 cents, had not courage to attempt it ; and 
 liol)t!S[)ierre's jaw was only shattered by 
 a shot, but whether from his own hands 
 or another's is uncertain. Ilenriol throw 
 himself from a window, and was found 
 concealed in a sewer. The younger Rob- 
 espierre, a comparatively innocent man, 
 whose allection for his brother alone be- 
 trayed him into danger, was one of the 
 few who iipiiducted himself with dignity, 
 and prcpari'd lo die with tranipiiliity. The 
 whole, auiDuiiting to about forty in number, 
 were conducted to the hall of the conven- 
 tion, whence, being already outlawed, they 
 were the next day sent to the guillotine. 
 Robespierre passed the night on a miser- 
 able l)encli in a room adjacent, but though 
 sulVering with agony he refused lo utter a 
 single word. Next morning, amid the 
 cheers and i^irsea of the populace, among 
 
 whom were many friends of his recent , ''"^ stagnant ditch he knows to bo a world 
 victims, he was conveyed to the sea (Told ; 1 wherem incalculable myriads pass ■' - 
 
 and though a momentary outcry escaj)ed 
 his lips when the execuiioner coarsely 
 tore the biuidage from his fractured jaw, 
 he died, the last of his party, with forti- 
 tude. With his life the Reign of Terror 
 terminated ; and the convention, by whose 
 abject sulnnission it had mainly been 
 caused, shortly afterward made way for a 
 dillerent set of snen, and another order of 
 things. The revolution, however, with its 
 gloomy anil appalling scenes, did not pass 
 away without teaching mankind these in- 
 valuable lessons — that religion is essential 
 to the prosperity of states, and that it is 
 the interest us well as the duty of those 
 in power to promote by all means the hap- 
 piness of the people. 
 
 THE STUDY OF NATURE. 
 
 It is impossible that any person, how- 
 ever thoughtless, and unaccustomed to ob- 
 serve the works of creation, can look 
 around him, even during a morning's ram- 
 ble through the fields, without being struck 
 with the number of living beings that 
 
 s pass their 
 lives, and overy drop to swarm with ani- 
 mated atoms, able to proclaim the omnip- 
 otent Designer loudly as the stars them- 
 selves. Is it upon the seashore that the 
 student of nature walks ? Each rippling 
 wave lays at his feet some tribute from 
 the deep, and tells of wonders indescri- 
 bable — brings corallines and painted shells, 
 and a thousand grotesque beings, samples 
 left to show that in the sea, through all its 
 spacious realms, life still is found — that 
 creatures there exist, more numerously 
 than on the earth itself, all perfect in their 
 construction, and although so diversified 
 in shape and attributes, alike subservient 
 to the general welfare. And yet how few, 
 even at the present day, turn their atten- 
 tion to this wondrous scene, or strive at all 
 to understand the animal creation — to in- 
 vestigate the structure and contrivance 
 that adapt each species to perform certain 
 important duties — to perceive the uses and 
 relations of each group — to contemplate 
 the habits and the instincts that direct the 
 different tribes — and lastly, to trace out the 
 means whereby the mighty whole, formed 
 of such diverse parts, is all along prt- 
 served in perfect harmony ! 
 
 i 
 
• ^«a^ 
 
 THE UUOl\SK OP KUUOPE. 
 
 709 
 
 , prcscnim;,' 
 il iiliviiiiisly 
 
 1111(1 ll!ll)itM, 
 
 JillVirdiit Hit- 
 her, imleeil, 
 jtrusivo and 
 <(;;i|)i', sees, 
 II tliu fu'ld ; 
 lluy gl-inco 
 L>J ciiiouons 
 ir (if viiisocn 
 onteiit with 
 liiiii, [lasscs 
 llio curious 
 Kliiisitivo to 
 [iroiiiiii liiin : 
 fUiyoiit, not 
 si;r b(,'aiities 
 
 I enjoyment 
 o ol)jt'cts of 
 p he t:ikes : 
 rs, I lie earth, 
 l)le kiiiils of 
 •y stone up- 
 onder ; nay, 
 o 1)0 a world 
 s pass their 
 in with ani- 
 
 II tho OMlIlip- 
 
 stars tliem- 
 oro that the 
 acli rippling 
 tribute from 
 "iTs indcscri- 
 ainted shells, 
 ngs, sanriples 
 trough all its 
 found — that 
 numerously 
 rfcct in their 
 
 diversified 
 3 subservient 
 yet how few, 
 
 their aiten- 
 r strive at all 
 ation — to in- 
 
 contrivance 
 rform certain 
 
 the uses and 
 
 contemplate 
 lat direct the 
 
 1 trace out the 
 rhole, formed 
 1 along prb- 
 
 Capercailzie, or Cockof-lhewood. 
 
 THE GROUSE OF EUROPE. 
 
 EW European birds 
 ^have more points of, 
 interest in their his- 
 tory, than those to 
 which we now invite 
 attention. We allude 
 to the grouse strictly 
 so called, excluding 
 the partridges and 
 quails, «fcc., which 
 Lmnaciis associated with them in one ge- 
 nus imder the name of tctrau. Dense 
 pine-forests are the abode of some, others 
 frequent the wild tracks of heath-clad 
 moor-iand, while the patches of vegetation 
 
 scattered among the high rocky peaks of 
 the bleak mountain aflord a congenial res- 
 idence to others. Patient of c(dd, and 
 protected during the intense severities ol 
 winter by a provision which we shall pres- 
 ently more particularly detail, they relit-ve 
 by their presence the sternness of the Iro- 
 zen solitude, from which other birds have 
 retired, and give animation to the most 
 desolate scenery. 
 
 j Their food consists of the tender shoots 
 I of pines, the seeds of plants, the berries 
 j of various species of vacrininm, and nr- 
 ' hutus, the buds of the birch and alder, 
 ' leaves and grain. In their liabils they are 
 ' polygamous. As tho breeding season 
 draws on, the male birds choose each for 
 
 i#i< 
 
 i 
 
710 
 
 THE OROUBE OF EUHOPK. 
 
 tlicmselves a certain territory, from which 
 the possessor drives every intruding rival. 
 Desperate combats are then continually 
 taking place, the weaker or less fortunate 
 being obliged to quit the precincts of the 
 station ; and it not unfrequently happens 
 that the contest terminates only with the 
 death of the defeated. Secure in his tem- 
 porary dominion, the proud victor raises 
 a call of invitation morning and evening, 
 which resounds through the wood, and 
 brings his bevy of mates to the selected 
 spot. The nest is very simply construct- 
 ed, consisting of dried grasses, and placed 
 upon the ground, sheltered among the her- 
 bage. 
 
 In their flight the forest grouse are rap- 
 id for short distances, but the motion of 
 their wings is accompanied by a whirring 
 noise, like that of the pheasant. The 
 scarlet-fringed skin above the eye, so pe- 
 culiar an ornament in the grouse-tribe, they 
 possess in great perfection ; the beak is 
 stout, short, and convex ; the nostrils are 
 hidden beneath a tuft of close small feath- 
 ers, enveloping the base of the upper man- 
 dible. 
 
 Two species of this genus are indige- 
 nous in the British islands. One is the 
 black grouse, common in the pine-woods 
 of Scotland, and of the northern counties 
 of England, and elsewhere ; the other, is the 
 capercailzie, or cock-of-the-wood. For- 
 merly in Ireland, and still more recently 
 in Scotland, this noble bird, the most mag- 
 nificent of the whole of the grouse-tribe, 
 was abundant in the larger woods ; indis- 
 criminate and wanton slaughter, and an 
 unremitting system of harassment, have 
 caused its extirpation. It still abounds in 
 the pine-forests of various portions of the 
 north of continental Europe, such aa Swe- 
 den and Norway. Selby informs us, that 
 " the last individual of this species in 
 Scotland was killed, about forty years ago, 
 near Inverness." 
 
 We shall now proceed to the next Eu- 
 ropean group, that of the ptarmigan-grouse, 
 or genus lagopus. Of this group two spe- 
 cies are exclusively indigenous in the 
 British island, namely, the common ptar- 
 migan (lagopus mutus), and the red-grouse, 
 or moor-game {tetrao Scoticus). The com- 
 mon ptarmigan is not only a native of 
 Scotland, but of the higher latitudes of 
 
 continental Europe, wliere the willow- 
 ptarmigan anil the rock-ptarmigan, il'c, 
 are also nhundant. In their manners, tlio 
 ptarmigans mutuuily resemble each otlier. 
 it may be observed, however, that in Scot- 
 land (a comparatively temperate climate) 
 the bare and bleak mountains are the jht- 
 nianent abode of the species there in<lige- 
 nous ; while, luulor the intense severity 
 of winter in the polar circle, they all quit 
 the more ex|i(ised situations and seek the 
 willows and copse-woods which border the 
 rivers, and stretch over the shelt ned vales. 
 Mountain-berries and heath-shoots in sum- 
 mer, spring-buds and leaves in w inter, con- 
 Miifute their food, in search of which, as 
 well as for the sake of shelter, they 
 burrow beneath the snow. Perhaps the 
 chanifes of plumage in none of the ''fath- 
 ered races are more worthy ot attention 
 than those which the ptarmigans undergo. 
 Their full summer plumage is of a yellow, 
 more or less inclining to brown, beautiful- 
 ly barred with zigzag lines of black ; their 
 winter plumage is pure white, except that 
 the outer tail-feathers, the shafts of the 
 quills, and, in one species, a streak from 
 the eye to the beak, are black. 
 
 The red-grouse or moor-game, under- 
 goes no change of color like the ptarmi- 
 gan ; it however acquires a greater mass 
 of clothing, and its legs are more covered 
 witii hairlike feathers in winter than in 
 summer. It would seem either that its 
 native districts, the wild heathy moorlands 
 of the British islands, afl'ord more shelter 
 than the favorite localities of the ptarmi- 
 gan, or that its system needs not this 
 cliangc in order to enable it to resist the 
 cold. It is somewhat singular that tliis 
 beautiful bird should not be known on the 
 continent, abundant as it is on the moor- 
 lands of Scotland, England, and Ireland. 
 Its value, as game, need not be painted 
 out. Our readers must not suppose th;it 
 the two forms of grouse to which we have 
 alluded arc all that exist ; on the contrary, 
 as in every other group of nature, there 
 are here also '^jme which lead off (or in- 
 dicate affinities) to other groups, forming 
 links in the chain of being. Of these we 
 may allude to the urophasianus of North 
 America, and the sand-grouse (pteroclti) 
 of the arid stony tracts of Turkey, Spain, 
 and Africa, 
 
the willnw- 
 nii<,'nn, Sir., 
 maimers, ilii> 
 ) oacli oilier, 
 that in Scot- 
 ralo ciirnate) 
 are the per- 
 there imlitje- 
 nsf severity 
 they all quit 
 ind seek the 
 ch border the 
 elnred vales. 
 ioi)t3 insnni- 
 1 VI inter, con- 
 of which, as 
 ihelter, they 
 Perhaps the 
 Df the ''eath- 
 oi attention 
 sns undergo, 
 (of a yellow, 
 /n, beautiful- 
 black ; their 
 I, except that 
 halts of the 
 streak from 
 
 ;ame, undcr- 
 the ptarini- 
 jreater mass 
 nore covered 
 nter than in 
 ther that its 
 ly moorlands 
 more shelter 
 r the ptarmi- 
 sds not this 
 to resist the 
 liar that this 
 nown on the 
 m the moor- 
 and Ireland, 
 t be pointed 
 suppose that 
 lich we have 
 the contrary, 
 nature, there 
 id off (or in- 
 •ups, forming 
 Of these we 
 1US of North 
 ie {ptcroclcx) 
 arkey, Spain, 
 
 § 
 
 III 
 
 ■ «■•"• 
 
 
wm, 
 
 r- 
 
 tia 
 
 TUB LOVE OV LIFE. 
 
 «H>t?%> 
 
 
 TIIK LOv'E OF LIFE, 
 
 ITS USKS AND LI.MI I'H. 
 
 ^^ HR lovo of lifo mny 
 \ he justly reckiiiM'd oiir 
 of tlio MtroMj»L'(it priii- 
 cipli^s ill our coiimii. 
 tiition. It operiiles 
 luidct I very varii'ty 
 of circiuiistiinccs, and 
 with a power ami en- 
 prey I eciiliiirly its own. " It torri-- 
 B|i "iiflH," lis Ins hfPii truly said, "in tlio 
 iiihfiiiiiiil world, with the great principle 
 of i;r.H'ii;itioii in the material sysiein, or 
 with ilm ceiitripilal force? by whiili the 
 plaiK'ts are rel lined in their pro|)er orhils, 
 and resint tlieir oppo^iilo tendency to fly 
 off frcun tho centre. The nioHt wretcheil, 
 nol IiNM than the most prosperous — lho.se 
 who seeiii (0 posse.'i.s nolhiiig that can 
 reiiih'r life desiral)li>, not less than those 
 who are Hurrouinh^d hy all it.s pleaniires — 
 are l)oiitid to life as hy a principle of central 
 attfufllofi, which exleiids its influence to 
 the hint ni(iiiieiit.-i of expirinjf nature." 
 
 his, |)(Th;ips, not .suflieienlly considered 
 how imich we owe to this strong consti- 
 tutional sentinient. The lovo of life ! it 
 is the arm tliai guards the temple of our 
 being. It is tiie wall of fire that surrounds 
 our earthly existence. It is the sentinel, 
 ever waketui, ever at its post, giving no- 
 tice of the first approach of danger, and 
 smmnoiimg all the si. .lor powers to aid 
 and action. lint for the strength of this 
 instinct, can we doubt that the number 
 would be anything but small of those who, 
 not inllueiu I'd by higher and more sacred 
 considerations; would seek a shelter from 
 the calamities of the present scene in the 
 grave ol the suicide 1 Besides, the anx- 
 iety we feel for the continued health and 
 protracted existence of those whom Prov- 
 idence has consigned to our care, would 
 be extirpated ; for what we felt of little 
 conseipience to ourselves, we would cease 
 to wish lor in the case of others. The 
 absence ol' this ardent attachment to life, 
 or even its existence in a feeble state, 
 would thus tend inevitably to impair all 
 our kindly and generous sympathies, 
 make alVection a meaningless word, and 
 leave the weak and the helpless of every 
 class without friends and without guar- 
 
 dians. Dill we, moreover, eeate to jinzf 
 our being as a boon of peerless price, oie- 
 f;reat motive to iiidiisirioiis exertion would 
 1)0 destriiyed ; the sweat of onr liruvvs we 
 would retr;iril as loo dear a prirc to pav 
 fur our d:iily l)read ; many of onr nolile.ii 
 enterprises would never be undertaken ; ! 
 and llw arts and sciencc-j, the main objiii j 
 of which is to exalt and einlnilish lil'e, 
 woulil eeise to be <ullivale(l, nr at least 
 they would be eiiltivated with liitlf care. 
 And tlieii what a scene of crime and eon- 
 seijiieiit wretclicdnes.s would our wnrld be, 
 if composed chielly, or rather exclusively, 
 of itilers ! 
 
 The restraints of law, too, would be 
 stripped of more than half their power. 
 Tht^ minds of men, losing the horror with 
 wiiicli, in.stinetively, they recoil at the 
 deed of the assassin, would regard the in- 
 vasion of life as a cr ,o of coinp:iiativ(i|y 
 small moment, and thus society vvouhl be 
 deprived of one of its most imj)ortanl 
 safeguards. In a similar ratio, and lioiii a 
 like cause, war, even at present a dire 
 evil, would increase — that " game which," 
 to employ the words of the gentle ( 'ow- 
 per, " were their subjects wise, kin;^s 
 would not play at," would become the uni- 
 versal pastime. We can, in truth, con- 
 ceive few calamities more dismal than tho 
 extinction, could it be ed'ected, of tho 
 dread with which death is contemplated 
 by the luind cf man. The arrangement 
 is beautiful and wise, that death should be 
 tho "king of terrors." 
 
 The love of life, too, has its religious 
 uses. It furnishes a strong presun.piion 
 of our immortality. It proclaims the hor- 
 ror with which we recoil from the idea of 
 annihilation. It whispers to us ttiat some 
 part of us is far too good to be consigned 
 to the dust. It is, in fact, the voice of the 
 soul, announcing its own grandeur and 
 indestructibleness. 
 
 Life is dear to us for a thousand rea- 
 sons. We cling with intense fondness to 
 the familiar ol)jccts around us : they be- 
 come, in truth, a part of ourselves, and ii 
 costs the heart a violent wrench to be torn 
 from them. The fair, blue heavens — the 
 royal sun — night, with its twinkling st.us — 
 the landscape, with its charms — ocean, 
 sleeping in beauty or lashed by teropost — 
 the scenes of childhood and youth — the 
 
■, rciiMc to |iir/,» 
 >r]f^H |»ricr, (111" 
 * rxtTlioii would 
 if our lirows W(> 
 ■ II priiT to p-iy 
 ' of our iKildc.it 
 l)(< uiidrriiikiMi ; 
 tlin iiitiiii oliji'i't 
 
 I'llllMlliflll lilt', 
 
 iiti'il, or Ml Ifu^it 
 witli little I'liro. 
 crime itiiil coii- 
 ilil our worlii liu, 
 licr cxiliisivtly, 
 
 I loo, would l)c' 
 df tlicir powtT. 
 
 the horror wiili 
 Y recoil nt tlu) 
 d rt'iijiird the in- 
 d" c()iu|)ar;itiv( ly 
 )cii;ly .vould ln' 
 most imjiortuiit 
 raliu. Mild fVoiii :t 
 pri'stdit a dire 
 " j^aiiKj wliitdi," 
 ho g'Mitlo Cow- 
 :ts wifjf, kiii;^s 
 become llie luii- 
 , in tnitli, coii- 
 disinal iliaii tho 
 jflculed, of thf) 
 is contemplated 
 ho arraii;;ti:ii'ut 
 death hIiouIJ be 
 
 las its religious 
 ng presuii'piioii 
 jclaiins the lior- 
 from tho idea of 
 to us Uiat some 
 to 1)0 coiisiyiicd 
 the voice of the 
 
 II grandeur and 
 
 a thousand roa- 
 m.se fondness to 
 id us : they be- 
 urselves, and ii 
 rench to be lorii 
 heavens — the 
 winklinjjstais — 
 charms — ocean, 
 sd by tenipcsi — 
 and youdi — the 
 
 THE LOVB OF LIFB. 
 
 7n 
 
 f.ices iiroimd our hearth— it is not poetry, 
 reader, it '\i* nalnro that bids us pnzo tho 
 boon of beiii)< : — 
 
 •' For wlK'i '" '•"" fnrnetfiilnffw a pr«>y, 
 
 This i.liu-iiiK, luixjoin b'-iiig >' '•' T<-Mmeil, 
 U-il III!' "uriii prriMIlcl!! of til.- ilici-rlul ■ iiy, 
 Nor oiiKt oiic longing, lliig'fing look belund I 
 
 Hut the love of life has its limits ns well 
 riM its UHcs It may bo vaiupiislied ; it 
 
 may lie ex|ielled the bosom by higher and 
 more powerful sentiments. The human 
 family were defamed when a certain au- 
 thority declared, " All that a man hath will 
 he uive for his life."—" Your master;' said 
 the brave Carmathian to i\who. who waited 
 on him, " fv "t the head of thirty thousand 
 soldurs : thrir swh men as these arc want- 
 ing in his ho^t ," while, at the sn'-ir, lime, 
 uccostini,' three of his champi . s, lie om- 
 Miaiid. d the lirst to plunge U'u/gcr n-*o 
 his bii:;i>t, Hie second to Icf ,) intii the ''.;■ 
 gris, ^iid ilm ih'rd to cast "in ''If iifa.'- 
 long down a precipice. His > •■':■:« w, j 
 iristatitly. and without a munn ob.iyed. 
 II till-, and kindred incidents, wo see tho 
 love of Ide giving way to another, wc 
 wont siiy a more exalteil sentiment. 
 
 Hut tin le are other and far higher dis- 
 plvys of this mastery. We see it cim- 
 (piei-ed ofii'ii by the thirst for knowledge, 
 espe. , ilK when that is associated with 
 the ihir.st for distinction. There is a nu- 
 merous, and in many respects a noble 
 class, who enrich their understandings at 
 tho expense, may we not say the sacri- 
 fice, of ihuir existence. There are initd- 
 lecluul iiiarlyrs, even as Galileo was, when 
 sickening in his dmigeon for maintaining 
 that cnir globe was not the centre of the 
 planetary system. Theie are men whose 
 devotion to study is maintained at tho peril 
 of life. They realize the words applied 
 to Henry Kirlco White by a brother poet: — 
 " Ho mirsod the pinion which impelli'il llie steel." 
 
 They are sal comments on the wise 
 mail's statement—" Much study is a wea- 
 riness of tho flesh." Is it too much to 
 say thai these have conquered their love 
 of life, or at any rate, got it subordina- 
 ted to other ends ? By no means. We 
 are told of Achilles that he had two alter- 
 natives set b.'ture him— to die covered 
 with glory won on tho plains of Troy, or 
 to pass a long life without renown in the 
 
 place of his nativity. We can conceive 
 of such an allernaiivo Iniving tieeii suli- 
 mitted, at llit! <'omineneetneiit of their in- 
 tellectual career, to some as illuHtrimis for 
 genius in the hero of the lliarl was for 
 feats of arms. Wd can conceive the 
 (luestion proposoil to many whose names 
 are now ideiitifii'd with the moit brilliant 
 intellectual ncbievenients of our kind, 
 whether thoy would go to nn early ^i ive, 
 or lose those delights and those honors, 
 which scientific research, tho labors of 
 art, or the (lights of iitiaginalion, would be 
 sure to win for them. And we plead that 
 the former alternative wtmld have been 
 prfferred. Would Milton have sacrificed, 
 for a paltry addition of twnty years to lii»< 
 tack of life, the superb visions that crowded 
 thickly on his soul while ho meditated his 
 great epic, and gave it to the worlil in the 
 proud consciousness, as he said, thai pos- 
 terity " would not willingly let it die^ ? 
 Would Newton have changed ages with 
 Methuselah, if his iiint!-hnndred and nine- 
 ty-nine years had cost him tho glory of 
 tho di.voverer of gravitali-.n ? Would 
 Byron, though skeptical of another world, 
 have " ripened liuar with time," and for 
 this have boon contented to uo down to 
 tho dust, leaving no name that " made an 
 epitaph"? Would Franklin have sacri- 
 ficed his fame as the man who " sketched 
 the constitution of a continent with one 
 hand, while with the other ho drew the 
 lightning from the clouds," for ages of in- 
 glorious ease? The tenacity with which 
 we cling to existence is indeed strong ; 
 but we do not hesitate to say, that in 
 minds of the higher order, the love of 
 knowledge, when, especially, it is associ- 
 ated with the thirst for renown, is still 
 stronger. 
 
 Then the love of life is frequently mus- 
 tered and displaced by the afTections ; we 
 allude to the benevolent and patriotic emo- 
 tions, but more especially to our luinestic 
 sympathies. Wo allow, indeed, that in 
 cases such as thoee wo are about to men- 
 tion, there may be a mixture ami coidlict 
 of motives— a portion of aUoy mi.vod with 
 the pure gold. Hut what of it ? Our ad- 
 miration of mankind will be limited in- 
 deed, if we accord it to none ol ihoir ac- 
 tions save those that flow from motives 
 quite unadulterated. This apart then, we 
 
 till 
 
 illq 
 
 
*!»#! 
 
 impi^ 
 
 find that the love of life often yields to 
 purer and more exalted affections. The 
 gallant seaman, braving the lash of the 
 tempest or the scorchings of the fire alone, 
 that he may rescue the tenants of his bark 
 from a grave in the deep — the devoted 
 soldier, interposing his own person and 
 receiving the stroke that would have killed 
 his leader — the patriot facing the dangers 
 of the field that he may protect the honor 
 and independence of his country — the 
 Christian missionary, toiling and dying in 
 the sublime cause of the world's evangel- 
 ization — these, and such as these, attest 
 that the love of life, however strong, may 
 be conquered. So that, while the names 
 of Leonidas, of Wallace, and of Tell, 
 adorn the page of history — while those of 
 Howard and other benefactors of their race 
 live in the memory of mankind — while the 
 " Martyr of Erromango" is not forgotten, 
 we shall not want proof of this. 
 
 Then there are what we have called 
 our domestic sympathies. One page of 
 Roman story tells us of two friends, Da- 
 mon and Pythias, whose attachment was 
 so heroically strong, that either of them 
 could have died for the other : here the 
 love of life was subdued by the ardor of 
 friendship. The case of the citizens of 
 Calais will also suggest itself to the mind 
 of the reader. And, to speak more di- 
 rectly in reference to our domestic sympa- 
 thies, where is the mother who would not 
 brave death to snatch the infant of her 
 bosom from impending destruction t where 
 the father who would not peril liis own 
 life to save that of his son 1 or the brother 
 who could endure an existence purchased 
 by pusillanimous exemption from a danger 
 which proved fatal to a sister ' Excep- 
 tions there may be ; still, we plead, the 
 rule is on that side most honorable :o our 
 nature. 
 
 Attachment to principle, toe, will de- 
 throne the love of hfe. We need not 
 name the thousands who hare not " reck- 
 oned their lives dear to them," for the tes- 
 timony they held — the noble army of 
 martyrs, who 
 
 " Lived unknown, 
 Till persecution dragged them into fame, 
 And chased them up to heaven." 
 
 They braved the lion, they dared the stake, 
 they quaffed the boiling lead, rather than 
 
 prove recreant to the cause of sacred 
 truth. Their scorn, shall we call it, of 
 life, was noble, when, to have preserved it 
 they must have parted with what was far 
 dearer to them — a good conscience. 
 
 It is beautifully and wisely arranged, 
 that our attachment to life should be ar- 
 dent ; but it would be dishonoring to us to 
 suppose that it can not be stirmounted. 
 We have, in these remarks, endeavored to 
 indicate both the uses of this great law of 
 nature, and also its limits. 
 
 THE CITY ON THE SEA. 
 
 In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more, 
 And Bilent rows the sougless gondolier; 
 Her palaces are crumbling to the sliore, 
 And music meets not always now the ear. 
 Those days are gone, but beauty still is here. 
 States fall, hearts fade, but Nature dolh not die, 
 Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear. 
 The pleasant place of al' festivity. _ 
 The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy 
 But unto us she hath a spell beyond 
 Her name in story and her long array 
 Of mighty shadows, where dim forms despond 
 Above the dogeless city's vanished sway. 
 Ours is a trophy which will not decay 
 With the Kialto ; Shylock and the Moor, 
 And Pierre, can not be swept, worn away, 
 The key-ston a of the arch, though all wer3 o er- 
 ror us repeopled were the solitary shore. 
 
 Byron's Childe Hauold. 
 
 T may be said with 
 equal truth of empires, 
 that which a very high 
 authority has said of 
 man. We all do fade 
 as a leaf, and the vari- 
 ous dynasties of time 
 which have blazed, 
 waned, and expired, do 
 all attest the fact. But 
 there is a view of the analogy which is 
 very seldom taken j and if empires fade, 
 they fade as a leaf, they do not die . Noth- 
 ing in nature dies — the leaf which falls 
 to the ground may appear to be an insig- 
 nificant thing, and as it perishes frorn hu- 
 man observation, it may excite no inter- 
 est or attention ; but we are stating noth- 
 ing which cur readers have heard for the 
 first time, when we remind thom that the 
 leaf does not perish. With thousands 
 and myriads of its fellows it is carried 
 1 along, and thus contributes to the forma- 
 
> cause of sacred 
 hall we call it, of 
 ,0 have preserved it 
 
 with what was far 
 i conscience, 
 d wisely arranged, 
 
 life should be ar- 
 lishonoring to us to 
 lot be surmounted, 
 arks, endeavored to 
 of this great law of 
 lits. 
 
 i THE SEA. 
 
 are no more, 
 ess gondolier; 
 5 to the shore, 
 ays now tlie enr. 
 beauty still is here, 
 t Nature dolli not die, 
 ;e once was dear, 
 festivity. 
 
 e masque of Italy 
 ell beyond 
 if long array 
 re dim forms despond 
 I vanished sway, 
 'ill not decay 
 k and the Moor, 
 ^^ept, worn nwiiy, 
 ;h, though all wers o'er — 
 le solitary shore. 
 on's Childb Harold. 
 
 may be said with 
 al truth of empires, 
 t which a very high 
 hority has said of 
 a. VVe. all do fade 
 a leaf, and the vari- 
 I dynasties of time 
 ich have blazed, 
 ned, and expired, do 
 attest the fact. But 
 he analogy which is 
 and if empires fade, 
 sy do not die. Noth- 
 the leaf which falls 
 ppear to be an insig- 
 it perishes from hu- 
 i>ay excite no inter- 
 we are stating noth- 
 s have heard for the 
 emind thom that the 
 h. With thousands 
 fellows it is carried 
 ributes to the forma- 
 
 ^ji 
 
 m 
 
 tm 
 
 JP 
 
■^"5^' 
 
 h ■ 
 
 
 S**! 
 
 716 
 
 THE CITY ON THE SEA. 
 
 tion of the mighty deltas which are to be 
 the future empires of the globe. And em- 
 pires can not be said to die. How many 
 instances does history afford to our minds 
 of the relics of the empire escaping from 
 the cruelty of the conqueror's sword ; em- 
 igrating to other lands, and founding there 
 a city, perhaps an empire, which has ri- 
 valled tho.r ancient birthplace. We are 
 told, though certainly the account seems 
 somewhat fabulous, how the bark of Bru- 
 tus or Briutus, after the conquest of Troy, 
 breasted the waves and rode in triumph 
 over the stormy billows, and landing on an 
 uncultivated part of the coast, founded 
 there a colony, which took his name, and 
 eventually became the seat of commerce 
 and glory, the island of Britain. 
 
 This certainly seems not an improbable 
 tale, but be it as it may, thus was Venice 
 founded. When the Visigoths, under Al- 
 aric, poured down from their mountains 
 upon Home, spreading around them death 
 and destruction, a few refugees escaped, 
 and in the lagoon or mouth of the Adriat- 
 ic, built a city which commanded the ad- 
 miration of all Europe, and held at once the 
 sword of state and terror. 
 
 It may be as well, before we pass to a 
 slight sketch of the city to notice the chief 
 cause which contributed to its far-famed 
 independency, to which indeed we have 
 already adverted when we mentioned the 
 lagoon. The Adriatic gulf receives in its 
 southern part all the waters which flow 
 from the southern declivity of the Alps 
 irom the Po, which has its source in the 
 Cottian range, and collects all the waters 
 of Piedmont and Milan to the Lisonzo, 
 which originates in the mountains of Car- 
 niola. The estuary of the most southern 
 of these rivers is above thirty leagues dis- 
 tant from that which lies furthest nortl 
 ward, and between these extreme poinK, 
 the gulf receives the waters of the Adge, 
 the Brenta, the Paive, the Livenzi the 
 Lemene, and the Tagliamento, as well as 
 many other streams of less impa.tance : 
 every one of them carries dowi in the 
 rainy season immense quantititJ of mud, 
 sand, etc., etc.; so that the -ead of the 
 gulf, gradually piled up witl these depos- 
 ites, is neither sea nor land This vast estu- 
 ary is called the lagooD it comprises a 
 space between twentj *.«d thirty miles 
 
 from the shore, and is inaccessible to tem- 
 pest and storm, though the "vMd waves of 
 the sea burst with fury against the shores. 
 Amid the tortuous channels of the lagoon, 
 the pilot finds no pathway unless long ex- 
 perience has taught him its varied wind- 
 ings. Yet amid these shoals and mud 
 banks, there have been from ages the most 
 remote, individuals who have found a home 
 on some sites which appear to be firmer 
 and more staple than others, and here 
 Venice eventually raised her glory and 
 renown. In tracing the history of this 
 republic, the empire she had over the sea 
 is clearly distinguished. In the year 558, 
 she possessed a considerable navy of gal- 
 leys. Gibbon remarks that her marriage 
 with the Adriatic was contracted in early 
 infancy, it originated in the reign of Zia- 
 ni, one of her doges. Pope Alexander Bar- 
 barossa, had taken refuge at Veiiice. and 
 was protected by the state. The einper- 
 or sent a considerable AaoA against it, 
 which, under the comitand of his son 
 Otho, in an obstinate e-.igagement that en- 
 sued, the Venetians were victorious ; Zia- 
 ni returned in triuouph with thirty of the 
 emperor's vessels, and Otho a prisoner. 
 The shore was «rowded with the inhabi- 
 tants — the pop* came attended by the sen- 
 ate and clergy, and embracing Ziani, he 
 addressed bim as follows : " Take this 
 ring, use i* as a chain to retain the sea 
 henceforth in subjection to the Venetian 
 empire, <jspouse the sea with the ring, 
 and le* he marriage be solemnized annu- 
 ally b/ you and your successors to the 
 end of time, that the latest posterity may 
 km. 4f that Venice had acquired the em- 
 pue of the waves, and that the sea is sub- 
 j.)cted to you as a wife to her husband." 
 This speech, certainly a very foolish one, 
 to say the best of it, elicited the greatest 
 applause, and the ceremony of the mar- 
 riage was performed every year until the 
 French terminated the mummery in 1798. 
 Yet on many occasions through her his- 
 tory, Venice manifested her power on the 
 ocean. In 804 they employed large ships- 
 of-war, with which they repulsed Pepin 
 the son of Charlemagne, who himself con- 
 fessed their sovereignly. The following 
 century they had three-masted square-built 
 ships, carrying from 1,200 to 2,000 tons. 
 At the period of their greatest prosperity 
 
 
8 inaccessible to tetn- 
 ^h the "j'AA waves of 
 ry against the shores, 
 annels of the lagoon, 
 thway unless long ex- 
 him its varied wind- 
 lese shoals and mud 
 sen from ages the most 
 IT ho have found a home 
 1 appear to be firmer 
 lan others, and here 
 raised her glory and 
 5 the history of this 
 she had over the sea 
 led. In the year 558, 
 isiderable navy of gal- 
 irks that her marriage 
 as contracted in early 
 d in the reign of Zia- 
 
 Pope Alexander liar- 
 refuge at Venice, and 
 le state. The einper- 
 -able fl:<set ag<tin5t it, 
 comncaiid of his son 
 te evigagement that en- 
 i f/«re victorious ; Zia- 
 &ph with thirty of the 
 and Otho a prisoner, 
 wded with the inhabi- 
 ne attended by the sen- 
 d embracing Ziani, he 
 follows : " Take this 
 ihain to retain the sea 
 ection to the Venetian 
 he sea with the ring, 
 ;e be solemnized anim- 
 foxxt successors to the j 
 he latest posterity may 
 
 had acquired the em- 
 and that the sea is sub- 
 i wife to her husband." 
 inly a very foolish one, 
 it, elicited the greatest 
 ceremony of the mar- 
 ed every year until the 
 1 the mummery in 1798. 
 Cdsions through her his- 
 fested her power on the 
 jy employed large ships- 
 :h they repulsed Pepin 
 lagne, who himself con- 
 eignty. The following 
 hree-masted square-built 
 im 1,200 to 2,000 tons, 
 heir greatest prosperity 
 
 in the fifteenth century, they had thirty- 
 tlireo sl'ips-of-war, liesides merchantmen ; 
 30,000 seamen, and 16,000 artificers em- 
 ployed in the finest arsenal llien in Eu- 
 rope—they first acquired a lordship of 
 Dalmatia, and pursued subsequently a 
 s.eady course of aggrandizement. The 
 fourteenth century was remarkable for the 
 slr-.iggle between the Venetian and Ligu- 
 rian republics, which threatened at one 
 time to reduce the Roman empire to a prov- 
 ince of Genoa, and to annihilate the trade, 
 and perhaps the existence of Venice. 
 Venice was reduced to the lowest ebb af- 
 ter the battle of Pola, and the taking of 
 Chioza on the IGth of August, by the uni- 
 ted armaments of the Genoese and Fran- 
 cesco di Carrara, when she called from 
 her dungeons the oidy man able to save 
 her, and he did save her. Confined by 
 the ingratituile of his country, he nobly 
 and magnanimously forgot the wrongs he 
 might have avenged — this man was Velior 
 Pisani. The Venetians conquered the 
 Genoese, and on the 24 ': of June, i;380, 
 the doge Contarini made his triumphal 
 entry into Chioza. 
 
 To trace the dignity to which it attained 
 in the fifteenth century, its accessions to 
 mighty power, and .the envy it excited in 
 the courts of Europe, requires a greater 
 space than can bo allotted to this article ; 
 and as many of the more interesting of 
 its historical features will pass the eye in 
 surveyiTS'g its public buildings, we may 
 pass through the period of its greatness, 
 to the era of its declining power, and the 
 conquest by the French republic, when it 
 fell v/ithout a struggle for its liberty. One 
 of the most singular features in the Vene- 
 tian history, i& the inquisition of state — 
 that corrupt and despotic government, 
 which, under any other name than that of 
 republic, would have been regarded with 
 universal execration. Imagination fails 
 in endeavoring to conceive a council who 
 carried on their deeds of darkness with 
 such privacy. The bridge which led to 
 these awful dungeons and chambers of 
 gloom, was called the Bridge of Sighs. 
 Would you visit the supreme council 
 chamber, endeavor to imagine a room wide 
 and lofty, black -tapestry hanging all 
 around it, and the ceiling covered with 
 terrific figures from the pencil of Tinter- 
 
 etto, depicting the various virtues, bearing 
 in their hands the instruments of torture 
 used by the trioiinal.* Oh, what scenes 
 has this room witnessed! how many in- 
 nocent victims to caprice and ro^venge 
 have suffered here ! There are two doors 
 to this apartment, one through which the 
 prisoner was conducied to the tribunal — 
 one through which, if guilty, he was con- 
 ducted from it. These chambers were 
 opened by the French government, imme- 
 diately upon the surrender of the repub- 
 lic, as well as the dungeons beneath. 
 These dungeons are entered by a trap- 
 door, and a chilly dread creeps over the 
 heart, as one remembers the fate of thou- 
 sands of those who entered these dread 
 abodes. Vaulted passages, where neither 
 light nor air can penetrate — rooms whoso 
 vaults and roofs are cased with iron, each 
 with its broad wooden board, serving at 
 once the purpose of chair, table, and bed, 
 and the apartment terminating the series 
 of dungeons, from which, if a prisoner 
 once enter, he returns no more — the 
 room where he was strangled, the room 
 whence his body was cast into the canal 
 beneath. 
 
 This governr • if Venice consisted 
 of a doge, who w -, .> elected magistrate, 
 and difl'erent councils of the nobles, in 
 whose hands the chief magistrate was a 
 mere pageant of state, likely to have his 
 most private affairs investigated by the 
 haughty aristocracy. The inhabitants of 
 Venice were slaves to the will of their 
 tyrants. No discussion of political mat- 
 ters was allowed, and anonymous accusa- 
 tions were received and acted upon —the 
 accusations being placed in the mouth of 
 the lion standing in the Place of St. Mark. 
 The following anecdote will convey an 
 idea of the despotic nature of the Vene- 
 tian government. An English gentleman 
 
 • In the armory of the arsenal at Venice, are pre- 
 served four inslriiments of torture employed by the 
 Councils of the Three and of the Ten, for wresting 
 confession from the victims, 'the first is an iron 
 helmet, which was forced upon the hi'ad of the vic- 
 tim intended for torture. He was seatt'd, bound to 
 a chair, and through various little holes, sliarp m- 
 strumeiits were thrust jito his head l)eliin(t his ear, 
 and in his shouklers. Another iiistnimeiit is an iron 
 collar, bristled with spikes which were poisoned. 
 The third is a thumb-screw of peculiar construc- 
 tion, capable of giving a refinement of torture ; and 
 the fourth is a pair of pincers, which, when heated, 
 were used by the torturer for tearing the flesh. 
 
 *f-\ 
 
 ifin 
 
 ?»«?' 
 
¥'*'*^ 
 
 718 
 
 THE CITY ON THE 8EA. 
 
 one day entered into conversation with a 
 Neapolitan at one of the taverns of the 
 city, and the discourse happening to turn 
 upon the Venetian government, the Nea- 
 politan greatly condemned, while the Eng- 
 lishman as warmly commended, some of 
 its institutions. In the middle of the 
 night, the Englishman was aroused by a 
 loud knocking at the door of his hotel, 
 and presently after, th", officers of justice 
 entered his apartment, and commanded 
 him to rise. As soon as he was dressed, 
 a handkerchief was bound over his eyes, 
 and he was put on board a gondola. After 
 being rowed for some time, he was landed, 
 and led through long passages until he 
 reached a large hall, where his eyes were 
 unbound, and he was desired to notice 
 what he saw. The Neapolitan was sus- 
 pended from a beam by the neck. Shocked 
 at the sight, he inquired its meaning, and 
 was informed that he was thus punished 
 for the free animadversions he had made 
 on the Venetian government, and that al- 
 though the Englishman had refuted his 
 argument-, the republic was displeased 
 with him for entering on such a topic, ns 
 it needed no advocates, and commanded 
 him to quit its territories on pain of death. 
 His eyes were again covered, and he 
 was taken back to his hotel, where he lost 
 no time in preparing for his departure, 
 having no wish to remain in a city where 
 political discussion was attended with such 
 dangers. 
 
 But the great centre of attraction at 
 Venice is the Place of St. Mark ; and the 
 principal objects which here meet the eye, 
 are the Cathedral, Orologio, and the Cam- 
 panile, the latter seeming to be append- 
 ages to the main edifice. In front of the 
 church are three tall, red poles, looking 
 like masts, from which, in former days, 
 the flags of the vassal kingdoms of Can- 
 dia, Cyprus, and the Morea, waved ; they 
 are still decorated on festival-days wi'h 
 gay streamers. Over the porch of the 
 Orologio stands the admirable clock, cel- 
 ebrated next to Strasburgh for its many 
 movements, among which, about twelve 
 and six, which ard the hours of Ave Ma- 
 ria, when all the town are on their knees, 
 the three kings come forth, led by a star, 
 and passing by the image of Christ in his 
 mother's arms, do them reverence, and 
 
 enter the clock by another door. At the 
 top of this turret, another automaton strikes 
 the quarters. The Campanile is a heavy 
 and heterogeneous pile, neither grand nor 
 beautiful. It was built when the imagi- 
 nations of the Venetians were full of Con- 
 stantinople, and the exploits of Dandalo ; 
 most of its materials came from Greece, 
 and the architects, as well as architec- 
 ture, were Byzantine. It was here that 
 Galileo studied at the period when the 
 persecutions of the Romish church would 
 have dimmed the lustre of the heavens 
 from which he was drawing conclusions 
 so sublime and important. The church 
 of St. Mark is, without exaggeration, the 
 most intensely glorious in its internal 
 construction and adornment, that the eye 
 has ever seen or that the imagination has 
 ever conceived. Columns of porphyry, 
 verd antique, and oriental marbles ; the 
 pavements composed of minute pieces of 
 white and colored marbles, jasper, agate, 
 lapis lazuli, etc, variously, and for the 
 most part, beautifully disposed : the inlaid 
 ornaments and gilded capitals produce al- 
 together astonishment and admiration. 
 This temple is adapted for nocturnal illu- 
 mination, and when brilliantly lighted up, 
 its effect must be splendid in the extreme. 
 The Piazza is the only place in Venice 
 where those things which we vulgarly 
 call legs, but for which a Venetian has no 
 use, can be used, every excursion in Ven- 
 ice being by water ; but if it should oc- 
 cur to the mind that»the leg may be used, 
 the Piazza is the place of promenade, and 
 the associations connected with that small 
 spot of earth are deeply interesting. 
 Here were celebrated the great fair, the 
 carnival, the ceremonials of the church, 
 the triumphs of the state ; here the stage 
 was erected for the juggler, the scaffold 
 for the executioner — 
 
 " The sea, that emblem of uncertainty. 
 Changed not so last for many and many an age 
 As this small spot. To-day teems full of masks, 
 And lo, the madness of the carnival ! 
 The monl<, the nun, the holy legate masked ; 
 To-morrow comes the »:atfold and the wheel, 
 And he died then by torchlight, bound and gagg'd, 
 Whose name and crime they knew not." 
 
 [ROOEBS, 
 
 The bridge of the Rialto is interesting ; 
 the mind immediately associates it with 
 Shakspere. It was designed by Antonio 
 
)ther door. At tho 
 er automaton strikes 
 impanile is a heavy 
 B, neither grand nor 
 It when the imagi- 
 ns were full of Con- 
 xploitg of Dnndalo ; 
 came from Greece, 
 9 well as architec- 
 It was here that 
 e period when the 
 jmish church would 
 3tre of the heavens 
 Irawing conclusions 
 rtant. The church 
 ut exaggeration, the 
 3U3 in its internal 
 rnment, that the eye 
 the imagination has 
 lumns of porphyry, 
 lental marbles ; the 
 of minute pieces of 
 rbles, jasper, agate, 
 riously, and for the 
 disposed : the inlaid 
 
 capitals produce al- 
 nt and admiration, 
 id for nocturnal illu- 
 irillianlly lighted up, 
 indid in the extreme, 
 inly place in Venice 
 
 which we vulgarly 
 :h a Venetian has no 
 ry excursion in Ven- 
 
 but if it should oc- 
 tho leg may be used, 
 ;6 of promenade, and 
 ected with that small 
 
 deeply interesting, 
 d the great fair, the 
 nials of the church, 
 itate ; here the stage 
 
 juggler, the scaffold 
 
 )f uncertainty, 
 
 many and mony an age 
 i-day teems i'liU of masks, 
 
 the carnival ! 
 
 boly Ifgate masked ; 
 ktattold and the wheel, 
 chlight, bound and gagg'd, 
 
 they knew not." 
 
 [RoOEBi, 
 
 Rialto is interesting ; 
 iy associates it with 
 designed by Antonio 
 
 r 
 
 11! 
 
 . 3 
 { 
 
 f* 
 
 u 
 
 ft* 
 
 ft 
 
 *#w 
 
 is 
 
 Hki 
 
 The Rialto. 
 
 

 ««'!l4 
 
 1^ 
 
 liO 
 
 THW CITY ON THE SEA. 
 
 dn Pome.i;. architect of the public prison. 
 Oh, Veiiice ! V»;nice ! as we walk thy 
 streets, how our thoughts roll back to 'he 
 days of thy glory, when thy winged lion, 
 which even now 
 
 " Stands as in mockery of iti wilhereo' jjower," 
 
 was an emblem of the s.voep of thy mag- 
 nificence and empire, to which, as to the 
 monarch of the forest, the nations around 
 thee bowed. I walk upon the quay of the 
 Piazzetta, but no lordly procession nuets 
 my view, as in the days of the prone! po «- 
 tiff, Alexander the third. It was here the 
 Suabian sued, here the proud ecclesisistin 
 knelt upon his neck-— it is here the Aus- 
 trian eagle hovers, and triumphs over the 
 iaipoiency oi t'lr f ■>wer. J trace thy his- 
 tory, and I ii i sliat. not only now, but 
 even in thy grea i <-.-3, »..' on v/mt a ; lave — 
 a slave through thy tbivo hundred years 
 of stormy democr'uv --» sia.e beneath 
 thy close, ht^redilaiy & :3tocracy— a slave 
 beneath the oespvjti'm of the succeeding 
 oligarchy, and ujure a slave then than 
 now. I enter the '•' Sala del Gran Con- 
 siglio" of thy ducal palace — I see the 
 proud eld portraits of each doge. Gazing 
 upon me, they interest not my attention ; 
 they claim not my admiration. That 
 black vacancy, intended for disgrace, is a 
 I more noble memorial than all ; the " Lo- 
 I cus Marini Falieri Decapitati," is a noble 
 evidence that one Venetian once lived, 
 who sought to free his country from the 
 bonds of slavery. 
 
 Yet, Venice, thy name inspires associ- 
 ations of splendor, and a brilliancy gathers 
 over even thy slavery, as we think of 
 thee— when we think of the aspirations of 
 Galileo; how the gray-haired and vener- 
 able old man watched the silent planels 
 from ihy Cumnanile — of Paul Veronese, 
 andTitii».n, anj the Palmas, and Tinter- 
 etlo, who called forth the images which 
 breathe ou their canvass beneath thy 
 skies— of Petrarch, who sung of Laura 
 amid thy crowded buildings ; and thou 
 hast in thy territory his dust ; he sleeps 
 at Arqua. Thy glorious churches, thy 
 statues, thy immortal tombs, and thy gon- 
 doliers, stealing like th^^dows over the 
 waters — although 
 
 " lu Venice, Tasao's strains are lieard no more," 
 
 all these are thy glory, and thy glory they 
 must ever remain, more elevated than 
 others ; and it was upon those obsciirn and 
 sequestered spots that Venif» cveistually 
 raised her glory and renown. 
 
 Venice presents to !'m) mi.-.d vca aspect 
 partially of venerable u»ai(>niiy, partj Oly 
 of modern European pr(''mi»'?:>ca ; it is, 
 in point of faci, as Si:;sir,iuli r^mark^ in 
 his "History of Italian republics," "the 
 link which conis'cts ancient and modem 
 history ;" and when ',ve think or read of 
 Venice, •* dreamy grandeur and a solemn 
 sublimity gathers over the jjajiii and before 
 the eye ; wher ill tht; elements of gov- 
 ernment, <!' governir«rni such a state of 
 policy can be ctllei', v.-cre riding like mis- 
 erable wrecks «>n ihe billow7, commotion 
 of the storm, aii<l ignoranHy iivating the 
 conductor which was to call the lightning 
 that eventually struck them. At that mo- 
 ment Venice rose, and her eye glance?' 
 along the future and the past. The west- 
 ern Home was her j>arent ; she saw each 
 dying struggle for the returning triumph, 
 and the last laurels withered in her eye. 
 She saw the eastern vampire first wave its 
 sceptre ; alternately ii.? friend and its foe, 
 she accelerated or retarded its glory ; she 
 triumphed at last over its disgrace, and in 
 its death-pangs divided the s|M>il with the 
 strong. She saw the French power rise 
 when Clovis conquered Gaul. The Os- 
 trogothic and the Visigothic powers, their 
 glory and their gloom were alike beheld 
 by her. The continent seemed shaken ; 
 she alone seemed to stand immovable ; at 
 last she fell ; the proud republic gave way, 
 " and the stale," says Sismondi, *' which 
 linked the present with the past, and 
 joined the two eras of the world's civili- 
 zation, ceased to exist." 
 
 We annex an account of the gondola, 
 or boat, employed in traversing the marine 
 streets or canals of Venice. 
 
 The length of this beautiful boat is 
 nearly thirty feet, and the breadth about 
 five ; and it affords accommodations for 
 six passengers, beside the two rowers. 
 Some, however, ar" much smaller, and 
 are rowed by one j.'rjjn. The gondola 
 is flat-bottomed, ann as sides slope away 
 considerably , parti-jiiariy toward the after 
 part, which, ';!►'.•■ ho boat is »?mpty, rises 
 high out of tjv ^dtor. The seats, which 
 
md thy glory they 
 re eUivatoil thiui 
 those obscure and 
 Veiii^u eveiiluaily 
 own. 
 
 HI •nv.-.d Ml a8[)f!ct 
 iraiqif'iy, paruvlly 
 i> <!mii)'^:>ca ; it in, 
 iiriiili romarJiH in 
 republics," "the 
 icsfcHt and modern 
 
 think or read of 
 leur and a solemn 
 le pnun and before 
 
 etements of gov- 
 ; such a state of 
 Te rilling like mis- 
 lillow;/ commotion 
 infiy I'ivating the 
 
 call the lightning 
 lem. At that m<>- 
 
 her eye glance;' 
 
 past. The west- 
 nt ; she saw each 
 returning triumph, 
 bered in her eye. 
 ipire first wave its 
 
 friend and its foe, 
 ded its glory ; she 
 in disgrace, and in 
 
 the s|M)il with the 
 French power rise 
 1 Gaul. The Os- 
 othic powers, their 
 were alike beheld 
 t seemed shaken ; 
 md immovable ; at 
 republic gave way, 
 Sismondi, *' which 
 ith the past, and 
 
 the world's civili- 
 
 n 
 
 jnl of the gondola, 
 
 iversing the marine 
 
 nice. 
 
 I beautiful boat is 
 
 the breadth about 
 ccommodalions for 
 3 the two rowers, 
 ^tuch smaller, and 
 
 >fT. The gondola 
 ^ sides slope away 
 riy toward the after 
 joat is j^mpty, rises 
 
 The seats, which 
 
 THE CITY ON THE SEA. 
 
 721 
 
 are placed at a distance of something less 
 than two thirds the length of the boat from 
 its head, have a tilt over them, with win- 
 dows and curtains. This tilt, which is 
 extremely light and elegant, and remove- 
 able at pleasure, is of frame-work, covered 
 with black cloth, ornamented with tufts of 
 the same color. The head is furnished 
 with a flat iron be?.k or prow, of the form 
 shown in the engraving, which is sun- 
 ilar to what is seen in the representation 
 of the ancient galleys; this is never 
 painted, but kept highly polished : the 
 stern has a wooden beak, not so elevated 
 as that at the head. The seats usually 
 have cushions covered with plush, and the 
 floor is furnished with carpets. The gon- 
 dolas of private persons, as well as those 
 which are let for hire, are invariably 
 painted black. Formerly the Venetians 
 vied with each other in the splendot of 
 their gondolas, but so much inconvenience 
 
 are low, even the poorest people make 
 frequent use of these boats, and on a 
 saint's day, or other holyday, they are seen 
 gliding in all direcii(ms, their occupants 
 sometimes conversing or listening to sto- 
 ries, more frequently playing at larocco. 
 a game at caids. 
 
 In rowing, the gondoliers stand on the 
 extreme edge of the vessel : the master, 
 or principal gondolier, on the right side, 
 with his face toward the head of the boat, 
 and his companion on the left side, behind 
 the company. On the after part, where 
 the back rower is placed, there is a flat 
 piece added over the gunwale of the boat, 
 on which he stands. Thus placed, the 
 gondoliers seem, to strangers, in imminent 
 danger of falling overboard. But this is 
 m event which rarely happens. They 
 balance themselves with apparent ease, 
 and even elegance, pushing their oars for- 
 ward, and giving them, by the action of 
 the wrist, a turn in the water, resembling 
 
 gondola still appears 
 
 The black "color gives them a very 
 sombre, funereal appearance, and their 
 first effect on strangers is at variance with 
 our notions of Venetian gaycty and ele- 
 gance. Our sailors call them "floating 
 coflins," " queer craft," and indeed they 
 have something of a hearse-like character 
 about them. When the black is allowed 
 to become brown and rusty, as is now, 
 owing to Venetian poverty, too often the 
 case, they look particularly shabby and 
 still more dismal. In such a city as Ven- 
 ice, intersected in every part by canals, 
 and where there are few parts where peo- 
 ple can walk a hundred yards without 
 coming to a high, steep bridge, built nearly 
 
 the blade is not bent, as in the English 
 oar, but more in the form of a paddle. 
 Tliey do not use rowlocks, but employ a 
 single fixed thowell, of a crooked form, 
 and about a fool long, against which they 
 hold the oar by pressure only. Previous 
 to tu (ling a corner, from one canal into an- 
 other, the gondoliers have a peculiar cry, 
 rather musical and agreeable, designed to 
 give warning to gondolas which may be 
 approaching in an opposite direction. 
 
 The gondoliers were formerly a very 
 imeresting portion of the Venetian popu- 
 lation, and enjoyed a degree of consider- 
 ation beyond that which persons in a sim- 
 ilar station of life receive among our- 
 selves. They still are a civil and well- 
 and act as ciceroni 
 
 r;f,rs=;;::s.:..;^2 --j^l"!.: 
 
 rising over an arch, carriages and horses 
 would be of no use. The gondola is the 
 sole equipage of the noble Venetian. In 
 this he is carried on his visits, for his 
 amusement, or to his business, and m this 
 a considerable part of his time w passed. 
 His head gondolier is to him what the 
 head coachman and the groom are to an 
 English gentleman, and something more. 
 When he wishes to go out, he does not 
 order "the horses to be P"\ *0'"^''"J _® 
 gondola to be got ready. 
 
 to travellers in showing them the curiosi- 
 ties of Venice, and even go wiih them to 
 the opera-house, and conduct them to their 
 boxes. Formerly they made the city vo- 
 cal ; for in gliding through its canals, and 
 at other times, they sang to one another, 
 in alternate stanzas, passages chiefly from 
 Tasso. translated into the Venetian dia- 
 lect. The verses they sang were almost 
 invariably taken from Tasso, ^nd rarely 
 from Ariosto or any other poet, rh« mo- 
 
 t to but me irom n.riuaiuvi »'v ; ^ , u „.. 
 
 As the fares | tives for this decided preference have been 
 
 m 
 

 .--* 
 
 ^.•i^% 
 
 
 I 
 
 .S 
 
 CD 
 
 « 
 
 ■3 
 
 o 
 
 a 
 o 
 

 THE OCELOT. 
 
 723 
 
 ^ 
 
 m 
 
 <§ 
 
 reasonably assigned by several writers to 
 the circumstance of Tasso's " epic, rela- 
 ling to the wars of the Crusades, where 
 the crescent of Mohamet was made to 
 wax pale before the Christian cross, and 
 to the antipathy, arising from long warfare, 
 both by land and sea, both m Europe and 
 Asia, that has existed between the Vene- 
 tians and the Turks. Shakspere's Othello 
 will show, as well as any historical record 
 could do, how violent was this feeling. 
 To this T.ay be added that the Venetians, 
 even d»wn to our own day, have continued 
 an intimate intercourse with Syria, the 
 Holy Land, Turkey, and all the Levant, 
 anJ are thus the better prepared to enjoy 
 Tasso's brilliant and beautiful pictures of 
 
 the " orient." 
 
 The melody thus sung was calculated 
 for remote elf'ect ; and when the gondo- 
 liers of distant vessels sung to each other 
 in alternate verses, the sound, as it came 
 " by distance made more sweet," was sin- 
 gularly pleasing. Speaking of this vocal 
 performance, it is said, in a note to the 
 fourth canto of " Childe Harold" : " It 
 suits particularly well with an idle, soli- 
 tary mariner, lying at length in his vessel, 
 at rest on one of these canals, waiting for 
 his company or for a fare, the tiresomeness 
 of which situation is somewhat alleviated 
 by the songs and poetical stories he has 
 in memory. He often raises his voice as 
 loud as he can, which extends itself to a 
 vast distance over the tranquil mirror; 
 and as all is still around, ho is, as it were, 
 in a solitude in the midst of a large and 
 populous town. Here is no rattling of 
 carriages, no noise of foot passengers : a 
 silent gondola glides now and then by 
 him, of which the splashings of the oars 
 are scarcely to be heard. At a distance 
 he hears another, perhaps utterly unknovvn 
 to him. Melody and verse immediately 
 attach the two strangers ; he becomes the 
 responsive echo to the former, and exerts 
 himself to be heard as he had heard the 
 other. By a tacit convention they alter- 
 nate verse for verse: though the song 
 should last the whole night through, they 
 entertain themselves without fatigue, and 
 the hearers, who are passing between the 
 two, take part in the amusement." But 
 this interesting practice has declined with 
 the prosperity and independence of Venice. 
 
 THE OCELOT. 
 
 HIS beautiful animal 
 is a native of Chili 
 and Mexico. The 
 ocelot was known to 
 the natives of South 
 America by the name 
 of tlalocelotl, from 
 which, by abbrevia- 
 tion, we have derived a cognomen less 
 dilficult to pronounce, and which, at the 
 same time does not much differ from the 
 original designation. In size the ocelot 
 is about three feet in length and eighteen 
 inches in height. The legs are long; 
 ears somewhat broad, and sometimes tip- 
 ped with a few hairs. Upon a gray 
 ground are oblong, fawn-colored patches 
 of a dark color, surrounded with a border 
 perfectly black. At the top of the back 
 there io a continuous, dark line, and the 
 tail is beautifully spotted. The under 
 part of the body is white, with spots of 
 fawn which extend to the feet. The skin 
 of the male ocelot exceeds that of tha 
 liger in beauty and variety, and in bright- 
 ness and regularity of the spots it is much 
 superior to the leopard. In this respect, 
 ihe panther or the ounce can not be com- 
 pared to the ocelot, so that in appearance 
 it is more elegant than those of its tribe 
 which inhabit the old world. In the fe- 
 male the colors of the skin are compara- 
 tively dull, and the spots less regular. 
 
 The ocelot, like most animals of the 
 cat tribe, is distinguished in its wild state 
 by considerable ferocity, though speci- 
 mens which have been brought to Europe 
 have exhibited a subdued character. A 
 male and female were brought to Paris in 
 1764 by M. Lescot, who had taken them 
 when quite young. It rarely attacks man, 
 and fears dogs, and when pursued, seeks 
 safety in flight, endeavoring to elude Us 
 BssailanU by mounting a tree. 
 
 The ocelot passes the day in its re- 
 treat, but night it prowls about in quest of 
 prey and under cover of the darkness, it 
 approaches human habitations and enters 
 the farmyard. It sometimes awaits the 
 approach of its prey concealed amid the 
 branches of a tree, and when they are 
 sufficiently near, it springs upon them 
 with unerring aim. It sucks the blood of 
 
 'I 
 
 f»i 
 
 «iii 
 
 
nl 
 
 ih\ 
 
 I 
 
 tv 
 
 Vcl 
 
 ■^.v^ 
 
 K.H8. 
 
 125 
 
 the animals which it (iMiroys, and ;»ef 
 fore ci.inmiis greater riiva«e» I ii.n il Us 
 apm-tiie were appeast-.l l.y U'edmg upon 
 U,e lU'sh of th.- ani.nals il killed. 
 
 In a Slate of captivity il does not lose 
 „ual. (.f its natural character. M. Lescol 
 states that he was ohhyed to conline in a 
 ciu'i- llie two specimens which he hrought 
 ov. r, and which had displayed their sav- 
 aj..- character at so early a period. He 
 supidied Ihem on the voyage wiih fresh 
 nu'ai, of which they ate seven or eight 
 pounds a day. The ocelot, like the jag- 
 liar, piinther, leopard, tiger, and lion, only 
 produces two of its kind al a birth. 
 
 lUILES FOR JUDGING OF THE 
 WEATHER. 
 
 T is agreeable and use- 
 ful lo have a barometer 
 in the house. It is a 
 pleasing companion and 
 friend. Those who no- 
 tice t daily will soon 
 find iliat they are not to 
 expect rain « hen the 
 pointer is at lain, nor 
 fair weather when such 
 is , ... monitory indication. That which 
 is to be observ. (f is the course of the ba- 
 rometer. If yeb^rday it was at " set 
 fair mdto lay it is down al " fair, ram 
 m '1 at iay moment ; and on the con- 
 trary i' IS b^.n at " much rain," and 
 has'grad risen to " rain," fair weath- 
 
 er -n V be cai ulated upon. The barom- 
 eu , , .'viih observation, is a weather guide ; 
 without it, unless in extreme cases, it can 
 not give the information w^'-led. Perhaps 
 the most infallible indica of the instru- 
 ment is that of a sudden an.i tensive fall, 
 when a storin is sure to a Attention 
 
 to this fact has probably iih. j than once 
 saved us from shipwreck or ..iher -lisasters 
 at sea. We give be! w the late Dr. Dal- 
 i ii's rules for judging of the w •>''r by 
 the barometer : — 
 
 '• When ''(8 baromiter a .. ar the high 
 extreme lui the season of the year, thcr- 
 is very iiltle probability ' immediate rain. 
 Wlieu the barometer ) »v for the sea- 
 son, there is seldom a grf weight ■ rain, 
 
 though a fair day in such a case in rare 
 The general tenor of the weather at siuh 
 times is short, heavy and sudden showers, 
 with squalls of wind iroin the soulliwesl 
 or northwest. 
 
 In summer, after a long coiiumiame of 
 fair weather, with the barom. ler liij;li, it 
 generally fulls gradually, and for one, two, 
 or more days, before there is much appear- 
 ance of rain. If the fall be sudd ii and 
 great for the season, it will, probably, b. 
 followed by thunder. 
 
 When the appearances of the sky are 
 very promising for fair, and the barometer 
 at the same time low, it maybe depended 
 upon, the appearances will not continue so 
 long. The face of the sky changes very 
 suddenly on such occasions. 
 
 Very dark and dense clouds pass over 
 without rain, when the barometer is high ; 
 whereas, when the barometer is low, it 
 sometimes rains, almost without any ap- 
 pearance of clouds. 
 
 All appearance being the same, the 
 higher the barometer is, the greater prob- 
 ability of fair weather. 
 
 Thunder is almost always preceded by 
 hot weather, and followed by cold and 
 showery weather. 
 
 A sudden and extreme change of the 
 temperature of the atmosphere, either from 
 heat to cold or cold to heal, is generally 
 followed by rain within twenty-four hours. 
 in winter, during a frost, if it begins 
 to snow, the temperature of the air gener- 
 ally rises to 32°, and continues there while 
 the snow falls, after which, if the weath- 
 er clear up, expect severe cold. 
 
 IGIERS. 
 
 LGIERS is sit- 
 uated in 360 49' 
 north latitude, 3° 
 25' east longi- 
 tude, on the sou- 
 thern shore of 
 the Medilurran( 
 ansea, the waves 
 of which wash its 
 walls. It is built 
 
 ,e form of an irregular triangle, the 
 
 ;1 
 
 
 
 »>l 
 
 'A 
 

 *^«*M 
 
 *'"■..» 
 
 f^'^f 
 
 72« 
 
 MUSIO. 
 
 base of which is formed by the seacoast. 
 The sirepts of the town iiro temarkiiltiy 
 narrow, fihhy, and uneven ; very few of 
 them cross others at right angles, and very 
 few are straight. 
 
 The town of Algiers rontnined thirteen 
 largo mosques, with minarets, und about 
 seventy small ones, or chap«;ls, as we 
 should call them, bolonginir to private in- 
 dividuals. There were a' a synagogue 
 for the Jews, and a chapel und hospital for 
 the Christians, the last of which was sup- 
 ported at the expense of the Spanish gov- 
 ernment. The palace of ihe deys was 
 in the lower part of the town ; but the lale 
 dey had hU esidence within the citadel, 
 at the highest ()<)int of the city. The town 
 derives from the country a tolerable sup- 
 ply of water, which is brought to it by an 
 aqut'duct, and then distributed by conduits 
 to the different parts of the city. Algiers 
 contains the usual proportion of baths and 
 coffeehouses, but there are none that ap- 
 pear to claim particular notice. 
 
 Previously to the French invasion the 
 state of Algiers was no anally subject to 
 the Turkish sultan, but was, in point of 
 fact, perfectly independent. The Turkish 
 dominion at Algiers, originated with the 
 famous Turkish corsair, whom we call 
 Barbarossa, but whose real name was 
 Horush, or Baba (father) Horush, as his 
 men were accustomed to call him. This 
 person was called in by the Algerine 
 Moors in 151G to assist them against the 
 Spaniards, and availed himself of the op- 
 portunity to make himself master of the 
 place ; but he ruled so tyrannically, as to 
 provoke the Moors to revolt, and he was 
 killed in 1518, fighting at the head of his 
 Turks. He, however, left a brother to 
 succeed him, who in order to secure his 
 authority, placed himself under the pro- 
 tection of the then mighty Turkish em- 
 pire the ruler of which, Selim I., appoint- 
 ed him pacha and Regent of Algiers, and 
 sent him a body of Janissaries. From 
 that time the sultan used to appoint the 
 pacha of Algiers, who was at the same 
 time commander of the forces, and to send 
 men and money for the service of the gar- 
 rison. But iu the seventeenth century the 
 Turkish militia obtained the right of 
 choosingtheirowncommander, and of pay- 
 ing themselves out of the revenue of the 
 
 regency : the sultan, however, continued 
 to send a pai ha, as civil governor, until 
 the beginning of the last century, whun 
 Haba Ali Dey, a chief of the militia, seize(^ 
 the then pacha, put him on board a nliip, 
 and sent him back to Constantinople. The 
 rebel did not omit to send by the same 
 vessel envo> s with rich presents to the 
 vizier and other principal officers of the 
 |)orte, intimating to them that the rejeci- 
 ed pachii had treacherous designs, and that 
 It would be well that the chief of the mil- 
 itia should in future perform thi duties of 
 tliorivil governor also, subject, of cours(!, 
 to the appro lation of the sultan. Tliu 
 porte was obliged to wink at this traniiac- 
 tion ; and from that time, the Janissaries, 
 with their chosen chief, have been abso- 
 lute masters at Algiers. The dignity of 
 dey was one which the lowest soldier 
 might hope one day to fill ; but it wni 
 held by a most precarious tenure, as the 
 lives of comparatively few of these mili- 
 tary governors have been allowed to reach 
 th!^ir natural terminatiou. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 ^ HE musical faculty 
 V^is not peculiar to innn. 
 Itabouwds in thecrios 
 and caroUings of many 
 of the inferior tribes. 
 There is music of the 
 most melting and 
 plaintive sort in the 
 notes wherewith the bird whose " little 
 household hath been stolen, fills and sad- 
 dens all the grove with melodies of deep- 
 est pathos." There is a higher and 
 harsher harmony in the scream of the 
 cloud-cleaving eagle, who goes up, sing- 
 ing his own wild song, thronsh the blue 
 ether, and over the arch of uiu r.nnbow. 
 There is cheerful and elevating music in 
 the note of the lark, rising alofi m the 
 d«iwy dawn, and screwing the fresh morn- 
 ing air, which the poet thus apostro- 
 phizes : — 
 
 " Hail to thee, blithe spirit !— 
 Bird thou never wen— 
 That from hedven, or near it, 
 Pourest thy full h^art 
 In profuse strains of unpremeditated art '. 
 
 ♦•'^ '"V, 
 
1««M 
 
 .i — iiiS 
 
 te.!,. :.^ 
 
 " Higher still, and higher, 
 
 Through the air thou springest ; 
 Like a cloud of f!;«, 
 The blue deep thou wingest ; 
 And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest." 
 
 There is music, who needs to be told, in 
 the note of the nightingale, called by Mil- 
 ton " most musical, most melancholy bird," 
 which trills her soft and tender lays as if 
 to soothe the evening for her grief at the 
 departure of the sun. There is music of 
 the boldest and most masculine kind in 
 the roar of the lion, coming up, vast and 
 hollow, upon the wind of the wilderness, 
 and affrighting the far-off caravan on its 
 solitary way. What a harmony there is 
 in the varied voices of inanimate crea- 
 tion — what a fine pause in the hush of the 
 evening — what a sweet tenor in the lapse 
 of a stream, which, to the " sleeping 
 woods, all night, singeth a quiet tune" — 
 what a shrill treble in the higher notes of 
 the gale singing through the shrouds — 
 and what a tremendous base in the voice 
 of the thunder, speaking from his black 
 orchestra to the echoing heavens ! Mrs. 
 Hemans asked Sir Walter Scott if he had 
 not observed that every tree gives out its 
 peculiar sound to the wind ? He said he 
 had, and suggested that something might 
 be done, by the union of music and poe- 
 try, to imitate those voices of trees, giving 
 a different measure and style to the oak, 
 the pine, the willow. Diversities in this 
 respect may be noticed among the trees 
 of the wood and the garden. From the 
 willow comes a kind of dry, hissing 
 sound — from the oak, a strong, sturdy 
 rustle, as if the old king of the forest, 
 over whom centuries had passed, yielded 
 his head reluctantly to the force of a blast, 
 born and dying that very moment — from 
 the sycamore, with its large leaves, a 
 calm, full murmur, as if the tree were one 
 vast hive of bees (and indeed, so often it 
 is) — from the yew-tree, a funereal wail, as 
 if each leaf were a sigh — and from the 
 pine, a deep, lingering, and most musical 
 sound, well called by a poet, an " old and 
 solemn harmony." So much for the mu- 
 sic of nature. We will only allude to the 
 beautiful fancy of the ancients, that from 
 the motions ci the heavenly orbs there is- 
 sued the soft floating of an ethereal and 
 immortal melody which the gross ear of 
 man hears not, but which is audible to 
 
 higher and holier spirits ; and that thus, 
 literally, do the morning stars sing to- 
 gether. We now know this to be but u 
 fancy, though a fancy of the finest and 
 most poetical kind. We now say rather 
 with Addison, in his beautiful hymn : — 
 
 ' What though in solemn silence all 
 Move round the dark terrestrial ball ? 
 What though no real voice, nor sound, 
 Amid their radiant orbs be found ? 
 In Reason's ear they all rejoice, 
 And utter forth a glorious voice ; 
 For ever singing, as they shine, 
 ' The Hand that made us is divine.' " 
 
 Artificial music is divided into two 
 kinds — instrumental and vocal. We are 
 all acquainted with the common kind of 
 instruments from which, by cunning fin- 
 gers, the soul of music is extracted — the 
 sweet-toned flute, which sounds so finely 
 across a lake or river, in the still evenings 
 of summer — the spirit-stirring, and ear- 
 piercing fife — the deep, reverberating 
 drum — the trumpet, with its long and 
 swelling blast — the piano, with its soft, 
 mellow, and trembling vibrations — the vi- 
 olin, with its cheerful and awakening 
 notes — the lute, with its tender and amor- 
 ous descant — the harp, consecrated as that 
 instrument which once vibrated to the 
 hands of David, as he sang on the plains 
 of Bethlehem, or poured out his eloquent 
 plaint from the roof of his palace, in the 
 city of the Great King — the guitar, with 
 its light and airy music, transporting our 
 thoughts to the groves of Italy, or to the 
 cork-tree forests of Spain, to the evening 
 lattices of Madrid, or the moonlit waters 
 of Venice — and last, not lea jt, the majes- 
 tic organ, with its awful volume of sound. 
 But far above these, or alJ other instru- 
 ments of music, is that glorious instrument 
 first invented and tuned by Deity himself. 
 We me . \ the human voice, with its melt- 
 ing cadences, its guttural sounds, its high, 
 clear melody, which, whether it swells or 
 sinks, awakens to rapture or lulls to re- 
 pose — whether it be grave or gay — 
 whether it issue from the deep pipe of 
 man, or from the softer breast of wom- 
 an — has something in it sweeter, more 
 noble, natural, and various, than all the 
 music of the grove, than all the melodies 
 of birds and bees, and murmuring of sum- 
 mer waters ; cr than all the sounds which 
 art has extracted from cold and lifeless in- 
 struments. 
 
 ^»agg 
 
irits ; and that thus, 
 
 riling stars sing to- 
 
 10W this to be but u 
 
 ;y of the finest and 
 
 We now say rallit r 
 
 beautiful hynni : — 
 
 oleinn silence all 
 lark terrestrial ball ? 
 real voice, nor sound, 
 It orbs be found ? 
 hey all rejoice, 
 "orious voice ; 
 M ttiey shine, 
 nade us is divine.' " 
 
 J divided into two 
 and vocal. We are 
 he common kind of 
 lich, by cunning fin- 
 lic is extracted — the 
 lich sounds so finely 
 , in the still evenings 
 rit-slirring, and ear- 
 deep, reverberating 
 with its long and 
 piano, with its soft, 
 g vibrations — the vi- 
 rful and awakening 
 its tender and amor- 
 p; consecrated as that 
 nee vibrated to the 
 e sang on the plains 
 ured out his eloquent 
 of his palace, in the 
 ing — the guitar, with 
 jsic, transporting our 
 !8 of Italy, or to the 
 Spain, to the evening 
 r the moonlit waters 
 not leaiit, the majes- 
 vful vol'ime of sound. 
 , or al) other instru- 
 at glorious instrument 
 led by Deity himself, 
 voice, with its melt- 
 ural sounds, its high, 
 , whether it swells or 
 ipture or lulls to re- 
 le grave or gay — 
 nn the deep pipe of 
 ofter breast of wcm- 
 in it sweeter, more 
 various, than all the 
 than all the melodies 
 id murmuring of sum- 
 all the sounds which 
 m cold and lifeless in- 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 729 
 
 The origin of music, as of all the arts, 
 is obscure in the mist of ages. In its 
 simplest form, indeed, it must have been 
 as early as the human voice, the tones and 
 cadences of which, as expressive of joy 
 or sorrow, love or fear, are all musical. 
 This natural expression of emotions by 
 sounds, would lead to a repetition of these 
 sounds, and hence, by-and-by, would arise 
 that artificial division of lines which we 
 call rhythm, a love of which is one of the 
 most general principles of the human 
 soul ; for it will be found to pervade all 
 tribes, all ages, all classes. It alleviates 
 labor and cheers the heart. Man becomes 
 a rhythmist long before he knows it. Wit- 
 ness the regular strokes of the oar, the 
 smith's hammer, the thrasher's flail, and 
 the dances of the rudest nations. Music, 
 indeed, and dancing, are at first always 
 connected, till, by-and-by, the song is sep- 
 arated from the dance, and instruments, 
 which originally served only to accompany 
 the song, become also the object of a 
 separate art. Sortie suppose that mu.sic 
 began with a desire to imitate the songs 
 of birds, the voices of animals, or the 
 other ordinary sounds of nature. Accord- 
 ing to this theory, primeval man, walking 
 in^the woody wildernesses of the world's 
 young day, and hearing every grove, every 
 bush, every stream, and every meadow, 
 vocal with the low of cows, the bleat of 
 sheep, the hum of bees, the buzz of in- 
 sects, the song of birds, the voice of 
 breezes, the murmuring of streams, the 
 paltering of rain-drops, the fine waves of 
 melody chasing each other over the sum- 
 mit of the everlasting woods, became 
 ashamed of remaining silent amid such a 
 congregation of song, and began to imi- 
 tate, as he best could, the melodies by 
 which he was surrounded. Be this as it 
 may, music was at length invented. 
 Surely in an auspicious hour— surely on 
 one of the while days of earth's dark pil- 
 grimage— on one of those days which 
 seem to have lost their way to us from a 
 loftier logion — when the air is balmy, the 
 sky cloudless, the sunshine asleep as with 
 excss of gladness, a light breeze warb- 
 ling over the landscape, and whispering 
 some happy and unutterable tidings m 
 every cowslip's ear— nay, surely, rather 
 ll in thai goideii age of the world, of which 
 
 the tradition only remains, when the heav- 
 ens were nearer, the skies clnaier, the 
 clouds more gorgeous, the fal of the earth 
 richer, the foam of the sea brighter, than 
 in our degenerate days— when ir. our 
 groves were still seen the shadows of an- 
 gels, and on our mountains the footsteps 
 of God— surely then, and not later, was 
 music born. So far as respects the known 
 history of the art, we must consider the 
 rise of vocal and instrumental music as 
 coeval. Perhaps the first instrument in- 
 vented was the pipe of the shepherd, who 
 had heard the wind whistle among the 
 reeds. It is probable that while warriors 
 early began to utter their war-cry and sing 
 their war-song, that shepherds fiist cultiva- 
 ted music as an art. According to scrip- 
 ture, Jubal, the son of Lamech, played on 
 musical instruments even before the del- 
 uge. He was the " father of those who 
 handle the harp and organ," which proves, 
 not that those instruments bore much re- 
 semblance to what we now denominate 
 by the terms harp and organ, but that mu- 
 sical instruments of some sort were then 
 found out, and the art of music cultivated. 
 We find afterward that, among the He- 
 brews, the character of poet and singer 
 was united in the same individual. One 
 of the oldest songs with instrumental ac- 
 companiments is that which Miriam, the 
 sister of Moses, sung after the passage of 
 the Red sea. At the time of David and 
 Solomon, music had reached its highest 
 perfection among the Hebrews, and pwt 
 of their religious service consisted in 
 chanting solemn psalms, with instrumen- 
 tal accompaniments. In the structure of 
 scripture poetry itself, in a certain paral- 
 lelism or repetition of the main idea in 
 the d.iTerent members of a sentence, there 
 was a distinct rhythm and a varied music. 
 In the tomb of Osymandyas, near Thebes, 
 musical instruments have been found ; and 
 it has hence been concluded that the 
 Egyptians were acquainted with music 
 two thousand y ars before Christ. From 
 them, possibly, the Hebrews derived their 
 music. Many beautiful fables are told by 
 the Greeks concerning the origin and 
 history of music in their lovely land. By 
 it, they said, Orpheus tamed the wildest 
 beasts of the desert; and as his lyre 
 sounded, the lurid crest of the serpent 
 
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i 
 
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 TW^- 
 
 T^^' 
 
 -"■■«ii.i« 
 
 a:*.;..:^ 
 
 
 730 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 fell, tlie mane of the lion ceased to bristle, 
 the eye of the tiger ceased to glare ; 
 which was probably an allegorical form 
 of expressing the power of the art in sof- 
 tening the most ferocious of human na- 
 tures. By it, they said, Amphion made 
 the very stones of his projected city arise 
 and form themselves into shapely and 
 stately buildings ; and by it, they said, 
 Arion, cast into the sea, compelled a dol- 
 phin to bear him on his back in safety to 
 the shore. These, of course, were fa- 
 bles ; but they were fables which proved 
 that the power and charms of music were, 
 even at that early age, fully appreciated. 
 
 From the sixth century before Christ, 
 music seems to have been studied scien- 
 tifically. The celebrated Pythagoras in- 
 vented an instrument for the mathematical 
 determination of sounds, and added an 
 eighth chord to the harp. The Romans 
 were principally fond of martial music; 
 as might have been expected from their 
 warlike tastes. Under the emperors, mu- 
 sic became cultivated as an object of lux- 
 ury. We have all heard of Nero fiddling 
 while Rome was burning ; and when he 
 perished "by the justest doom, which 
 him, the world's destroyer, e'er destroyed," 
 five hundred musicians were dismissed. 
 Perhaps, though this would lessen the ro- 
 mance of the story, it was one of ihese 
 "whose hand, unseen, strewed flowers 
 upon his tomb." The early Christians 
 employed religious songs in their assem- 
 blius ; and we hear of our blessed Lord 
 himself singing a hymn ere going out to 
 the Mount of Olives. Holy songs, espe- 
 cially, were sung at the Lord's supper, 
 and at their love feasts. In the fourth 
 century, regular psalms were introduced, 
 which' were sung from notes, by persons 
 appointed for that purpose. The mode 
 of singing in the primitive churches was 
 sometimes in solo, scmetimes alternately, 
 and sometimes by a chorus of the whole 
 assembly. In the fourth century, precen- 
 tors were appointed to lead the praises of 
 the church. Schools appropriated to sing- 
 ing were instituted somewhat later, and 
 only in a few places. Choirs were grad- 
 ually inirorluced in Italy, and contributed 
 greatly to the splendor at least, of reli- 
 gious worship. Italy, indeed, has alw ..ys 
 been the laud of music. Luther, the first 
 
 reformer, was an enthusiastic musician ; 
 and we owe to him that fine, solemn strain 
 called " Old Hundred." Our readers are 
 familiar with the names of the great mu- 
 sical composers of later times. HuyJn, 
 Handel, Bethooven, and Mozart, were 
 among the principal of these. Handel's 
 great piece, the " Messiah," produced, 
 when sung in London, at the close of ilie 
 last century, a prodigious eflect ; and ii 
 was fine to see old George the Third 
 standing \f'p at its celebration, amid a 
 crowded assembly of his subjt^cts, and 
 bursting into tears. Robert Hall witnes- 
 sed this with much emotion, and said it 
 seemed a national testimony to the truth 
 of Christianity. Of Mozart, the great 
 German composer, singular stories are 
 told. His sensibility to the finest dider- 
 ences of tones was so exquisite as often 
 to cause him much pain. The sound of 
 the trumpet, on one occasion, so ali'ected 
 him that he fell to the ground, pale, life- 
 less, and convulsed. He was the most 
 absent, careless, and childish of men, till 
 seated at his piano, when he seemed to 
 become inspired. 
 
 We may now specify some of the pleas- 
 ures and powers of music, We have been 
 now shaken with laughter at some ludicrous 
 ditty, which made us, for the time, forget 
 our poverty, and remember our misery no 
 more ; and a^ain we have been elevated, 
 soothed, softened into devotion, as some 
 psalin-tune of more than ordinary sweet- 
 ness was being sung amid the deepening 
 shadows of a sabbath evening. We have 
 been now transported by the voice of one 
 beloved singing to us alono ; and now by 
 the many mingling notes and harmonies 
 of a great concert of perforinors. And 
 wc felt these pleasures to be intellectual 
 in their nature. They touched all that was 
 high, and all that was pure, and all that 
 was spiritual, and all iliat was immortal, 
 in our natures. Such pleasures we felt 
 were simple and cheap ; they were at 
 once exquisite and economical. Such 
 pleasures, too, were pure and holy ; they 
 stung us not as we passed ; and \ve could 
 look their memory in the face on the next 
 day. Yes, music has in it wondrous, mys- 
 terious, we had almost said divine pow- 
 ers. It can not indeed, as was fabled of 
 old, subdue the minds of beasts by the 
 
usiastic musician ; 
 t fine, solemn strain 
 " Our readers are 
 s of the great mu- 
 ter times. Haydn, 
 and Mozart, were 
 »f tlit'se. Handel's 
 Messiah," produced, 
 at tlie close of the 
 ;ious effect ; and it 
 George the 'J'hird 
 elehration, amid a 
 liis subjects, and 
 lobort Hail witnes- 
 luotion, and said it 
 stimony to the truth 
 Mozart, the great 
 ingular stories are 
 to the finest difler- 
 I exquisite as often 
 lin. The sound of 
 icasion, so ad'ected 
 e ground, pale, life- 
 He was tlie most 
 childish of men, till 
 when he seemed to 
 
 y some of the pleas- 
 isic. We have been 
 ter at some ludicrous 
 
 for tlie time, forget 
 inber our miserv no 
 have been elevated, 
 • devotion, as some 
 ban ordinary sweet- 
 amid the deepening 
 
 evening. We have 
 
 by tlie voice of one 
 
 alone ; and now by 
 loles and harmonies 
 f perl'onners. And 
 3S to be intellectual 
 { touched all that was 
 IS pure, and all that 
 
 that was innnortal, 
 ;h pleasures we felt 
 leap ; they were at 
 
 economical. Such 
 pure and holy ; they 
 issed ; and \ve could 
 
 the face on the next 
 ; in it wondrous, mys- 
 jsl said divine pow- 
 ed, as was fabled of 
 ds of beasts by the 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 731 
 
 power of its melody, nor make .stones to 
 move and leap at its bidding ; but it can 
 work wonders far superior in moral gran- 
 deur. Music can soothe sorrows which 
 nothing else can assuage ; it can open foun- 
 tains of tears which had been fast locked 
 up in the frost of misery, and thereby re- 
 lieve the burdened heart. How often has 
 a tune dispelled the spirit of anger ! How 
 does music bless and cheer the Wind, 
 whose ears, in fulfilment of the fiue com- 
 pensations of the universe, are the more 
 exquisitely open and alive in proportion as 
 their eyes are shut to all the beauties of 
 the external world ! We know that when 
 Milton lost his eyes in the service of his 
 country, he was wont to refresh himself 
 by music ; and the great structure of the 
 "Paradise Lost" rose, like the ancient 
 temple, to the sound of the organ. See 
 how those sightless eyeballs of his, which 
 had rolled in vain to find the day, seem to 
 dilate and kindle, as the solemn instrument 
 pours out its soothing and inspiring strains ; 
 and the old man, though " fallen on evil 
 days and evil tongues, with darkness and 
 with dangers encompassed round," is hap- 
 pier in his little room than Clarendon on 
 the woolsack, or Charles on the throne ! 
 How does music awaken the spell of pa- 
 triotic emotion! See how tears stream 
 down the rugged cheeks of Caledonia's 
 emigrants leaving their native land, while 
 the bagpipe is playing, " We return, we re- 
 turn no more." All have heard of the ef- 
 fects produced on the Swiss soldiery when 
 they hear, in a strange country, the " Ranz 
 des Vaches," or cow-song, which they had 
 been wont to hear from the milkmaids of 
 their own romantic land. They weep, 
 they tremble, nay, have been known to 
 throw down their arms, and refuse to fight, 
 under a sudden fit of home-sickuess. But 
 if music has sometimes paralyzed, it has 
 more frequently nerved the soldier. Bat- 
 tles are won and lost to the sound of mu- 
 sic ; and the hardy veteran feels uplifted 
 by the breath of music ab( ve the fear of 
 death itself. We mention this, not in 
 sympathy with the foul art of war, but from 
 sympathy with luc fine art of music j for 
 music has nobler scenes of triumph than 
 the field of blood. It has sooched the soul 
 of the dying saint, whose spirit has burst 
 its prison-tenement in song — song to be 
 
 47 
 
 renewed straightway in sweeter and holier 
 strains,under the altar, or before the throne. 
 It has made the martyr forgetful of his fi- 
 ery pangs ; and, singing at the stake, or 
 on the scaffold, his soul has soared away, 
 " the nearest road to the celestial gate." 
 It is now generally supposed that our 
 blessed Lord chanted aloud the whole of 
 the twenty-second psalm upon the cross, 
 and thereby at once proved that he was the 
 victim whose agonies had been there so 
 minutely prefigured and described, and 
 soothed his spirit under its burden of un- 
 utterable anguish. Or if we would see 
 music in still another noble field of its tri- 
 umphs, follow it to the receptacle for the 
 insane ; see there the poor maniac lady 
 leaning over her piano ; and as her fingers 
 pass across the ivory keys, which she has 
 touched in former and happier day.s, old 
 and soothing recollections stream in upon 
 her mind-— her eyes roll less wildly, gen- 
 tle tears appear within them, nay, smiles 
 begin to draw upon cheeks where they 
 had long been absent, and where, but for 
 the power of music, they would have re- 
 appeared no more. Music, indeed, from 
 the powers it exerts, and the pleasures it 
 gives, of all arts suggests, perhaps, most 
 the idea of the Infinite— of some higher 
 and holier state of being— and awakens 
 strange sensations, which we may recog- 
 nise in some more exalted stage of our 
 existence. 
 
 Then there are the intellectual, moral, 
 and spiriti;al a-^vantages of music. Mu- 
 sic not only supplies pleasures of a high 
 order ; but, as a science— a science which, 
 if taugiit properly, must be taught in a 
 scientific method- it tends to open the 
 mind, to cultivate the intellect, to expand 
 the views. By connecting sound with 
 beautiful words, it tends to improve the 
 literary taste, to create a love for poetry, 
 and, in general, a passion for all the fine 
 arts. Its pursuits generate a fine enthu- 
 siasm. A man who throws his soul into 
 the pursuit, loses himself in a delightful 
 dream ; his mind rises above th^ grovel- 
 ling cares of earth, into a rarer, purer, 
 more intellectual atmosphere, from which, 
 if he must and does descend, he descends 
 a wiser and a better man. The moral ad- 
 vantages of the science of music are un- 
 deniable. Whatever tends to enlighten 
 
a 
 
 732 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 
 the mind, to soften the heart, to supply a 
 constant source of innocent and intellec- 
 tual enjoyment, to withdraw the soul from 
 the gross gratifications of the senses, must 
 tend to improve the morals. It will gen- 
 erally be found, that those who possess a 
 taste for music are milder, and, on the 
 whole, better men than those who have 
 none ; and those artisans will not be found 
 the worst of the class, who spend their 
 evenings in the midst of their owri fami- 
 lies, practising, now and then, on some 
 musical instrument, or tuning their own 
 voices to secular or to sacred song. 
 
 We have already traced the connexion 
 which has subsisted from very early times 
 between religion and music. Scarce had 
 music sung her first song, or uttered her 
 first lisping accents, than that song arose, 
 as by a fine instinct, to heaven, and those 
 accents began to speak in wonder and 
 praise of the great Creator ot all ; and 
 music has since, of all sjcondary causes 
 of the crfntinuance of religion in the midst 
 of a hostile world, been one of the prin- 
 cifjal. It has promoted private, family, 
 and congregational piety. A private 
 Christian versed in music cijn fan the 
 flame of his devotion by singing, even in 
 the solitary chamber ; or, as the pilgrims 
 of old were wont to lighten their long and 
 lonely way, by spiritual songs. Thus 
 Henry Martyn, as he cross'jd the great 
 deep, on his way to receive the mission- 
 ary's crown — and seldom has there been 
 a nobler aspirant to the honor — when a 
 dark shadow, from the very greatness of 
 the enterprise, fell somelivnes upor. his 
 spirit, was wont to 8ol;';;e himself, to 
 strengthen his faith, to ren w his flagging 
 hope, by singing all alone in his berth, or 
 on the evening deck, as the sun was set- 
 ting in the direction of his beloved native 
 land, which he was leaii?)^ for ever, such 
 hymns as that beginn-i. vith the words, 
 " O'er the gloomy hi'is oi darkness ;" and 
 his fine spirit became ituelf again. How 
 advantageous music is to family devotion, 
 we need not prove ; nor need we dwell 
 on the sweet solemnity of family worship, 
 except to notice how large a share of the 
 beauty of the service arises from its mu- 
 sical part. Without the " voice of psalms, 
 the simple lung of praise," it must be 
 confessed that this religious duty is com- 
 
 paratively cold and uninviting. Let the 
 fathers and mothers of families attend, 
 therefore, more to the cultivation of mu- 
 sic, as they would have sweeter services, 
 and happier circles around their hearths, 
 and offer up a more acceptable morning 
 and evening sacrifice to the God of the 
 families of all the earth! How con- 
 ducive, too, is music to congregational 
 piety ! What a delightful thing is a well- 
 sung church ! How it " beets the heav- 
 enward flame" — to use the words of " The 
 Cottar's Saturday Night !" Hov/ fine to 
 hear a noble psalm or paraphrase set to a 
 suitable tune, and under the voice of a 
 commanding leader, a thousand voices 
 sending up, like a " steam of rich, distilled 
 perfumes," their worship to the Most 
 High ! 
 
 The art which we thus panegyrize is 
 not, we have seen, of yesterday, neither 
 shall to-morrow see its end ; for it is an 
 eternal art: it is destined to survive the 
 sun and the stars. To music shall the 
 present system dissolve, for " the trumpet 
 shall sound." 
 
 " The trumpet, men, intoxicate with pride, 
 Arm at its blast for cartlily wars : 
 To arch-angelic lips applied, 
 The grave shall open, qujnch the stars." 
 
 Yes ; the grave shall to music open its 
 jaws ; the books of judgment shall to mu- 
 sic expand their oracular pages ; the new 
 heavens and the new earth shall descend 
 amid shoutings — " Grace, grace unto 
 them !" again shall the morning stars sing 
 together ; the " ransomed of the Lord 
 shall return and come to Sion with songs ;" 
 and throughout eternity shall the blessed 
 inhabitants, standing on the sea of glass, 
 or sitting before the throne, amid the val- 
 leys of the heavenly Canaan, or on the 
 summits of the everlasting hills, sing the 
 song of Moses and of the Lamb ! 
 
 Imprudence. — Those who, in conse- 
 quence of superior capacities and attain- 
 ments, disregard the common maxims of 
 liio, ought to be reminded that nothing 
 will supply the want of prudence, and 
 that negligence and irregularity, long con- 
 tinued, will make knowledge useless, wit 
 ridiculous, and genius contemptible. 
 
COLONIZATION OP GRKICNLAND. 
 
 733 
 
 ninvitiiig. Let the 
 of families attend 
 3 cultivation of mu- 
 le sweeter services, 
 ■ound their hearths, 
 acceptable morning 
 I to the God of the 
 
 earth ! How con- 
 c to congregational 
 htful thing is a well- 
 it " beets the heav- 
 B the words of " The 
 jht !" How fine to 
 ■ paraphrase set to a 
 ider the voice of a 
 
 a thousand voices 
 earn of rich, distilled 
 rship to the Most 
 
 thus panegyrize is 
 f yesterday, neither 
 its end ; for it is an 
 itined to survive the 
 To music shall (he 
 ve, for " the trumpet 
 
 intoxicate with pride, 
 or earliily wars : 
 I applied, 
 pen, qtjnch the stars." 
 
 1 to music open its 
 jdgment shall to mu- 
 ular pages; the new 
 
 earth shall descend 
 Grace, grace unto 
 e morning stars sing 
 lomed of the Lord 
 to Sion with songs ;" 
 ity shall the blessed 
 
 on the sea of glass, 
 throne, amid the val- 
 • Canaan, or on the 
 isting hills, sing the 
 f the Lanab ! 
 
 lose who, in conse- 
 apacities and attain- 
 common maxims of 
 minded that nothing 
 It of prudence, and 
 rregularity, long con- 
 awledge useless, wit 
 s contemptible. 
 
 COLONIZATION OF GREENLAND. 
 
 EAR the end of the 
 tc nth ceiitury, an Ice- 
 landic or Norwegian 
 rctvur, named Gunii- 
 bfiini, discovered the 
 westt^rn coast of 
 Crceuland, having 
 been driven toward 
 it by a storm. Wheth- 
 er the scanty vegetation really appeared 
 to him delightful, after the hardships he 
 had incurred, or he wished to tempt his 
 countrymen to visit it, is uncertain ; but 
 the inappropriate name of Grueitlaui 
 came into use, and still continues the des- 
 ignation of a country described as " one 
 immense glacier." Eirik the Red, hav- 
 ing, as it is stated, coniinittcd a murder in 
 Iceland, sailed for Greenland ; and hav- 
 ing spent some time on its inhospitable 
 shores, returned with flattering accounts 
 of its green and fertile valleys, and, by 
 offering to conduct a colony to settle 
 among them, procured his pardon. A 
 number of vessels set sail, under his com- 
 mand and direction ; but encountering a 
 storm, several were cast away, or driven 
 back to Iceland, and only about one half 
 reached their place of destination. Those, 
 however, who did arrive, set to work in 
 earnest, and the foundation of a colony 
 was laid, which flourished for three or 
 four hundred years. " As the distance," 
 says Dr. Henderson, speaking on the sup- 
 position that the Icelandic colony had 
 been planted on the eastern shores of 
 Greenland, " between the two countries 
 was little more than two hundred miles, a 
 regular intercourse was established be- 
 tween them ; and the number of settlers 
 increased so rapidly, that soon after the 
 introduction of the Christian religion, 
 about the year 1000, a number of churches 
 were built along the ^ast coast, and a 
 bishop was appointed to superintend the 
 ecclesiastical affairs (./ thr colony. He 
 was a suffragan io ihc archbishop of 
 Drontheim, in Norway. For the space of 
 more than three huncir;-.! and fifty years, 
 a regular intercoun: '; was carried on be- 
 tv, een the colony ana Denmark or Norway. 
 In the y^ar 1406, the last bishop was 
 
 sent over to Greenland. Since then, tlio 
 colony has not been heard of. Its loss 
 has been attributed to the wars which 
 took place at that time bolwcHni the Danes 
 and Swedes, which prevented the trading 
 vessels from putting to sea, and to the ac- 
 cumulation of vast shoals of ice around 
 the coast, by which they have been ren- 
 dered totally inaccessible." 
 
 At the last accounts of this colony, it 
 was stated to be composed of nearly 200 
 villages. The question then arose — did 
 the colony still exist, though shut out 
 from all intercourse with the rest of the 
 world ? " A current, which issues from 
 under the great masses of ice enclosing 
 the pole, runs southward along the east- 
 ern coast of Greenland, carrying down 
 an immense body of heavy drift ice. 'i'liis 
 ice sometimes occupies tbe whole extent 
 of ocean between Greenland and Iceland, 
 and often forms a belt round Cape Fare- 
 well, reaching from 120 to 160 miles out 
 to sea." Had, then, t';is impenetrable 
 barrier been formed since the Icelandic 
 colony was planted in Greenland ? Were 
 villages and churches, Christianity, and a 
 civilized people, still to be found, though 
 shut up in a world of their own, by " eter- 
 nal" ice 1. Some ventured to affirm that 
 the colony had been planted on the west- 
 ern side uf Greenland, and that its disap- 
 pearance must have been caused by a pi- 
 ratical expedition, or by a contagious dis- 
 ease, or perhaps by both combined. But 
 others as warmly contended for the east- 
 ern site ; and there was romance enough 
 in the idea to excite controversy. Dr. 
 Henderson, resting his judgment on the 
 opinion of Egede, a Norwegian clergy- 
 man, inclined to the opinion which sup- 
 posed the eastern coast to be the site of 
 the colony. He expressed an anxious 
 and natural wish for its rediscovery, and 
 for " an account of the state of religion 
 and science among them, aftev they have 
 been shut for so long a period from all in- 
 tercourse with the rest of the world. That 
 the descendants of the ancient colonists 
 may still exist, although cut off from any 
 supplies from Denmark, is rendered prob- 
 able by the circumstance, that in Egcde's 
 time the barrier of ice, as far as he ex- 
 plored it, did 'not connect with the shore, 
 but left a space of open water, in which 
 
 i 
 I 
 
 m 
 
 wk 
 
 mi 
 
 ai 
 
 i i i mB K a i M !! a !i! M""a 'i fc« t i 
 
'"•"'Wfciimi 
 
 
 Interior of an Eaqaimaux Uoaso at Frederiksliaab. on the wjwrtern coast of QroentanA 
 
 "~-.^'''*'^-- 
 
last of Greenland. 
 
 UTILITY OF BIRDS. 
 
 135 
 
 the inliabitaKts miglu catch a sufficient 
 quantity of fish for their support." 
 
 Tiie question sesms now to have been 
 set nt rest by the exertions of an enter- 
 prising Danish officer, Captain Graah, 
 Ho contrived, in 1829, to make his way 
 from the western to the eastern coast of 
 Greenland. There were no ruins to be 
 found, which might indicate that a civil- 
 ized people once dwelt there ; and, in his 
 opinion, the low tract of country along the 
 coast was far too limited for the existence 
 of such a colony, containing so many vil- 
 lages. It seems unreasonable, too, to 
 suppose that the access to the eastern 
 coast should have been so widely differ- 
 ent, a few hundred years ago, from what 
 if is now. We must therefore come to the 
 conclusion, that the ancient Icelandic col- 
 ony was planted on the western side, 
 along the shores of Davis's strait, where 
 ancient ruins, especially of churches, oc- 
 cur, apparently putting the conclusion be- 
 yond a doubt. The cause of the extinc- 
 tion of the colony must be left to conjec- 
 ture, though various causes might very 
 readily occur to any one who considers 
 the situation of the colonists at a time 
 when intercourse was far fiom being reg- 
 ularly established. 
 
 The modern oj.^nization of the west- 
 ern coast of Gretona '' s owing to the 
 exertions of the No.v gian clergyman, 
 who thought that the site of the anr nt 
 colony was on the eastern coast. Kans 
 Egede, who had long meditated tiio at- 
 tempt, at last being aided by subscr'niicrxs, 
 and receiving the (sanction of the au isoi 
 iiies, planted a missionary settlement ;r 
 the year 1721 on the western coast, nea 
 64° north latitude. This he named Gol- 
 thaab— Good Hope. He struggled with 
 many difficulties foi about ten years, when 
 he was joined by the Moravians in 1733. 
 After the missionaries had established 
 themselve.s, the Danes began to frequent 
 the coast, and gradually a number of set- 
 tlements were formed, which rank now as 
 colonies of Denmark. The Danes pro- 
 cure, as articles of commerce, seal-skirs, 
 fur, eider-down, train oil, whalebone, and 
 fish. 
 
 The natives of Greenland are the Es- 
 quimaux, a V. idely-spread national family, 
 with whose characteristics we have be- 
 
 come familiar, from the many expeditions 
 that have been made in recent years to 
 the northern parts of America. They are 
 found in Labrador, and spread over the 
 American coasts of the Arctic ocean, in 
 Greenland, and on the islands between 
 America and the pole, as far as they are 
 inhabitable. The inhabitants are, gener- 
 ally speaking, of a ripe olive color (some 
 also black), of a mean stature, with black 
 hair, flat noses, and thick lips. They are 
 nimble and strong, rather desperate than 
 courageous, thievish, treacherous, and re- 
 vengeful ; for they would steal before the 
 mariners' faces, and kill them after they 
 had been well entertained by them, but 
 are very affectionate to one another and 
 their country. In the winter they come 
 from the seashore to the valleys, where 
 they have their little villages, consisting 
 of caves, round like an oven, made close 
 to one another at the foot of a mountain ; 
 their doors are to the south, and they 
 draw off the water that falls from the hills 
 by trenches. Before the doors they have 
 a kind of porch, neatly made of the ribs 
 of whales, and covered with sealskins. 
 One part of the floor is higher than the 
 rest ; this they strew with moss to sleep 
 upon. In the summer or fishing time, 
 they live in tents covered with skins. 
 
 Our engraving represents the interior 
 of an Esquimaux "cave" at Frederick- 
 shaab, one of the Danish settlements on 
 the western coast of Greenland. It rep- 
 tcic-nt-., therefore, the interior '.■.■onomy of 
 or.e of those Esquimaux families who 
 nave c<'me under the civilizing influences 
 ..->d in'-i'.ructioa of the missionaries. 
 
 a tit alirc. 
 
 UTILITY OF BIRDS. 
 
 OME people contend 
 that these creatures are 
 incarnatians of mis- 
 chief, while others as- 
 sert that they are the 
 winged instrumens of 
 prosperity. S. declares 
 that he would not have 
 a gooseberry if he left 
 T. as stoutly asserts that nei- 
 
 IMW 
 
 i 
 
 
 m 
 
 |Big|(J^Jbiyj,,lj-jJ;i»'.«?Wl.l' 
 

 m 
 «#^- 
 
 *■ 
 
 "■"^^yi'- 
 
 
 736 
 
 WIESBADEN. 
 
 iher gooseberries nor anything else will 
 be left if the lils are destroyed. We have 
 thought it advisable to give this discussion 
 full scope, because it may be truly regarded 
 as or.e of the more important of the ques- 
 tions incidentally connected with garden- 
 ing, and moreover, one concerning which 
 there is the most marvellous ignorance. 
 Thousands imagine that birds hvo on 
 nothing but corn and fruit, and are there- 
 fore supported at the personal expense of 
 those who grow corn and fruit, without 
 making any sort of retujn. " What," say 
 they, " is the use of such things ? We 
 can't eat them ; and there is no good iri 
 feeding a swarm of useless plunderers." 
 And therefore, because of this wise con- 
 ciusiiin, the order is given to shoot, trap, 
 and poison, without mercy. Let us hope, 
 however, that the arguments in favor oi 
 birds will remove this error, and that the 
 question between man and birds will have 
 reduced itself to whether the balance of 
 good is in favor of the latter or against 
 them. 
 
 It would be idle to assert that birds 
 consume nothing which, but for them, we 
 might consume ourselves. They feed in 
 part at our expense. They destroy the 
 insects that infest our gardens, when they 
 can find any ; and when the insects are 
 gone, they search for other food. The 
 first is their labor, the second their wages. 
 And is not the workman worthy of his 
 hire 1 The man who grudges a bird a 
 little seed or fruit, might as well begrudge 
 his weekly pay lo the laborer. There is 
 no doubt that a garden would be less ex- 
 pensive if all the work in it were done 
 for nothing. If a master would pocket 
 his servant's wages, he would have more 
 to spend upon himself. But this sort of 
 arrangement is not exactly consistent with 
 the design of Providence ; and we are 
 sure that it would not meet wilh the ap- 
 pr(Jaatioii of either S. or T. We repeat 
 it, then, let us look at birds as skilful 
 workmen, and the fruit or seed which they 
 eat as the coin in which they are paid 
 their wages. Not that birds are an un- 
 mixed good. Is man himself? Is any- 
 thing ? There are situations, doubtless, 
 where birds are an absolute nuisance. 
 Imagine, for instance, a garden surrounded 
 by a wood which swarms with blackbirds. 
 
 Does any one suppose it possible to gather 
 a ripe cherry in such a place? If he 
 does, he is greatly mistaken. He would 
 find the blackbird a much more dexterous 
 gatherer than himself, and t)ne who would 
 relievo him from all trouble with his 
 cherry crop. In such a case the birds 
 must be trapped, or the crop abandoned. 
 There would be no alternative. 
 
 But such instances are special, and 
 form the exception, not the rule. Every 
 day's experience tells us that birds are 
 among the most efficient instruments of 
 Providence for destroying the vermin that 
 would otherwise overrun us. And people 
 may rely upon it, that they can not more 
 effectually encourage the ravages of those 
 insidious foes, than by waging war upon 
 the creatures which naturally feed upon 
 thorn. 
 
 WIESBADEN. 
 
 lESBADEN, or 
 Wisbaden, is one of 
 the most frequented 
 watering places in 
 the inland part of 
 Germany. The cen- 
 tral part of the build- 
 ing is the ball-room. 
 The left wing is en- 
 tirely occupied by gambling-tables, of 
 which that appropriated to roulette is the 
 favorite ; and so great are the profits de- 
 rived, that the lessees pay 30,000 florins 
 annually to the Duke of Nassau, for the 
 privilege of keeping the bank. The right 
 wing is a sort of cafe, or dining-room, in 
 which all kinds of refreshments are to be 
 obtainea; and it is never used for any 
 other purpose. Although the exterior of 
 the building is exceedingly plain and sim- 
 ple, the interiors of the wings are neat 
 and convenient, and the ball-room is hand- 
 some, and even splendid. The floor is 
 inlaid with various woods ; a row of mar- 
 ble columns, of the Corinthian order, runs 
 up each side of the room, and supports a 
 light and spacious gallery ; a considerable 
 number of marble busts and statues are 
 ranged beneath this double colonnade; 
 the roof is vaulted, and though rather 
 
 'i 
 1 
 ■5 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
it possible to gtitticr 
 h !i place ? If \\v 
 stiikcn. He woulil 
 iich more (lexif^rous 
 and one who would 
 troiil)le witli his 
 \i a case the hinls 
 le crop abandoned, 
 lernaiivo. 
 
 s are special, and 
 II the rule. Every 
 i us that birds are 
 ient instruments of 
 nng the vermin that 
 un us. And people 
 they can not more 
 die ravages of those 
 y waging war upon 
 naturally feed upon 
 
 LDEN. 
 
 lESBADEN, or 
 Wisbaden.isone of 
 the most frequented 
 watering places in 
 the inland part of 
 Germany. The cen- 
 tral part of the build- 
 ing is the ball-room. 
 The left wing is en- 
 gambling-tables, of 
 ed to roulette is the 
 t are the profits de- 
 i pay 30,000 florins 
 ■ of Nassau, for the 
 he bank. The right 
 >, or dining-room, in 
 Creshments are to be 
 never used for any 
 lOugh the exterior of 
 Jingly plain and sim- 
 the wings are neat 
 he ball-room is hand- 
 iiidio. rhe floor is 
 oods ; a row of mar- 
 /orinlhian order, runs 
 room, and supports a 
 illery ; a considerable 
 usts and statues are 
 ) double colonnade ; 
 , and though rather 
 
 ■<■. 
 
 i 
 
 • 
 
 ^ 
 
 
^ 
 
 
 738 
 
 CUMMEIICB. 
 
 sombre m color, is tastefully decoraitirl, 
 and tlio whole npurtment is of iiirgo di- 
 meiihiDim. 
 
 Thfse three rooms, ml iho park which 
 is aitaciiod to them, serve as tho usun! 
 phi' e of assembly for the numerous visit- 
 ers during the season ; and vviuui it is rec- 
 ollected that many llu)U8aiids annually 
 congregate from all parts of Europe to 
 this little town, it will be evident that some 
 such point of reunion is recjiiirod. The 
 famous boiling springs of mineral water, 
 and the baths which they supply, are in 
 the town itself, at some little distance from 
 the public rooms ; but as not more tli ui 
 one person in fifty corner to Wiesbaden 
 for any other purposes than those of 
 amusement or intrigue, that circumstance 
 is of but little consequence. It is, besides, 
 ttie iashion for those invalids who bathe 
 or drink the waters, to visit the spring 
 very early in the morning, seldom later 
 than half-past seven or eight; for the Ger- 
 mans keep much earlier hours than they do 
 in England, and all strangers are obliged 
 in some measure to conform to their hab- 
 its ; so that the means to be taken fur the 
 restoration of their h'^alth do not interfere 
 with the amusements of the day. 
 
 Wiesbaden is * 'il of large and hand- 
 some hotels, tP ». i.iv every one of which 
 is attached r .; i/'Ao/c, or ordinary, 
 where sir;.:;; .' in-; for it Wiesbaden 
 it is not the c !>:•/■., io take dinner in pri- 
 vate. 
 
 Wiesbaden is situated in a hollow, sur- 
 rounded on all sides by distant hills, and 
 in that respect bears a great resemblance 
 to Cheltenham, England. Though not 
 very far distant from the Rhine, the rising 
 ground between the town and the river is 
 sufficient in height and extent to protect it 
 from the damps which rise from that 
 mighty stream in the evenings of summer 
 and autumn ; and its low position, to- 
 gether with the constant though inconsid- 
 erable quantity of heat which is given out 
 by the boiling springs, tend in some de- 
 gree to soften the severity of a German 
 winter. 
 
 Wiesbaden, from its late increase in 
 population and in buildings, and from the 
 sum of money annually spent there by its 
 crowds of idle visiters, has now become 
 the most important town in the principality 
 
 of Nassau. Tho residence of the reign- 
 ing dukt (Ifrrxof() is at Hilierirh, a small 
 village ufi the eastern bank of the Flhine ; 
 and the sovereign is dso the proprietor 
 of a gre: t part of I s O" n dominions. 
 This little r< aim is at^ ut fn fight miles 
 in length and twenty-eight si brnu !ih ; 
 and though it is, for the most part, wooMy 
 and mountainous, yet it is not without fi^ e 
 arable and meadow land. The duke Je* 
 rives great revenues from ili» numerous 
 favorite watering-places which n e scat- 
 tered about his principality : thi sale of 
 the famous Seltcrs waters alone produces 
 great profit. Beside his j; ilace at Bibe- 
 rich, he has a handsome &ud con enient 
 hunting-palace called the Platz, which is 
 situated on the summit of a wooded hill 
 about three miles out of Wiesbaden. 
 From the top of tiio house there is a very 
 fine and extensive view, t()mm<t ling a 
 long reach of the Rhino ; and inr towns 
 of Muyence, Biberich, Darmsta .i, \S 
 baden, and Frankfort, are included wm 
 its horizon. 
 
 COMMERCE. 
 
 In the extended sense of the term, com- 
 merce includes within its range the whole 
 tiade and intercourse of nations with each 
 other, and e.\plains how the mutual wants 
 of mankind occasion the exchange of the 
 productions of one country for those of 
 another, its influence on the character of 
 nations, and to what extent it has aided in 
 the refinement of a people by the intro- 
 duction of the arts of civilized life. The 
 history of commerce in all its ramifications 
 is important to every man who desires to 
 become an intelligent and accomplished 
 merchant. 
 
 In view of its great importance, the reg- 
 ulations of commerce constitute prominent 
 articles in all treit^ies between nations, 
 whether professedfy commercial or other- 
 wise, and they are also among the princi- 
 pal subjects of legislation in all civilized 
 states and kingdoms. Commerce is one 
 of the great sources of public revenue, and 
 one of the chief causes of the wealth of 
 nations and of individuals. The mer- 
 
 
[leiK'o of tho reign- 
 It Hilwrif h, a sinfill 
 laiik of the Rhine; 
 also the pruprictor 
 3 I rldinitnons. 
 lit r Mght miles 
 
 -oiglii ii lirt'.iUh; 
 e most jiart, wooiiy 
 : is nui without fii « 
 m\. The duke Je- 
 froin tin- numerous 
 ss whicli ii " scat- 
 palitv : tb sale of 
 lers uione product i 
 lis ) lace at Bihe- 
 mo ;t ' ( '11 enient 
 the I' <., which is 
 it of a wooded hill 
 ul of Wiesbaden, 
 use 'here is a very 
 !W, Litinnia iing a 
 ne ; and the towns 
 Darmstiuii, VVi. - 
 ire included wit) 
 
 se of the term, corn- 
 its range the whole 
 f nations with each 
 tv the mutual wants 
 tie exchange of the 
 tuntry for those of 
 on the character of 
 ctunt it has aided in 
 eople by the intro- 
 ;ivilized life. Tiie 
 ail its ramifications 
 lan who desires to 
 and accomplished 
 
 mportance, the reg- 
 oiistitute prominent 
 I between nations, 
 »mmercial or other- 
 > among the princi- 
 Lion in all civilized 
 Commerce is one 
 public revenue, and 
 s of the wealth of 
 iduals. The mer- 
 
 UAY— FIHEBIDR MUSINOa. 
 
 U. 
 
 chants of anci' uf Tyre and Sidon, two fa- 
 mous cities of iiicia, 1 m their wealth 
 acii'iirod in tlu pursuits ^ commerce, 
 Win liilletl '•irrchant pni. ^," and the 
 Florentine in of Medifi, acquired as 
 highdisiinciioii ar their u' rcantilo enter- 
 prise as till ir politiialeminence, and while 
 exeriisiiif,' the highest offices of the repub- 
 lic, they (ill not th k it beneath them to 
 att' ad to the affairs of the counting-room. 
 There is no condition of life more honor- 
 able llian that of the intelligent, honest, 
 indi )us, and enterprising merchant; 
 no o. cuj):ition in which a man can make 
 himself more useful. 
 
 Conunerce is so intimately connected 
 with agriculture, manufactures, and the me- 
 chanic arts, that they may be said to move 
 hand in hiuul. Without proper attention 
 I 'he pursuits of agriculture, commerce 
 woui be extremely limited in its opera- 
 tions , and without commerce, agriculture 
 would lose its chief support. Without 
 comrner m inufactures would languish ; 
 with it, iiid their way into every cor- 
 
 ner of K jwn world. Freighted with 
 the productions of our prolific soil, and of 
 our manufactories, the sails of American 
 vessels whiten every sea, and are spread 
 to every breeze. 
 
 MAY. 
 
 N the first day of 
 this month, the Ro- 
 mans held a feast 
 in honor of Maia, 
 the mother of Mer- 
 cury ; and by some 
 it is supposed t'.^t 
 this was the ' igin 
 of the name May. By the Saxoi a was 
 called Tri-mtlki; the pasturage in this 
 month being so abundant as to enable them 
 to niiik their cows tri, or three times in 
 the day. 
 
 May has ever been the favorite month 
 of the year in poetical description ; but 
 the praises so lavishly bestowed upon it, 
 took their rise from climates more sotith- 
 ern than ours. In such, it really unites 
 all the soft beauties of spring with the ra- 
 
 diance of sum md has warmth enough 
 
 to cheer 11. n ite, witlmiit overpow- 
 
 ering. Wi (jcially since we have 
 
 reckoned by lew style, great part of 
 
 the month is loo chill for a perfect en- 
 joyment of the clianns of natun; ; and fre- 
 quent injury is done to the flowers and 
 young fruits during its course, by blights 
 and blasting winds. May-day, though 
 still observfd as a rural festival, has ofif ii 
 little pleasure to bestow but that arising 
 from ll <• name. In a very elegant poem, 
 < .tied " The Tears of Old Mayday," this 
 newer rn is thus d«8cribed : — 
 
 Nor V '! ' Nature'! baiihfut faco 
 
 Aij ( her rude emljraceii fear J 
 
 U bI) April's wayward race, 
 
 Tl ghujr of the unripened year 7 
 
 ,H and lunahino In her ficlil« oyoa j 
 iw Hiiiilca. procIai^lin^( iroaclieroua peace ; 
 K hmlioring in their tliiii diaguiae, 
 ! that riotH on thu ■pnij|;'8 iiicroanu. 
 
 The month, however, on the whole, is even 
 in this country sufficiently profuse of beau- 
 ties. The earth is covered with the fresh- 
 est green of the grass and young corn, and 
 adorned with numerous flowers opening 
 on every side. The trees put on all their 
 verdure ; the laburnum horse-chestnut, and 
 the alder, blossom in this month. The 
 hedges are rich in fragrance from tlie 
 snowy flowers of the hawthorn ; and the 
 orchards display their highest beauty in 
 the delicate blush of the apple-blossoms. 
 All this scene of beauty and fertility is 
 however sometimes dreadfully ravaged 
 by the blights which peculiarly occur in 
 this month. The mischief seems to be 
 done chiefly by innumerable swarms of 
 very small insects, which are brought by 
 the northeast winds 
 
 Will 
 V 
 
 Wi. 
 
 '1 
 
 FIRESIDE MUSINGS. 
 
 It is a moment of peril to the young 
 child, when first he breaks from the guid- 
 ing hand of his watchful mother, and 
 stands unputected and alone, depending 
 on his own strength and trusting in his own 
 judgment. One short step, inadvertently 
 taken, may, by laying him prone on the 
 earth, at once destroy the charm of his new 
 position, and shatter his self-confidence, 
 
 t 
 t 
 
 |i 
 
 *!« 
 
 mfs^f 
 

 ■'^*Wi. 
 
 ''^'^^^'if" 
 
 , ,'??■■"■' 
 
 «)!tii»' 
 
 740 
 
 THK UIHON. 
 
 that moving-spirit of all groat enterpriso ; 
 wliiiu uriiitlior taken iu (lellber.itioii nml 
 fctrc'sight, limy give him jiropcr rolianco 
 ill his own powers, and place him lioyond 
 the reach ol hium. So it iti witii the imiiior- 
 tul miiiil ; that moment must nrrivo when 
 it burstH aHUiider the bond iliiit ha.s bound 
 it, breaks from the controlling hand of pa- 
 rent or guardian, and in the lull consciouH- 
 iHfiH of its own inielleclual powers, stiiiidH 
 i'orlh, alone, to iliink, to will, and lo reaHon 
 for itself, it is a fearful inomciit for ilie 
 mind, when sophistical, shallow theories, 
 narrow mid lal.se doctrines, appear before 
 it, ill llieir eiiiiciiig, gorgeous garbs, and 
 when vice itself lies hid beneath the 
 bright pageant. 
 
 It is a fearful struggle to decide which 
 is (he riglit — lo feel that it is not enough 
 to have been reared in a faith, to have 
 had the same doctrines instilled, drop 
 by drop, into the infant— to have been 
 given precepts and blindly to have fol- 
 lowed them — to have received the judg 
 inents, the principles, the very senlinients 
 of others, and to have embraced them in 
 the cold ignorance of an unthinking mind. 
 It is sad, indeed, to feel that the dearest 
 ties of nature are not sullicieni, alom-, to 
 strengthen or retain a spark of the aflec- 
 tions born within us ; but it is a pleasing 
 reflection that the mind can no longer be 
 led, that it has arrived at that point when 
 it must assert its own power, and must 
 influence others with its own dignity. 
 God of heaven help the weak in that 
 hour, and the strong loo, for at heart we 
 are frail, and need his aid sadly!' Hut 
 wiien tlie mind, after deep, serious "thought, 
 long study, and earnest prayer, has arrived 
 at its own conclusion, and adopted one 
 consistent course, to the exclusion of all 
 others— in the path in which it has been 
 reared and tended is abundance for an- 
 other — if the sweet memory even of its 
 infancy is cast aside at once and for ever, 
 have we a right to censure ? Is it not, 
 oh ! far nobler to soar above the unworthy 
 trammels of habit, and in the broad, open 
 sunshine of our own intellects, mark, de- 
 cide, and act, for ourselves? Where is 
 the exercise of firm resolution. Christian 
 fortitude, and lofty impulse, if we are 
 bound to tread in one path, in the calm- 
 ness of indiflference, and the lethargy of 
 
 ignorance. Oh ! wo are not endowed thus 
 richly with exalted faculties, if it wer»> 
 intended by Heaven they should bo dor- 
 mant within us. No! let us investigate 
 deeply and reflect seriously ; let us con- 
 centrate the noble powers of our cultiva- 
 ted miiiil<t upon the greate.^t, tin; suhlimest 
 subject that ever filled ilie human niiml. 
 And in the meantime, let us not condemn 
 unmeriifully, hut respect, esteem, and em- 
 ulate, those who have had the moral cour- 
 age high spirit, and iinlepmideiice, to 
 sw.rve fnnn llu' belief in whith they 
 have perhaps, ilindly lived, and before 
 the whole world to avow the beautiful 
 triiihs thai have been revealed to them in 
 their deep and prayerful research 
 
 THK lliSON. 
 
 V HIS remarkable spe- 
 tX'ies of ox is peculiar 
 lo North America. 
 Until of late years, it 
 was very generally 
 considered that the 
 domestic o.\, tlie wild 
 bull (i/ri/.v) of Europe 
 and /\ la, and the American bi.son, were 
 only varieties of the same species, or, in 
 other wt ds, that the domestic ox was the 
 urus altered by civilization, and that the 
 bison was the urus altered by climate. 
 This was the opinion of Huiroii, Pallas, 
 and oiher distinguished naturalists. The 
 identity of the urus and the l)ison being 
 assumed, it became a question ol' some- 
 what diiricult solution how the.se animals 
 migrated from the old to the new world. 
 Many ingenious theories were framed to 
 meet the circumstances, but ihe necessity 
 for these speculations has been superse- 
 ded by the discovery made by Cuvier, 
 that the bison of America is really a spe- 
 cies distinct from the urus ; and he has 
 indicated the very important differences 
 by which the distinction is established. 
 
 We may consider the bison as charac- 
 terized by fifteen pair of ribs (the wild 
 bull has only fourteen) and by the im- 
 mense disproportion between its fore and 
 hind quarters. The latter distinction is 
 partly occasioiied by the great hump or 
 
 
 
4T* 
 
 re not ondowfid thiia 
 iiculiii^s, if it W('r»« 
 hoy .tlioiiM be dur- 
 ! let IIS inveHtijijnte 
 iously ; let us con- 
 vors of our culiiva- 
 latu.st, tliu siitilirntiHt 
 I ilit> liuiniiii niiiiil. 
 |i!t IIS not conduiiin 
 cl, i'!«ti'«in, und om- 
 had tlif moral cour- 
 iiiile|)(MidtMien, to 
 v( in wliii'ii they 
 ' lived, und hcl'ore 
 avow iJHi heaiitifid 
 rtiVfuled ti) ihcin in 
 111 ruxeurclL 
 
 i.SON. 
 
 IS remarkable spe- 
 ys ol ox is peculiar 
 
 North America, 
 mil of late year^j, it 
 IS very {{enerally 
 nsidered tlnit the 
 niestic ox, llio wild 
 11 (nn/s) of Europe 
 icrican bison, were 
 lino sjiecies, or, in 
 Dmeslic ox was the 
 ition, and that the 
 .Itered by climate, 
 of BulTon, Pallas, 
 I naturalists. The 
 id the bison being 
 
 question of some- 
 how these animals 
 
 to the new world, 
 es were framed to 
 i, but the necessity 
 has been superse- 
 
 niade by Cuvier, 
 ica is really a spe- 
 urus ; and he has 
 portant differences 
 n is established, 
 e bison as charac- 
 
 of ribs (the wild 
 i) and by the im- 
 3tween its fore and 
 atter distinction is 
 he great hump or 
 
 
^>, 
 
 
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 Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Instltut Canadian de microreproductions historiques 
 
projection over its shoulders. This hump 
 is oblong, diminishing in height as it ex- 
 tends backward, and giving a considerable 
 obliquity to the outline of the back. The 
 hair over the head, neck, and fore part of 
 the body, is long and shaggy, forming a 
 beard beneath the lower jaw, and descend- 
 ing below the knee in a tuft. The hair 
 on the summit of the head rises in a dense 
 mass nearly to the tip of the horns, and 
 directly on the front is curled and strongly 
 matted. The ponderous head, rendered 
 terrific by its thick, shaggy hair, and 
 streaming beard, is supported upon a mas- 
 sive neck and shoulders, the apparent 
 strength of which is more imposing from 
 the augmentation produced by the hump, 
 and the long fall of hair by which the an- 
 terior parts of the body are covered. This 
 woolly hair is remarkable, not less for its 
 fineness than its length. The difference 
 between the winter and the summer coat 
 of the bison consists rather in the length 
 than in the other qualities of the hair. In 
 summer, from the shoulders backward, the 
 surface is covered with very short, fine 
 hair, smooth and soft as velvet. Except 
 the long hair on the fore parts, which is 
 to a certain extent of a rust color or yel- 
 lowish tinge, the color is a uniform dun. 
 Varieties of color are so rare among the 
 species, that the hunters and Indians al- 
 ways regard any apparent difference with 
 great surprise. The fleece or hair of a 
 full-grown bison, when separated from the 
 skin, is usua'Uy found to weigh about 
 eight pounds, according to Charlevoix. 
 The horns are shorter than in any other 
 species, nearly straight, sharp-pointed, 
 exceedingly strong, and planted widely 
 asunder at the base, as in the common 
 bull. The tail is almost a foot long, and 
 terminates in a tuft, which is black in the 
 males and red in the females. The eyes 
 are large and fierce ; the limbs are of 
 great strength ; and the appearance of the 
 animal is altogether exceedingly grim, 
 savage, and formidable According to 
 Hearne, the size of the bison is, on the 
 average, less than that of the urus, but 
 exceeds that of every other species of 
 the ox. It has been known to weigh 1,600 
 and even 2,400 lbs. ; and the strongest 
 men are said to be unable, singly, to lift 
 one of -the skins from the ground. The 
 
 female is much smaller than the male ; 
 she has not so much of the long huir in 
 front, and her horns are not so large, nor 
 so much covered by the hair. The males 
 and females associate from the end of 
 July to the beginning of September ; after 
 which the females separate from ti>e 
 males, and remain in distinct herds. They 
 calve in April. The calves seldom leave 
 the mother until they are a year old, and 
 sometimes the females are seen followed 
 by the young of three seasons. 
 
 The bisons generally seek their food in 
 the morning and evening, and retire du- 
 ring the heat of the day to marshy places. 
 They rarely resort to the woods, prefer- 
 ring the open prairies where the herbage 
 is long and thick. They also associate 
 in vast troops, led by the fiercest and 
 most powerful of the bulls. In both these 
 respects their habits differ from those of 
 the urus, which leads a solitary life in the 
 deepest gloom of the forest. The herds 
 of bisons are frequently of astonishing 
 density and extent. While feeding, they 
 are often scattered over a vast surface ; 
 but when they move forward in mass, they 
 form a dense, impenetrable column, which 
 once fairly in motion is scarcely to be 
 turned. They swim large rivers nearly 
 in the same order in which they traverse 
 the plains ; and when flying from pursuit, 
 it is in vain for those in front to make a 
 sudden halt, as the rearward throng dash 
 madly forward, and force their leaders on. 
 The Indians sometimes profit by this 
 habit. They lure a herd to the vicinity 
 of a precipice, and setting the whole in 
 rapid motion, they terrify them by shouts 
 and other artifices to rush on to their in- 
 evitable destruction. The chase of the 
 bisons, indeed, constitutes a favorite di- 
 version of the Indians, numerous tribes 
 of whom may be said to be almost entirely 
 dependent on these animals for all their 
 necessaries of life. They are killed either 
 by shooting them, or by gradually driving 
 them into a small space, by setting fire to 
 the grass around the place where the herd 
 is feeding. They are much terrified by 
 fire, and crowd together to avoid it ; and 
 they are then killed by bands of Indians, 
 without any personal hazard. It is said 
 that on such occasions, 1,500 or 2,000 
 have sometimes been killed at a time. 
 
 9 
 
 X 
 
the male ; 
 3ng huir in 
 ) large, nor 
 The males 
 he end of 
 nber ; after 
 
 from the 
 ?rds. They 
 Idom leave 
 ar old, and 
 3n followed 
 
 leir food in 
 1 retire du- 
 •shy places. 
 )ds, prefer- 
 he herbage 
 
 associate 
 iercest and 
 
 1 both these 
 m those of 
 Y life in the 
 
 The herds 
 astonishing 
 leding, they 
 St surface ; 
 I mass, they 
 umn, which 
 rcely to be 
 vers nearly 
 ley traverse 
 rem pursuit, 
 : to make a 
 throng dash 
 
 leaders on. 
 fit by this 
 the vicinity 
 le whole in 
 w by shouts 
 
 to their in- 
 hase of the 
 
 favorite di- 
 erous tribes 
 lost entirely 
 for all their 
 killed either 
 lally driving 
 jtting fire to 
 ere the herd 
 
 terrified by 
 void it ; and 
 1 of Indians, 
 It is said 
 DO or 2,000 
 I a time. 
 
 aEOLOGY. 
 
 743 
 
 Tiie flesh of the bison is coarser 
 grained than that of the domestic ox, but 
 is considered by hunters and travellers as 
 suiiirior in tenderness and flavor. The 
 hump is highly celebrated lor its richness 
 and delicacy, and it is said, when properly 
 cooked, to resemble marrow. 
 
 The skins of the bisons are of a loose 
 and spongy texture ; but when dressed in 
 the Indian manner, with the hair on, they 
 make admirable defences against the cold, 
 and may be used for blankets. They are 
 called buffalo robes ; the term bufl!"alo 
 being generally, but inaccurately, applied 
 to the bison. The wool of the bison has 
 been manufactured into hats, and has also 
 been employed in making coarse cloth of 
 a very strong and durable texture. 
 
 ^ GEOLOGY, 
 
 ITS OBJECTS AND ADVANTAGES. 
 
 O' ihis earth 
 has been created, 
 and its mountains 
 and valleys re- 
 ceived the forms 
 they now pos- 
 sess, is a 1 inqui- 
 ry which 8 
 natural to . -. 
 He can not be indifferent to the strucii<re 
 of that globe which was the birthplace of 
 his race, the theatre of all those mighty 
 deeds which adorn or disgrace the annals 
 of humanity. With its history his own is 
 closely connected, in all its most import- 
 ant points. Profane history soon ceases 
 to follow back the chain of human affairs, 
 and the origin of nations is lost in obscu- 
 rity. The Scriptures record rather the 
 moral and religious history of the species, 
 than the physical or political fortunes of 
 the various tribes and nations into which 
 it was divided. They no doubt contain 
 the earliest and most authentic accounts 
 of the creation and first actions of men; 
 but those, though fully sufficient for their 
 purpose, have not satisfied human curios- 
 ity — ever desirous to know more than has 
 been revealed. Hence, at all times, in- 
 
 quiries into the origin of the world and 
 the creation of the human r»«« have en- 
 gaged the attention of both the learned 
 and the unlearned. 
 
 Nor are such inquiries, when pursued 
 in a right spirit, improper. The word 
 and the works of God never can contra- 
 dict each other, and the more fully each 
 is searched out and understood, the more 
 clearly will they confirm the great truth, 
 that both have one and ihe same all-wise 
 Author. Geologists have often been ac- 
 cused of infidelity, and of attempts to de- 
 stroy the authority of the Bible ; but we 
 believe that this accusation is false, and 
 that no foundation for it will be found in 
 the writings of any of the great men who 
 have thoroughly investigated its princi- 
 ples. Disappointed theorists who coidd 
 ngt refute the arguments of their oppo- 
 nents, have sometimes accused them of 
 opposing scripture ; but such groundless 
 affirmations deserve as little regard as 
 those of the men who condemned Galileo 
 for afllirming that the earth moved, while 
 the sun stood still. Astronomy has now 
 proceeded far beyond what even the ima- 
 gination of the Italian philosopher could 
 have conceived ; yet the truth of the Bible 
 is not affected ; and, in like manner, we 
 may rest assured, that when geology has 
 expanded to its full dimensions, the au- 
 thority of revelation will remain wholly 
 unirr peached. 
 
 Geology is one of the most recent of 
 ..iO ccicnces. A century ago it could 
 hardly be said to exist, arnd the theories 
 of Leibnitz, Burnet, and Buffon, were 
 equally fanciful and unsupported by facts, 
 as those of the ancient Greeks. Of late, 
 however, it has entered on a new and 
 more scientific path. It no longer inquires 
 how •' in the beginning God created the 
 heavens and the earth ;" but assuming that 
 as a fact beyond all doubt or appeal, con- 
 fines its investigations to the present struc- 
 ture of the globe, and the traces of revo- 
 lutions which it has undergone. It has 
 now ceased to be a romantic theory, built 
 up on the fancy of speculators, and has 
 taken its place among those inductive sci- 
 ences to which the genius of Bacon has 
 given the law and rule of investigation. 
 Men must now observe and inquire, be- 
 fore they are allowed to speculate. Be- 
 
 n 
 
 
 ■> -^ 
 
 
 J- 
 
744 
 
 GEOLOGY. 
 
 fore forming a theory of the earth, they 
 are expected to know the facts which the 
 earth's crust exhibits, and which their 
 theory must explain. No one would ven- 
 ture now to write quarto volumes on rocks, 
 without having studied them in the fields, 
 and even to boast of this as a qualification 
 for his task. Geologists must now come 
 into closer contact with the works of the 
 great Creator, and thus learn more fully 
 tlieir own weakness and ignorance ; and 
 they have thus become more deeply im- 
 pressed with that spirit of reverent humil- 
 ity which becomes the true philosopher. 
 
 The advantages to be derived from the 
 study of any science can seldom be un- 
 derstood till its principles are known, and 
 should follow, not precede, the exposition 
 of these. In some respects this is true 
 of geology ; but many of its applications 
 are almost self-evident. In the mines, 
 geology had, in a great ineasure, its birth, 
 and many of its most important facts have 
 been observed there. Tlie theory of veins 
 and stratification, with the peculiar distri- 
 bution of the valuable ores and minerals, 
 were at least partially known to practical 
 men before they found a place in the sys- 
 tems of geologists. But in these they 
 appear in a new form, and with new 
 light. They are no longer mere facts, 
 standing solitary and alone, for which no 
 reason can be assigned aiid no cause 
 given. They now form part of a well- 
 connected system, and the miner is taught 
 not only when they should occur, but also 
 where he may expect exceptions to the 
 general rule. The names of many rocks 
 are derived from the local terras used in 
 particular mining districts ; but sciemc 
 has given precision to these terms, and, 
 from words hardly understood at a few 
 miles' distance, has rendered them intelli- 
 gible over the whole civilized world. 
 The facts observed in distant places and 
 countries can thus be described in uniform 
 language, and compared with each other, 
 so that what in them is merely local, may 
 be separated from what is universal. 
 Hence the system of Werner, with all its 
 errors, was «)f great use in the progress 
 of the science, by enabling inquirers in 
 difl'erent countries to understand each 
 other, which they had never previously 
 beeit able to do. 
 
 But geology gives to the miner means 
 of distinguishing rocks which he ilid not 
 formerly possess, and thus of knowing 
 where minerals may or may not be ex- 
 pected to occur. This is one of its most 
 evident advan'ages, and one in which tlie 
 whole community is more or less inter- 
 ested. Ignorant miners were often giii.led 
 in their search for ores or coal by certain 
 characters which were of little value, ex- 
 cept in a few localities, and induced men 
 to spend much money stu king for mineral 
 treasures in places where a geologist 
 could have said at once that they were 
 not to be found. In many places in Eng- 
 land and Scotlunil, mines may be seen, 
 driven for hundreds of yards through the 
 hardest rocks, in the expectation of dis- 
 covering coal, though men of science 
 know that it is never fout^i in such cir- 
 cumstances, and though the whole succes- 
 sion of rocks is laid open by some neigh- 
 boring river or ravine. Mr. Murchison, 
 when examining the geological structure of 
 Wales, met with repeated instances of this 
 kind, and the poor farmers, after ruining 
 themselves in the vain research, often 
 complained to him of their landlords, who 
 would not continue the profitless pursuit, 
 " Ah ! if our squires were only men oi 
 spirit, we should have as fine coal as any 
 in the world," was the frequent remark of 
 such speculators, wholly untaught by their 
 own painful experience. Yet a few pop- 
 ular lessons in geology would have dissi- 
 pated the vain delusion, and taught these 
 men that they were spending their money 
 and labor to no purpose. Even in the 
 south of Scotland, where the mass of the 
 people are well educated, many similar 
 attempts have been made on rocks of the 
 same geological formation, and of course, 
 with equal want of success. It is a sin- 
 gular fact, that these explorers are usually 
 misled by a variety of black slate, com- 
 posed almost entirely of flint, and hence 
 as hard as iron, and wholly incombus- 
 tible. It is, in truth, well described by 
 a sanguine ex( vator of this class, who 
 said to his minuter, " It is as black as a 
 coal, as hard as a coal, and as heavy as a 
 coal ; in short, it is coal altogether — ex- 
 cept that it will not burn." 
 
 In these instances, geology would have 
 told these persons that coal worth work- 
 
miner rne.uu 
 id) he ilid not 
 i ol' knowini; 
 iy not !)'.'. ex- 
 ile of iis most 
 3 in wliicli tin; 
 
 or les.s intor- 
 rc often iriii'li'd 
 oiil by certain 
 iltle Viiliie, fx- 
 L iiulnced men 
 Mg for mineral 
 3 a geolojjist 
 hat they were 
 )laces in Eng- 
 
 may be soon, 
 (Is through the 
 ctalion of dis- 
 sn of science 
 i in such cir- 
 whole succes- 
 y some neigli- 
 [r. Murcliison, 
 cul structure of 
 isiances of lliis 
 5, after ruining 
 ssearch, often 
 landlords, who 
 fiiless pursuit. 
 
 only men ot 
 ne coal as any 
 uent remark of 
 taiight by their 
 fet a few pop- 
 ild have dissi- 
 d taught these 
 ig their money 
 Even in the 
 he mass of the 
 
 many similar 
 in rocks of the 
 and of course, 
 . It is a sin- 
 ers are usually 
 2k slate, com- 
 int, and hence 
 jlly incombus- 
 l described by 
 lis class, who 
 I as black as a 
 . as heavy as a 
 dtogether — ex- 
 
 gy would have 
 al worth work- 
 
 QEOLoav. 
 
 745 
 
 ing never occurred in such rocks, and thus 
 saved them their dear-bought experience. 
 But it not only tells where coal is not, but 
 also where it is to be found. It makes 
 known the order and succession of the 
 various rocky beds that make up the crust 
 of the earth," and thus renders its interior 
 almost transiiareiit to the eye of science. 
 The practical geologist examines the sur- 
 face of a country, and finds it composed 
 of a sjiecies of rock which he knows lies 
 higher in the series than coal. From its 
 fossil remains, the shells or plants it con- 
 tains, he knows its place in the earth's 
 crust, and hence the probability of coal 
 lying behjw it. Such scientific divining 
 has, in many instances, proved success- 
 fid, aii 1 many undertiikings which merely 
 practical men ridiculed, have produced 
 great wealth to the bold theorist who dared 
 to despise their warnings. Mr. Murchi- 
 son, in the work already alluded to, men- 
 tions many instances of valuable coal-pits 
 sunk lliro'iigli beds of red sandstone, in 
 places where, a few years ago, no one 
 suspected tliis mineral to exist. In the 
 north of England many similar cases oc- 
 cur. Tiiere are examples, too, of valuable 
 minerals, not concealed in the bowels of 
 the earth, but lying open on its surface, 
 having been wholly neglected, till some 
 competent geoU)gist was led to the spot by 
 accident. In Lliisl, the most northern of 
 the British isles, great quantities of a par- 
 ticular rock were strewed over the ground, 
 and so little regarded as to be used for 
 constructing walls or fences. Dr. Hibbert 
 found that this was the chromate of iron, 
 from which chrome yellow, so much used 
 in manufactures, is prepared, and these 
 neglected stones immediately became ob- 
 jects of commerce, and a sotirce of large 
 income to the proprietors. 
 
 These few instances show the advan- 
 tages which may result from the study of 
 geology. The "interests of private indi- 
 viduals are not only promoted by it, but 
 also those of the whole nation. Many 
 instances might be produced of the bene 
 fits It has conferred both on private indi- 
 viduals and the community, and other ap- 
 plications of its principles to various pro- 
 fessions and pursuits might be noticed. 
 
 But few can directly participate in these 
 advantages, compared to the number of 
 
 those to whom it may prove a copious 
 
 source of intellectual gratification and 
 
 improvement. Though the study 
 
 moral ...., — r, 
 
 of geology may be begun in books and 
 class-rooms, it must be pursued in the 
 open field.s. The descriptions and theo- 
 ries of our instructors must be compared 
 with the realities and facts of nature. It 
 is thus only that progress can be made in 
 the science, and its true advantages real- 
 ized. We must cease to listen to the 
 voice of men, that we may lier.r the Cre- 
 ator speaking to us in his works. Nor is 
 it to every part of these works alike that 
 the attention of the geologist is turned. 
 The verdant meadow or the fertile plains, 
 covered with rich and luxuriant vegeta- 
 tion, do not escape his notice, and in his 
 eyes have a meaning and a worth beyoml 
 that observable to the common crowd of 
 men. Their beauty and fertility is as 
 open to him as to the painter, poet, or ag- 
 riculturist ; but, beside this, he sees in 
 them [larts of a great whole, and can 
 trace back their history, through many 
 revolutions, to the time when they were, 
 perhaps, the bottom of a lake whose wa- 
 ters have disappeared, the estuary of a 
 river which has ceased to flow, or a por- 
 tion of the channels of the ocean, above 
 which they are now far elevated. But 
 the pursuits of the geologist lead him to 
 prefer other scenes, of a wilder, more 
 rugged, and less generally attractive na- 
 ture. The rocky seacoast, where the 
 land and waters carry on their never-end- 
 ing contests for the supremacy, is to him 
 full of instruction. In the lofty chffs, sec- 
 tions are laid open he would in vain look 
 for elsewhere, and the mouldering pinna- 
 cles of rock speak to him of events older 
 than the pyramids, and chronicled in char- 
 acters more enduring and intelligible than 
 their sculptured hieroglyphics. The nar- 
 row ravine, where the foaming river can 
 scarce force its way amid the projecting 
 rocks, has many lessons to impart to him. 
 In its rude walls he sees the various strata 
 concealed beneath the deep soil and abun- 
 dant crops of the neighboring plains ; 
 while the form and depth of the channel 
 tell of the power of aqueous erosion, and 
 form a kind of natural chronometer, by 
 which the past duration of our present 
 continents may be estimated. 
 
 ii 
 
 < m 1 
 
 ■i 
 
746 
 
 QEOLOOY. 
 
 But the favorite resort of the geologist 
 is the lofty mountains and their lone vaU 
 leys. In their towering rocks and majes- 
 tic precipices he sees clear traces of those 
 tremendous forces which have agitated 
 and convulsed the globe. In searching 
 out these, he is led into wild scenes of 
 the most romantic beauty, which have 
 been for ages concealed in the remote 
 wilderness. He thus sees and enjoys 
 much which is hid from others, who have 
 not this motive to explore these lonely 
 solitudes. Here also his science gives 
 meaning to natural appearances, which to 
 other men seem unintelligible and repul- 
 sive. In the rude blocks scattered over a 
 mountain-side, he finds a confirmation or 
 confutation of a theory of the universe, 
 or an explanation of facts observed in 
 some remote quarter of the globe. No 
 one can look, without emotion, on the 
 granite pinnacles of Arran, rising from the 
 broad estuary of the Clyde, but they have 
 assuredly more than a twofold interest to 
 those who see in that small island a model 
 of the whole earth, and a test of all the 
 theories that have been proposed, to ac- 
 count for its phenomena. 
 
 Geology thus makes us acquainted with 
 some of the most interesting parts of that 
 great globe we inhabit, and enables us to 
 find pleasure and instruction even in its 
 rudest and most barren districts. The 
 bleakest moor loses its loneliness, and the 
 sandy down is not so uniform or devoid of 
 meaning as to disgust us. In this way, 
 travelling is rendered doubly instructive 
 and amusing, and is changed from a mere 
 mean of spending time or gratifying an 
 idle and ignorant curiosity, into a source 
 of high moral and intoUectual improve- 
 ment. It is indeed remarkable, when 
 we look to the number of persons who in 
 the present day wander over the length 
 and breadth of our land, how few take 
 any care to derive from their journeys the 
 full amount of amusement and information 
 they are fitted to convey. It is not enough 
 to visit remarkable places, to stand on the 
 ground consecrated to virtue and patriot- 
 ism, unless we participate in these feel- 
 ings and have our good resolutions 
 strengthened by the emotions they inspire. 
 So, also, in visiting beautiful and sublime 
 scenery, it is not sufficient to yield up our 
 
 minds in listless indolence to the pleasu- 
 rable emotions they excite. Such scenes 
 are calculated to inspire higher sentiments, 
 and wo forfeit half their use and value 
 when our minds are not prepared to re- 
 ceive these. Nothing stands alone in na- 
 ture ; no part of the vast universe exists 
 solely for itself. Every portion of it is 
 connected with those aroimd, and bears 
 to them innumerable relations, 'i'hc true 
 import of the mountains atid hills can only 
 be understood when viewed in connexion 
 with plains and valleys ; and the signifi- 
 cance of the sandy des 'rts. of the Sahara, 
 may be read in the genial climate of our 
 own continent. But it is geology and its 
 connected sciences, which hold the key 
 to this branch of wisdom, and can alone 
 open their treasures to men. It not only 
 unfolds the present purpose and uses of 
 various portions of creation, but exhibits 
 their connexion with what precedes and 
 follows them. It thus lays open to us 
 wider and more extended views of the 
 divine Providence, and proves that even 
 the physical welfare and comfort of man 
 had been foreseen and attended to ages 
 before he was called into being. For to 
 what else than the wise benevolence of 
 the Creator can we ascribe those stores of 
 coal, and iron, and limestone, accumulated 
 in such inexhaustible abundance, and 
 brought into that contact with one another 
 which renders them available to the uses 
 of men ? Had each existed in equal or 
 even greater profusion, but widely separa- 
 ted from the other, had the iron ore been 
 found without the coal and limestone ne- 
 cessary to convert it into the precious met- 
 al, how far inferior would have been the 
 advantages derived from them ! What a 
 blight would it cast on the industry and 
 commerce of the world. 
 
 Wisdom OF Faith. — Does not every ar- 
 chitect complain of the injustice of criti- 
 cising a building before it is half finished ? 
 Yet who can tell what volume of the cre- 
 ation we are in at present, or what point 
 the structure of our moral fabric has at- 
 tained ? While wo are all in a vessel 
 that is sailing imder sealed orders, we 
 shall do that which h> best for us, if we 
 confide implicitly in our government and 
 captain. 
 
the pleasu- 
 Such sci.'iies 
 
 3r sentiments, 
 se and value 
 eparcd to re- 
 j alone in na- 
 iveise exists 
 rtiun of it is 
 i\, and boars 
 s. The true 
 tiiiis can only 
 in connexion 
 
 1 the signili- 
 < the Sahara, 
 limate ol' our 
 ilogy and its 
 !u)ld the key 
 lid can ah)ne 
 
 It not only 
 and uses of 
 but exhibits 
 ^recedes and 
 1 open to us 
 news of the 
 us that even 
 nfort of man 
 ided to ages 
 ing. For to 
 nevolence of 
 liose stores of 
 I accumulated 
 ndance, and 
 lone another 
 ) to the uses 
 in equal or 
 idely separa- 
 ron ore been 
 imestone ne- 
 precious met- 
 ave been the 
 in! What a 
 industry and 
 
 1 not every ar- 
 stice of criti- 
 lalf finished ? 
 le of the cre- 
 r what point 
 abric has at- 
 in a vessel 
 i orders, we 
 for U3, if we 
 ^eminent and 
 
 NEW ZEALAND. 
 
 NEW ZEALAND. 
 
 m 
 
 EW Zealand, filling 
 a large space in the 
 southern Pacific, ex- 
 lending from 31^ to 
 to 47^ south lati- 
 tude, and from 167° 
 to 179^ east longi- 
 \*lu(le, was discovered 
 by Tasman, a Dutch 
 navigator in ir)t2. The vast southern 
 Tacilic was then an almost unexplored 
 region, and liiough nearly two centuries 
 had <'la[)scd since European tiavigators 
 discovered the passage to India by the 
 cape of Good Hope, the mine of entcT- 
 prise which was then opened still contin- 
 ued to attract their chief attention, and to 
 satisfy their maritime ardor. The reputed 
 existence of a fifih continent, placed in 
 the southern hemisphere, and vague ru- 
 mors of its supposed rich productions, in- 
 flamed the imagination of geographers, 
 and proved a wholesome stimulus to the 
 progress of discovery. Tasman was des- 
 patched by Anthony Van Diemen, gover- 
 nor of the Dutch East Indies, and sailed 
 on the 14th of August, 1G42, from the 
 Fort of Batavia, in company with another 
 vessel under his command. He first dis- 
 covered the island now known as Van 
 Die men's land; and pursuing his voyage 
 toward the east, again saw land on the 
 13lh of September, and following the line 
 of coast anchored next day within a large 
 bay, here for the first time he had an op- 
 portunity of seeing the natives, who came 
 out in two canoes, and hailed the stran- 
 gers ui a strong rough voice, but they did 
 not approach very near to the ship. On 
 the luUowing day, a canoe with thirteen 
 men came within a stone's throw, but no 
 temptations could induce them to come on 
 board the ship. Tasman describes them 
 as of the common stature and strong- 
 boned ; their complexion between brown 
 and yellow, and their black hair tied up in 
 the Javanese fashion, on the crown of the 
 head, with the addition of a large feather 
 stuck therein. Seven other canoes iii the 
 meantime put off from the shore, and Tas- 
 man, doubtful of their intentions, hoisted 
 out one of his boats, which being manned 
 by a quartermaster and six seamen, was 
 
 48 
 
 on its way to the other .ship to put her 
 commander on his guard, when the canoes 
 ran violently in upon the boat and nearly 
 upset it, at the same time making a des- 
 perate attack upon the boat's crew. Threo 
 of the seamen were killed and oni! mor- 
 tally wounded. The savages then hastily 
 retreated, carrying with them one of the 
 dead bodies. Tasman immediately « eigh- 
 ed anchor, and gave the place the name 
 of the Hay of Murderers. Thus inans- 
 piciously did the first interview of the 
 New-Zcalanders with Europeans termi- 
 nate. Tasman had not been able to bring 
 his guns to bear upon the retreating i.sland- 
 ers, and the savages could not as yet ap- 
 preciate the hostile power which they had 
 aroused. When the ship had got under 
 sail, twenty-two canoes followed her, and 
 advancing within range of the guns, were 
 fired upon, and one man being killed, and 
 the shot striking the canoes, they turned 
 toward the shore. The man who was 
 killed bore a white flag in his hand. Tas- 
 man's course precluded him from ascer- 
 taining that what he took for a large bay 
 was the strait separating the northern 
 from the southern island, which unitedly 
 are known under the name of New Zea- 
 land. He therefore naturally looked upon 
 the other island as a continuation of the 
 same land, and that in fact ho was upon 
 the shores of the new continent, believed 
 to exist in this part of the southern ocean. 
 " It is," he says, " a very fine country, 
 and we hope it is a part of the unknown 
 south continent." One of his countrymen 
 had made a similar mistake about a quar- 
 ter of i-entury before, having come in 
 sight I . -nd which he conceived to be 
 part of a ;ontinent, and to which he gave 
 the name of Staten land, or State's land. 
 Just at this time, or a few months after- 
 ward, the supposed continent was discov- 
 ered to be an island of no great extent ; 
 but Tasman believed that he had also fall- 
 en in with a portion of Staten land or the 
 southern continent. When it was ascer- 
 tained that the country called Staten land 
 was only an island, Tasman's discovery 
 received the name of New Zealand. On 
 the 4th of January he passed the north- 
 western extremity of New Zealand, which 
 he named Cape Maria Van Diemen, in 
 honor of a lady to whom it is said he was 
 
 ■\f 
 
 * 
 
 i 
 
J 
 
 i: •lilife' illll;'' 
 
 ■,,;ii: . 
 ill- IV 'li:lll|j:lr;i.-;i|Pil|||:!.!,;|-^ 
 
OIGANTIC IJUlUri lU' TOUMKll T1MK8. 
 
 7l'.i 
 
 Xl^'ll 
 
 m- 
 
 m 
 
 iittai'lit'd.lho (liiiinlitcr of liip (fdvcrnor iiii- ( 
 (Icr « lioso UII-.JIUI-S tlic I'XjJC'iliiKMi was 
 lirojfCtL'tl. 
 
 It wiiM nhivve ii century nlNT Tasm.in's 
 vi)\;i::i' lu'l'ore New '/,r;il,iiiil was iinniii 
 vi^iti it Ity i'liinipciiiis ; liut (III till' (iili ol' 
 (JcIiiImt, 17t)l>, <'.i|il!im Cook, llicii mu- 
 kiiijr Lis (irst vuyiige of circumiiaviiiuiioii 
 ill ilif I'lndoavor, lumo in si^lit of the 
 
 !sl;ilul. 
 
 ('ii|iiiiiii Cook ;i|i|)ro:i(lifil Nrw Zoii- 
 Iniiil iVoin lilt' wi'st, oil liiM |)assiit,'o from 
 tliu tSocii'ly iiilaiKU, \vlul(! 'ritisinaii Iiad 
 icachi'd it Irom ilio cast. 'I'lic! k*^'"''''' 
 ii|iiiii<)n on hoard iho Kiideavor was that 
 ill y also had rmiiiil tiic " 'I't-rra Aiisirali.s 
 liiioyiiiia." Oil iliii Mil Cook aiicliori'il, 
 and soon alter went on shoro aceoinpa- 
 iiieil hy Mr. (afterward JSir Joseph) Manks 
 and \)r. ISolander, and were unhappily at- 
 iHiked i)y the natives, on whom they were 
 loiiipelled to fire in self-defence. An at- 
 tiiiipi at friendly interetnirse was made the 
 (lay following, l)iit though aided hy tliu 
 jiersnasions of a native of Oiaheito on 
 liiiard the Kndeavor, it proved imsuecess- 
 lul. 'I'he Kndeavor did not ItNivc this 
 pari of the coast willnnit an iinloriimaie 
 collision with the luitiviis, wiio fouyiil in 
 the most ohstinate nninncr aj^ainst an une- 
 qual force, the contest enilin<r in four of 
 the savages heing killed. Two youths, 
 one aged 19, and the other 11, were ta- 
 ken on hoard the ship, where they expect- 
 ed instant deaili, hut being kindly treated, 
 soon recovered tlnir sjiirits. IJeing ui\a- 
 lile to ohtain provisions at this place, to 
 which Cook f^;i\e the name of Poverty 
 hay, the anchor was widghed, and the 
 Eli Jeavor, purstiing the lino of coast, came 
 to the su|)pose(l hay in which Tasman had 
 aiuhored, an ■■ aitdi Cixdi found to he a 
 strait separa; il' the islands : in the maps 
 It hears the name of Cook's straits. 
 
 The next epoch in the intercourse with 
 i\ew Zealand, arose out of the proximity 
 ot' the English settlements in New South 
 W ;des, founded at the close of the last 
 ctiiiury, the distance from them being 
 ahoul 1,200 miles; while New Zealand 
 is not more tjum two or tliree days' sail 
 fro:n Norfolk island, where a settlement 
 was commenced in 1793. ']"he natives 
 of Now Zealand have fretpiently visited 
 !Sydn"y, Port Jackson, and other Austra- 
 
 lian ixtrts. At a s(Mnewhat later period, 
 the sliijis engaged in the South sea whale 
 fishnry, hogan to freipient New Zi'iihind ; 
 anil the government at New South Wales 
 availed themsid\ cs of iliis ineilinm to scml 
 [)resents of cattle, grain, and sued oiher 
 arlitdes as were ealculaird to promote ilie 
 social improvement of the natives. 
 
 A third s'uge in iIk; intercourse ol' New 
 Zealand with civili/ed nations is marked 
 hy llie arrival of (.'hrisiian missionaiies in 
 Ih'll, alter they had remained several 
 years in .New South Wales. The Chunh 
 missionary society commenced this wo'k, 
 in which other societies have engiiiied, 
 and their operations during tin! last twcn- 
 ly-livr year.s, have hail simi!' iinportaiii m- 
 llueiice on the New Ze,.land (diaraeler. 
 'i'he island has also hecoiro an active 
 scene of commercial entorprisp, and as 
 the Australian colonies increase in wealth 
 and j)opnlalioii, New Zealand will he 
 hroui^ht into still closiir coniiexicm with 
 the habits and wants of civili/ation. 
 
 It 
 
 (ilGANTIC BIRDS OF FOU.MER Ti.MKS. j 
 
 T a late meeting 
 of the Hritish as- 
 sociation, a very 
 inli^restini; paper 
 was furnishetl by 
 Mr. lionomi, on 
 certain gigantic 
 birds of former 
 times. The ex- 
 istence of slabs 
 of the new red sandstone of America, 
 marked with footsteps of huge birds is well 
 known. As some of these animals are 
 calculated to have been fifteen feet high, 
 they were at (irst supjjosed to have no jiar- 
 allel in the present state of nature ; but 
 this was soon found not to be the case, as 
 several specimens of the bones of a bird 
 not less gigantic have been sent home from 
 New Zealand, where il is spoken of by 
 the natives as existing under the name of 
 Moa. There have also been discovered 
 by (Japtain Flinders, on the south coast of 
 New Holland, in King George's hay, 
 some very large nests, measnriiig twenty- 
 six feet in circumference, and thirty-two 
 
 w 
 
 
T^o 
 
 OIOANTIO BIRD0 OF rORMBR TIMK8. 
 
 inches in ln-ight, resornbliiiK, in ilinwM- 
 sions, Homo that are iK'scribml by (.'iiptnin 
 Cooii, iiM scMMi by him on the northciist 
 coiiMl of the Niune iNJanJ, about fifl«'i>n (h;- 
 frroes soulii latiiuJo. It woiilil appear, by 
 Bomo commuiiicationM mado to the eililor 
 of the London Alhcnicum, tlial Proft-sHor 
 Ilitchcocli of Massachusells hail HiiKgcst- 
 eJ thai the»o colossal nests belonged to 
 the Moa. 
 
 In connexion with those discoveries is 
 another from an opposite quarter. " Be- 
 tween the years 1821 and 1823, Mr. James 
 Hiirton discovered on tiio west coast, or 
 K^ypiian side of the Red sea, opposite the 
 |)(!ninsula o*" Mount Sinni, at a place called 
 (Jebel Ezzeit, where, for a considerable 
 distance, the margin of the sea is inac- 
 cessible from the desert, three colossal 
 nes's within the space of one mile. These 
 nests were not in an c(|ual state of j)re8- 
 ervation ; but, from one more perfect than 
 the others, he judged iheni to be about fif- 
 teen feet in height, or as ho observed, the 
 height of a camel and its rider. These 
 nests were composed of a mass of heter- 
 ogeneous materials, piled up in the form of 
 a cone, and sufficiently well put together 
 to insure adequate solidity. The diame- 
 ter of the cone at its base was estimated 
 as nearly equal to its height, and the apex, 
 which terminated in a slight concavity, 
 measured about two feet six inches, or 
 three feet in diameter. The materials of 
 which the great mass was composed, were 
 sticks and weeds, fragments of wrecks, 
 and the bones of fishes ; but in one was 
 found the thorax of a man, a silver watch 
 made by George Prior, a London watch- 
 maker of the last century, celebrated 
 throughout the East, and in the nest or 
 basin at the apex of the cone, some pieces 
 of woollen cloth and an old shoe. 
 
 That tliese nests had been but recently 
 constructed, was sufficiently evident from 
 the shoe and watch of the shipwrecked 
 pilgrim, whose tattered clothes and whi- 
 tened bones were found at no great dis- 
 tance ; but of what genus or species had 
 been the architect and occupant of the 
 structure, Mr. Burton could not, from his 
 own observation, determine. From the 
 accounts of the Arabs, however, it was 
 presumed that these nests had been occu 
 
 illv 
 nth 
 
 kind, which had deserted the coa:*! but a 
 short time previous to the pi riod of .Mr. 
 Burtcm's visit." — "To these facts,' saiil 
 Mr. Bonomi, " I beg to add the followiiij,' 
 remarks : — 
 
 " Among the most ancient records of the 
 primeval civilization of the human raee 
 that have come down to us, there is de- 
 scriiied in language the most universa 
 intelligible, a giganl. stork, bearing, w 
 respect to a man of ordinary dimensions, 
 the proportions exhibiteil in the drawing 
 before you, which is faithfully copied from 
 the original document. It is a bird of 
 white plumage, straight and large l)e.ik, 
 long feathers in the tail ; the male bird 
 has a tuft at the back of the head, and an- 
 other at the breast ; its habits ai)parenlly 
 gregarious. This very remarkable painted 
 basso-relievo is sculptured on the wall, ii. 
 the tomb of an officer of the lunisehold of 
 Pharaoh Shufu (the Suphisof the Greeks), 
 a monarch of the fourth dynasty, who 
 reigned over Egypt while yet a great 
 part of the Delta was intersected by lakes 
 overgrown with the papyrus — while yet 
 the smaller ramifications of the parent 
 stream were inhabited by the crocodile 
 and hippopotamus — while yet, as it would 
 seem, that favored land had not been vis- 
 ited by calamity, nor the arts of peace 
 disturbed by war ; so the sculpture in these 
 tombs intimate, for there is neither horse 
 nor instrument of war in any one of these 
 tombs. At that period of the building of 
 the great pyramid, which, according to 
 some writers on Egyptian matters, was in 
 the year 2100 B. C, which, on good au- 
 thority, is the 240th of the deluge, this 
 gigantic stork was an inhabitant of the 
 Delta, or its immediate vicinity ; for, as 
 these very interesting documenis relate, it 
 was occasionally entrapped by the peas- 
 antry of the Delta, and brought with oth- 
 er wild animals, as matters of curiosity, 
 to the great landholders or farmers of the 
 products of the Nile — of which circum- 
 stance this painted sculpture is a repre- 
 sentation, the catching of fish and birds, 
 which in these Jays occupied a large por- 
 tion of the inhabitants. The birds and 
 fish were salted. That this document 
 gives no exaggerated account of the bird, 
 may be presumed frotn the just proportion 
 
 pied by remarkably large birds of the stork | that the quadrupeds, in the same picture 
 
tlio con'"! litii :i 
 ) pcrioil "I Mr. 
 •sii furtH,' Niiid 
 111 tliu rullowii\^ 
 
 itt reroriU of iIh- 
 he huiiMii riii'o 
 UH, ihero in ilo- 
 iioHl imivi-rsiilly 
 k.lit'ariii);, vviiit 
 iiry tlimt'iiMi"!!!*, 
 
 ill tlio (Irawiii^r 
 iilly c()pi<!il I'riiin 
 
 It h a t>ir(l (if 
 and lurjio hoiik, 
 ; till) iiih1*< liinl 
 liu IlL'Iul, iiiul UM- 
 il)ils t>.i>|):irfiilly 
 narkal>li) painti'd 
 I on the wall, ii, 
 llio h()iis<!li()l(l of 
 sof ihc Clret'ks), 
 1 dynasty, wlio 
 ile yet a great 
 rsecteil by lakt-H 
 yrus— whilo yet 
 
 I of the pariinl 
 ly the crocodile 
 ) yet, us it would 
 lad not been vis- 
 u arts of peace 
 culpture ill tlieso 
 is neither horse 
 any one of these 
 ' the buihiing of 
 zh, according to 
 
 II matters, was in 
 ch, on good au- 
 tho deluge, this 
 nhubitant of the 
 vicinity ; for, as 
 ;uineni^ rolate, it 
 led by the peas- 
 rought with olh- 
 lers of curiosity, 
 »r farmers of the 
 f which circum- 
 pture is a repre- 
 f fish and birds, 
 ipied a large por- 
 
 The birds and 
 t this document 
 :ount of the bird, 
 le just proportion 
 he same picture, 
 
 CATARACT AT FOBBVOLLUM, ICBLAND. 
 
 ^1 
 
 hoar to tlio mon who are h-nding thmn ; 
 »nd, from the ab»i«ncc of any ro|)ri'sinla- 
 tiiiii of these I'irds in the lenn ancient 
 inoiHiments of K«ypt, it :nay uIko be r«!i- 
 (loiial)lv conjectured they disajipeared hooii 
 iifu't ilio period of tho orociioii of these 
 toinbn. 
 
 With respect to tho relation theno facts 
 hear to each other, I beg to remark, that 
 the colossal nests of (.'aptains Cook and 
 I'liiiilers, and also those of Mr. James 
 Hiirioii, were all on tho seashore, and all 
 of ihose alKtut an equal distance from the 
 t-ijuator. Hut whether the Kgyptian birds, 
 as described in those very ancient scul 
 turi'S, bear any analogy to those recorded 
 ill tho pages of the great stone book of 
 nature (the now red SRnlstnno formation), 
 or whether they bear anal >gy to any of 
 the speoies determined liy Piofessor Owen 
 from the New Zealand fossils, I am not 
 (lualified to say, nor is it indeed the object 
 of this paper to discuss ; the intention of 
 which, being rather to biing together these 
 facts, and to associate ihem with that re- 
 corded at Uezah, in order to call ttiti al- 
 tt'iiiion of those who have opp<»rtueity of 
 making further research into thii* interest- 
 ing mailer." 
 
 I 
 
 CATARACT AT FOSSVOLLUM, 
 ICELAND. 
 
 ,^ HE volcanic charac- 
 J^tcr of the island of 
 Iceland, and the many 
 convulsions which it 
 has experienced at 
 various periods, rend- 
 ing asunder the moun- 
 tains, throwing ob- 
 striiciions in tho way of the rivers, and 
 pToduci^^ renti and chasms in tlie valleys, 
 explain the origin of the many waterfalls 
 and cascades which the traveller meets 
 with in that bleak and desolate country. 
 In many parts, especially in the neighbor- 
 hood of volcanic mountains, cataracts 
 abound, generally presenting features of 
 the most terrific but picturesque character. 
 There are many worth visiting in the 
 neighborhood of the Geysers, or hot 
 
 springs, in tho western part of tho island, 
 but perhaps the most rfMiinrkalile is omt on 
 tho eastern coast iicir llof. This /(»,v.v, 
 or waterfall, is surrounded by many lesser 
 cataracts, which in anothei place would 
 bo viewed with tho most livcdy iiiferesi, 
 several of them falling more than 100 feet ; 
 but in tho neighborhood of tlie more im- 
 portant one, which is represented in tho 
 engraving they sink into comparntivo insig- 
 niticanco. 
 
 In visiting Fossvollum from Hcf, tlio 
 margins of several of these springs have 
 to bo traversed, and travellers find it ne- 
 cessary to proceed with the greatest cau- 
 tion. Tho whole track (road it can not be 
 called, for it would be impossible for any 
 wheeled-carriage to pass over it) by which 
 •he falls are approached from Hof, i.i 
 dreary and mountainous, intersected by 
 chtisms at which tho traveller shudders as 
 he looks down tho abyss, now winding 
 around the side of u mountain, and then 
 descending tho ubn.ijt declivity of a ra- 
 vine, until it leads to within ear-shot of t!io 
 sound of the falling waters. The troubled 
 waters, dashing over a precipice uf rugged 
 rocks, both sides of which are lined wi'.h 
 verdant meads— tho gentle elevations 
 which encircle the plains, the stately iip- 
 pearanco of the farm, the extent and ver- 
 dure of the tun, and the number of sheep, 
 cows, and horses, that weio feeding in ev- 
 ery direction, produce altogether an eirect 
 the most lively and pleasing. 
 
 The waters roll sullenly forward along 
 ihe plains until they arrive at an extended 
 and precipitous break, where they shoot 
 over 111 one sheet until within a short dis- 
 tance from the ground, when the waters 
 are separated into thousands of sparkling 
 streams and innumerable pariicles of spray 
 Hying about in all directions. Tlie water 
 then glides swiftly along the plains below, 
 passing by the farm of Uiiirnson, which is 
 of considerable extent. Few spectacles 
 can be more magnificent than it which 
 1 these falls present. It is won., he disa- 
 j greeable journey, to behold the unbroken 
 I surface of the water shining like silver in 
 I the rays of the sun, until half way down 
 it becomes expanded, and appears to be 
 swallowed up in a cloud of snow, which 
 the particles of spray closely resemble, 
 and from which the stream below appears 
 
 Ml 
 
 i 
 
■^ 
 
 THE HUMAN BODY. 
 
 703 
 
 t 
 
 bursting, and apparently commencing a 
 new existence as it ripples joyously over 
 the pebbles bene.ith. But it is at night, 
 when the moon is shining in the heavens 
 with suC'cient power to define the objects 
 around, that the " ^".ataract of the Plains" 
 is to bo seen with the greatest advantage, 
 and when it excites the most lively admi- 
 ration. The indistinct mountainous tr^ct, 
 stretching away in the distance, the huge 
 masses of rock that lie strewed around, 
 and the buildings of the farm, seen as they 
 are but imperfectly, aflbrd greater play to 
 the imagination, which, excited by the 
 roaring of the cataract (the only thing 
 which night renders more near and dis- 
 tinct), exerts its influence on the specta- 
 tor, who stands as if under the spell of 
 an enchanter, wrapped up in the contem- 
 plation of the scene. 
 
 Fossviiilum is situated on the northeast- 
 ern coast of Iceland,, 30° north latitude, 
 and between 14° &r,^ -o^" west longitude. 
 The farm of Biiirnson, which although at 
 a distance from the falls, appears to he al- 
 most under the cataract, is conducted with 
 much skill. 
 
 * 
 
 THE HUMAN BODY 
 
 J\ 
 
 E are fearfully and 
 wonderfully made, 
 may be said of our 
 bodies, of our souls, 
 of our minds, of the 
 connexions between 
 soul and body, and 
 of the whole man. l 
 There may be far 
 more wisdom and skill manifested to the 
 spiritual world, in the formation ot our 
 souls, or the structure of our minds, than 
 in our bodily frames. But this is cori- 
 cealed from our view. We can, indeed, 
 see that there is something incomprehen- 
 oi!''^ and overwhelming in the being and 
 nature of our souls, and especially in the 
 connexion between our spiritual and cor- 
 poreal being. Yet the wisdom of the 
 Creator is not, and was not intended to 
 be, set forth in that evident and tangible 
 manner in the creation of spirit, in which 
 
 it is exhibited to us in the siruciuro of our 
 bodies. Here we have something that 
 may be seen with our eyes, and hiiiuH'jd 
 with our hands, and revolved and appre- 
 ciated by our minds. 
 
 The human body presents to our view 
 system after system, appar(n\tiy complete 
 within themselves, and inilfpiMulent of 
 each other, yet all intimately connected 
 and interwoven, so as to form one great 
 complicated and incomprehensible system, 
 a system of order, harmony, and reg\ihir- 
 ity, to the intelligent observer, but yo tlic 
 ui\enlightened mind a mass of conl'usion. 
 Take the naked skeleton of a man, and 
 study the osteology of his frame, look at 
 the bones of his cranium, his spine, his 
 chest, his limbs, his hands, and his feet. 
 Notice how strength is found where 
 strength is needed; where delicacy, deli- 
 cacy; where motion, joints and oth'T requi- 
 sites for moving. Observe tlie position, 
 size, shape, and relations, of each bone. 
 Consider their structure, their density, and 
 strength, the solidity of some of their 
 parts, the sponginess of others ; mark 
 their cavities, protuberances, and proces- 
 ses, and connect all these with their sev- 
 eral uses and functions. We see great 
 wisdom manifested in the arrangement of 
 such a number and variety of parts, so as 
 to harmonize with each other, and ail tend- 
 ing to the same general purpose. Yet 
 what brittle substances ate human bones, 
 and how very flimsy are nwuy of them, 
 and how easily may the whole sys'em be 
 driven to atoms. Truly we ar^- fearfully 
 made. But the wisdom and skill seen in 
 the structure of the skeleton, is greatly 
 augmented by considering its connexions 
 with other systems. What is called the 
 vascular system, may be mentioned as in- 
 timately connected with the skeh^ton. 
 The vessels, in many instance.^ follow 
 the course of the bones, and the bones are 
 often fitted with grooves, notches, perfora- 
 tions, and cavities, suitable to transmit or 
 contain the vessels. This vascular sys- 
 tem is the link of connexion bciweun the 
 solids and the fluids, between the bones 
 and the blood, lymph, chyle, and other 
 liquids. The connexion of tliis system 
 with the skeleton is most wonderful and 
 surprising. By means of the action of 
 fluids, the most solid and dense bones are 
 
 
 >jr' 
 
i 
 
 T54 
 
 THE HUMAN BODY. 
 
 sometimes, in diseases, entirely removed, 
 and in convalescence as completely re- 
 stored ; and so rapid is the action of these 
 vessels, and so thoroughly do they pene- 
 trate the hardest bones, that the color of 
 the bones may in some cases be changed, 
 by a change of diet, even in two or three 
 days. Yet the bones and vessels, and 
 their connexions and relations, are but the 
 beginning of the wonderful structure of 
 the human frame. Were we to take a 
 particidar view of the muscles, and their 
 connexions with the parts already consid- 
 ered, and particularly the skilful and sur- 
 prising manner in which they act upon the 
 bones, by means of sinews, and were we 
 to examine the larger viscera of our frames, 
 and their relations and functions, and then 
 look for a moment on the glandular sys- 
 tem, and learn the origin, course, and is- 
 sues of all the secreted fluids, that are 
 daily formed within us, we could then 
 have some faint notion of the intricacies 
 of the anatomy of man, and of the great 
 wisdom requisite to design, and skill to 
 to form such a being. But having taken 
 this view, it would be nothing more than 
 an outline of the great machine. Tlie 
 The niinutire must be considered before 
 we can fully learn what is here to be 
 learned of the wisdom of God. In the 
 outline we have faintly marked, we have 
 omitted the most wonderful, most intricate, 
 and most interesting part. We have said 
 nothing of the nervous system. Nothing 
 of the connexion of this system with those 
 alrcailv mentioned. The nerves are the 
 seat of all sensation, feeling, sympathy, 
 and alVection, and the origin of all motion. 
 Paralyze one set of our nerves, and our 
 power over the muscles and limbs of one 
 side is gone. Paralyze another set, and 
 the nmsclfs of the upper or lower extrem- 
 ities become useless— a third set being 
 destroyed, and we are unable to speak — 
 a fourth, and our reason is gone — a fifth, 
 and the digestive organs are destroyed — 
 a sixth, and .ve cease to breathe. Nerves 
 are found dispersed over the whole surface 
 of the skin, through every vessel, every 
 organ, every muscle, all the viscera and 
 glands of tiie body— yea, and in the very 
 bones, and among the cartilages. In ev- 
 ery pari of our body we liave either feel- 
 ing or power of motion, or are sensible of 
 
 involuntary operations. The nerves, by 
 old anatomists were considered as uniform 
 in structure, and functions. Hut now it is 
 known, that one part of the nerves is com- 
 pletely under the power of the will, and 
 the rest entirely independent of it. They 
 are also divideil into nerves of motion, of 
 sensation, of respiration, and sympathetic 
 nerves. The attenuation of all these sys- 
 tems is surprising. We heaV anatomists 
 speak of nerves of nerves, of veins of 
 veins, and arteries of arteries. And if it 
 is necessary that all the large veins, arter- 
 ies, and nerves, should be attended by 
 nerves, veins, and arteries, of a smaller 
 size, may we not suppose that these have 
 others still smaller attending them, and that 
 these last are attended by others still less, 
 and so on ad infinitum. 
 
 But let us look at man as a spiritual 
 being. How various are his faculties, his 
 desires, his capacities. He is a social 
 being, susceptible of the most tender af- 
 fections. He is malignant, capable of 
 cherishing the darkest and most diaboli- 
 cal designs, and most hitter animosities. 
 He is active and energetic, bold and ven- 
 turesome, daring to rise into the air, to 
 dig into the earth, to encompass sea and 
 land, and pry into the secret, and hunt out 
 the unknown parts of the earth. He is 
 frightened by neither the depth, bnadlh, 
 or storms of the ocean, nor by the height 
 or precipitancy of the most rugged moun- 
 tains. The beasts of the forest, darkness, 
 dangers, and horrors, are not to stop him. 
 War, with all its train of terrors, is 
 sought by him. Yet he is susceptible of 
 meekness, patience, self-denial, kindness, 
 gentleness, mildness. And he has men- 
 tal faculties. He remembers things long 
 past, he looks forward to things far ahead, 
 and imagines things that never did or will 
 exist or occur. He can deliberate and 
 decide, or suspend his judgment. And 
 his faculties are never dormant. His 
 memory, his imagination, his judgment 
 and will, are always with hiin. In an in- 
 stant he is ready for action with any of 
 his faculties. When we consider his men- 
 tal faculties, we see that he is wonderfully 
 made. But his duties, his responsibilities, 
 his obligations, his dangers, trials, ai\d 
 temptations, all tell him that he is fearful- 
 ly made. Every breath he breathes, ev- 
 
■* 
 
 i 
 
 le nerves, by 
 •oil lis unilbrm 
 Hut now it is 
 lerves is com- 
 the will, and 
 tofit. They 
 of motion, of 
 d sympathetic 
 all these sys- 
 33*1 anatomists 
 I, of veins of 
 es. And if it 
 ra veins, arter- 
 ! attended by 
 , of a smaller 
 liat these have 
 them, and that 
 hers still less, 
 
 as a spiritual 
 s faculties, his 
 le is a social 
 lost tender af- 
 It, capable of 
 1 most diaboli- 
 jr animosities. 
 
 bold and ven- 
 nto the air, to 
 uipubs sea and 
 3t, and hunt out 
 
 earth. He is 
 depth, I)r(;ullh, 
 • by the height 
 t rugged moun- 
 jrest, darkness, 
 lot to stop him. 
 
 of terrors, is 
 I susceptible of 
 jiiial, kindness, 
 id he has ni(>n- 
 ers things long 
 lings far ahead, 
 ever did or will 
 
 deliberate and 
 Lidgment. And 
 
 dormant, iiis 
 his judgment 
 liini. In an in- 
 on with any of 
 insider his nien- 
 9 is wonderfully 
 responsibilities, 
 ;ers, trials, and 
 lat he is fearful- 
 le breathes, ev- 
 
 raosPECTivE glory of the united states. 
 
 755 
 
 ery 'se he feels; every sensation, and 
 opoiuiion of his body or mind, ought to 
 leach him that ho is fearfully made. But 
 the good providence of God preserves us 
 every moment. In him wc have help for 
 every infirmity, and defence against every 
 danger. "For He knoweth our frame. 
 He remembereth that we are dust." 
 " Remember I beseech Thee, that thou 
 hast made me as the clay, and wilt Thou 
 bring nio into dust again 1" 
 
 PROSPECTIVE GLORY OF THE 
 UNITED STATES. 
 
 The prospective glory of the United 
 Slates is a subject which overwhelms the 
 imagination. No citizens of ancient or 
 mo(rern times ever had such a country to 
 contemplate as those of the United States. 
 So vast, so fruitful, possessing every cli- 
 mate, from the cold of the north, to the 
 balmv airs of the tropics; every plant, 
 from'the great pine of the Aroostook, to the 
 delicate jessaini'.e of the Rio del Norte. 
 Within our boundaries are the foitidation 
 of untold wealth, our mountains are filled 
 witli the riches of every mine, our valleys 
 invite the hand of cultivation, and smile, 
 as none other, on the labors of the hus- 
 bandman. The troubled waves of the At- 
 lantic, and the stiller waters of the Pacif- 
 ic, lave our coasts ; our ships whiten the 
 ocean, and the loved flag that waves over 
 them, is the harbinger of liberty, and the 
 protection of the powerful and brave. 
 In (ixamining our geographical limits, we 
 find within it, the extent of ancient and 
 modern empires still left in wilderness, 
 yet by the enterprise of our citizens, the 
 additions of new states almost realize the 
 prophesy of "a nation being born in a 
 day." The ultimate history of our coun- 
 I try seems too vast for human conception. 
 The experiment of millions of men living 
 under a republican government, and left 
 to the fruition of the unfettered body and 
 free mind, joined together in advancing 
 the interests of humanity, and accomplish- 
 ing the highest perfection our nature is 
 capable of, who can conceive the result ? 
 The United States have a frontier of 
 over 10,000 miles, a seacoast of nearly 
 
 i 
 
 4,000 miles, and a lake coast of 1,'200 
 miles. One of its rivers is t.vice as long 
 as the Danube, the largest river in Eu- 
 rope. The Ohio river is GOO miles longer 
 than the Rhine, and the noble river of the 
 Hudson has a navigation in the " Empire 
 state" one hundred and twenty miles long- 
 er than the Thames. Within Louisiana 
 are bayous and creeks, that are almost 
 unknown, that would shame by compar- 
 ison the Tiber or Seine. The state of 
 Virginia alone is one third larger than 
 England. The state of Ohio contains 
 8,000 square miles more than Scotland. 
 The harbor of New York receives the 
 vessels that navigate rivers, canals, and 
 lakes, to the extent of 3,000 miles,^ the 
 distance from America to Europe. From 
 the capital of Maine to the "Crescent 
 
 city," is 200 miles further than from Lon- 
 non to Constantinople, a route that would 
 cross England. Belgium, a part of Prus- 
 sia, Germany, Austria, and Turkey. Thi 
 increase of population has been rapid be- 
 yond precedence, and in accordance with 
 the country itself. At the close of the 
 revolution, the United States contained a 
 population not twice as large as the pres- 
 ent city of London ; in less than filty 
 years, it has increased into seventeen mil- 
 lions, and this population the amalgama- 
 tion of the finest European races, " form- 
 ing a national character having for its basis 
 the irresistible energy and steady courage 
 of the Anglo-Saxon, in which are mingled 
 the religious tenacity of the thrifty Scot, 
 the generous bravery of the quick-witted 
 irishman, the sanguine and elastic spirit 
 of the mercurial Frenchman, and the pa- 
 tient, persevering industry of the honest 
 German." 
 
 Yet all this has been accomplished 
 within the ordinary lifetime of an individ- 
 ual. There are those in our land that 
 were present at the birth of the nation, and 
 have witnessed its wonderful growth. 
 The future — pressed on by the accumula- 
 ted energies of the last fifty years— will 
 develop resuhs in arithmetical progres- 
 sion, more wonderlul ; and as the iniagi- 
 nation attempts to draw a picture of the 
 future, the mind shrinks from the concep- 
 tion, and the judgment and fancy are de- 
 stroyed, in the presentation of the not 
 half-conceived reality. 
 
 
I 
 
 % 
 
 fr=" 
 
 756 
 
 BE INDUSTRIOUS— HOPE 
 
 BE INDUSTRIOUS. 
 
 HERE is no situa- 
 '^1% lio in life, whicli af- 
 
 fo .3 SO much coni- 
 fori and enjoyment as 
 that of having body 
 and mind cmistiuitly 
 employed. Aithouijli 
 there appears to be 
 in the minds oC most people a natural an- 
 tipathy to labor, vet it is well known, and 
 irenerally adniitlcd by those whose circum- 
 stances have at times required incessant 
 labor, and at otiier times perfect leisure 
 and exemption from care, that there is 
 vastly more enjoyment in industry than in 
 idleness. It is the plain and express duty 
 of every person to be industrious, and to 
 improve every hour of their time, in the 
 full exercise of their natural strenf,'lh and 
 faculties, in the most useful employment. 
 No circumstances in life can furnish an 
 excuse for a neglect of this duly. We 
 would not, in these remarks, wholly pro- 
 scrilie r<'creation ; but a well-balanced 
 mind will find the most healthy and pleas- 
 iini rr. leation in exercises which are de- 
 cidedly useful and beneficial to themselves 
 and others. For example : a boy takes 
 pleasure in the exercise of hauling a little 
 cart loaded with earth or stones, though 
 there be no advantage in the removal of 
 those articles ; but does he find any less 
 pleasure, under a consciousness of doing 
 good, when removing the same materials 
 from a place where they were an encum- 
 brance, to another place where they are 
 wanted ? Certainly not. Or if a miss 
 finds pleasure in walking in the fields, that 
 pleasure is rather enhanced than other- 
 wise, if she can accomplish something 
 useful by the walking. 
 
 li is a common thing for men, during 
 their labor, to derive an enjoyment from the 
 anticipation of the pecuniary compensation 
 which they are to receive therefor, but this 
 kind of enjoyment is far inferior to that 
 of one who rejoices, during his labor, in 
 the consciousness of performing a duty, and 
 a sense of divine approbation. The scrip- 
 tures of divine truth, which alone furnish 
 perfect laws and rules of duly, and guide 
 to happiness, contain many injunctions to 
 industry and dili\.;ence in business ; and 
 
 that forthepurpose,not of acquiring wealth, 
 but of doing good. The word " avarice," 
 is not 'o be understood to imply a desire 
 of earning or gaining, but of retaining or 
 hoarding what has been acquired of wealth. 
 Ihit our subject is the duty of industry and 
 diligence. If any man enterlains and 
 cherishes the true principle of sympathy 
 and benevolence, deriving UKire pleasure 
 in relieving the sufl'erings of his fellow- 
 mortals, than in the posses.sion of such 
 articles of wealth as are not utterly indis- 
 pensable, there will be no danuer of his 
 being either idle or miserly. But the neg- 
 lect of improvement of an hour of time 
 is as decidedly a crime, as the wasting of 
 money or property ; and the neglect of 
 doing good to others when opportunity oc- 
 curs, is decidedly incompatible with the 
 character or hope of a true CMiristian, lor 
 " he that knoweth to do good and doeth it 
 not, to him it is sin." 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 Hope is the connecting link between 
 the past and the future. It is a constant 
 prophet, save that it always dresses out 
 events to come in a gaudy hue, which 
 faucs and bUckcUs whun the whuels of 
 time bring us to the consummation. Were 
 it not for this earnest of the future, this 
 principle implanted in the breast of man, 
 he would have nothing for which to live, 
 nothing to induce him to drag out a mis- 
 erable existence. Never is hope so wild 
 and imaginative, and we may say, so de- 
 ceitful as in youth ; never so so :x, so 
 true, so stable, as in age. 
 
 Although hope is often delusive, yet, in 
 the greatest misery, the least flickering 
 ray of sunshine peering into the caverns 
 of the heart, revives the drooping soul, 
 and excites action, as when some pre- 
 cious gem, under the sun's beam, flashes 
 its radiance round the darkened cell and 
 springs into multiplied existence. 
 
 Hope is an eternal principle. Though 
 in the last strait, man never ceases to hope ; 
 when the spark of life departs, it flies 
 heavenward, and is rekindled upon the 
 altar of eternity ! 
 
Hiring wealth, 
 iril " awrice," 
 iiiply :i ilt'siro 
 (' r<'l:iiiiin!r or 
 ircilorwvaltli. 
 (' industry and 
 niorlainb and 
 ; <il' sympathy 
 indn; pleasure 
 of liis leilow- 
 ssion ol' siu:h 
 I utterly indis- 
 danuer <tf his 
 But tlu' nej,r- 
 
 hour of time 
 the wasting of 
 the neglect of 
 ipportimity oc- 
 tiliie with the 
 
 (Miristian, for 
 id and doeth it 
 
 link between 
 [t is a constant 
 ys dresses out 
 Jy hue, wliich 
 tae wheels of 
 nation. Weie 
 the future, this 
 breast of man, 
 
 which to live, 
 drag out a ruis- 
 ,s hope so wild 
 nay say, so de- 
 !r so so T, so 
 
 lelusive, yet, in 
 least flickering 
 nto the caverns 
 
 drooping soul, 
 hen some pre- 
 s beam, flashes 
 rkened cell and 
 steiice. 
 ciple. Though 
 
 ceases to hope ; 
 departs, it flies 
 ndled upon the 
 
 Portrait of Aloxamler eiilnrgcil from a Coin. 
 
 F kings and war- 
 riors, no one has 
 acted so eminent a 
 part on the mighty 
 stage of the world 
 as Alexander, com- 
 monly calle'l «he 
 Great, third king 
 of Macedonia of tridt name. Caesai: the 
 other great conqueror of antiijuity, the 
 eciual proliably of Alexander in ability, and 
 his rival in renown, had far less influence 
 on the destinies of mankind ; for the un- 
 
 wieldy commonwealth of Rome before his 
 time was tending fast toward a despotism, 
 and it remained only to be seen whether 
 that despotism should be committed to 
 Pompey or to him— to the representative 
 of the aristocratic, or the favorite ot the 
 ('emocratic party. The life of Alexander, 
 on the contrary, was one of those critical 
 epochs which have changed the history ot 
 the civilized world. It was foretold m 
 prophecy as one of the appointed means 
 I of working out the decrees of the Al- 
 mighty , it cast down the mighty empires 
 of the earth, it substituted new dynasties, 
 new manners, and a new language over 
 
 L-= 
 
 I 
 
 
758 
 
 ALEXANDEll. 
 
 i+ 
 
 »* 
 
 i» 
 
 the richest part of the known world. It 
 forms a turning point, a link of sacred and 
 prnfiiue history, and as Buch possesses a 
 great and lasting interest, independent of 
 tiiat seductive glory which wails upon 
 brilliant qualities and wonderful actions 
 set off by success. 
 
 The Macedonians, of whom Alexander 
 wp i the hereditary king, had in the more 
 brilliant times of Greece been regarded 
 as little better than barbarians, unworthy 
 of being ranked with the polished citizens 
 of the Greek republics, though the kings 
 of Macedonia were of Argive origin, and 
 traced their descent from the honored line 
 of Hercules. Philip, the father of Alex- 
 ander, was the first of them who rendered 
 his power formidable to his southern 
 neighbors. He was a brave, able, and 
 ambitious prince, successful equally in ne- 
 gotiation and war. He died B. C. 336. 
 
 Alexander was born at Pella, B. C. 356. 
 As by his father he claimed descent from 
 Hercules, so by his mother Olympias, of 
 the royal house of Epirus, he traced his 
 line to Achilles. His education was con- 
 ducted with care and judgment, and he grew 
 up robust and active, skilled in military 
 exercises and the use of arms. In run- 
 ning and riding ho was pre-eminent ; and 
 one of the most celebrated actions of his 
 youth was the taming of a magniticent 
 Thessalian horse, which had been offered 
 for sale to his father, but refused, as being 
 so fierce that no one could ride it. This 
 was the celebrated Bucephalus, who, af- 
 ter carrying Alexander through his Per- 
 sian campaigns, died in the battle against 
 Porus, on the banks of the Hydaspes, 
 leaving his name and fame (like the no less 
 celebrated Rozinante) as an inheritance 
 for all of his respectable species. Alexan- 
 der's mind was not less carefully cultivated 
 than his body. At the age of fifteen he 
 was placed under the immediate superin- 
 dence of Aristotle, who continued near 
 his person until he set out on the invasion 
 of Persia. It is conjectured that the phi- 
 losopher composed for his use the valuable 
 treatises still extant, on logic, poetry, &c. ; 
 and there is a letter extant in which he 
 upbraids his tutor " for publishing those 
 branches of science hitherto not to be ac- 
 quired except from oral instruction. In 
 what shall I excel others, if the more pro- 
 
 found knowledge I gained from you he 
 communicated to all ?" The passage nmy 
 serve in omn respects as a key l)()th to 
 the good and evil of Alexander's teniptT. 
 Ardent in the pursuit of excellence, his 
 motive and object seems rather to have 
 been the desire to excel others, rather thiiii 
 excellence in the abstract, and for its own 
 sake ; as in the very instance now under 
 review, in which knowledge was avowed- 
 ly sought and esteemed for selfish purpo- 
 ses. How great his progress in abstract 
 science may have been, we have no means 
 to determine ; that his talents were care- 
 fully improved is evident. His style in 
 speaking and writing was clear and pure, 
 his capacity was suited no less to civil than 
 to military business, above all, he had that 
 talent for command, that ascendency over 
 the minds of othars, which seems a part 
 of the natural constitution of those wlio 
 enjoy it, unattainable, though improvalije, 
 by study. 'J'o judge from the results, his 
 moral must have been inferior to his intel- 
 lectual training: he was rash, headstrong, 
 hot-tempered, and selfish, as all must he 
 who can not bear even an equal, and with 
 whom, therefore, self-aggrauuizement is 
 the first object of life. That Aristotle, 
 master as he was of moral philosophy, 
 had not taught his pupil the art of sell'- 
 government, is evident from the anecdotes 
 of Alexander's youth, as well as from the 
 excesses of his maturity. But we must 
 not forget that the gifts of nature and 
 of fortune combined in this instance to 
 enhance the difficulty of inculcating or of 
 practising self-control. 
 
 Such as we have endeavored to describe 
 him, at the age of twenty, Alexander came 
 to the throne. The suddenness of Phil- 
 ip's death, and the youth of his successor, 
 gave to all those who had borne with an- 
 ger and impatience the rapid increase of 
 Macedonian po\.er, a favorable opportu- 
 nity, as it then seemed, of emancipation. 
 Dangers and rebellions surrounded Alex- 
 ander on all sides, but decision and prompt- 
 itude saved him. He marched an army at 
 once into Thessaly, and having by his un- 
 expected presence nipped in the bud the 
 plots of the discontented party, he pro- 
 ceeded to Thermopylae, where the Am- 
 phictyonic counsel recognised him, in 
 place of his father, captain-general of 
 
ALEXANDER. 
 
 7o9 
 
 rom you w 
 piissiii;e niiiv 
 key both to 
 Uif's temper. 
 :elloiiee, liis 
 tier to liiive 
 , rallier tlwin 
 ;1 for its own 
 ) now under 
 vas avowod- 
 Ifisli piirpo- 
 
 iii abstract 
 ve no nieuiis 
 
 were care- 
 lis style in 
 ir and pure, 
 to civil than 
 , he had that 
 ndeticy over 
 leeins a part 
 
 those wiio 
 improvaiile, 
 ! results, his 
 to his iritel- 
 headstrong, 
 all must be 
 al, and with 
 iizement is 
 It Aristotle, 
 philosophy, 
 
 art of self- 
 e anecdotes 
 as from the 
 ut we must 
 nature and 
 instance to 
 eating or of 
 
 1 to describe 
 cander came 
 !ss of Phil- 
 3 successor, 
 ne with an- 
 increase of 
 lie opportu- 
 lancipation. 
 mded Alex- 
 and prompt- 
 1 an army at | 
 J by his un- 
 the bud the 
 ty, he pro- 
 's the Am- 
 id him, in 
 -general of 
 
 Greece. This decree was confirmed by 
 a .reneral assembly at Corinth ; at which 
 he" was empowered to follow nut his la- 
 tlicr's designs, by taking command of the 
 whole Creek nation in prosecuting the 
 war against Persia. Tlie Lacedicmonians 
 alone dissented, saying that it had ever 
 been their privilege to lead, and not to fol- 
 low. It was on this occasion that the cel- 
 ebrateil interview between Alexander and 
 Diogenes look place, when the surly phi- 
 Idsopher requested, as the only favor which 
 
 ments in which he was victorious, he met 
 Darius in person, wailing to defend his 
 cro>VM. Hallle was joined about 30 miles 
 north of Aniioch, in the plain of Issus, 
 between the sea and the mountains of 
 Ainanus. The numbers of the Persians 
 were vast, greater probably than had been 
 collected since the armament of Xerxes ; 
 and of those near 150,000 including 30,000 
 Greeks, were >'.isciplined, and ought to 
 have been effective troops. 'I'he (J reeks, 
 in the centre of the field, well played their 
 
 ts:i:s^^::z^r.:.:z. ^. «i:rT:i:";='[S "i,;r";:;t 
 
 between him and the sun. 
 
 In the spring of 33.-3 B. C, he under- 
 took an expedition against the northern 
 barbarians, and forced his way to the banks 
 of the Danube. Having re-established in 
 
 that quarter the terror of the Macedonian 
 name, he concluded peace with the 1 n- 
 
 able assault of the phalanx, as the close 
 and deep array of Macedonian infantry, 
 armed with long pikes, was called. Uut 
 ihe success of the Macedonian cavalry of 
 the right wing, where Alexander, opposed 
 to Danus, commanded in person, was de- 
 cisive. Darius quitted the field ; and, as 
 
 =;,^^;=:,==^£ - r'r-r =.'1^ '^i:^. 
 
 the lUyrians and Taulantii, warlike nations 
 dwelling on the coast of the Adriatic. 
 While he was thus engaged a report of his 
 death became current in Greece, and em- 
 boldened the Thebaiis to ailempt the re- 
 covery of their independence. On re- 
 ceiving this intelligence Alexander re- 
 lumed southward by forced marches, and 
 arrived at Thebes before the rumor of his 
 death had been even contradicted. He 
 look the ciiy by slorm, levelling most ol 
 the buildings with the ground, a blow Irom 
 which Thebes never recovered. 
 
 The Athenians had been active in stir- 
 rin<' up discontent against Alexander; and 
 having been of counsel with the Thebans, 
 had cause lo apprehend a similar late. 
 But Alexander received their excuses, and, 
 returning to Macedonia, employed the 
 winter in preparation for the grand design 
 of conquering Persia. In the spring, B. C. 
 334, he commenced his march. 
 
 The force with which he undertook to 
 overthrow the greatest empire of the world, 
 in wealth and extent, is computed at 30,000 
 infantry, and 4,500 cavalry. Of the for- 
 mer, 12,000 were Macedonians, 12,000 
 Greeks ; the rest were Thracians, and of 
 other northern tribes, forming an excellent 
 body of light-armed troops. The cavalry 
 was chiefly composed of Macedonians and 
 Thessalians. The Hellespont was crossed 
 
 sovereign was the signal of dispersion 
 The victory was complete. He then \)ro- 
 ceeded to Tyre, which after seven months 
 siege was taken by storm. After con- 
 quering Palestine, he went to Egypt, 
 where he laid the foundation of the city 
 of Alexandria. 
 
 Darius having collected a second army 
 while Alexander was in Egypt, he re- 
 turned and met him near Gaugamela. 
 The scene of action was an extensive 
 plain, bounded on the east and west by 
 the meeting streams of the Lycus and 
 j Tigris, and to the north by the Gordyiean 
 mountains. Darius had chosen this as his 
 battle-field ; and had carefully levelled it, 
 to give the best advantage to his war-char- 
 iots and cavalry. His enormous force is 
 calculated by the Greek historians at a 
 million of infantry, 40,000 cavalry, 200 
 chariots, and 15 elephants ; a force so in- 
 finitely superior in number to the Greek, 
 that even if we strike ofl' one half ol the 
 numbers, it derogates Utile from the hon- 
 or of the victors. The victory was de- 
 cisive. Darius fled toward Ecbalana, 
 while Alexander proceeded to gather the 
 spoils from the wealthy cities of Assyria 
 and Persia. Here he remained somoume, 
 receiving the homage of or subduing the 
 various portions of the empire. 
 
 Intheautumnof327B.C.hecommenced 
 
 Thessalians. The Hellespont was crosseu ^" "';"""■ V"T: Tjjg ^oule lay at no 
 at Sestos, and a landing effected in Asia his ™«^1 ^^ ^"J;^;^ ,l,e southern foot of 
 without opposition. After several engage- 1 great distance from the souiueru 
 
 A; 
 
 1< 
 
 
760 
 
 imiDrf Ol" PAIIADISE. 
 
 .1 
 
 IP 
 
 
 if 
 
 
 the Piiropfimisiis, the western portion of 
 till! jjrt'Hi lliinuliiyiin raiiji;e, llin)iij^'li war- 
 lilif iril)fs, with wlioin lie hud beveral 
 siiarp tlioiijih olirfcure '>attles, and was 
 tvvuo woiiiiih'd h(^fore he reached the In- 
 dus. Uur limits will not allow us to fol- 
 low him lhrou;jii all his campaigns in In- 
 dia. 
 
 On his return Alexander fomul dinor- 
 ders to he corrected and (UdiiKpKtiii.s to he 
 punished; for llics satraps, as u.sual, when 
 the supreme authority is far distant, had 
 presumed upon the eliiiiu'es of impuni- 
 ty, to iiiduliii,' in corrii|)iioii and oppres- 
 sion It is to he meiiiioiied to tiu^ kiii<j;'s 
 honor, that he never liiriied a di-af ear 
 to the complaints of the commonalty, or 
 sullered such misconduct on the j)art of 
 ';o\<'riiors to pass unnoticed. 
 
 At Hahyloii, Alexander proposed to fix 
 the cijjilal of his empire. His active 
 mtiid was now teemin<r with |)lans of 
 another kind than those of coucpiesl, for 
 they tended to devtdop the resources and 
 ineroii-ie the wealth and ha|)piness of his 
 realms, lie ordered ships to he huilt on 
 the Caspian sea, to explore those desert 
 waters which in the utter ignorance of 
 geoi^rajjliers were then helieved to com- 
 municate with the Indian ocean. He 
 commenced a dock at l.lahvlon lary-e 
 enough to contain one thousand ships of 
 war, and sought in all qu<irlers the best 
 seamen of the Mediterranean, in hopes of 
 rendering his metropolis the emporium of 
 eastern commerce, and a rival of what 
 Tyre had cmce been. Ho bestowed much 
 care in organizing and disciplining a new 
 I'orce composed of natives of the east, of- 
 ficered by Macedonians, analogous to the 
 East India company's native troops. He 
 inedilaied u new expedition for the coii- 
 (jiiest of Arabia by land and sea, intend- 
 ing to circumnavigate that peninsula I'rom 
 the mouth of the Euphrates to the gulf of 
 Suez. And one of the most beneticial, 
 and pt^rhaps not the least costly and dilli- 
 cult, of his undertakings, was to restore 
 the dikes and canals, by which, in the 
 palmy days of Assyria, the flow of the 
 great rivers Imd been so regulated as to 
 convert that tract, naturally barren, into 
 the most fertile country of the known 
 world. 
 
 While engaged in these manifold proj- 
 
 ects, Alexander was seized bv a siidili.n 
 ilhu'ss. kumois of pfMsonini;. as is nini- 
 mon when great men die suddeulv. were 
 spread abroad ; but these haves iieiiher 
 probability nor evidence to coiilirm tli.'in. 
 According to the best nccounis, he dii'd 
 of fever, caught most likely in siipcriii- 
 tendini,' the works which we have just 
 ineniioned, in the swampy plains of IJab- 
 ylon, and aggravated by imprudtiit con- 
 viviality. A diary of hi^ illness, the first 
 series of royal bulletins extant, is pre- 
 served in Arrian. He died on the ejev- 
 ciiih or twelfth day, al)ont iniilsummer, 
 H. (;. ;i2U. His body was carriid to 
 Alexandria ; and a beautiful sarc()pha<,'us 
 brotighl tiieiice, now in the IJrilisli .Muse- 
 um, has been honored with the title of his 
 tomb. 
 
 He left no distinct declaration of his 
 wishes as to a successor, and no born 
 child, but his wife Roxana was pre>;nant 
 at his decease. It is said, that bi ing 
 asked to whom he befpieathed his empire, 
 he replied, " To the strongest ;" and that 
 he foresaw a bloody comi)etition at his 
 funeral games. The prophecy was so 
 obvious, that we may readily suppose it 
 genuine, and it was amply fullilled. 
 
 BIRDS OF PARADISE. 
 
 1. Pnnidisca npodn. Tlio KmcralJ. 
 0. I'll III ih SCO (iiirea. The Sililet. 
 
 3. The Incoiiipiiriilili'; (Lo Viiilliiiit). 
 
 4. The Cloiiily; (Lo VuillanI). 
 
 5. J'lirudiscn snpcrba. The CJuiioib. 
 
 ANY of the 
 narratives of 
 the older natu- 
 ralists are little 
 more than amu- 
 sing fables. To 
 deduce the lea- 
 ding character- 
 istics of an an- 
 imal from a minute investigation of its 
 physical construction — to watch its habits 
 with anxious solicitude in its rative 
 haunts — fortned no part of the care of 
 those who compiled books of natural his- 
 tory a century or two ago. Whatever 
 
Iiy a siiiiip-ii 
 ij;, us is inm- 
 ilili'iily. wtTii 
 liavi! iii'iilior 
 onlinn tlifin. 
 mils, lilt iII'mI 
 r ill siipcriii- 
 vv. liiivf just 
 aiiis ol' Jiah- 
 pniilt'iit (■(III- 
 Hjss, tlic first 
 Haul, is prt'- 
 iiii ihc (>li'v- 
 
 iiiiilsiiinmi'r, 
 i Cii.riicil Id |i 
 
 anrc((pliaf,'iis |l 
 Jrilisli Miisc- 
 lic! liil(,' of his 
 
 ration ol' his 
 inil no born 
 '•as pri^L'naiit 
 , llial, liniiii 
 1 liis ompirt', 
 St ;" and that 
 tition at his 
 t'cy w.as so 
 y siijiposo it 
 hilled. 
 
 ISE. 
 
 Cmcrald. 
 
 illlet. 
 .'uilliuit). 
 t). 
 S>U[ierb. 
 
 iY of i\w 
 
 rrativcs of 
 1 older iiaiu- 
 ists are little 
 >re than ainu- 
 g fables. To 
 Jiice the lea- 
 ig charaeter- 
 ics of an an- 
 ;ation of its 
 tch its habits 
 its rative 
 the care of 
 natural his- 
 . Whatever 
 
mimmimmimm 
 
 763 
 
 BIRDS OF FARAOISR. 
 
 was imperrcctly known was immediatoly 
 made the subject of a tale of wonder. 
 The old accounts of the birds of paradise 
 are striking examples of this disposition 
 to substitute invention for reality. Now 
 and then some traveller brought to F^urope 
 the skin of a beautiful race of birds, of 
 whose habits he knew nothing, except what 
 ho learnt from the natives who collected 
 them. Their plumage was of the most 
 brilliant lustre ; some were covereti over 
 the breast and back with tippets of the 
 richest hues ; others liad long delicate 
 lines of feathers, prolonged from beneath 
 their wings, or branching from the hcp '. , 
 and most of these trappings appeared too 
 fragile for any use, and incapable of bear- 
 ing up against the rude winds which visit 
 the earth. The specimens were also de- 
 prived of feet. Fancy had thus ample 
 materials to work u|)on. These birds, 
 tender as the dove, and more brilliant than 
 the peacock, were described as the inhab- 
 itants of some region where all was beau- 
 ty and purity, where no storms ever ruf- 
 fled their plumage, where they floated 
 about on never-tiring wings in a bright 
 and balmy atmosphere, incapable of rest- 
 ing from their happy flight, and nourished 
 only by the dews and perfumes of a cloud- 
 less sky. They were called birds of par- 
 adise : and the few specimens that Euro- 
 peans saw were supposed to have acci- 
 dentally visited some sunny spot of our 
 world, rich with flowers and spices, but 
 not their true abiding-place. Such were 
 the talcs that the old writers of natural 
 history adopted ; and to which even sci- 
 entific persons appeared to give belief, 
 when ihey named one of the species par- 
 adisca apoda, ihefeetless bird of paradise. 
 The most correct description of the 
 birds of paradise is that given by Gaimard, 
 one of the naturalists who accompanied 
 the French expedition of discovery under 
 Captain Freycinet, in 1817. He observed 
 many of these birds in the island of Vai- 
 giou, one of the islands forming the group 
 of which New Guinea is the principal. 
 They constitute a genus of the order of 
 Omnivores (eating all things). Their 
 principal food is fruit and insects, and the 
 strength of their beaks and feet admirably 
 fit them for sustaining themselves in the 
 thick woods where they dwell. They 
 
 delight in the most inacccssii)|e parts of 
 forests, and when the weather is scrone, 
 they perch themselves on the topnioit 
 branches of the highest trees. Tiny (ly 
 with great rapidity, althounb ibiy con- 
 stantly direct their course ag^tinst ilie wind. 
 This is a proceeding which they are com- 
 pelled to adopt, in consequence of the lii.x- 
 urious trappings with which nature hns 
 clothed them ; for the wind pressing in 
 the direction of their long feathers, holds 
 them close to their bodies : in a ".oi.trary 
 direction their plumage '.vould b(? milled, 
 and their loaded wings would act with dif- 
 ficulty. They, however, seldoin venture 
 from their retreats in rough weather. \i 
 the approach of a storm they entirely dis- 
 appear, instinctively dreading the hurri- 
 cane, which they would be unable to meet, 
 and before whicii it would bo equally dan- 
 gerous to fly. They are exirouiely cour- 
 ageous, ready to attack any bird of prey 
 that excites their alarm, 'f'hcy have nev- 
 er been seen in a state of domesticity 
 among any of the Papou tribes, inhabiting 
 the islands where they aro commonly 
 found. Of their nests, tlieir mode of 
 hatching, and their care of their young, 
 nothing appears to be known. 
 
 In the annexed engraving we have 
 grouped together some of the more splen- 
 did of the birds of paradise, as given by 
 Le Vaillant, in his work on birds. The 
 species No. 1 (par. apoda), is very remark- 
 able for the beauty of its plumage, which 
 is of the most varied and brilliant colors. 
 It is especially distinguished by tiie long 
 curved fillets which spring from beneath 
 its wings, and extend in length about two 
 feet. No. 2 (le sifilet), is so called from 
 the six fillets which adorn its head. Nos. 
 3 and 4 are drawn and described by Le 
 Vaillant. The latter is represented dis- 
 playing its splendid plumes as the pea- 
 cock does his tail. No. 5 (the superb) 
 exhibits pretty clearly the nature of the 
 plumage of the birds of paradise. The 
 sort of tippet upon its breast, and the fan- 
 like ornaments of its shoulders, have no 
 connexion with either the wings or the 
 tail. The bird has the power of raising 
 or depressing thewi ; but they do not ap- 
 pear to assist its flight. Those on the 
 shoulders fold down over a part of the 
 wings like a mantle. In dimensions the 
 
lile piirls of 
 ir ift stToiio, 
 the ti>|)iii()<tt 
 I. Tlity (ly 
 \\ tln'y coti- 
 llHt llio wiiiil. 
 Iioy art! coin- 
 
 of llio lux- 
 iinliirc has 
 
 prcssiiij; in 
 itliLTH, holds 
 n a :;>r.trary 
 
 1 bo riim«!.l, 
 act with dil'- 
 h»in veiituie 
 rciilher. At 
 eiitirt'Iy dis- 
 { the hiirri- 
 abit! to ineot, 
 equal ly ilan- 
 rumcly cour- 
 )ird of |)r('y 
 cy havn nov- 
 
 doiiipsticily 
 s, inhabiting 
 3 commonly 
 ir mode of 
 their young, 
 
 ig we liavo 
 
 more Hj)len- 
 as given by 
 birds. The 
 very remark- 
 iiiajje, wiiich 
 liant colors. 
 
 by the long 
 "rom biMicaih 
 :h about two 
 
 called from 
 head. Nos. 
 ribed by Le 
 escnt<?d dis- 
 
 as the pea- 
 [tho superb) 
 aturo of the 
 adise. The 
 and the fan- 
 ers, have no 
 vings or the 
 er of raising 
 y do not ap- 
 hoso on the 
 
 part of the 
 lensions the 
 
 BABBATII TIIOirnHTS. 
 
 703 
 
 various species difTer considerably The 
 bodies of most are not larger than tha of 
 a thrush, although the thicknoM of their 
 plumage makes them appear the size ol a 
 
 One of'lho most beautiful of the birds 
 of paradise is culled the king-bird (para- 
 disea regia). Of this species many curi- 
 ous stories are current in the islands 
 whore these birds are found. I he nafves 
 aver, for example, that the two principal 
 t species of paradise birds have each tlieir 
 I leader, whose impt'rial mandates are re- 
 ceived with submissive obedience by a 
 I numer-ms train of subjects ; and that liis 
 
 '^ cU to IS- 
 
 SABBATH THOUGHTS. 
 
 uuiuvi...... .1 
 
 iPiijesiy always lite.-: above the tlo 
 sue bis orders for inspecting and lasting 
 the springs of water where they may 
 drink with safetv— the Indians being in 
 the i)raclice of taking whole Hocks of birds 
 by poisoning the water where they resort 
 to drink. Lc Vaillant considers that this 
 notion originated from the casual observa- 
 tion of a str.ng"3 >s,)ecie.i among a gregari- 
 ous llock. This explanation accords with 
 the account given by M. Sonnerat of the 
 manners of the king-bird of paradise; lor 
 being a solitary bird, going from bush to 
 bush in search of the berries upon which 
 it feeds, it may occasionally be seen near 
 the flocks of those which are gregarious, 
 where its singular plumage must render it 
 conspicuous. 
 
 These gorgeous trappings of the various 
 species of the birds of paradise excite 
 the cupidity of man. The, feathered skins 
 form a large object of commerce between 
 the people of the New Guinea islands 
 and the Malays. 
 
 The natives entrap the birds or shoot 
 them with blunt arrows. They prepare the 
 skins with consideraole nicety, having re- 
 moved the true wings, which are not so 
 brilliant as the other feathers, and cut oit 
 the feet and legs. The absence of feet in 
 all tho specimens brought to Europe, gave 
 rise to the fable that the birds of paradise 
 had no power of alighting, and were al- 
 ways on th.) wing. Their migratory hab 
 iu may probably also have given some 
 color to this tale. At the nutmeg season 
 they come in flights from the southern 
 isles to India ; and Tavernier says, 1 he 
 8tren:|thof the nutmeg so intoxicates them 
 that they fall dead drunk to the earth. 
 
 Manv and thrilling are the associations 
 which the weekly recurrence of the sab- 
 bath brings. The sun of a sublialh morn 
 first shed light on a finished creation. 
 When the ball we tread on stood out a 
 complete and lovely thing b.vfon- its Ma- 
 ker • when Eden bloomi'd a lillle heaven 
 below, and man, with his pure and lofty 
 spirit, lived in its bowers ; ere yetthe trai 
 nf the serpent was over all, " Cod blessed 
 the seventh day and saiielified it." I ho 
 beams of a sabbath morning tirst shed 
 light on a ransomed creation. Then it 
 was that the Captain of our salvation, hav- 
 injr battled with Death in his own dark 
 domain shivered his fetters, roso a victor 
 from the tomb, led captivity e;iptivo, and 
 gave "ifts unto men ; so that now, instead 
 of the^wo and shame sin had entailed up- 
 on the fallen, there is profTered to them 
 the beauty, the brightness of a purchased 
 immortality. The sabbath is a type, and 
 itdls of that rest which remaineth to the 
 people of God-of that hour w'hen the 
 Christian pilgrim shall termina.e his long 
 and toilsome march through the ^ylldcr- 
 ness and cross the threshold of his !• a- 
 iher's home— when the Christian mariner 
 shall heave over the last ocean billow, 
 and enter the desired haven— when the 
 soldier of the cross shall lay ofl' his pano- 
 nly. wear the rich robe and the bright 
 crown. Independently, loo, of these 
 urander associations, there is much- 
 much of piety, much of poetry-to make 
 the sabbath-day to a Christian's soul the 
 very " best of all the seven." The image 
 of a gray-haired sire, the family shrine, 
 the domestic Sunday-school, the " big ha 
 bible, once his father's pride," the music 
 of the church-bell, the house girt round 
 with the graves of his kindred, devotion s 
 lofty peal-Oh! it can not bo that the 
 man is on his way to heaven who loves 
 not as his life this atom of heaven dropped 
 on earth-it can not be that he is of he 
 "peculiar people," who calls not the 
 .. iabbath a delight, the holy ot the Lord, 
 honorable"-that he has any claitn to the 
 character of a religious being, who allows 
 its golden hours to glide away without 
 some thoughts about that inheritance to 
 which it points ! 
 
 49 
 
 :3ap: 
 
reec- 
 
 764 
 
 PIIOTKCTION I'llOM MOHTNINO. 
 
 PftOTECTION FROM LIOHTNINfl. 
 
 "Tp, apprehonHioii of 
 .. ■^erfromliKhininK, 
 dfHt (he snlicitudn to 
 discover niul adopt 
 moans of security 
 against it, are propor- 
 ^tiS!^tl^L: tionnto to the magni- 
 
 produc.'s rather than tlie freqiUMicy of their 
 occurrence?. Tho chances which any in- 
 dividual of tho population of a larRo city 
 inturM of being struck during a storm are 
 infinitely less than those whiidi he encoun- 
 ters in liis daily walks of being destroyed 
 by tho casual fall of tho buildings near 
 which ho passes, or by tho encounter of 
 carriages crossing his path, or from tho 
 burning of the house in which he lodges, 
 or from a thousand other causes of danger 
 to which ho exposes himself without ap- 
 prehcnsicm. Still, oven those who pos- 
 sess the greatest animal courage are struck 
 with awe, and affected more or less by 
 fear, when exposed to the war of tho ele- 
 ments in a violent slorm ; and there are 
 none who, in such cases, will not willing- 
 ly avail themselves of any means of pro- 
 tection which they believe to be availing. 
 Augustus entertained such a dread of light- 
 ning that in storms ho took refuge in caves, 
 thinking that lightning never penetrates to 
 any considerable depth in tho ground. 
 
 Strong fear, operating on ignorance, has 
 prompted, in times past and present, a mul- 
 titude of absurd and unavailing expedients, 
 among whifch, nevertheless, chance seems 
 to have flung soma in which analogies to 
 the results of modern science are apparent. 
 When a cloud menaced thunder, the Thra- 
 cians shot their arrows at it. The arrows 
 being metal, were conductors, and, being 
 pointed, had the virtue of attracting liglit- 
 ning. Pliny states that the Etruscans haJ 
 a secret method by which they could draw 
 lightning from the clouds, and guide it t 
 their pleasure. Numa possessed the meiii- 
 od, and TuUus Hostilius, committing some 
 oversi"ht in the performance of the cere- 
 mony," was himself btruck. For Numa 
 substitute Franklin, and for Tullus, Rich- 
 man, and the Roman legend is converted 
 into a Hue historical record of the last 
 century. 
 
 It WM formerly believed that perMoni in 
 bed were never struck by lighining ; nnd 
 a miiilern metcorologJMt, Mr, Howurd, np 
 piirenlly favors sueh an i<lea, by relaliiii; 
 two cases in 1828, in which liedi were 
 completely destroyed by lighlmiiL', while 
 tho persons w!;o lay in them were unin- 
 jured. Against this, however, many con- 
 trary instances may bo cili-d. On ihe 
 VJDth of Septoml)er, 1770, Mr. Ileurllily 
 was killed in his bed, by liuliiiiing, at 
 Harrowgate, while his wife, who lay bo- 
 side him, escaped. On the *27th Septem- 
 ber, 1819, a servant was killed in herbeil 
 at Confolcns, in Franco, In IHIIT, n 
 house was struck with lightnn .' at Ken- 
 sington, near London, where n man and 
 his wife were killed in llieir bed. 
 
 Tho Romans believe I iliat seal's skin 
 was a preservative aj^ainti iighinitig; and 
 tents were made of this material fur tiiniil 
 persons to shehcr under in storms. Au- 
 gustus was always provided with a seal's 
 skin cloak. However ineffectual may lie 
 such an expedient, experience abundantly 
 proves that tho material of the dress is 
 not without considerable influeneo on the 
 course which lightning follows, and may, 
 therefore, augment or diminish the peril 
 of the wearers. When lightning struck 
 the church at Chateau-neuf-les-Mouuers, 
 during the celebration of mass, of the 
 three priests who officiated at the altar, 
 two were struck dead, and the third was 
 uninjured. The vestments of tho last 
 were of silk. 
 
 There are some well-attested facts 
 which indicate a relation between color 
 and the movements of the electric fluid. 
 three cases are cited in which hur-ses and 
 oxen having while spots were struck by 
 lightning, and had all the white hair 
 burned off, while the remainder of the 
 I'ide remained unaltered. 
 
 It li.id 'jeen supposed that certain spe- 
 cies of U -es are pro )f -^'jainst lightning, 
 ., ' I ^v struck by it. Tiberius was ac- 
 customed to wear a crown of laurel, from 
 the idea that lightning never struck it. 
 
 Tho beech-tree is said to bo a non-con- 
 ductor of lightning. So notorious is the 
 fact, that the Indians, whenever the sky 
 wears the appearance of a thunder-storm, 
 leave their pursuits and take refuge under 
 the nearest beech»tree. In 'I'ennessee 
 
1 
 
 I 
 
 that pennm in 
 
 ■ li)iJiinin(; ; und 
 Ir. Ilmviinl, op 
 i(lf!ii, liy rcliiiiiit! 
 
 Ilicll llCtln WITC 
 
 liohtiiinu, wliili' 
 Ill-Ill wi^rti tiniii- 
 n^\(^r, many con- 
 
 cilfil. On lh(! 
 ), Mr. IIi':irllily 
 hy liuliiiiini;, nt 
 'ill), wliii hy lie- 
 fip '27lli Scjilcm- 
 killcii in lnr Ikm! 
 3, In IKV:, n 
 i^htnii:'; iii Kun- 
 liiTR n Minn iiiid 
 ii)ir bml. 
 I tliat Heiil's iikin 
 ,1 lightning; and 
 naleriiil lor liiiiiJ 
 
 ill siorins. An- 
 Jed Willi II st-al's 
 leflectuiil may bo 
 ience abiindanlly 
 
 of tlio (Irrss is 
 
 inducnfo on tlio 
 )liowH, and may, 
 inininh the peril 
 
 lightning struck 
 iouf-lt's-.\Ii)iiLers, 
 of mass, ol the 
 itcd at the altar, 
 nd the third was 
 mta of the last 
 
 Bll-attestcd facia j" 
 in between color 
 ;ho elictric (luid. 
 which horses and 
 3 were strnck by 
 the white hair 
 remainder of the 
 
 I that certain spe- 
 ■••.'ainst lightning, 
 Tiberius was ac- 
 vn of laurel, from 
 ever struck it. 
 d to be a iioii-con- 
 3 notorious is the 
 vheiicver the sky 
 f a thunder-storm, 
 lake reluge under 
 I. In Tennessee 
 
 I' 
 
 HOTKCTION KHOM MOHTIflMO. 
 
 Tfl.") ' 
 
 the pii'plo <*onsi(f. f It a coniplele prote.- 
 iioii. Dr. nect'Mi 1" aUit.r to Dr. Mit- 
 el,, II. (il.ilfi* tiiut »hf li.M'cli-ii-.'.- U never 
 I known to be Hiriu I, by iitnio>,plirrn- •■h'C- 
 ' iricnv whib' other tn «h "'« o(m\ ■'bal- 
 i.r.Ml 'into «pliii'«r«. Muy not a know I- 
 
 wlirn ixposed? 
 
 When iiNHailed by a Nl"rm in an op.-n 
 ,,l;,in, the danger i-* greatly uigmeiiud by 
 
 s,., king ill" ''Ixli'-r "'■ » ''^'"' t'XP;-"" 
 ,.,„,. and llieory eoinliine t'> prove ibin. 
 The portion of grealent snf.iy i» such a 
 di«l.iiice from till' tree that n shall act as 
 a .ondiiclor, diverting the lighlning Iroiii 
 
 appeared, not the sliuhlf^l «r''fe of it re- 
 maiiied. The lady wm Niiuhtiy wound.'d. 
 Urvdone reliiN s iliatabidy of l>i» «ei)U»iii- 
 tiinVi-. Mrs DoiigliHs, Mtting at an open 
 window, during a stor.n. had her bonnet 
 rompieiely de«ilroy< 1, but mill, red no in- 
 jury 111 her pfritou He aicoimts lor ili>' 
 wire of the form of the bonnet ntiructiiig 
 lli(i ligliiniiig. I 
 
 Thesf . .ind manv oilier iimtiincea mmlit i 
 be iiieniioned, suiTicienily jiroviug i!." 
 safely is best consulted in time ol siurn. 
 by laying aside all nietdlic append ig.sn, 
 llie I'n'moii, f*'u;li as chains, walcl.is, •ai- 
 rings, hair ..rnanients, ite. The Hource 
 
 the place assuiiied for sulety. 
 
 A distance 'of the gr.aie.t danger is 111 U,e bars or 
 
 of half a dozen yards may serve for this 
 purpose. 
 
 Class, being a non-cmidiiclor of elec- 
 iricitv, is generally supposed to have a 
 proicVlivo virtue. Thus it has been pro- 
 Kiuncd that a person ench.sed in a caL'e o 
 glass .^posed to a thiiiid.r-slorin, would 
 \w in absolute safety. This is proved to 
 be a fall.icy by many examples of ligbt- 
 nii." sinking and penetrating the panes ol 
 wiirdows and the frames of conservato- 
 
 ries. 
 
 Nothing is more dearly established than 
 that pieces of metal of any kind, carried 
 ahmil the person, augment the danger (>t 
 being struck by lightning ; and this in- 
 crease of peril is greater in proportion to 
 th(! mu'rnitude of the metallic appendages. 
 That this material principle, illustrating as 
 il does, one of the elementary laws ol 
 electricity, may bo appreciated as fully us 
 it ought to be, we shall here cite some ol 
 the numerous recorded examples of it. 
 
 On the 21st of July, 1819, liglito'l'g 
 strut' 
 
 plates of steel which ur(^ used in Hie .•■•r- 
 gets of females, and whidi ought to ■ 
 abandoned by all ladies who do not dcs- 
 to invite the approach of lighliim;; 
 
 It has been already shown i u whn 
 lightiiini: passes along a line "1 oiiducl- 
 iiig mall r, the only points wIi.mt . xplo- 
 sioii tak.s place and damage ensues, ure 
 at the p; 's wh-re lighfiing enters and 
 leaves tb. conductor ; and as a iicccssarj- 
 conse.pie,. 'e of this, all interruption of 
 conliiiuiiy ' any part of a cniductor or 
 series of c nductors is atieiideil with ex- 
 phisionaiid orrespoiidini; damage. Since, 
 then, ihe bu lies of men and animals a- 
 ford a free pissage to the electric lliiid, 
 it niav be exi cclcd by analogy, tliit wb,;n 
 liglmiing is ransmitled through t cliain 
 of animals, . .thur in mutual coniacl. or 
 ronnected by (inductors, the chhl il not 
 iho only injur-, would be sustained by the 
 lirst and last' iidividuals of the aerieS. 
 This principb is accordingly siiiiported 
 by the results >( experience. The lol- 
 will illustrate it :— 
 
 J^k'SL .So^o^^U c lii'Si. lowing insumc w.l tl.usU^ U :- ^^ ^^ 
 „id, passing into the grand hall, struck an <^ f ^ _^^ '^^^^ ,„ ,, •,,,,„,., a 
 ,„lnulual prisoner who was one m a Uam lou t .„,, , -.ivT,,] the lluid : 
 
 ai 
 
 individual prisunui ".." "-- •-■■- - I c.i^ ,,1' tliinv-two 
 
 group of twenty; the nineteen others | hie ol thirty -two 
 
 were untouched. This individual was a 
 brigand chief, who, being under sentence, 
 was chained round the waist. 
 
 When Saussure and his party were at 
 m.-veu, in 1767, the metal band and gold 
 button on the hat of M. Jallabat emitted 
 
 sparks. , , 
 
 Constantini relates, that in 1749, a lady 
 wearing on her arm a gold bracelet, raiseu 
 her hand to shut the window during a 
 thunder-storm, the bracelet suddenly dis- 
 
 of these, the lir^ 
 the last was sev 
 termediate thirty 
 
 lorses received the lluid : 
 was laid still' dead, and 
 •ely wounded. The iii- 
 vere only thrown down. 
 On the -i-Zd oi August,'l808, liuhtning 
 struck a schoolro in in Knonau, in Swit- 
 zerland. Five cl ildren read together on 
 the same bench : the first and last w.-re 
 struck dead, the oiher three only sustained 
 
 a shock. „ . , ,. 1 , ■ 
 
 At Flavigny (C 'to d'Or), the lightning 
 
 struck a chain of ive horses, killing the 
 
 i 
 
f 
 
 I 
 
 ! 
 
 
 766 
 
 CASTLE HOWARD. 
 
 first two and tbe last two, the middle horse 
 suffering nothing. At a village in Franche- 
 Comte, lightning struck a chain of five 
 horses, killing the first and last only. At 
 Praville, near Chartres, a miller walked 
 between a horse and a mule loaded with 
 grain : lightning struck them, killing the 
 horse and mule. The man was unhurt, 
 except that his hat was burnt and his hair 
 singed. 
 
 The danger from lightning during storms 
 may be lessened, by observing some pre- 
 cautions suggested by the known proper- 
 ties of the electric fluids. Chimneys often 
 afford an entrance to lightning, the soot 
 which lines them being a conductor. 
 Keep, therefore, at a distance from them. 
 Avoid the neighborhood of all pieces of 
 metal, gilt objects, such as the frames of 
 glasses, pictures, and chandeliers. Mir- 
 rors, being silvered on the back, augment 
 the danger. Avoid the proximity of bell- 
 wires. The middle of a large room in 
 which no chandelier is suspended, is the 
 safest position, and is rendered still more 
 so by standing on a plate of glass, or a 
 cake of resin or pitch, or sitting on a chair 
 suspended by silken cords. 
 
 The danger of being struck with light- 
 ning is augmented by being placed in a 
 crowd of persons. The living body being 
 a conductor of electricity, a connected 
 mass of ?"oh bodies is more likely to be 
 stricken, for the same reason that a large 
 mass of metal is more liable than a small 
 one. 
 
 CASTLE HOWAKD. 
 
 ^ HE superb mansion 
 \\of Castle Howard, is 
 situated in a noble 
 park about six miles 
 west of Malton, in 
 Yorkshire. The ex- 
 terior of the edifice, 
 as a whole, is grand 
 and imposing, though not free from the 
 charge of want of unity in its parts. The 
 design for the buildings was made by Sir 
 John Vanbrugh, the eminent architect of 
 Blenheim ; but one of the wings was built 
 
 much more recently by Sir James Robin- 
 son, and to him is owing the alleged in- 
 congruity. The front is very long, and 
 the whole pile, .vith its cupolas, its roofs, 
 and its massy clustered chimneys, is stu- 
 pendous. The approach is through an 
 ancient gateway flanked with appropriate 
 towers. The site of the present mansion 
 was formerly occupied by the old castle 
 of Ilinderskelf, which was destroyed by 
 an accidental fire. Castle Howard, its 
 successor, was erected by the third carl 
 of Carlisle, rs he has himself informed 
 us in some verses, amiable in sentiment, 
 but not remarkable for spirit or elegance. 
 The north front consists of an elaborate 
 centre of the Corinthian order, with a cu- 
 pola rising over the top, and on either 
 side extensive wings, the east according 
 to the original design, the west from Sir 
 James Robinson's. The south or garden 
 front is also very magnificent. Its centre, 
 consisting of a pediment and entablature 
 supported by fluted Corinthian pilasters, 
 is approached by a grand flight of steps, 
 and the view from these of the whole 
 front is strikingly noble. At the extrem- 
 ity of the east wing is the kitchen with 
 square towers at the angles. Before the 
 south front a beautiful turf terrace, deco- 
 rated with statues, extends away from the 
 house for the space of half a mile, where 
 it terminates in an Ionic temple with four 
 porticoes, and a beautiful interior. The 
 cornices of the door-cases are supported 
 by Ionic columns of black and yellow 
 marble ; and in the corners of the room 
 are pilasters of the same beautiful mate- 
 rial. In niches over the door are various 
 ancient busts. The floor is disposed in 
 compartments of antique marble of various 
 colors, and the whole crowned with a 
 richly gildrJ tloino. 
 
 The interior of the castle fulfils all that 
 the imagination, warmed by the outward 
 grandeur, can expect or desire. The lofty 
 and richly decorated rooms are every- 
 where teeming with objects of curiosity 
 and vertti, and with the works and mas- 
 terpieces of human skill, pictures, statues, 
 and busts. To give our readers an ade- 
 quate idea of the amazing riches scattered 
 about in the greatest profusion, and at- 
 tracting the eye in every apartment of the 
 building is impossible. The pictures, for 
 
ir James Robin- 
 the alleged iii- 
 vcry long, and 
 iipolas, its roofs, 
 himneys, is stu- 
 I is through an 
 with appropriate 
 present mansion 
 ly the old castle 
 as destroyed by 
 lie Howard, its 
 ly the third earl 
 imself informed 
 ble in sentiment, 
 irit or elegance, 
 of an elaborate 
 order, with a cu- 
 I, and on either 
 e east according 
 ) west from Sir 
 south or garden 
 ;ent. Its centre, 
 and entablature 
 inthian pilasters, 
 d flight of steps, 
 se of the whole 
 At the extrem- 
 he kitchen with 
 les. Before the 
 irf terrace, deco- 
 Is away from the 
 ilf a mile, where 
 temple with four 
 d interior. The 
 es are supported 
 lack and yellow 
 lers of the room 
 J beautiful male- 
 door are various 
 ir is disposed in 
 marble of various 
 crowned with a 
 
 stle fulfils all that 
 1 by the outward 
 esire. The lofty 
 )oms are every- 
 ects of curiosity 
 works and mas- 
 pictures, statues, 
 readers an ade- 
 l riches scattered 
 refusion, and at- 
 apartment of the 
 The pictures, for 
 
768 
 
 CASTLK HOWARD. 
 
 
 .b' 
 
 (i 
 
 instance, arc too niinioroiis to allow ns 
 even to nuMition tlwir names, alilioiiiih ilicy 
 aro almost inesiimalilo in valuo, as tlifv 
 are almost countless in number. Amoiii; 
 them are works by almost every jjreat 
 master. There are three painliiius in par- 
 ticular, which formed a portion of iho cele- 
 brated Orleans gallery, and which found 
 their way to England during the troubles 
 of the French revolution. One is the 
 " Finding of Moses," a line specimen of 
 the characteristic genius of the Spanish 
 painter Don Diego Velasquez; another 
 is the " Entombing of Christ," by Ludov- 
 ico Carracci, a painting of extraordinary 
 pathos, grandeur, and sublimity. But the 
 most valuable of the three, and not only 
 of the three, but of the whole collection, 
 is the " Three Marys," by Annibal Car- 
 racci. 
 
 The hall of the mansion, measuring 
 thirty-five feet square, and sixty in height, 
 is surmounted by a dome with Corinthian 
 columns, the top of which is one hundred 
 feet from the floor : it is very handsome 
 and noble. On the walls are representa- 
 tions, by Pellegrini, of the history of 
 Phaeton, with the four seasons, the twelve 
 signs, &c. In recesses are statues of Au- 
 gustus, Marcus Aurelius, and other works 
 of ancient sculpture. There are also 
 many antique busts on pedestals. In the 
 saloon, a noble room, are many more stat- 
 ues and busts, with a nnmber of pictures. 
 The ceiling is embellished with a repre- 
 sentation of Aurora. The chimney-piece 
 of the dining-room is unusually superb. 
 The cornice of white and Sienna marbles, 
 with groups of polished white in the cen- 
 tre, is supported by fluted columns of Si- 
 enna marble. Upon it are three fine 
 bronzes. This room also contains two 
 beautiful slabs of Sicilian jasper, and a 
 valuable urn or vase of green porphyry, 
 with many busts and pictures. In the 
 breakfast-room aro two elegant tables of 
 verd antique, with various bronzes and 
 pictures ; and in a dressing-room are two 
 curious cabinets of precious stones. 
 
 The antique gallery, measuring 160 feet 
 by 20, among many other curiosities, con- 
 tains various rare and beaiuiful slabs, and 
 a small antique statue, found in Severus's 
 wall, gilt and inlaid. The walls of the 
 drawing-room are richly decorated with 
 
 I tapestry, from designs hy Hubens. In 
 the same apart meat are two peilestaU of 
 green |)orplivry, on one of wlii<h is a syl- 
 van deity. The museum rontaiii's a ureal 
 assemblage of interesting objeeis: :iiiinii<; 
 these are thirteen nrns, wherein were for- 
 merly deposited the ashes of ancient he- 
 roes, an ancient mask, many bust.s, vases, 
 ice. In the southwest corner is an ob- 
 ject to gladden the heart of every anti- 
 quarian, of every scholar, and of every 
 man of taste ; we allude to a small cylin- 
 drical altar, about four feet and a half high, 
 which is supposed to have stood in tiie 
 temple of Apollo at Delphi, according to 
 the site ascribed to it by Chandler. 
 
 In the centre of four avenues of stately 
 trees in the park, stands an obelisk, one 
 hundred feet in height, bearing on one 
 side inscriptions in Latin and English, 
 commemorative of the valor and successes 
 of the D'ike of Marlborough •. on the oth- 
 er, the verses we have brf; re alluded to, 
 recording that the plantations around, and 
 the magnificent edit.ce <hey enclose, owe 
 their existence to the third earl. The 
 date on the pillar is 1712. The park and 
 grounds are very extensive, and arranged 
 on a scale of grandeur commensurate wiih 
 the importance of the mansion and the 
 family to which they belong, and the eye is 
 everywhere delighted with the intermix- 
 ture of lake, lawn, and forest. A splen- 
 did mausoleum stands about half a mile 
 from the house. It is a circular building 
 fifty feet in diameter, with a lofty dome, 
 surmounted by a colonnade of iwenly-five 
 pillars of the Roman Doric order, the 
 whole standing upon an elevated basement, 
 which is reached by two fligius of steps. 
 The inside is very handsome : tlie cor- 
 nice from which the dome rises is SMp- 
 ported by eight columns, each standing on 
 its pedestal ; the dome is entirely of ma- 
 sonry, wrought in elegant cotnpartments, 
 and the pavement, corresponding in style, 
 is inlaid with bronze ornaments, intermixed 
 with various marbles. 
 
 The ornaments generally aro very light 
 and beautiful. The basement contains 
 sixty-four catacombs built under groined 
 arches. Here repose the remains of the 
 third earl. At the entrance of the wood, 
 which shelters the house from the east, 
 stands a square pedestal decorated with 
 
^ittin^nir<il» 
 
 >' Riih(>n<«. In 
 
 iVO ]>0(U'Sflll.S of 
 
 wliich is a syl- 
 (•(piitiiiiis ;» uroat 
 Dhjtiris : nmiiiis 
 lert'iii were f ir- 
 > of ancient lie- 
 [ly l)Usla, vasos, 
 )rncr is an ob- 
 
 of every ;uiii- 
 r, and of every 
 
 a sinail cyliii- 
 and a half lii^b, 
 ve stood in the 
 li, according to 
 ^handler, 
 enues of stately 
 
 an obelisk, one 
 bearing on one 
 II and English, 
 ir and successes I 
 !gh ; on the olli- 
 f^fi re alluded to, 
 ons around, and 
 ey fsnclose, owe 
 lird earl. The 
 The park and 
 re, and arranged 
 nmensurate widi 
 lansion and the 
 g,and '.he eye is 
 th the inlerinix- 
 orest. A splen- 
 )out haU' a mile 
 ;ircular building 
 ih a lofty dome, 
 le of twenly-fivo 
 Doric order, the 
 Bvated basement, 
 
 flights of steps. 
 Isomo : i)ie cor- 
 ne rises is sup- 
 each standing on 
 5 entirely of ma- 
 tt compartments, 
 ponding in style, 
 nents, intermixed 
 
 lly are very light 
 sement contains 
 It under groined 
 e remains of the 
 nee of the wood, 
 le from the east, 
 
 1 decorated with 
 
 antif.tic medallions, and supporting an urn 
 with variovis figures representing the sac- 
 rifice of Iphi^enia. 
 
 OrOllTO, rORTUGAl. 
 
 ORTUGAL is but a 
 small coin try, in the 
 Jorni of an oblong 
 square, extending from 
 37 -> to 42^ N. latitude. 
 Its greatest length is 
 350 miles from north 
 to south, and its aver- 
 age breadth about 1 1 5 
 miles ; consequenily''the area of its sur- 
 face is about 40,000 square mi'es^nd " 
 is therefore not much more than half the 
 size of Great Britain, and about one filth 
 the size of France. Yet the fleets and 
 commerce of Portugal at one time were 
 more extensive than those of any country 
 in Europe ; and for two centuries, the 
 Portuguese were equally pre-emment as 
 adventurous and successful navigators. 
 Madeira, the Azores, and parts oi tlie 
 gold coast, were settled by them early in 
 The fourteenth century, and the kings o 
 Portugal placed themselves at the head 
 of that enthusiastic ardor, which, ctimula- 
 ted by the hope of finding a way by sca, 
 to the countries from which the Europe- 
 ans received ivory, gold-dust, and other 
 commodities across the desert, was at 
 leneth successful in accomplishing its ob- 
 ject The Portuguese led the way from 
 Europe to India by sea; they planted col- 
 onies on the shores of the African conti- 
 nent, from its northern extremities almost 
 to its southern headland ; they held pos- 
 session of extensive territories in India by 
 the right of conquest, and claimed lor 
 themselves the exclusive right of naviga- 
 ting the Indian seas. In the new world, 
 Brazil was one of the earliest European I 
 settlements; and Lisbon became the great 
 European mart for the productions of In- 
 dia, Africa, and America. Being the first 
 to open new paths to commeftial enter- 
 prise, and engrossirg the trade with new- 
 ly-discovered countries, great profits were 
 made. When the trade to India was car- 
 
 ried on overland. Venire was hotter situa- 
 ted as an entrepot for the prodm-tions of 
 the east than Lisbon ; hut when tlu-y were 
 brought by sea, Lisbon, situated between 
 the north and south of Europe, was most 
 conveniently placed. The Poriuour's,. en- 
 deavored to secure to themselves, il possi- 
 ble, the exclusive advantages vvliul. their 
 adventurous spirit had placed m their 
 hands. No other country was allowed to 
 participate in the trade to the Porln-iuese 
 settlements; and the right to trafhc with 
 the natives of newly-discovered emuitnes 
 was permitted only to those who ha<l suf- 
 ficient interest to obtain a license, and 
 who were often worthless advenU.rcrs 
 Though, for a considerable period, com- 
 merce flourished, and profits were groaj 
 the system of monopolies, both in the col 
 onies and at home, was sure to undermine 
 the prosperity of the country at some fu- 
 ture period ; and many subsequent evils 
 are to be traced to illiberal restrictions 
 framed in the hope of excluding other 
 countries from the African, Indian, or 
 transatlantic trade. These eflorls to 
 maintain a monopoly were fruitless ; and 
 when other nations became their competi- 
 tors Portugal was in her turn shut out 
 from profitable branches of forei-n com- 
 merce. Thus she was left to her monop- 
 olies. Manufactures declined, though 
 having such extensive colonies, it migt ■ 
 have been expected that the demands f 
 the industry of the mother-country vvou.a 
 have greatly increased ; and •'". d.rcct 
 object of their restrictive system had been 
 to promote the interests of Portugal. 1 o- 
 litical events rapidly hastened the crisis 
 which would sooner or later have been 
 occasioned by the unsound coumiercial 
 policy of the country. In the hfieenlh 
 century, Portugal was successfully strug- 
 gling for maritime and commercial pre-em- 
 inence ; in the sixteenth century this oh- 
 iect was obtained, and the people were 
 rearing the benefits of their enterprise , 
 but from 1580, when Portugal was an- 
 nexed to Spain, its long and melancholy 
 decline commenced. The authority of 
 the mother-country being relax.'.L its con- 
 nexion with the colonies was weakened 
 and it was not powerful enough to defend 
 Ihem against aggressions so that one by 
 one they fell into the hands of the Dutch 
 
i 
 
 # 
 
 lit 
 
 at" 
 
 710 
 
 OPORTO, POIITUQAL. 
 
 or English. Of all its possessions in Af- 
 rica, India, and the new world, only Mn- 
 deira, the Azores, and one or two settle- 
 ments in Africa and India now remain. 
 
 In 1640, Portugal once more became 
 an independent state under the sovereigns 
 of the house of Braganza, a member of 
 which is the present occupant of the Por- 
 tuguese tluoiie. But this revival of its 
 political life failed in quickening industry 
 and commerce, which had gradually sunk 
 into insignificance ; and though in fact 
 nominally independent, the principles of 
 vitality which should have rallied and in- 
 vigorated ])iiblic spirit, were so stagnant, 
 that foreign support was required to sus- 
 tain the tottering state. 
 
 The great wine company of Oporto, es- 
 tablished in 175'1, was the offspring of the 
 Anglo-Portuguese system of conmiercial 
 policy. This body of monopolists as- 
 sumed the right of regulating the produc- 
 tion of wine in the upper Douro, which is 
 the most valuable wine district of Portu- 
 gal ; and it even went the length of or- 
 dering vineyards to be destroyed, with a 
 view of making the most of their monop- 
 oly at the least possible trouble. In the 
 meantime, although the trade of England 
 with France, a coimtry containing more 
 than ten times the population of Portugal, 
 was sufl'ered to decline, being restricted 
 within the narrowest bounds to which the 
 mutual wants of the two countries could 
 be confined, the supposed advantages se- 
 cured to Portugal failed in conferring 
 those benefits upon her which were an- 
 ticipated. 
 
 Under the administration of Pombal, a 
 minister of superior energy, the country 
 had displayed some signs of life, and use- 
 ful reforms had been effected, but both 
 were transient benefits, disappearing when 
 the infiuence by which they had been pro- 
 duced was no longer felt. In 1807, amid 
 the distractions occasioned by foreign in- 
 vasion, the royal family of Portugal emi- 
 grated to Brazil, and from that time until 
 the close of the war, life and property 
 were insecure, and industry languished. 
 After the peace, when the nations began 
 to improve their internal resources, Por- 
 tugal was not permitted to enjoy the same 
 tranquillity, but was disturbed by civil dis- 
 sensions, which raged from 1820 to the 
 
 expulsion of Don Miguel in 1834, and 
 were but ill calculated to stimulate indus- 
 try or to allow of the commencement of 
 those enterprises which render a nation 
 prosperous. But the energy and vigor 
 which had distinguished the Portuguese 
 of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries 
 were no longer the characteristics of the 
 naiioi.. Ignorance and misgovernmcnt 
 had produced their wonted clli'cts. The 
 foreign trade of Portugal, once more 
 extensive than that of any other power, 
 was chiefly carried on at the two ports of 
 Lisbon and Oporto, with English capital ; 
 and but for the same stinudus, even the 
 work of reproduction would have ceased 
 in many instances. 
 
 At the termination of the late civil war, 
 all the interests of Portugal wore, as may 
 be supposed, in a struggling condition ; 
 and the physical causes which obstruct 
 the internal activity of the country ncces- 
 sarily render it a work of time to over- 
 come these difficulties. Portugal consists 
 in a great measure of niouniain-ridges, 
 divided by chasms, Alenitcjo and Beira 
 are the only provinces which contain 
 plains of any extent. The rivers are few, 
 and in summer even some which are nav- 
 igable at other seasons, are nearly dry ; 
 there are no canals, and the roads are 
 wretched. 
 
 Thus the traffic between one part of the 
 country and another is insignificant, and 
 local prejudices of the most antiquated 
 date hold undisputed sway in petty di.s- 
 tricts cut off from each other by ravines 
 and desolate tracts. These circumstances 
 have also their political influence. At 
 present the country is too poor to construct 
 good roads, but Roman energy overcame 
 the natural difficulties which the surface 
 presented, and there are the remains of 
 highways which they formed. Tlio want 
 of roads is greatest in the south, but in 
 the northern provinces the main roads are 
 toler^ly good, and tliere are bridges 
 where they are required, but these are of 
 ancient date, and not the result of recent 
 improvements. The cross-roads restn»ble 
 the tracks v^iich cover the vast steppes of 
 Russia. There are neither stage-coaches 
 nor any system established by which trav" 
 ellers may pursue their journey with post- 
 horses ; Portugal, in this test of civiliza- 
 
 ii 
 
in 1834, and 
 iiniulatc iiidiis- 
 imencctneiit of 
 Slider a nation 
 rgy and vigor 
 lio Portuguese 
 enth centuries 
 eristics of the 
 inisi^rovornmcnt 
 i I'fii'cts. Tlie 
 il, once more 
 J other power, 
 le two ports of 
 ngiish c'Mpital ; 
 iiilus, <;\<''i the 
 1 have ceased 
 
 late civil war, 
 I were, as may 
 ng condition ; 
 ivliich olistruct 
 country ncccs- 
 f time to over- 
 )rtugal consists 
 ouni;iin-ri(lges, 
 tcjo and Beira 
 \hich contain 
 rivers are few, 
 whicli are Hav- 
 re nearly dry ; 
 the roads are 
 
 one part of tlie 
 ignificant, and 
 lost anti(iuatcd 
 ! in peiiy dis- 
 her by ravines 
 circumstances 
 influence. At 
 3or to construct 
 ergy overcame 
 ch the surface 
 he remains of 
 ed. The want 
 3 south, but in 
 main roads are 
 ) are bridges 
 jl these are of 
 esult of recent 
 roads resinible 
 vast steppes of 
 • stage-coaches 
 by which trav" 
 •ney with posl- 
 est of civiliza- 
 
 r^)mv 
 
 I 
 
 ^ 
 
II 
 
 m 
 
 tion, ranking lower than any other country 
 ill Europe. The inns are few in number, 
 and afTonl very poor accommodation, and, 
 indeed, are to be found in the larger towns. 
 It is evident that there are few arrange- 
 ments based on the locomotive habits of 
 the people. The wheel-carriages which 
 are in use are in keeping with the roads 
 over which they are to travel, and on 
 many of the roads conveyance by wheel- 
 carriages is not possible, and goods are 
 carried on the backs of mules. 
 
 The mines of lead, iron, copper, and 
 other metal, and the quarries of fine mar- 
 ble, all once profitably worked, were neg- 
 lected. In the fourteenth century, when 
 the population of Portugal was greater 
 than at present, sufficient corn was grown 
 to admit of some quantity being exported ; 
 but when trade had dwindled, and agri- 
 culture was the chief resource left, Portu- 
 gal had become a grain-importing country. 
 Butter and cheese are imported in consid- 
 erable quantities from England and Hol- 
 land. Cows are seldom kept, goats' milk 
 being usually used. The wool of the 
 sheep in the plains of Beira is of good 
 quality, and greater attention might be ad- 
 vantageously paid to the fleece, which 
 would become «.n important article of ex- 
 change with other countries. The devel- 
 opment of the agricultural resources of 
 Portugal, ought, indeed, now to be the 
 great object of her rulers. With a fine 
 climate, and a soil favorable to the pro- 
 duction of corn, wine, oil, and a variety 
 of fruits, the aggregate riches of the coun- 
 try might be easily increased. Maize 
 and rice are raised, potatoes are not much 
 cultivated. If irrigation were more gen- 
 erally practised, and other improvements 
 introduced, the surplus produce of the 
 soil would not be confined to fruits, such 
 as oranges, lemons, citrons, chestnuts, 
 almonds, &c., which it requires little ex- 
 ertion to render profitable objects of cul- 
 tivation. The olive is rather extensively 
 cultivated ; but the produce is chiefly con- 
 sumed at home, the oil forming one of the 
 commonest ingredients of cookery in Por- 
 tugal. The cork-tree is also a nrofitable 
 native production. But the vine is the 
 most valuable, and when, in 1765, in ac- 
 cordance with the spirit in which the in- 
 dustry of the country was regulated, the 
 
 vineyards on the Douro and Momlrsjo 
 were partially converted into corn lands 
 by order of the governmcnl, they di'' not 
 remain long diverted from their former 
 more profitable uses. 
 
 Lisbon and Oporto are the only ports 
 of considerable importance in Portugal. 
 The entrance of the Tagus is magnificent, 
 and ships of burden come close up to the 
 town ; but how sadly has the commerce 
 of this once famous enlrepAt declined! 
 At one period 400 large ships traded be- 
 tween Lisbon and South America, besides 
 those which were employed in the trade 
 with Africa, India, China, and with the 
 Moluccas, and other distant parts ; but the 
 whole foreign shipping of the country has 
 now dwindled to 50 vessels ; and in 1838 
 only 324 vessels entered the Tagus, in- 
 cluding steamboats which arrive from 
 England once a week, the aggregate ton- 
 nage of these 324 vessels, being 53,728 
 tons. London and Liverpool are the prin- 
 cipal ports engaged in the trade with Por- 
 tugal ; vessels from these places proceed 
 with general cargoes, and return with fruit, 
 wine, wool, and other native produce. 
 Oranges may be bought by retail at one 
 penny sterling per dozen, and of course 
 are much cheaper when purchased whole- 
 sale of the grower. 
 
 Coal is exported to Portugal from New- 
 castle and Glasgow, and the vessels which 
 bring fish from Newfoundland and take 
 back salt in return, are British. From 
 other parts of the United kingdom besides 
 those just mentioned, vessels for Portugal 
 usually proceed in ballast. 
 
 The manner in which the decline of 
 foreign commerce occurred, may be easily 
 explained. When the Dutch and Eng- 
 lish, instead of obtaining the produce of 
 America and the Indies from Lisbon, pro- 
 ceeded direct to those parts of the globe, 
 Lisbon ceased to be the great dep6t, which 
 circumstances had temporarily made her. 
 The trade with Brazil, was, however, pre- 
 served until within the last few years ; but 
 the monopoly of Portugal ceased when 
 Brazil became an independent country, 
 and England and other countries carry on 
 a direct trade for cotton, sugar, and those 
 articles of Brazilian produce which the 
 mother-country formerly required to bo 
 brought to Lisbon previous to their distri- 
 
STUDY A CHILD'S CAI'ACITIKS. 
 
 nJ Moiulrjio 
 
 corn Iaii(l8 
 
 their former 
 
 lio only ports 
 ii) I'orliigal. 
 
 1 niiifjnificent, 
 lose up to the 
 be commerce 
 :)6t declined! 
 ps traded be- 
 erica, besides 
 
 in the trade 
 and with the 
 larts ; but the 
 e country has 
 
 and ill 1838 
 le Tagus, in- 
 
 arrive from 
 ggregate ton- 
 being 53,728 
 I are the prin- 
 ade with Por- 
 laces proceed 
 urn with fruit, 
 :ive produce, 
 retail at one 
 ind of course 
 ihased whole- 
 
 ;al from New- 
 vessels which 
 and and take 
 ritish. From 
 gdom besides 
 s for Portugal 
 
 le decline of 
 maybe easily 
 ch and Eng- 
 le produce of 
 I Lisbon, pro- 
 of the globe, 
 t dep6t, which 
 rily made her. 
 however, pre- 
 ew years ; but 
 ceased when 
 dent country, 
 itries carry on 
 Tar, and those 
 ce which the 
 iquired to bo 
 to their distri- 
 
 bution in Europe. The produce and man- 
 uluctiircsof Knrope.al^o, inslead oi reacli- 
 i„.r ih.) Brazilians from Lisbon, are re- 
 ceived direct from the couniry whoso i.i- 
 (hisiry has given them an exrliangeulile 
 viluc The obstacles to a more extensive 
 export trade of the native productions of 
 Portugal arise to a great extent Irom the 
 cost and labor of conveying goods and 
 nierchandise ; and thus, beyond a certain 
 distance from places which are near a 
 ' shii.ping-port or possess some facilities tor 
 reaching it, the stimidus to production 
 which foreign commerce excites is not 
 very strongly experienced. SnU ihe trade 
 of Lisbon is extensive, as there are lew 
 seaports in Portugal, and mercantile oper- 
 ations are concentrated chiefly in Lisbon 
 and Oporto. The population ot Lisbon is 
 about 200,000. Oporto, a view of which 
 is given in the engraving, is the second 
 pori of the kingdom, and delight uUy sit- 
 I uated on two hills near the mouth of the 
 Douro. which winds among steep hills 
 ' crowned with woods. It is on the lelt 
 bank of the river, the suburb of Villa xNo- 
 va being opposite, and connected with 
 Oporto by a bridge of boats. Oporto ap- 
 pears to great advantage after escaping 
 from the tilth of Lisbon. The immense 
 magazines of the great wine company are 
 prominent objects of '"t^rest I he pop- 
 ulation amom.ts to about 70,000. There 
 are, of course, many small ports, but with 
 the exception of St. Ubes, they are mere- 
 ly the resort of coasting vessels. About 
 500 vessels load annually at St. Ubes with 
 bay-salt, which Portugal exports to the 
 e-vient of 100,000 tons annually. Ships 
 with fish take back cargoes of this salt, 
 which is of a good quality. 
 
 Since 1834, when Portugal entered up- 
 on a new era. her prospects have bright- 
 ened, and if tranquillity be firmly estab- 
 lished, and more enlightened sentiments 
 prevail in her councils, the interests ot 
 industry will revive. 
 
 The monopoly of the Oporto wine com- 
 pany has been abolished. Some judicious 
 reductions of taxes have been made, the 
 currency has been improved, and the lanu 
 of useless corporations declared public 
 properly. The government has deter- 
 mined to lend its aid to the improvement 
 of roads, the construction of ports, the im- 
 
 provem.Mil of navigable rivers and sea- 
 puris. and a land-bank, with lour l.ranch.'s 
 in diflVrenl parts of the couniry, lias ix'en 
 proiccted lor the purpose of a>sistinii the 
 maliufacturer and the agrieuliuiist in the 
 development of their interests. 
 
 STUDY A CHILD'S CAPACITIES. 
 
 F some are naturally 
 dull, and yet strive to 
 do well, notice the ef- 
 fort, and do not censure 
 the dulness. A teach- 
 er might as justly scold 
 a child for being near- 
 sighted, as for being 
 naturally dull. Some 
 children have a great verbal memory, oth- 
 ers are quite the reverse. Some minds 
 develop early, others late. Some have 
 oreat powers of acquiring, others ol origi- 
 nating. Some may appear stupid, be- 
 cause their true spring ot character has 
 never been touched. The dunce ot the 
 school may turn out in the end the living 
 progressive, wonder-working genius ot the 
 age. Li order to erect the best spiritual 
 influence, wo must understand the spirit 
 upon which we wish to exert that mllu- 
 ence. For with the human mmd, we must 
 work with nature, and not against it. Like 
 the leaf of the nettle, if touched one way 
 it stings like the wasp ; if the other, it is 
 softer than satin. If we would do justice 
 to the human mind, we must find out its 
 peculiar characteristics, and adapt our- 
 selves to its individual -vants. In con- 
 versation on this point with a friend, wlio 
 is now the principal of one ot our best 
 grammar-schools, and to whose instruc- 
 fions I look back with delight-- ^ our re- 
 marks," said he, " are quite true ; and let 
 me tell you of a little incident which bears 
 upon the point. Last summer 1 had a girl 
 who was exceedingly behind m all her 
 studies. She was at the foot ol tlic divis- 
 ion, and seemed to care but little lur her 
 books. It so happened that as a re axa- 
 tion, I let them at times, during school- 
 i hours, unite in singing. 1 noticed that 
 this girl had a remarkably clear, sweet 
 
 f^SM 
 

 11 
 
 774 
 
 THE OTTER. 
 
 voice, and I said to her, ' Jane, you have 
 a good voire, and you may lead in the 
 sinjjinfr.' She brijjliti'ned up, and from 
 thiu time her mind seemed to be more ac- 
 tive. Her lessons were attended to, and 
 she soon gained a high rank. ()iie day, 
 as I was going home, I overtook her with 
 a school companion. ' Well, Jane,* said I, 
 'you are getting along v*-ry well, how 
 happens it you do much better now than 
 at the beginning of the (juarter ?' 
 
 " • I do not know why it is,' site re- 
 plied. ' I know wliat she told me the 
 other day,' said her companion. 
 ■•" Ami what was that!' 1 asked, 
 " ' W liy she said she was encouraged.' " 
 Yes, here we have it — she was encour- 
 aged. 
 
 Site felt she was not dull in everything. 
 She had learned self-respect, and thus 
 she was encouraged. 
 
 Sonic twelve or thirteen years ago, 
 there was in the Franklin school an ex- 
 ceedingly dull boy. One day the teacher, 
 wishing to look out a word, took up the 
 lad's dictionary, and on opening it found 
 the blank leaves covered with drawings, 
 lie called the boy to liim. 
 
 " Did you draw these ?" said the teacher. 
 " Yes, sir," replied the boy. 
 " I do not think it is well for boys to 
 draw in their books," said tlie teacher, 
 " and I would rub these out if I were you ; 
 but they are well done, did you ever take 
 lessons ?" 
 
 " No, sir," said the boy, his eyes spark- 
 ling. 
 
 " Well, I think you have a talent for this 
 thing. I should like you to draw me 
 something when you are at leisure, at 
 home, and bring it to me. In the mean- 
 time, see how well you can recite your les- 
 son." 
 
 The next morning the boy brought a 
 picture, and when he had committed his 
 lesson, the teacher permitted him to draw 
 a iiuip. The true spirit was touched. 
 The boy felt that he was understood. He 
 began to love his teacher. He took de- 
 light in gratifying the teacher by his faith- 
 fulness tu his studies ; while the teacher 
 look every opportimity to encourage him 
 in his natural desires. The boy became 
 one of the iirtt scholars, and gained the 
 medal before he left the school. After 
 
 thi.s he became an engraver, laid up money 
 enough to go to Europe, studied the works 
 of old masters, sent homo prodiiclions 
 from \UH own pencil, which have found a 
 place in some of the best coilcetiiin.i of 
 paintings, and is now one of the most 
 promising artists of his years in the coun- 
 try. After the boy gained the medal he 
 .sent the teacher a beautiful picture as a 
 token of respect, and while he was an 
 engraver, the teacher received freipient 
 tokens of continued regard, and I doubt 
 not, to this day, he feels that that teacher, 
 by the judicious encouragement he gave 
 to the natural turn of his mind, Ikls had a 
 great moral and spiritual elfect on his char- 
 acter. 
 
 THE OTTER. 
 
 LL anglers, with 
 Izaak Walton at 
 their head, have 
 an inveterate hos- 
 tility against the 
 otter, inasmuch 
 as it may be re- 
 garded as their 
 rival in tiio de- 
 struction of the 
 finny race, but not a fair rival, since it is 
 ever upon the sjiot. incessant in its exer- 
 tions, voracious in the extreme, tmd works 
 like a poacher during the night, nefarious- 
 ly thinning the river of tli finest li.sli, and 
 thereby depriving the angler of his an- 
 ticipated enjoyment. The complaint th:it 
 "the otter devours much fish and kills 
 iind spoils much more than he eats," is 
 very true; for where his prey is abundant, 
 he only devours the fish from the head 
 downward to the vent, leaving the tail as 
 a witness against him. 
 
 Like the fox and wild-cat, the otter i.s 
 in fact a nocturnal beast of prey, remain- 
 ing quiet in its retreat till the night has 
 set in, when it begins its depredations, 
 and continues them till the first beams of 
 sunrise warn it to retire. The ease and 
 celerity of its aquatic evolutions during 
 the chase of its victims are astonishing : 
 rapid as the trout is in its motions, arrow- 
 
 lit 
 
the otter 
 ey. remaiii- 
 e night has 
 ipredatioiis, 
 St beams of 
 9 ease and 
 ons during 
 9tonishing : 
 ons, arrow- 
 
 9Bem 
 
.»>' 
 
 I »r 
 
 1^ 
 
 'ft 
 
 ■if 
 
 
 i 
 
 III 
 
 t^« 
 
 m 
 
 ■4-' 
 
 770 
 
 THOtroHTS AND THlNdS. 
 
 like an is its speed, tho otter hunts it 
 down, for liis perseverance is equal to h'tn 
 celerity; lie follows the f\n]\ in e\ ry turn 
 and double, and maintains the pur nt with 
 a pertinacity which generally insures sue- 
 cess. 
 
 Fishes seem to have an instinctive 
 dread of the otter, for it has been seen to 
 collect into a shoal a vast number of trouts 
 in a river, and drive them before it until 
 the greater pari have thrown themselves 
 on shore. 
 
 The otter usually avails himself of any 
 convenient excavation in the bank over- 
 honging the water, especially if c vercd 
 and concealed by the twisted root- of a 
 tree, or overarched by intertangled siiriibs 
 or bushes. HufTon say that tho otter will 
 even take up its abode among piles of 
 (loating wood. Sometimes, however, its 
 retreat is at a considerable distance from 
 its usual tishiiig haunt. In the month of 
 March, or early in April, the female brings 
 forth her young, from three to five in num- 
 ber, upon a I)(h1 of sticks or grifs, in the 
 excavutior she has chosen for their con- 
 cenltneiit, and she attends them with great 
 soiiciiudo. 'I'he strength of the instinct- 
 ive attachment for her young is thus no- 
 ticed by Steller. " Often," says he, " I 
 have spared the lives of the female otters, 
 whose young ones I took away. They 
 expressed their sorrow by crying like hu- 
 man beings, and followed me as I was 
 carrying off their young, which called to 
 them for aid in a tone of voice very much 
 resembling the crying of children. When 
 I sat down in the snow they came quite 
 close to me, and attempted to carry off their 
 young. On one occasion, when I had de- 
 prived an otter of her progeny, I returned 
 to the place eight days afterward, and 
 found the female sitting by the river, list- 
 less and desponding, who suffered mo to 
 kill her on tho spot, without making any 
 attempt at escape. On ^''inning her, I 
 found she was quite wasted away with 
 sorrow for the loss of her young. Anoth- 
 er time I saw at some distance from me 
 an old otter, sleeping by the side of a 
 young one about a year old. As soon as 
 the mother perceived me, she awakened 
 the yoiuig one, and enticed him to betake 
 himself to the river ; but as he did not 
 take the hitit, and seemed inclined to pro- 
 
 long his sleep, she took him up in her 
 fore paws, ntid plunged into ilie wniir." 
 It is during llie spring and suniinir Mionilit, 
 while the young of the otter nn^ depcmU 
 "nt upon the nn-'her's care, th.it the dc 
 structioii she makes among the fisli is must 
 considerable ; she has not only her owu 
 wants, but those of her offspring to pro. 
 vide for, and her exertions during the hi- 
 lent hours of night are unremitting. 
 
 The sport of otter-lumting, formerly 
 maintained by country gentlemen for the 
 sake of the diversion, may be regarded as 
 having been brought to a close in I'^ng* 
 land, with the termination of tho last cen- 
 tury, and is now only practised for tho 
 sake of extirpating a noxious animal. At 
 the present day, few or no parks of otter- 
 hounds are kept. 
 
 THOUGHTS AND THINGS. 
 
 HOUGHTS never 
 die. They are a part 
 of the unseen things 
 that are eternal. Tho 
 minds in which they 
 spring, or in which 
 they are implanted, 
 have " life everlast- 
 ing ;" and impressions made upon them, 
 never cease to affect their welfare, for bet- 
 ter or for worse. They make them bet- 
 ter and happier, or worse and more miser- 
 able for ever. 
 
 Things perish. Most of them soon de- 
 cay, and the most enduring will ere long 
 be consumed. Our bodies, to us the most 
 valuable nnd the most curious of things, 
 are but dust, and to dust will shortly re- 
 turn. Impressions made on perishable 
 things, must perish with them. Soon no 
 trace will remain, to show that they have 
 ever been. 
 
 He who endeavors to impart thoughts 
 to the minds of men, toils for immortality. 
 If he is successful, the produce, the ef- 
 fects, of his labors will endure for ever. 
 When ages, and millions of ages shall 
 have rolled away, they will still be opera- 
 tive for the Jjenefit or injury of those who 
 receive them. 
 
 m. 
 
tn tip in tier 
 
 llu' WJlltT." 
 
 liner inuntliH, 
 nri' (li'pi'nd. 
 Ih.il l\w ilr- 
 I! fl^li is UUM 
 Illy lifT <i«ii 
 iriii); to pM- 
 uriiiK the si- 
 littiiiK. 
 ip, foiinprly 
 men for tlit> 
 ) regarded nt 
 one in I'3iij»« 
 the l;i8t ct'ii- 
 isf'd for the 
 animal. At 
 cks of otter- 
 
 [INGS. 
 
 [TS never 
 cy are a piirt 
 iscen thiiig<i 
 ternal. The 
 which tliey 
 r in which 
 implanted, 
 fe everlasl- 
 upon them, 
 fare, for bet- 
 e them bet- 
 more miser- 
 
 om soon de- 
 will ere long 
 I us the most 
 IS of things, 
 1 shortly rc- 
 I perishal)lo 
 I. Soon n& 
 It they have 
 
 art thoughts 
 immortality, 
 uce, the ef- 
 ire for ever, 
 ages shall 
 ill be opera- 
 if those who 
 
 JUNK. 
 
 Ill 
 
 IU.I he who Ubor. to orcvlw^ th.i.KH. 
 ,,, . ,or^^l.atisperi.haW The pro- I 
 
 e,,M. U. be. \U soWH to .he corruptible, 
 tt„a '• «hall reiip corrupiion. 
 "Tba laborer who produces things, mn 
 ,,., ,, ,„r Ibe service ot .be ihougbl ; und 
 ,,„ ,„H labors take hold on etern..y and 
 of worth. The touch of faith changes 
 ;:::;."-;. und imparts to them an tnh... 
 
 ''"Man'oi- thought! lumorthe man of toil! 
 You could not live to ih.nk, a.id buabl 
 the world by your thoughts but (or lis 
 
 t d It '>• ''"ly ^^»'-" ^'"' ^"''" 'f" 
 I, "igs as an ci.d, and raises not h.s eye 
 o be higher good to which .hose •.h.ngs , 
 8hi.uld be made subservient, that he is 
 y, if a human being ever .s, to be 
 
 Tv S^'d. When ho ...ils for hi.nsel as 
 
 a lei g of .h..ugb., or for others that they 
 
 ;j . ne and .b.nk ; then be IS your wor- 
 
 y broiher. If I- '^ to the cx.en^ o^ 
 
 "M:;;;'ortt;;-"brlrme, of thought. 
 
 .I'l::' though,s arc good. 1' en. - 
 many such. S.nue origmaie .bougUis 
 I others only convey them trom one to 
 
 . ,"J Son c impart them to children 
 ;.::uth.iuthescLol or college; a.K 
 
 others to adults in the pulpit, or by ibe 
 ±sSo.ne do it by the voice, others 
 
 V the pen. But in whatever way hey 
 w^k they are all producing that which 
 Tl be eternal in its duration and use ul- 
 Tss, and is therefore i^^ifuntetn us value^ 
 
 The fruits of their labor will sti 1 exist . 
 auLltL their value, when al the pro- 
 ductions of the farm and the shop sbal 
 
 t ma be of endless benefit ar.d of count- ! 
 e s vorih. If it is evil, it may rend a 
 'Z,:^\, n is good, it may save a soul 
 
 ll IS lit that they who produce what IS 
 .nfuielyvaluable should be well paid for 
 
 u.d ihev will be. Men may be so 
 L;t;i;^o see .he worth of the. pro- 
 ductions, and the lbi.d.er may not be paid 
 
 bv them, not be paid wub u. 'i- 
 
 l.'.rs liiile. If he ibinkH il...t .. i"" 
 
 ihuspaidfordoinu.hedebaHeSlh. .Mec.o.H 
 ,„ ,1,;. H.,rvice of the vile, and des-rves lo 
 
 llH- unpaid, b.itif be aims mm w.mhily ■>« 
 he Hl'o.dd, at rewards in .be vvnld ol 
 
 Llunight and of eternity, be ;mI 1 .b-m 
 
 'there; nor mourn that ibis il.ough.less 
 
 I world has paid him pt>orly. 
 
 JUNE. 
 
 •r„R goddess Juno is said to claim ihe 
 l.onor of giving name to Ibis inonlh; oth- 
 ;!rs assort it to be derived Irom Jm.ms 
 
 , Hnitns. By th" !^^""'"^' '* ^^'''^ '"'""''' 
 
 Srn-mnwith, or dry moiiib. 
 i June IS really, in this chmale, wlia the 
 I n.„,s represent May to be -the in..st love- 
 
 V month of the year. ^^^"'-"""'^ '"', ;;•"' 
 1 mnired, and warm weather .h..roui;bl> OS. 
 
 Uabli.hed, yet the heats rarely rise u- ev 
 :,J.orin!errupt.heenj..ymentoi .hose 
 
 I ,,,aihres which the scenes ol nature now 
 iT The trees are in their lu lest 
 iress, and a profusion of .be gaye... I low- 
 ers is everywhere scattered around whn b 
 ,»l on all their beauty ins. before they are 
 
 'cut down by ihe scythe, or withered by 
 
 '^Sorcopious showers are extremely 
 welcome about the beginning ol '.^ 
 ,„„n.h, to forward the growth ol the lur- 
 
 l^'oneof the earliest rural employments 
 I of this month is rhe shearing ol sheep, a 
 
 i business of much importance m many 
 iSlof the country, where wool IS one 
 
 1 of the most vahiable products. 
 
 'Plus country is becoming celebiated 
 
 for us breeds of sheep, - >-»' J''^' Jj'" 
 of various qualities, suited .0 the d.llercni 
 
 branohcsof the woollen uunulacior). 
 i ' • 'he season for shecp-sheanug com- 
 ,„ences as soon as the warm weather is 
 ar settled that the sheep m;.y without 
 
 jllger lay aside great part ol their clo- 
 
 |^*''Sbre shearitig. the sheep undergo 
 
 I the operation of washing, m order o 
 
 I free the wool from the loulness it has 
 
 contracted. 
 
 i 
 
 
iTtf" 
 
 II' 
 
 f'l ' 
 
 nr-' 
 
 ii- 
 
 KARA III88AB— FORM AND STRUCTURE OF THE EARTH. 
 
 KARA HISSAR. 
 
 ilF. 
 
 ■i*y in'i ;«wn of 
 \Ilissar, in iht) 
 
 priiv- 
 iiicn of Aiiodoli, in 
 Asia Minor, \h about 
 1 80 iiiiU'sidisitant from 
 (/onHtiiiitinuplu in a 
 dirtirt lino; nhuiit 200 
 miles from Smyrna 
 nnd tlio ilCgean sea ; and 1 30 miles from 
 the port of Adalia on the southern shores 
 of the Mediterranean ; conse(|uenlly it is 
 placed nearly in the centre of the penin- 
 sula known under the niiine of Asia Mi- 
 nor. There are no pro|ierly-con8lructed 
 roads in any part of the Turkish empire, 
 ihou^'h the remains of the Komuii lines of 
 communication are still to bo observed, and 
 some of the Uoman bridjfes are yet in 
 use ; hut Kara Ilissar enjoys tin: advanta- 
 ges which are derived from such roads as 
 are common to the country. The road 
 from Smyrna to the east, toward Armenia, 
 Georgia, Persia, and the countries border- 
 ing on the Euphrates, passes through it ; 
 and it is the rendezvous of the caravans 
 proceeding from Constantinople, Honce 
 nearly all European manufactures and col- 
 onial produce which are distributed to the 
 eastward and southward, pass through 
 Kara Hissar. This renders it a place of 
 considerable importance, and stimulates 
 the industry of the inhabitants ; as the nu- 
 merous caravans which pass through it 
 bring produce and merchandise from dis- 
 tant parts, and the siiops are accordingly 
 well supplied. A great proportion of the 
 houses are built of stone. 
 
 The manufacture of carpets is chiefly 
 carried on in the country between Kara 
 Ilissar and Smyrna ; but fabrics of wool 
 and tapestry arc among the staple articles 
 of industry in the former place. From 
 the large quantity ol' opium cultivated in 
 the neighborhood, it is generally called 
 Afioum Kara Hissur. 
 
 The situation of the town is striking. 
 Lofty and naked rocks rise up on one side, 
 and on the other is a range of high fruit- 
 ful hills covered with vineyards. A small 
 stream, wliich in winter and spring is 
 abundantly supplied, runs through the 
 town. The circumference of the town is 
 nearly three miles, it contains ten mosques, 
 
 anil the population is supposed to exceed 
 50,000. The castle is niiuated at the lop 
 Kara "' «» "'•'•'P rock, nearly '.'00 yards in pi-r- 
 jieiulicular height. At ihe sninmit there 
 is a wall Hanked by round towers, within 
 which are some old cannon made of iron 
 bars and pieces of old armor. 'I'here are 
 places for holding water, partly of stone, 
 and partly hewn out of ilie rock, and a 
 deep well. If HU|)|)lied with water and 
 provisions, the place would be impregna- 
 ble. This strong natural eitadil appears 
 o?dy to have been intended for oica>ional 
 use in times of trouble. The entrance 
 could be closed by a gate. 'J'he western 
 frontier of Asia has often been the b.ittle- 
 field of contending powers, and .such a 
 ^ place as this castle might be intciuied as 
 the last resort of the vanipiished. Asia 
 Minor was ravaged by i)arbarians, anil af- 
 terward for two centuries endured the 
 tyranny of the Persian yoke. 
 
 FORM AND STRUCTLIRE OF THE 
 EARTH. 
 
 NK interesting pe- 
 cti.iarity in geolo- 
 gy is the close re- 
 lationship in which 
 it stands to many 
 other departments 
 of science, lend- 
 ing light to them, 
 and receiving it from them in return. The 
 whole subject of organic remains belongs 
 not less to zoology and botany than to ge- 
 ology, and the time is perhaps not far dis- 
 tant when it will be in a great measure 
 resigned to them, and geologists be will- 
 ing to accept of the facts from the stu- 
 dents of these branches of natural histo- 
 ry, and only apply them to their own re- 
 searches. Many parts of it are, in like 
 manner connected with natural philoso- 
 phy, astronomy, and chymistry ; facts from 
 all these sciences forming some of its 
 most elementary principles. The shape, 
 dimensions, and density of the globe, are 
 important elements in astronomical calci:- 
 lations, but of almost equal consequence 
 to the true theory of the earth's structure. 
 
 Mi 
 
lospil to fxreed 
 tiiitrd ,ii tliH lop 
 yards in per. 
 I! !«iiuiniit ilit>ro 
 
 towiTN, within 
 II tniiiKi of iron 
 )or. TliiTi' are 
 partly of nUtiw, 
 lio nii'li, aiK 
 villi water mid 
 il Lit* iinpri'i>iiu- 
 oiladf 1 a|)pt'ar8 
 \ for ot'fa>i(»iiiil 
 
 'I'lii! ciitraiu'o 
 'I'lii; wesicrii 
 been the li.ittlo- 
 rs, and such n 
 hn iiitciiilcd as 
 (pii.slicil. Asia 
 bariaiis, mid nf- 
 s endured the 
 ko. 
 
 [IE OF THE 
 
 ', interesting pe- 
 urity in geoio- 
 is tho close re- 
 anshipin which 
 lauds to many 
 }T dopartmeuts 
 science, lend- 
 light to them, 
 u return. The 
 jmnins belongs 
 luy than to ge- 
 ap» nui far dis- 
 great measure 
 Id'jisls be will- 
 from the stu- 
 iiutural hislo- 
 their own re- 
 it are, in like 
 Mural philoso- 
 itry ; facts from 
 ; some ;jf its 
 The shape, 
 the globe, are 
 nomical ca!cu- 
 [ consequence 
 rth's structure. 
 
 f 
 

 iH 
 
 li 
 
 ■i 
 
 
 $4 lit 
 
 ill; 
 
 iipt 
 
 180 
 
 FORM AND 8TRUCTUKE OF THE EARTH. 
 
 Our planet is not an exact sphere, but on- 
 ly a near approach to this figure. It ia 
 flattened or pressed in at the poles, and 
 bulges out in the region through which the 
 equator passes. In consequence of this, 
 the surface of the sea under this line is 
 about thirteen miles higher or more dis- 
 tant from the centre than at the poles. It 
 is supported at this height by the rotation 
 of the eartli ou its axis, which has a ten- 
 dency to throw any loose body off from 
 the surface, in ihe same manner as a stone 
 whirled round in a sling. Were the earth, 
 therefore, to stand still, the waters would 
 instantly connnence flowing toward the 
 poles, and deluge the highest land around 
 them. Such a catastrophe is prevented 
 by the permanent regular motion impressed 
 on the gl()!)e, and its stability, with the 
 proper distribution of land and water on 
 its surface, secured by the form which it 
 now possesses. This is, notwithstanding 
 its various inequalities, very nearly that 
 figure which all the particles composing 
 it, if allowed to move freely among each 
 other, would assume. Were the earth 
 fluid, it would acquire this shape exactly, 
 and its near approach to it, is often takc^n 
 as a proof that it was formerly in that 
 condition. This, however, is not neces- 
 sarily true, since it may be shown that the 
 causes now acting on the surface — the 
 wearing down of the highest mountains 
 and hardest rocks, and the transportation 
 of their materials from place to place by 
 rivers and tides — would, in the course of 
 time, produce the same effect. It is also 
 but reasonable to suppose, thai if tlie earth 
 was created at first of solid materials, 
 these would be disposed in that form which 
 was most consistent with the continuance 
 and order of the system. Nothing we 
 perceive in nature at all supports the no- 
 tion, now so prevalent, that the glorious 
 and perfect arrangement of the miiverse 
 is the mere necessary development of 
 physical laws. The all-regulating hand 
 of the Creator, seems to have been always 
 present in every corner of his works. 
 
 To weigh the earth in a balance, might 
 appear to surpass not merely the ability, but 
 the presumption of men. Yet the-y have 
 not only attempted, but performed this 
 with surprising accuracy, and its specific 
 gravity, or weight compared to that of an 
 
 equal mass of water, is known more near- 
 ly tlian that of most bodies on ii.s surfnce. 
 This is rather more tluin five tiuHis (fj-tiC)) 
 tinitof water, or half that of |)ure silvt;r, 
 and a third less than iron ; >;old i«i more 
 than three times, and platimnn and some 
 other metals almost four tinit^s heavier, so 
 that only a small part of tlie interior can 
 I be filled with snatter nearly ct\u:i\ to tuese 
 metals in density. The aviraift; of the 
 whole globe is only twice that of the ex- 
 terior crust, and as the pressure in the in- | 
 terior must be enormous, condensing any | 
 sul)stance exposed to it to a VMst aiiKunit, 
 it has not unreasonably l)een imagiued ilnu | 
 the interior is filled with snljstauees light- I 
 er than those forming the external crust. | 
 But the heat which hot springs, voh-moes, ' 
 and experiments in uniuis, show t(.' exist i 
 in the interior, must act as an antagonist I 
 power to the compression, and mudifv its ' 
 results to a great extent, lliine much ' 
 uncertainty prevails in regard to the in- 
 terior structure of the globe. 
 
 That portion of the crust which is ac- 
 cessible to man, is not very extensive; the 
 deepest mine, added to the highest moun- 
 tain, not exceeding six English miles, or 
 about a thirteen hundredth part of tlu^ 
 earth's diameter. Nor is even this vi.sible 
 in any one place, the deejiesl natural or 
 artificial sections being much less. This 
 crust is composed of rocks, these of sim- 
 ple mineral, and these again ol' the ele- 
 mentary substances of the chyniists. Of 
 the latter, fifty-five or filty-seven are enu- 
 merated, but some of them are very rare, 
 and only found in a few unimportant bod- 
 ies. The great mass of tlie earth's crust, 
 consists of scarcely a dozen eki;ieiits, 
 either alone, or more conmiouly united 
 with each other in various pro[)oriii>iis. 
 These are named simple minerals, which 
 have not only a definite cliymical coiiqio- 
 sition, but also a peculiar regular sirueture, 
 and a tendency to assume ceria n external 
 forms. This is named crystallization, and 
 is well illustrated by salt or sugar, when 
 slowly deposited from a solution. With 
 rare exceptions, each distinct cliymical 
 compound has its own form of eryst its, 
 and also peculiar colors and other jihysi- 
 cal properties, by which ihey are distin- 
 guished from all others. The number of 
 these minerals now known is about four 
 
 ! 
 
novvii morn near- 
 ?s on ii.s siirCnce. 
 live tiiiK^s (f)ti()) 
 it of |nirf silver, 
 n ; f;i)l(i Im iiuire 
 tiiiiiin :uii1 tiitine 
 iiiii^s lir;ivicr, so 
 tlir iiiicriiir can 
 ly o(]ii,il t(i t'licse 
 avcrayc ol' the 
 ) thai of till! <'x- 
 cssiiro ill llie iii- 
 coiidcnhing any 
 ) a vast aiiiDiiiit, 
 (Ml iinagiiiril tliat 
 siiliMlaiicfs lii;lit- 
 • fxtcriial crust, 
 ring's, vtdcaiuii's, 
 s, sliDw to exist 
 as ail aiila<{tiiiist 
 I, anil iiiiKlily its 
 Hciuo iniicli 
 ?garil to llu! ill- 
 be. 
 
 1st wliich is ac- 
 y extensive ; the 
 I! highest inuuii- 
 iiglisii miles, or 
 liii part 1)1' tlu! 
 L'veii iliis visible 
 jj)est natural or 
 uch less. This 
 8, tiiese of siiii- 
 (ain oC tile ele- 
 ! chyiiiists. 01' 
 -seven arc eiiu- 
 11 are very rare, 
 niniporlaiit bod- 
 [lii! eanh's crust, 
 lozen ekiiieiits, 
 uniiuiiily united 
 >us |;r(.'[)()rii(iiis. 
 minerals, which 
 liyinical coiuiio- 
 egul.ir structure, 
 eeria n extriiial 
 slallizaiioii, and 
 or sugar, when 
 .solution. With 
 .^tiiict chyiuical 
 irui of crysi lis, 
 lid other physi- 
 lliey are disiin- 
 Tiie nuiiilier of 
 vn is about Jour 
 
 rOK.M A.NI) .Srurt-TKUK OK TllK EAIITH. 
 
 7SI 
 
 liuiidr(!tl, hut not a .seventh of these are of 
 couiinoii occurrence, and the vast propor- 
 lioii of rocks are composed (d' less than a 
 do/en. 
 
 (ieologists use ihe wiu'd rtx^k in a more 
 e.vleiided sense than in coiiiiiion lan!,'u;iK('. 
 Ail the great extended uiasses coinposing 
 the crust of the earth are rocks, and even 
 beds of sand or (day receive the same 
 iKiine. Rocks art! eillier simple, consist- 
 ing (d' one mineral, or coiii|)imiid, com- 
 posed of two (U' more. 
 
 t,!uariz, or ihc silica of tlie cliymists, 
 occurs ill a great variety of forms. It is 
 itself a (Mimpoiiiid suiislance. I'ormed of 
 oxyyeii, the vital air wi- iireaihe, and <d' 
 silic(m, formerly i)elieved to be a metal, 
 but now |)laced by cliymists in a dili'erent 
 cln.ss. Its compound, silica, is the most 
 abundant siibstaiKre on llus globe, forming 
 more than half (d' that pjirt of it with 
 which wu are ai'(iiiainled. TIk^ common 
 while " ohuckie-stones" of (diildreii, is one 
 of its most characteristic varietii^s ; the 
 gun-dints of the s|)orismeii w ere fashioned 
 fnim another, the dark cidor being caused 
 by s(mi(! extraneous mixture ; and the line 
 piiio rock crystal, the Cairngorm stones, 
 the amethyst, cornelian, and jasjier, are 
 all otlier varieties of this mineral, in more 
 or less purity. It has many colors, ytd- 
 lovv, brown, red, gretMi, blue, and black, 
 l)iit is most commonly white or gray. It 
 aUo ajipears when crystallized in several 
 forms, but very frequenlly in six-sided 
 prisms, ending in a pyramid with the 
 saiii(3 number of planes. 
 
 IJesides the (juartz forming the sand- 
 stone, two and sometimes three other min- 
 erals are found in it. The quartz is usu- 
 ally of .1 white color and glassy aspect, 
 but along witii it is another miiiera! of a 
 duller white or red color, and less hard, 
 named felspar. Of this there arc several 
 vaneiies,diireringiii chymical composition. 
 Besides silica and alumina, which form 
 clay when decomposed, the common fel- 
 spar contains potash ; a second variety 
 contains soda, and a third also lime. 
 
 Oranite, besides these two minerals, 
 coniains mica, well known from dividing 
 into thin, transjiarfsiit, elastic plates, of a 
 bright silvery color. It has so much the 
 appearance of a metal, that ignorant per- 
 sons often iiiista.ke it for silver, at. 1 the , 
 
 yellow varieties for gold. Common gran- 
 ite consists of tlies(( three minerals, in 
 variiuis proporlions, and is of a while or 
 red color. iJesides them, however, a 
 fourth mineral, of a dark oreen or Idac k 
 cohir, occurs in it. This is nanu'il horn- 
 blende, am! much resemblijs another ureeii 
 mineral, named augit(!. 
 
 Of these five minerals, now naniei!, ;il- 
 mosi the whohf rocks on iIk^ earth eonsisi. 
 and there are few which do not (oni.iin 
 one or other of llicm. 'i'ln^ onl\ oilier 
 substances of much imporlauce me lime, 
 the carbonate of which forms the (Dimnoii 
 limeshme, and marble; and iron, a siiii 1 
 pioporlion of which is found in almost 
 overy rock, while its ores, from which ilie 
 metal can Ik; |irepar(rd, arc very aiiundant. 
 From these few minerals, uiih some oth- 
 ers of rarer occurrence, a great v.iriety of 
 rocks are formed, smni! getdogists enii- 
 meraiiiig from two to three hundred spe- 
 cies. 
 
 The three kingdoms of nature,. the an- 
 imal, veg(!table, and mint'ral, though « ide- 
 ly distinguished, are yet (dosidy connect- 
 ed. T!ie lil'idess inorganic inimMal ccndd 
 exist without the plant or aiiini;il, but these 
 are not eipially iiidi;pendeiit. Xoi only 
 does the mineral kingdom form the rocks 
 and sod (ui which they live and vegetate, 
 but from it also they draw their food and 
 nourishment. The plant converts the in- 
 organic elements into a state ad.ipted for 
 the sujiport of animals, which seem inca- 
 pable of performing this ofUeo for them- 
 selves, and, on their dissolution, their 
 bodies are tigain restored to the earili 
 vvhencc they have literally been taken. 
 There is thus a continual wonderful cir- 
 culation of material elements, from the 
 mineral, through the plant and animal, 
 back to the mineral again. But the plants 
 deriving their supjiort from the soil, it is 
 necessary that they should liud in i' ihe 
 various elements on which they exist. 
 W^ere any of these wanting, they would 
 either perish, or become sickly and unlit 
 for the iioiirishmeiit of animals. Hence 
 the great importance of the compound na- 
 ture of rocks, from whose decomposiiion 
 the soil is formed, as |)lanls are thus fur- 
 nished with those substances whi(di tliijv 
 reiiuire. The two rocks just mentioned 
 are a good il!t;si..''a;;oii of i.iis. Tlib .siai- 
 
tIt!i 
 
 ^ 
 
 782 
 
 FORM AND STUUCTUIIE OF THE EARTH. 
 
 )«■»! 
 
 * 
 
 ' ■* '1 1 
 
 pie rock, the sandstone, consisting of sili- 
 ca alone, decomposes into a very barren 
 and unfruitful soil. In granite, the silica 
 also prevails, but. mixed with six or eight 
 other substances, and the soil, though far 
 from fertile, is much more so than that 
 over pure sandstone ; wliile, hills, though 
 high, are covered with fine grass, and in 
 the south of Europe, with forests of oaks 
 and chestnuts. Hut still greater variety 
 of rocks, and the more compound soil 
 they produce, are more favorable to vege- 
 tation. 
 
 The sandstone and granite also furnish 
 good illustrations of some other distinc- 
 tions of great importance in geology. The 
 name of the former implies th-d it consists 
 of sand, that is, of grains of a round ir- 
 regular form. These grains are of vari- 
 ous sizes, from a pin head, or even less, 
 to that of a pea or marble. When larger, 
 the rock is named a conglomerate, though 
 its structure of broken fragments is still 
 the same. In granite, the distinct miner- 
 als are mixed together in apparently an ir- 
 regular manner, but each portion has a 
 definite form, is bounded by straight lines 
 or smooth planes, and the rock, when 
 newly broken, shows numerous shining 
 surfaces which reflect the light, instead of 
 a rough uneven fracture like the sandstone. 
 Tli'j granite is thus named a crystalline 
 rock, whereas the sandstone is said to be 
 uncrystalline, and this diiference is be- 
 lieved to arise from a dillerence in their 
 mode of origin. Sand — broken irregular 
 grains — is produced by water from the de- 
 struction of previous rocks, as on the 
 banks of rivers or the seashore. Where 
 we see heaps of sand strewed on the sur- 
 face, we immediately conclude that water, 
 and water in motion, has in some former 
 time been there. Grains or crystals, like 
 those of the granite, do not arise in this 
 way. They are only seen to form where 
 the substance composing them has been 
 dissolved, either in a fluid or by heat, so 
 that its particles can unite in a regular 
 manner. Hence it is supposed that gran- 
 ite, and the rocks which resemble it in 
 structure, have been formed in one of 
 these ways, and probably in the latter, or 
 from a slate of igneous fluidity. 
 
 But, it umy be asked, do the external 
 lornis of these rocks agree with this mode 
 
 of origin deduced from their internal struc- 
 ture ? Sand or mud, depositrd from water, 
 is seen to form beds or layers of greater 
 or less extent, and these should be seen 
 in the sandstone rocks, if this is the man- 
 ner in which they have been produced. 
 And such, every one who has looked into 
 a sandstone quarry, nuist have observed to 
 be the case. 'I"he sandstone is, on this 
 account, said to be stratified, or to form 
 strata, a word derived from a Latin verb 
 signifying to strew or spread out, as the 
 materials of the siindstone beds are sup- 
 posed to have been at the bottom of tlie 
 sea, or in some other larije body of water. 
 The granite having a difierenl origin, docs 
 not exhibit this peculiarity. It appears in 
 large irregular masses, divided in various 
 ways, but not into regular beds ; and most 
 of the rocks, whose structure is like iis 
 crystalline, are also massive and unstrati- 
 fied. Many of them, indeed, appear like 
 a mass of molten metal poured out through 
 an opening on the surface of the ground. 
 Some of these details may seem uniuter- 
 esting to our readers, but they constitute 
 the first principles of all geological science, 
 and even in themselves are not barren of 
 reinarkable results. It was long a favor- 
 ite endeavor of philosophers, misled by 
 the desire of sim, .icity, to endeavor to 
 explain all the plienomena of the earth by 
 one agent, by fire or by water. But even 
 these two rocks, found in great abundance 
 in most quarters of the earth, show that 
 neither of these theories is alone sufficient, 
 and that facts require both to be combined. 
 It will also be found that both agents, and 
 the rocks which they produce, serve im- 
 portant purposes in the economy of crea- 
 tion, and produce, by their union and op- 
 position, a system that is far more perfect 
 and beneficial than would have resulted 
 from either of them alone. Even looking 
 at these rocks, in the low and limited light 
 of materials for human dwellings and oth- 
 er edifices, it will be found that each pos- 
 sesses peculiar properties and advantages, 
 which could not have been combined, and 
 one class of which, therefore, must have 
 been sacrificed, had fire or water alone pre- 
 vailed in the formation of the earth. 
 
 Take care of your business, and your 
 business will take care of you. 
 
 l=. 
 
 VL 
 
their intoriial striic- 
 ■posittnl from water, 
 )r layers of greater 
 [!se sliouIJ be seen 
 , if this is the mau- 
 ve been produced. 
 fho has looked inio 
 »t have observed to 
 iidstono is, on this 
 ratified, or to form 
 from a Latin verb 
 spread out, as the 
 Diie beds are siip- 
 t the bottom of tlie 
 ar>je body of water, 
 iifereiil orijiin, does 
 riiy. It appears in 
 , divided in various 
 iar beds ; and most 
 itructurc is liiie iis 
 issive and unstrati- 
 indeed, appear hke 
 poured out ihroujih 
 face of the ground, 
 may seem uniuter- 
 but they constitute 
 geological science, 
 s are not barren of 
 [t was long a favor- 
 sophcrs, misled by 
 ity, to endeavor to 
 ena of the earth by 
 y water. But even 
 in great abundance 
 lie earth, show that 
 !S is alone suflicient, 
 )oth to be combined, 
 lat both agents, and 
 produce, serve im- 
 i economy of crea- 
 :heir union and op- 
 is far more perfect 
 oidd have resulted 
 ;)ne. Even looking 
 owand limited light 
 I dwellings andolh- 
 found that each pos- 
 ties and advantages, 
 been combined, and 
 lerefore, must have 
 i or water alone pre- 
 1 of the earth. 
 
 business, and your 
 3 of you. 
 
 THE NARWAL. 
 
 783 
 
 THE NARWAL 
 
 MONG the ccta- 
 cea that inhabit 
 the Polar ocean, 
 the narwal, if not 
 the largest, is 
 itevertheless one 
 of the most re- 
 inarktible. Its 
 general form re- 
 sembles that of the porpoise ; it has how- 
 ever no teeth, properly so called, but two 
 tusks, or sp<iars, implanted in the inter- 
 maxillary bone, hut of whiclithe riuht re- 
 mains usually rudimentary and concealed 
 during life. The left tusk, on the con- 
 trary, attains to from five to seven i>r eight 
 and sometimes ten feet in length, and pro- 
 jects from the snout iit a right line with 
 the body, tapering gradually to a point, 
 with a spiral twist (rope-like) throughout 
 its whole extent. In structure and 
 urowtli, this tusk resembles that of the 
 i elephant, being hollow at its base, or root, 
 and solid at its extremity. 
 
 The tusk or spear of the narwal con- 
 stitutes a powerful weap<m, which it is 
 reported to u.se with terrible efTect. It is 
 liowever its only weapon, for it has neith- 
 er the fornjdable teeth of the grampus nor 
 (if the cachalot. Crantz thus describes 
 tiie narwal : " This species is commonly 
 twenty feet lofig, and has a smooth black 
 skin, sharp head, and little mouth. A 
 iviunil double-twisted horn runs straight 
 out from the leftside of the upper lip. It 
 is commonly ten feet long, as thick as 
 one's arm, hollow inside, and composed 
 (if a white solid substance. It is proba- 
 ble he uses this horn to get at the sea- 
 grass, which is his proper food, and also 
 to bore a hole in the ice with it when he 
 wants fresh air; possibly also as a weap- 
 on against his enemies. Another little 
 horn, a span long, lies concealed in the 
 right side of his nose, which probably is 
 reserved for a fresh supply, if some acci- 
 dent should dejjrive him of the long one; 
 and they say that as a ship was once sail- 
 ing at sea it felt a violent shock, as if it 
 had struck upon a rock, and afterward one 
 of these horns was found fastened in it. 
 Formerly tlijse horns, or tusks, were 
 looked upon to bo the horns of the fabu- 
 
 lous land-unicorn, and therefore they were 
 valued as an inestimable curiosity, and 
 S(j|d excessively dear, till the Greenland 
 fishery was set on foot, when they found 
 them in the northern parts of Davis's 
 straits in greater plenty than anywhere ; 
 yet for sometime they carried on the 
 cheat." 
 
 Captain Scoresby found the remains of 
 cuttle-fish in the stomachs of several 
 which were opened by him, and similar 
 remains were also found in the stomach 
 of one driven asliore near Boston, Lin- 
 colnshire, England. 
 
 In g(;neral form, the narwal resembles 
 the porpoise, or grampus, but the head is 
 small and blunt ; the mouth is small, and 
 not capable of much extension. The un- 
 der-lip is wedge-shaped. The eyes are 
 placed in a lino with the opening of the 
 mouth, at the distance of thirteen or four- 
 teen inches from the snout, and of small 
 size, being about an inch in diameter. 
 The spiracle, or blow-hole, is a single or- 
 ifice of a semicircular ftirm, on the top of 
 the head, directly over the eyes. The 
 fins, or flippers, are about fourteen or fif- 
 teen inches long, and from six to eight 
 broad, their situation on the sides of the 
 animal being at one fifth of its length from 
 the sru)ut. The breadth of the tail is from 
 fifteen to twenty inches. There is no 
 dorsal-fin, but a sharp ridge runs down the 
 centre of the back, the edge of which is 
 generally found to be rough and worn, as 
 if by rubbing against the ice. C'raniz 
 describes the narwal as being black ; it 
 is only in young specimens that this color 
 can be said to prevail : at an early age the 
 narwal is blackish-gray on the back, with 
 numerous darker spots and markings run- 
 ning into each other, forming a general 
 dusky^-black surface. The sides are al- 
 most white, with dusky and more ojieti 
 markings; the under surface is white. In 
 adult specimens, tlie ground-color of tho 
 back is yellowish-white, with markings 
 varying from dark gray to dusky-black, and 
 of a roundish or oval figure, with inter- 
 spaces of white or yellowish-white be- 
 tween them. The skin resembles that of 
 the common Greenland whale (hahenu 
 myslicetus), but is thinner. Tho female 
 narwal produces a single young one at a 
 birth, which she nourish' u with milk for 
 
III 
 
 
 mt' 
 
 mi 
 

 AVARICE. 
 
 Y85 
 
 several months : the teats are situated 
 near the ori<;in of the tail. 
 
 The iKirwal is gregarious, associating 
 in troops of from six or eight to twenty 
 or more ; and numbers are often seen 
 clustered together, both in the open sea 
 and in bays and inlets free from the ice, 
 forming a compact phalanx, moving gently 
 ami slowly along. Under such circum- 
 stances the independent movements of 
 each individual are necessarily embar- 
 rassed, so that a considerable slaughter 
 may be easily effected among them. 
 When attacked at such a time, the hind 
 ranks, instead of turning against their as- 
 saillants, press upon those before, sliding 
 their long weapons over the glossy backs 
 of their leaders, and all becomes disorder 
 and confusion. Opportunities of this kind 
 arc welcome to the Greenlanders, to wliom 
 the narwal is an important animal. 
 
 The origin of the word narwhale, nar- 
 whal, or narwal, is said to be from the 
 Ttuioniu nar, or ner, which signifies a 
 beak or projecting snout ; and wal, wale, 
 or whale, an indiscriminate word, in the 
 same great family of languages, for any 
 of the cetacea. 
 
 legislator complains that governments are 
 getting to be little belter than political es- 
 tablishments to furnish facilities for the 
 accumulation of wealth. The philanthro- 
 pist complains that genero'is moiives are 
 lost sight of in the prevailing desire for 
 gain, sr) that he who evinces a disposition 
 to disinterested benevolence is cillier dis- 
 trusted as a hypocrite or deridi-d as a fool. 
 The moralist complains that ' commerce 
 has kindled in the nation a universiil lliirst 
 for wealth, and that money receives all 
 the honors which are the proper right 
 of knowledge and virtue.' Tho candi- 
 didate for worldly advancement : " lionor 
 protests against the arrangement which 
 makes promotion a matter of purchase, 
 thus disparaging and discoumging all 
 worth save that of wealth. The poet la- 
 menls that ' the world is too much for 
 us ;' that ' all things are sold ;' that ev- 
 erything is made a marketable coimnodity 
 and ' labelled with its price.' '['he stu- 
 dent of mental and moral philosophy, com- 
 plains that his favorue science.s are falling 
 into decay, while the physical are engros- 
 sing every day more respect and atten- 
 r.ion ; that ' the worship of the beautiful 
 and good is giving place to a calculation 
 of the profitable ; that every wink which 
 can be made of use to immediate profit, 
 every work which falls in with the desire 
 of acquiring wealth suddenly, is sure of 
 an appropriate circulation ;' that we have 
 been led to ' estimate the worth if all i>ur- 
 suiis and attainments by »hcir niarkiiable 
 value.' " Yes, Mammon has otiier assail- 
 ants beside the divine. Still, however, 
 his votaries, or as we should rather call 
 them, his slaves, are countless ; and among 
 these there are not a few who do not so 
 much as suspect that they are held in bon- 
 dage. He has so many, and these so 
 shrewd and sensible pleas to urge ; a de- 
 cent independence, amplified means of 
 doing good, provision against future contin- 
 gencies, giving one's children a fair start 
 in life — these and the like are so neces- 
 sary, so proper, and so becoming, that, 
 were we all father-confessors, we sliould 
 find, like St. Francis de Sales, that none 
 would come to us to confess the sm of 
 covetousness. 
 
 The battle for wealth, is, we believe. 
 
 AVARICE. 
 
 UT little use is there 
 
 in trying to settle the 
 
 question what vice is 
 
 practised most exten- 
 sively and productive 
 
 of most evil. Alas! 
 
 there are many that 
 
 thrive so alarmingly, 
 
 that it is hard to say 
 
 to which we should 
 assign in point of strength and mischiev- 
 ous influence the unenviable superiority. 
 There can be no question, however, that 
 " the love of money," which is declared 
 by the hiiihest authority f) be "the root 
 of all evil," is sadly prevalent and awfully 
 injurious. Into whatever department of 
 the great social economy we look, we see 
 this mean and hateful passion working 
 bancfuUy. Ail men, as the author of 
 " Mammon" has well remarked, are be- 
 wailing its power and prevalence : " The | one of the sorest and most fatiguing 
 
 i 
 
wB? 
 
 tff .tt. u 
 
 iii 
 
 fl^ 
 
 li-i 
 
 ,»( "'f' 
 
 
 ff 
 
 786 
 
 AVARICE. 
 
 1 
 
 which mortals fight. The toils of the 
 roughest campaign, the hardships of flood 
 and field, are light in comparison with 
 those of tlio man who has set his heart not 
 on empires but on gold — whose thoughts 
 and projects by night and by day have ail 
 one aim, the acquisition of money. An 
 in lomitable perseverance must have fallen 
 to his lot, or his spirit would sink in the 
 struggle. What a round of schemings ! 
 what hosts of speculations I what distract- 
 ing risks ! what tear and wear of brain in 
 calculating the chances in his favor! what 
 feverish disquietude ! what racking cares ! 
 what twinges of conscience, too ! There 
 are, it is to be hoped, comparatively few 
 professional misers — few whose every 
 thought and cnrrgy are given to money- 
 making — who deny the mselves every en- 
 joyment, and hoot at every scheme of be- 
 nevolence. 
 
 These libels on humanity are, we would 
 hope, few indeed. But we have plenty of 
 such characters in miniature. We have 
 men in abundance, who, were they unfor- 
 tunate enough to live twice or thrice long- 
 er than others, would be exhi!)itions of the 
 miserly passion, quite as pitiable as the 
 Dancers, the Elweses, and such like. 
 The demon has been generated into a mul- 
 titude of little demons ; the burrowing 
 worm has been cut in pieces, but each 
 piece has become a burrower in turn. 
 It has been as with the giant in the fable, 
 whose head was chopped off, but a host 
 grew in its room ; or as the dragon-tooth 
 that was buried in the earth, but an army 
 arose as its harvest! 
 
 Now these persons do not need to be 
 told to what privations and sickening cares 
 they are subjected. They confound two 
 things, which every well-regulated mind 
 keeps quite distinct — wealth and its uses. 
 They forgot that money is an instrument, 
 not an object — a means, not an end — a 
 scaflbkling, not a building. They fa!! in 
 love with the key which opens the palace 
 door ; they sit down on the threshold, turn 
 it in their hands, and call it god : poor 
 dupes, they never cross the threshold to 
 gaze on the beauty and magnificence of 
 the interior ! They please themselves 
 with the covers on the table without taking 
 their dinner. And even when the disease 
 does not exactly go this length, we know 
 
 that the solicitude which attends the get- 
 ting and the keeping of wealth, is haras- | 
 sing in the extreme. Multiplying, as rich- 
 es invariably do, a man's relations and 
 movements, they make him in the same 
 ratio a broader mark for the arrows of 
 misfortune. They may remove all anxi- 
 ety as to temporal evil— hunger, cold, the 
 world's scorn Yet how many imaginary 
 evils, artificial wants, and false appetites 
 do they create ! And how do these in- 
 crease in strength and number as tliey 
 are fed ! how dependent the most inde- 
 pendent people of the world ! The cares 
 which attend the acquisition of wealth, 
 the ten thousand means by which he may 
 be deprived of it, keep the money-hunter 
 the victim of incessant disquiet, place his 
 happiness at the mercy of so many con- 
 tingencies, that we need not startle wlien 
 told that the "abundance of the rich will 
 not suffer them to sleep." He is like a 
 man living in a castle besieged on every 
 side ; not a wind can blow, not a change 
 can be mooted or made witliout causing 
 him fresh alarm. 
 
 Avarice, besides being a troublesome 
 vice, is a very dangerous one. Su^>pose 
 its victim successful in his pursuit of rich- 
 es, to what serious perils is h« exposed? 
 Among these the fostering of pride is per- 
 haps the most prominent. We are all 
 mutually dependent. But the very rich 
 man, at least if avaricious, is exceedingly 
 apt to forget this. Ho finds that he has 
 got something into his possession that lias 
 a power resembling that of the fabled phil- 
 osopher's stone. It can turn all it touches 
 into gold. He finds that " money answer- 
 eth ail things ;" that it can procure him ad- 
 mission into almost every circle, and make 
 him favorably regarded when in it ; that 
 it can convert the rske into a paragon of 
 worth ; with marvellous ease blot twenty 
 or thirty years from the calondar of time ; 
 smooth the furrowed brow of a<;e, and 
 plant roses on the faded check. He iiiids 
 his wants not merely supplied but antici- 
 pated. He finds that every man is ready 
 to serve him; that many (most disinterest- 
 ed persons !) are even willing to let tlieir 
 own business alone to attend to his. 
 Now, it is not in poor human nature to 
 resist this intoxicating influence. A man, 
 or a few men, in an age, may rise superior 
 
1 attends the get- 
 wealth, is haras- 
 iliiplying, as rich- 
 I's relations and 
 him in the same 
 )r the arrows of 
 remove all anxi- 
 hunger, cold, the 
 ' many imaginary 
 d false appetites 
 low do these in- 
 nuniber as tliey 
 t the most inde- 
 )rl(l ! The cares 
 silion of wealth, 
 jy which he may 
 lie money-hunter 
 isquiet, place his 
 of so many con- 
 not startle wlien 
 of the rich will 
 I." He is like a 
 isieged on every 
 3w, not a change 
 witiioui causing 
 
 g a troublesome 
 s one. Si:^)pcse 
 IS pursuit of rich- 
 is hrt exposed ? 
 g of pride is per- 
 it. Wo are all 
 U the very rich 
 s, is exceedingly 
 finds that he has 
 issession tliat has 
 )f the (al)le<l phil- 
 urn all it toui'lies 
 " money answer- 
 procure him ad- 
 circle, and make 
 vhen in it ; that 
 [>to a paragon of 
 ;ase hlot twenty 
 alendar of time ; 
 ow of age, and 
 beck. He tiiids 
 plied but antici- 
 ry man is ready 
 mostdisintcn.'st- 
 Hing to let ilioir 
 attend to his. 
 uman nature to 
 uence. A man, 
 nay rise superior 
 
 GENOA. 
 
 T87 
 
 to it ; but to expect this of mankind gen- 
 erally, or even very extensively, is quite 
 idle. The man will grow proud, and who 
 knows not that pride is fatal to oi# peace ? 
 And worse than all — for there is a close 
 alliance between the two — contempt for 
 his fellow-men may eventually grow into 
 a jealousy of the Divine superiority— all 
 those humbling truths, on the reception of 
 which his eternal welfare depends, he will 
 be prone to spurn. The great Teacher of 
 mankind made few statements stronger or 
 more emphatic than this : " It is easier 
 for a camel to pass through the eye of a 
 needle, than for a rich man to enter into 
 the kingdom of God." There is, indeed, 
 no vice against which the inspired writers 
 caution us in more solemn and startling 
 terms than that which we are denouncing. 
 " Take heed and beware of covetousness," 
 is a warning which the messengers of 
 Heaven again and again reiterate. And 
 the sacred volume teems with examples of 
 the dangers and sad consequences of this 
 vice. " Whether we advert to the losses 
 and sufferings of Lot, the stoning of Achan, 
 the leprosy of Gehazi, or the fate of Ju- 
 das, the secret of their punishment is ex- 
 plained when the Almighty declares — 
 ' For the iniquity of his covetousness 
 was I wroth, and smote him.' And what 
 do we behold in every such infliction but 
 an earnest of its coming doom — the scin- 
 tillations of that wrath, the flashes of that 
 distant lire, which is kindled already to 
 consume ill" 
 
 There is a meanness, moreover, about 
 this vice which must strike every thought- 
 ful mind. 'J'he Scriptures call the cove- 
 tous man an idolater. And assuredly 
 there is no meaner idolatry. One can 
 pardon, in certain moods of mind, the 
 man who worships the sun in the heavens 
 with his burning glories, or those incarna- 
 tions of mental power and energy, Shak- 
 spere, MiUau, or Napoleon ; but the man 
 who bends iiis soul at Mammon's shrine 
 locks a being of quite another order — he 
 lacks the poetry of other idolaters. And 
 then, what a train of evils How from this 
 vice. It poisons the peace of families, it 
 works the ruin of empires. In almost 
 every land it Irames and defends laws 
 which equally outrage mercy and justice. 
 It Ojjposes Itself to every benevolent en- 
 
 terprise. It impedes the progress of truth, 
 and liberty, and h)ve. It dries up the 
 most delicious sympathies that play in tlie 
 breast of man, and makes him, in a thou- 
 sand ways, the wronger and oppressor of 
 his fellow. Against the inroads of a vice 
 thus dangerous, thus annoying, thus prolifio 
 of evil, every man who would consult his 
 own happiness and the welfare of society 
 should beware. Speaking of avarice, the 
 venerable Howe says : " It is a soul-wast- 
 ing monster, that is fed and sustained at a 
 dearer rate, and with more costly sacrifi- 
 ces and repasts than can be paralleled i)y 
 either sacred or other history; that hath 
 made more desolation in the souls of men 
 than was ever made in those towns and 
 cities where idols were served with only 
 human sacrifices, or monstrous creatures 
 satiated only with such food; or where 
 tire lives and safetjiof the majority were 
 to be purchased by the constant tribute of 
 the blood of not a few ; that hath devoured 
 more, and preyed more cruelly upon hu- 
 man lives, than Moloch or Minotaur 1 
 
 GENOA. 
 
 ENOA is situated 
 within a bay in a 
 wide gulf, which 
 extends in a cres- 
 cent-like form from 
 the shores of France 
 to those of Tusca- 
 ny. These were 
 the shores of the 
 ancient republic. The hari)or is in tlie 
 same form, and about a mile and a half in 
 length, its entrance being protected by two 
 moles which approach within half a mile 
 of each other. The view of the city from 
 the sea is truly magnificent. Several hills 
 rise from the harbor and form a semicircle, 
 on the declivity of which the city is part- 
 ly built ; and a succession of fine build- 
 ings extending two miles, like wings, lines 
 a narrow strip of land between the sea 
 and the adjacent heights. Palaces built 
 of marble and surrounded by gardens, with 
 churches and convents, rise one above the 
 other on the steep sides of the hills be- 
 
ffl 
 
 ►»>• 
 
 m 
 
 I 
 
 
■I 
 
 ji':/fiMf.ji' > 
 
 TIIK MYSTIC III K.S OF CHKATION. 
 
 789 
 
 iiiiid. wlioNt! summits iiri! ctdwiumI wiili 
 r;un|Kirts, iurts, ami liaiii-rii's, lormiiii,' ;i 
 iliiuliln lim: of rorliru-'iitiiiiis, wliidi pioiccis 
 llii' city (III llm liiiiil side, tlie f.\:i'ri(ir lino 
 Irfinif aliovc eii(hl miles in Iimii;iIi. He- 
 yi.ii.rthfsc hills urc the liiL'li^r A|ifniiiiii's. 
 Tlic streets (if GeiKiii, willi I'ew rxceplioiis, 
 lire iiiirrow, dark, stci'i), ami cioDked, a 
 (•iiini)inalii)n <if tU'lects wliiuli is not usii- 
 iiliy Itiiiml in so litrye a ciiy ; but, like 
 ihose III Venice, the streets of old Genoa 
 were coiistrncied only lor foot-piisHpngers. 
 The Stradii iJallii aiid Sirada Nova are 
 spacious sireels lined with the marhle pal- 
 aces of iho Genooso patricians, some of 
 which <;iintaii( galleries of paintings, and 
 are otherwise splendid, holh hy tlieir ar- 
 chitecture and interior decorations. Many 
 of ihc churches are luuidsome, and the 
 former palace of the Doges, with several 
 oilier public buildings, arc deserving ob- 
 jects of interest. 
 
 (leiioa and the territory adjoining, divi- 
 ded into seven provinces, is now a duchy 
 forming part of the kingdom of Sardinia. 
 The province of Genoa contains 208,000 
 iniiiiliitants. The population of the city 
 is 04,000, and the suburbs contain 20,000 
 mure. There are several small maritime 
 towns ill the province. The duchy has 
 its own institutions — a high court of jus- 
 tice and a university, and civil employ- 
 ments are tilled by Genoese. The gar- 
 rison is under strict discipline, and much 
 care is taken to conciliate the inhabitants. 
 The liberal spirit of the government is 
 highly praiseworthy when it is recollected 
 that Genoa enjoyed for a long period an 
 independent existence, and that many old 
 jirejudices still exist between the Genoese 
 ami the Piedinontesc, which their forced 
 union, by the treaty of Vienna in 1815, 
 was calculated to keep alive for some 
 time. 
 
 The decline of Genoese commerce is 
 to bo attributed to internal factions and 
 foreign spoliation, and to those changes 
 which occur in the natural course of 
 events ; but it is still very extensive, and 
 has been reviving ever since the peace. 
 
 Never put oflf till to-morrow what you 
 can do to day. When angry, count ten be- 
 fore you speak; if very angry, count a 
 hundred. 
 
 TIIK MYSTKRIKS OF Til NATION. 
 
 /r (^ ^K^'^f?!?- " '' P"^^'"" "I" vitality 
 ( 1 ■^ .;^^;^- .^f ^ so woiiilerliilly con- 
 i\ '^f^W* \i 8pi<'iiiius in the veiie- 
 table kiiigilom. which 
 cnaldes a st.td to re- 
 tain its veuetating 
 power liioiiL;h diir- 
 maiit for many years, 
 lias a remarkable analogy wiili the reviv- 
 ilication of some of the aiiimnliules. Tlie 
 rotifer rediviviis, or wheel aijiinalciih', can 
 live only in water, and is < iiiiiinonly I'uuiid 
 in that which has remained Ntannant lor 
 some time in tlie gutters of houses. IJul 
 it may be deprived of this fluid, and re- 
 duced to perf<'ct dryness, so that all the 
 fiiiulions of life siiall i)e completely sus- 
 pended, yet wilhoul the de>iiwciion of the 
 vital principle ; lor this atom of dust, alter 
 remaining for years in a dry state, may bo 
 revived in a few miuules by being again 
 supplied with water. 
 
 Notiiing stands alone in this world. 
 "The chain holds on, and where it ends, 
 unknown." llow strongly is this felt even 
 in the vegetable creation ! Who do(!s not 
 perceive it while looking on the principal 
 constituents of plants,!, e , carbon, oxygen, 
 hydrogen and nitrogen, and contemiilaiing 
 their gradual transformation into vugetalile 
 albumen, and vegetable caseine, or on any 
 of the elementary forms of the nitrogen- 
 ized compounds, so absolutely essential, 
 directly or indirectly, to animal life. .And 
 even should it also occur to the mind, iliat 
 the same process ceases not with us, but 
 that these human bodies, thus marvellous- 
 ly made and nourished, are, even the or- 
 gans by which the high functions of the 
 brain are performed, material and perisha- 
 ble, and that " we feed ourselves to feed 
 the worms," and, being dust, return liter- 
 ally to that dust again ; let us not pause 
 on the threshold of the argument, where 
 despondency might await us, but go be- 
 yond on through the portal, and calmly 
 consider what deduction we may draw, by 
 the simple light of reason, from this un- 
 deniable truth. We see that everything 
 around us here, when it has accomplished 
 the end of its being, is not annihilated, 
 but only transformed into some other state, 
 in which it still continues to work out the 
 
m » 
 
 mi** 
 
 790 
 
 ANECDOTES OF WA8HIN0T0N AND H0RIII8. 
 
 will of Him who created it : orery male- 
 rial tiling perfectly fulfils itn destined pur- 
 pose ; but man has that within which as- 
 sures him that ho neither is nor does all 
 that the soul could be and perform were it 
 disencumbered of the body in its grosser 
 Mate. Has he not, then, the strongest 
 rt^son to confide to Him who gave that 
 body for good purposes hero, that He will, 
 at its dissolution, still make it 8ui)8ervient 
 to his wise intentions, and after he sepa- 
 rates it from its present union with the 
 soul, will assuredly place his rational crea- 
 ture in a condition to be and to do all for 
 which thnt creature was made ? Man 
 would then no longer be the exception to 
 the rest of sentient beings, their wishes 
 and desires are so arranged, that the means 
 of their gratification are within their reach 
 on earth; we, on the contrary, feel aspi- 
 rations which never can be fully gratified 
 here, and whose very existence foreshows 
 a time when they will have th -r fruition. 
 The moral consequence we may draw 
 from this is almost too obvious to require 
 notice. If we look forward to a state in 
 which the body shall be changed that its 
 present enjoyments can exist no more, 
 while those of the soul shall last for ever, 
 how important is it that the will, which 
 triumphs over everything that is material 
 in us, should be so regulated, that when 
 that state arrives, it may not long for those 
 earthly pleasures which are gone to re- 
 turn no more, but may have already an- 
 ticipated in hope the reality it shall then 
 experience. The wise of old, though but 
 dimly perceiving what is assured to us 
 under the pledge and seal of God himself, 
 could yet draw the right inference from 
 those dim perceptions. When in the va- 
 ried phases of the butterfly's frail life they 
 saw prefigured their own future destiny, 
 they could urge their disciples to purify 
 the soul, and fit it for companionship with 
 eternal love. In the grain of wheat ap- 
 parently perishing in the earth, but spring- 
 ing up in due season in a form " the same, 
 and yet another," the apostle found a sim- 
 ilar correspondence with our lot ; all can 
 see the appropriateness and beauty of the 
 comparison, and all having this hope, may 
 they continue " steadfast and immovable" 
 in all that is good, knowing that their la- 
 bor shall not be in vain. 
 
 ANECDOTES OF WASHINGTON 
 AND MORRIS. 
 
 MONO the in. 
 
 teresting anec- 
 dotes related to 
 us most graphic- 
 ally and feeling, 
 ly. of Washing. 
 ton, by Mr. Cus. 
 tis, when in New 
 York city lately, 
 was one on the landing of the iremial at 
 Whitehall, when ho was about to bo 
 sworn as president of the United States. 
 As the general was stepping on shore 
 from the vessel, he was addressed by un 
 American officer with, " Sir, I have the 
 honor to command a guard of soldiers to 
 escort you to your residence, and also on 
 any other occasion yru may desire." " A 
 guard !— a guard for me !" exclaimed 
 Washington, rising in his stature, an;' 
 quite overlooking the guard of some fifiy 
 soldiers, "why, sir, I need no guard. I 
 ask for no other guard than the affections 
 of my countrymen !" Whereupon, with 
 a significant wave of his hand, his guard 
 fell into the rear. Mr. Custis says this an- 
 ecdote was frequently related, among oth- 
 ers, by John Carroll, who was then with 
 the general, and heard the remark of Wash- 
 ington, tending to show that he was a jrnat 
 and good man, and one worthy the uflec- 
 tions of the people ; this alone would sut- 
 isfy him, as it should all others, of the fnet. 
 Another anecdote related to us by Mr. 
 Custis was this : When Wa.shington liad 
 marched his army as far as Elk river, on 
 his way to Yorktown, Virginia, to .iltnek 
 Lord Cornwallis, the soldiers, then ionir 
 without their pay and greatly fatigued, re" 
 quested their arrearages, and as pa-x r 
 money was of little value to tlicm, the ' 
 desired it in silver. This was an nlarin- 
 ing difficulty with Wa,shington at this 
 crisis, for he knew full well that his sol- 
 diers should have their pay, and yet he 
 was extremely anxious to reach Yorktown 
 with his troops as soon as possible, lest 
 Lord Cornwallis should escape with his 
 forces, which Washington had so confi- 
 dently hoped to capture. In this dilemma 
 he immediately called to him Robert Mor- 
 
THE MinAOR. 
 
 791 
 
 VASHINGTUN 
 HIS. 
 
 MONO the it,, 
 toreaiing iincc- 
 (lotrs rclntrd tfi 
 us most Kraphic- 
 nlly and f«'cliii!r- 
 ly. of Wiisliini;. 
 ton, hy Mr. C'lisc 
 lis, when in \ow 
 York city I Mly, 
 of the i;t'niM:il at 
 as about to bo 
 le United Stafos. 
 Bpping on shore 
 addressed l)y iin 
 " Sir, I liave the 
 rd of soldiers to 
 nee, and also on 
 ay desire." " A 
 ne !" exclaimed 
 his stature, an;' 
 ird of some fifty 
 ed no guard. I 
 an the affections 
 Vhereiipon, with 
 hand, his jrnard 
 istis says this an- 
 ated, among otli- 
 ) was then with 
 remark of Wasli- 
 at ho was a jjri'at 
 vorthy the afloc- 
 alone would sat- 
 ihers, of the f;irt. 
 3d to us by Mr. 
 iVa.shington had 
 as Elk river, on 
 rginia, to attack 
 diers, then long 
 itiy fatigued, n- 
 , and as pinur 
 5 to them, the ' 
 was an nlarin- 
 tiingion at tills 
 }I1 that his soi- 
 )ay, and yet he 
 reach Yorktown 
 18 possible, lest 
 iscape with his 
 I had so confi- 
 In this dilemma 
 lim Robert Mor- 
 
 ris, to whom he related in confidence and 
 with much feeling the particiilarM of the 
 case, and th« probable eflecls. should it 
 bo iound impossiblo to raise the money. 
 .Mr. Morris, who an it is well known, was 
 a financier, as well as true patriot and hon- 
 est man, saw at once the dilficulty and its 
 probable conseipienceH, and, bethinking 
 liimsdf for a moment, ho said, " Ah, 1 
 have it, general, I'll obtain the money," 
 
 The French fleet lay far below in the 
 bay, y»'l thither Mr. Morris immediately 
 pursued his way. Addressing himself to 
 the count under wliose command the fleet 
 was, ho represented that anticipated funds 
 from the government for the payment of 
 the troops not having arrived in season, it 
 became necessary to pay them before 
 reacliing the battle-ground, where success 
 was certain for the combined French and 
 American forces; therefore, ho would take 
 the liberty of asking him — as a tried friend 
 of the cause of freedom — for an accom- 
 modation for the present, and that ho him- 
 self would be responsible for the amount 
 if required, <fcc. This was done with so 
 much address, and at the same time with 
 so much truth and confidence, that it pro- 
 duced the desired effect. 
 
 The count readily and very politely 
 proff'ered the requisite sum of silver ; and 
 proceeding himself to his iron chest, took 
 it out in crowns done up in parcels, and 
 delivered it to Mr. Morris, who, thereupon, 
 proceeded with a light heart to the Amer- 
 ican camp, and to the no less joy of Wash- 
 ington and his brave but sutfering army. 
 The army, it is well known, proved suc- 
 cessful, and perhaps, this circumstance 
 contributed in a great measure to this re- 
 sult. 
 
 There were two or three anecdotes of 
 lloberl Morris, told by Mr. Custis, which 
 showed tliat he was one of the most im- 
 portant men, if not next to Washington 
 himself, in the happy results of the revo- 
 lution, and Washington ever esteemed 
 him as such. In this connexion, Mr. 
 Custis related most touchingly the visit 
 of Washington to the jail in Walnut 
 street, Philadelphia (where Mr. Morris 
 was afterward confined for debt !) on his 
 arrival in thai city. The interview was 
 indescribably affecting, and so also was a 
 visit subsequently paid by Mr. Custis to 
 
 Mr, Morris, when Mr. M. ti-aii near his 
 death. But what rendered these last an- 
 ecdotes more interesting on this occasion, 
 was the fact that they were addressed to 
 a group of gentlemen, one of whom, was 
 the venerable son of Robert Morris. 
 
 THK MIRAGE. 
 
 F the many extra- 
 ordinary appearan- 
 ces exhibited occa- 
 sionally by unusu- 
 al occurrences in 
 nature, few have 
 been observed with 
 more astoiiislimcnt 
 than the phenomenon designated by the 
 French " Mirage." This is an appear- 
 ance often presented to the traveller in 
 places where there is a largo extent of 
 arid country acted upon in a powerful man- 
 ner by an almost vertical sun, in which the 
 earth puts on the appearance of at» ex- 
 tended lake or river, although no water is 
 in reality to be found near the spot. 
 
 It is in Egypt that this phenomenon is 
 most frequently observed. The uniform- 
 ity of the extensive sandy plans of low- 
 er Egypt is interrupted only by small em- 
 inences, on which the villages are situated 
 in order to escape the inundations of the 
 Nile. In the morning and the evening 
 objects appear in their natural form and 
 position ; but when the surface of the 
 sandy ground is heated by the sun, the 
 land seems terminated at a certain distance 
 by a geneial inundation. The villages 
 which are beyond it appear like so many 
 islands situated in the middle of a great 
 lake, and under each village an inverted 
 image of it is occasionally seen. As the 
 observer approaches the limits of the ap- 
 parent inundation, the imaginary lake 
 which seemed to encircle the village wiih- 
 draws itself, and the same illusion is re- 
 produced by another village more remote. 
 It is not, however, only in the African 
 deserts that this appearance has been wit- 
 nessed : many other parts of the world, 
 where there are large tracts of flat land, 
 often exhibit the same phenomenon. 
 
fW 
 
 III 
 
 iii 
 
 (Wl 
 
 IWi, 
 
 
 i 
 
 
 lill;; 
 
i4' 
 
 
 .§ 
 
 M 
 
 'a 
 
 1^1 
 
 '^5 
 
 ?/ 
 
 TIIOSR WHO NKVEIl COMIT.AIN. 
 
 71)3 
 
 Tliiron llumholdl (IcscribPi several in- 
 utiuKMia witiifsscd by him during Isi^ trav- 
 els ilk Souili America, cHpccially in vho 
 l);irrcii steppos of the Caraccas, and on 
 iho gandv plains biirdcrintr llio Oiinoco. 
 Littio hifU and chains of hills appeanul 
 siisptMidcd in the uir, when soen from the 
 sttppcs at thii'o or four leagues distance ; 
 nahn-trei'M standinR sinj^lo in the Llanos 
 appeared to bo cut off at bottom, as if a 
 stratum <»f air separated them from the 
 (rrinind ; and, as in the African desert, 
 plains destitute of vegetation appeared to 
 be rivers <ir lakes. 
 
 'J'lie view aecompanying this article rep- 
 resents a case of mirage witnessed in the 
 plains of Mexico. 
 
 However supernatural these phenomena 
 appear, they have been satisfactorily ac- 
 counted for l>y natural causes. It is only, 
 liow<'ver, within the last forty years that 
 uii explanation was attempted. 
 
 Moni^e, the Kreiieh philosopher, and Mr. 
 lluildai-i in Mngland, were among the first 
 to explain tlie principle of the mirage, and 
 they liolli referred it to an imusual refrac- 
 tion of the atmosphere caused by differ- 
 ent densities of tlio strata of air consc- 
 ipient on liie heat of the ground. 
 
 "I'he lower portion of the atmosphere 
 being warmed by receiving ^ eat from the 
 earth, it becomes less dens than the strata 
 of a!\ ubov. but as this must receive a 
 curtain portion of heal from the lower 
 strata, the air will be gradually denser as 
 the distance from the earth is increased ; 
 so that an aerial pris-n will be formed, 
 through which, as iu a common glass 
 prism, distant objects will be seen re- 
 versed. 
 
 M. Biot adopted the same idea, and ex- 
 
 cept in a slight degree at th<» points of con- 
 tact. This produced slightly dilferfMil 
 densities in those portions of the contents 
 of the vesHii, being in fact similar to glass 
 prisms, and on hmking ihrouuh the mix- 
 lure at an object placi^d at a sliuht distance 
 behind, a reversed image of the object be- 
 came apparent. 
 
 Dr. Hrewster adopted a belter plan to 
 render the true effect apparent. He siys : 
 •' Although the experimental method of il- 
 lustrating this phenomena of unuMi;d re- 
 fraction, as given by Dr. Widlaston, is in 
 every respect an excellent one, yet the 
 employment ofdilferentlinids does not rej). 
 resent the case as it actually exists in na- 
 ture" The method employed by Dr. 
 Brewster, consists in holding a heated iron 
 above a mass of water bounded by paral- 
 lel plates of glass. As the heat descends 
 through the fluid, it produces a reKular 
 variation of density, which gradually in- 
 creases from the surface to tlie bottom. I > 
 the heated iron be now willidrawn, and a 
 cold body substituted in its place, or the 
 air allowed even to act alone, the super- 
 ficial strata of water will give out their 
 heal, so as to have ni increase of density 
 from the surface to a certain depth below 
 it. Through the medium thus constituted 
 all the phenomena of unusual refraction 
 may be s. enin the most beautiful manner, 
 the vau.itions being produced by heat 
 alone. 
 
 An appearance similar to the mirage, 
 and produced by similar means, may be^ 
 observed on looking along the surface of 
 the boiler of a 8ieam-('n<;ine ; or it wo 
 even heat a poker, and look along its edge 
 at an object placed al a little distance, it 
 M iJiot a.topieu vne siio-c u..u, ....^ .^ will be observed inverted in the air at about 
 
 plained the circumstances on which he U quarter of an inch f-^"'" '^e ?';•;« •,''« 
 
 founded his opinion, al great length in a ! surrounding objects appearing to be lloat- 
 
 meinoir jiresented to the French Insiitnte ; ing in water. 
 
 and Dr. Wollaston proved the truiii .1 the 
 
 theory by a very ingenious experiment, by 
 
 which the appearances presented by the 
 
 mirage were accurately imilat. d. He 
 
 procured a square glass bottle, a third of 
 
 which he filled with clear syrup ; to 'his 
 
 he added some distilled water, and filled 
 
 THOSE WHO NEVER COMPLAIN. 
 
 Life is nothing without a touch of the 
 pathetic ; a joke is very well in its way. 
 
 J» ' ■ ■ . .. fKl^iL-Jkl^, 
 
 M i mlm 
 
^fWS 
 
 
 Wh 
 
 Si f 
 
 •13 '5' r 
 
 !»il*-. 
 
 194 
 
 CAUSES OP THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 but we can not be always laughing. Be- 
 sides, it shows a want of dignity to be 
 everlastingly on the broad grin, the titter, 
 the giggle, or the chuckle. We owe it 
 to ourselves to look solemn, and to wear a 
 serious countenance occasionally — or, if 
 we are particularly fond of dignity, we 
 may always have a solemn look. There 
 is something more interesting in crying 
 than in laughing, and it would be imperti- 
 nent to ask what they are laughing at, but 
 if you saw as many crying, your sympa- 
 thy would lead you to ask what they were 
 crying for. If, on inquiry, it should be 
 found that their tears were flowing from 
 an inadequate or unworthy cause, you 
 would feel that the dignity of grief was 
 nuich abated. What then 1 Why then, 
 if there bo a want of dignity in giving 
 way to the expression of grief when 
 the cause is trivial, there must be great 
 dignity in not grieving when there is an 
 abundant cause of grief — hence the pleas- 
 ure they have in letting all the world know 
 that they never complain, and in talking 
 of their exemplary patience and unparal- 
 lelled fortitude, in bearing such a burden 
 of wo without a word of complaint. 
 
 CAUSES OF THE FRENCH 
 REVOLUTION. 
 
 ONG before the 
 advent of the rev- 
 olution, the condi- 
 tion of France had 
 to discriminating 
 observers, indica- 
 ted the approach 
 of the impending 
 storm. The mon- 
 archy was worn 
 out, the nobility corrupt, and the clergy 
 degenerate. A thousand years had al- 
 most elapsed since the establishment of 
 the former under Clovis, and the system 
 was thus hastening to that slate of decay 
 which seems inseparable from all human 
 institutions. The vices of one king, and 
 the virtues of another, had alike contribu- 
 ted to produce this result. The long and 
 expensive wars of Louis XIV. and the 
 
 profligacy of Louis XV. had exhausted 
 the resources of the kingdom, and aliena- 
 ted the affections of the inhabitants ; and 
 the quiet, unobtrusive, undecided clriracter 
 of Louis XVI. was calculated rather to 
 encourage than to suppress the rising 
 flame. This unhappy monarch, if en- 
 dowed with few qualities which attract our 
 admiration, was possessed of many which 
 engage our esteem ; and had he lived in 
 an earlier era, he would have been con- 
 sideitd the beau ideal of that patriarchal 
 system on which the governmnni was sup- 
 posed to be founded ; but on the stormy 
 era when he ascended the throne, his vir- 
 tues tended only to excite the political 
 tempest which swept him and his family 
 from the earth. 
 
 The number, the frivolity, and the 
 viciousness of the nobles had increased 
 to a surprising degree ; and it was mainly 
 these that gave rise to the revolution. Ac- 
 cording to Madame de Stael, there were 
 nearly one hundred thousand of them ; as 
 not only was the head of a family noble, 
 but likewise all his descendants; and titles 
 of nobility were besides obtained from 
 numberless oflices, or were openly pur- 
 chased by money. The nobles possessed 
 many privileges — they contributed noth- 
 ing to the support of the state, and they 
 enjoyed a monopoly of all its higher offi- 
 ces. They alone could hold commissions 
 in the army or navy, and fill the more im- 
 portant and lucrative posts of civil gov- 
 ernment ; and to such an extent had their 
 influence attained, that, in the very year 
 before the revolution broke out, they had 
 caused the feeble king to pass a decree 
 that none but those noble for four genera- 
 tions should hold a military commission ; 
 while they, at the same time, declared 
 themselves exempt from contiibuling in 
 any way to the expenses of the state : and 
 yet, at the moment when they assumed 
 such privileges, they were themselves the 
 very slaves of the court. A post, a pen- 
 sion, or some frivolous honor, was at any 
 time sufficient to gain the best of them. 
 A few, indeed, stood aluof, and were ap- 
 parently exempt from this universal de- 
 generacy ; but it was either because, like 
 the duke of Orleans, they had been dis- 
 appointed at court ; or, as in the instance 
 of the smaller noblesse in La Vendee, be- 
 
 ir'i. 
 1:; if^ 
 
lV. had exhausted 
 ingdom, and aliena- 
 e inhabitants ; and 
 indecidod chiracler 
 lalculated rather to 
 ippress the rising 
 r monarch, if en- 
 es which attract our 
 ised of many which 
 nd had he lived in 
 lid have been con- 
 of that patriarchal 
 overninont was sup- 
 but on the stormy 
 the throne, his vir- 
 Bxcite the political 
 iiim and his family 
 
 frivolity, and the 
 bles had increased 
 ; and it was mainly 
 he revolution. Ac« 
 B Stael, there were 
 )U9and of them ; as 
 1 of a family noble, 
 cendants; and titles 
 des obtained from 
 were openly pur- 
 he nobles possessed 
 ^ contributed noth- 
 the state, and they 
 ' all its higher offi- 
 d hold commissions 
 nd fill the more im- 
 posts of civil gov- 
 an extent had their 
 ,t, in the very year 
 troke out, they had 
 g to pass a decree 
 bie for four genera- 
 ilitary commission ; 
 line time, declared 
 om contributing in 
 33 of tho state : and 
 hen they assumed 
 i^ere themselves the 
 irt. A post, a pen- 
 honor, was at any 
 the best of thom. 
 ihtof, and wore ap- 
 tliis universal dc- 
 3ither because, like 
 they had been dis- 
 , as in the instance 
 B in La Vendee, be- 
 
 cause their private fortunes were unfit to 
 cope with the costly dissipation of the 
 metropolis. And yet these alone stood by 
 the monarchy in the hour of danger ; those 
 who now fluttered around the throne, fly- 
 ing on the first approach of alarm, when, 
 in its defence, they might have been ex- 
 pected to die like men. A few only of all 
 their number were free from this general 
 character, and it must be admitted of these 
 that they showed a spirit worthy of a bet- 
 ter fate if not a better cause. 
 
 The clergy were also a numerous body, 
 and their conduct, as a class, had tended 
 greatly to demoralize the country. 
 
 They were upward of 80,000 in num- 
 ber, and consisted of two classes — one 
 formed of the branches of the nobility, 
 designed for the higher offices of the 
 church, and comparative idleness ; the 
 other, comprehending the plebeian portion, 
 destined to labor and indigence. Many 
 of the former of these were men of the 
 highest talent, and celebrated in Europe 
 as statesmen ; but others had no higher 
 claim than to the rank of wits — which, 
 however, in the French court of that pe- 
 riod, was of no uninflueniial order, as 
 Chateaubriand, one of the stanchesl sup- 
 porters of the ancient dynasty, mentions, 
 in his " Historical Studies," that a bon- 
 mot was then considered of more impor- 
 tance than an oration or victory. And 
 though most of the poorer order were vir- 
 tuous men, they were generally uneduca- 
 ted, bigoted, and swayed by the populace, 
 to whom they owed their support. Like 
 the nobles, the clergy contributed nothing 
 to the maintenance of the slate, except the 
 benefit of their prayers, which they were 
 forced to give by stai.Ue; but the writings 
 of Voltaire and hia associates had efl'ected 
 such a change in the once " most Chris- 
 tian" country, as its rulers had long been 
 termed by the pope, that this only provoked 
 derision. It was said to be a provision 
 proper enough, but one that brought no re- 
 lief to the exhausted treasury. The poor- 
 er clergy, however, were unable, and the 
 superior unwilling, until it was too late, to 
 grant any other. Hence the whole prop- 
 erty of the church was, shortly after the 
 revolution broke out, confiscated at a blow, 
 and the higher clergy fled the country, 
 while the humbler, for the most part, 
 
 raiiged themselves on the side of the rev- 
 olutionists. 
 
 The people were in a state of abject 
 slavery. All the ancient feudal usages 
 which improved or alleviated their condi- 
 tion, had either been removed by violence 
 or impaired by time. Only a third of the 
 land belonged to them, and from this, be- 
 sides supporting themselves, they were 
 constrained to sustain the stale, and up- 
 hold the church and nobles. They alone 
 contributed to the expenditure of the state, 
 and, besides maintaining it, they had to 
 pay heavy dues to the nobles, and tithes 
 to the clergy. Yet they possessed not 
 the slightest privilege. If they entered 
 the army or navy, they could never ob- 
 tain commissions ; if they devoted them- 
 selves to the civil service of the country, 
 they could never rise above the humblest 
 rank ; if they engaged in commercial 
 pursuits, they were fettered by restric- 
 tions ; and if they devoted themselves to 
 agriculture, their fields were ravaged by 
 the game-privileges of the nobles. An 
 English traveller, Arthur Young, who trav- 
 elled through France a short time before 
 the revolution, represented them as ground 
 to the earth ; and fifty years previously, 
 the celebrated Earl of Chesterfield had 
 declared that all the germs of revolution 
 were then to be found in the country. 
 But the government itself appeared whol- 
 ly unconscious of danger ; and under the 
 auspices of the beauteous and high-minded 
 but unfortunate Marie Antoinette, when on 
 the verge of destruction, basked as if in 
 the meridian of fortune. In proportion as 
 the country grew poorer, its rulers in- 
 creased in extravagance. " Profusion was 
 substituted for parsimony," says Mr. Ali- 
 son, " in the hope of circulating money ; 
 and prodigality for economy, in the ex- 
 pectation of allaying discontent." But 
 this profusion was extended only to the 
 courtiers, and their immediate adherents 
 alone reaped the benefit of it, while it was 
 withdrawn from the nation at large ; and 
 this at a time when the people were op- 
 pressed by such restrictions that they 
 could embark in few trades without a li- 
 cense from government, or procure even 
 law without openly purchasing justice ; 
 for before the revolution, the chief judicial 
 offices were either hereditary or sold to 
 

 lit: 
 
 \^m 
 
 mt:::z 
 
 -Zi 
 
 
 
 the highest bidder, who had thus no alter- 
 native but to make a trade of justice by 
 retailing it in turn. 
 
 While affairs were in this state, the 
 American revolution broke out, and pave 
 an impulse to the opinions of the French 
 encyclopa-dists which it was found im- 
 possible to repress. " In an hour," says 
 Burke, " more unfortunate lor himself thin 
 for a neighboring monarch, Louis XVI. 
 was induced, by his cabinet, to send as- 
 sistance to the revolted colonies of Eng- 
 land, and by thus attempting to diminish 
 the value of another's crown, he lost his 
 own." He discovered this with regret, 
 when regret was unavailing ; and the 
 measures he adopted to check the popular 
 enthusiasm, when Lafayette and his asso- 
 ciates returned to France from their suc- 
 cessful assistance of the Americans, by 
 increasing the severity of the restraints 
 under which the people then labored, on- 
 ly accelerated the march of opinion which 
 he was aixious to arrest. Even then his 
 conduct was marked by that vacillation 
 and inconsistency which characterized all 
 the acts of this ill-fated monarch ; for, in 
 the very hour when he was receiving 
 Franklin with the highest honors, as the 
 representative of the American people, he 
 launched the edict already mentioned 
 against popular expectations at home ; and 
 his courtiers were encouraged to sing the 
 praises of liberty in other countries ; while 
 not a vestige of it existed in their own. 
 " The court," says a cotemporary writer^ 
 " freely indulged those sallies without for 
 a moment anticipating their possible appli- 
 cation, or surmising that what they ad- 
 mired for Philadelphia, could ever be de- 
 sired in Paris." 
 
 But while all these causes influenced, 
 it was the want of money to provide for 
 the national expenditure that was the im- 
 mediate forerunner of the French revolu- 
 tion. The country was exhausted alike 
 by the victories of one war and the re- 
 verses of another, the magnificent projects 
 of Louis XIV., and the costly profligacy 
 of the fifteenth prince of that name. Nor 
 was the expenditure diminished during 
 the reign of Louis XVI., though the con- 
 duct of that prince was pacific, and his 
 character comparatively pure. He had 
 hime If sent his plate to the mint, and the 
 
 queen was supposed to have pawned her 
 diamonds, in order to provide for the ex- 
 penses of the government. But still there 
 was a deficiency of eight millions sterling 
 in the revenue, and while the people 
 groaned under imposts, the state staggered 
 under debt. One minister after another 
 was brought in to relieve these embarrass- 
 ments, but each of them failed, and one 
 of them, Neckar, to whom the revolution 
 has, by Napoleon, been imputed, but ap- 
 parently on unreasonable grounds, pub- 
 lished, on his dismissal from oflice, a fa- 
 mous account, named the " compte ren- 
 due,"' which di8c!.„ed those appalling de- 
 ficiencies, and increased the general dis- 
 satisfaction that prevailed. Under these 
 circumstances, the chief minister, Ca- 
 lonne, an able, though specious, plaus- 
 ible, and once profligate, but now patriotic 
 man, convoked an assembly called the no- 
 tables, consisting of the leading persons 
 in the kingdom, and proposed that the 
 privileged orders should tax themselves ; 
 but the nobles and higher clergy resisted' 
 the innovation : and when he aaempt< . 
 to levy a new impost, they declared that 
 this could be done only by the authority 
 of the states-general — a body representing 
 all classes of the kingdom, and unheard 
 of for almost a century before. The word 
 states-general was no sooner pronounced, 
 than it was reiterated by every order in 
 the community, and all, excepting the 
 government, concurred in desiring its con- 
 vocation from which they expected relief. 
 The court, dreading such an assemblage, 
 attempted to supersede it, by proposing 
 what was termed a " cour plenidre," or 
 meeting of the leading nobles and clergy, 
 with a few of the higher merchants, in- 
 stead. The privileged orders resisted, 
 and when a troop of dragoons were sent 
 to arrest D'Espremenil, one of their num- 
 ber who had made himself obnoxious to 
 the government, they declared they " were 
 all D'Espremenils." A struggle ensued, 
 but the court was, in the end, obliged to 
 subm'»; and, on the proposal of the nobles, a 
 decree wa i issued for the convocation of 
 the st.ites-gnneral, which was to sweep 
 both nobles and court from the land. 
 
 So long an interval had elapsed since 
 the meeting of this body, that few were 
 aware of its functions, or even of the form 
 
3 have pawned her 
 
 provide for the ex- 
 ;nt. But still there 
 rht milliona sterling 
 
 while the people 
 , the state staggered 
 lister after another 
 fe these embarrass- 
 am failed, and one 
 horn the revolution 
 !n imputed, but ap- 
 ible grounds, pub- 
 al from office, a fa- 
 
 the •' compte ren- 
 those appalling de- 
 ed the general dis- 
 liled. Under these 
 hief minister, Ca- 
 [h specious, plaus- 
 te, but now patriotic 
 jmbly called the no- 
 he leading persons 
 
 proposed that the 
 jld tax themselves ; 
 jher clergy resisted' 
 when he aitempt* . 
 , they declared thai 
 rtly by the authority 
 a body representing 
 gdom, and unheard 
 
 before. The word 
 sooner pronounced, 
 1 by every order in 
 
 all, excepting the 
 
 in desiring its con- 
 hey expected relief, 
 dch an assemblage, 
 ie it, by proposing 
 •cour pleni^re," or 
 I nobles and clergy, 
 gher merchants, in- 
 3d orders resisted, 
 Iragoons were sent 
 il.one of their num- 
 imself obnoxious to 
 leclared they " were 
 A struggle ensued, 
 
 the end, obliged to 
 posal of the nobles, a 
 ' the convocation of 
 hich was to sweep 
 from the land, 
 i had elapsed since 
 lody, that few were 
 , or even of the form 
 
 ~il 
 
 QLENGABIFF. 
 
 797 
 
 which it ought to assume. It had not as- 
 sembled since tho year 1614 ; and the 
 court party maintained that its sole duty 
 was to grant taxes ; but the populace and 
 many of the nobles asseverated that it was 
 also to inquire into grievances. On the 
 subject of its formation they were equally 
 discordant. The clergy and nobles as- 
 serted that it should consist of two bodies 
 to represent them, and one on the popular 
 side — each equal in number, and sitting 
 in different chambers ; but the court, piqued 
 by the opposition it had experienced from 
 the two former parties, and desirous to 
 conciliate the latter, decided that the third 
 estate, or plebeian portion, should equal 
 in number the other two united ; and 
 Neckar, the well-meaning but incompe- 
 tent Genevese banker, who had again suc- 
 ceeded, as prime minister, the obnoxious 
 Culoime, temporarily disposed of th« ques- 
 tion of separate chambers, by leaving it 
 undecided. This was a fatal error; for, 
 shortly after the meeting of the states-gen- 
 eral, the popular party refused to proceed 
 to business except along with the clergy 
 and nobles ; and a few of these going over 
 to the plebeian side, the whole were soon 
 constrained to follow, where they were, 
 of course, out-voted by the third estate, 
 which consisted of a moiety ^ j/. and 
 was now, by these desertion.^, jn>x.rted 
 into a majority. It is for thift, and the 
 neglect to provide for separate chambers, 
 that Neckar has been arraigned by Napo- 
 leon as the cause of the revolution ; but 
 his opinion was probably influenced by 
 his antipathy to Madame de Stael, that 
 minister's celebrated daughter. 
 
 " Such," says a recent writer on the 
 subject, *' was the state of France in 1789, 
 when that star of revolution arose which 
 was destined to blaze so long on her hori- 
 zpn, purifying her political atmosphere, 
 but blighting almost all on whom it shone 
 — destroying her ancient monarchy, and 
 one of the most amiable princes that ever 
 sat upon her throne." A terrible elemental 
 convulsion seemed to forbode the tempest 
 that followed. In the midsummerof 1788, 
 a fierce hurricane and hail-storm arose, 
 which swept the harvest from the fields, 
 destroyed the vintage on the ground, laid 
 whole provinces in ruin, and committed 
 such devastation that the terror-struck in- 
 
 habitants believed it the forerunner of the 
 destruction of the world. " But they had 
 yet to learn," says the au^'nor already 
 quoted, " that terrible as this convulsion 
 of nature was, it proved infinitely less 
 destructive than that which was about to 
 arise among men." 
 
 The state of Europe, too, at (his period, 
 favored the approaching strife. Tiie whole 
 continent was plunged in a state of listless- 
 ness or degradation. Britain alone pre- 
 served any vestige of freedom. From 
 Holland, liberty had been expelled ; and 
 it scarcely found a shelter in Switzerland 
 — the only other part of modern Europe 
 in which it had ever taken root. Italy 
 was engulfed in slavery ; and Germany, 
 though it possessed the rudiments of free 
 institutions, was in a state of equal political 
 nonentity. Spain and Portugal were sunk 
 in slavish superstition ; and in Russia the 
 very name of freedom was unknown. On 
 all sides there was an apathy, indicating 
 that the old cystem of governments was 
 worn out ; and men were either disposed 
 to favor, or unable to resist, the new opin- 
 ions to which the American revolution had 
 given birth. 
 
 GLENGARIFF. 
 
 LENGARIFF, or 
 " the rough glen" 
 is a very romantic 
 8i)ot on the south- 
 ern co:i8t of Ireland. 
 Most travellers wlio 
 have been attracted 
 to the lakes of Kil- 
 larney by their nat- 
 ural beauties, and the legendary tales 
 connected with them, have wandered 
 thence to the scarcely less famed and per- 
 haps more beautiful scenes around Glen- 
 gariff". The entrance to the liule bay of 
 Glengariff" is protected by a small island, 
 on which has been erected a martello 
 tower, crowning the prospect with one of 
 the most picturesque objects in landscape- 
 scenery. The bay is surrounded by hills 
 clad in the richest verdure, here bending 
 by a gradual declination toward the sea, 
 
4' !i?-S 
 
 ^m ■ 
 
 
 (««';■:.;,, 
 
 m^ 
 
 rauspg:' 
 
 
^ 
 
 
 
 and there rjsing from the waters with the 
 most high and majestic appearance. The 
 brightest hues of nature are reflected in 
 the still bosom of the deep — the yew, the 
 holly, and the arbutus, giving a peculiarly 
 graceful appearanc« to the nearer hills ; 
 the various colored heaths brighten up the 
 middle distance ; and in the extreme verge 
 of the prospect the huge forms of the 
 higher mountains, but faintly seen, appear 
 like spirits rising into the clouds. All 
 tourists speak in raptures of GlungarifT 
 and the surrounding scenery. The cli- 
 mate of this part of Ireland is extremely 
 mild and healthy, the most tender plants 
 surviving throughout the winter, even in 
 the open air. Like most beautiful or 
 romantic parts of Ireland, Glcngariff boasts 
 its fairy legend. In one part of the small 
 but dehghtful bay of Glengarifl", the sea 
 being protected from the wind by a pro- 
 jecting point of land, there is a constant 
 culm ; and other peciiliariiies of this spot 
 have rendered it the object of one of the 
 fairy superstitions of the south of Ireland. 
 It is called the Bog of Glengariflf Bay. 
 
 MEMORY. 
 
 T has often struck us, 
 that, in our modern edu- 
 cational improvements, 
 one point of very con- 
 siderable importance is 
 apt to be lost sight of, 
 or at least to be treated 
 without that degree of 
 attention which it merits. 
 We condemn, and justly, 
 the parrot-like fashion in which the youag 
 were made to go through their schooU 
 tasks in days past, learning by rote and 
 by heart lesEions, of the signification and 
 value of which they were left in almost 
 total ignorance. But, in changing the 
 system and making the meaning the pri- 
 mary matter in every lesson taught, there 
 is some risk, it seems to us, of our run- 
 ning into error in an opposite direction, 
 and overlooking cne real advantage, which 
 most certainly attaches so far to our old 
 academical customs. We refer, it will be 
 obvious, to the exercise and cultivation of 
 
 the memory. Mcmnria aufrrtur exercendo 
 (the memory is strengthened by exercise) 
 is an adage of equal antiquity and truth ; 
 and the committing of things to memory, 
 even before a comprehension of their 
 meaning is attained, may be of no slight 
 service to the young, inasmuch as the 
 adage in question is thus fulfilled. Even 
 the long propria quee maribus rules of Rud- 
 diman's grammar, which used to be con- 
 signed to memory, we remember, by boys 
 who had not the faintest idea of their 
 meaning, may not have been unserviceable 
 in their way, simply from the powers of 
 recollection being thereby called forcibly 
 into play. But there is no occasion for 
 the object on which the memory is exer- 
 cised being something unintelligible. Far 
 Ifom it. It would be easy, in communi- 
 cating rational instruction to the young, 
 and exercising their minds upon compre- 
 hensible lessons, to accompany such tutor- 
 age with the culture of the memory ; and 
 this course, we argue, would be a judicious 
 and most useful one. In fact, the culture 
 of the memory seems to us a matter of 
 such high consequence, as to merit being 
 ranked as a dititinct item in every syllabus 
 of juvenile instruction. It is a secondary 
 point, certainly, to the conveyance of actual 
 knowledge, but still most important, though 
 it be subsidiary. 
 
 Those who have not particularly attend- 
 ed to the subject would probably be sur- 
 prised, on inquiry, to find to what an ex- 
 tent mere strength of memory appears to 
 have contributed to the greatness of literary 
 men in all ages. Our own times have pre- 
 sented at least two striking cases in proof 
 of this assertion Speaking of Lord By- 
 ron, Mrs. Shelley, an observer of great 
 Rcuteness, and who had the advantage of 
 ample opportunities of intercourse with 
 that noble poet, has made the remark that 
 his natural abilities did not strike her as 
 very extraordinary; in truth, she rather 
 thought meanly of them ; but " his memo- 
 ry" she says, " was altogether supernatu- 
 ral." Every page of his writings supports 
 this statement. In the first place, as re- 
 gards the simple remembrance of words, 
 the endowment in question appears to 
 have been of vast use to Byron. To the 
 great strength of his memory, we may 
 ascribe the astonishing copiousness and 
 
 I 
 
800 
 
 MEMORY. 
 
 felicity of language, and the facility of 
 rliyming, displilyed in the brillijinl galaxy 
 of poetns which he poured forth in rapid 
 succession — a succession so rapid, indeed, 
 as to have no parallel in literary history. 
 Again, when his poems are fully examin- 
 ed, we find in them comparatiirel/ few 
 traces of distinct originality of inoughl. 
 A vast number of his ideas and images 
 are but able and improved versions of the 
 conceptions of others, for which ho had 
 drawn upon the stores of his "supernatural 
 memory." His skill in this mode of adopt- 
 ing and transplanting is seen to a remark- 
 able extent in his tragedy of Werner ; but 
 the same thing might be shown in a thou- 
 sand places in his works, where he has 
 not acknowledged any obligation, as he 
 did in the particular case mentioned. An 
 example of his talent at adopting thoughts 
 witu emendations is seen in the fine pas- 
 sage : — 
 " And the waves bonnd beneath me like a rteed 
 Tliat knows iu rider." 
 
 " Here," says Moore, " the poet has evi- 
 dently caught an image in Beaumont and 
 Fletcher, and, by a change, greatly im- 
 proved it: — 
 
 ' No more shall we two feel our fiery horses 
 Like proud seas under us.' " 
 
 The illustrations which Byron gave, in 
 his juvenile satire, of the faidts and follies 
 of " English Bards," were almost all di- 
 rectly borrowed from the other objects of 
 his attack, " Scotch Reviewers." In short, 
 everything tends to prove that much of 
 Lord Byron's success in literature rested 
 on his " supernatural memory." And if 
 we turn to his school-days, wo shall find 
 distinctly the origin of his endowment in 
 this respect. He tells us, that if he shone 
 in anything it was in public recitation or 
 declamation. He probably little thought 
 that the getting up of pieces by heart to 
 display his boyish elocution, was to bear 
 so materially on his after-greatness. The 
 case is an instructive one. 
 
 Not less strikingly apparent was the 
 value of a well-cultivated memory in the 
 case of Sir Walter Scott. That he pos- 
 sessed such a gift is undeniable. The 
 Ellrick Shepherd tells us that being once 
 on the Tweed with him, engaged in sal- 
 mon fishing by night, Sir Waller requested 
 the Shepherd to amuse a leisure moment 
 
 by repeating a certain ballad. The Ijallad 
 was of some length, and had never hef-n 
 printed ; and Hogg could not renitiinlier 
 more than the first verse or two. To his 
 great surprise, Scott, though the piece had 
 been but once repeated to him, cominrnced 
 and went over it, word for word, from lie- 
 ginning to end. Admitting that this story 
 may be a little exaggerated by the worlliy 
 Shepherd, there can be no doubt that it 
 is so far true as to afTord a good instance 
 in proof of Sir Walter's wonderful memory. 
 The surpassing usefulness of the endow- 
 ment to him need scarcely be pointed out. 
 It would and did save him much of the 
 trouble of invention, as well as of research 
 and references, in concocting his exquisite 
 narratives. In the similar compositions 
 of other novelists, we can always discern 
 annoying marks of their having " read up" 
 for their tasks. Digested long in his ex- 
 traordinary memory, the information of 
 Sir Walter comes out as naturally and 
 easily as if he had been actually a familiar- 
 ized denizen of the various places and 
 times he describes. To his memory, too, 
 is to bo ascribed that marvehous felicity 
 of illustration which constitutes so large 
 a portion of the charm of his works. 
 Whatever subject engaged his pen, he 
 could abundantly enliven and illustrate it 
 with anecdote or saying, humorous or 
 pathetic, as the case might require, but 
 always appropriate. From the stores of 
 his reading being more recondite, and also 
 from the fact of his having obtained many 
 of his countless good things from oral con- 
 verse with the world, the extent to which 
 Scott drew, through his memory, on the 
 brains of others, is neither so great, nor, 
 as far as it goes, so discernible, as in the 
 case of Byron. 
 
 While thus endeavoring to enforce 
 the propriety of cultivating the memory, 
 by the examples of such men as Byron 
 and Scott, it must not be thought that we 
 are blind to the share which the natural 
 talents of the individuals had in causing 
 their success, and elevating them to great- 
 ness and renown. Our object chielly is 
 to impress on the minds of our readers a 
 sense of the value of a powerful memory, 
 as an auxiliary endowment ; though at the 
 same time, beyond all question, a strong 
 and well-stored memory has often gone 
 
I. The ballad 
 ;iil nnvnr been 
 not remt!iTil)Rr 
 two. To his 
 » ihe piece had 
 in, cominPHceil 
 word, from he- 
 that this story 
 by the ^vl)rllly 
 ) doubt that it 
 good instance 
 derfnl memory. 
 of the endow- 
 be pointed out. 
 [11 much of the 
 at of research 
 ighis exquisite 
 r compositions 
 always discern 
 viiig " read up" 
 long in his ex- 
 information of 
 naturally and 
 aally a fainiliar- 
 lus places and 
 is memory, too, 
 vel.ous felicity 
 titutes so large 
 of his works, 
 d his pen, he 
 Hid illustrate it 
 , humorous or 
 ht require, but 
 nri the stores of I 
 ondile, and also 
 obtained many 
 a from oral con- 
 extent to which 
 nemory, on the 
 r so great, nor, 
 nible, as in the 
 
 ng to enforce 
 ig the memory, 
 men as Byron 
 thought that we 
 ich the natural 
 had in causinfi 
 g them to great- 
 ibject chiefly is 
 if our readers a 
 (werful memory. 
 It ; though at the 
 lestion, a strong 
 has olien gone 
 
 MEMORY. 
 
 801 
 
 far to make up for the want of original 
 powers of mind, and has enabled those 
 possessed of it to outshine others who 
 possessed originality of mind without thn 
 accompanying advantage of strength oi 
 memory. Hitherto, the case of literary 
 men only has been referred to; but the 
 same arguments apply to all positions 
 which men can occupy, where combina- 
 tion or calculation are matters of frequent 
 concernment, and, in short, to all situations 
 where the records of experience are avail- 
 able or influential. Though of more con- 
 sequence in some circumstances than in 
 others, a powerful memory is indeed a 
 possession of paramount importance to all 
 mankind. 
 
 The natural mode of cultivating and 
 strengthening the memory, is, as the old 
 adage -..ays, by exercise ; and wonderful, 
 indeed, is the extent to which its powers 
 may be thus carried. Perhaps Scott 
 owed his great memory in part to the 
 numerous attempts which he must have 
 made while collecting ballads in his youth, 
 to bear such pieces off by heart, when his 
 time and other circumstances did not per- 
 mit of immediate transcription. Other 
 noted men, however, have even far ex- 
 celled him in respect of the same endow- 
 ment Magliabechi, the famous Floren- 
 tine, had acquired great command of 
 memory. He was librarian to the grand 
 duke of Tuscany, Cosmo III., and, in this 
 situation, became what his friends called 
 a universal index. It was common for 
 the learned to consult him when they 
 were writing upon any subject, and he 
 could tell them not only what previous 
 authors had directly treated of the same 
 matters, but could also point to such as 
 had briefly and incidentally alluded to 
 them, naming the author, the book, the 
 words, and often the very page at which 
 each passage occurred. Magliabechi's 
 memory was once put to a severe Iriftl. 
 A friend gave him a manuscript composi- 
 tion to read, and after a time received it 
 again. Shortly afterward, the individual 
 came to Magliabechi, lamenting the loss 
 of the manuscript, and entreating him to 
 put down as much of it as he could re- 
 member, that it might be re-written. The 
 other consented, and, sitting down, wrote 
 over the production, word for word, from 
 
 1 
 
 beginning to end. This marvellous pow- 
 er of recollection arose chiefly from his 
 situation of public librarian, calling for the 
 constant exercise of the faculty. 
 
 La Molte, the French dramatist, on 
 hearing a play once read, could repeal 
 any given scene of it, word for word. 
 Cicero mentions one Carneades, a Greek, 
 who had cultivated his memory to such an 
 extent, that ultimately he was able to re- 
 peat by heart the contents of most of the 
 books in a whole library, as if he read 
 from the pages of the books themselves. 
 Mithridates, a powerful sovereign of .\sia 
 1 Minor, who had under his rule twenty-two 
 natu.as ortribes,allofthem speaking either 
 distinct languages or dialects of languages, 
 found it necessary to attempt the acquisi- 
 tion of all these tongues, and by a strong 
 exertion of memory mastered them so far 
 as to be able to converse with fluency in 
 each. The famous Bishop Jewel, dis- 
 liking the practice of reading sermons, 
 accustomed himself, early in life, to get 
 his discourses by heart, and brought his 
 memory in the end to a wonderful degree 
 of perfection. His powers in this respect 
 were often tested by his friends. If forty 
 or fifty words, picked at random from 
 languages alike barbarous and unknown 
 to him, were once read over, he could, 
 after a little reflection, repeat them either 
 backward or forward, as he might be 
 desired. The celebrated scholar, Sealizer, 
 was even more distinguished for strength 
 of memory than Bishop Jewel, or any of 
 the individuals here mentioned. 
 
 It would be an easy matter to midtiply 
 examples where the cultivation of the 
 memory has strengthened its powers to 
 an astonishing degree. Samuel Johnson 
 is a case in point. The force of the facul- 
 ty in him, in his latter days, was do-btless 
 owing to its culture during the composition 
 of his dictionary, and it gave him much 
 of his brilliant conversational reu>Un jss. 
 It is, however, unnecessary to carry ihis 
 argument further. Every reader who has 
 perused the narratives of persons long 
 held in captivity, will remember that, in 
 almost all instances, one of the mental 
 phenomena recorded by each prisoner was 
 a great increase of the powers of memory, 
 resulting from the necessity of exercising 
 and depending on the faculty, m the ab- 
 
 «K» 
 
802 
 
 PLATO. 
 
 ■ence of all the aids to be found in ordinary 
 circumstances. A series of notches in a 
 stick, or knots on a string, conveyed often 
 to the poor captive a whole history. Such 
 cases would alone prove the value of ex- 
 ercise to the memory. If, then, strength 
 ot memory be a possession of such con- 
 sequence as we have endeavored to show 
 it to be, at the risk, perhaps, of being held 
 to press on the attention a self-evident 
 fact ; and if the plain and obvious mode 
 of strengthening the memory is by exer- 
 cising it, should not this end be kept 
 prominently in view in the education of 
 the young ? To us, as has already been 
 observed, the culture of the memory seems 
 a matter of so much moment, as to merit 
 being ranked as a distinct item in the pro- 
 gramme of juvenile educa 'on. 
 
 Remarkable displays of strength of 
 memory have occasionally been made in 
 public by individuals professing to follow 
 a peculiar and secret mode of fixing facts 
 on their recollection. One young boy, 
 who lately exhibited in public in this 
 country, gave answers to a list of ques- 
 tions, amounting to many thousands, and 
 some of them involving long sums of 
 figures. A long list of figures, set down 
 at random, was also repeated by him back- 
 ward, without error, after being looked at 
 for a few seconds. Whatever was the 
 mode of doing this, it was obvious that 
 much of the boy's power of memory arose 
 from exercise — exercise, it may be, with 
 a help, but still exercise. Such cases 
 only tend to bear out what has already 
 been said. 
 
 PLATO. 
 
 LATO, the biographer 
 and pupil of Socrates, 
 ^\, the earliest Greek phi- 
 losopher whose wri- 
 tings are devoted to 
 the advancement of 
 /?'^ yf^^^V ^ moral and metaphysi- 
 <\f V^ V.^~) cal science, was the 
 
 son of Athenian pa- 
 rents, but born in the island of .Egina, 
 B. C. 429. His descent was illustrious, 
 
 being derived on the mother's side from 
 the philosopher and lawgiver Solon, and 
 on the father's from the ancient kings of 
 Athens. In after-times the flattery of his 
 admirers, not content with this distin- 
 guished genealogy, ascribed to him di- 
 vine honors. Apollo, the patron deity of 
 letters, was reported to have been the au- 
 thor of his being. His sweetness of dis- 
 course was foreshown by the gathering of 
 a swarm of bees upon his lips in the cradle, 
 and Socrates, the night before he first saw 
 Plato, was warned of the excellences of 
 his future pupil by a vision of a cygnet, 
 which as it sat on his knees, suddenly be- 
 came full fledged, and flew away with a 
 melodi'-us cry. We may be excused for 
 repeating these fables, since the scarcity 
 of authentic details concerning the hfe 
 and history of the philosopher will re- 
 duce this paper to very narrow bounds. 
 
 The name first given to him was Aris- 
 tocles, that of Plato, under which he be- 
 came celebrated, is derived from the 
 Greek adjective which means broad. 
 The time and the reason of this change 
 of name are both uncertain : it has been 
 accounted for by his breadth and fulness 
 of expression, by his remarkalije width of 
 forehead, and by other etymologies more 
 fanciful than convincing. His manly 
 beauty has been perpetuated in the bust 
 from which the above sketch is taken, and 
 his bodily vigor, and successful practice 
 of the gymnastic exe.cises enjoined by 
 custom upon the Greek youth of all ranks, 
 and to which he himself in after-life at- 
 tached great importance, are indicated by 
 the report that he contended for the prize 
 in wrestling at two of the great national 
 festivals, the Pythian and the Isthmian 
 games. Painting and poetry he also cul- 
 tivated ; the latter with zeal certainly, and 
 probably not without success, for he pro- 
 duced an epic poem, and a drama which 
 was brought on the stage ; but he burnt 
 his poems on becoming acquainted with 
 Socrates, to whom he was introduced 
 when he was about twenty years of age. 
 During ten years he continued to be the 
 philosopher's pupil and constant attend- 
 ant ; during his trial, he came forward in 
 his defence, and offered to become his 
 surety for the payment of such fine u 
 might be imposed. Faithful to the last, 
 
her's side from 
 ver Solon, and 
 icient kings of 
 B flattery of his 
 th this distin- 
 ed to him di- 
 patron deity of 
 'e been the au- 
 ^eetness of dis- 
 be gathering of 
 is in the cradle, 
 ore he first saw 
 excellences of 
 n of a cygnet, 
 8, suddenly be- 
 V away with a 
 »e excused for 
 e the scarcity 
 rning the life 
 opher will re- 
 row bounds, 
 him was Aris- 
 
 which he be- 
 red from the 
 means bruad. 
 )f this change 
 i : it has been 
 h and fulness 
 kable width of 
 nologies more 
 His manly 
 d in the bust 
 I is taken, and 
 issful practice 
 i enjoined by 
 th of all ranks, 
 n after-life at- 
 > indicated hy 
 1 for the prize 
 great national 
 the Isthmian 
 y he also cul- 
 oertainly, and 
 3, for he pro- 
 drama which 
 
 but he burnt 
 ]uainted with 
 s introduced 
 ^'ears of age. 
 ed to be the 
 istant attend- 
 le forward in 
 
 become his 
 such fine u 
 1 to the last, 
 
 «»l!i^: 
 
 m 
 
 
804 
 
 FLATO. 
 
 he witncsHod the closinf; scene of that 
 {rroat man's life, of which he has given a 
 beauliiui and ulTecung description at the 
 cU»»o of the dialogue entitled " Phiedon," 
 which has for its subject the iinmortulity 
 of the soul, and has ever been regarded 
 as llie ablest effort of human intellect, un- 
 assisted by revelation, to prove that there 
 is a future oxistenc o after death. This 
 celubruled piece professes to record the 
 conversation of Socrates upon ihe day of 
 his execution. In such circumstances, 
 the discourse naturally inrned up<m those 
 expectations of the future, in reliance on 
 which he faced death with perfect tran- 
 quillity ; and the profound philosophy and 
 lofty eloquence of Una part of the compo- 
 sition, are relieved and set off by the 
 dramatic interest and pathos of the con- 
 cluding narrative. The " Phtodon" is said 
 to have been Cato's study immediately be- 
 fore he put un end to his life at Utica, a 
 circumstance of which Addison has made 
 use to introduce the most elaborately- 
 wrought passage in his well-known tra- 
 gedy. 
 
 After his master's death, Plato retired 
 from Athens, and led a wandering life, 
 frequenting the schools of the most emi- 
 nent philosophers whithersoever he wont. 
 Megara was his first place of abode, and 
 here, while the mournful details were still 
 fresh in his memory, he is believed to have 
 written the " Phsedon," with its compan- 
 ion pieces, the " Criton," and the " De- 
 fence of Socrates." Thence he went to 
 Cyrene, and from Cyrene to Italy, where 
 he spent a considerable time in studying 
 the rival systems of philosophy founded 
 by Pythagoras and Heraclitus, both of 
 which, to a certain extent, and with cer- 
 tain modifications, he combined and taught 
 when he himself became the founder of a 
 new sect. From Italy he travelled to 
 Egypt, in elder times the fountain and 
 seat of science. Here, according to some 
 authors, he was admitted by the priests to 
 a knowledge of those mysteries, of which 
 they only had the key, and derived from 
 them the most profound doctrires of his 
 philosophy. This statement, however, is 
 not confirmed by the most credible au- 
 thors, and Plato himself speaks in dispar- 
 aging terms of Egyptian science in his 
 day. Cicero attributes his visit to Egypt 
 
 to the desire of improving his knowledge 
 of astronomy, which, with others of ihn 
 mathematical sciences, still flourished 
 there, and simple curiosity would furnish 
 a sufficient motive for travelling to a coun- 
 try so remarkable and closely connected 
 with the early history of art and religion 
 in Greece. It has been supposed that in 
 Egypt Plato became acquainted with the 
 Hebrew scriptures, but there appears to 
 be no well-founded ground for this belief, 
 which probably arose out of the clearni'MS 
 of his views of a future existence as com- 
 pared with those of antecedent philoso- 
 pher <. 
 
 Upm his return to Athens, B. C. 395, 
 Plato touk up his residence adjoininir, or 
 within the precincts of, a public garden 
 named Academia, from Acad>.-mus, who 
 bequeathed it for the use of the people. 
 Withiu this garden he opened a school for 
 instruction in the arts of disputation and 
 philosophy ; and the word " Academy," 
 has hence obtained such celebrity, as not 
 only to denote the school and sect of which 
 he was the founder, but to have become in 
 modern languages a general title for any 
 
 i)lace of education. His speculations, 
 lowever, were varied by the duties of ac- 
 tive life, for it is on record that he served 
 as a soldier in three battles. In B. 0. 
 389, he visited Sicily, attracted by the cu- 
 riosities, natural and artificial, of that re- 
 markable island, in which the elder Dio- 
 nysius, the celebrated tyrant of Syracuse, 
 then bore the chief sway. The despot, 
 according to Diogenes Laertius, took of- 
 fence at Plato's freedom of spirit and sold 
 him into slavery, from which however he 
 was soon redeemed by his friends. 
 
 Honored and beloved, with a reputation 
 established throughout Greece as a states- 
 man and lawgiver, Plato declined through 
 life to take any active part in political af- 
 fairs, though, as has been intimated, he 
 did not shun those active duties which de- 
 volved on him in common with all other 
 citizens. A life so passed, in the pursuit 
 and teaching of abstract truth, affords lit- 
 tle material for the biographer ; but it is 
 not to be omitted that Aristotle, hiH ^reat 
 rival in fame and influence, was Plato's 
 pupil from the age of eighteen, during the 
 long period of twenty years. Plato died 
 aged about 81, B. C. 347. 
 
( his knowledge 
 h othnrs of ihn 
 still flouriNbeil 
 y would luriiisli 
 rclliiif; to a coun- 
 losely coniM'clod 
 art und reli^non 
 supposed tliut in 
 iiuiiitod with tlie 
 here a|)pears to 
 d for this beliof, 
 of the clearnt'jis 
 xistenco as com- 
 Bcedeiit philoso- 
 
 lions, B. C. 395, 
 (ice adjoiiiintr, or 
 a public gurdcn 
 Acad»;mu8, who 
 8 of the people, 
 enod a school for 
 disputation and 
 )rd " Academy," 
 celebrity, as not 
 nd sect of which 
 ) have become in 
 iral title for any 
 is speculations, 
 the duties of ac- 
 d that he served 
 ittles. In B. C. 
 racted by the cu- 
 ficial, of that re- 
 1 the elder Dio- 
 ant of Syracuse, 
 y. The despot, 
 Liaertius, took of- 
 af spirit and sold 
 lich however he 
 is friends, 
 with a reputation 
 reece as a states- 
 decliiied through 
 rt in political af- 
 en intimated, he 
 duties which de- 
 m with all other 
 3d, in the pursuit 
 truth, aflbrds lit- 
 rapher; but it is 
 risiotle, his great 
 nee, was i'lato's 
 hteen, during the 
 ars. Plato died 
 
 r. 
 
 •ft 
 
 W00L8TH0HPK MANOR HOry!»B 
 
 Portrait of Sir Uaao Newton. 
 
 WOOLSTHORPE MANOU-HOUSE. 
 
 . HE birthplace of Sir 
 *^ Isaac Newton, known 
 " as the Woolsihorpe 
 m«nor-house, is situ- 
 ated in a valley in 
 the parish of Colster- 
 worth, near Grant- 
 , ham, in Lincolnshire, 
 
 at the distance of about 103 n-il^^J:";" 
 London. The building uself present, 
 nothing to attract aitenti-m ; but as the 
 house in which one of t»^« ^esl men and 
 one of the greatest philosophers of modern 
 "mes first Lw the light, it wil be viewed 
 
 with afTeclionate reverence by all who 
 esteem high genius and true nobleness of 
 
 ''lt"is pleasant to know that the vast and 
 penetrating mind which could dictate such 
 a work as the " Principia" whs once an 
 inhabitant of an insignificant c"»ag«- " 
 is pleasant to know thai the author of such 
 a theory a. that developed in his great 
 work, with all its dependent cucumslan- 
 
 ces. was a mere man with all the cravings 
 and affections of mortality ; although there 
 is something so vast and majestic in the 
 conception' embodied in the " Prmcipia 
 that we imagine they could only be the 
 i productions of a god-like being, of an im- 
 Lr.l and unerring mind! Yet, though 
 ' his tame among men will last wl>'l« l')* 
 Science he so enriched shall endure, there 
 was nothing in his personal appearance 
 or mode of life to distinguish hiin In 
 his follow-men with minds too small .. 
 compass his ideas even when d«v,-loped 
 with his own simplicity. Yes. th.^ nri- 
 mortal Newton lived like other nien-he 
 Tte and drank, and slept; his dweUing 
 
 was a cottage; his observatory his own 
 garden ; and here in the solitude of Wools- 
 fhorpe did he contemplate the glorious 
 works of his Creator, and imagine the 
 means by wb.h the harmony of the uni. 
 
 verse is maintained. i,„„„i 
 
 The genius of Newton w now acknowU 
 
 edaed by the whole scientihc world; 
 
 1 modern discoveries have altered and -ui- 
 
 proved many aciences but imperfectly 
 
 
 ■1? 
 
 ':* 
 
r 
 
 80(5 
 
 WOOLSTnOHPK MAN0RH0U8B. 
 
 ^ 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 I 
 
 known in thn dsvB of Newton, and much 
 b»H been eflected in clearinjf the obscure 
 (l^-partmrma of the atudy to which he 
 directed his principal stlention ; but not 
 all the efforts of modern philosophers, as- 
 NiHtod by the mechanical skill of modern 
 dnys, have been sufficient to darken the 
 fame of Newton or to eclipse any of his 
 discoveries. 
 
 'I'lip jirivate habits of this ijreat man, as 
 of many uiliors.are not so generally known ; 
 we shall therefore present so much inform- 
 ation on this head as we have been able to 
 collect. Although the most trifling par- 
 ticulars in the life of a celebrated character 
 are of interest to his admirers, they are 
 not considered of sufficient importance at 
 the time they occur to deserve to be re- 
 corded for the information of future ages ; 
 thus it is that we know so little of the 
 motives which have actuated so many men 
 in actions for which they are praised or 
 blamed by posterity without sufficient 
 cause ; and in the present instance we 
 have to regret that particulars of thib na- 
 ture are extremely scanty. 
 
 The Newtons appear to h^ve locatfld 
 themselves at Woolsthorpe as early as the 
 year 1561, having come thither from West- 
 by, in Lincolnshire. It has been said that 
 the family derived its name originally from 
 Newtown, in Lancashire ; but it seems 
 probable, from inquiries which have been 
 made by the biographers of Sir Isaac, 
 acting on some hints afforded by himself, 
 that he was descended from a Scotch 
 family of that name in East Lothian. The 
 genealogy of the philosopher is however 
 involved in considerable obscurity, and he 
 could not himself trace his descent with 
 certainty beyond his grandfather Robert 
 Newton, who, in 1623, became possessed 
 of the manor-house of Woolsthorpe, which 
 had been bequeathed to him by Robert 
 Underwood. 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton was born on Christ- 
 mas day, 1642, O. S., nearly three months 
 after the death of his father. He was an 
 extremely weakly child, and for some 
 time it was thought he would not livt. ; 
 he is also said to have been so small for 
 many days after his birth that " he might 
 have been put into a quart pot." He did 
 at last spring up, and as he grew, gradually 
 mastered the natural weakness of his con- 
 
 stitution. The rudiments of his education 
 were received at two small dnynchools ai 
 Skillington and Stoke, in the imniediaie 
 vicinity of his home, where he remained 
 till he was twelve years of age, when he 
 was removed to the great school at (Jrant- 
 ham. Here he showed considerable 
 quickness at his studies, and mniiifostrd a 
 strong disposition for mechanics, in which 
 he missed no opporttmity for acquiring 
 information, either theoretically or of n. 
 practical nature. He amuNPil himself 
 with making models of windmills, water- 
 clocks, and other sci'-ntific toys, all of 
 which he executed with considerable neat- 
 ness and accuracy. Some of the sun-dials 
 made by his own han.l are still shown 
 in the room used by him as a study at 
 Woolsthorpe. Although his natural quitk- 
 ncss of apprehension enabled him easily 
 to 'saster the exercises of the school, it 
 di s not appear that he wns partiouliiriy 
 partial to learning or forward in his studies. 
 Indeed it is probable that it is to one of 
 those accidental circumstances to which 
 so many great events are ascribable, that 
 we may partly attribute his future eminence. 
 He used to relate that he was always very 
 negligent at school, and very low in his 
 class, until he ha.-j)ened to be insulted 
 one day by a boy above him, when he 
 determined to be revenged, not only by 
 giving his superior a sound thrashing 
 (which was promptly administered on the 
 spot), but by the more noble method of 
 superseding him in his studies. This de- 
 termination gave a new bent to his chnr- 
 acter, and from that day he continued 
 rising in the school till he was head boy. 
 When be left Grantham school, it was 
 determined by his mother, after great de- 
 liberation, and at the earnest solicitation 
 of his uncle, who had observed indications 
 of his great genius, to send him to Cam- 
 bridge, whither he repaired in 1660. being 
 admitted of Trinity College on June 5, in 
 that year. Here he remained several 
 years, applying himself closely to the ac- 
 quisition of the more abstruse branches of 
 knowledge, to the dissomii.ation of which, 
 means are appropriated in that university. 
 The fruits of his studies were not mad« 
 public until a vcry Idte period, and even 
 then, only at the persuasions of his friends, 
 and against his own well-known desire. 
 
rhJH education 
 ilnynrhoola m 
 tho irnmediiito 
 5 h« remiiincil 
 app, wht'n he 
 liool nt (irnrit- 
 coiiMidcrnblo 
 i maiiifcAtrd a 
 rjics, in which 
 for ac<|tiiriiig 
 cally or of a 
 iiscfl himscir 
 Imiils, water- 
 ! toys, all of 
 iJerable neat- 
 r the sun-dials 
 B Rdll shown 
 IS a study at 
 natural quick- 
 id him easily 
 he school, it 
 t particularly 
 II his studies, 
 is to one of 
 :e8 to which 
 cribable, that 
 ire eminence. 
 1 always very 
 r low in his 
 be insulted 
 m, when he 
 not only by 
 d thrashing 
 itercd on the 
 e method of 
 8. This de- 
 to his char- 
 e continued 
 18 head boy. 
 liool, it was 
 ter great de- 
 solicitation 
 1 indications 
 liin to Cani- 
 1660. being 
 n June 5, in 
 ned several 
 \y to the ac- 
 branches of 
 M of which, 
 t university. 
 re not made 
 J, and ev^en 
 his friends, 
 3wn desire. 
 
808 
 
 HISTORY OF THE FIREPLACE. 
 
 Yet it is remarkable that nearly all the 
 tlipories and opinions which have ranked 
 his name first among modem philosophers, 
 were conceived, and the demonstration of 
 them considerably advanced, while he was 
 yet a young man. 
 
 In 1665 he left Cambridge for a short 
 time, in consequence of the plague, which 
 in that year committed such ravages in all 
 the great towns and cities throughout 
 Europe, and retired to his house at Wools- 
 thorpe (having inherited it in 1663 from 
 his mother), where he passed the autumn 
 of thai year. 
 
 It was on this occasion, and while sit- 
 ting in the garden, that the falling of an 
 apple from a tree led to that train of thought 
 which ultimately produced his beautiful 
 theory of gravitation. At least such is the 
 substance of a popular tradition, and it is 
 so pretty that it would be cruel to deny 
 the fact, although there are several cir- 
 cumstances which might lead us to doubt it. 
 
 In person Sir Isaac Newton was of a 
 middle stature, rather inclining to cor- 
 pulency in his latter years. He had a 
 benignant expression of countenance, to 
 the effect of which his hair, white as 
 silver, greatly contributed. He was 
 blessed with a strong constitution, and to 
 his last illness had the bloom of health 
 mantling in his cheeks. 
 
 In company Sir Isaac was very reserved, 
 and particularly absent in mind. Of the 
 latter failing, excusable however in a man 
 whose attention was occupied with such 
 abstruse subjects, there are many pleasant 
 stories told, one of the best cf which, and 
 perhaps the only authentic one, is that 
 given by Dr. Slukeley, who relates that 
 after waitin^j at Sir Isaac's house for a 
 considerable time without being able to 
 see him, he wa„ induced to demolish a 
 fowl prepared for the philosopher's dinner. 
 When Sir Lsaac enteret he appeared as- 
 tonished to find the fowl gone, and ex- 
 claimed to his visiter, " You see, doctor, 
 how very absent we philosophers are ; I 
 really imagined I had not yet dined !" 
 Indeed he would much rather sit down to 
 solve a geometrical problem, than to dis- 
 cuss the most sumptuous dinner ; and he 
 would do one with as much celerity as the 
 other. 
 
 When Leibnitz proposed a problem in- 
 
 tended to puzzle the philosophers of all 
 Europe, Sir Isaac Newton solved it within 
 six hours after he had received it ; and 
 previously he had returned an answer in 
 as short a time to one proposed by Ber- 
 noulli, for the solution of which Leibnitz 
 had requested an extension to twelve 
 months of the period of six months origin- 
 ally assigned. 
 
 After the death of Sir Isaac, John New- 
 ton, the heir-at-law, succeeded to the 
 manor and estates ; but in 1732 they were 
 sold to Edmund Turner, Esq., in whose 
 family they still remain. The house was 
 repaired in 1798, and a marble tablet fixed 
 in the room where Newton was born, with 
 these lines by Pope : — 
 
 " Nature and Nature's laws lay hid In night ; 
 God laid, ' Let Newton be,' and all was light.'- 
 
 HISTORY OF THE FIREPLACE. 
 
 HE history of the 
 fireside may be said 
 to commence in the 
 dark ages ; for it ex- 
 tends back to a time 
 when man was unac- 
 quainted with the ex- 
 istence of f.re. The 
 early records of nearly all nations refer to 
 a time when that element was unknown. 
 Indeed instances of such ignorance have 
 been met with in comparatively modern 
 times. When Magellan visited the Ma- 
 rian islands in l.'>21, the natives believed 
 themselves to be the only people in the 
 world. They were without everything 
 which we regard as necessaries, and in 
 total ignorance of fire. Several of their 
 huts being consumed, they at first consid- 
 ered the flame to be a kind of animal that 
 attached itself to the wood, and fed upon 
 it. Some who approached too near, being 
 scorched, communicated their terror to the 
 rest, who durst only look upon it at a dis- 
 tance. They were afraid, they said, that 
 the terrible animal would bite them, or 
 wound them with its violent breathmg. 
 They speedily learned to use fire with as 
 much address as Europeans. Few histor- 
 ical facts, therefore, are less doubtful than 
 
IMPROVVISATOttl. 
 
 809 
 
 osophers nf all 
 solved it within 
 iceived it ; and 
 id an nnswer in 
 >posed by Ber- 
 ivhich Leibnitz 
 don to twelve 
 months origin- 
 
 aao, John New- 
 ceeded to the 
 1732 they were 
 Esq., in whose 
 The house was 
 rble tablet fixed 
 was born, with 
 
 y hid In n!ght ; 
 and all vraa light.' 
 
 "IREPLACE. 
 
 history of the 
 e may be said 
 nmence in the 
 ges; for it ex- 
 back to a time 
 man was unac- 
 ed with tLe ex- 
 B of f.re. The 
 nations refer to 
 was unknown, 
 ignorance have 
 atively modern 
 fisited the Ma- 
 atives believed 
 ' people in the 
 out everything 
 ssaries, and in 
 leveral of their 
 at first consid- 
 
 of animal that 
 , and fed upon 
 too near, bning 
 eir terror to the 
 pon it at a dis- 
 they said, that 
 
 bite them, or 
 lent breath'ng. 
 se fire with as 
 . Few hisior- 
 s doubtful than 
 
 that man was once without means of ar 
 tificial heat. A Phcenician tradition at 
 tribuied its discovery to a hunter observ 
 ing a conflasration that had been rxcited 
 in a forest by the attrition of some trees 
 during a storm. Another tradition varies 
 the account: in the winter season, Vulcan 
 the king, coming to a tree on the moun- 
 tains that had been fired by a ll>unJ"- 
 bolt, was cheered by its heat, and adding 
 more wood to preserve it, he invited his 
 companions to share in his pleasure, and 
 thereupon claimed to be the inventor of 
 flame Fire once discovered, the prime- 
 val savages, though at first alarmed, fv id- 
 ually felt its blessed influence, and .i is 
 thus that tradition gives us an account ot 
 the earliest fireside, for around the embers 
 of the hurnini; trees men first learned to 
 herd "and as the intcipcourse continued 
 under the bond of the common en.oyment, 
 the incoherent sounds by which ney ex- 
 pressed their emotions were by degrees 
 rouL'hly cast into the elements of speech ; 
 thus the discovery of fire gave rise to the 
 first social meeting of mankind, to the tor- 
 n.alion of language, to their ultimate union, 
 and to all the wonders of subsequent civ- 
 ilization." The Chinese historians attrib- 
 ute the earliest power of producing fare 
 at will, by the friction of two pieces of 
 dried wood, to Souigine, one of their tirst 
 kings. This power once known, «..he irio- 
 madic races in all countries ever availed 
 thempelves of it ; though a fire inade ot 
 dried wood or grass in the open air, or in 
 a rude tent, was their sole provision 
 against cold for many ages. 
 
 Increased intelligence induced mankind 
 to seek for greater warmth under substantial 
 cover, and the first houses they took to 
 were 'ready built, being chiefly caves, in 
 the middle of these they made fires, in 
 spite of the smoke, for which there was 
 no other outlet than the hole by which the 
 inhabitants came in and out. The same 
 rude method was continued even when 
 men learnt to build houses, and to congre- 
 gate in cities, only they made a hole in 
 The roof to .et the smoke out exactly like 
 the Laplanders and some of the Irish at 
 the present day. 
 
 During the last few years, public atten- 
 tion has been laudably directed to the de- 
 fective means which still exist for warm- 
 
 ing and ventilating houses. Although we 
 have arrived at a high state of civilization 
 in some resjiects, yet the method still in 
 use for producing an artificial climate in 
 modern habitations, is perhaps more prim- 
 itive and defective than any of our domes- 
 tic contrivances. 
 
 IMPROVVISATORl. 
 
 N all parts of Italy, and 
 more particulr:ly in the 
 Tuscan province, there 
 has prevailed from titne 
 immemorial a peculiar 
 and highly interesting 
 exhibition of intellectual 
 power, the delivery of 
 extempore poems, by a 
 class of persons called 
 in the language of the country the improv- 
 visatori. Something of the same kind may 
 be found in other parts of the world but 
 nowhere so fully developed. In Portugal 
 the peasants may still be heard in the 
 summer evenings singing improvvisatized 
 songs tothe accompanimentof their guitars, 
 but thfeir strains are of a very humble un- 
 ambitious character. 
 
 Through Tuscany, the custom of reci- 
 ting verses has for ages been the constant 
 and most favorite amusement of villagers 
 and country inhabitants. At some times 
 the subject is a trial of wit between two 
 peasants; on other occasions a lover ad- 
 dresses his mistress in a poetical oration, 
 expressing his passion by such images as 
 his^ uncultivated fancy «"gg««»»';"^^^J; 
 deavoring to amuse and engage her by he 
 liveliest sallies of humor. These^"^^^; 
 tions, in which the eclogues of Theocntus 
 are realized, are delivered m a tone of 
 voice between speaking and singing, and 
 are accompanied with the constant motion 
 of one hand, as if to measure the time and 
 regulate the harmony; but they have an 
 additional charm from the simplicity of 
 ' the ountry dialect, which abounds with 
 phrases highly natural and appropriate 
 fhough incompatible with the precision of 
 
 ^'S'^moTe'eSent of the Italian im- 
 provvisatori have been, of course, general- 
 
I I 
 
 I'l' 
 
 / il 
 
 FAL8EH00D. 
 
 ly found among the higher and better edu- 
 cated classes. The most flourishing pe- 
 riod of the art is considered to have been 
 during the pontificate of Leo X., who not 
 only encouraged its professors, but de- 
 hghted in occasionally joining them in 
 their exercises of skill. The ambition of 
 the improvvisalori at that time was to ex- 
 hibit their powers in Latin verse. Andrea 
 Marone eclipsed all competitors in this 
 way. His recitals were accompanied by 
 the music of his viol, and as he proceeded j 
 he seemed continually to improve in facili- 
 ty, elegance, enthusiasm, and invention. 
 The fire of his eyes, the expression of his 
 countenance, the rising of hia veins, all 
 bespoke the emotions with which he was 
 agitated, and kept his hearers in suspense 
 and astonishment. 
 
 Perhaps the extraordinary faculties pos- 
 sessed by the improvvisatori were never 
 more strikingly evidenced than in the ex- 
 hibitions of Signer Sgricci, who died two 
 or th 36 years since. He not only recited 
 poems of a decidedly superior character 
 on the impulse of the moment, but actually 
 before the eyes of an audience, on re- 
 ceiving a subject (and what that would * 
 he could not possibly have known befor^ 
 hand), framed the dramatis persona of a 
 play, the plot, the contrasts of character, 
 and flow of story ; then proceeded, act by 
 act, and scene by scene, to pour forth the 
 unpremeditated eff'usions of a rich fancy 
 and warm imagination, and in short crea- 
 ted a play, an entire five-act drama,, in 
 the mere time required for its utterance ! 
 
 Among the more curious of such ex- 
 hibitions Mr. Rose speaks of seeing a man 
 to whom three subjects for sonnets were 
 proposed : one of which was Noah issuing 
 from the Ark ; another, the death of Cae- 
 sar ; the third, the wedding of Pantaloon. 
 These were to be declaimed interlacedly ; 
 that is, a piece of Noah, then a piece of 
 Cffisar, and then a piece of Pantaloon : 
 returning after that for another piece of 
 Noah, and so on. Nor were these diffi- 
 culties enough ; he was also to introduce 
 a partieular verse specified by one of the 
 audiences at a particular place in each 
 wnnet. He accomplished this task in ten 
 
 minutes. , 
 
 The difi"erent writers who have spoken 
 of this subject account for the apparently 
 
 52 
 
 marvellous powers of the improvvisatori 
 by the exceeding facility of the langimge, 
 the comparative laxity of its poetical rules, 
 and the mechanical skill of introducing 
 similes and thoughts previously prepared. 
 The first two points must undoubtedly 
 greatly decrease the vlifiiculty of making 
 extempore verses ; the last, we think, not 
 only inadequate for the object proposed, 
 but to be altogether a mistake. The 
 character of the compositions produced is 
 not of the patchwork kind here indicated. 
 The truth lies deeper : the exceeding 
 i vividness of mind that all must acknowl- 
 edge to be required after any or every 
 preparation, to carry along a dramatic fa- 
 ble through five acts, and by its means 
 command the sympathies and admiration 
 of an audience, must be sufficient in itself, 
 without such preparation as has been sup- 
 posed, and which is all that the circum- 
 stances allow. In one word, the improv- 
 visatori are really inspired poets ; general- 
 ly perhaps of weak, but always of ready 
 and most exc'table powers, whose emo- 
 tion, being genuine and poetically ex- 
 pressed, naturally induces a corresponding 
 tate of feeling in their auditors. The 
 actice is now, we believe, on the de- 
 cline ; the more the pity, unless some- 
 thing better takes its place in the hearts 
 and minds of the people who have so long 
 cherished it, and enjoyed by its means so 
 many a harmless and happy hour. 
 
 FALSEHOOD. 
 
 LL careful stu- 
 dents of human 
 nature must have 
 remarked the in- 
 difi'erence with 
 which the major- 
 ity of mankind 
 », „. ,. - y are apt to regard 
 r^ eventhe most im- 
 
 portant truths, when addressed to them in 
 abstract or general terms. We hold the 
 pulpit in sincere respect.and concur cheer- 
 fully in the eulogy which the gentle and 
 amiable Cowper has passed upon it. Still, 
 with all deference to the many good and 
 
812 
 
 FALSEHOOD. 
 
 
 gifteil men who fill it, it is possihle that, 
 as nn instrument of doing K'^"''> '' might, 
 like most others, be somewhat improved. 
 We tliinit, for example, that, in the de- 
 lineation of particular virtues or vices, 
 there might be, with advantage, a little 
 more going into detail— a condescending 
 upon the precise shapes and phases under 
 which these may be found in every-day 
 life. The great majority of men feel com- 
 paratively at ease when they hear this and 
 the other attribuleof evil spoken of in vague 
 and indefinite terms. Speakers of the 
 class alluded to, however well-meaning, 
 do, we fear, far les? good than they may 
 suppose. Unless there be some specialty 
 of application, some effort to present a 
 life-like portrait of the evil assailed, it is 
 very far from being unlikely, that, in the 
 audience, not a few may be committing 
 the very sin, even while the preacher is 
 exposing it. He may be denouncing 
 avarice, while, in yon nook, the avaricious 
 man is telling over his gold, and laying 
 fresh schemes of aggrandizement. He 
 may be denouncing malignity ; but the 
 malign, even while the tones are falling 
 on their ears, are plotting new scandals 
 to propagate as soon as they have crossed 
 the church-door. He may inveigh against 
 envy ; but the eye of the envious is mean- 
 while fixed on some part of the dress, or 
 property, or good fortune of their neighbor 
 in the next pew. 
 
 But, without saying more about the pul- 
 pit — and where there is so much to praise 
 we are loath even to insinuate defect or 
 blame — we hope the pages of this maga- 
 zine will not be considered as trench- 
 ing upon its sacred prerogativijs should 
 they occasionally deal out a few kindly 
 hints respecting prevailing vices, or those 
 moral graces so essential to our welfare 
 and happiness. To aid in the smallest 
 degree in correcting the faults of mankind, 
 cr strengthening their virtues, is no mean 
 honor ; and perhaps we may do some 
 little good in this way, by an article, now 
 and then, like that we propose at present 
 to write, about one vice too prevalent, we 
 grieve to say, in every circle of society — 
 we mean falsifying. 
 
 The forms in which this vice may be 
 met with are more numerous than perhaps 
 most people imagine. There are falsifiers 
 
 — for we drop the harsher and more vulgar 
 term — so young that they can with diffi- 
 culty lisp the syllables in which they vend 
 their untruths. There are others so old 
 that their tongues almost deny them ulter- 
 anco when they propagate their slanders. 
 There are others so fair, that, when one 
 hears them circulating their calumnies, he 
 can not help recalling a certain proverb 
 about a " jewel of gold in a swine's snout." 
 The beggar tells a tissue of falsehoods 
 when craving alms at your door ; and some 
 would not care to say that courtier and 
 falsifier are all but convertible terms. In 
 point of fact, it is not easy to tell, even 
 when we would — to borrow the legal 
 phrase — the truth, the whole truth, and 
 nothing but the truth. The statement, 
 without suppression or exaggeration, with- 
 out a shade to suit the views of him who 
 utters it, is not, kind reader, a commodity 
 you are every day meeting with. The 
 motives to falsehood are numeroihs ; and 
 the forms in which this vice may l)e found 
 among men are consequently so too. 
 There is one whom, in the absence of a 
 better term, we may call the silent falsifier. 
 There may be more wicked ones than he, 
 but assuredly there is none meaner : he is 
 an ungallant arid ungenerous soul ; he has 
 a paltry, cringing heart in his bosom ; 
 there is nothing noble and magnanimous 
 about him ; he is deficient in all great 
 qualities ; he is not a brother to his race. 
 Fie on him ! rather than provoke the 
 frown of some one whose favor might be 
 of service to him, the wretch will hear, 
 without defending them, his old father 
 defamed, or shame cast on the gray hairs 
 of her who bore him. Your mute falsifiers 
 do a world of mischief in their own petty 
 way. They hear your character assailed ; 
 circumstances stated to your disadvantage, 
 which they well know to be an utter per- 
 version of the truth ; impressions convey- 
 ed to one cr more listeners which they 
 are quite aware are both false and injuri- 
 ous : a word from them might silence the 
 detractor ; but no ; they are either glad 
 to hear you defamed, or it is their interest 
 that your reputation should be suspected, 
 or they tremble to incur the displeasure 
 of the party traducing you, and they are 
 as quiet, as immoveably taciturn, as if they 
 had been born dumb. Who says that 
 
FALSKHOOD. 
 
 813 
 
 ?r and more viilgnr 
 ley Clin with difH- 
 n which ihey vend 
 are others so old 
 t deny them ntter- 
 ite their slanders. 
 ir, that, when one 
 lieir calumnies, he 
 a certain proverb 
 1 n swine's snout." 
 sue of falsehoods 
 iir door ; and snnie 
 
 that courtier and 
 erlihle terins. In 
 easy to tell, even 
 jorrow the legal 
 whole truth, and 
 The statement, 
 xaggeration, with- 
 v\e,v/9 of him who 
 ider, a commodity 
 eting with. The 
 e numeroiw ; and 
 vice may l)e found 
 equently so too. 
 the absence of a 
 the silent falsifier. 
 ;ked ones than he, 
 one meaner : he is 
 irous soul ; he has 
 rt in his bosom ; 
 and magnanimous 
 :ient in all great 
 rothcr to his race. I 
 than provoke the 
 »se favor might be 
 wretch will hear, 
 m, his old father 
 
 on the gray hairs 
 four mute falsifiers 
 in their own petty 
 character assailed ; 
 your disadvantage, 
 to be an utter per- 
 ipressions convey- 
 eners which they 
 h false and injuri- 
 1 might silence the 
 y are either glad 
 
 it is their interest 
 >uld be suspected, 
 ur the displeasure 
 you, and they are 
 taciturn, as if they 
 Who says that 
 
 these men are not falsifiers? Who refuses 
 our right to class them with the vile herd 
 of slanderers ? It is a nasty heresy that 
 a man may surely hold his tongue if he 
 pleases. Proverbially, silence and assent 
 are the same thing. There are times 
 when not to speak out in defence of o.ir 
 opinions, is to prove recreant to them ; 
 and so, too, there are times when not to 
 speak out in defence of our friend is foully 
 and ignobly to slander hitu — to rob him 
 of that good name, compared with which, 
 Shakspere truly says, a man's purse is 
 but trash. Your silent falsifiers go further 
 at ti(nes. There are many ways in which 
 they evince how willing they are to 
 wound, though afraid to strike. Heaven 
 save us from the men who shake the 
 head, shrug the shoulders, give the piteous 
 whine, or put on the rueful aspect — all of 
 which, when the fabrication is going 
 round, are but different ways of saying, 
 \t IS very bad, and but ton true ! 
 
 The vain falsifiers form a numerous 
 class. It is easier to keep one's temper 
 serene when speaking of this class ; for, 
 except when their own claims happen to 
 come into competition with those of others 
 — which, however, is frequently the case 
 — they are not addicted to detraction. 
 The truth is, they are rather fond of the 
 idea that all the world are rich, and re- 
 spectable, and happy, were it for no other 
 reason than this, that they feel it rather 
 creditable to themselves that they belong 
 to so excellent a community. As for 
 traducing their neighoors, it" you take care 
 not to push the claims of the latter too 
 eagerly, so as to bring them into close 
 rivalry with their own, ihey will scarcely 
 say a bad word against any one, finding 
 that to be a sufficiently fertile topic on 
 which Lord Byron has shrewdly remark- 
 ed, most men are fluent, none agreeable 
 — we mean, self. The vain, taken as a 
 class at least, have too much to say about 
 themselves to have leisure for discussing 
 the character of their acquaintances ; but 
 their besetting sin leads to falsehood of 
 another kind. Excessive vanity and the 
 truth-telling habit can scarcely be found 
 in the same individual. Every conceited 
 person is, we may almost say, of necessity 
 a falsifier. His ridiculous fictions are 
 juu the fuel to bis vain imaginations ; his 
 
 lies, if we may so express ourselves, are 
 so many imps going about seeking what 
 they can devour as provender to his vora- 
 cious vanity. There are few who are not 
 in some degree censurable on this score. 
 Whose conscience does not accuse him 
 with having occasionally perverted the 
 truth, that he might be thought richer, 
 more talented, or more i)enevolent, than 
 he really is ? Hut while most men err 
 thus in some measure, there are not a few 
 I who go to great extremes. Their vanity 
 so beguiles them into dissimulation and 
 falsehood that they come to lose all sense 
 of the distinction between what is truth 
 and what is not. Listen to them in the 
 social circle. How inflated their tone ! 
 j How extravagant their statements ! How 
 ; they deal in superlatives ! What play- 
 things they make of themselves to the 
 discerning and quizzical ! Do they talk 
 of their strength ? you would fancy they 
 could heave mountains. Of their swift- 
 ness of foot? they could vie with the 
 mountain roe. Of their talents ? you feel 
 that you have the honor to sit side by side 
 with another Milton or another Locke. 
 Of their wealth f they are a match for the 
 Rothschilds. Of their cjnnexions ? who 
 ever heard of such prosperous mortals ? 
 They are all people of fashion and fortune 
 — all above dependence — all shining in 
 the upper circles — their carriage just left 
 the door as you entered — of course you 
 have heard of the immense accession to 
 their income they got t'other day ! 
 
 Addison somewhere remarks, that if 
 there be anything which makes human 
 nature appear ridiculous to beings of su- 
 perior faculties, it must be pride, well 
 aware as ihey are of the vanity of those 
 little supernumerary advantages on which 
 men plume themselves. But one does 
 not need to be an angel to be astonished 
 and diverted at the silly self-conceit, so 
 fruitful in falsehood, which has been de- 
 scribed. The violation of trutii, too, in 
 this instance, is all the worse that it panders 
 to another vice, namely, extravagant self- 
 appreciation. It i- •- wicked daughter 
 feeding a bad mothi r 
 
 The avaricious faU if crs are aiiMhing 
 but few in number. It seeir..<? they were 
 not unknown in the days of Si-iianon. The 
 wise man sketches them thua, with his 
 
 '•/■;??, 
 
814 
 
 TALSEHOOD. 
 
 i 
 
 graphic pen : " It is naught, it is naught, 
 saith the buyer ; but when he is gone his 
 way, then he boastelh." They are plenti- 
 ful in our times too. They sacrifice truth 
 at the shrine of worldly aggrandizement ; 
 they tell lies to fill their pockets ; contract 
 heavy guilt, hat, like Whang the miller, 
 they may ha- e the exquisite pleasure of 
 thr.j iting their hands into a heap of gold 
 up lo the elbow. There were, iti the 
 time of the ling we have nanfed, the sel- 
 ler, who, wh. D disposing of his goods, 
 greatly overpraih^d them , nh>] the pur- 
 chaser, who, i<^ ^;t i them a: •«. lower price, 
 did exactly tho reverse. Thus falsehood 
 went on, out in the market, an I on oth 
 sides if the counter — apd so ii lioes fuill. | 
 Oh ! inil the maxim is current in the v-trh!, 
 that a man wont thrive now-a days if ht 
 be sternly honest anl unswerving in his 
 iV, ;uvd lo tnr! Now, there is no use in 
 m:>.kHig the wo 'Id worse than it is. Rich 
 ! ravci there are, no doubt : they are the 
 eiicejiiion, not the rule, however ; and 
 were thcTo a wi.idow in their bosoms, and 
 were you, gentle reader, allowed to look 
 through it, you would pity them, and call 
 them " poor indeed." The shortest and 
 easiest road to wealth is clearly that point- 
 ed out by honesty and worth. Is there a 
 merchant in your community who is known 
 to give his candid opinion of the quality 
 of his goods — known neither to over-praise 
 nor over-charge — who gives the same ar- 
 ticle at the same price to the injudicious 
 and skilful alike ? Be sure, other things 
 being equal, that man is a thriving man ; 
 his shop is frequented by all who wish to 
 deal fairly ; his reputation is his bank. 
 And so is it in every department of life. 
 There is, if men would believe it, no need 
 for lying ; the arrangements of Providence 
 are not such, that if a man be truthful and 
 honest he must needs starve, and that the 
 deepest rogue will infallibly be the most 
 prosperous. 
 
 But of all kinds of falsifiers the malicious 
 is the most detestable. A poet of our own 
 day has defcigned slander the " foulest 
 whelp of »m." A malicious falsifier — 
 that is, one who invents and propagates 
 lies, with the view of injuring the peace, 
 pr<?°;'(irity, or honor of another — is almot. 
 tht; iiggest reproach to his species we 
 kr.o': iSf. He looks with a jaundice:! ■;}<; 
 
 on all around him ; his weal is the wo of 
 others ; he " sleeps not except he htis 
 done mischief;" he lives upon the calami- 
 ties and niiifiirtunes of mankind ; wortli, 
 fame, lal'snt, if pi/ssessed by those aroinid 
 hiin,0!i!y serve 'o provoko his resenlmeni 
 towarl ihem, and call fuitl* his slanders 
 hi- is a mma\ a.'ssassii' ; a ul, if characit^i 
 b;i more fi?"crf d ''an liP , he malign tradu 
 cer of it is every way i.s ioathsome a be- 
 ing ;,^ he who sheds the l.lood of the in- 
 noceni. We stop not to enlarge this pic- 
 ture. It is a sickening thing to investigate 
 deformity. The poet we have just quoted 
 has said with truth and power : — 
 
 " The in'ir. 
 In whom tliisi ipirit cnte.'od was uih'.o-ip ; 
 His wiii^oc was iict on l;re of licll j hin heart 
 Was i.litcli as death." 
 
 Tiiere are other forms of this prevailing 
 evil on which we do not dwell at present 
 Those we have sketched are perhaps th« 
 most common. May we give a kindly 
 hint or two to those who happen to glance 
 at this page ? Have a passionate attach- 
 ment to the truth. Never cross its sacred 
 'ine to advance your interests, gratify youi 
 •nnity, or injure the man you love least 
 Check, in all over whom you have in- 
 lluonce, the slightest symptom of the vice 
 in question. The habitual faltiifiei will 
 not escape detection even in this hie, and, 
 when detected, he will be held in univer- 
 sal contempt. Shun paltry equivocation 
 on the one hand, and inflated exaggeration 
 on the other. Forget not that it is the in- 
 tention to deceive that makes the lie, and 
 not the mere phraseology in which it may 
 be couched. The truth-ielling habit gives 
 to one so sunny a bosom, and earns for 
 him, eventually, so fair a reputation, that, 
 irrespective of higher motives, it is well 
 worth being cultivated. Crabbe's "noble 
 peasant," Isaac Ashford, was a model in 
 this respect : — 
 
 " Of no man's presence Isaac felt afraid, 
 At no mail's quentiun Isaac looked dismayed : 
 Shame knew him not ; he dreaded no disgrace ; 
 Truth, simple truth, was written on his face." 
 
 There are two thousand five hundred 
 I r,;--;n species of fishes ; forty-four thou- 
 aanJ of insects; seven hundred of reptiles ; 
 four thousand of birds ; and five thousand 
 of mamiierous animals. 
 
m 
 
 PROQBESg OP AFUICAN DISCOVERY. 
 
 815 
 
 weal 18 the wo of 
 
 except lie hiis 
 
 upon the calaiiii- 
 
 mankinil ; worth, 
 
 I by those around 
 
 Hi his reseiifment 
 
 nh his slanders 
 
 a k1, if characlei 
 
 he malign trailu 
 
 i loathsome a be- 
 
 blood of the in- 
 
 enlarge this pic- 
 
 ling to investigate 
 
 ! hive just quoted 
 
 jower : — 
 
 " The m'ir, 
 •ivan uni'.onc ; 
 if licll ; hill heart 
 
 of this prevailing | 
 dwell at present 
 I are perhaps th« ! 
 we give a kindl)i 
 happen to glance 
 )aBsiQnate attach- 
 ir cross its sacred 
 rests, gratify youi 
 n you love least 
 )m you have in- 
 nptom of the vice 
 tual falbifiei will 
 n in this lite, and, 
 30 held in univer- 
 iltry equivocation 
 ated exaggeration 
 t that it is the in- 
 takes the lie, and 
 Y in which it may 
 telling habit gives 
 Ti, and earns for 
 a reputation, that, 
 lotives, it is well 
 Crabbe's "noble 
 , was a model in 
 
 ac felt arratd, 
 10 looked dismayed ; 
 '. dreaded uo disgrace ; 
 written on his faue." 
 
 and five hundred 
 
 ; forty-four thou- 
 
 undred of reptiles ; 
 
 and five thousand 
 
 /■; 
 
 h^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 PROGRESS OF AFRICAN DISCOVERY. 
 
 N ihctimeof HerodotuH, 
 and lo'ig afterward, the 
 general opinion was that 
 Africa did not extend so 
 far south as the cciuato- 
 rial line. There exist- 
 ed, however, a tradition 
 that Africa had been 
 circumnavigated by the 
 Phoenicians about six 
 centuries before the Christian era ; but if 
 the southern promontory of Africa had 
 really been reached, it is diiriciilt to con- 
 ceive how so erroneous an impression 
 could have prevailed as to the extent of 
 the continent. It is. th( -cfore, most i)rob- 
 ablc that such a voyage had never suc- 
 ceeded ; and, indeed, the circumstances 
 under which it was prosecuted, according 
 to the accounts which have come down to 
 us, only add an additional feature of im- 
 probability to the story. Turning to 
 modern times, we find, at the commence- 
 ment of the fifteenth century, that Euro- 
 peans were only acquainted with that por- 
 tion of the western coast of Africa which 
 extends from the straits of Gibraltar to 
 Cape Nun, a line of coast not exceeding 
 six hundred miles in lengtii. The Portu- 
 guese had the honor of extending this 
 limited acquaintance with the outline of 
 the African continent. Their zeal for dis- 
 covery in this direction became truly a 
 national passion, and the sovereigns and 
 princes of Portugal prosecuted this object 
 with singidar enthusiasm. By the year 
 1471 the Portuguese navigators had ad 
 
 vanced 2^'^ south of the line. In 1484, 
 Diego Cam reached 22'^ south latitude. 
 The next navigator, Bartholomew Diaz, 
 was commanded to pursue his course south- 
 ward until he should reach the extremity 
 of Africa, and to him belongs the honor 
 of discovering the Cape of Good Hope, 
 the name given to it at the lime by the 
 king of Portugal, though Diaz had named 
 it Cabo Tormentoso (the Cape of Tem- 
 pests). The Cape of Good Hope was at 
 first frequently called the -Lion of the Sea, 
 and also the Head of Africa. In 1497, 
 Vasco de Gama set forth with the inten- 
 tion of reaching India by sailing round 
 the Cape of Good Hope. After doubling 
 
 the cape, he pursued his course along the 
 eastern coast of Africa, and then sireiched 
 across the ocean to India. The Portu- 
 guese had now ascertained the general 
 outline of Africa, and the position of many .> 
 oflheprincipalriversandh. adlands. With 
 the exception of a portion of the coast from 
 the straits of Bab el Mandeb to Mukdee- 
 sha, situated in 3^ north latitude, the whole 
 of the coast had been traced by the Portu- 
 guese, and their zeal and enthusiasm, 
 which had at one period been treated with 
 ridicule, were at length triumphantly re- 
 warded, about four years before Columbus 
 had achieved his great discovery, which, 
 with that of Vasco de Gama, amply repaid 
 a century of speculative enterprise. 'I'liis 
 inleresling combination of events had a 
 sensible cfTect upon the general mind of 
 Europe. The Portuguese .soon formed 
 seiliements in Africa, and began to acquire 
 a knowledge of the interior of the country. 
 They vvere followed by the French, and 
 afterward by the English and the Dutch. 
 It is chiefly within the last fifty years 
 that discoveries in the interior of Africa 
 have been perseveringly and systematical- 
 ly prosecuted. In 1788 a society was 
 established in London with the design of 
 encouraging men of enterprise to explore 
 the African continent. John Ledyard, an 
 American, was the first person selected 
 by the African association for this task, 
 and he set out in 1788 with the intention 
 of traversing the widest part of the con- 
 tinent from east to west, in the supposed 
 latitude of the river Niger. Unfortunately 
 he was seized at Cairo with a fever, of 
 which he died. He possessed few scien- 
 tific acquirements; but his vigor and pow- 
 ers of endurance, mental and bodily, his 
 indifference to pain, hardship, and fatigue, 
 would have rendered him an admirable 
 geographical pioneer. " I have known," ^ 
 he said, shortly before leaving England i 
 for the last time, " hunger and nakedness 
 to the utmost extremity of human suffer- 
 ing ; I have known what it is to have 
 food given as charity to a madman, and 
 have at times been obliged to shelter my- 
 self under the miseries of that character 
 to avoid a heavier calamity. My distres- 
 ses have been greater than I have ever 
 owned, or ever will own, to any man. 
 Such evils are terrible to bear, but they 
 
 ■I- 
 

 ^. 
 
 810 
 
 PROQRESg OF AFRICAN DISCOVERY. 
 
 ■««l 
 
 never yet bad the power to liirn mo from 
 my ptirpose." Such was the imlomilahle 
 cuTny of this man, the first of a long hst 
 of victims in the cause of African dis- 
 covery. Mr. Lucas, wlio was ilespatched 
 by ilu! association to supply tiie place of 
 Ledyard, was compelled to return home 
 in consequence of several of the countries 
 throu"h which he would have to pass be- 
 ing engaged in hostilities. In 1790, Major 
 lloughlon, an ollicer who was acquainted 
 witluhe customs of the Moors and Ne- 
 groes, proceeded to Africa under the 
 auspices of the association, aid had made 
 consider.able progressin the interior, when, 
 after having been treacherously plundered 
 and left in the desert, where he endured 
 severe privations, he reached Jarra, and 
 died there in September, 1791, it being 
 strongly suspected that he was murdered. 
 The next individual on whom the associ- 
 ation fixed was Mungo Park, who pro- 
 ceeded to the river Gambia in 1795, and 
 thence set out into the interior. The 
 great object accomplished during his jour- 
 ney was that of successfully exploring the 
 banks of the Niger, which had previously 
 been considered identical with the river 
 Senegal. In 1801, Park set out upon his 
 second journey, which was unJerlakcn at 
 the expense of the government. The 
 plan of former travellers had been to ac- 
 company the caravans from one part of 
 the country to another ; but in this ex- 
 pedition Park required a party of thirty- 
 six Europeans, six of whom were to be 
 seamen and the remainder soldiers, it be- 
 ing his intention, on reaching the Niger, 
 to build two vessels, and to follow with 
 his party the course of the river. If the 
 Congo and the Niger were the same 
 stream, as was then supposed, he antici- 
 pated little difficulty in his enterprise ; 
 but if, as was also maintained, the Niger 
 terminated in swamps and morasses, many 
 hardships and dangers were expected in 
 their subsequent progress. Park at length 
 reached the Niger, accompanied only by 
 seven of his party, all of whom weTe m 
 a State of great weakness from the effects 
 of the climate. They built one vessel, 
 and on the 17th of November, 1805, were 
 ready to embark on the river, previous to 
 which Park sent despatches to England. 
 His party was nov reduced to five, his 
 
 brother-inlaw having died a few days be- 
 fore. Park's spirit, however, remained 
 undaunted. "Though all the Europeiins 
 who arc with me should die," saiil he, in 
 his last letters to England, " and though I 
 myself were half dead, I would still p.-r- 
 sovero ; and if 1 could not succeed in ihi- 
 object of mv journey, 1 wotild nl least die 
 in the Niger." He embarked, therefore, 
 with the mtention of sailing down the 
 river to its mouth, wherever that might 
 be ; but after passing Timhuctoo and sev- 
 eral other cities, he was killed in the Ni- 
 ger, at a place called Boussa, a short dis- 
 tance below Yaoiiri. No part of his 
 journal after he left Sansanding has ever 
 been recovered. 
 
 In 1797 the African association had 
 engaged Mr. Hornemann, a German, who 
 left Cairo in September, 1798, with the 
 intention of carrying into effect the objects 
 of the association by proceeding as far 
 southward and westvyard as he could get. 
 In his last despatches he expressed him- 
 self confident in being able to succeed in 
 reaching a greater distance into the in- 
 terior than any other European traveller ; 
 but after reaching Bornou,nocertainintellJ- 
 j gence was ever afterward heard concerning 
 j him. Mr. Hornemann learned many par- 
 ticulars which had not before been known 
 in Europe respecting the countries to the 
 east of Timbuctoo. Mr. Nicholls, who 
 was next engaged, arrived in the gulf of 
 Benin in November, 1804, and died soon 
 afterward of the fever of the country. An- 
 oti ei German, Bcentzcn, was next sent to 
 Africa. He had bestowed extraordinary 
 pains in making himself acquainted with 
 the prevailing language, and, throwing off 
 his costume, proceeded in the character 
 of a Mussulman, but unhappily was mur- 
 dered by his guides on the way to Soudan. 
 The last traveller sent out by the associa- 
 tion was Burckhardl, a Swiss. He spent 
 several years in acquiring a knowledge of 
 the language and customs of the people 
 whom he intended to visit, and, like Mr. 
 Ba^ntzen, assumed the characteristics of 
 a Mussulman. He died at Cairo in 1817, 
 his travels having been chiefiy confined to 
 the Abyssinian countries. 
 
 In 1816 an expedition was sent out by 
 
 the government, under the command of 
 
 , Captain Tuckey, to the river Congo, under 
 
1i 
 
% 
 
 ':i' 
 
 ir 
 
 m 
 
 is! 
 
 it* 
 
 818 
 
 PROGRESS OF AFRICAN DISCOVERY. 
 
 tho idea, in which Park 1 d coincided, 
 that it and the Niger were tin same river. 
 Captain Tuckey ascended the Congo for 
 abou' '.280 miles. Atthf same time. Major 
 Pctlilie,and,afterhi8deatii, Captain Camp- 
 bell r^'t ' i' '"roni the mouth of theriicr 
 Sei.^s;,!! slar !■( .^nkundy. In 1^17, Mr. 
 Tl./Ailith <■ jild.ed tho connirics adjoining 
 Cape Coast Caatle. In 1820, Mr, Jark- 
 'on communicated an interesting account 
 of the terrilorifc=<of Timbuctooand Houssn, 
 from dftiiils which he had collected from 
 a Mussulman merchant. In 1819, and in 
 1821, tho expeditions of 'Vfox v^- Ritchie 
 and Lyon, and of 'i;joi- Lai.ig, ahowo! 
 the 8tron<,'and general interest on the sub- 
 ject of African geography. In 1822, the 
 important expedition under Major Denham 
 and Lieut. Clapperton set forth. After 
 crossing the desert, the travellers reach- 
 ed the great inland sea or lake called the 
 Tchad, the coasts of which lo the west 
 and south were examined by Major Den- 
 ham. This lake, from 400 to 600 feet 
 above the level of the sea, is one of the 
 most remarkable features in the physical 
 geography of Africa. Lieut. Clapperton, 
 in tho meantime, prot eded through tho 
 kingdom of Borm a ami the country of the 
 FellatJihs to Sockatoo, situated on a stream 
 supposed to run into the Nitrir. A groat 
 mass oi' information respecting the coun- 
 tries eastward of Timbuc was the result 
 of his expedition, Soou after his return 
 to Englanc', Clapperton was sent out by 
 the government to conduct a new expedi- 
 tion, and was directed to proceed to the 
 scene of his lormcr adventures. Having 
 reached the Niger at P issa, where Park 
 w killed, he pass' through .arious 
 coi .OS, and reach, i .Sockatoo, where 
 he died; and Lai ler, his friend and ser- 
 vant, commenced his return lo England 
 with r 1; .perton's jourr:ils and pap is. 
 Major Laiiig, meanwhile, nad visited Tim- 
 buctoo, and transmitted home nccounts of 
 this famous city, where br spent some 
 weeks ; but on his return he was murder- 
 ed, and his papi hav ver been re- 
 covered. 
 
 Though the kr ^led ff interior .\f- 
 rica now possess( 'ly 'he ivijized world 
 is the progressive acquisition of many en- 
 terprising men, to all of whom we are pro- 
 foundly indebted, it can not be denied that 
 
 the last great discovery hat done more 
 than any other to place the outline of Af- 
 rican geography on a basis of certainty. 
 When to this is a<lded tlic consideration 
 that it opens a maritime ininniunicatiori 
 iti'o tho centre of the continei it may be 
 described as the greatest geogr.ii-hical dis- 
 covery that has been madi- since that of 
 New Holland. 
 
 It is estimated that ■ course of flu 
 Qi'orra is about 2,100 mdes The coun- 
 tries watered by it and its iributarif^s are 
 fertile, and enjoy a climate said lo be much 
 superior to that of many other parts of Af- 
 rica. We take the following aliridged de- 
 scriptions from the journal of John and 
 Richard Lander, who were commission' d 
 by the IJritish govertnnent, to ascertain the 
 course of the Niger, and to follow its chan- 
 nel to its terminaiion wherever it might be. 
 On th< ..'tth of .lune, 1829, guiiig into 
 the maiii stream of the Niger, they foim I 
 it flowing "through a rich and charming 
 country." The channel from being half 
 a mile in breadth, gradually widened to 
 rather better than a mile. " lieaui, ^il, 
 spreading, and spiry trees adorned the 
 country on each side of the river, like a 
 park : CO- , nearly ripe, wa. d over the 
 watci s i.iige ; large open villages appeared 
 every half hour ; and herds of spotte ' 
 cattle were observi I grazing and < njoyiiu 
 the cool of the ',e. The appearanc. 
 
 1 the river, for several miles, was n sess 
 enchanting than its borders : it as 
 
 smooth as lake; canoes laden v i sheep 
 and goats were paddled by women duwn its 
 almost imperceptible current ; swallows 
 and a variety of aquatic birds were sporting 
 over tj glassy surface, which wa orna- 
 mented by a nuinl "■ of pretty little islanda," 
 
 June 25th. Thi iver gradually widened 
 10 two miles, ami continued so as far as 
 the eye could reach. " It looked very 
 much like an artificial canal, the banks 
 having the app. irance of a dwarf wall, 
 with vegetation yond. In ost places 
 the wau r was extremely sti w, but in 
 others it vas deep nough to float a frigate. 
 
 iring the first two hours of the day, the 
 I tiks were lite' iiv covered with hamlets 
 
 ! villages ; fine trees, bending under the 
 w 'it of their dark foii.ii." evcvwhcre 
 relievi i! the eye from the glare of ilu. sun's 
 rays, and, contrasted with the lively ver- 
 
PROGRESS OF AFRICAN DI8C0VEEV. 
 
 819 
 
 has (lono more 
 he outline of Af- 
 nsis of certainty, 
 llic coiisidfrnlion 
 3 (-(iinmiinicution 
 titineii , it may be 
 geogr;i|'liicai dis- 
 1(1' since that of 
 
 I! conrsfi of flit 
 il(i». The coun- 
 ;s tribiiiari('8 are 
 e said to be much 
 other parts of Af- 
 nng ai)ridj,'ed '!(>• 
 Ill of lohn and 
 re cominissioiK d 
 t, to ascertain the 
 ) follow its chaii- 
 rever it niij>ht be. 
 ^29, gtiiiiig into 
 ^^iger, they foun I 
 ;h and charming 
 
 from b! ing half 
 laliy widened to 
 lie. *• Boauii.ul, 
 e.s adorned the 
 the river, like a 
 wa. d over the 
 i^illaj^i^s appeared 
 lerds of spoltf' 
 ing and < ojoyin;.: 
 The appearance 
 liles, was ' ■■•sa 
 lers : it as 
 
 laden w ''h sheep 
 
 women dnwn iis 
 rrent ; swallows 
 •ds wort- sporting 
 vhich wa orna- 
 ttyli leisiaiidB." 
 raduully widened 
 ued .so as far as 
 ' It lo( cd very 
 lanal, tlie banks 
 f a dwarf wail, 
 
 In ost places 
 
 shn w, but in 
 to float a frigate 
 I of the day, the 
 ed with hamlets 
 ending under the 
 igc, evf-vwhcre 
 'lareof tl.c sun's 
 I thp lively ver- 
 
 dure of the liltlP hills nd plains, produced 
 the most pleasing .llect." Afterward the 
 scenery decidedly changed, the banks con- 
 sisting of " black rugged rocks : large 
 sand-banks and islands wore scattered in 
 the river, which diverted it into a variety 
 of little chanuf's." 
 
 June '.?7ih. A range of black rocks run- 
 ning directly across the stream, and the 
 water, finding otdy one narrow passage, 
 rushed through it with great impetuosity. 
 The canoe was lifted by main force into 
 smoother water, and when this reef was 
 passed the riv.r offered no similar imped- 
 iments to its navigation. It now present- 
 ed a noble appearance. Not a single rock 
 or sand-bank was anywhere perceptible, 
 its bordors resumed their beauty, and 
 a strong, refreshing breeze, which had 
 blown duruif,' the whole of the morning, 
 now gave it ' motion of a slightly-agita- 
 ted sea. 'I . day they passed two ver- 
 dant isles of singular beauty, as charming 
 as the fabled gardens of Ilesperia. 
 
 August 4th. At no great distance from 
 this place (Boussa), and within sight of it, 
 all t'le branches of the Niger meet, and 
 forii I beautiful and magnificent body of 
 water, at least seven or eight miles in 
 width. At Bii :ssa, within five miles, the 
 river is only a stone's throw across, and 
 the channel' is of proportionate depth — 
 circumstances which favor the opinion that 
 a portion of its waters is conveyed by sub- 
 terraneous channels from the town of Gar- 
 nicassa to a few miles below Boussa. 
 
 October 4ih. " The banks of the river 
 near Lever, are high, being, according to 
 our estimation, about forty feet above the 
 river, and steep to the water-side. The 
 river itself appeared deep, and free from 
 rocks of any kind ; its direction nearly 
 south. 'Ve ran down the stream verv 
 pleasaiitis for twelve or fourteen mil* , 
 the Nig'-i during the whole distance, 
 rolling ^ri dly along— a noble river, nei- 
 ther obstr ted by islands nor deformed by 
 ro> ks ana ston s. Its width varied from 
 oiu to three niles. Both banks of the 
 river were o rhutig with I ge shady 
 trees." The country seen froi the river 
 app< and o{)en and' well culti ated, and 
 thicklv inhabited. 
 
 Oct ' "T 5th. "Just beu ■ the town of 
 Bajieb lu Nig( spii-adb elf into two 
 
 noble branches of nearly equal width, 
 formed by an island. The country be- 
 yond the banks was very fine." After 
 passing the above island, both !)anks of 
 the river " were embellished with mighty 
 trees and elegant shrubs which were clad 
 in thick and luxuriam ;oliago, some of 
 lively green, and others of darker hues; 
 and little birds were singing merrily 
 among their br tches. Magnificent fes- 
 toons of creep. ig pi its, always green, 
 hung from the tops ol t! lallcit trees, 
 and, drooping to the water ■* edge, formed 
 immense natural grottoes, pleasing and 
 grateful to the oyo." But the travellers 
 remark : " Yet with all its allurements, 
 there is something wanting in an African 
 scene to render it comparable, in inter- 
 est and beauty to an English landscape." 
 They add, that " In Africa, generally 
 speaking, a loneliness, a solemnity, a 
 death-like silence pervades the noblest and 
 most magnificent prospects, which has a 
 tendency to fill the mind with associations 
 of sadness." 
 
 October 16th. The tr "Hers in vain 
 endeavored to effect a lauJini;, but unfor- 
 tunately every village was situated " be- 
 hind large thick morasses and shingly 
 bogs," which it was impossil)le to pene- 
 trate. The width of the river seemed to 
 be two or three miles across, and at other 
 places double that width. The current 
 was running at the rate of three or four 
 miles an hour, and the direction of the 
 stream was nearly east. In the oourse 
 of this day and the following night they 
 had travelled a distance little short of a 
 hundred miles. The character of the 
 scenery completely changed. " The Ni- 
 ger, in many places and for a considerable 
 way, presented a very magnificent appear- 
 ance, and we believe it to have been near- 
 ly eight miles in width." 
 
 her 17th. "The banks now be- 
 ( .igh and beautifully cultivated ; palm- 
 
 treco grew in profusion, and the towns 
 and villages were not more than two or 
 three miles from each other. We ob- 
 served some hundreds of large canoes, 
 with a hut in their m' 'die, passing along 
 the river, some crossing, and re-crossing to 
 the opposite banks, while others were 
 pursuing their course along them. They 
 
 mostly seemed to contain ' imilioa ol 
 

 
 820 
 
 rHOUllESS OF AFUICAN DISCOVERY. 
 
 people ; for while the men wore paildling, 
 the women ami girls were singiru to a 
 guitar with their little delicate ^oicoa, and 
 pruduced a very pretty eflucl." The river 
 was estimated to be from throe to five 
 miles in width. 
 
 October '^Sth. On this day our travel- 
 lers reached the junction of thr Quorra 
 and Tchadda, a view of which is given in 
 our ' graving. " At one, A. M., the direc- 
 tion of the river changed to south-south- 
 west, running between immensely high 
 hills. .\t five o'clock this morning, \\t 
 found ourstlvos nearly opposite a very con- 
 siderable river, entering the Ni^^er from 
 the eastward : it appeared to be three or 
 four miles wide at its mouth, and on the 
 bank wo saw a large town, one part of 
 which faced the river and the other the 
 Quorra. We at first supposed it to be an 
 arm of that river, and running from us, 
 and therefore directed our course for it. 
 We proceeded up it a short distance, but 
 finding the current against us, and that it 
 increase! as we got within its entrance, 
 and our people being tired, we were com- 
 pelled to give up the attempt, and were 
 easily swept back into the Niger. The 
 l)anks Oil both sides ul he Tchadda, as 
 far as we could see up it, were very high, 
 and appeared verdan» ind fertile." In the 
 course of the day they found the bed of the 
 river with a rocky bottom, which caused 
 its surface to ripple exceedingly. 
 
 October 26th. They passed a town 
 situated close to the water's edge, in an 
 elevated situationand on a fine greensward, 
 supposed to be Atta, the appearance of 
 which is described as " unspeakably beau- 
 tiful." Afterward, for thirty miles, not a 
 town or village, or even a single hut, was 
 to be seen. " The whole of this distance 
 our canoe passed smoothly along the 
 Niger, and everything was silent and soli- 
 tary ; no sound could be distinguished 
 save our own voices and the plashing of 
 the paddles with their echoes ; the song 
 of birds was not heard, nor could any 
 animal whatever be seen ; the banks 
 seemed to be entirely deserted, and the 
 magnificent Niger to be slumbering in its 
 own grandeur." 
 
 November 8th. The travellers to day 
 found themselves " on an immense body 
 of water, like a lake, and at the mouth of 
 
 a rery considertblo river flowing to the 
 westward, it being an important branch of 
 the Niger. Aiiotiicr branch also ran 
 hence to the southeast, while our couriw 
 was in a southwesterly direction, on the 
 main body ; the whole forming, in fact, 
 three rivers of considcrahlo miignituile. 
 On Sunday, November 11 1 to their groat 
 joy, they came within the ude-way of the 
 river. Their progress was a good deal 
 interrupted by sand-banks. On the 15ih, 
 they landed, and while at breakfast on 
 shore th* tide ebbed and left their canoes 
 lying in the mud ; and on the 18ih, lliey 
 reached the sea, and went on board an 
 English brig at the mouth of the rivi r. 
 As they approached the sea the banks 
 were so much overflown that the trees ap- 
 peared to be growing out of the water. 
 On the 9th of June, 1 831 , the two brolhirs 
 reached England « ih the intelligence of 
 their discovery. 
 
 In 183!iJ, some ""pirited merchants of 
 Liverpool fitted out two steam-vessels and 
 a transport for the purpose of attempting 
 the ascent of the Quorra to .Sockaloo or 
 Timbuctoo, and to carry on a trade during 
 their voyage. Unfortunately the expedi- 
 tion failed in consequence of the wreck 
 of one of the steamboats. Yet the coun- 
 tries watered by the Niger having been 
 opened by the discovery of the Landers, 
 the perioil probably is not far distant when 
 this hithi rto-neglected portion of the globe 
 may become an extensive field lor com- 
 merce and industry. Mr. Laird, a recent 
 traveller in Africa, says : " The delta of 
 the Niger alone, if cleare ' and cultivated, 
 would support a population, in proportion 
 to its area, far exceeding anything known 
 in Europe." 
 
 Benefits of Adversity. — A smooth 
 sea never made a skilful mariner ; neither 
 does Ul torrnpted prosperity iind success 
 qualify lur usefulness or happiness. The 
 storms of adversity, like the storms of the 
 ocean, arouse the faculties, excite the in- 
 vention, prudence, skill and fortitude of 
 the voyager. The martyrs of ancient 
 times, in bracing their minds to outward 
 calamity, acquired a loftiness of purpose, 
 a moral heroism, worth a life of softness 
 and security. 
 
 '• ' . ' j'^Mg we 
 
"1 
 
 EAUTIiai/AKEB. 
 
 821 
 
 it flowinj? to the 
 iportaiit brnnch »{ 
 branch nho run 
 while our courwi 
 (lirectiun, on the 
 funning, in fnct, 
 rnble iniignitude. 
 4ii , to their grout 
 ic ti<le-way of the 
 was a good deal 
 ts. On the 15lh, 
 at broaki'aHt on 
 1 left thf.'ir canutis 
 in the 18tb, llioy 
 vent on board an 
 lulh of the river. 
 e 8oa the banks 
 that the trees iip- 
 3ut of tlio water. 
 , the two brotlii-rs 
 ho intelligence of 
 
 led morchanls of 
 liteani-vesscls and 
 080 of attempting 
 a to Sockatoo or 
 on a trade during 
 ately the expedi- 
 ice of the wrt-ck 
 i. Yet the conn- 
 iger having been 
 Y of the Landers, 
 >t far distant when 
 ortion of 'he globe 
 CO field lor com- 
 r. Laird, a recent 
 i: "The delta of 
 ed and cultivated, 
 lion, in proportion 
 ; anything known 
 
 BiTY. — A smooth 
 
 mariner ; neither 
 lerity and suctoss 
 happiness. The 
 
 the storms of the 
 as, excite the in- 
 
 and fortitude of 
 rtyrs of ancient 
 ninds to outward 
 iness of purpose, 
 
 a life of softness 
 
 EAIITHQUAKKS. 
 
 HOCKSofearthquakosi 
 have beiMi fidl in New 
 Kii«hind n» early as 
 ICjS— '58— '03, and 
 17a7,andl7&.'i;iheliit. 
 ter, owinn to its vio- 1 
 lenee, «.i4 ciilied the 
 "gri'iiteurilHiuiiku." It 
 crtialed general con- 
 stornation through all Now Englimd. For 
 several days in succession shocks rumb- 
 Uuu noises, and vibrations, rapidly sue- 
 ce.uled each other. A cistern in a di.lil- ^ 
 l,.rv was burst by the agitation oi llio 
 liquor in it; the spindles of the yanes on 
 some of the steeples bent, thiU of !■ aiieuil 
 Hall being broken off. Hricks were 
 thrown from chimneys to the distance of 
 ihirty feet horizontally. The duration of 
 the whole shock is said to have been four 
 minutes. The frost on the ground at the 
 lime is reported to have been five limes 
 greater ihan common. But, what is sur- 
 prising, the barometer and thermometer , 
 liMderwent no alteration at the time '. Dar- , 
 win. in his Journal, speaking of '!'« earth- 
 quake in Valdavia (Chili) m 18J5, com- 
 pares the sensations experienced from the 
 earth billows to the movement of a vessel 
 in a little cross ripple, or still more " like 
 that felt by a person skating over the ice 
 which bends under the weight of the body. 
 The same writer also observes, that in the 
 forest ihe phenomenon, though deeply in- 
 teresting, is by no means as awe-exciting ^ 
 as in the town, where the " creaking and | 
 rattling" of the wood-built houses—the | 
 wildness and terror of the affrighted in- j 
 habitants rushing in confusion Irom their , 
 dwellings, give to the whole scene that 
 indescribable horror which attends the 
 phenomena of e;>'<hquake8. Ihe hrsu 
 great earthquake on record occurred 373 ] 
 U C, when the ancient cities of Helice 
 and Bura were destroyed. The former 
 was one of the chief cities of Achaia. In 
 115 A. U. Antioch was destroyed; and 
 1147, Catania was swallowed up. In 
 178S, the earful earthquake of Calabria 
 happened which destroyed forty thou- 
 sand persons. In 1811 South Carolina 
 and the valley of the Mississippi were 
 visited. 
 
 I The craters of voletnOM t«t •• Mfr*"/- 
 
 I valves; where there is no safety-v; .vo 
 there must ho an earthquake. Hixl) m., 
 earlhquiikes have oeeurred on the coasf f«f 
 ' Chili. An earthquake al Lisbon, capital 
 I of Portugal, in 175,'^>, shook all the seas 
 I of Europe, the norih of Alriea, and llio 
 ' West Indies, and even Lakr Oitlann ! ll 
 lasted only six seconds, but in that time 
 it destroyed one quarter of the dwelling- 
 houses, all the public buildings, and IIO.OOO 
 inhabitants of Lisbon. 
 
 During an eartluiuako at Lima, the 
 officer of a shio says that the ship was 
 violently tossed, iho surface of the wa- 
 ter Loihtl, iind was covered with dead 
 fishes. In 1790, three quarleis of the 
 city of Lima and one hundred and twenty 
 thousand of its inhubitanls were destroy- 
 ed by an earthquake. 
 
 In 1822, an earthquake destroyed the 
 greater part of Aleppo in a few seconds, 
 ' together with 30,000 persons. 
 i On the 1st of January, 1837, an earth- 
 ; quake visited the countries along the 
 ' eastern extremity of the Mediterranean. 
 ' The towns of Damascus, Acre, Tyre, and 
 ' Sidon, suir-jred great damage, and Tiberias 
 I and Safet were entirely destroyed, with 
 ' 6,000 souls. 
 
 On the 29th Septomber, 1717, iho town 
 of Guatemala was greatly damaged by an 
 earthquake, and enliroly destroy. 1 by 
 another on 29th June, 1773. 
 
 Caraccas was destroyed by an earth- 
 quake, with 12,000 of its inhabitants, in 
 
 1812 
 
 During an earthquake, in 1797, Quito 
 was greatly damaged and Redbaniba lev- 
 elled to the ground, and 40,000 persons 
 ; wore buried in the ruins. 
 
 The town of Lima has always been 
 I very subject to earthquakes. Besides the 
 1 earthquake already mentioned, it was al- 
 most entirely destroyed on 20ili October, 
 1687, and again on the 28th October, 17 40. 
 During the latter, the porl of Callao was 
 inundated by the sea, and every soul per- 
 ished. Conception, in Chili, was destroy- 
 ed in 1730, 1751, and 1835, by earth- 
 quakes and inundations. 
 
 Islands have been formed by the force 
 of volcanic action, and it is a curious fact 
 that earthquakes frequently have an op- 
 posite effect. For instance, m the year 
 
 \/l 
 
*; 
 
 ^% 
 
 *ff^ 
 
 *. 
 
 
 ^1f 
 
 
 82 
 
 THE PERUVIANS. 
 
 867, Mt. Arcarey fell into the sea. Many 
 towns in Japan, in China, were covered by 
 the sea in 1596. In 1638, St. Eapheme 
 settled into a lake. In 1642, Port Royal 
 sank into the sea. In 1819, a large tract 
 of land at the mouth of the Indus sank. 
 
 Earthquakes sometimes cause a raise 
 in the land. During an earthquake on the 
 Chilian coast, a tract of land, one hundred 
 miles long, was elevated from two to seven 
 feet. At the same place, in 1835, the 
 land was raised ten feet. This caused 
 a great wave of the sea twenty-eight feet 
 high, which rushed in- and destroyed the 
 town of Jalcagnano. The amount of land 
 elevated was equal to fifty-seven cubic 
 miles, or 365,000,000 of the great pyra- 
 mids of Egypt. During an earthquake in 
 the eastern part of Iceland, in 1819,2,000 
 square miles of land were converted into 
 an inland sea; at the same time 7,000 
 square miles, or more than one fourth of 
 Iceland was raised ten feet. 
 
 THE PERUVIANS. 
 
 F the early history 
 of the Peruvians 
 we have but little 
 knowledge, owing 
 to that barbarian 
 (v policy exercised 
 by the followers of 
 Cortez and Pizar- 
 ro, in destroying everything belonging to 
 the tribes which they conquered. Like 
 the Mexicans, the Peruvians had advanced 
 in art, science, and learning, u. der the 
 administration of successive wise rulers, 
 and their state archives contained written 
 histories of their country, from the dawn 
 of civilization among them, till the period 
 of the conquest. But the superstitious 
 Spaniards committed these works to the 
 flames, because of their heathen origin, 
 and we are obliged to depend almost ex- 
 cl isiv'ily upon the truth o.' tradition, for 
 the knowledge we possess of the history 
 of this people during the inca dynasty. 
 
 Like other aborigines of this continent, 
 liie Peruvians were nomadic tribes and 
 gained a subsistence by hunting and fish- 
 
 ] ing. Superstitious in the extreme, their 
 I objects of worship were as numerous ns 
 j those of the Egyptians. They adored 
 mountains because they sent forth refresh- 
 ing streams ; the rivers because they fer- 
 tilized the soil ; the trets that bore fruit 
 the animals they slew for food, and the 
 ocean as the great mother of fishes. 
 
 Fear seemed to be the great pioinpter 
 to worship, and their sacrifices were pro- 
 pitiatory, rather than offerings of gratitude 
 and love. They erected altars to tigers 
 and serpents, sacrificed to the directors 
 of storms, whirlwinds, and volcanoes, and 
 frequently offered up their children to avert 
 the wrath of some imaginary malignant 
 deity. They believed, however, in a 
 great head, a universal ruler, to whose 
 will all other gods were subordinate ; and 
 to the benevolence of this great being, they 
 ascribed the elevation of their country and 
 its inhabitants from a wilderness and fero- 
 cious barbarism, to a well cultivated and 
 quite civilized region. 
 
 According to the chronicles of the an- 
 cient priests, and the traditions of the 
 present natives of Peru, Divine Omnipo- 
 tence compassionately sent to them the 
 wise and virtuous Mamco Capac and the 
 beautiful Oello, his sister, and his wife, 
 for the purpose of spreading the seeds of 
 civilization among them, that they might 
 reap a rich harvest of happiness. This 
 event occurred about four hundred years 
 prior to the Spanish invasion. Whence 
 they came, none knew, but it was general- 
 ly supposed that they came dov.n from 
 heaven, commissioned to increase the hap- 
 piness of the human race. However fab- 
 ulous their traditions may appear concern- 
 ing this pair and their acts, there can be 
 no doubt of the fact, that Manco Capac, 
 one of the first of the iiica dynasty, was 
 a man of extraordinary abilities, and did 
 much toward raising the people from a 
 state of great degradation, to comparative 
 civilization and happiness. He performed 
 the double duties of lawgiver and priest, 
 instructing them in those principles of 
 jurisprudence, founded upon social sym- 
 pathies, which i-nd to moral and intel- 
 lectual elevation ; nd he taught them a 
 religion far more rational and humane than 
 they were before influenced by. 
 
 Manco Capac taught the wandering 
 
9 extreme, their 
 as numerous ns 
 They adored 
 jnt forth refresh, 
 jcause they fer- 
 
 that bore fruit 
 r food, and the 
 
 of fishes. 
 
 great piotnpter 
 ifices were pro- 
 ingsof j^ratitude 
 
 ahars to tigers 
 to the directors 
 
 volcanoes, and 
 ihildren to avert 
 nary malignant 
 however, in a 
 uler, to whose 
 ibordinate ; and 
 reat being, they 
 leir country and 
 ;rness and fero- 
 
 cultivated and 
 
 cles of the an- 
 iditions of the 
 divine Oninipo- 
 It to them the 
 Capac and the 
 and his wife, 
 ig the seeds of 
 lat they might 
 ;)pines3. This 
 hundred years 
 ion. Whence 
 it was general- 
 le dov, n from 
 crease the hap- 
 However fab- 
 ppear concern- 
 , there can be 
 Manco Capac, 
 I dynasty, was 
 ilities, and did 
 people from a 
 to comparative 
 He performed 
 'er and priest, 
 principles of 
 n social sym- 
 )ral and intcl- 
 taught them a 
 1 humane than 
 I by. 
 he wandering 
 
-4v 
 
 f. 
 
 am' 
 
 "■fc,. 
 
 824 
 
 THE PERUVIANS. 
 
 Peruvians to lill the groinul and irrigate 
 it by ciianging the course of streams, while 
 Oello instructed the women to educate 
 their children in the ways and precepts 
 of virtue, and to obey their husbands. He 
 fixed the division of lands and enjoined 
 every man to devote some portion of his 
 time to the assistance of his neighbor, thus 
 promoting brotherly love. He instructed 
 the people to show their gratitule by wor- 
 shipping the sun, the great ivifier of 
 creation, and thus baied a system of re- 
 ligion upon one of the best of human vir- 
 tues. In a little tune, wandering tribes 
 became assimilated, and they built them- 
 selves houses and overturned their altars 
 red with the blood of human victims. In 
 a word, this great reformer who doubtless 
 came Irom the Toltecs or Aztecs, then 
 quite a civilized people inhabiting Central 
 America, poured a flood of light into the 
 dark valleys of Peru that unfolded the 
 beauties of civilization and made the 
 " des<'rt blossom as the rose." 
 
 But in the judicial and religious sys- 
 tems of this reformer, there were seri- 
 ous defects. He compelled his subjects 
 to submit in all things to the will of the 
 incas, or kings, und materially retarded 
 the progress of genius, by making it un- 
 lawful for a sou to follow any profession 
 different from his father's. The latitude 
 given to the incas had a mischievous effect, 
 and his successors became despotic in the 
 extreme. Their subjects were permitted 
 to approach them only with rich offerings 
 in their hands, and the people of a whole 
 province have been destroyed, to gratify 
 the cruel caprice of one of these rulers. 
 So divine and reverend was the inca C(m- 
 sidered by the people, that when he died, 
 many human victims were sacrificed at 
 his tomb. 
 
 Their civil and religious laws were 
 rigidly administered, and many of them 
 were of the moei sanguinary nature. For 
 instance, if a priestess of the sun (which 
 office was filled by virgins), broke her 
 oath of chastity and was discovered, she 
 was buried alive, her paramour suffered the 
 most cruel torments, and the father, moth- 
 er, brothers and sisters of both, were con- 
 sidered accomplices and were all thrown 
 upon a funeral pile together and consumed. 
 A boundary was drawn round the birth- 
 
 place of the two lovers, and it was for 
 ever afterward left a wilderness. 
 
 Many remains of ancient civilization 
 may still be seen in Peru, especially in ; 
 the vicinage of Cuzco, the capital of thn j 
 incas. There are remains of a road v\- | 
 tending from Cuzco to Quito, a ilist.nico 
 of fifteen hundred miles, and in the lower 
 part of the country was another one of 
 nearly equal magnitude. Many fine roads 
 extended from the cenliC to the confini's 
 of the empire, when Pizarro entered tli.it 
 country. Along these roads, granaries 
 were built at certain distances, and the 
 incas built houses of charity that were 
 constantly open to the weary traveller. 
 Temples, fortresses, and canals, were to 
 be seen in all directions, and the amount 
 of gold used in the erection of fanes and 
 monuments, was immense. In the im- 
 perial gardens of Cuzco, trees and shrubs 
 of gold and silver were formed, and every 
 article in the interior of the palace was 
 made of the precious metals. It was 
 these immense treasures that excited the 
 cupidity of the Spaniards, and caused tlie 
 overthrow of the great empire of the 
 incas. 
 
 The most magnificent of all the Peru- 
 vian temples, was that of the sun at Cuzco, 
 the interior of which is represented in 
 our engraving. 
 
 The mode of worship in the temple 
 of the sun, was similar to that of Heliop- 
 olis in Egypt, where this great luminary 
 was adored. His golden image occupied 
 a large portion of one side of the interior 
 of the temple, and before this the worship- 
 pers prostrated themselves with rich offer- 
 ings in thei"- hands, which were received 
 by the attentl mt priests. Several virgins, 
 selected from the first families in the king- 
 dom, were in constant attendance, whose 
 duty it was to make oblations of wine to 
 the burning deity and chant hymns of 
 praise to the great Father of Light. 
 
 A Dominican monastery now occupies 
 the site of the temple of the sun, and it is 
 said that its walls are those of that ancient 
 edifice. It is also related that the altar 
 stands upon the very spot where the golden 
 image of the orb was adored. Pinkerton 
 remarks that " a nunnery now stands on 
 the situation, where lived the virgins of 
 the sun." 
 
 ^^rSfiW''' 
 
■■%■ ^*^^ 
 
 HISTORY OF TH1 MASTODON RACK. 
 
 825 
 
 I 
 
 ;, and it was for 
 deniess. 
 
 cient civilization 
 ;ru, especially in 
 ihe capital of tli(\ 
 ius of a road cx- 
 Quito, a distance 
 , and in tlic '<)wi;r 
 s another ori« ol' 
 Many fine roads 
 »e to the confint's 
 wrro entered tlmt 
 
 roads, granaries 
 istances, and the 
 ;harity that were 
 
 weary traveller, 
 i canals, were to 
 I, and the amount 
 ;lion of fanes and 
 nse. In the iin- 
 , trees and shrubs 
 formed, and every 
 f the palace was 
 metals. It was 
 i that excited the 
 Is, and caused tlie 
 it empire of the 
 
 t of all the Peru- 
 the sun at Cuzco, 
 is represented in 
 
 lip in the temple 
 to that of Heliop- 
 lis great luminary 
 en image occupied 
 ids of the interior 
 3 this the worship- 
 ^es with rich offer- 
 ich were received 
 Several virgins, 
 imilies in the king- 
 attendance, whose 
 iatioDs of wine to 
 chant hymns of 
 er of Light, 
 ery now occupies 
 ' the sun, and it is 
 lose of that ancient 
 ited that the altar 
 t where the golden 
 dored. Pinkerton 
 ry now stands on 
 fed the virgins of 
 
 HISTORY OF THE MASTODON MCE. 
 
 S far as is known 
 at present, the 
 
 whole race of 
 mastodons is ex- 
 tinct. There is 
 no evidence of 
 their existence at 
 this day. But 
 the numerous re- 
 mains of them found in this country.in- 
 dicate that they have at some period lived 
 in great numbers on this continent. At 
 what time this was, we shall consider 
 hereafter. Their range, however, does 
 not appear to have extended over the whole 
 of North America, but to have been con- 
 fined mostly to tlie rich alluvial valleys. 
 Portions of two skeletons only have been 
 found north of Orange county in the state 
 of New York. East of the Hudson river, 
 portions of two have been discovered. 
 Orange countv, however, seems to have 
 beenlhe northern limit of their range, and 
 the Hudson river the eastern boundary. 
 Passing then south through New Jersey, 
 ••.nd tiience westward through all the great 
 western valb'ys, throughout this whole re- 
 gion t)i<! bones are found in greater or less 
 abundance. The sa-ltlicksof Kentucky have 
 furnished the most of these remains ; and 
 it has been stated, that from one of these 
 localities alone, portions of more thpn one , 
 hundred skeletons have been removed. 
 This species of mastodon is pecuhar to 
 this continent, no remains of it having 
 been found in any other portion of the 
 
 e'obe , ^ , . • 1 
 
 The first bones and teeth of this animal 
 were found as early as 1812, at Albany; 
 and were noticed in the philosophical 
 transactions, in a letter from Dr. Mather 
 to Dr Woodward. In 1739, a French 
 oflicer, by the name Longueil, discovered 
 soni i of the bones, teeth, and tusks, near 
 the Ohio river ; and the next year, larger 
 quantities of similar bones were washed 
 up bv the current of the same river. Al- 
 ter ttVs time the bones were occasionally 
 found, down to the present, but often very 
 much decayed, and never in sufficient 
 quantities t-. make an entire skeleton. 1 he 
 scientific world is much indebted to the 
 
 late Mr. Peale, who, with great labor and 
 at much expense, procured, in 1800, suf- 
 ficent bones to enable him to construct a 
 tolerably complete skeleton, which is now 
 in the Philadelphia Museum. 
 
 But though the living animal is un- 
 known to us, the aboriginal inhabitants 
 of this country seem to have been ac- 
 quainted with them. Many people are 
 I disposed to place very little dependence 
 I upon Indian tradition ; but however vague 
 I such tradition may become in relation to 
 particular facts, by long transmission from 
 ! generation to generation, yet it must have 
 I something real and true for its origin. 
 ' Such we believe to be the fact in relation 
 ! to this animal. We shall, therefore, give 
 I a few of these traditions as concisely as 
 1 possible. 
 
 I In President JefTerson's notes on V ir- 
 ' ginia, we find the following tradition of 
 ' the Indians, in relation to this animal :— 
 " That in ancient times a herd of these 
 tremendous animals came to the Big Bone 
 Lick and began a universal destruction 
 of the bear, deer, elk, buffaloes, and other 
 animals, which had been created for the 
 use of the Indians. 
 
 " And that the Great Man above, look- 
 ing down, and seeing this, was so enraged, 
 that he seized his lightning, descended on 
 the earth, and seated himself on a neigh- 
 boring w.ountain, on a certain mountain 
 rock, where the print of his feet are still 
 remaining, whence he hurled his bolts 
 among them, till the whole were slaughter- 
 ed, except the big bull, who, presenting 
 his forehead to the shafts, shook them ott 
 as they fell, but at length, one of them 
 missing his head, glanced on his side, 
 ' wounding him sufficiently to make him 
 ! mad ; whereon springing round, he bound- 
 ed over the Ohio at a leap, then over the 
 ' Wabash at another, the Illinois at a third, 
 and a fourth leap over the great lakes, 
 where he is living at this day." 
 
 A Mr. Stanley, who was taken prisoner 
 by the Indians, and carried beyond the 
 western mountains to where a river runs 
 westvvard, says that these bur.e? abound 
 there, " and that the natives described to 
 him the animal to which these belonged, 
 as still living in the northern parts o^ their 
 
 coun'.ry." , y^. 
 
 The following we extract from Ur. 
 
 t; 
 
 M 
 
■it,,. 
 
 ^^f 
 
 '*iii. 
 
 826 
 
 CRETAN OR WALLACHIAN SHEEP. 
 
 Koch's pamphlet on the Missourium : " One 
 man, in 1816, has asserted that his grand- 
 father told him that he saw one of these 
 animals in a mountain pass when he was 
 hunting ; and that on hearing its roar, 
 which he compared to thunder, the sight 
 almost left his eyes, and his heart be- 
 came as small as an inf^nt's." 
 
 The opinion is a very prevalent one, 
 that these animals were antediluvian, and 
 most persons reject with a sneer the idea 
 that they have lived dt a very recent pe- 
 riod. But the .first has no ground or 
 shadow of ground for belief, and all the 
 evidence seems to show that they have 
 existed not many centuries sinoe. 
 
 Mr. Jefferson, in his notes on Virginia, 
 reasons thus : " It may be asked why I 
 insert the mammoth as if it still existed ? 
 I ask, in '■eturn, why I should omit it as 
 if it did not exist? The northern and 
 western parts still remain in their abori- 
 ginal state, unexplored and undisturbed by 
 us, or by others for us. He may as well 
 exist there now as he did formerly, where 
 we find his bones," &c. The same rea- 
 soning which he used will apply, with a 
 diminished force it is true, to our own 
 times. There are still vast portions of 
 this continent yet unexplo.ed by the white 
 man, and inhabited only by hostile Indian 
 tribes. Vast gorges of the moimtains in 
 the west might still contain the living 
 animal, and yet we be utterly ignorant of 
 his existence. But we will not contend 
 for his present existence. We will ex- 
 amine briefly tht, evidence of his having 
 lived within a very few centuries. 
 
 In t 3 first place, the testimony of the 
 Indians, but a few years back. They 
 stated in the early part of this century, 
 that this animal still lived north of the 
 Mis>''\iri river. They called it " Pere du 
 ^^.T : ' (father of cattle). But how shall 
 wd reply to the question, if the animal has 
 lived in these parts of the country within 
 so short a time, why did not the early 
 white settlers either see them or hear of 
 them from the Indians ? To this we an- 
 swer, that after the discovery of this coun- 
 try, the settlements of it took place very 
 slowly, ard then was principally in those 
 parts which have not apparently been in 
 the track of the msstodons. That they 
 did not hear of them from the Indians is 
 
 not wonderful, for '.here was nothing to 
 excite inquiry with regard to them. If a 
 bone of one had been found at that period, 
 and thus inquiry started, doubtless some- 
 thing would have been ascertained far 
 more distinctly than has since been learn- 
 ed. 
 
 That they were not antediluvian, is 
 settled by the fact of their being found in 
 a deposite of marl and peat, all of whicli 
 has been formed in modern times, and 
 which is still forming. Moreover the 
 fact that the bones in the skeleton, from 
 Orange county, are so fresh, containing a 
 large portion of animal matter, and that 
 the contents of the stomach and intestines 
 were found unchanged apparently by time, 
 is strong evidence that this individual has 
 lived at a very recent period, and we may 
 put down five hundred years ago as the 
 most distant time at which he lived ; and 
 we are strongly inclined to the opinion, 
 that if extinct now, they have not been 
 extinct one hundred years in the western 
 parts of this country. 
 
 CRETAN OR WALLACHIAN SHEEP. 
 
 F all domestic an- 
 imals, the sheep 
 was one of the ear- 
 liest if not the ear- 
 liest that submitted 
 to man ; it has 
 spread with him 
 as he has spread, 
 and is essentially dependent upon his care 
 and protection. The varieties into which 
 it has ramified are extremely numerous ; 
 in fact, each country has its own pecu- 
 liar breeds ; but these breeds arp not spe- 
 cifically distinct from each oilier ; they 
 produce a fertile progeny, with the blend- 
 ed features of the parents. 
 
 The Cretan sheep is said to be common 
 in Wallachia, Hungary, Austria, and the 
 western parts of Asia. Like its relatives 
 peculiar to Europe, it is very stupid, but 
 at the same time vicious and unruly, and 
 of amazing strength. Its horns are very 
 large, spirally contorted, adding greatly to 
 its striking and picturesque appearance. 
 
t antediluvian, is 
 eir beina; foiinJ in 
 peat, ail of which 
 lodern times, and 
 ;. Moreover the 
 the skeleton, from 
 fresh, containing a 
 I matter, and that 
 lach and intestines 
 ipparently by time, 
 this individual has 
 eriod, and we may 
 years ago as the 
 lich he lived ; and 
 d to the opinion, 
 ey have not been 
 ars in the western 
 
 VGHIAN SHEEP. 
 
 F all domestic an- 
 imals, the sheep 
 was one of the ear- 
 liest if not the ear- 
 liest that submitted 
 to man ; it has 
 spread with him 
 as he has spread, 
 ident upon his caro 
 arieties into which 
 remely numerous ; 
 das its own pecu- 
 )reeds ar^ not spe- 
 
 each Oilier ; they 
 ly, with the blend- 
 nts. 
 
 said to be common 
 ', Austria, and the 
 Like its relatives 
 is very stupid, but 
 is and unruly, an(3 
 Its horns are very 
 I, adding greatly to 
 esque appearance. 
 
* 
 
 
 :.;r 
 
 
 828 
 
 JULY. 
 
 ''•lis 
 
 Its wool, if wool it could be called, dif- 1 
 fers materially in quality and texture from | 
 that of our breeds. Instead of being curly 
 and matted, or felted into a mass, it is 
 of great length, perfectly straight, close 
 set, and beautifully fine, falling from the 
 middle of the back on either side of the 
 animal almost to the ground. On the face 
 the hair is short and of a rusty black, on 
 the body it is white. To this description 
 it may be added, that the horns of the male 
 mostly rise almost perpendicularly from 
 the skull, making a series of spiral turns 
 in their ascent, the first turn being the lar- 
 gest, while in the female they diverge, ta- 
 king a lateral direction. In the specimen, 
 however, to which we allude, and wliich 
 is a male, they extend laterally from the 
 skull, and after the first turn take a down- 
 ward sweep. It is probable, therefore, 
 that as far as this point is concerned, there 
 is a certain degree of individual variation 
 among the breed, as indeed might be ex- 
 pected, seeing as we do how unfixed are 
 all the external characters of our well- 
 known domestic races, and how soon they 
 are capable of being modified. 
 
 According to Belon the present variety 
 occurs in Crete, it appears to have been 
 known in ancient times, and is considered 
 by some to be alluded >o botii by Oppian 
 and Pliny. With respect to the latter 
 writer, this is very doubtful. In the elev- 
 enth book (cap, xlv.) he alludes to an ani- 
 mal called strepsiceros, the horns of which 
 were erect, and wound round by a spiral 
 wreath of rugaj, lyre-shaped and pointed ; 
 this animal, he adds, is called Addax in 
 Africa. It is doubtless an antelope. 
 
 Buflfon, in the third volume of the sup- 
 plement to his work, gives a figure of the 
 male and female of this curious race, from 
 a drawing sent to him by Mr Collinson, 
 of London, from whom he was in the hab- 
 it of receiving many communications, but 
 he obtained no information connected with 
 their history. 
 
 No animal can be more unlike the Sar- 
 dinian Mouflon than the Cretan or Walla- 
 chian sheep, and if that animal be indeed 
 the origin of our domestic breeds, it proves 
 to what an extent the modifications of 
 physical structure may be carried by the 
 arts of man and a combination of causes. 
 The Moulion is covered with coarso brit- 
 
 tle hairs, having nothing of wool in their 
 character ; yet as early as history carries 
 us back, has the sheep been ceh.brated as 
 a wool-bearing animal ; and thout,'h its 
 •vool becomes lost in hot climates, such is 
 not the case in the countries wii "c the 
 Mouflon now exists. The Mouflon, wild, 
 active, and vigorous, tenants the cnigiry 
 summits of the rocky mountains in Sar- 
 dinia, Corsica, and some of the Greek 
 islands. It is also abundant in the moun- 
 tain ranges of southern Siberia, where it 
 is subject to a cold rather than to a tem- 
 perate climate ; everywhere, however, it 
 preserves its own characiers without alter- 
 ation, while in its domesticated and de- 
 generate descendants, if such they be, 
 which has yet to be proved, we see a per- 
 petual series of variations, a multitude of 
 breeds presenting diverse cliaracters, but 
 all of greater or less value to man, on 
 whose care and protection they all equally 
 rely. 
 
 JULY, 
 
 ULY, so named in 
 compliment to the 
 great Roman com- 
 mander, was called I7 
 the Saxons Hiy-Mo- | 
 nat, or the season of 
 hay harvest. 
 
 As January is the 
 coldest, July is the 
 hottest, month of the year. The direct 
 influence of the sun, indeed, is continually 
 diminishing after the summer-solstice ; but 
 the earth and air have been so thoroughly 
 heated, that the warmth which they retain 
 more than compensates, for a time, the 
 diminution of solar rays. The effects of 
 this weather upon the face of nature soon 
 become manifest. All the flowers of the 
 former month diminish in beauty, shrivel, 
 and fall ; at the same time their leaves 
 and stalks lose their verdure, and the 
 whole plant hastens to decay. Many 
 plants, however, do not begin to flower 
 till July : these are, particularly, the aro- 
 matic, the succulent, or thick-leaved, sev- 
 eral of the aquatic, and of those called 
 

 g of wool in their 
 r as history carries 
 
 been celebrated as 
 I ; and lh()ii|,d> its 
 lOt cliinalos, such is 
 ninitriea wii 'e the 
 'J'he MouHiiii, wild, 
 tenants the cragijy 
 
 niounliiitis in Sar- 
 inie ot" the Greek 
 indant in the nioiin- 
 1 Siberia, where it j 
 thor tiian to a teni- 
 where, however, it 
 aciers withf)nt aller- 
 meslicated and de- : 
 , if such they be, | 
 roved, wo see a per- j 
 ions, a multitude of 
 erse characters, but 
 i value to ntan, on 
 ilion they all equally 
 
 LY, so named in 
 )mpliment to the 
 reat Roman com- 
 lander, was called by 
 le Saxons Hsy-Mo- 
 at, or the season of 
 ay harvest. 
 
 As January is the 
 
 oldest, July is the 
 
 3 year. The direct 
 
 ndeed, is continually 
 
 summer-solstice ; but 
 
 e been so thoroughly 
 
 ith which they retain 
 
 lies, for a time, the 
 
 rays. The effects of 
 
 e face of nature soon 
 
 lU the flowers of the 
 
 sh in beauty, shrivel, 
 
 ne time their leaves 
 
 lir verdure, and the 
 
 s to decay. Many 
 
 not begin to flower 
 
 particularly, the aro- 
 
 or thick-leaved, sev- 
 
 and of those called 
 
 JULY. 
 
 829 
 
 compound-flowered, in which many florets 
 are collected into cme head, as the thistle, 
 sowthistle, hawkweed, &c. The lily is 
 one of the principal ornaments of gardens 
 in this inontn; and, with its delicate white 
 flowers, gives an agreeable sensation ol 
 coolness to the eye 
 
 .. Wt'lcome, yc hIiihIps '■ ye liowcry lliicketH, Imil ; 
 \^^ idfty pilifs! yo vcni'iiibli' hiikh ; 
 Y<! awlirs Willi, nrHoiimlin^? o'l-r tlio uterp ; 
 Ui'lirii'us is your tihelu-r to the Houl, 
 As to the hunted hurt llie sallying apring." 
 
 TH()M50(J. 
 
 Bathing, loo, is a delijihtful amusement 
 at this season ; and happy is the swimmer 
 Tiral^mal c^e;.ion seem oppressed who is able to enjny the full pleasure of 
 .J^L^iuring this hot - -n^^tlns heal di e™^ 
 , either seek the recesses of -oods, o ^e- ha U, r ^^^^^^^ __^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^ 
 
 sort to pools and streams t^o cool ^hur >otM^t, ^^1^ ^^^^^^^ ^^^^.^^^ .^ 
 
 bodies and quench their thirst. I ^.^^V ^,„,,,e to support himself in 
 
 llie insect tr.be, however, are pecular-^ _|^P^,^^^^ ^^,,,,^^^i,,^^ 
 
 ly active and vigorous m the hottest c wa u- ^.^^ ,^^ 
 
 leather. These minute features r the putt^at^ ^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ ,^^^_^ ^^ 
 
 for the most part^ ammal, being ''^^^''^^ ^ 3'^ ^ have acquired the art, it is a 
 in the spring, and dying at the approach X'rim.s" n iatigi.i..g exercise. Where- 
 of winter: they have therefore no '>'"« 'f " /" „;;;,tl " ountries, where from 
 to lose in indolence, but must make the ^^^.X^^Z^ .^xes are con- 
 uiost of their short existence; especial y ^^^ ,;\7,^, '' " l,^ ^^e water, they be- 
 as their most perfect state contmues ot.ly ' -fj^'^" f ^^j. „ ..biou. creaU.res. 
 duringapartof their lives. ^I'l^uVsv^^mmuR and diving with the utmost 
 ..udergothreechanges in eachon^ht^^^^^ ^^^^^^ together, without ia- 
 
 they are transformed to a totally Uitlc rent 
 
 appearance. From the egg, they first ^^"' f^'^"'^-^^^^;,^ j^.^j^ ^f this period of 
 turn into caterpillars or maggo s, ^^^^'^ \ .j!^JZZl\lch an evaporation from 
 they crawl upon many f-!v ^'^ J. :;^; 1 1 lu a oT ,he earth and' waters, that, 
 tremely voracious ; many kinds of them ,tej, ,r „f ^ ^^ather, 
 
 doing much mischief in '^e gardens a , a Oe r - - -^^^^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^^y ^^.^^^ ^^^ 
 
 wmelimes devouring the leaves ot the ^ f^ y collected fluid in ex- 
 
 .c^., nd even the herbage on the ground jlngU^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^_^j ^^^^^ ,.^^. 
 
 'l.i.^« their state - ' - ^P^;, ihe^qu-tly belt down the full-grown grain 
 next become aure' s^, or chrysalides., ytnen ^ i J . j , the comtry with 
 
 they resemble an infant closely wrapt i,i ' J,; '^.j^ l^ \,Z,,,, „„, H|htning 
 swaddling clothe..bc|nt.i.,Mm>less. taking ^"""...^^^.^...^^...y these summer storms. 
 
 no iiourishmen' aod, indeed, i.avirig no 
 appearance of li iJife creatures From 
 this state they bur.t »>»i H into :he p-.^rlect 
 insect, shining in all .x ■ ^olc-s, furnished 
 with wings, full of 
 
 generally i-ccompany these summer storms. 
 Lightning is a coUectiou of electric Hire 
 drawn from the healed air and earth, and 
 accumulated in the clouds, which, at length 
 
 • K ■ f 1. Of ;.v r%Zr^|ov n;;^rged. suddenly let go their con 
 
 with wings, full of -'-'^f'.'^fr,'!,"^ tents in the form of broad flashes or fiery 
 propagating its species and feed ng, for the terns ^^^^^^^^ ^^^^ 
 
 most part, on thin liquid aliments such as , da 9 i lit intercepted by buildings, 
 the h^ney of flowers and juices oammaJs J a^^^ o ^^^J^^ >^^^^ ^^^^^^ 
 
 Most of them continue thus but a shor j "f ^^J^ j ^y the shock. Thunder is 
 time. The male impregnates the female ; i are i,nauereu oy ^ 
 
 she lays her eggs ; and they both die. 
 
 This is a favorite season lor the en- 
 tomologist. Large copper and other but- 
 terflies are very active during this period 
 —the large tiger and lacky moths are also 
 to be found 
 
 The I'lxury of cooling shades is now 
 peculiarly grateful; and, indeed, is scarce- 
 ly desired in this climate longer than a 
 few weeks at the height of summer. 
 
 i are oiiancniv. ^j 
 
 1 the noise occusioned by the explosion, ami 
 therefore always follows the lightning ; 
 the sound travelling slower to our ears 
 
 ' than the light to our eyes. Just the same 
 thing happens when a gun is tired, at a 
 distance. When we hear the thiinder, 
 therefore, all danger from that flash ol 
 lightning is over ; and thunder, though so 
 awful and tremendous to the ear, is ol it- 
 self entirely harmless. 
 
830 
 
 THE NELSON MONUMENT, YARMOUTH—CLASSIFICATION OF ROCKS. 
 
 The effects of the groat heat on the 
 human body arc agreeably allayed by the 
 various wholesome fruits which Provi- 
 dence offers at this season for the use of 
 man. Those which are now ripe are of 
 all the most cooling and refreshing ; as 
 currants, gooseberries, raspberries, straw- 
 berries, and cherries. These are no less 
 salutary and useful, than the richest prod- 
 ucts of the warmer climates. 
 
 Fowls moult, or Jose their feathers, 
 during this month. The smaller birds do 
 not moult so early ; but all renew their 
 plumage before winter, when they are in 
 their finest and warmest clothing. 
 
 THE 
 
 NELSON MONUMENT, 
 MOUTH. 
 
 YAR- 
 
 HE Nelson monu- 
 ; ment at Yarmouth is 
 a fluted column, 130 
 feet in height, erected 
 on the South Denes, 
 between the barracks 
 and the mouth of the 
 haven. The monu- 
 ment may be distinguished at sea by tho 
 distant mariner : there would scarcely be 
 a more appropriate landmark. In the 
 fonndation-stono a plate was placed, on 
 which was engraved an inscription in 
 Latin. It is so rarely that these composi- 
 tions are calculated to touch the heave and 
 imagination, that their absence is scarcely 
 to bo regretted. Their brevity at least 
 would be deserving of commendation. Un- 
 less, however, there exist popular senti- 
 ments shared in by all rankr., from the 
 palace to the fisherman's cabjn, it is in 
 vain that even monuments are raised, for 
 they can excite no adequate and appro- 
 priate interest. Tho truest fame is that 
 which gives feeling of pride to the hum- 
 blest man, who thus feels himself a par- 
 taker in it. It is this which strengthens 
 the heart of a nation, nerves it in the hour 
 of danger, and gives that confidence which 
 leads to actions in which feelings of self- 
 vanish, and men become heroic, whether 
 it bo on the field of battle or in civil con- 
 tests. A monument which cherishes high 
 
 feelings of honor and public virtue ainoiii; 
 all classes, without exciting their fanati- 
 cism, may truly be termed national. 
 
 CLASSIFICATION OF ROCKS. 
 
 PRIMARY FORMATIONS. 
 
 ^ HERE are two prin- 
 f^ciples on which the 
 classification of the 
 ri^cks composing the 
 crust of the earth may 
 proceed. In the one 
 j^fj^y^lPi^ they are regarded as 
 V ' mineral compounds, 
 
 and arranged according to the similarity 
 of their composition and physical proper- 
 ties. In the other, they are viewed as 
 produced at successive periods, and class- 
 ed according to their age. The latter is 
 evidently best adapted to geology, con- 
 sidered as a history of the earth and of 
 those revolutions it has undergone, and is 
 now generally adopted in ail cases where 
 the relative age of the various formations 
 can be determined. This, however, is 
 not always the case, when the former 
 must be chosen, and the rocks named 
 simply as mineral compounds. 
 
 Some rocks are stratified, or divided 
 into beds of great length and breadth com- 
 pared to their thickness ; others formed 
 irregular masses of no determinate shape. 
 This is the foundation of the first great 
 division of rocks into stratified and un- 
 stratified ; the former supposed to have 
 been deposited from water, the latter to 
 have been produced by igneous agency 
 Some rocks, it also appeared, were crys 
 talline in their structure, others uncrystal- 
 line, and composed of fragments. Divi- 
 ding the rocks on this principle, the clasdi- 
 fication is found nearly to correspond with 
 the former ; the igneous or massive rocks 
 having m general a crystalline structure, 
 the stratified being, on the other hand, 
 mostly fragmentary. There is, however, 
 a class of rocks participating in both 
 characters, being stratified in form but 
 crystalline in structure. These are sup- 
 posed to have been originally strata con- 
 sisting of fragments like the others, but 
 
CRE are two prin- 
 Ihs on which llie 
 saification of the 
 ks composing tho 
 st of the earth may 
 iceed. In tho ono 
 y are regarded as 
 leral compounds, 
 g to the similarity 
 d physical propnr- 
 ey are viewed as 
 periods, and chiss- 
 ;e. The latter is 
 
 to geology, con- 
 f the earth and of 
 
 undergone, and is 
 in all cases where 
 various formations 
 Ihis, however, is 
 
 when iho former 
 
 the rocks named 
 wunds. 
 
 atifiod, or divided 
 1 and breadth com- 
 ss ; others formed 
 determinate shape. 
 1 of the first great 
 
 stratified and im- 
 siipposed to have 
 ifater, the latter to 
 y igncons agency 
 peared, were crys 
 ), others uncrystal- 
 
 fragments. Divi- 
 rinciple, the clasdi- 
 to correspond with 
 s or massive rocks 
 ystalline structure, 
 n the other hand, 
 rhero is, however, 
 licipating in both 
 dfied in form but 
 Those are sup- 
 finally strata con- 
 ke the others, but 
 
 -S.i-Sm 
 
tl ^ 
 
 >* 
 
 '»*? 
 
 M 
 
 832 
 
 CLASaiK ! \T!ON OF HOOKS. 
 
 to have hrcn exi>osc(l to iii'nnsn beat, j 
 wliii'h has nitcrfil tht-ir strui tiire and ar- ' 
 ringed tlie malorials of which t'lcy were' 
 coiiiposeil ill iit'W (onus. On tbi account 
 thoy are named metaniorphic rovkc, as 
 having l)epn melamorj)hosed or chmged 
 ill ilieir forms. 
 
 C)f these three classes, only the stra'if- 
 ed r.)cks occur in a certain known chroi»- 
 oloj^ical order. Havijig been deposited 
 from water, at the bottom of lakes or the 
 sea, the oldest or first-formed beds are ne- 
 cessarily the lowest, and are covered suc- 
 cessively by newer and newer strata. 
 Hem. J, where these rest on each other in 
 an undisturbed position, there is no dilfi- 
 culty in discovering the order of time in 
 which they were formed, and what is ob- 
 scure in one place is often cleared up in 
 another. But in the igneous rocks no 
 such order is discoverable. They have 
 been produced in every period, and exhibit 
 few, if any, certain marks by which their 
 relative age can be determined. This is 
 also true of the mctamorjihic formations, 
 which have been produced at various 
 times, and from strata of very different 
 ages. From their mode of formation, 
 however, they are usually found in the 
 lowest position, and covered by all the 
 other strata which may be present, and 
 hence have been named primitive or pri- 
 mary rocks by the Wernerians, and sup- 
 posed to constitute part of the original 
 structure of the globe. 
 
 These three classes of rocks are gen- 
 erally distinguished in all systems of geol- 
 ogy. The varieties of the igneous and 
 metamorphic rocks, to which particular 
 names have been assigned, are also very 
 nearly the same. More diversity prevails 
 in the division and classification of the 
 stratified rocks, almost every author alter- 
 ing the system of his predecessors to suit 
 his own views. The arrangement of 
 Werner, the celebrated German mineral- 
 ogist, is still the best known, and, with a 
 few modifications from recent discoveries, 
 the most suitable for our purpose, and we 
 shall consequently adopt it here. Ac- 
 cording to this, there are five divisions of 
 stratified rocks. The first, or primary, 
 corresponds to those classed above as 
 metamorphic. The t.3cond division, or 
 the transition rocks, includes the oldest 
 
 uiiiili< red beds, and was so nnmpil as form- 
 ing ti |ia»sai.'P from llie crystalline to (hi- 
 fi:ii»mentary lormations. In these, anin 
 : iiiai t bf-j^iii to appear, though in l»>ss 
 rofi) ■ than in the third or sccoiniiry 
 iiods, w fh are also more truly frnu i<nta- 
 ry in siucture. These are followed by 
 th« tertiary form tions, with still morn 
 nb'ii. lain remain of animal?' and vegrt • 
 i)!«53, belonging also to species more clo».- 
 ly fUi»d to tlioHH now ( xisting on the 
 earth. Th' fifth and last class are ih 
 rf^jen* c? nlluvial formations, produced by 
 cause- now in m tiial operofi" ■it the 
 globe To '.ese we shall Mictcssivcly 
 advert, > i -mg, at the same time, the 
 igneou** rookt connected with them in 
 nature. lhoug> n might seem nn re so 
 cntifit- to have described the latter t'v 
 thorns Ives, «t this arTin^^einent appears 
 better adapted for poov'r llustration, and 
 even for giving vne' otions of th' 
 structure of the • ■ 
 
 In examining a .tt of p-imary rocks, 
 like the Highlands oi SeoiUn.'', or the simi- 
 lar parts of oil r< intrjes, an arrange- 
 ment of this kiiul lb jften seen. In ihfi 
 highest and central part of the 6lrtri«t ar« 
 granite mountains, enclosed by none* ct 
 gneiss, quartz rock, mica-slate, clay-t>l»ve, 
 limestone, and other primary strata. L 
 was at one time believed that these fol- 
 lowed each other in the order now stated, 
 but further investigation has shown that, 
 though very common, this arrangement is 
 by no means invariable. The order is not 
 only reserved, but the rocks alf^rnate or 
 are mixed with each other in various 
 ways. 
 
 The mineral characters of rocks, unless 
 where they can be illustrated by speci- 
 mens, are not very interesting, and we 
 shall therefore avoid entering into details. 
 Granite, as formerly stated, is a compound 
 of quartz, felspar, and mica, sometimes also 
 containing hornblende. Its varieties are 
 very numerous, two, three, or all the four 
 minerals above, being mixed in almost 
 every degree of relative abundance ; but 
 that of quartz, felspar, and mica, i« by far 
 the most common, and is that most usually 
 understood by this name. Gneiss agrees 
 willf it in composition, in almost every 
 respect, but is divided into beds or strata, 
 and has often a slaty structure. Mica- 
 
so nnniPt! as form- 
 crystalline to l)i'' 
 
 In thesn, nniiii 
 r, ihoinjli in U'ss 
 iird or seroiiiliiry 
 re truly frn>; wtta- 
 I iiro foll'twi'il by 
 , with Btill iniiri! 
 itnHJ^ !»n(l vegpi • 
 lecies more cIoim!- 
 ■ I xisting on the 
 last class arf> 0' 
 ions, produced hj 
 operafi"' 'm the 
 ilinll succi;»sivf|y 
 I same time, the 
 3(1 with them in 
 ht seem mure sci- 
 .(1 the latter ^v 
 angeinent appi .u 
 ' llustratioii, and 
 otions of thf 
 
 tofp'jmary rocks, 
 oU»>n.'', orthesimi- 
 tries, an %rrange- 
 ten sftrio. In thfl 
 of the olnrict ar« 
 osed by aone:* ct 
 a-slate, clay-»Uve. 
 rimary strata, h 
 ed that these ful- 
 
 order now slated, 
 
 n has shown that, 
 
 lis arrangement is 
 
 The order is not 
 
 rocks alfirnate or 
 
 other in various 
 
 jrsof rocks, unless 
 istrated by speci- 
 ileresting, and we 
 lering into details, 
 ted, is a compound 
 ica, sometimes also 
 Its varieties are 
 ree, or all the four 
 
 mixed in almost 
 e abundance ; but 
 and mica, i" by far 
 is that most usually 
 le. Gneiss agrees 
 I, in almost every 
 into beds or strata, 
 
 structure. Mica- 
 
 CLAB8IFICATI0N OF ROCKS. 
 
 833 
 
 slate consists of quartz and mica, arrant; 
 III disli t layers, and, consequeni, ! 
 vidcB m TV thin beds, which are 
 curiously I Jit and contorted. Somei, 
 (luiiriz i« '"'»"'l alone, composing quart 
 or quariv.rock. Clay-slate is well known 
 ns the common rooling slate with which 
 li uses are covered. Limestone is not 
 V , ry abundant, but is remarkable as furnish- 
 ,,iB the various statuary and ornani'iiinl 
 marbles of commerce, the former being 
 pure white, the latter vu"",i8 shades of 
 gray, yellow, green, red, < black 
 these rocks, other beds of less ini 
 occasionally occur, which it 
 sary to mention. 
 
 The manner in which the 
 been formed has given rise 
 troversy, and the theory o 
 above is only partially recei 
 
 us analogies in astronomy, but only its 
 ological bearing can be iiere considered. 
 L)r. James Iluiton, a singular, encnlric, 
 ,ut profound philosopher, who lived in 
 Edinburgh in the end of the last century, 
 U.iH the merit of proposing the true theory 
 of these rocks, lie considered that granite 
 Wits an igneous production, similar to lava, 
 but dillering from this in const '|iience of 
 having been formed in the interior of the 
 earth, below other rocks, and not like the 
 ..„ u, 1 iller on the surface. He also thought 
 With I that "'any of the peculiaritie . in the prima- 
 Mice ' ry beiis were owing to their being in con- 
 tact with this rock, which had hardened 
 them and given them their crystalline 
 ,ve aspect. He had long looked for some 
 ' confirmation of this opinion in nature^ but 
 
 allied geology then was little understood in Scot 
 .• u v„.„, Werner' land, and no description of its rocks, or 
 
 above IS only partial y «cei. Werner a . ^^.^^^j 
 
 supposed that the «'">«>»«-';'=* " \' ^'^ IdK Thron avisit iti Perthshire.he ex- 
 globo were originally «!'««"' «f''' J ^ 
 
 waters of a primeval ocean, which grad ; am mc ^^^^^^ ^.^^^^^ ^^^^ 
 
 ually deposited t- various substa..^^^^^ S mounuins of the Grampians to the 
 contained. First of all, the granitt rocKs ^ Blair-Aihol. The 
 
 were thrown down in vast beds extending ryj , ^^^^^^^^^ .iJe of the Tilt 
 
 over the whole globe. Then ^'',« g"!';l^ '^^ ^.T^f""^ rock, mixe^' near the 
 followed, succeeded m turn by mica-slate, consist "1^ '^.^^ ^„ „,,^ ,,^,^1- 
 
 clay-slate, and the o^r,n.u^J^-^^ M" litLount'ains. Here Hutton 
 tions, investing the earth '"successive ^ ^^^ ^^ 
 
 ^^^ Here Hutton 
 
 found what he had long looked for, veins 
 of granite running into the strata above, 
 and^was so delighted with this confirma- 
 tion of his speculations as to shout loud 
 for joy, so that his companions thought 
 him out of his senses. In Glen Tilt the 
 changes on the stratified rocks near the 
 granite are very interesting, and fully con- 
 firm the Huttonian view of their origin. 
 There seems little doubt that the marble, 
 
 • 1 1 TLpf it was then ' of ureen, yellow, white, or gray colors, 
 
 observe in the heavens. 1 hat it was then oi g , y .^ 
 
 a muss of intensely-heated ^'^P"^ ^'^'^^f i 2"it"elriltered by the vicinity of 'he 
 
 cooUng down, condensed and ^hrew off a m^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 the various ph.' * which surround th« >g"««^™^f Carrara is now known to 
 
 sun; that the ^^^^ -« j,^" ^j^^^r^s , b a"^^^^^^^ changed by heat, 
 of molten rocks, and thus acquirea its e „,,„,.|eg jje in a wild desolate valley, 
 present form; continuing, however, to cool, The quarrjes lie in ^a w ^^ ^ ^^ ^^/^ 
 
 shells, almost like the coats of an onion. 
 His opponents soon pointed out the in- 
 consistency of this theory with facts, and 
 the impossibility of finding a mass of water 
 capable of dissolving these rocks, and his 
 aqueous ch.:08 is now almost forgotten. 
 Some, however, seem inclined to put an 
 igneous one in its place. They affirin that 
 the solar system was originally a neoula, 
 like one of those which astronomers still 
 
 I 
 
 first the granite rocks, and next the gneiss, 
 with its associated beds, formed on the 
 surface, while the interior, still ret..ining 
 its heat and fiuidity, produces earthquakes 
 and volcanoes, with changes in the eleva- 
 tion of the land, and dislocations m the 
 strata, by contracting as it cools still ibore 
 
 at some distance from the town, on the 
 western declivity of the Apennines ; and 
 the marble has probably been produced by 
 the igneous agency elevating these moun- 
 tains. In many other places, similar rocks, 
 once believed to be the oldest on the earth, 
 are found to have been formed at a period 
 
 strata, by contracting as it cools still itiore. "^.'7'" ';i^,„ically considered, is very 
 This theory is supported by many ingeni- I which, geoiogicauy ^^^______ 
 
 mmma 
 
 mmmmmm 
 
T^W 
 
 *»*«i, 
 
 '••.lii, 
 
 834 
 
 CLASSIFICATION OF HOCKS. 
 
 recpiil. Thus the micn-slnte forming Mont 
 Blanc, the monarch of European moun- 
 tains, changes (jradualiy into a rof k iiower 
 than the coni strata round Edinburgh, and 
 this giant hill is probuhly more recently 
 formed than the diminutive Arthur Pcit. 
 There is thus, therefore, no ground for 
 considering them as portions of the origin- 
 al structure of the globe, at least in their 
 present condition. 
 
 These rocks are found, ilmost with the 
 same characlers, over nc irly the whole 
 earth, and from its lowest plains to the 
 summits of its highest mountains. In 
 Europe, they have been traced from Fin- 
 land and the North Cape to the mountains 
 of Spain and Greece, on one hand, and, 
 on tlie other, from the western isles of 
 Scotland to the far distant Urals on the 
 borders of Asia. Humboldt found them 
 in the mountains of South America, and 
 in North America they are seen encircling 
 flie great Canadian lakes and the still 
 more vast hasin of the Mississippi and 
 Missouri. They form the extreme south 
 of both the old and new continents in the 
 cape of Good Hope and Terra del Fuego. 
 In Asia, they are not less dominant from 
 Siberia and the Altai mountains to the 
 lofty chain of the Himalaya. 
 
 The character these rock.s impress on 
 the scenery is often very diverse, but in 
 all a spt-cies of harsh rugged grandeur 
 prevails. Each rock formation has its 
 own peculiar character, arising from its 
 nature and mode of decomposition, and is 
 also favorable to the growth of certain 
 plants and trees, which form as it were 
 its appropriate clothing. There is a har- 
 mony prevailing throughout nature, and 
 all its various kingdoms, which show it to 
 bo the work of infinite goodness and in- 
 telligence. Not only are the various parts 
 cf the material world beautifully adapted 
 to each other, but also fitted to inspire the ' 
 mind of man with those elevated emotions 
 which constitute his truest and most last- 
 ing enjoyments. 
 
 But these rocks possess other recom- 
 mendations, in the rich mines they con- 
 tain and the valuable gems or precious 
 stones found in them. The rock-crystal 
 of the Cairngorm mountains was at one 
 time in great reputation as an ornamental 
 stone ; and the amethyst, topaz, and some ; 
 
 others, more rarely occurred. Garnets 
 of various sizes are common everywhere 
 it) the mica-slate, hut are too abundant to 
 have much value. In Hra/il, this rock 
 contains diamonds, more commonly, how- 
 ever, found in the debrii or iijgments 
 near primary mountains. The emerald 
 of Peru, the ruby, and corundmn, seem to 
 be derived principally from the granite, 
 but, for obvious reasons, arc more fre- 
 quently sought for among the jjravel form- 
 ed by its decay. Less attractive, but more 
 valuable, are the mines for which these 
 rocks are justly cflcbraled. The granite 
 of Cornwall conliiins those stores of tin 
 which drew to its shores Phrenician mer- 
 chants, centuries before the Roman legions 
 had crossed the channel. In Sweden, the 
 gneiss contains the richest mines of copper 
 and iron. Gold and silver are also found 
 in it in that land, but in less abundance 
 than in the Ural chain which bounds 
 the eastern side of the great plain of 
 northern Europe. From the mines in 
 these mountains, and in Siberia, the Rus- 
 sian government has obtained, in the 
 twenty years before 1842, about 250,000 
 lbs. troy of gold, besides silver and platina. 
 But the expense, even in that country, 
 where labor costs little, is enormous, and 
 the profit far less than might be imagined. 
 The rich mines of America are also in 
 similar rocks, where igneous formations 
 have disturbed and altered the regular 
 beds. 
 
 A speculative author of the seventeenth 
 century maintained that the original fuim 
 of the earth was a great plain, hills and 
 mountains being the effects of that curse 
 pronounced on the ground for the sin of 
 man. This notion could only have origi- 
 nated in the mind of a native of a level 
 country, who knew little of the true econ- 
 omy of nature. To an eye accustomed to 
 a mountain land, few objects are more 
 tiresome than a great extent of level ground 
 with no inequalities, and such regions are 
 seldom so fertile as those of more veued 
 outline. In like manner, the igneous 
 rocks, with the disruption, C'^'^ioion, and 
 alteration, they produce on the connected 
 beds, have been looked on as inconsistent 
 with a system of perfect wisdom, and benef- 
 icence. Yet this view undoubtedly arises 
 merely from our ignorance and partial 
 
 
..i^^ 
 
 curred. Garnets 
 inion evorywhorp 
 ) too nhniiilRrit to 
 
 Urnzil, this rock 
 
 cotnmonlv, how- 
 irii or iiajjmpnts 
 s. Th«) emerald 
 onindtim, tionrn to 
 from the granite, 
 m, nro more frc- 
 l tlin gravel form- 
 ttraclivo, hut more 
 
 for which these 
 Btl. The gmnito 
 lose stores of tin 
 i I'litt'iiician mer- 
 lio llomnri legions 
 In Sweden, the 
 St mines of copper 
 fer are also found 
 I less abundance 
 n which hounds 
 e great plain of 
 m the mines in 
 Siberia, the Kus- 
 ohtained, in the 
 2, about 250,000 
 silver and plaiina, 
 
 in that country, 
 is enormous, and 
 ight be imngined, 
 jrica are also in 
 neous formations 
 ered the regular 
 
 if the seventeenth 
 the original luim 
 t plain, hills and 
 Dcts of itiiil curse 
 nd for the sin of 
 I only have origi- 
 niitive of a level 
 of the true ocon- 
 ye accustomed to 
 jbjecls are more 
 Mit of level ground 
 8uch regions are 
 e of more veued 
 ner, ;he igneous 
 n, c"-'f..giori, and 
 on the connecied 
 m a» inconsistent 
 visdorr, and benef- 
 mdoubtedly arises 
 anco and partial 
 
IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
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 !: 1;° III 2.0 
 
 1.8 
 
 1.4 IIIIII.6 
 
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 7^ 
 
 HiotograpMc 
 
 Sciences 
 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WES7 MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 
 
 (716) 872-4503 
 
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,V4 
 
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 Li 
 
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 Collection de 
 microfiches. 
 
 Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques 
 
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CICEKO. 
 
 835 
 
 1 
 
 .1 
 
 knowledge of the innumerable relations 
 subsisting among the various portions of 
 the universe. So far as we do see, we 
 can perceive that this irregularity is pro- 
 ductive of beauty and a higher harmony ; 
 that these igneous rocks decompose into 
 a rich and fertile soil ; and that these con- 1 
 vulsions promote the natural drainage of j 
 the land, so essential to its salubrity, and ; 
 give rise to springs, as these, by their 
 union, to brooks and rivers ; while the 
 rocks in which change and alteration are 
 most evident, are the most prolific of those : 
 minerals on which so much of the comfort \ 
 and happiness of men depend. It is in- 
 deed rarely safe for man to propose amend- 
 ments in that system which Infinite Wis- 
 dom has adopted. 
 
 CICERO. 
 
 HE concurrent testi- 
 mony of ancient and 
 modern times has 
 placed Demosthenes 
 and Cirtro side by 
 side as the two great 
 masters of ancient 
 oratory, each eminent 
 beyond comparison, in his own style, in 
 his own tongue, and above his own coun- 
 trymen. Each of them, by that brilliant 
 talent, was introduced, from stations com- 
 paratively humble, to the highest office 
 and honors which they could enjoy, and 
 each has thus won an imperishable name. 
 Demosthenes, however, is eminent only 
 as a public man ; Cicero is no less dis- 
 tinguished as a philosopher and man of 
 letters than as a speaker ar.d statesman. 
 
 Marcus Tullius Cicero was born at 
 Arpinum, a small inland town of the 
 province of Latium, about 68 miles east 
 of Rome, in the 648th year after the 
 foundation of the city, and the 106th be- 
 fore the birth of Christ. He was of very 
 ancient, but not of patrician family. Both 
 his grandfather and lather were men of 
 talent, possessed of influence in their 
 neighborhood ; and the father in particular 
 was intimate with many leading men of 
 his day. Bad health however compelled 
 him to live in retirement, which he em- 
 
 ployed in cultivating the talents of his 
 two sons, Marcus and Quintus, who had 
 in addition the ablest instruction which 
 Rome could afibrd. Oratory, the Roman 
 law, and the Greek language, literature, 
 and philosophy, were the principal branch- 
 es of the future statesman's study. As an 
 amusement, both at this time and later in 
 life, he practised composition in verse ; 
 and he appears to have regarded his efforts 
 with some complacency. None of them 
 however are preserved ; and to judge from 
 the extracts which remain in Cicero's 
 prose writings, the loss has not detracted 
 from his reputation. The warlike con- 
 stitution of republican Rome required that 
 all her citizens should be trained to arms ; 
 and it was in compliance with the law, 
 and not from any turn for the military pro- 
 fession, thai at the age of 17, B. C. 89, 
 and in the following year, Cicero served 
 in the Marsic war. This however was 
 but a short interruption to his laborious 
 course of preparation for the bar, to which 
 he steadily applied throughout the bloody 
 civil war of Marius and Sylla. In addition 
 to his professional studies he attended 
 diligently the lectures of those Greek 
 philosophers who visited Rome, and prac- 
 tised declamatior' in Greek as well as in 
 Latin. He first appeared as an advocate, 
 at the age of 26, B. C. 81 ; to which year 
 belongs his earliest extant speech in de- 
 fence of Quinctius. In the following year 
 he defended Sextus Roscius from a charge 
 of parricide ; and obtained, according to 
 his own report, by his speech on this oc- 
 casion, which is preserved, a place among 
 the first orators of Rome. He gained the 
 cause ; and h'!.i exertions in this case were 
 the more honorable, because the prosecu- 
 tion was abetted, for private reasons, by 
 the unscrupulous and all-powerful dictator 
 Sylla. Soon afterward a prudential care 
 of his health, which in youth was delicate, 
 not unconnected probably with the appre- 
 hension of Sylla's resentment, induced 
 him to undertake a tour in Greece and 
 Asia, which filled up two years. During 
 this period, however, he continued the 
 study of philosophy and oratory, frequent- 
 ing the schools of the most eminent mas- 
 ters wheresoever ho went, both with ap- 
 plause and advantage. B. C. 67, after the 
 i death of Sylla, ho returned to Rome. 
 
CICERO. 
 
 887 
 
 K-: 
 
 Of mature age and highly-cuUivated 
 talents, he now applied his whole mind 
 to the practice of the law, through which 
 he looked to attain power and dignity. 
 The profession of an advocate at Rome 
 was different in many respects from that 
 of a barrister of our times ; there was no 
 body of men set apart, and called to the 
 bar ; but a client chose his advocate from 
 the learned, or the powerful, or the elo- 
 quent, and the courts were open to the 
 advocacy of all alike. Such services 
 were gratuitous, for in the republican 
 times it was disgraceful to accept money 
 for pleading a cause : still the profit of an 
 advocate in large practice, though indirect, 
 was certain, especially if he looked Ibr- 
 ward to advancement in public life, to 
 which the power of conferring obligations 
 on a great many persons, and at the same 
 time of displaying talents for business, 
 very mainly contributed. It was necessary 
 for those who aspired to the highest offices 
 of the state to pass in rotation, with cer- 
 tain intervals between the holding of e", Vi 
 office, through those of inferior digni.^ ; 
 and in the second year after his return, 
 B. C. 75, he obtained the lowest of them, 
 being made one of the quaestors. These 
 were a set of ofBr ers, who had various 
 duties, principally connected with the 
 collection and administration of the lev- 
 enue, both at Rome and in the provinces: 
 Cicero was sent into Sicily, where he 
 discharged his functions with usefulness 
 and honor. He thought that his services, 
 even in this subordinate station, could not 
 fail to command attention : but being dis- 
 appointed in this, finding that his absence 
 had passed unnoticed, and that the people, 
 in his own words, had dull ears, but quick 
 eyes, he resolved thenceforward to remain 
 at Rome, and to apply himself still more 
 closely to the business of the forum, even 
 to the relinquishment of those provincial 
 governments which were the mobt lucra- 
 tive situations that the republic had to 
 bestow. 
 
 During the next five years Cicoro|8 
 life was spent in the quiet practice of his 
 profession : but none of his speeches dur- 
 ing this period have been preserved, ex- 
 cept the series in accusation of Verres, 
 late governor of Sicily, a man infamous 
 for extortion and cruelty. Cicero was 
 
 Jiot fond in general of acting the part of 
 an accuser ; hiil his connexion witli Sirily 
 seemed to onforct! ilie claim of the prov- 
 ince on his services. Verres wiis sup- 
 ported by the powerful influence of an 
 oligarchy interested in screening abuses 
 by which they had themselves profited or 
 hoped to profit ; but the case against him 
 was so strong that in an early stajje ty( the 
 proceedings he went into exile, rather tluui 
 encounter the full exposure of his mis- 
 deeds cotisequent upon a public trial. Of 
 the seven orations on this 8ul>iect, tliere- 
 fore, two only (those entitled Ditnnatio 
 nwA Actio prima) were spoken ; the others, 
 however, are finished, as if for delivery. 
 
 B. C. 69, Cicero tilled the oflice of 
 aedile ; and B. C. 66, that of prtetor. At 
 the close of the latter he declined, accord- 
 ing to his resolution above noticed, to take 
 a provincial government, which magis- 
 trates usually looked to as the means of 
 repaying with interest the enormous sums 
 which were usually spent in gaining an 
 election, either in direct or indirect bribe- 
 ry. His views no doubt were directed to 
 the speedy attainment of his highest ob- 
 ject of ambition, the consulship ; still, as 
 his fortune was small, and rendered .ide- 
 quate to the support of his rank and dignity 
 only by a strict economy, his moderation 
 in this 'sped is honorable. 
 
 If summer of the year 64 B. C, 
 
 Ciceij !>•, -' le a candidate for the con- 
 sulship, aiid having gained his election, 
 eiitered with the new year upon the duties 
 of his office. The state of Rome at this 
 lime was very critical. An extensive plot 
 was organized, not to change, but rather 
 to subvert the constitution, by the entire 
 destruction of the party in possession of 
 the good things of the slate, and the trans- 
 fer of both their political influence and 
 private wealth to other hands. At the 
 head of this plot was Lucius Sergius 
 Catilina, a man known and feared, of an 
 illustrious family, but ruined alike in for- 
 tune and character, and fitted for the des- 
 perate course into which he had now 
 plunged, by a brain fitted to contrive, and 
 a hand and tongue to carry through, the 
 most daring and atrocious design. His 
 chief supporters were men similarly situ- 
 ated, of high rank, expensive and profligate 
 habits, and neither fortune nor expecta 
 
 ■I* M 
 
• i 
 
 tions, except in the lottery of public life ; 
 in short, it was a sort of Calo street con- 
 spiracy, except that the actors were of the 
 highest, instead of the lowest class. In 
 Rome, it would appear, from the caution 
 considered necessary in dealing with the 
 conspirators, that a large proporiion of the 
 physical force of the metropolis must have 
 been well inclined to assist their views. 
 These were, to murder the consuls and 
 those senators whose character and talents 
 were to be feared ; to set fire to the city, 
 and in the confusion to seize the capital, 
 and gain possession of the seat and en- 
 signs of the government. The support 
 of a large body of soldiers, trained to 
 bloodshed in the wars of Marius and Sylla, 
 and settled upon grants of land in different 
 parts of Italy, was readily promised to 
 men who held out th^ prospect of further 
 benefit from civil strife. Not only the 
 existence of the plot, but full particulars 
 of its progress were made known to Cicero 
 through private channels of information ; 
 but it was found very difficult to obtain 
 legal evidence to convict the actors. Cati- 
 line, though the matter was generally 
 notorious, maintained the bold front of in- 
 nocence ; and even appeared in the senate 
 on the 8th of November. Provoked at 
 this effrontery, Cicero burst out in what 
 appears to have been an unpremeditated 
 invective against him— the first oration 
 against Catiline. In this he exposes the 
 vices of Catiline's life, goes into the de- 
 tail of his past and future schemes, and 
 urges him to depart into exile, or repair 
 to his associates, and begin the civil war 
 which he had resolved ; and he explains 
 the lenity or seeming weakness of his own 
 conduct, in opening the door of escape to 
 such a criminal, on the ground that many 
 could not or would not see the impending 
 danger. If, he argued on the other hand, 
 the chief criminal be once driven into open 
 rebellion : " none can be so silly as not to 
 see there is a plot, none so wicked as not 
 to acknowledge it ; whereas, by taking off 
 him alone, though this pestilence would 
 be somewhat checked, it could not be sup- 
 pressed ; but when he has thrown him- 
 self into rebellion, and carried out his 
 friends along with him, and drawn to- 
 gether the profligate and desperate from 
 all part3 of the empire, not only this ripen- 
 
 ed plague of the republic, but the very 
 root and seed of all our evils will be ex- 
 tirpated with him at once." He concluded 
 with a grand burst of indignation against 
 Catiline, who, though startled at this open 
 attack, rose to defend himself, but was 
 overpowered by trie general outcry of the 
 senate. He exclaimed, in fury, " Since 
 I am thus entrapped and driven headlong 
 by my enemies, I will extinguish the (lame 
 raised about me by the common ruin," and 
 rushing out of the senate-house, quitted 
 Rome that evening, and made all haste 
 into Tuscany, where the discontented 
 soldiery were already in motion. 
 
 This open step removed one portion of 
 Cicero's difficulties; and fresh evidence 
 being obtained, the principal conspirators 
 who remained in Rome were arrested. 
 To bring them to an open trial, or to n- 
 tain them in custody, was alike thought 
 unsafe, on account of the danger of a 
 rescue ; and the question of their fate was 
 remitted by the consuls to the senate. It 
 was determined, chiefly through Cicero's 
 eloquence, that they should forthwith be 
 put to death ; an illegal act, to be justified 
 only by that extreme necessity which over- 
 rules all law. The fourth and last Catili- 
 narian oration is on this subject. In the 
 evening Cicero was conducted to his own 
 house by the senate in a sort of triumph, 
 while the people thronged the way, salu- 
 ting him with acclamations as the savior 
 and second founder of Rome. These im- 
 portant transactions took place on the fifth 
 (the None, according to the Roman calen- 
 dar) of December, to which Cicero con- 
 tinually refers as the most glorious epoch 
 of his life. 
 
 After his elevation to the consulship, a 
 decided change is to bo traced in Cicero's 
 political feelings and conduct. For his 
 proinotion he had depended on the demo- 
 cratic elements of the constitution ; having 
 gained it, it became his object to secure 
 the good-will, and to identii his own in- 
 terests with those of the senate and no- 
 bility. In this he never completely suc- 
 ceeded. There was always a prejudice 
 against him as a new man, that is, one 
 who had no hereditary honors to boast ; 
 and the eminent service which he had 
 done was rendered distasteful and almost 
 ridiculous by his constant reference to it 
 
1 
 
 CICERO. 
 
 839 
 
 ic, but the very 
 Jvils will be ex- 
 ' He concluded 
 lignalion against 
 rtled at this open 
 limself, but was 
 ral outcry of the 
 in fury, "Since 
 driven headlong 
 nguish the (lame 
 nimonnjiii," and 
 e-house, quitted 
 
 made all haste 
 fie discontented 
 motion. 
 (1 one portion of 
 
 fresh evidence 
 pal conspirators 
 
 were arrested. 
 n trial, or to n- 
 
 15 alike thought 
 he danger of a 
 of their fate was 
 • the senate. It 
 irough Cicero's 
 lid forthwith be 
 :t, to be justified 
 sity which over- 
 1 and last Catili- 
 lubject. In the 
 icted to his own 
 sort of triumph, 
 I the way, salu- 
 s as the savior 
 ne. These im- 
 !ace on the fifth 
 e Roman calen- 
 ich Cicero con- 
 glorious epoch 
 
 16 consulship, a 
 aced in Cicero's 
 iduct. For his 
 sd on the demo- 
 titution ; having 
 )bject to secure 
 tif his own in- 
 senate and no- 
 
 completely suc- 
 ays a prejudice 
 m, that is, one 
 nnors to boast ; 
 which he hud 
 eful and almost 
 ; reference to it 
 
 in public and private, and by his over- 
 weening vanity and egotism. When the 
 time of need came, he experienced the 
 lukewarmncss of his new friends. There 
 was one Clodius, a dissolute young patri- 
 cian, in whose prosecution for a gross 
 violation of religion and public decency 
 Cicero had been concerned. Clodius be- 
 came his mortal enemy ; and being sup- 
 ported for party purposes by Ca;sar and 
 Pompe) , he procured the enactment of a 
 law by which any one who had taken the 
 liCe of 1 citizen uncondemned and without 
 trial should be interdicted from fire and 
 water, a phrase equivalent to outlawry and 
 excommunication combined. This was 
 manifestly aimed against Cicero, who by 
 the advice of ins friends withdrew into a 
 voluntary exile, in March, B. C. 58; and 
 shortly after his departure a law was 
 passed forbidding him to appear within 
 400 miles of the capital. He took up his 
 abode in Greece. No part of his life is 
 less dignified than this : short as it proved, 
 his downfall overwhelmed him with grief; 
 and he so far lost the control of his feel- 
 ings and conduct, that his mind was even 
 supposed for a time to be disordered. His 
 exile however did not last for a year and 
 a half, a law having been carried, after 
 much opposition, to authorize his return. 
 He was received with extraordinary hon- 
 ors ; his whole journey through Italy re- 
 sembled a triumphal procession, and his 
 entry into Rome was attended with still 
 greater honors. "That one day," he 
 says, " was worth an immortality ; when 
 on my approach toward the city, the senate 
 came out to receive me, followed by the 
 whole body of the citizens, as if Rome 
 itself had left its foundations, and marched 
 forward to embrace its preserver." 
 
 We can not number among Cicero's 
 good qualities the strength of principle 
 and moral courage which are the only 
 security for honest and consistent conduct 
 in stormy times. He had experienced 
 the ill effects of provoking the powerful, 
 and had no time to be made a martyr a 
 second time. Hence we find him con- 
 nected sometimes with Porapey, some- 
 times with Csesar ; ill at ease, as is evi- 
 dent from his correspondence, with the 
 state of public affairs, and seldom satisfied 
 with his own conduct. Wo abstain from 
 
 attempting to conduct the reader through 
 the tortuous maze of Roman politics ; in 
 which, for some years, Cicero ceased to 
 take a leading part. He still continued 
 the frequent exercise of his rhetorical 
 talents in defence of accused persons, and 
 applied his leisure hours to the study of 
 philosophy and the composition of his 
 philosophical writings. 
 
 B. C. 51, Cicero was obliged, by an 
 alteration of the law, to take the govern- 
 ment of a province, which he had hitherto 
 declined. Cilicia fell to his share. It 
 had been greatly pillaged by the preceding 
 governoi' ; and Cicero found abundant em- 
 ployment in healing the disorders which 
 his predecessor had caused. The military 
 transactions of his proconsulship were un- 
 important; though he would willingly have 
 magnified some slight successes into 
 ground for a trium[)h. 
 
 He returned to Rome in January, but 
 just before the march of Cajsar into Italy. 
 Reduced to the necessity of choosing be- 
 tween the party of that daring leader and 
 the senate headed by Pompey, he hesita- 
 ted, but took the side which consistency 
 required him to adhere to. But when 
 Pompey found it expedient to evacuate 
 Italy and retreat into Greece, Cicero re- 
 mained behind, and negotiated for a recon- 
 ciliation with Caesar, who required from 
 him no more than neutrality. A tempora- 
 ry check to Caesar's fortunes again revealed 
 the real bent of Cicero's wishes : he es- 
 caped to Greece, and joined the army of 
 Pompey. In the field, however, he was 
 no acquisition. Discontented and dis- 
 pirited, he vented his spleen in evil fore- 
 bodings and bitter discouraging jests. Af- 
 ter the battle of Pharsalia he lost all hope, 
 and returned to Italy in October, B. C. 
 48 ; where, after remaining many months 
 in suspense, he received from the con- 
 queror the assurance of safety. 
 
 From this time to the death of Caesar, 
 B. C. 44, Cicero's political importance 
 ceased ; and he lived in retirement, chiefly 
 employed in the composition of his phi- 
 losophical works, of which these few years 
 produced an ample harvest. Caesar's mur- 
 der brought him again into public life. In 
 that act he had no hand, probably being 
 regarded by the conspirators as too timid 
 and undecided to be trusted in such a 
 
 i 
 
 
840 
 
 8WORDFI8H. 
 
 cause. But he expressed his concurrence 
 and joy after the deed was done ; and 
 lamented, more to the credit of his fore- 
 sight than of this morality, that Antony 
 had not been included in Csesar's doom. 
 To Antony he was inveterately hostile ; 
 and it was with the view of making him 
 odious, and stimulating the senate and the 
 people against him and his friends, that 
 the fiimous series of orations, which, in 
 imitation of Demosthenes, Cicero entitled 
 his Piiilippics, was composed and spoken. 
 His hopes, however, and those of his 
 party, were finally destroyed by the for- 
 mation of what is called the second trium- 
 virate, the union of Octavius with Antony 
 and Lepidus. The bond was sealed by 
 a new proscription, as it was called, in 
 which those who were obnoxious to the 
 contracting parties were consigned by 
 name to military execution. Octavius 
 readily abandoned Cicero to the vengeance 
 of Antony, whose haired was strongly 
 roused by the profuse invectives which the 
 orator had lavi.shed on him. The news 
 reached him at his Tusculan villa, about 
 ten miles from Rome. His fi'sl thought 
 was to escape by sea ; but being opposed 
 by the winds, and fluctuating and uncer- 
 tain in his resolutions, he landed again, 
 and proceeded to his Formian villa, near 
 Naples, where he was put to death, with- 
 out resis'ince, by a party of soldiers. De- 
 cember 7, B. C. 43, at the age of 64. 
 His head and hands were carried to Anto- 
 ny, who ordered them, according to Plu- 
 tarch, to be set up in the Forum, above 
 the rostrum or platform from which he had 
 been used to address the people. 
 
 None of Cicero's historical, and only 
 fragments of his poetical works remain : 
 those which are extant of his writings are 
 divisible into four heads : 1, On the sci- 
 ence of rhetoric ; 2, On religion and 
 moral and political philosophy ; 3, Ora- 
 tions ; 4, Letters. It was his peculiar 
 merit to have been the first who attempted 
 to teach the Greek philosophy in the 
 Latin language. The multiplicity and 
 variety of his philosophical works, of 
 which indeed the rhetorical ones form but 
 a branch, is wonderful when we consider 
 how busily his life was employed : the 
 subject, however, is too extensive and of 
 too little general interest for us to attempt 
 
 to analyze their contents. As a speaker, 
 Cicero wants the conciseness and (irt? of 
 Demosthenes ; a necessary ccm-sequcnct- 
 perhaps of his having to deal with a 
 language far inferior to that of Greece in 
 copiousness, accuracy, and energy. In 
 elegance, variety, and, above all, in tlie 
 skill of the pleader, the power of makiiii; 
 the best of his case according to circum- 
 stances, and adapting his arguments to the 
 audience which he had to address, it woiijil 
 be hard to find his superior, lli.s letKsM 
 are most valuable helps to the history of 
 his times, and ii;ake amends for the ab- 
 sence of a digested history from his pen, 
 which would have been less minute and 
 probably less veracious. They are writ- 
 ten for the most part, especially those to 
 Aiticus, with great freedom ; and exhibit 
 his real opinions with little reserve. Many 
 of the heaviest charges against Cicero's 
 integrity as a public man are based upon 
 his correspondence ; and it is to be re- 
 membered, in comparing him with others, 
 that few public men have given us the op- 
 portunity of subjecting their conduct to so 
 severe a scrutiny. To his Latin style in 
 all its variety, familiar, didactic, oratorical, 
 too much praise can not be given. He 
 has always been regarded as the model 
 of Latin prose composition ; and, indeed, 
 about the time of the revival of letters was 
 regarded with an almost slavish venera- 
 tion : one school of Latinists refused ta 
 use even a word or phrase which had pu 
 the sanction of his authority. 
 
 SWORD-FISH. 
 
 HE prolongtJl/ <»r.ry 
 snout of <iii » word- 
 fish, bearing jonie re- 
 semb'tance to a sword 
 in ita form and em- 
 ployment, has in all 
 nations procured for 
 the fish a name ex- 
 pressive of this analogy The generic 
 character common to the species is, that 
 the head with the upper jaw terminates in 
 a sword-shaped snout, that the mouth is 
 without teeth, that the gill-membrane has 
 
8. As a speaker, 
 leness anil (irn ot' 
 sary conseciufiice 
 to (leal will) a 
 thnt of Greece in 
 
 and eiierjjy. In 
 above all, in tlic 
 
 power of iniikin!,' 
 ording; to cirt'uni- 
 s ari;unients to the 
 o address, it woiilij 
 •rior. llis letKirs 
 3 to the history of 
 nends for the ab- 
 tory from his pi^i, 
 n less minute and 
 . They are writ- 
 jspecially those to 
 dom; and exhibit 
 tie reserve. Many 
 3 against Cicero's 
 n are based npon 
 id it is to be re- 
 g him with others, 
 e given us the op- 
 heir conduct to so 
 
 his Latin style in 
 lidactic, oratorical, 
 ot be given. He 
 ded as the modid 
 tion ; and, indeed, 
 nval of letters was 
 St slavish venera- 
 atinists refused ta 
 ase which had pi\ 
 ority. 
 
 'ISH. 
 
 I prolong'i't' <»<".ry 
 •ut of Oi < '-word- 
 I, bearing .^onie re- 
 nhiance to a sword 
 Its form and em- 
 yment, has in all 
 ions procured for 
 fish a name ex- 
 gy The generic 
 e species is, that 
 * jaw terminates in 
 that the mouth is 
 giil-membrane has 
 
 in 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 
842 
 
 THE NUMBER SEVEN. 
 
 eijjht rays, and that the body is roundish 
 and wiihout scales. The two principal 
 operies arc — the common sword-fish, and 
 the broad-finned sword-fish. The com- 
 mon sword-fish {xiphias glmlius) is con- 
 sidered as properly a native of the Medi- 
 terranean, though it sometimes strays into 
 the Atlantic, and has been found along the 
 coast of B'urope as far as the IJaltic, and 
 along that of Africa as far as the cape of 
 Good Hope. It has a long and round 
 body, largest near the head, and gradually 
 tapering toward the tail. The head is 
 rather fiat, and the mouth wide, both jaws 
 ending in a point, but the upper extending 
 to a much greater length than the lower. 
 This pro|()nf,od part is that which is 
 uuu'ily called the sword : it is of a bony 
 substance between three and four inches 
 wide at the base, according to the propor- 
 tions of the individual to which it belongs, 
 and tapering to a sharp point. It is cover- 
 ed by a strong ^^pidermis or scarf skin, 
 rough to the touch like sand paper. A 
 deeply-impressed line or furrow runsdown 
 the middle of the upper part, and three 
 similar furrows on the lower surface. It 
 has only one fin on the back, which runs 
 along the whole length of it. It is very 
 high at the commencement, and sinking 
 suddenly, becomes very shallow, and is 
 continued to within a short distance of 
 the tail, terminating in an elevated point. 
 The tail is large and crescent-shaped, 
 and on each side of the body, immedi- 
 ately before it, is a strong finny ap- 
 pendage. The general color of the fish 
 is brown, accompanied by a deep steel- 
 blue cast on the head and upper parts, 
 and inclining to silvery white on the sides 
 and abdomen. It sometimes grows to a 
 very large size, and as much as twenty 
 feet in length. 
 
 The sword-fish is very active in its 
 movements and voracious in its appetite. 
 Il feeds on the smaller kinds of fish, which 
 it kills by piercing them with its sword. 
 It is said to be in particular a very great 
 enemy to the tunny, which is described 
 by Bclon to be as much alarmed by its 
 appearance as a sheep is at the sight of a 
 wolf. 
 
 This fish is highly esteemed as an arti- 
 cle of food by the Sicilians, who buy it up 
 eagerly at any price at the commence- 
 
 ment of the season, which lasts from May 
 to August. They cut it into pieces, and 
 salt it for future use. This procnss was 
 in ancient times particularly performed ut 
 the town of Thuri in the bay of Tareniuin, 
 whence the fish was called tomux Ihiiriii- 
 nus. A description of the ancient m;in- 
 ner of taking this fish has been left ua by 
 Strabo, from which it appears that the pro- 
 cess was the same as that now in use. 
 A man mounts upon a clifi' that over)iani;s 
 the sua : and as soon as he discovers ilie 
 fish, gives notice to a boat in atteiulance 
 of the course it has taken. A man in the 
 boat then mounts the mast, and on seeing 
 the sword-fish directt the rowers toward 
 It. As soon as they think themselves 
 within reach, the man on thu mast de- 
 scends, and taking in his hand a harpoon, 
 to which a curd is attached, strikes it into 
 the fish, sometimes at a considerable dis- 
 tance. After being wearied with its agi- 
 tations and attempts to escape, as well as 
 exhausted by its wound, the fish is seized 
 and drawn into the boat. The operation 
 has considerable resemblance to the whale 
 fishery on a small scale. The superstitious 
 Sicilian fishermen have an unintelligible 
 chant, which they regard as a most essen- 
 tial part of their apparatus. Brydone thinks 
 it is Greek : but be that as it may, the 
 fishermen are convinced of its efficacy as 
 a charm, its operation being to attract and 
 detain the fish near the boat. There are 
 certainly some Italian words in it, al- 
 though it is said that the men believe that 
 the fish would dive into the water and be 
 seen no more if it happened to hear a word 
 of Italian. 
 
 THE NUMBER SEVEN. 
 
 EVEN, so often men- 
 tioned in the sacred 
 writings, has always 
 had a kind of emphasis 
 annexed to it. It is 
 by some called the 
 number of perfection, 
 being composed of the 
 first two perfect num- 
 bers, equal and unequal, three and four — 
 (for the number two consisting of repeated 
 
!i lasts from May 
 into pieces, and 
 'liis pn)ce8s was 
 riy performed at 
 jay of Tarcntiim, 
 ed tomus fhitriu- 
 le ancicr)t rnan. 
 I been left lis by 
 iars that the pro- 
 thai now in use. 
 fV lliat overhiiniis 
 he discovers tlic 
 at in attenihince 
 I. A man in tbe 
 it, and on seeing 
 3 row(!rs toward 
 hinii ibemsi'lves 
 on the mast de- 
 hand a harpoon, 
 ed, strikes it into 
 considerable dis- 
 ried with its agi- 
 icape, as well as 
 the fish is seized 
 Tlio operation 
 mce to the whale 
 The superstitious 
 an unintelligible 
 as a most essen- 
 Brydone thinks 
 It as it may, the 
 of its efficacy as 
 ing to attract and 
 )oat. There are 
 words in it, al- 
 men believe that 
 he water and be 
 ed to hear a word 
 
 SEVEN. 
 
 N, 80 often men- 
 1 in the sacred 
 igs, has always 
 kind of emphasis 
 :ed to it. It is 
 ome called the 
 er of perfection, 
 
 composed of the 
 ;wo perfect num- 
 
 three and four — 
 listing of repeated 
 
 THE NUMnER SEVEN. 
 
 843 
 
 unity, which is no number, is not perfect). 
 In six days creation was perfected— the 
 7th was ctmsecrated to rest ; if Cain be 
 avenged 7 fold, truly Lamech 70 and 7 
 fold: Noah had 7 days warning of the 
 flood, and was commanded to take the 
 fowls of the air into the ark by 7*8 and 
 the clean beasts by sevens; the ark 
 touched the ground on the 7ih month, and 
 in 7 days a dove was sent, and again in 7 
 days after. Abraham pleaded 7 times for 
 Sodom ; he gave 7 ewe-lambs to Abime- 
 lech for a well of water. Jacob served 7 
 years for Rachel, and also another 7 years. 
 Joseph mourned 7 days for Jacob. Laban 
 pursued after Jacob 7 days journey. The 
 7 years of plenty, and the 7 years of fam- 
 ine, were foretold in Pharoah's dream by 
 the 7 fat and the 7 lean beasts, and the 7 
 ears of full and the 7 ears of blasted 
 corn. The children of Israel were to eat 
 unleavened bread 7 days. The young of 
 animals were to remain with the dam 7 
 days, and at the close of the 7th to be ta- 
 ken away. By the old law, man was com- 
 manded to forgive his offending brother 7 
 times ; but the meekness of the Savior 
 extended this forbearance to 70 times 7. 
 On the 7th day of the 7ih month, a holy 
 observance was commanded to the chil- 
 dren of Israel, who fasted 7 days in 
 tents. Every 7ih year was directed to be 
 a year of rest for all things, and at the 
 end of 7 limes 7 years commenced the Ju- 
 bilee ; they were to observe a feast 7 days 
 after they had gathered in their corn and 
 wine ; 7 days they were to keep a solemn 
 feast, as they had been blessed in the work 
 of their hands. Every 7 vears the land 
 lay fallow. Every 7 y- ■■ Aere was a 
 general release from aL f/ebts, and all 
 bondsmen were set free. From this law 
 may have sprung the custom of binding 
 young men to 7 years' apprenticeship, and 
 of punishing offenders with 7 years, twice 
 7, or three times 7 years imprisonment. 
 Every 7th year the law was directed to be 
 read to the people ; if they were obedient 
 their enemies should flee before them 7 
 years ; if disobedient their enemies should 
 chase them 7 ways. In the destruction 
 of Jericho, 7 priests bore 7 trumpets 7 
 days, an the 7th day they surrounded the 
 walls 7 times, and after the 7th time the 
 walls fell. Hannah, the mother of Sam- 
 
 uel, in her thanks, says, that the barren 
 hath brought forth 77, as some Jewish 
 writers say that his name answers to the 
 value of the letters in the Hebrew word 
 which signify 7. 7 of Saul's sons were 
 hanged to stay a famine. Jesse had 7 
 sons, the youngest of whom ascondeil the 
 throne of Israel. The number of animals 
 in sundry of their obligations was liiniied 
 to 7. Solomon was 7 years building tlio 
 temple, at the dedication of which he 
 feasted 7 days. In the tobernaclo were 7 
 lamps. The golden candlesticks had 7 
 branches ; 7 days were appointed for an 
 atonement on the altar ; and the priest's sun 
 was appointed to wear his father's .gar- 
 ment 7 days. Naaman was commanded 
 to wash 7 times in Jordan to cure his lep- 
 rosy. Gehazi was ordered to look toward 
 the sea 7 times, and at the 7th time he saw 
 the wished-for cloud. The Shunamite's 
 child sneezed 7 limes before life was fully 
 restored. In the 7ih year of his reign, 
 King Ahazuerus feasted 7 days, and on 
 the 7lh directed his 7 chamberlains to find 
 a queen, who was allowed 7 maidens to 
 attend her. Job's friends sat with him 7 
 days apd 7 nights, and offered 7 bullocks 
 and 7 rams as an atonement for their wick- 
 edness. David prayed that the wicked 
 night be rewarded 7 fold in t'leir doonri. 
 Solomon says that the fool is wiser in his 
 own conceit than 7 men that can render a 
 reason, and that when the wicked speak- 
 elh fair, there are 7 abominations in his 
 heart. Nebuchadnezzer was 7 years a 
 beast, and at the end of 7 years his king- 
 dom was restored ; and the fiery furnace 
 was heated 7 times hotter to receive Shad- 
 rack, Mesheck, and Abednego. 
 
 The Scriptures are illustrated by 7 res- 
 urrections, viz. : The widow's son by Eli- 
 jah, the Shunamite's son by Elisha, the 
 soldier when ho touched the bones of Eli- 
 sha, the daughter of the ruler of the syn- 
 agogue, the son of the widow of Nain, 
 Lazarus, and the Savior. 
 
 Enoch who was translated, was the 7th 
 from Adam, anr'; Jesus Christ, the 77th in 
 a direct line. The Savior spoke 7 times 
 from the cross, on which he remained 7 
 hours. Ho appeared 7 times afterward. 
 In 7 times 7 days he sent the gift of the 
 Holy Spirit. In the Lord's prayer are 7 
 petitions contained in 7 times 7 words. 
 
 h f*: 
 
 =11 
 
 54 
 
 
844 
 
 MENTAL DISCIPLINE-SORROW FOR THE DEAD. 
 
 In thn Apocnlypn*? wo read of 7 cliurch- 
 p«, 7 randlcsticks, 7 spirits, 7 stnrn, 7 
 triiniprts, 7 pliiguos, 7 ihundors, 7 vials, 
 and 7 anj»(!l.i to pour ihem out upou the 
 7-head()d nionater, Antichrist. 
 
 MENTAL DISCIPLINE. 
 
 Therk aro many who spend a life of 
 mental eflTort, who nevenhelfss fail in al- 
 tainitifT to a disciplined mind. This, how- 
 ever, is highly important, it is to the stu- 
 dent what skill is to the mechanic. One 
 may read all his days, and accumulate the 
 richest and most valuable products of 
 mind, hut unless ho possess the capacity 
 of renderiuf^ thom available, they will bo 
 utterly worthless ! By the term, " mental 
 discipline," the student understands that 
 condition of the mental and moral facul- 
 ties, which will at all times enable one to 
 concentrate his attention, and fix his men- 
 tal grasp upon any given subject without 
 pain, almost without effort, and to accom- 
 plish his plan — whatever it may be, with 
 perfect and complete success. There is 
 a mental habitude which enables the mind 
 to adjust itself to its subject with the most 
 gratifying ease — all is regularity, system, 
 precision, life. The productions of such 
 minds appeal directly to the heart — the 
 soul, in its clearest light and development, 
 breathes and burns in every line, and we 
 bow down and admire them as we do the 
 astonishing productions of master genius- 
 es, or the imposing grandeur and awful 
 sublimity of Stromboli, with its lamps of 
 eternal fire . The " myriad-minded" Shak- 
 spere — he whom the world worships, 
 whose lyre speaks to ihe heart — harsh and 
 discordant though it sometimes is, stands 
 forth is one of the most successful exam- 
 ples of mental discipline which it has ev- 
 er been the fortune of the world to wit- 
 ness. His was the power to create — 
 from nothingness he evoked a world, a 
 universe of beauty — he " could enter upon 
 any s ate, assume any character, feel the 
 throbbings of every heart, and the aspira- 
 tions of every soul." Nature was his 
 study — his aima-mater. He was cramped 
 by no rules — in the pure and pellucid 
 fountain of his mighty spirit, nature was 
 
 mirrored in nil the winninj; and majestic 
 loveliness of her own imnmcniiite self. 
 " He set the diamond of his mind in pure 
 gold," With him nature supplied the 
 rules of art ; the intuitive perception n( 
 his mind, rendered the dicta of the srhooln 
 superfluous ; and, at the high altar of hif 
 own bright thoughts, he eia.. ra'ed thnsn 
 majestic conceplioi s wliich, while his i:in- 
 giiuge fulls familiarly up.tn the ear, will b(\ 
 the ndmirati(>ii and wonder of the world. 
 
 SOIUIOW FOR TIIK DEAD. 
 
 Thk sorrow for the dead is the only sor- 
 row from which we refuse to be divorced 
 Every other wound we seek to heal; ev- 
 ery other affliction to forget ; but this 
 wound we consider it a duly to keep (ipeii ; 
 this affliction we cherish and brood over 
 in solitude. Where is the mother, who 
 would willingly forget the infant that per- 
 ished like a blossom from her arms, though 
 every recollection is a pang ? Where 
 is the child that would willingly forget the 
 most tender of parents, though to remem- 
 ber but to lament ? Who, even in the 
 hour of agony, would forget the friend 
 over whom he mourns ? Who, even when 
 the tomb is closing upon the remains of 
 her he most loved ; when he feels his 
 heart, as it were, crushed in the closing 
 of its portal, would accept of consolation 
 that musi, be bought by forgetfulness ? No ; 
 the love which survives the tomb is one 
 of the noblest attributes of the soul. If 
 it has its woes, it has likewise its delights ; 
 and when the overwhelming burst of gritf 
 is calmed into the gentle tear of recollec- 
 tion ; when the sudden anguish, and the 
 convulsive agony over the present ruins 
 of all that we most loved, is softened 
 away into pensive meditation on all that 
 it was in the days of its loveliness, who 
 would root out such a sorrow from the heart? 
 Though it may sometimes throw a passing 
 cloud over the bright hour of gayeiy, or 
 spread a deeper sadness over the hour of 
 gloom, who would exchange it for the song 
 of pleasure or the burst of revelry ? No ; 
 there is a voice from the tomb sweeter than 
 song — a remembrance of the dead to which 
 we turn, even from the charms of the living. 
 
 I 
 
 BMUnwrttttmtmm 
 
AD. 
 
 inninjj nnd mnjentic 
 irii iinnwK-iiliito hd\(. 
 
 of his mind in \,uxe 
 inliirH supplied ilie 
 tuilivo porcftptiiiri of 
 o ilictiv of thn schools 
 iho hiyh nitnr of hii" 
 
 ho fin., rii'nd those 
 which, while his hm- 
 up. in tho «'nr, will ho 
 Diiiler of tho world. 
 
 THE DKAD. 
 
 dead is the otdy sor- 
 'efiisn ti» be divorced 
 ye seek to hesil j ev- 
 to forget ; but this 
 a duty to keep open ; 
 rish and brood over 
 is the mother, who 
 t the infant that per- 
 •om her arms, though 
 s a pang ? Where 
 d willingly forget the 
 ts, tliough to reiuom- 
 
 Who, even in the 
 Id forget the friend 
 I? Who, even when 
 upon the remains of 
 
 when ho feels his 
 ished in the closing 
 ccept of consolation 
 •forgetfulness? No; 
 ivea the tomb is one 
 ites of the soul. If 
 likewise its delights ; 
 lelming burst of grii ' 
 ntle tear of recollec- 
 den anguish, and the 
 er the present ruins 
 t loved, is softened 
 editation on all that 
 )f its loveliness, who 
 lorrow from tho heart? 
 ;imes throw a passing 
 t hour of gayety, or 
 ess over the hour of 
 change il for the song 
 rst of revelry? No; 
 he tomb sweeter than 
 eof the dead to which 
 3 charms of the living. 
 
 Oriental Women oii Camela. 
 
 TRAVELLING IN THE EAST. 
 
 ERHAPS the highest 
 excitement that life of- 
 fers to the Mussulman, 
 is tho pilgrimage to 
 Mecca : the lowliest 
 condition, the most ad 
 vanced age, or im- 
 measurable distance — 
 is no bar to its per- 
 formance. From the interior of Africa 
 and Hindostan, the shores, isles, and des- 
 erts of the east, an annual myriad advan- 
 ces to the tomb of the prophet. The de- 
 parture of a caravan in the freshness of 
 its strength and zeal, ere disease and mis- 
 ery have done their work, is a singular 
 and splendid spectacle ; the sacred while 
 canvel, gorgeously arrayed and attended, 
 the guards, the banners, the hosts, of va- 
 rious nations, complexions, and languages, 
 all pressing on with a lightness of heart, 
 a freedom of step, a face full of the se- 
 date fanaticism of their faith. The more 
 humble and numerous portion of the pil- 
 grims are the most devoted ; to worship 
 at the shrine, to wash away their sins, and 
 earn a hadji's honor, is their strong and 
 guiding hope — the prospect of traffic and 
 
 g!»in also animates tlio merchants, who, as 
 well as the nobler pilgrims, are provided 
 with servants, coinl'orts, and even luxuries. 
 Hut tliis pilgrimage is of admirable una in 
 teaching men their utter helplessness, the 
 vanity of earthly distinctions, " the rich 
 and the poor meet together ;" they weep 
 ill secret ; *' the servant is as his master." 
 T'.F hour is sure to arrive, when the car- 
 avan, feehle and wasted, the courage lost, 
 the enthusiasm a dream — is seen stealing 
 over the desert, as if the angel of death 
 sadly called them : whin the poorer pil- 
 grim, from his burning bed of sand, looks 
 on the great and the luxurious, breathing 
 faintly also, and ihe harem of the one, and 
 the collage of the other, Hit before the 
 failing eye. Perhaps the night brings the 
 breeze or cloud, and they struggle on their 
 way, till the water, fountain, or stream, is 
 near ; and its low sound is caught by ev- 
 ery ear with an acuteness that misery on- 
 ly can give. Again all distinctions are 
 forgotten, of sex, rank, and circumstance ; 
 the prince and the peasant kneel side by 
 side, or prostrate, like Gideon's troop, 
 drink insatiably, blessing the prophet and 
 each other. The writer was once pres- 
 ent at a scene of this kind, in a party, 
 where one of the domestics, in his sutler- 
 
ing, poured reproaches on his master ; the 
 rest were silent and dejected ; they had 
 walked from sunrise till noon over a soil 
 utterly parched, and in an intolerable heat, 
 no cloud in the sky, no moisture on the 
 earth ; the hills of white sand on the left 
 seemed to glare on us like spectres : at 
 last we reached a rapid and shallow stream, 
 on whose opposite bank was a stone tow- 
 er, where a few soldiers kept their lonely 
 look-out against the Arabs. Too impa- 
 tient to drink in the usual way, the party 
 thrdW themselves on the shore, and plung- 
 ing their faces in the wave, drank long 
 and insatiably. 
 
 The track of the great caravan, during 
 an unfortunate season, is at intervals 
 strewed with victims ; the first an i old 
 and the sickly ; wasted by the coio <:.-. well 
 as the fiery blasts, the bodies rest on the 
 sands, without corruption, such is the ex- 
 cessive purity of the air ; to those who 
 have friends and property, a miserable 
 honor is shown. 
 
 " Just before we reached the wells in 
 this desert," says an Arabian traveller, 
 "we passed by the tomb of a distinguished 
 person, who died on this spot. His com- 
 panions having enclosed the naked corpse 
 within low walls of loose stones, had cov- 
 ered it over with a large block. The dry- 
 ness of the air had preserved the corpse 
 in tha most perfect state. Ijooking at it 
 through the interstices of the stones which 
 enveloped it, it appeared to me a more per- 
 fect mummy than any I had seen in Egypt. 
 The mouth was wide open, and our guide 
 related that the man had died for want 
 of water, though so near the wells." 
 
 It is possible, by fortunate arrangements, 
 to visit the tomb of Mecca without serious 
 calamity, save some inroads on the health 
 and beauty of the ladies, who actually 
 went in this caravan, with an enterprise, 
 and perhaps i<»lieious zeal, not very usu- 
 al among oriental women. Rarely, in- 
 deed, do the latter venture their round 
 forms and exquisitely clear and colorless 
 complexions, to the simoom's deadly 
 sweep ; to go forth from the harem, into 
 which the light falls through richly stained 
 glass — to be by night the inmate of a tent 
 during weeks and months, and the prey of 
 the sun and wind by day ; can the thick- 
 est veils, the most skilful precautions, pre- 
 
 vent mischief to the eyes, the cheeks, the 
 hair ; the limbs will grow attenuated, and 
 the spirits, unused to such stern excite- 
 ment, languid and broken. 
 
 The conductor of this smill caravan, to 
 whon the ladies belonged, was a noble 
 Turk, a native of Constantinople, whence 
 he had proceeded through the rich provin- 
 ces of Asia Minor to Damascus, thenco 
 by slow journeys through the deserts to 
 ti'ie Red sea, and there embarked for Jid- 
 da, which is six days' journey from Mec- 
 They were now on their return, their 
 
 ca 
 
 consciences pacified, their imaginations 
 bewildered, their memories stored. The 
 trials of the way o'erpast, they were resting 
 among the ruins of Antioch, musing, per- 
 haps, on the tales of peril and change, to 
 tull to the calm and luxurious circles of 
 Constantinople — for which they were in 
 a short time to sail. 
 
 The Turkish nobleman and two of his 
 friends were seated on a rich carpet, each 
 smoking the hookah, and sipping colTee ; 
 the baggage scattered on the ground, the 
 horses and camels graz'.r.g, some tents 
 open; groups of pilgrims ^c.e conversing, 
 or sauntering about the shores. The tenis^ 
 of the women, closely curtained, were 
 pitched in the rear, no less than six being 
 occupied by the harem and its numerous 
 attendants. The ini^jates had travelled 
 across the desert in houdas, a covered or 
 open divan, placed on the back of the cam- 
 el, and either rudely or luxuriously fur- 
 nished. The writer met, one day, in the 
 deserts east of the Red sea, a Turkish 
 gentleman of Cairo, reluming, quite alone, 
 from Mecca ; he was seated in a houda, 
 his solitary camel, seen from afar, the ri- 
 der reclining as on a sofa, musing indo- 
 lently, had a droll appearance in so deso- 
 late a scene ; the little clouds of smoke 
 that rose at intervals from his pipe into 
 the pure air, told of his progress accu- 
 rately ; it was by no means unlike the 
 slow movement of a small steam-carriage 
 over the sands, save that no sound came 
 forth ; the Arab guide, walking at the head 
 of the camel, was as silent as his master ; 
 even his melancholy song was hushed. 
 But the Ottoman ladies, who had walked 
 nine times round the adored tomb, kissed 
 the black and miraculous stone of the Ca- 
 aba, and drank of the well Zemzem— will 
 
 4^1 
 
=n 
 
 t 
 
 TRAVELLING IN THE EAST. 
 
 849 
 
 ■z:=rz==ii 
 
 be marked and envied beings for the rest 
 of their Uvea ; in the divans, the baths, 
 the promenades of the city— the words of 
 the fair hadjes will bo received as oracles, 
 and companies will hang as greedily upon 
 them, and even more so, than their lords 
 on those of the Arab story-tellers, for they 
 will have the charm of truth. No gain- 
 saying or skepticism can be feared from 
 other ladies, who have never strayed from 
 the banks of the Bosphorus, or heard 
 more awful sounds than the murmur of us 
 waves, or their own fountains. 
 
 The Mahometans, from the tomb of 
 their prophet— halting on the ruins of An- 
 tioch, presented a mournful comment on 
 the decline of the power and glory of this 
 world, as well as on that of the pure and 
 earliest church of God. The two great- 
 est of the apostles preached, Ignatius 
 taught, and offered himself as a martyr in 
 Antioch; and great was the prosperity 
 and tho joy, during many ages, of Us 
 Christian people. 
 
 And now— the lofty minarets of the 
 mosques were seen above the broken 
 walls of tho ancient city ; there are some 
 remains of a church, said to be that of 
 Chrysostom ; there are tombs also, be- 
 neath the shade of the trees, but they do 
 not contain the ashes of the early Chris- 
 tians , the stono shaft carved, and turban, 
 show them to bo tho sepulchres of the 
 Turks. The valley of the Orontes is 
 very partially cultivated, save in the im- 
 mediate vicinity of the river ; the range 
 of Mount Amanus, the Amana of scrip- 
 ture, rises boldly beyond ; far to the right, 
 at a few hour^ distance, is the path in this 
 mountain, through which Darius marched 
 his mighty army from the plains of Assyr- 
 ia to the coasts of Cilicia, a few days be- 
 fore the battle of Issus. 
 
 To the course of the Orontos new in- 
 terest is now imparled by the enterprise 
 of Colonel Chesney, who begins his over- 
 land communication with India at Suade- 
 ah, where this ancient river falls into the 
 sea. From this first footstep on the lone- 
 ly shore, covered with the ruins of Seleu- 
 cia, what a career of industry, intelligence, 
 and prosperity, may be expected to arise ! 
 Steam navigation and railroads will tra- 
 verse the silent plains and the famous but 
 forsaken rivers ; not Cleopatra in her bark 
 
 of purple and gold on the Cydnus, excited 
 more surprise than will follow the first 
 steamboat on the Orontes — the herald to 
 the admiring people of a new era in their 
 condition, in knowledge, in comfort, in 
 faith ! The general diffusion of instruc- 
 tion among a people, from whom it has 
 been so long and so uUerly withheld, will 
 be the gradual but certain result of the 
 rapid facilities of intercourse with Eng- 
 land and America; tho great valley of 
 the Orontes, from the vicinity of Damas- 
 cus to that of Aleppo, is full of modern as 
 well as ancient interest ; there are sever- 
 al large and wealthy towns, where manu- 
 factures might be introduced, and a regu- 
 lar commercial intercourse established ; 
 the cultivation of some districts is excel- 
 lent, and most are capable of it ; but tho 
 people are a prey to indolence and apathy ; 
 they want a new stimulus. And this stim- 
 ulus will be felt when new sources of 
 trade, of enjoyment, of energy, shall be 
 opened to them. The improvements and 
 changes introduced by the conqueror, 
 Ibrahim Pacha, may benefit his coffers, 
 not his subjects. Railroads and steam- 
 carriages will be the greatest blessings to 
 these rich and beautiful countries ; on 
 their rapid wheels devolve greater changes 
 than on the march of armies. From Su- 
 adeah to the Euphrates, and down its wa- 
 ters to the Persian gulf, will no longer bo 
 the painful and interminable journey that 
 most undertake from necessity, few for 
 pleasure ; in a few years, the traveller, in- 
 stead of creeping on a camel at three miles 
 an hour, wasted by sun and wind, may find 
 himself rolling along the plains of Baby- 
 lon with the speed of thought, while 
 mounds, towers, and tumuli, vanish by, 
 like things seen in a dream ; the man of 
 science, who lingers among the dim nuns, 
 the merchant who tarries to buy and sell, 
 may no longer dread the plundering Kurd 
 or Bedouin, when his country's flag heaves 
 in sight far over the plain, on that an- 
 cient river Euphrates, as daringly as when 
 •< Her inarch was on the mountain wave, 
 Her home wb« on the deep." 
 The commercial caravans, it is evident, 
 afford the great means of interchanging 
 commodities between countries vvhich 
 would otherwise be cutoff from nearly all 
 commercial intercourse. The caii^vans of 
 
f 
 
 =1 
 
 ■•»'«' 
 
 HI 
 
 
 1*kS 
 
 
 r:i*J*iK 
 
 ^Jl' 
 
 Egypt bring to Cairo ostrich feathers, 
 gum, gold-dust, and ivory, from Abyssinia 
 and the countries beyond it ; while those 
 of Arabia exchange the spices, coffee, 
 perfumes, and muslin of Hindostan. By 
 means of caravans, an interchange of com- 
 modities is kept up between China and 
 central Asia; and at the fair of Nijnei 
 Novgorod, tea, brought originally to Ki- 
 achta by caravans which perform a land 
 journey of seventy or ninety days, fs dis- 
 tributed throughout the Russian empire. 
 
 When deserts are to be crossed, the on- 
 ly possible means of transit is by land ; 
 but the extension of this mode of trans- 
 port to the capital of the Russian empire, 
 indicates truly the childhood of Russian 
 civilization. But Asia and Africa are the 
 indigencus countries of camels and cara- 
 vans, which are the means of advancing 
 and promoting the business, and even the 
 higher interests of life. Without com- 
 merce the inhabitants of many parts of 
 Asia and Africa would be condemned to 
 a Slate of existence deprived of almost 
 every enjoyment ; but the camel, which 
 has been most bountifully bestowed upon 
 these arid regions, has facilitated men's 
 intercourse with one another, though the 
 state of these countries has rendered it 
 necessary for merchants and traders to 
 consort with each other in largo com- 
 panies for mutual protection, just as in 
 time of war fleets of merchantmen proceed 
 under convoy. The caravans which travel 
 from the coasts of Egypt, Tripoli, Tunis, 
 Algiers, and Morocco, to Timbuctoo, the 
 great mart of central Africa, are repre- 
 sented as being eighteen weeks in pro- 
 ceeding from the border of the desert. 
 They meet caravans from places in the 
 interior which have never been reached 
 by Europeans. The goods displayed in 
 the markets of Thibet, and those which 
 come from the remotest recesses of Africa, 
 are thus exchanged. The African cara- 
 vans, it is said, carry coal through the 
 desert. 
 
 In the year 1254, the caravan of the 
 mother of Moslem b'lUah, the last of the 
 Abbasides, was composed of 120,000 
 camels ; but the Syrian caravan, which 
 is now the largest, did not number more 
 than 15,000 camels in 1814, according to 
 Burckhardt. 
 
 THE PAMPAS OF BUENOS AIRES. 
 
 LL that tract o 
 country south of 
 the Parana river, 
 and oflatitude 33 
 south, extending 
 west of the An- 
 ^!^m ^l^jMt\)iS£^ '^^^» g*>ss by the 
 j^TJ^fy" i 7|pWy'^\ name of the Pam- 
 ^' ^ r^ pas, and is a level 
 
 country, formed apparently by the wash- 
 ings of the great tributaries of the La 
 Plata, without a stone, or rock, or a hill, 
 more than a gentle elevation of a few feet, 
 so level that a carriage can go over the 
 fields in any direction, and without a 
 single tree or bush. It is one immense 
 meadow, covered with luxuriant grass, 
 mingled in the spring time, with a thou- 
 sand varieties of beautiful flowers. The 
 winter's night is rarely so cold as to form 
 ice of the thickness of glass, and snow is 
 never seen. The thermometer is never 
 below thirty, or above ninety. This plain 
 is but partly settled. A line drawn north 
 and south, one hundred and fifty miles 
 west of Buenos Ayres, and from the 
 Parana river, to three hundred miles south 
 of that city, embraces the portion of the 
 country under civilized rule. Over the 
 rest rove the Pampa Indians, who go as 
 far south as Patagonia, in summer, and 
 who come north in winter. Clothed gen- 
 erally in nkins, eating horseflesh, and 
 robbing and murdering wherever oppor- 
 tunity offers, they are the nearest kin to 
 brutes, of any race of Indians that exist 
 on the American continent. The settled 
 part is divided into estates, generally con- 
 taining two to five square leagues of land. 
 A league contains 5,700 acres, on which 
 the principal business is raising cattle, 
 sheep, and horses. Each land-owner has 
 a peculiar brand, which is registered at 
 the office in the city, and all animals with 
 that brand are his property. The owners 
 drive together all the animals once a year, 
 and brand the young ; and when they are 
 sold, they are branded again, or counter- 
 marked, and then marked with the mark 
 of the new owner. The animals are driven 
 up to pens, generally near the centre of 
 the estate, every night, and they soon get 
 into the habit of eating away from their 
 
852 
 
 THE PAMPAS OP BUENOS AYRE8. 
 
 I 
 
 sleeping ground until noon, and then turn- 
 ing their steps toward home. One square 
 league will support ten thousand animals, 
 although it is rare that so many are put 
 within th;' I space. The calculations early 
 last year, were, that in the state of Buenos 
 Ayres there were 5,000,000 cattle, 4,000,- 
 000 sheep, and 1,000,000 horses. Cattle 
 are worth about three and a half silver 
 dollars each, when selected for market. 
 The owner sells a drove. All the animals 
 are driven together, and all the neighbors 
 are invited to the frolic of separating cattle 
 for market. A most exciting frolic it is, 
 for the cattle are not tame, and it is not 
 very safe to approach them, except on 
 horseback. About twenty tame working 
 cattle are stationed about half a mile from 
 the herd. The purchaser points out an 
 animal to be taken out, and three horse- 
 men dash in among them ; the animal 
 runs, and the horsemen manage to get on 
 each side of, and behind him. A race 
 begins ; the riders, shouting like mad- 
 men, so manage as to bring the animal to 
 the spot where the tame oxen are quietly 
 grazing, when, reining in their horses, he 
 darts ahead, and finding he is no longer 
 pursued, stops, evidently astonished at the 
 operation. In this way, twenty or thirty 
 men will select a large number in a day. 
 Sometimes a " novillo" or steer will give 
 them a chase of three or four miles before 
 they can bring him to the right spot. The 
 drove selected, the head driver gets a 
 certificate from the justice of peace that 
 he has examined the marks, and that the 
 cattle are sold by the true owners, with 
 which he starts for town, sometimes 150 or 
 200 miles, travelling very slowly, and sleep- 
 ing on the grass near them. Groat care 
 must be taken that they do not mix with 
 herds as they pass along, as there are no 
 fences or ditches to separate one's land 
 from his neighbor's. 
 
 Arriving at the outskirts of the city of 
 Buenos Ayres, they pass to the great 
 salting establishments, where they are 
 driven into a pen. A lasso or noose is 
 thrown over the horns, and by a windlass 
 the animal is drawn up to a post, where 
 a man stands, and with a sharp-pointed 
 knife pierces the spine, back of the horns 
 — the animal drops upon a rail truck, and 
 is drawn off tu the skinning ground, where 
 
 the hide is taken off, the beef cut from 
 the bones and hung up to drain, preparato- 
 ry to salting, and the tallow all taken out, 
 all within five minutes. The hides arc 
 salted and shipped, principally to Eng- 
 land J the beef is salted and then dried, 
 and shipped in bulk to Brazil and Cuba : 
 the bones, horns, and hoofs, are shipped to 
 Europe ; and the hair from the tails, for 
 mattresses, and the sinews of the legs, for 
 glue, are exported to the United Slates. 
 About 600,000 cattle are annually killed 
 for the beef, which is cured for export, 
 and about 200,000 are killed and the beef 
 either steamed out for the fat, or thrown 
 away. The export of hides from Buenos 
 Ayres is 1,200,000 per annum. Those 
 for the United States are the lighter kinds, 
 that come from the interior states of the 
 Argentine confederation. The richest 
 cattle>owneTS are Nicholas Anchorena and 
 his brother Thomas, who sell 70,000 each 
 year, and have about 300,000, and 50,000 
 horses. There are several who own over 
 100,000, and the country remaining tran- 
 quil and in peace, the number would 
 rapidly increase. The other states of the 
 confederation are not so settled, but have 
 about 3,500,000 cattle ; and the republic 
 of Uruguay and the southern part of Brazil 
 (Rio Grande) have 5,000,000 more, ma- 
 king in the country near the La Plata, 
 13,500,000. The export of hides to 
 Europe and the United States is about 
 2,500,000 annually. 
 
 Sheep have been much neglected until 
 within fifteen years past. Formerly they 
 were considered as worth but a few cents 
 each, and the story of their being used to 
 bum brick with, in former times, is true. 
 The common wool is now worth, when 
 washed, about six cents the pound. With- 
 in fifteen years many persons have turned 
 their attention to importing fine sheep, 
 and crossing them with the sheep of the 
 Pampis. Over ten thousand full blood 
 merino sheep have been brought to the 
 country, from Germany and the United 
 States. The pure blood sheep born in the 
 country, and taken care of, deteriorate very 
 little in the fineness of the wool, and some 
 of the sheep that are crossed three quar- 
 ters, or seven eighths full blood, produce 
 very fine wool. The largest sheep estate 
 is that of Mr. Sheridan, an Irish gentle- 
 
 n MMt B I WOP - 
 
THE PAMPAS OF BUENOS AYRE3. 
 
 853 
 
 the beef cut from 
 o drain, preparato- 
 Uow all taken out, 
 . The hiJes arc 
 incipally to Eu^- 
 id and then dried, 
 Brazil and Cuba : 
 lofs, are shipped to 
 from the tails, for 
 W8 of the logs, for 
 ho United States. 
 re annually killed 
 cured for export, 
 killed and the beef 
 the fat, or thrown 
 bides from Buenos 
 jr annum. Those 
 
 the lighter kinds, 
 erior states of tho 
 )n. The richest 
 das Anchorena and 
 10 sell 70,000 each 
 )0,000, and 50,000 
 eral who own over 
 ry remaining tran- 
 le number would 
 
 other states of tho 
 > settled, but have 
 , and the republic 
 them part of Brazil 
 )00,000 more, ma- 
 lear the La Plata, 
 [port of hides to 
 id States is about 
 
 ich neglected until 
 it. Formerly they 
 rth but a few cents 
 their being used to 
 mer times, is true, 
 now worth, when 
 
 1 the pound. With- 
 ersons have turned 
 >orting fine sheep, 
 b the sheep of the 
 bousand full blood 
 en brought to the 
 ty and the United 
 }d sheep born in the 
 I of, deteriorate very 
 the wool, and some 
 crossed three quar- 
 full blood, produce 
 argest sheep estate 
 n, an Irish gentle- 
 
 man where there will be one hundred | Buenos Ayres the past season 20,000,000 
 and 'fifty thousand sheared this year, all pounds of wool, of which two thirds went 
 of them from one half to full blood merino, to the United Stiiles. This was not all 
 This estate is about fifty miles south of the product of that state, as part ol it caino 
 Buenos Ayres, contains seven league from Cordova, Entre Rios, und the rcpub- 
 
 square of land, and is called, " Estancia 
 de los Saiones," or " Estate ol the Sax- 
 onies"— it being devoted entirely to the 
 raiding of sheep, which are divided gen- 
 erally into flocks of 3,000 to 5,000 each. 
 A man or boy on horseback, always ac- 
 companies them. They require but little 
 caro, beyond letting them out of the pen, 
 iiud driving them back, every day in the 
 year. The soil of the Pampas is im- 
 pregnated with saltpetre, and the water is 
 brackish. To this is attributed the ab- 
 sence of foot rot and other diseases anumg 
 .sheep. The shearing season commences 
 the middle of October, the shearing being 
 mostly done by women. Some of them 
 will shear fifteen, and even twenty sheep 
 in a day. The level nature of the country 
 and the absence of running water, make it 
 •nipossible to wash the wool on the sheep's 
 back. It is rolled up as sheared, and with 
 considerable dirt, put into carts, which 
 take it to town, where it is valued and 
 shipped. The greatest drawback to the 
 producing of wool on the Pampas, is the 
 small burr which adheres to the wool. It 
 is the seed of a species of clover, of which 
 
 lie of Uruguay. 
 
 Horses of the Pampas are a small race, 
 originally from Spain. They are most 
 excellent saddle-horses, and have great 
 bottom, but are not of sufficient weight for 
 carts or carriages. They have increased 
 to such an extent, as to be of lillle value 
 except for the hide. Horses are the prin- 
 cipal munition of war, and all are subject 
 to be taken by the government. An army 
 marches with three horses lor each soldier, 
 ' and the Argentine government have a re- 
 ' serve of 90,000. All battles on the Pam- 
 pas are decided by the cavalry and light 
 artillery, which is equal to any in the 
 world ; anc' the success of the Argentines 
 in all their wars, may be ascribed to this 
 cause. 
 
 Every estate has one hundred horses 
 and mares to every one thousand cattle, 
 and in some parts the proportion is larger. 
 Formerly, government allowed horses to 
 be killed and the carcasses steamed, by 
 which process, at times, fifty pounds of oil 
 is extracted, which is shipped to the United 
 States, and there sold as neat's foot oil. 
 Fearing that the stock of horses would 
 
 is ineseeu Ol u Buecieaui i/iifvoi, ui "...V,.. o ... , ui •. 1 1 
 
 the sheep are vefy fond, and in some parts i decrease, this has been prohibited and 
 of the country there is so much of it, as | horses are of little value ; a flock of theiii, 
 
 . ' '.-... . > 11 ..,;.U .„„.<>« nr,A /.nits nnt hfiincr worth 
 
 to render the wool of little value. A small 
 shrub that grows two or three feet high, 
 produces a burr as large as a marble, 
 which is easily taken out. The manes 
 and tails of horses feeding among this, are 
 frequently an enormojs mass of burr of 
 many pounds weight. The common wool 
 of the country is generally washed after 
 shearing, it being of little importance to 
 keep the fleeces entire. The wool wash- 
 ed at Buenos Ayres has a harsh, crispy 
 feeling, arising from the water. The 
 Southdown sheep are hardiest, and in- 
 crease the fastest. Don Faustino Xeme- 
 ncs has 60,000, on his estate, twenty 
 miles from the city, but generally the 
 proprietors have crossed with Saxony. 
 
 with mares and colts, not being worth 
 more than seventy-five cents each. Tamed 
 and broken for the saddle, they are worth 
 three to five dollars. Fancy ones bring 
 fancy prices, and occasionally a horse 
 will soil as high as one hundred dollars, 
 but it is very rare. Like the cattle, they 
 are all branded, which gives strangers a 
 very disagreeable impression at first. 
 
 Wheat and corn are now raised, sufli- 
 cient for the consumption of the country, 
 and at times they are exported. The far- 
 mers keep the cattle from their fields by 
 boys on horseback, driving them away — 
 as fences and ditches are rare. There 
 are immense quantities of thistles, which 
 in spring shoot up to six or eight feet 
 
 proprietors uave ciuoacu mni ^^.^'^..j . .- -f—o ---.- T*^ . ,, i Ti „ „_„ 
 
 The wool from Cordova, one of the interior The sun dnes the stalks, and they are 
 states of the confederation, is free from ! used for fires m the country. Many of 
 burr, and a much cleaner kind than the . the estates have squares of peach-trees, 
 Pampas wool. There was exported from 1 which are cut down every four years. 
 
 m 
 
f 
 
 i 
 
 854 
 
 HOME.— THE FAIR OF REYKIAIUK. 
 
 Peachwood is almost the only firewood 
 of the city, except what is brought from 
 the north side of the river and Brazil ; 
 and the trees planted on the islands of the 
 Parana river by the Jesuits, have now 
 spread over its thousand islands, and the 
 towns on its banks are supplied with fruit 
 and firewood from them. The fruit is a 
 variety of cling-stones, not very large, but 
 of good flavor. The soil is so rich that 
 potatoes require foreign seed. The third 
 crop is so watery as to be unfit for eating. 
 Beans, peas, and most vegetables, are 
 raised in great abundance, particularly 
 tomatoes. 
 
 The Pampas abound in game in almost 
 incredible quantities, and animals with 
 valuable skins; hares, and armadilloes, that 
 are considered a great luxury for eating ; 
 the biscatchia, a species of the prairie- 
 dog ; the nutvia, a species of muskrat, the 
 fur being a substitute for beaver, and of 
 whose skins 500,000 are annually export- 
 ed ; ostriches, and every species of crane ; 
 the scarlet ibis, flamingoes, and spoonbills, 
 which are sometimes seen in thousands ; 
 curlew, plover, and snipe, of various class- 
 es, and in great abundance. The oflicers 
 of our navy would frequently bag fifty 
 brace in a day's shooting. Two kinds of 
 partridges and pheasants, double the size 
 of ours ; swans and wild geese, in such 
 quantities as in winter to literally make 
 parts of the lakes look white. Thirty- 
 two different and distinct kinds of wild 
 duck have been found on the Pampas. 
 Some of them have been pronounced equal 
 to canvass-backs. The rivers abound in 
 fish to an incredible extent. About twen- 
 ty varieties, and all very good, are to be 
 found in the market. A climate with but 
 few changes, and of delightful tempera- 
 ture. It only requires peace, to convert 
 these Pampas into a flourishing agricul- 
 tural country. Millions can be sustained 
 where now only thousands exist. 
 
 place of their birth, it is naturally con- 
 nected with their first experience of life, 
 and light, and health ; a mother's fond- 
 ness and a father's care ; the affection of 
 relatives, the sports of boyhood ; the oc- 
 cupations of riper youth ; the first dawn- 
 ings of hope, and aspirations after happi- 
 ness ; with the season when life, and 
 futurity, and all things seemed fresh and 
 beautiful, ere the disappointments of ma- 
 turer years had chilled the scene of our 
 birth and early life, still it has much to 
 endear it to our hearts ; it is linked in- 
 separably with all our pleasures and pur- 
 suits ; the thought of home gives us 
 strength to labor, and fortitude to endure, 
 thither do we look for comfort, there do 
 we take refuge from every external evil ; 
 there are gathered together those who are 
 more precious to us than ourselves ; those 
 who are not less beloved because they are 
 the friends more of sympathy and choice 
 than of natural consanguinity; in ten 
 thousand ways are our feelings, our 
 thoughts, our actions, identified with home; 
 to it we are bound by ties which increase 
 in number and in strength with increasing 
 yoars. 
 
 HOME. 
 
 Attachment to the place of his abode, 
 whether an innate principle of the human 
 mind or merely the result of association, 
 is a feeling universally observable in man. 
 In the minds of those whose home is the 
 
 THE FAIR OF REYKIARIK. 
 
 wo things have re- 
 markably distinguish- 
 ed Iceland — the as- 
 pect and nature of the 
 island, and the char- 
 acter of its inhabi- 
 tants. In no quarter 
 of the globe do we 
 find crowded within the same extent of 
 surface such a number of ignivomous 
 mountains, so many boiling springs, or 
 such immense tracts of lava, as here ar- 
 rest the attention of the traveller. The 
 general aspect of the country is the mosi 
 rugged and dreary imaginable. On every 
 side appear marks of confusion and de- 
 vastation, or the tremendous sources ol 
 these evils in the yawning craters of huge 
 and menacing volcanoes. Nor is the 
 mind of a spectator relieved from the dis- 
 agreeable emotions arising from reflection 
 
 L 
 
 wmmm 
 
 Mia 
 
things have re- 
 (ably (listinguisli- 
 Iceland — the as- 
 and nature of the 
 id, and the char- 
 r of its inhabi- 
 I. In no quarter 
 be globe do we 
 I same extent of 
 
 of ignivomous 
 iling springs, or 
 lava, as here ar- 
 
 traveller. The 
 untry is the most 
 lable. On every 
 •nfusion and de- 
 idous sources oi 
 g craters of huge 
 s. Nor is the 
 ved from the dis- 
 ig from reflection 
 
f 
 
 856 
 
 ==n 
 
 THE FAIR OF REYKIAKIK. 
 
 t 
 
 •Tl' 
 
 ?i« 
 
 on the subterraneous fires which are ra- 
 ging beneath him, by a temporary survey 
 of the huge mountains of perpetual ice by 
 wiiich he is surrounded. These very 
 niHSHes, which naturally exclude the most 
 distant idea of heat, are frequently seen 
 to emit smoke and flames, and pour down 
 upon the plains immense floods of boiling 
 mud and water, or red-hot torrents of de- 
 vouring lava. Yet this rugged and dan- 
 gerous island, so far from being uninhabit- 
 ed, or inhabited only by a people in the 
 lowest state of intellectual and physical 
 improvement, has been long famous for its 
 literature and its state of comparative civili- 
 zation. It had a representative form of 
 government, and its inhabitants were an 
 enlightened people, when Europe was but 
 advancing from darkness. And though it 
 is now thrown into the shade, because 
 Kiirope has gone forward, while Iceland 
 has become a dependency, lost its repre- 
 sentative government, and been afflicted 
 with evils, arising from furious volcanic 
 eruptions, earthquakes, disease, &c. ; still 
 the Icelanders are an educated people, to 
 a degree which is eiamordinary when 
 contrasted with their siiuaiion. Dr. Hen- 
 derson created much interest in Britain 
 by the proofs which he afforded of the in- 
 telligence of the Icelanders. The follow- 
 ing is an instance : " As I rode along, I 
 was entertained by the interesting con- 
 versation of a peasant, who was travelling 
 to Keykiarik in order to dispose of his 
 country produce. The knowledge which 
 he discovered of the geography and poli- 
 tics of Britain quite astonished me. He 
 gave me a long detail of the events that 
 transpired during the usurpation of Crom- 
 well, and proposed several questions rel- 
 ative to the Thames, Tay, Forth, &c. 
 His acquaintance with these things ho 
 had chiefly derived from Danish books ; 
 and having lately fallen in with a work in 
 German, he began to learn that language, 
 in order to make himself n^aster of its con- 
 tents." 
 
 Reykiarik, to which this peasant was 
 travelling to dispose of his produce, is the 
 capital of Iceland, and the only place ap- 
 proaching to our idea of a town in the 
 island. Speaking of its cathedral, Mr. 
 Harrow says : " Under the roof of the 
 church is the public library, said to con- 
 
 tain about 6,000 volumes, to which ih<. 
 inhabitants have free access, being allinv- 
 ed, under certain restrictions, to Imve 
 books at iheir own houses ; aiul I was ;ih- 
 sured that the residents were generiiliy 
 very fond of reading. The books vnn- 
 sisled mostly of general and ecrlesiasiical 
 history, in the northern languages — Ger- 
 man, Swedish, Danish, and Norwegian ; 
 such is related to Iceland, their sagis 
 and their eddas ; and it contained also a 
 few English books, generally the wriiiiiL's 
 of our best poets, and also a collection <if 
 the Greek ami Latin classics, besidt'.s 
 some manuscripts, chiefly theological, the 
 production of the cleigy of the island. 
 The Icelanders were once deserv((lly 
 famed for their literary productions ; and 
 it is pleasing to And that they still keep 
 alive the spirit of research and that litera- 
 ry pursuit for which their ancestors were 
 disting,uished." 
 
 Reykiarik lies on the western side of 
 Iceland. The southwest corner of the 
 island projects considerably into the sea, 
 forming the southern side or boutulary of 
 a large bay, called by Dr. Henderson and 
 others Faxo Fiord. 
 
 A stranger who first approaches the 
 shore on which Reykiarik stands, and has 
 not prepared himself by reading for what 
 he may expect, beyond the simple fact 
 that it is the capital of Iceland, can not 
 possibly behold what he sees of it — and 
 he sees at least the better half of the whole 
 from the anchorage — without experiencing 
 a strong feeling of disappointment. He 
 perceives only a long row of houses, or 
 rather the upper parts of houses, running 
 parallel to and close behind a rising beach 
 of black shingle, their red or brown roofs 
 being the most conspicuous, and the tops 
 of the doors only, and perhaps about half 
 of a row of windows, peeping above the 
 said beach, but he sees enough of them 
 to satisfy himself that they are of a low, 
 mean character, and only of one story in 
 height. On each extremity of this line 
 of houses he will observe a rising emi- 
 nence, scarcely deserving the name of a 
 hill, on which he will perceive a number 
 of sod or turf huts raised a little, and but 
 a little, above the level of the ground ; 
 their roofs, and generally their sides too, 
 verdant enough; and well clothed with 
 
los, to wliicli ilic 
 cess, bi'iiiK iillow- 
 irictiori!*, to Imvc 
 ^9 ; iiiid I was ns- 
 8 were jjf'iii'riilly 
 
 The bodks con- 
 and ccrlosiasiiciil 
 
 InngiiMUfs — (tiT- 
 
 and Norwi')iiiiii , 
 Iniid, their .siii> is 
 i contained alxo a 
 orally the wriliiij.s 
 Uo a collec'tioM nl' 
 
 classics, besides 
 Iv theoh)gical, the 
 ;y of the island. 
 
 once deservi dly 
 productions ; and 
 at thoy still kee|) 
 v\i and that litera- 
 dr ancestors were 
 
 e western side of 
 St corner of the 
 ably into the sea, 
 !e or boundary of 
 ir. Henderson and 
 
 t approaches the 
 ik stands, and has 
 • reading for what 
 I the simple fact 
 Iceland, can not 
 3 sees of it — and 
 •half of the whole 
 hout experiencing 
 ippointment. He 
 ow of houses, or 
 f houses, running 
 ind a rising beach 
 }d or brown roofs 
 ous, and the tops 
 erhaps about half 
 eeping above the 
 i enough of them 
 hey are of a low, 
 y of one story in 
 imit/ of this line 
 !rve a rising emi- 
 ng the name of a 
 erceive a number 
 d a little, and but 
 I of the ground ; 
 ly their sides too, 
 'ell clothed with 
 
 POWER OF KINDNESS. 
 
 857 
 
 „,,8s— the alwdcs chiefly of fishermen, 
 laborers in the merchants' employ, and 
 idlers, of which iheie were not a few at 
 this time sauntering about the town. . . . 
 In addition to the row of houses seen from j 
 the harbt)r, another row made its appear- 
 ance behind it— perhaps I ought to say 
 two impevCect rows, forming a sort ol 
 street, rmmii.g «t right angles w»li the 
 loriiier, near its western extremity. This 
 8liect or space between the houses was 
 encuinbeied with the same kind of rocks 
 starling cut of the soil that we observed 
 in the plain. In this portion of the town 
 18 the residence of the Landfogued, or 
 treasurer ; and near the farthest extremity , 
 is a sort of lavern or society-house, where 
 the Danish and other mercantile resi- 
 dents assemble, forming a kind of club, 
 where they play billiards and other games, 
 and have dinners, balls, and other amuse- 
 ments occasionally. 
 
 The houses on the sea-line are generally 
 those of the merchants, who are chiefly 
 Danes ; they are built, as in Norway, of 
 wood, and covered with shingles or planks, 
 and to each is attached a storehouse for 
 their dilVcrent articles of merchandise. 
 The only sunie-iiuilt house is that of the 
 governor, situated at the eastern extremity 
 of llie line, and this building was formerly 
 the workhouse— not for the maintenance 
 of the indigent poor, but made use of rather 
 as the house of correction. The episcopal . 
 residence is near to the coast, considerably i 
 to the eastward of that of the governor-- 
 a very comfortable house, built of brick, 
 and white- washed. There is a hot-spnng 
 in the neighborhood of Reykiank, which 
 sends up a continual column of steam, and 1 
 which may have given name to the capi- 
 tal—the smoking village. 
 
 The grand annual event of Reykiarik 
 is the fair, which brings together the 
 peasantry from all parts of the country. 
 After the long winter, there is a bustle of 
 preparation among the Icelanders. The 
 melting of the snow from the ground allows 
 the hor^ses to get a little grass, on which 
 they thrive well, and rapidly recover from 
 the lean and miserable condition into which 
 their scanty winter fare had thrown them. 
 The lleeces are taken from the sheep ; the 
 roads are passable, if roads they can be 
 called, where not a wheel-carnage of any 
 
 kind can be used ; and the peasantry, 
 having nothing particular to occupy them 
 till the liny harvest sets in, prepare, in the 
 month of June, for the fair of Heykiarik. 
 They bring down in lioxes or liitle cliesls, 
 or skin-i)ags, as it may happen, slung 
 across their horses' backs, wool and wool- 
 len manufactured goods, such as doth, 
 knitted stockings, and mittens, butter, close 
 ' pressed and packed in barrels, skins ol 
 cattle, calves, sheep and lambs, and inlhiw. 
 I The peasantry encamp in the nei),;hbor- 
 ' hood of Ueykiarik during the fair, and 
 ' the short period of its duration is one of 
 ' great bustle and activity. It affords the 
 only opportunity of seeing the populalwn 
 ' of Iceland. During the rest of the suin- 
 ' mcr Ueykiarik is tolerable, and alTords a 
 ' little society ; but after the merchants de- 
 part, and the winter sets in, it is one of 
 the dreariest places on the globe. 
 
 POWER OF KINDNESS. 
 
 O man hath measur- 
 ed it; for it is bound- 
 less ; no man hath 
 seen its death, for it 
 is eternal. In all 
 ages of the world, in 
 every clime, among 
 every kind, it hath 
 shone out — a bright 
 and beautiful star, a beaming glory ! 
 
 See Joseph in the hands of his wicked 
 brethren. For a few pieces of paltry 
 silver, they sold him into Egypt. Provi- 
 dence in kindness broke the bands which 
 held him in slavery, and made him a ruler 
 there. Famine spread over the land tier 
 dapk mantle, and the cruel brethren of 
 Joseph hungered. They went to Egypt 
 for corn. How now acted Joseph? More 
 than once ho filled their sacks and re- 
 turned them their money, and then made 
 himself known. "I am Joseph, your 
 brother, whom you sold Mto Egypt. 
 Here was kindness, forgiveness. And it 
 crushed to death the spirit of jealousy 
 that had once made him a slave. He had 
 
 ^To"oTat' the case of Saul and David. 
 
 -'V- 
 
r 
 
 IT 
 
 J 
 
 WHITE OR BARN OWL. 
 
 1f< 
 
 l)ut( mi\ bls«ting jealousy fiM««4 tho heart 
 of Siitiil, and he " nought »o take iM young 
 man's life " With hellish hate, N imnteA 
 him, evil) to the dens and caves of the 
 earth. Bull 'vid conquered his enemy ; 
 oven tho proud sniril of hawtjhty Saul he 
 humbled. And now ! No» with sword 
 and spears, not with hars^t nd coarse 
 contumely, for these did never touch tho 
 lieart with gentle influence. No, but with 
 a weapon as simple as the shepherd's 
 sling, yet sure as the arrow of death. 
 'Twas kindness ! This killed rankling 
 hatred, and left Saul to like. And when 
 it had done its work, Saul said to David : 
 '♦ Thou art more righteous than I, for thou 
 hast rewarded me good, whereas I re- 
 warded thee evil." Was not here a vic- 
 tory — more glorious, more godlike than a 
 Wellington ever knew ? 
 
 Come further down in the world's histo- 
 ry, and tell me, what word of all those 
 spoken by the " meek and lowly Jesus," 
 — " the Prince of peace," the " Savior of 
 the world," was best calculated to soften 
 and subdue tho hard hearts of his perse- 
 cutors ? Are we not pointed to the cross 
 on Calvary ? Are we not asked to listen 
 to the soft sweet tones of that voice ? — 
 " Father, forgive them !" O, here was 
 kindness ! 
 
 Was not the kindness exhibited by the 
 martyr Stephen, when he cried aloud, 
 " Lord, lay not this sin to their charge," 
 a holy triumph over his persecutors ? 
 
 Look over our extended country at the 
 present day. What has changed those 
 miserable hovels of other days, where 
 misery and wretchedness had dwelt, into 
 the neat and beautiful abodes of plenty 
 and peace ? What has kindled anew the 
 flame of love and affection, in hearts long 
 estranged and freezing with coldness? 
 What has made happy the hoinus of thou- 
 sands of wives and tens of thousands of 
 children ? What, in short, has been the 
 great propellant of tho temperance ref- 
 ormation, which has carried joy and 
 gladness all over our land ? What, but 
 kindness ? 
 
 P 'xder, have you an enemy, whom 
 
 • J won''.' make a friend — a neighbor, 
 
 n ■> r .8 repentance — a fallen brother, 
 
 -M-:m _ ou would ,' 'rro to sobriety and 
 
 virti ? : forget not iue power of kindness ! 
 
 WHITE OR BARN OWL. 
 
 ^ HE ujost common ob- 
 \> server can noi fail to 
 remurJ: that there is 
 a very considerable 
 nflTniity between the 
 falcon and owl gc!ius 
 of birds. Owls may 
 intleed bn rejiarded as 
 a sort of nocturnal hawks ; ditrcriiig from 
 them, much in the same way that the iiioih 
 differs from the butterfly. Orniihologistn 
 enumerate eighty species of owls ; but 
 they admit that the nutnbor accurately 
 known is less numerous ; the same bird, 
 under a changed aspect, having in nine 
 instances been set down as a distinct spe- 
 cies. The following may be stated as the 
 characteristics in which they all agree. 
 The bill is crooked, as in the falcons, but 
 is not usually furnished with a cere ; the 
 nostrils are oblong, and covered with brist- 
 ly feathers ; the h-rnd is large, and so are 
 the eyes and the openings of the ears ; the 
 tongue is divided ; the toes are placed 
 three before and one behind, the exterior 
 toe capable of being occasionally bent 
 backward ; the exterior edgt of one or 
 more of the greater quills is serrated in 
 most of the species. There are a *ew 
 species which can see in the daytime, and 
 are in the habit of then taking their prey ; 
 but owls are generally nocturnal birds, 
 most of them seeking their prey by night, 
 or rather in the twilight, at which time, or 
 in the gray of the morning, they appear 
 to distinguish objects best. There is no 
 evidence that they can see when the night 
 is very dark ; the time, therefore, allowed 
 them to hunt for prey is very limited, ex- 
 cept on Ti'onlijht or other favorable 
 nights, wi.v.i t<(i3y viay be observed to 
 seek thefv: ,iny ft).:: night to i);oiiiing. 
 Limited ' ,i'~ ■ 'i.-: /f providing for their 
 wants usually is, they enjoy advantages 
 which enable them to receive an adequate 
 provision in a comparatively short time. 
 
 The beautiful species represented in 
 our engraving is tho common white or 
 barn owl, called by some naturalists strix 
 flammea, and by others aluco fiammea. 
 
 The downy soflness and remarkable el- 
 egance of the plumage of this owl are en- 
 titled to more admiration than they seem 
 
AHN OWL. 
 
 E most common ob- 
 rvcr can noi fRil to 
 narJi that theru is 
 very considerable 
 liiily bnweon the 
 con niid t)w| jjctuis 
 birds. (Jwis may 
 lend bo rejjarded as 
 ks ; diirerin)r IVom 
 1 way that the moth 
 ly. Ornithologist'. 
 :ic8 of owU ; buL 
 aumbor nccuraiel ■ 
 js i the same bird, 
 ct, )iavin(r in iiwno 
 n as a distinct spe- 
 nay be stated as the 
 ch they all agree, 
 in the falcons, bnt 
 1 with a core ; the 
 covered with l)rist. 
 s large, and so are 
 )g8 of the ears ; the 
 9 toes are placed 
 lehind, the exterior 
 occasionally bent 
 )r edgti of one or 
 lills is serrated in 
 There are 
 in the daytime, and 
 taking their prey ; 
 y nocturnal birds, 
 ;heir prey by night, 
 t, at which time, or 
 rning, they appear 
 best. There is no 
 see when the night 
 therefore, allowed 
 is very limited, ex- 
 r other favorable 
 y be obs'^rved to 
 night to •i:0uiing. 
 providing for their 
 enjoy advantages 
 sceivo an adequate 
 ivcly short time, 
 cs represented in 
 common white or 
 no naturalists strix 
 aluco flammea. 
 and remarkable el- 
 of this owl are en- 
 »n than they seem 
 
 k 
 
 
860 
 
 THE EYE. 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 
 to have obtained. Superstition on the one 
 hand, and the commonness of the bird on 
 fhe other, soem to have prevented the 
 beauty of the white owl from being duly 
 appreciated. We shall not minutely de- 
 scribe the appearance of so common a 
 bird, but may observe that the plumage is 
 generally of a reddish-yellow color with 
 gray variegations, having black and white 
 spirts down the shafts of the feathers, and 
 the breast and belly white, sometimes yel- 
 lowish, and occasionally marked by a few 
 blackish or dusky spots. The bill is 
 straight to near the tip, instead of being 
 arched from base to point as in the other 
 species. The large eyes, the irides of 
 which vary from nearly black to yellow, 
 are surrounded by a large circle of soft 
 white feathers ; but the ruff is edged by 
 a rufous or chestnut verge intermixed with 
 white. The legs are feathered to the toes, 
 which are covered with fine hair. 
 
 This species, with dome variation from 
 climate, is very extensively diffused over 
 the world. It is well known in different 
 parts of Asia, and in both North and South 
 America. 
 
 The white owls chiefly live upon mice, 
 which they swallow whole ; but they will 
 often destroy yoimg birds. Mr. White, 
 the author of the " Natural History of Sel- 
 borne," mentions a pair, which infested a 
 dove-house, and made graat havoc among 
 the young pigeons. This owl breeds in 
 hollow trees, near farm-houses, and fre- 
 quently in barns, or under the eaves of 
 a church or other old building. It does 
 not make any regular nest, but lays three 
 or four eggs upon some woolly or downy 
 substance placed in a very slovenly man- 
 ner. It should be observed that' these 
 birds remain in barns, hay-lofts, and oth- 
 er out-houses, during the greater part of 
 the year, but take to the eaves of church- 
 es, holes in lofty buildings, and the hol- 
 lows of trees, in the breeding season. 
 They are almost exclusively found in in- 
 habited districts, and their utility in clear- 
 ing l)arns of mice renders their presence 
 welcome to the farmer. 
 
 White owls are said to scream horribly 
 as they fly along; from this sr reaming 
 probably arose the imaginary species of 
 screech owl, which the superstitious think 
 attends the windows of dying persons. 
 
 THE EYE. 
 
 E have, in another 
 place, incidentally 
 remarked, that the 
 eye indicates the ho- 
 lier emotions. In 
 all stages of society, 
 and in every clime, 
 the posture and ex- 
 pression of rever- 
 ence have been the same. The works of 
 the great masters, who have represented 
 the more sublime passions of men, may be 
 adduced as evidences : by the upturned 
 direction of the eyes, and a correspondence 
 of feature and attitude, they addr»!ss us in 
 language intelligible to all mankind. The 
 humble posture and raised eyes are natu- 
 ral, whether in the darkened chamber or 
 under the open vault of heaven. 
 
 On first consideration, it seems merely 
 consistent, that when pious thoughts pre- 
 vail, man should turn his eyes from things 
 earthly to the purer objects above. But 
 there is a reason for this, which is every 
 way worthy of attention. When subject 
 to particular influences, the natural posi- 
 tion of the eyeballs is to be directed up- 
 ward. In sleep, languor and depression, 
 or when affected with strong emotions, 
 the eyes naturally and insensibly roil up- 
 ward. The action is not a voluntary 
 one ; it is irresistible. Hence, in rev- 
 ofence, in devotion, in agony of mind, in 
 all sentiments of pity, in bodily pain with 
 fear of death, the eyes assume that posi- 
 tion. 
 
 Let us explain by what muscles the 
 eyes are so revolved. There are two sets 
 of muscles which govern the motions of 
 the eyeball. Four straight muscles, at- 
 tached at cardinal points, by combining 
 their action, move it in every direction 
 required for vision, and these muscles are 
 subject to the will. When the straight 
 muacles, from weariness or exhaustion, 
 cease to guide the eye, two other muscles 
 operate to roll it upward under the eye- 
 lid : these are the oblique muscles. Ac- 
 cordingly, in sleep, in fainting, in ap- 
 proaching death, when the four voluntary 
 muscles resign their action, and insensi- 
 bility creeps over the retina, the oblique 
 muscles prevail, and the pupil is revoli'cd. 
 
 MMMHiNMH 
 
 MM 
 
EYE. 
 
 E have, in another 
 place, incidentally 
 remarked, that the 
 eye indicates the ho- 
 lier emotions. In 
 all stages of society, 
 and in every clime, 
 the posture and ex- 
 pression of rever- 
 me. The works of 
 10 have represented 
 ions of men, may be 
 i : by the upturned 
 nd a correspondence 
 , they address us in 
 
 all mankind. The 
 aised eyes are natu- 
 rkened chamber or 
 )f heaven. 
 m, it seems merely 
 pious thoughts pre- 
 his eyes from things 
 )bjects above. But 
 Ijis, which is every 
 on. When subject 
 s, the natural posi- 
 
 to be directed up- 
 uor and depression, 
 h strong emotions, 
 1 insensibly roll up- 
 is not a voluntary 
 3. Hence, in rev- 
 I agony of mind, in 
 in bodily pain with 
 s assume that posi- 
 
 what muscles the 
 
 There are two sets 
 vern the motions of 
 traight muscles, at- 
 »ints, by combining 
 
 in every direction 
 d these muscles arc 
 When the straight 
 less or exhaustion, 
 , two other muscles 
 ?ard under the eyo- 
 ique muscles. Ac- 
 in fainting, in ap- 
 1 the four voluntary 
 action, and insensi- 
 
 retina, the oblique 
 le pupil is revolt-cd. 
 
 THE LAGO MAGGIORE. 
 
 801 
 
 so ns to expose only the white of the eye. | 
 li is so far consolatory to reflect, that the j 
 ;i|)|)brent agony indicated by this direction 
 of ilie eyes, in fainting or the approach of 
 death, is the effect of encroaching insen- 
 j^iliility — of objects impressed on the nerve 
 ol' vision being no longer perceived. 
 
 We thus see that when wrapt in devo- 
 tional feelings, and when outward im- 
 jiressioiis are unheeded, the eyes are 
 raised, by an action neither taught nor ac- 
 quired. It is by this instinctive motion 
 we aie led to bow with humility — to look 
 upward in prayer, and to regard the visible 
 heavens as the seat of God. 
 
 " I'raycr is tlie upward glaneing of the eye, 
 Wlion none but God is uear." 
 
 Mthough the savage does not always 
 ilisiiiigiiish God from the heavens above 
 liim, this direction of the eye would ap- 
 pear to be the source of the universal be- 
 lief that the Supreme Being has his throne 
 ahove. The idolatrous negro in praying 
 for rice and yams, or that he may be ac- 
 tive and swift, lifts up his eyes to the 
 canopy of the sky. So, in intercourse 
 with God, although we are taught that our 
 globe is ever revolving, though religion 
 inculcates that the Almighty is every- 
 where, yet, under the influence of this 
 pcLsition of the eye, which is no doubt 
 designed for a purpose— we seek him on 
 high. " I will lift up mine eyes unto the 
 hills whence cou.Mh my help." 
 
 See, then, how this property of our 
 bodily frame has influenced our opinions 
 and belief; our conceptions of the Deity, 
 our religious observances, and daily habits. 
 
 THE LAGC MAGGIORE. 
 
 AGO Maggiore is 
 the largest of all 
 of those beautiful 
 lakes that lie at the 
 foot of the Alps, 
 on the Italian side. 
 It is about forty- 
 five English miles 
 long, but its breadth 
 is small in com- 
 parison to its length, varying from two to 
 five miles, while in the lower part of its 
 
 course, below the towns of Arnna and 
 Sesto, it becomes so narrow as to look 
 rather like a stately river than a lake. Its 
 greatest breadth is at liaveuo, where, turn- 
 ing the promontory of Intra and Paianza, 
 it forms a deep bold bay. The distance 
 from Bavano on the western side to Lave- 
 no, on the eastern shore, is not much 
 short of seven miles, and at either of these 
 points it presents a magniticent sheet of 
 water, and the most picturesque combina- 
 tion of islands, hills, and mountains. It 
 is fortunate that these two pleasant towns, 
 which are built on the very margin of the 
 lake, and present the finest vi-jws of it, 
 lie immediately on the high road of travel- 
 lers. In going southward from Switzer- 
 land, and crossing the Alps by the grand 
 Siniplon road, the tourist descends sud- 
 denly on Duomo d'Ossola, at the very fool 
 of the Alps, and a few hours afterward ho 
 reaches the posting town of Baveno, where 
 the first burst of the scene; is like enchant- 
 ment. In coming northward from Milan, 
 by Varese, with its little miniature lake, 
 that lies sleeping among vineyards, a fini; 
 posting road leads to I.aveno, where it 
 stops, and thence, after admiring the 
 reverse of the beautiful picture as seen 
 from the opposite shore, he can embark, 
 cross the lake to the islands and Baveno, 
 and then continue his route by the Siin- 
 plon. Year after year hundreds of travel- 
 lers make their first acquaintance with the 
 Lago Maggiore atone of these two points. 
 The views from the windows and ter- 
 races of the inn at Baveno, which com- 
 mands the whole of the inlet or bay we 
 have mentioned, and in which the Bor- 
 romean islands are grouped, are eminently 
 beautiful ; but to obtain the true point of 
 sight, if he does not intend to cross over 
 to Laveno, the tourist should take a boat 
 and row a little beyond the islands to the 
 middle of the lake. There the bosom of 
 the lake, the gentle shores, and the green 
 hills dotted with towns, villages, and 
 country-seats, and the granite mountains 
 of Baveno and Montorfano disclose them- 
 selves with the happiest effect; on one 
 side (to the S(mth) the mountains decline 
 into bosomy hills, which are gradually lost 
 in the rich and boundless plain of Lom- 
 bardy, while on the other hand (to the 
 north) the eternal-looking Alps, with their 
 
 J 
 
 ^^-rw 
 
 mmmm 
 
-^''. 
 
 a* 
 
 
 g^lB^lpc 
 
 :,;il^ 
 
 BEFORE AND AFTER DINNER. 
 
 803 
 
 coronets of dazzling snow, tower over lake, 
 hills, and mountains, and dash sublimity 
 into a picture which otherwise would only 
 be remarkable for its smiling, placid love- 
 liness. From the particular point we 
 speak of the whole panorama is almos', 
 matchless. The small fairy-like islands, 
 brought under the lee of your boat, the 
 white sails glancing across the bay, and 
 the romantic little town and pleasant inn 
 of Baveno, are there all beautiful accesso- 
 ries to the picture, and are seen nowhere 
 else to such advantage. 
 
 The capital attraction to most travellers 
 in the Isola Bella, or Beautiful island, one 
 of the Borromean group near to Baveno. 
 We think this particular island, which is 
 thoroughly artificial, rather curious than 
 picturesque or beautiful ; but it tells well 
 at a distance with its lofty palace, its ter- 
 races, and formal groves and gardens, and 
 contrasts in a striking manner with the 
 simplicity or wild nature of the other 
 islands, while it calls for that tribute al- 
 ways due to the art and industry of man 
 when they have overcome great natural 
 (iilficultics. he hole Borromce, as they 
 are called, after the name of the noble 
 Lombard family to which they have be- 
 longed for several centuries, are four in 
 number— the Isola di San Giovanni, or, 
 as it is frequently called, the Isolino 
 (small island), the Isola Madre (mother 
 island), which stands in the midst of the 
 group, the Isola Bella, and the Isola Su- 
 periore, which is oftener called L'Isola 
 de' Pescatori.or Fishermen's island. This 
 last island, with its humble homesteads 
 and church spire, always struck us as be- 
 ing the preuiest of the group, and it is the 
 one represented in our engraving, which 
 is taken from an original drawing, where- 
 in the artist set down without change or 
 composition a scene he saw from the 
 pleasant inn at Baveno. 
 
 In the midst of this island stands the 
 I palace of the Borromeo family. Though 
 certainly no model of architecture, it has 
 an air of elegance and even grandeur. It 
 perhaps even improves in the interior, 
 where, mixed up with much magnificence, 
 there are several truly delightful apart- 
 ments that offer that union of comfort and 
 elegance which is always so dear to a 
 traveller. 
 
 BEFORE AND AFTER DINNER, 
 
 HE various propensi- 
 ty ties and dispositions 
 ^ of different individu- 
 als, have often been 
 dissected and descri- 
 bed by metaphysi- 
 cians and moralists ; 
 but, so far as we know, 
 few have undertaken to descant on the 
 fact, that every individual presents many, 
 and sometimes opposite characteristics at 
 different periods of the same day. Some 
 men, though amiable enough in the main, 
 are remarked to be peculiarly tetchy on 
 rising in the morning ; others, when they 
 feel sleepy at night ; but there is no period 
 when one is so likely to make one's self 
 disagreeable as just before dinner. " No 
 person," says a learned writer on diges- 
 tion, " will deny that hunger is a painful 
 sensation, whatever may bo his opinion 
 of appetite." When, therefore, a man 
 feels hungry (which he generally does a 
 little while before dinner), he is in pain ; 
 I and when a man is in pain, he can not be 
 ' cvpected to feel comfortable within, or to 
 j make himself agreeable to others. On the 
 contrary, the moment his sensations glide 
 ; from appetite to hunger, the outworks of 
 ' philosophy give way ; the enemy saps the 
 ■ very foundations of his character. When, 
 i therefore, you want to see a sanguine man 
 despond, a cheerful one sad, a forbearing 
 man impatient, or a benevolent one un- 
 charitable, watch him while being kept 
 wailing for his dinner. The best of tem- 
 pers will not, at such a moment, require 
 much provocation to get ruflled. My 
 friend RoUan offers an apt example of these 
 frailties. For about twenty-three hours 
 and three quarters out of every twenty-four, 
 a better friend, a kinder husband, or more 
 indulgent father, does not exist ; but make 
 your introduction to him during the fifteen 
 minutes before dinner, and you will con- 
 clude him to be the reverse. His wife's 
 smiles are unheeded, his children's prattle 
 forbidden, his friend's remarks unanswer- 
 ed. And wo unto the household should 
 the cook prove unpunctual ! 
 
 This is the dark side of the case. Most 
 
 people are well-disposed after dinner. In 
 
 i proportion as pain is great, so are the 
 
 
■Hi 
 
 4^ 
 
 "i 
 
 p-it 
 
 * 
 
 864 
 
 BEFORE AND AFTER DINNER. 
 
 pleasures of alleviation ; and, when the 
 cravings of appetite are siitislipd, not only . 
 do the good qualities of mankind regain ^ 
 thoir ascendency, but their bad ones hide | 
 their diminished heads. The Chinese ] 
 believe that the intellect and affections 
 reside in the stomach ; and really when 
 ono considers the entire moral revolution 
 which occurs immediately after dinner, 
 the notion loses half its absurdity. The 
 change which takes place is so complete, 
 that to describe people who have dined, it 
 is only necessary to invert every charac- 
 teristic of those who have not : then the 
 despondent are filled with hopes ; the 
 irritable appear patient ; the melancholy 
 are gay ; the miser becomes philanthropic, 
 and the misanthrope good company. Mis- 
 fortune is never so stoically received as 
 when it makes its appearance after dinner. 
 One day news came to Rollan that he had 
 lost several thousand pounds ; luckily, it 
 arrived while he was enjoying his dessert, 
 and he heard it without a sigh. It is, 
 however, terrible to contemplate the effect 
 the black intelligence would have had 
 upon him if communicated during his 
 anteprandial susceptibility ; for on that 
 very day he had previously shown the 
 most intense mortification because dinner 
 was not announced till very nearly four 
 minutes and a half after the fixed time ! 
 
 Besides the in ward characteristics which 
 separate men who have and men who have 
 not dined into two distinct classes, there 
 are outward and visible signs by which 
 they are readily separated and recognised. 
 
 r/tc man who has not dined may bo 
 known as he walks homeward by the im- 
 patience expressed in his gait and aspect, 
 and the fidgetiness he manifests if you 
 should stop him to have a little conversa- 
 tion. Wo to you if such a conversation 
 refers to any afTairs of your own, in which 
 you wish to interest him for the sake of 
 his assistance or advice. He can not even 
 be civil on such topics. Should your ob- 
 servations refer only to the chit-chat of 
 the day, the case is little better. He 
 takes decidedly different views as to the 
 merits of Roland's grand assault last 
 Saturday, and can not at all agree in opin- 
 ion with you that the wind is promising to 
 change from the east. With regard to the 
 state of the country, he is clear and un- 
 
 hesitating : all is going wrong, and stiirvn- 
 tion is staring the country in the fici'. 
 This, howev<T, does not mnko him a wliii 
 more tolerant of the beggar who now comes 
 up as if to illustrate his argiim(!ni. Iln 
 silences the whine of the petitioner in an 
 instant by a threat of the police. 
 
 Arriving at his door, he armonnces him- 
 self with a sharpness of ring which startles 
 the powers of the kitchen into a fearful 
 animation. Mary, as she opens the door, 
 answers the question, " is dinner ready ?" 
 with an affirmative at all hazards, and 
 then plunges down stairs to implore Mrs, 
 Cook to make her fib a truth. Stalking 
 abstractedly into his dressing-room, he 
 fails to find, first the boot-jack, then the 
 soap, and it is well he does not summon 
 half the household to show both, to his 
 confusion, in their usual places. The 
 slightest tumult among the children three 
 floors up now annoys him. His wife, to 
 fill up the time till dinner appears, asks 
 his opinion of some new purchase, which 
 was made because she knew he would 
 like it ; but, to her extreme mortification, 
 he wonders how she could choose such 
 an "ugly thing." As the minute hand 
 of the time-piece approaches the figure 
 twelve, he commences an anticipatory lec- 
 ture on the advantages of punctuality, which 
 increases in earnestness at every second 
 after the clock has struck, and is gradually 
 rising to the severity of reprimand, when 
 — happy moment — enter the soup ! Now 
 commences an entire change in his ex- 
 ternal aspect, and in about twenty minutes 
 he becomes 
 
 The man who has dined. Behold him 
 now, seated in his lounging chair. His 
 countenance is overspread with a smile of 
 satisfaction. The harsh and grating tones 
 of his voice are mellowed to softness ; 
 and instead of addressing his wife in hulf- 
 onappish laconics he converses in the most 
 soothing terms of affection and endear- 
 ment. On being enticed to lake a second 
 glance at the new dress, he thinks it is 
 not so ugly after all : indeed, of one thing 
 he is quite certain — though he does not 
 pretend to be a judge — but the colors will 
 become her complexion admirably. This 
 is the moment generally seized upon by 
 ladies of tact to put in practice that pretty 
 process of guUing their own way called 
 
 •aMiMMMaSa 
 
BEFOUE AND AFTER DINNER. 
 
 865 
 
 ig wrong, and stiirvi- i 
 country in the Hicr. 
 nol iniikf! liiin a whit 
 ggar who now cotnps 
 
 his argumont. Iln 
 r the petitioner in an 
 the police, 
 r, he announces him- 
 of ring which stiirtlcs 
 itchen into a fearful 
 > she opens the door, 
 , " Is dinner ready ?" 
 at all hazards, and 
 airs to implore Mrs. 
 b a truth. Stalking 
 I dressing-room, he 
 I boot-jack, then the 
 he does not summon 
 to show both, to his 
 usual places. The 
 ig the children three 
 3 him. His wife, to 
 dinner appears, asks 
 lew purchase, whicli 
 she knew he would 
 ixtreme mortification, 
 ) could choose such 
 As the minute hand 
 jproaches the figure 
 IS an anticipatory fec- 
 I of punctuality, which 
 ess at every second 
 ruck, and is gradually 
 
 of reprimand, when 
 Iter the soup ! Now 
 e change in his ex- 
 about twenty minutes 
 
 dined. Behold him 
 ounging chair. His 
 pread with a smile of 
 irsh and grating tones 
 jllowed to softness ; 
 sing his wife in half- 
 converses in the most 
 flection and emlear- 
 iced to lake a second 
 ress, he thiidcs it is 
 
 indeed, of one thing 
 -though he does not 
 ! — but the colors will 
 on admirably. This 
 :ally seized upon by 
 n practice that pretty 
 leir own way called 
 
 «' coaxing." At such moments new bon- 1 
 nets are promised, and checks written 
 for milliners' bills. Evening parties are j 
 arranged, "regardless of expense," and 
 lessons from lirsUrate music-masters con- 
 templated for elder daughters. This, 
 bringing the rest of the junior branches in 
 mind, leads to the ringing of the nursery 
 bell, and though the children may happen 
 to gel up a race along the stairs to see 
 who can gel into the parlor first, and there- 
 by create a most deafening clatter, the 
 well-dined father blesses their merry little 
 hearts, and is delighted that they are in 
 such excellent spirits. Should a friend 
 drop in, instead of being wished almost 
 anywhere else, he is pressed to remain ; 
 and a quarter of an hour's conversation 
 shows that the host's opinions concerning 
 the weather and the state of the country 
 have undergone a change. It is after 
 dinner thai our country is pronounced the 
 greatest, best, and happiest nation in the 
 world. The distress of the country fades 
 gradually from the view: it dwindles 
 down to a few interesting cases of opera- 
 tive manufacturers thrown temporarily out 
 of employ, or of distressed agriculturists 
 in picturesque cottages being kindly re- 
 lieved by sentimental ladies or philan- 
 thropic country gentlemen. Then is the 
 lime that subscriptions to public charities 
 are paid up, and coal and blanket societies 
 planned for the ensuing winter. Nor 
 does this sort of hopeful patriotism solely 
 occupy the imagination of the man who 
 has dined. His own affairs present them- 
 selves to him in brighter colors than at 
 any other time. He builds castjes in the 
 air, congratulates himself on the improved 
 aspect of his affairs, and very likely asks 
 his wife, in the event of their ever keeping 
 a carriage, what color she would like the 
 horses to be ? He appeals to his friend 
 as to the best mode of investing spare 
 capita; ; and asks him if it be true that a 
 certain estate in the neighborhood is in 
 the market, dropping at the same time a 
 hint that, if it should come to the hammer, 
 he shall attend the sale. In short, after 
 dinner everything seems colored with a 
 pleasing pink, which, speaking more strict- 
 ly, is merely the moral medium through 
 which we see the objects of our thoughts. 
 These, then, are the almost opposite ef- 
 
 fects often betrayed by the same man be- 
 fore and after dinner. Lot us, however, 
 return to the subject in a larger — more 
 general — point of view. Man's tiioughts 
 and sentiments being swayed in a great 
 degree by his sensations, the former will 
 generally be hopeful or despondent as his 
 sensations are pleasing or painful ; and 
 who will deny that these are more pleasing 
 when his appetite is satiated than when 
 it is craving? There are exceptions to 
 this rule no doubt ; for we have heard of 
 gourmands who hunger and thirst after an 
 appetite in order to enjoy the pleasure of 
 satisfying it, and whose despondency only 
 commences when they find they can not 
 eat any more. But these are happily fev/, 
 because unnatural exceptions. Nature 
 tells us when to eat by exhausting our 
 forces, and by making it a pain to dis- 
 obey, and a pleasure to obey her dictates. 
 Snappishness before, suavity after dinner, 
 certainly form the general rule. This 
 becomes a very important maxim in suitors 
 and favor seekers. How many an indi- 
 vidual has marred his fortune by asking 
 the favor that would have made it, before, 
 instead of after his patron's dinner ! So 
 fully convinced is an extravagant young 
 Howard friend of ours of the necessity of 
 timing his applications to the " the gover- 
 nor" for more cash, that he invariably 
 sends his letters by the daij mail, that ihey 
 may catch the old gentleman napping just 
 after dinner. The managers of charitable 
 societies invariably make their collections 
 after the hearts of the subscribers have 
 been opened by a first-rate tavern feast. 
 " The trade," par excellence, disarms the 
 business-like caution of the booksellers at 
 their annual auctions by a like expedient, 
 and never think of putting fip a single lot 
 till after the removal of the cloth. In 
 short, a thousand similar instances might 
 be adduced to show that the tide of for- 
 tune and liberality flows highest after din- 
 ner. How different is it during the hour 
 before ! Then it is that quarrels are be- 
 gun, and law pleas commenced ; then it 
 is that cross fathers cut off erring sons 
 with a shilling, and wives and husbands 
 talk of deeds of separation ; at this in- 
 auspicious period editors become super- 
 particular, and reject the lucubrations of 
 doubtful contributors ; and critics get so 
 
 P 
 
 "**«il 
 
w 
 
 8GG 
 
 COLOGNE. 
 
 m 
 
 
 '!- 
 
 
 *l«!i 
 
 uncommonly vigilant, that scarcely any- 
 thing in a book will please them. Read- 
 er, when you have a favor to ask, a bar- 
 gain to make, a contribution to send to a 
 magazine, or a book to forward to a critic, 
 be careful, if you can possibly help it, not 
 to address yourself to an empty stomach. 
 
 COLOGNE. 
 
 OLOGNE,calIedbythe 
 Germans Coin, is situa- 
 I ted in a district of the 
 ' same name, which is one 
 of the two divisions of 
 the Prussian province 
 of Jiilich-Cleve-Bcrg, so 
 > called from its contain- 
 . ing the three old duchies 
 of Jiilich or Juliers,C!eve, 
 and Berg. Cologne is the capital of the 
 whole province, and stands on the left or 
 west bank of the Rhine, forming a kind of 
 semicircle. The city is fortified, and with 
 its numerous spires and large buildings 
 makes a good show from the opposite side 
 of the river. It is about one hundred and 
 seven miles east by north from Brussels. 
 Cologne was an old Roman station often 
 mentioned in Tacitus, and took its name 
 of Colonia Claudia Agrippinensis,or " the 
 colony of Claudius and Agrippina." The 
 Roman word " colonia," colony, has been 
 corrupted by the French into Cologne, and 
 by the Germans into Coin. 
 
 Under the Germanic empire, Cologne 
 was a free imperial city, and had both a 
 seat and voice as well in the diets or as- 
 semblies of Westphalia as in those of the 
 empire. At this time the elector of Co- 
 logne occasionally resided here, as well 
 as the chapter of the archbishop of Cologne 
 and a nuncio of the pope. Urban VII. 
 established a university here in 1388, to 
 which succeeding popes granted pr-,- 
 ileges. It is still the seat of a catholic 
 archbishopric, but the university as such 
 no longer exists. 
 
 Cologne can not on the whole be called 
 a handsome city, its streets being crooked, 
 narrow, and dirty ; but it has a great num- 
 ber of public buildings, and among them 
 thirty-three churches and chapels. The 
 
 population in 1830 was 65,145. The 
 cathedral is a noble building, 400 feet 
 long and 180 wide, which, owing to its 
 magnitude, is a conspicuous object from a 
 distance, overtopping every other edifice 
 in the city. The body of the cathedral 
 is supported by 100 pillars. Two high 
 towers were designed for this building, 
 one of which is raised to only about hall 
 the height intended, and the other is hardly 
 begun. Were the cathedral completed, it 
 is generally allowed it would be one of the 
 finest gothic buildings in Europe. Behind 
 the high altar is the chapel of the thr<;e 
 holy kings, or three wis'^ men, as they 
 are sometimes called, made of marbl>) ; 
 the shrine which contains the bodies* is 
 remarkable for the curious and elaborate 
 ornaments with which it is decorated. 
 The names of the three wise men, ac- 
 cording to some accounts, are Caspar, 
 Melchior, and Balthasar, whoso bones, as 
 the story goes, were first taken to Con- 
 stantinople by the emperor Constantino's 
 mother ; thence they were transferred to 
 Milan ; and finally obtained a sumptuous 
 mausoleum in Cologne. What the pre- 
 cise merits of Caspar, Melchior, and 
 Balthasar, were, we have not been able 
 to make out satisfactorily. The parish 
 church of St. Peter contains the crucifix- 
 ion of the apostle, one of Rubens's finest 
 pictures, which he gave as a present to 
 the church in which he received the rite 
 of baptism. This distinguished painter 
 was a native of Cologne. The picture 
 travelled to Paris during the time when 
 the French were so busy in appropriating 
 to themselves all the valuable works ol 
 this kind which they could lay their hands 
 on : after the downfall of Bonaparte it re- 
 turned home. 
 
 In the church of St. Ursula we see the 
 tomb of this holy Virgin, and, as the legend 
 would have us believe, the bones of her 
 11,000 virgin companions and martyrs: 
 the church does in fact contain an im- 
 mense number of bones, and in a certain 
 chamber, some accounts say, there are, or 
 were, several thousand skulls, arranged in 
 good order and adorned with garlands and 
 coronets. The fact of the bones being 
 there seems undoubted, the proof of their 
 belonging to the holy virgins does not 
 seem quite so clear. 
 
 
 ^'.t*-,-**' '■.'^f-fprnlh^'iv 
 
was 65,145. The 
 
 building, 400 feel 
 
 whicli, owing to its 
 
 icuous object from a 
 
 every other edifice 
 )dy of the cathedral 
 
 pillars. Two high 
 d for this building, 
 il to only about halt 
 id the other is hardly 
 thedral completed, it 
 
 I would be one of the 
 in Europe. Behind 
 chapel of the thnje 
 
 wis" men, as they 
 1, made of marbln ; 
 ntains the bodies* is 
 irious and elaborate 
 ch it is decorated, 
 hree wise men, ac- 
 L'ounts, are Caspar, 
 sar, whoso bones, as 
 
 first taken to Con- 
 nperor Constantine's 
 
 were transferred to 
 •tained a sumptuous 
 le. What the pre- 
 war, Melchior, and 
 have not been able 
 torily. The parish 
 ontains the crucifix- 
 e of Rubens's finest 
 ;ave as a present to 
 iie received the rile 
 istinguished painter 
 ogne. The picture 
 ring the time when 
 usy in appropriating 
 3 valuable works of 
 could lay their hands 
 
 II of Bonaparte il re- 
 
•■ -'Hi 
 
 ■■'■.I 
 
 
 mk', 
 
 Besides these there are many other 
 hundsoino churches in Cologne, one of 
 which, the church of St. Martin, is repre- 
 sented in our engraving. This view is 
 given, not so much for the beauty of the 
 church, as to exhibit the general style of 
 architecture in this old city. 
 
 The townhouse has a fine portal formed 
 by a double row of marble pillars. The 
 old Jesuits' college, an extensive building, 
 now contains a gymnasium or high school, 
 with a library, a seminary for priests, and 
 a valuable collection of old German paint- 
 ings. 
 
 The situation of Cologne makes it a 
 place of considerable trade, particularly 
 with the German town of Frankfort-on- 
 the-Main and Holland. In 1822, 4,415 
 vessels of various sizes arrived at the 
 town, and 2,832 left it. The manufactures 
 of Cologne are considerable ; twenty-five 
 tobacco manufactories, cotton, silk, and 
 woollen wares, earthenware, soap, candles, 
 &c. ; and Cologne water, or Eau de Co- 
 logne, as it is commonly called, which is 
 said to be made at twenty-four different 
 establishments. The virtues of this water 
 must be well known to all our readers ; 
 but if they have still any doubts on the 
 subject, it is only necessary to read the 
 printed French advertisement, which gen- 
 erally accompanies the bottle, and it is im- 
 possible to dispute the virtues of the com- 
 modity which the manufacturers extol so 
 highly. A great deal of brandy is made 
 at Cologne, The book manufactory of the 
 town employs eighteen establishments and 
 forty-two presses. 
 
 The public library of 60,000 volumes, 
 the botanic garden, the school for the deaf 
 and dumb, the various collections and 
 cabinets, the hospitals, &c., are such ap- 
 pendages as we usually find in an old 
 continental town. There is a bridge of 
 boats over the river, which at Cologne is 
 about 1,250 paces wide, connecting the 
 city with the opposite town of Deutz. 
 
 Literature. — The study of literature 
 nourishes youth, entertains old age — adorns 
 prosperity, solaces adversity — is delight- 
 ful at home, unobtrusive abroad — deserts 
 us not by day nor by night, in journeying 
 nor in retirement. 
 
 GEOLOGY. 
 
 OROANIC REMAINS. TRANSITION ROCKS, 
 
 COAL FORMATIONS. 
 
 N the primary rocks few 
 indications of organized 
 beings occur, all traces 
 of these having been in 
 general destroyed by the 
 changes these beds have 
 undergone. When we 
 consider that they were 
 originally the bottom of 
 the ocean, that there they were covered 
 by a vast mass of similar deposites. that 
 then they were invaded by intense heat, 
 reducing them almost to a fluid state, and 
 that finally they have been elevated into 
 the loftiest mountains on the globe ; we 
 may rather wonder that any remains of 
 animals should be found in them, than that 
 these should be so few and imperfect. 
 With the transition beds a new state of 
 things begins. Organic remains appear, 
 sometimes in considerable abundance, and 
 continue in an uninterrupted series down 
 to the most recent formations. The first 
 person who is recorded to have observed 
 these organic remains in rocks is Xeno- 
 phanes of Colophon, an old Greek phi- 
 losopher, who, finding impressionsof fishes 
 in the limestone quarries near Syracuse, 
 drew the natural conclusion that these 
 rocks were pn luctions of the sea, which 
 must once have covered the place where 
 they were found. Herodotus, the father 
 of profane history, made the same re- 
 mark in reference to Egypt, where shells 
 often occur far from the present limits of 
 the Mediterranean. For many ages, no 
 further progress was made in a knowledge 
 of these bodies, or their true scientific 
 value, and even in the end of last century, 
 Voltaire, in order to discredit the support 
 they were supposed to give to the history 
 of the Mosaic deluge, ventured to afiirm 
 that those found in the Alps had been 
 brought thither by accident. The learned 
 observations of Cuvier on the fossils found 
 in the quarries near Paris, and the dis- 
 covery of William Smith, that particular 
 strata were characterized by certain fos- 
 sils, and could be known from these in 
 distant places, first showed the importance 
 
 mmi^!f!fs0--: 
 
LOGY. 
 
 -rnANSITIOV ROCKS. 
 1RMATI0N8. 
 
 the primary rocks few 
 iicatioris of ortranizod 
 inga occur, all traces 
 these having been in 
 neral destroyed by the 
 anges these beds have 
 dergone. When we 
 Dsider that they were 
 ginally the bottom of 
 I they were covered 
 milar depoaites. that 
 led by intense heat, 
 t to a fluid state, and 
 e been elevated into 
 8 on the globe ; we 
 that any remains of 
 ind in them, than that 
 few and imperfect, 
 beds a new state of 
 mic remains appear, 
 rable abundance, and 
 rrupled series down 
 rmations. The first 
 ed to have observed 
 i in rocks is Xeno- 
 an old Greek phi- 
 impressions of fishes 
 rries near Syracuse, 
 inclusion that these 
 tis of the sea, which 
 red the place where 
 [erodotus, the father 
 made the same re- 
 Egypt, where shells 
 the present limits of 
 For many ages, no 
 made in a knowledge 
 their true scientific 
 } end of last century, 
 liscredit the support 
 give to the history 
 ), ventured to affirm 
 the Alps had been 
 ident. The learned 
 ' on the fossils found 
 Paris, and the dis- 
 iiith, that particular 
 ized by certain fos- 
 lown from these in 
 jwed the importance 
 
 UKDLOUY. 
 
 Btiy 
 
 (.rililH sludy, and llic new lij>lil it was fit- 
 
 l,.il ID cuht on Ki'oloKy- 
 
 Organic reinuins occur in various states. 
 Soiiit! are wholly converted iiiln stone, be- 
 in^r tlmso properly namml petrifactions ; ^ 
 others art) little changed from their con- ; 
 (lition when forming part of u living i)ody. 
 .Shells and bones arc the best preserved 
 and the least altered. Plants aie often 
 completely carbonized, when they appear 
 like a dark-colored engraving on the stone 
 ill which they are enclosed. Many varie- 
 ties of fossil wood are converted into flint, 
 others into carbonate of lime, others into 
 iron ore, and in some the process is only 
 half completed, part being changed, part 
 retaining its original character. Even 
 where the whole has become solid stone, 
 it is singular to find the texture of the 
 wood preserved, the most minute vessels 
 and fibresof the plant being visible in thin 
 slices when magnified. In this manner, 
 the cla.ss of plants to which these fossil 
 treesbelonged has been determined, though 
 none of the most marked parts, the fruit, 
 or (lower, or leaves, remained. The varie- 
 ty, both of plants r.nd animals, which have 
 ilius been perserved is very remarkable, 
 and proves that all the great classes of 
 lioih kingdoms had their ropresentutives 
 even in these early periods. It is also 
 important to observe, that some genera 
 have continued to exist during the whole 
 series of geological revolutions, thus pro- 
 ving the unity of the system of the globe 
 throughout the whole of these changes. 
 
 The transition rocks are the earliest 
 fossiliferous beds known, and on this ac- 
 count are by some authors named protozoic, 
 a word indicating that in them living be- 
 ings first appear. The lower part of the 
 formation consists of a great mass of ar- 
 gillaceous rocks, the finer varieties being 
 clayslaies, while the coarser are named 
 grey wacke. In Europe, Asia, and Amer- 
 ica,' rucks of this formation, with charac- 
 teristic fossils, have been found. These 
 fossils are most abundant in the lime- 
 stones, and are principally shells and 
 corals. Some of the earliest beds, how- 
 ever, are impressed with the form of 
 worms, which have left their slimy track, 
 as it were, engraven on the solid rock, 
 and thus, notwithstanding their soft and 
 fragile texture, produced an imperishable 
 
 record of llieir existence. Ain)ther re- 
 markable class of lossil.-i in these ancient 
 beds is the trilobites, so named iVoiii tiitir 
 body bciuK often, as it were, divided into 
 three lobes. There is no living repre- 
 sentative known of this class of animals, 
 which seem then to have been very numer- 
 ous in many genera and species. They 
 are, however, thought to have belonged 
 to the Crustacea, or those animals covered 
 with a shelly crust like our present crabs 
 and shrimps. It is also curious, that in 
 some species the eyes, those most delicate 
 of all organs, have been preserved, con- 
 verted into calcareous spar, and exhibit a 
 structure closely corresponding to those 
 of some living animals. The remains of 
 plants are far from numerous in this forma- 
 tion, but this is no proof that they did not 
 then exist, as these beds seem to have 
 been deposited in the deep ocean at a 
 great distance from the shore. 
 
 A very common igneous rock in this 
 formation is felspar porphyry. It is fre- 
 quently of a red color, and consists of a 
 compact njass of felspar in which small 
 distinct crystals of the same mineral ap- 
 pear imbedded. This rock sometimes 
 forms whole hills, but more frequently 
 bods or veins intersecting the strata. It 
 seems to represent the granite of former 
 rocks, and in some cases can not be dis- 
 tinguished from it. This porphyry has 
 been much valued for ornamental pur- 
 poses, some of the finest antique vases 
 being cut out of it, and it is still manu- 
 factured into similar articles, especially 
 at Elfdal in Sweden. The mines wrought 
 in many transition districts are, not im- 
 probably, connected with the same igneous 
 agent. The lead ore here contains a small 
 proportion of silver, though not enough to 
 pay for its extraction, and small fragments 
 of gold are often found in the neighbor- 
 ing rivulets. In the Hartz mountains, 
 many mines of silver are wrought ■•' 'his 
 formation, and iron-ore is found in im- 
 mense beds. Even in the Alta' moun- 
 tains, in Asia, it retains this character, the 
 richest silver mines being found in a red 
 porphyry in clayslate. 
 
 In Scotland, this group of rocks is 
 
 separated by a very distinct line from 
 
 those that follow. They not only differ 
 
 i in mineral character and appearance, but 
 
 J 
 
870 
 
 GEOLOGY. 
 
 must also have been divided by a confii .- 
 erable interval of lime. All beds deposited 
 from water must originally have been near- 
 ly horizontal. But this is no longer the 
 position of these transition strata. They 
 have been turned up on edge and ap- 
 piirently crushed together, bent or folded 
 over in the most singular manner. And 
 this has happened previous to the forma- 
 tion of the next or secondary rocks, which 
 rest on them almost in a horizontal or 
 slightly inclined position. The import 
 ance of this fact was first obst-rved by 
 Dr. Hutton, who saw in it a proof that no 
 period in the world's history had been 
 exempt from change, and that the rocks 
 forming the earth's crust did not compose 
 one continuous series, but had been liable 
 to interruptions. The secondary rocks 
 have been divided into various systems, 
 principally from the fossils found in the 
 different beds. Each group of plants and 
 animals is supposed to have continued 
 during a certain period, when some change 
 in the condition of the earth's surface 
 caused many of the species or»genera to 
 perish, whose place being filled up by the 
 creation of others, a new world of anima- 
 ted beings was the result. Each group 
 of organic beings, therefore, characterizes 
 the beds which were formed during the 
 period when it existed, and is only found 
 in these. Though many exceptions to 
 this occur in fossils continuing to exist 
 through several systems of beds, still it is 
 found to be generally applicable, and the 
 secondary deposites, both of the eastern 
 and the western continent, are classed on 
 this principle. For the sake of clearness, 
 we subjoin the table of English formations, 
 as given by Mr. Murchison, only reversing 
 the order, the lowest beds beinef placed 
 first on the list, in conforming . ■ the ar- 
 rangement we shall follow in describing 
 them : — 
 
 Devonian or old red sandstone. 
 
 CarlK)niferous or coal formation. 
 
 Permian or magnesian limestone. 
 
 Mew red sandstone or trias. 
 
 Oolitic or Jurassic system. 
 
 VVealden (fresh water). 
 
 Cretaceous or chalk formation. 
 The first of the above formations is the 
 old red sandstone, which has been named 
 the Devonian system, from being found in 
 
 great abundance in the county of Devon. 
 Its most characteristic beds are vast mas- 
 ses of red sandstone, with others of coarse 
 conglomerate, composed of rounded blocks, 
 often of the primary rocks. These are of 
 all sizes, from several feet or even yards 
 in diameter down to the fine sand in whicli 
 the whole are enclosed, and show, by their 
 form, that they must have been long rolled 
 about in the waters of the ocean. Some 
 beds of the sandstone are gray colored, 
 while others are of a marly or clayey na- 
 ture. Beds of coarse limestone or corn- 
 stone are also mixed with it. These 
 rocks are evidently formed from the de- 
 struction of other previously existing rocks, 
 and from their extent, and the size of the 
 fragments, imply a njriod of great and 
 very violent convn'sion. It was, there- 
 fore, hardly to be expected that any re- 
 mains of plants or a.iimals should iiave 
 been preserved in ihem, and till very 
 lately this was supposed to be the case. 
 Now, however, fishes are found to have 
 lived then, in great numbers, and the re- 
 mains of more than fifty species have been 
 observed in rocks of this age in Scotland. 
 The.io iishes are all different from those 
 that . V ,v inhabit the ocean, and have pos- 
 sesseii very singular forms. One of them, 
 found in the red sandstone of Forfarshire, 
 has its head covered with a kind of buck- 
 ler, and has been hence named the ce- 
 phalaspis. Another, of which the most 
 perfect specimen was obtained from a 
 quarry near the Tay, is covered with 
 beautiful polished and channelled scales, 
 and has been named the holoptychius. A 
 third genus, with many species, is the 
 pterichthys, which appears as if furnisiiud 
 with wings. So unlike are these creatures 
 to any now existing, that it was at first 
 doubtful to what class of animals they 
 should be referred. The question has 
 been principally decided by the researches 
 of Agassiz, a Swiss naturalist, which have 
 added many hundred species to the fossil 
 fishes formeiiy known. In the United 
 States, fossil fishes have been found in 
 the sandstone formation of Coimecticut ; 
 and the secondary and tertiary strata 
 which border the seacoast from New 
 Jersey southward, often furnish the teeth 
 and scattered vertebrte of sharks, with 
 other marine remains. Fossil fishes have 
 
B county of Ppvon. 
 
 l)oil8 aro vast mas- 
 viih others of coarse? 
 sdofromitlful blocks, 
 (cks. These rire of 
 feet or even yards 
 3 fine sand in which 
 I, and show, by tlieir 
 ave been long rolled 
 
 the ocean. Some 
 I are gray colored, 
 marly or clayey na- 
 
 limestone or corn- 
 1 with it. The.se 
 irmed from the de- 
 )U8ly existing rocks, 
 and the size of the 
 jriod of great and 
 in. It was, therc- 
 Bcted that any ro- 
 imals should nave 
 lem, and till very 
 ed to be the case. 
 
 are found to have 
 imbers, and the ro- 
 y species have been 
 lis age in Scotland, 
 ifferent from those 
 :ean, and have pos- 
 rms. One of them, 
 !one of Forfarshire, 
 ith a kind of buck- 
 ice named the ce- 
 if which the most 
 I obtained from a 
 is covered with 
 
 channelled scales, 
 e holoptychius. A 
 ny species, is the 
 ;ars as if furnisiied 
 are these creatures 
 hat it was at first 
 3 of animals they 
 The question has 
 i by the researches 
 uralist, which havw 
 pecies to the fossil 
 I. In the United 
 ive been found in 
 n of Connecticut ; 
 nd tertiary strata 
 icoast from New 
 1 furnish the teeth 
 e of sharks, with 
 Fossil fishes have 
 
 OROLOOY. 
 
 >71 
 
 recently boon found in the Virginia coal- 
 bii.sin near Richmond, in rocks of the sand- 
 gio,;fl fiirmation, two hundred feet below , 
 the surface. | 
 
 The lowest bed* of the carboniferous 
 system aro those named the mountain 
 li'mt'stiine. The most distint^ui.shed rock 
 of this class is a dark gray or blackish 
 limesiono, which contains many fossils, 
 (•specially oncrinites, a variety of radiated 
 aiUMiiils. 'J'he parts of these which remain : 
 lire priiu'ipnily a long jointed stall; with a l 
 iiollow centre, often dt'scril)C(l as the back- 
 lione of a fi.>.h, which it much reseinblcs. 
 This stalk bore a crown, consisting of 
 many pieces, and dividing into several 
 liraiiches, somewhat resembline a flower 
 or (ipoii lily. In other beds, the remains 
 (if fisiirs and of numerous plants appear. 
 In some parts of England, this formation, 
 which is mixed with beds of slate-clay 
 and sandstone, ccmtains rich mines of 
 lead, and along with this metal, in Derby- 
 sliiro, also ores of copper, zinc, iron, and 
 manganese. In the north of England it 
 contains many beds of coal. Like other 
 liinostone rocks, caverns are frequently 
 lorined in it of great extent. Peak's Hole, 
 in Derbyshire, beiufr upward of two thou- 
 sand feet long, and in one place a hundred 
 and twenty high. 
 
 Above this is the true coal formation, in 
 some respects the most interesting and 
 important of all. It consists of innumer- : 
 al/le beds, mostly of sandstone mixed with j 
 slate-clay or shale. The sandstone is | 
 generally white or gray, but sometimes j 
 light red ; tho shale is black or brown, i 
 and often very bituminous, when it burns \ 
 like coal. The most important beds are, 
 however, those of coal, though they seldom 
 form a tenth part in thickness of the whole 
 deposite. That this substance is of ve- 
 getable origin seems now placed beyond 
 dispute, both the remains of plants found 
 in it and by the woody fibrous texture 
 seen by the microscope in many parts of 
 it when cut into thin slices. Several 
 theories have been formed regarding the 
 manner in which the vegetable matter 
 has been converted into coal. Some think 
 that vast masses of trees and other plants 
 have been carried down into gulfs or bays 
 by rivers, as is now happening in the 
 Mississippi and other large American 
 
 streams, where, having sunk to the bottom 
 and been covered by sand and nnid, ihev 
 underwent a kind of fermentaiion, which 
 was so modified by the immense pressure 
 as to convert the wcxxly matter into coal. 
 Others regard this mineral as principally 
 produced from mariin! plants, similar to 
 those which occur in immense banks in 
 somi; parts of the oican. Otimrs aiiain 
 think that it has been formed from forests 
 growing nearly on the level of the sea, 
 which have first been chanijed into marsh- 
 es or mosses, and then sulimeraed lielow 
 the water, and covered with beds of clay 
 and sand. It is not improbalile that coal 
 may have beeti formed in all of lhes<^ ways, 
 either separately or combined. A strong 
 I argument in favor of the lust view is fiir- 
 ' nished by the trunks of trees, which haui 
 ' evidently urowii ui)oii the dry land, lt»und 
 ! in this formation. At (iranton (piarry, 
 ' near Edinburgh, a tree of this kind is now 
 1 exposed, nearly sixty feet long, and in 
 some parts five feet in diameter. Similar 
 
 trees are seen in Craigleilh quarry, of 
 smaller dimensions, the wood of which 
 shows a great resemblance to that of tlie 
 auracaria or New Holland pine. These 
 trees might have been floated to the spot 
 where they are now discovered, but oiher.s 
 have been seen standing erect, and ap- 
 parently with their roots extending into 
 the rock. Three trees, in this position, 
 were seen in the banks of the Es>k, near 
 Penicuik, and several others have been 
 observed in the vicinity of Glasgow. 
 These facts seem to show that these trees 
 remain in the places where they grow, 
 though it is dilficult to conceive of a large 
 tract of ground,' of many hundred square 
 I miles, alternately sunk below and raised 
 { above the level of the ocean. 
 
 Many other varieties of fossil plants 
 occur in this formation The most beau- 
 ! tiful are some species allied to recent 
 ; ferns, from which a few can hardly be 
 distinguished. About a half of all the 
 plants" found in the coal strata belong to 
 this class, and many of them, with thick 
 stems from fifteen to twenty feet or more 
 long, probably to species o." tree-ferns, like 
 those now growing in tropical regions. 
 Another class are the calamites, which 
 seem to have resembled the mare's tail or 
 equisetae of the present day, though far 
 
 J 
 
872 
 
 OEOLOOY. 
 
 :i., 
 «««l 
 
 surpassing tlieni in size. They have a 
 jointed und furrowed stem, some inched 
 in dinmrtor, and occasionally several yards 
 UmfT, which is often covered ns it were 
 with a hark of coal, while the inside is 
 chiinKc-d into sandstone. The lepidoden- 
 dra, wliose surface appears as if covered 
 hy scales, are another class of fjiantrepre- 
 senlntives of diminutive plants of the |)res- 
 ent (lay, the small club moss of our heaths. 
 Almost all the large stems in the coal for- 
 mation were at one time described as be- 
 lon^ing to palms, but plants truly of this 
 nature are now found to be very rare. 
 Still the character and size of the plants 
 now niitiitiotied prove that the state of 
 vog(!t!ition then has been very different 
 from what it now is in Europe, though 
 not unlike that described by some recent 
 triivellera in the temperate parts of South 
 America. It is therefore probable that 
 the fliinate of our own and the surrounding 
 countries was at that time considerably 
 warmer than we now experience it, though 
 the proof of this is less satisfactory than 
 many have imagined. Animal remains are 
 not numerous, and are principally shells or 
 fishes of extinct species. It is remarkable 
 that many of the shells, which are usually 
 compacted into thick beds, belong to the 
 genus unio, which lives in fresh water, 
 while others are no less distinctly natives 
 of the sea. 
 
 The coal formation is very widely ex- 
 tended in the northern parts of Europe 
 and the United States. In the former it 
 is most abundant in Britain and in Bel- 
 gium, becoming rarer in France and all 
 the southern countries. In Britain it is 
 estimated as covering a twentieth of the 
 surface, whereas in France the proportion 
 is only a tv/o-hundredth part. In the Uni- 
 ted Siraes, it is found in vast abundance, 
 covering the whole valley of the Ohio and 
 the country west of the Mississippi, in 
 immense basins, surpassing the whole 
 island of Great Britain in extent. Jn 
 these dopo.site8 several of the fossils are 
 the same with those found in Europe. In 
 South America, it appears even on moun- 
 tains eight or ten thousand feet above the 
 sea. It has also been discovered in Hin- 
 dostan, China, and New Holland, though | 
 the identity in age of formations, so wide- ' 
 ly separated, seems problematical. | 
 
 Coal consists of carbon, with varioun 
 proportions of hydrogen, nitrogen, mid 
 oxygen, mixed with earihy matter, 'riicrf 
 are several varieties of it, diMiinuuiMlu-d 
 both in componition and in a[)pciir!inr(«. 
 Common coni breaks into ciibiial or NJutv 
 fragments, and has a resinous lustre, Pit(;}| 
 coal is more compact and shining, while 
 the channel or parrot coal, frotn which gas 
 is usually made, is of a duller nspect niid 
 grayish-black color. Anthraritu or blind 
 coal burns without (lame, and Heems to he 
 some of the former varieties deprived of 
 their bitumen by heat. It is occasinii.nlly 
 found in this country near igneous rocks, 
 and in great abundance in PcnnNylv.inia. 
 The coal is dug by mines, sometimes of 
 great depth and extent, especially in the 
 district round Newcastle. In these the 
 workmen are exposed to much danger 
 from the roof of the pits falling upon them, 
 and especially from choke-damp and foul 
 air, as they are named by the miners. 
 The former is the carbonic acid gas, which 
 being heavier tha.i common air, accumu- 
 lates in the lower parts of the pit, and 
 soon extinguishes the lights and destroys 
 life in those involved in it. The foul air 
 or light carburetted hydrogen is identical 
 with marsh gas, and is exceedingly in- 
 flammable when mixed in certain propor- 
 tions with oxygen. It then catches tire 
 on the approach of a flame, and explodes 
 almost like gunpowder, destroying all the 
 walls and partitions in the pit, burning the 
 unfortunate miners, and blowing every- 
 thing in the shafts into the air. Some- 
 times above a hundred people have perish- 
 ed in a moment by one of these explo- 
 sions. It was such a catastrophe which 
 gave rise to the experiments of Sir Hum- 
 phry Davy, which ended in the discovery 
 of the safety-lamp, one of the many gifts 
 of science to man, and the means of saving 
 many valuable lives. These dangerous 
 gases do not occur in all pits, but often 
 burst out from cavities in the coal, al- 
 together unexpectedly, and unless the 
 miners are on their guard, cause their in- 
 stant destruction. 
 
 It is a remarkable circumstance that 
 beds of iron-ore are mixed up with the 
 coal, and the two are often so close to- 
 gether that both can be wrought at once. 
 In the Scottish coal-field, these bands of 
 
 m. 
 
THE POLAR BRAR. 
 
 873 
 
 n, with vurioiii 
 
 nitro^pti, 1111(1 
 
 niiilUtr. 'riiiTf 
 
 t, iliMiiniriiislii'il 
 
 in nppciiriiTK'c. 
 ciibic'iil or shitv 
 UHJiiMtr*!. Piuii 
 
 shiiiini;, wliilt- 
 
 frotii ivhirli >;iis 
 iIIkt .'ixpccl iiiifl 
 irnciifi or lilinil 
 ind HPorim to ho 
 168 deprived of 
 
 is occasioiinlly 
 
 igneous rocks, 
 
 1 PennMV'lv.inia. 
 
 I, sometimes of 
 
 pecially in the 
 
 In those the 
 
 much danger 
 ling upon them, 
 damp and foul 
 )y the miners, 
 acid gas, which 
 )n air, accumu- 
 f the pit, and 
 8 and destroys 
 The foul air 
 ;en is identical 
 xceedingly in- 
 certain propor- 
 m catches tire 
 I, and explodes 
 troying all the 
 lit, burning the 
 )lowing every- 
 le air. Some- 
 le have perish- 
 if these explo- 
 strophe which 
 8 of Sir Hum- 
 1 the discovery 
 the many gifts 
 leans of saving 
 ese dangerous 
 pits, but often 
 
 the coal, sl- 
 id unless the 
 cause their in* 
 
 umstance that 
 1 up with the 
 n so close to- 
 ought at once, 
 hese bands of 
 
 iron-ore ar^^ vtT) iiumrrou^, in r> .i<m, 
 
 nciir GiaH«<>w, more than sixiy being 
 known. This iirriingemenl gives double 
 viiliui liiiili l<» '1'" '-■"al i'"l 'f""i "'"1 ''* 
 undoiilitfilly nil important element in the 
 niiiuuliiriiiiin!; prosperity of ihiit country 
 Linie.«i.oiie, ^^ Inch if needed as a flux to 
 null the iron-ore, is' also at hniul, in the 
 I'orMiution on which this immediately rests. 
 This union of the«e important minerals is 
 so essential to the iniereslH of man, that 
 anything more adapted to promote them 
 can sciircely be conceived. Yet no mere- 
 ly natural reason can be assigned for it; 
 there is no physical cause that can pro- 
 duce it ; for aught we perceive, the iron 
 ore might as well have been placed in the 
 midst of the primary mountains, far from 
 the coal by which it was to be reduced. 
 Is it unreasonable, therefore, to believe 
 tliat the wants of iniin were foreseen and 
 provided for ages before he had any place 
 on the earth ? Is it not rather our duty 
 to search out these indications of our 
 Creator's cure, and to adore him for his 
 goodness to the sons of men ? 
 
 THE POLAR BEAR. 
 
 N those desolate fields 
 of ice which lock up the 
 polar seas during a great 
 part of the year, the 
 White Boar (the Ursus 
 Marilimus of Linnseu-*) 
 finds an abode congenial 
 to his hardy nature. 
 Prowling over the frozen 
 wastes, he satiates his hunger on the ma- 
 rine animals, such as seals, who break 
 ihriiugh the ice to breathe the open air ; 
 or he plunges into the sea in pursuit of his 
 prey. Possessing an astonishingly acute 
 scent, great activity and strength, and 
 equal cunning, he contrives to support 
 existence in regions where it might be , 
 thought that so large a quadruped must '. 
 necessarily perish. Ever watchful, ho 
 ascends the hills of ice, called hummocks, 
 to cxierid his range of observation ov-r | 
 the wide plain where ; solitary seal ii.ay ; 
 perhaps be resting ; or to snuft' the tainted i 
 
 nir, by whicli he knows lliil hiu\)i> retnains 
 of a whale, or a walrus (sia hiirsi^), .le- 
 serted liy the fishermen of llunipi', or the 
 native I')N(|uimaux, will ailiinl liiui an ample 
 feast. He doubtless often siilferM lonij 
 and extreme hungcsr ; for the seal, which 
 forms his cliief subsisii'iice, is as vigihiiil 
 us the bear ; and he is often tMrricd out 
 to sea upon some small island of ice, 
 where he may remain for days withmit 
 the possibility of procurinji food. The 
 polar bear has been seen (loaiing in this 
 I way ut a disiauce of two hundred miles 
 from any land. Swimming excellently, 
 he, however, often travels from one island 
 of ice to unother; or visits tiie shore, 
 where he commits fearful ravages. In 
 Iceland, where these destructive animals 
 sometimes land, the inhabitants immedi- 
 ately collect together to destroy them. 
 Near the east coast of ({reeidand, accord- 
 ing lo Captain Scoresby, in his account 
 of the Arctic regions, they have been seen 
 r)n the ice in such quantities, that they 
 were compared to flocks of sheep on a 
 common. 
 
 The animal is ordinarily from 4 to .') 
 feet high, and from 7 to 8 feet long, weigh- 
 ing from GOO lbs. to half a ii.u. Hareniz, 
 an early voyager in these regions, killed 
 two enormous white bears in 15i)G, the 
 skin of one of which measured 12 feet, 
 and that of the other 13 feet. The polar 
 bear generally retreats from man j I' it when 
 attacked he is a formidable enemy. 
 
 The sagacity of the polar bear is well 
 known to the whale-fishers. They find 
 the greatest diflicidty in entrapping him, 
 although he fearlessly approaches their 
 vessels. The following instances of this 
 sagacity are very curious : — 
 
 " A sea! lying on the middle of a large 
 piece of ice, with a hole just before it, 
 was marked out by a bear for its prey, 
 and secured by the artifice of diving under 
 the ice, and making its way to the hole by 
 which the seal was prepared to retreat. 
 The seal, however, observed i!s approach, 
 and plunged into the water ; but tlie bear 
 instyntiy sprung upon it, and appeared, in 
 about a minute afterward, with tlie seal in 
 its nioulh. 
 
 " The captain of one of the whalers 
 being anxious to procure a bear, without 
 wounding the skin, made trial of the 
 
 M 
 
r 
 
 THE POLAR BEAIU 
 
 875 
 
 ^^fttj'^i;'; 
 
 p- 
 
 v^ 
 
 'V 
 
 m 
 
 stratagem of laying the noose of a rope in 
 the snow, and placing a piece of kreng 
 within it. A bear, ranging the neighbor- 
 ing ice, was soon enticed to the spot, by 
 the smell of burning meat. He perceived 
 the bait, approached, and seized it in his 
 mouth : but his foot, at the same moment, 
 by a jerk of the rope, being entangled in 
 ihe noose, he pushed it off with the ad- 
 joining paw, and deliberately retired. Af- 
 ter having eaten the piece he carried away 
 with him, he returned. The noose, with 
 another piece of kreng, being then re- 
 placed, he pushed the rope aside, and 
 again walked triumphantly off with the 
 kreng. A third time the noose was laid ; 
 but, excited to caution by the evident ob- 
 servation of the bear, the sailors buried the 
 rope beneath the snow, and laid the bait 
 in a deep hole dug in the centre. The 
 bear once more approached, and the sailors 
 were assured of their success. But Bruin, 
 more sagacious than they expected, after 
 snuffing about the place for a few mo- 
 ments, scraped the snow away with his 
 paw, threw the rope aside, and again es- 
 caped unhurt with his prize." 
 
 The female polar bear is as fierce in her 
 hostility as the male ; but nothing can ex- 
 ceed the affection which she feels for her 
 young. The difficulty of procuring food 
 for them, and the hardships to which they 
 are exposed, no doubt call forth this quali- 
 ty. Some of the instances upon record 
 are as singular as they are affecting. 
 The following is related in one of the polar 
 voyages : — 
 
 " Early in the morning, the man at the 
 mast-head gave notice that three bears 
 were making their way very fast over the 
 ice, and directing their course toward the 
 ship. They had probably been invited by 
 the blubber of a seahorse, which the men 
 had set on fire, and which was burning on 
 the ice at the time of their approach. 
 They proved to be a she-bear and her two 
 cubs ; but the cubs were nearly as large 
 as the dam. They ran eagerly to the fire, 
 and drew out from the flames part of the 
 flesh of the seahorse, which remained un- 
 consumed, and ate it voraciously. The 
 crew from the ship threw great pieces of 
 the flesh, which they had still left, upon 
 the ice, which the old bear carried away 
 singly, laid every piece before her cubs, 
 
 and dividing them, gave each a share, 
 reserving but a small portion to herself. 
 As she was carrying away the last piece, 
 they levelled their muskets at the cubs, 
 and shot them both dead ; and in her re- 
 treat, they wounded the dam, but not mor- 
 tally. 
 
 "It would have drawn tears of pity 
 from any but unfeeling minds, to have 
 marked the affectionate concern manifested 
 by this poor beast, in the last moments of 
 her expiring young. Though she was 
 sorely wounded, and could but just crawl 
 to the place where they lay, she carried 
 the lump of flesh she had fetched away, 
 as she had done the others before, tore it 
 in pieces, and laid it down before them ; 
 and when she saw they refused to eat, 
 she laid her paws first upon one, and then 
 upon the other, and endeavored to raise 
 them up. All this while it was piteous 
 to hear her moan. When she found she 
 could not stir them, she went off, and 
 when at some distance, looked back and 
 moaned ; and that not availing to entice 
 them away, she returned, and smelling 
 around them, began to lick their wounds. 
 She went off a second time, as before, 
 and having crawled a few paces, looked 
 again behind her, and for some time stood 
 moaning. But still her cubs not rising to 
 follow her, she returned to them again, 
 and with signs of inexpressible fondness, 
 went round first one and then the other, 
 pawing them, and moaning. Finding at 
 last that they were cold and lifeless, she 
 raised her head toward the ship, and 
 growled her resentment at the murderers, 
 which they returned with a volley of 
 musket-balls. She fell between her cubs, 
 and didd licking their wounds." 
 
 VIRTUE. 
 
 Guard well your heart. Shut up ev- 
 ery crevice by wholesome thoughts, and 
 the evil atmosphere by which thou art 
 surrounded will never enter. He who 
 would tempt thee for one moment to turn 
 aside from the path of truth, must receive 
 no favors from thy hands. Slumber not 
 when evil associates are pressing to thy 
 side. To be virtuous is to be respected ; 
 to be respected is to be happy; to be hap- 
 py is to be good. 
 
 56 
 
 ",p»;!i#iM??' 
 
876 
 
 THB WIFE OF LAFAYETTE. 
 
 THE WIFE OF LAFAYETTE. 
 
 HE faithful and de- 
 voted wife of Gen- 
 eral Lafayette was a 
 daughter of the illus- 
 trious house of Noa- 
 illes. She was mar- 
 ried at the early age of 
 seventeen, and scarce- 
 ly had the honey-moon glided happily 
 away when her youthful husband left her 
 side to fight for American Independence. 
 During his absence, Madame Lafayette 
 ruled her household and numerous estates 
 with wisdom and prudence far* beyond her 
 years. At length the husband, whom she 
 loved so dearly, and of whom she was so 
 justly fond, returned covered with glory to 
 lay his laurels at her feet. Some few 
 happy days were spent together, and then 
 the storm cloud of the French revolution 
 broke over their heads. Her husband 
 was soon driven to exile, but it was thought 
 that Madame Lafayette, living quietly and 
 in great retirement on her estate in Au- 
 vergne, ran no danger. But her love of 
 liberty, her high rank, her talents, made 
 her an object of suspicion. She was ar- 
 rested on the 10th of August, and soon 
 after sent to Paris. Her mother, grand- 
 mother, and sister-in-law, all perished on 
 the same scaffold. Madame de Lafayette 
 herself was in daily expectation of death 
 She made her will, and waited calmly .ind 
 resolutely for the summons to the guillo- 
 tine. The revolution of the 9th Thermidor 
 preceded by five days that appointed for 
 her execution. As soon as she was lib- 
 crated she sent her only son, then in his 
 childhood, to ihc care of General Wash- 
 inyton, after whom he had been named ; 
 and then hastened with her two daughters 
 to find her unfortunate husband — then 
 languishing in an Austrian prison. She 
 reached Vienna by means of an American 
 passport, obtained an audience of the 
 emperor, and solicited eiilier the release 
 of her husband, or permission to share his 
 captivity. 
 
 " As to the release of General Lafa- 
 yette," replied the eniporor, " it is a very 
 complicated piece of business ; on that 
 point, my luiuds are tied." 
 
 Madame; Lafayette joyfully embraced 
 
 the other alternative — iha of sharing her 
 husband's gloomy prison. Sixteen mnntiis 
 close imprisonment in France, the loss of 
 her kindred, her continual anxiety respect- 
 ing her husband, had combined to Mfl'iTt 
 her health — which declined so rapidly in 
 her damp prison at Olnuitz. that sorimis 
 apprehensions were entertained for ln-r 
 life. Feeling the importance of her life 
 to her family, and at their earnest solicitn- 
 tion, she wrote to the emperor to request 
 his permission to spend a week in Vieima 
 for change of air, and for the |>urpose of 
 consulting a physician. Her letter re- 
 mained two months unanswered, and tlien 
 came an imperial mandate, forbiililing her 
 ever to appear in Vienna, but offering her 
 freedom — on condition that she would 
 never seek to return to her husband's 
 prison. Madame de LafAyelto's imMt; 
 and touching answerto this inhuman pros- 
 titution, fortunately for posterity, remains 
 on record. It was as follows : — 
 
 "I owed it to my family and my friiMuls, 
 to make some efforts for the prcsfrv.itioM 
 of my life ; but they know me too well to 
 suppose, for an instant, that I would ac- 
 cept it at such a price. I can not forget 
 that when we were on the r,.iint of per- 
 ishing, my husband, by his physical am! 
 mental sufferings in Austria, and I, by tlie 
 tyranny of Robespierre, in France, was 
 not allowed to receive any communi- 
 cation from him, f.or to inform him in re- 
 turn that his wife and children were siill 
 in existence ; and I will never, of my own 
 free will, expose myself to the agony of 
 separation from him again. However 
 unsuitable this residence may be to my 
 daughter, and however unfavorable to my 
 health, wc will gladly avail ourselves of 
 his imperial majesty's goodness in allow- 
 ing us to remain here, and will never 
 troulile him with any more petitions. " 
 
 From that time Madame de Lafayette 
 made no further efforts, but bore her suf- 
 ferings firmly ami patiently, until iln! vic- 
 tories of the French republic, and especial- 
 ly those of General Honaparte, chanued 
 the aspect of the affairs. General La- 
 fayette was restored to freedom, and with 
 his devoted wife, reiurned to his native 
 country, and fixed his residence at La 
 Grange — the maternal inheritance of his 
 wife — an estate situated about twelve ^ 
 
 ^i- 
 
— tha of tilinriiirr her 
 rison. Sixteen niniiths 
 t in France, the loss of 
 ntinunl anxiety respect- 
 lad coinbineil to iiflcct 
 declined so rajjidly in 
 Jt Olmutz. that sorimis 
 re entertained for lier 
 importance of h(?r life 
 ,t their earnest solicit;i- 
 the emperor to request 
 |)end a week in Vienna 
 and for the purpose of 
 sician. Her letter re- 
 8 unanswered, and tlien 
 nandate, forbidding her 
 Vienna, but offering her 
 lition that she would 
 turn to her husband's 
 
 de I^afAyelte's ntilili; 
 er to tliis inhuman pros- 
 ' for posterity, remains 
 I as follows : — 
 y family and my friends, 
 ris for the preserv:itioii 
 iy know me too well to 
 stant, that I would ac- 
 price. I can not forget 
 e on the ri,)int of per- 
 d, by his physical and 
 n Austria, and I, by the 
 pierre, in Frane(\ was 
 •eceive any communi- 
 or to inform him in rc- 
 and children were still 
 I will never, of my own 
 nyself to the agony of 
 bim again. However 
 sidence may be to my 
 ^ever unfavorable to my 
 ladly avail ourselves of 
 ty's goodness in allow- 
 i here, and will never 
 iny more petitions." 
 I Madame de l.afayette 
 Torts, but bore her suf- 
 
 patienlly, until the vic- 
 h republic, and especial- 
 ral Honaparte, charmed 
 
 affairs. General La- 
 sd to freedom, and with 
 
 returned to his native 
 d his residence at l-a 
 irnnl inheritance of his 
 silu.ited aliout twelve 
 
 INTOLKRANCK. 
 
 877 
 
 leagues from Paris. Here Madame de 
 Lafayette spent the remainder of her short | 
 life in the bosom of her family. But the 
 poisoned arrow of grief and anxiety had 
 drank her life blood, and after many linger- 
 ing months of suffering, this affectionate 
 mother and heroic wife closed her pure 
 and exemplary life on the 24th of Decem- 
 l)er, 1806. Posterity has covered the name 
 of General Lafayette with glory, but surely 
 the patient endurance, the self-sacrificing 
 devoiionof his noble wife, deserve an equal 
 meed of praise. 
 
 INTOLERANCE. 
 
 GREAT deal is 
 said and written, 
 and declaimed at 
 the present day, 
 about the intoler- 
 ance of which the 
 last age has been 
 proved guilty in 
 two or three no- 
 table instances. Tirades have been writ- 
 ten by the score, against the suspension 
 of witches, and the persecution of the bap- 
 tists and quakers, and our fathers have 
 lieen branded as the most intolerant self- 
 conceited bigots that ever set up their own 
 doctrines and opinions, to the exclusion of 
 every other. With all these conspicuous 
 and barbarous examples before us, and 
 barbarous we admit them to be — we still 
 liesitato not to affirm that there is quite as 
 much intolerance in the world, and among 
 ourselves even, at the present moment, as 
 ever existed in any former period of the 
 world's history. This may seem a bold 
 assertion to those who look only at the 
 mask and superficies of society ; but he 
 who has sounded the depths and shoals 
 of human nature, will find, if we mistake 
 not, this error the deepest fixed, and the 
 last to be eradicated, of all which lurk and 
 thrive in that sea of depravity — proud, 
 selfish, wealth-seeking, error-loving man. 
 True, the ordeal and the stake no longer 
 exist as its prime ministers ; these be- 
 longed to an age and custom that has 
 l)asscd away ; yet the principle remains 
 
 as strongly predominant as when those 
 symbols figured and blazed on every com- 
 mon. Mankind, ever the slave of custom, 
 obeys implicitly the changing forms of 
 society, and models his practice according 
 to the age in which he lives. 
 
 To illustrate more particularly the force 
 of these remarks — how many are there, 
 who denounce imheard, every new seitjuce, 
 or doctrine, or theory, for the sole reasmi 
 that they conflict with their accustomed 
 views and prejudices. IIow many who 
 are not even capable of understanding the 
 claims of a system, much less of weighing 
 them by the principles of sound reason, 
 scout at once the profoundest tlu^ories as 
 visionary and absurd, and libel their ad- 
 vocates with the foulest cpitliets of derision 
 and reproach. One woulil suppose that 
 such persons were possessed of extraordi- 
 nary insight and powers of reasoning ; 
 that they could penetrate, and were famil- 
 iar with the remotest laws of nature and 
 mind ; yet come to inquire into the causes 
 of their far-sighted wisdom, and plenty of 
 gall, and tirade, and declamation, yon shall 
 see showered on all sides, but not one 
 word of reason. What one man out of 
 five hundred who takes a side in politics, 
 and rants and declaims so vehemently, 
 understands thoroughly one fundamental 
 principle of government or political econ- 
 omy ? 
 
 Is this the age of toleration ? Show lis 
 one liberal, honest-minded man, who is not 
 the slave of opinion or prejudice, and who 
 weighs every subject by the impartial dic- 
 tates of enlightened reason, and you have 
 found a jewel which the world, alas, too 
 seldom contains. 
 
 Intolerance is only unjust, but foolish 
 and impolitic. It more than any other, is 
 a zeal which defeats its own ends. Every 
 speculative system, like the shield of olden 
 fable, has its golden, as well as its dark 
 side. No error even, that boasts of many 
 advocates, but has some " show" of truth ; 
 and the surest, indeed the only way "f 
 convincing an opponent, is by meeting itini 
 on his own grounds, by showing him that 
 you have seen the disputed subject, in the 
 same point of view as himself, and are 
 capable of appreciating the good as well 
 as the evil of his system. Alwve all, con- 
 vince by " reason." For no other pur- 
 
878 
 
 MOHAMMEDAN DEVOTIONS. 
 
 pose was this best and holiest faculty 
 bestowed upon man, but to sift error and 
 discover the true and the right ; and he 
 who neglects or refuses to employ this 
 high attribute, has already sold his birth- 
 right, and is no longer worthy of the name 
 of man. 
 
 MOHAMMEDAN DEVOTIONS. 
 
 OUNTAINS,thebest 
 of which are such as 
 that represented incur 
 engraving, are com- 
 mon in Mohammedan 
 towns ; and, besides 
 the ordinary use of 
 assuaging the thirst of 
 the passers-by, they, 
 with an adjoining 
 platform, and with an erect stone to indi- 
 cate the way the worshipper should turn 
 his face, constitute so many oratories for 
 the use of those whom the call to prayer 
 surprises at a distance from the mosque, 
 or who prefer to perform their devotions 
 in the open air. It is obligatory on all 
 Mohammedans to pray five times a day ; 
 but it is only on the Friday that they are 
 expected to attend at the mosque for the 
 purpose : and in general, when a Moslem 
 hears the call to prayers, or knows that 
 the hour is arrived, he will perform his 
 devotions at any convenient place near 
 that where he happens to be at the time, 
 after he has executed the required ablu- 
 tions. These consist in washing the hands 
 three times successively, as well as the 
 face, the arms, the head, the neck, and the 
 feel ; and also the inside of the mouth, of 
 the ears, and of the nostrils. It is for the 
 purpose of these ablutions that fountains 
 are so abundantly provided. In places 
 where no water is to be had the ablution 
 may be made with the earth or sand. This 
 practice is followed by persons travelling 
 in the deserts ; and with regard to persons 
 at sea, who have no such substitutes, and 
 can not afford fresh water, they affect 
 their ablutions by rubbing themselves with 
 their hands alone, aftei having placed them 
 on a stone. Sea-water is couaidercd im- 
 
 pure, and entirely unfit for the purposes 
 of ablution. These washings are general- 
 ly performed in a very slight way. In 
 consequence of its being necessary to wash 
 the arm up to the elbow, the Moslems have 
 the sleeves of their dress with buttons from 
 the elbow to the wrist. The Turks and 
 Arabs generally wear their sleeves loose 
 and unbuttoned, to save the trouble of fre- 
 quent nubuttoning and buttoning again ; 
 but the Persians, who are much less ob- 
 servant of what their religion in this re- 
 spect requires, are seldom seen hut with 
 their sleeves buttoned up. Indeed, every- 
 thing that their forms of worship demand, 
 in regard to prayers and ablutions, is sel- 
 dom performed by any Moslems except 
 those of the higher and middle classes, 
 and in all cases the morning, noon, and 
 evening periods of prayer are the moat at- 
 tended to, while the intermediate ones are 
 comparatively neglected. 
 
 Although Christians are not generally 
 allowed to enter the mosques, the cere- 
 monies of prayer are so much performed 
 in the streets and open places of towns, 
 that the most unobservant stranger soon 
 becomes thoroughly acquainted with all 
 the proceedings. 
 
 There are no bells in Mohammedan 
 countries ; but, at the appointed hours, an 
 officer of the mosque, called the muezzin, 
 mounts upon the n marets and calls the 
 faithful to prayers, or rather notifies that 
 the proper time has arrived. For this 
 office the persons endowed with the most 
 sonorous voices are chosen in preference, 
 and the distance at which they can be 
 heard is such as to become a subject of 
 surprise to Europeans. This notice is 
 not delivered from every mosque, but only 
 from such as are sufficient to afford an 
 equal distribution of the sound over the 
 city. The call consists of a declaration 
 of the Mohammedan profession of faith : 
 " There is no other god but God, and Mo- 
 hammed is the propnet of God !" with 
 many repetitions ; then follows the invita- 
 tion to prayers, to which, in the morning, 
 is added the assurance that " prayer is 
 better that sleep ;" and the whole con- 
 clud*. ; with the declaration that God is 
 most great, and most high, and that there 
 is no other God but him. 
 
 When the call is heard, the devout who 
 
unfit for the pnrposes 
 I vvashinj,'s arc goncral- 
 
 very slight way. In 
 eing necessary to wash 
 bow, the Moslems have 
 Iress with buttons from 
 rist. The Turks and 
 ar their sleeves loose 
 save the trouble of frc- 
 and buttoning again ; 
 vho are much less nb- 
 eir religion in this re- 
 peldom seen but with 
 ed up. Indeed, every- 
 ns of worship demand, 
 s and ablutions, is sel- 
 
 any Moslems except 
 !r and middle classes, 
 he morning, noon, and 
 prayer are the most at- 
 3 intermediate ones arc 
 ected. 
 
 ans are not generally 
 h« mosques, the cere- 
 ire so much performed 
 open places of towns, 
 bservant stranger soon 
 y acquainted with all 
 
 jells in Mohammedan 
 he appointed hours, an 
 |ue, called the muezzin, 
 minarets and calls the 
 , or rather notifies that 
 las arrived. For this 
 sndowed with the most 
 e chosen in preference, 
 at which they can be 
 become a subject of 
 )eans. This notice is 
 every mosque, but only 
 sufficient to afTord an 
 of the sound over the 
 insists of a declaration 
 Ian profession of faith : 
 r god but God, and Mo- 
 ropnet of God !" with 
 then follows the invita- 
 which, in the morning, 
 ranee that "prayer is 
 " and the whole con- 
 eclaration that God is 
 )8t high, and that there 
 It him. 
 3 heard, the devout who 
 
hnppcii to be aV:roa(3 hasten to the fotintiiiiis 
 and the streams to perform their ablutions; 
 when this is done, if there arc many pres- 
 ei I, one of the rnmber assumes the othce 
 of an imatim, or leader, and, placing him- 
 self before them, with his face toward 
 Mecca, the rest follow him in his words 
 and postures. 
 
 THE LOVE OF NATURE. 
 
 " Strange, there shonJd be foniid 
 Who, BelfimprJ»one<l in their prowl saloons, 
 Hcnouiicc the odors of the open field 
 For tlie nnscciiteJ ticiions of the loom — 
 Who, BatisHed with only pencilled Hcencs, 
 Prefer to the perfonnanco of a God 
 Th' inferior wonders of an artirt's hand } 
 Lovely, indeed, the nvmic works of art. 
 
 But nature's worka far lovelier 
 
 The air salubrious of her lofty hills. 
 The cheering fragrance of her dewy vales. 
 And music of her woods — ^no works of mao 
 May rival theaoj these all bespeak a power 
 Peculiar, and exclusively her own. 
 Beneath the open sky she spreads the feast: 
 'Tis free to all — 'tis every day renewed ; 
 Who ncorns it, starves deservedly at home." 
 
 CowriR. 
 
 HE poet, we think, 
 has set this matter in 
 its true light. Art 
 may do much, but na- 
 ture has done vastly 
 more. The artist, in- 
 deed, may bring beau- 
 ties together which 
 exist separately in nature, and, in this 
 sense, may be said to excel nature ; but 
 the great and fundamental distinctions 
 still remain between the works of man 
 and those of God. There is surely some- 
 thing factitious and radically wrong in the 
 taste which can admire the mimic and 
 disregard the real landscape— just as there 
 is in the sympathy which weeps over dis- 
 tress in romance, and turns with loathing 
 from it in real life. The poor man who 
 has formed n taste for nature need scarcely 
 repine that he wants a palace ov a picture- 
 gallery. He has both, and of God's own 
 making ; and if he be a Christian, he is a 
 coproprietor with God. The roof of royal- 
 ty will not bear to be named with the 
 vaulted sky ; and thi' sights of a palace 
 are poor compared with those seen in the 
 
 heavens. That faslc innst be morbi;i Hnd 
 grovelling indeed which can prefer the 
 f()rmcr to the latter, the less* to the grf ater, 
 the mean to the magnificent, and, at best, f; 
 the imperfect and miniature copy to the I 
 great and glorio'JS original. <| 
 
 It is to be regretted that so little is done '1 
 to form the taste we speak of, artd that || 
 cases of sincere and devout attachment to |i 
 the beauties and wonders of the external 
 world are so rarely to be met witli, nut 
 only among the unlearned, but among the 
 wealthier and educated classes. We do 
 not speak of pretensions, for these are 
 numerous, but it is easy to see that they 
 are only pretensions, and made to serve a 
 purpose. The real lovers of nature are 
 relatively few. 
 
 We know there are constitutional dif- 
 ferences, which will produce diflTerences 
 here as elsewhere ; but these might, in 
 general, be made to be differences more 
 of degree than of kind. The parent and 
 teacher might do much to mend the mat- 
 ter. We do not mean that they should 
 make it a stated and formal part of instruc- 
 tion ; for the moment that many children 
 perceive this, they conceive an aversion 
 to what they look upon as a task. Let 
 them have opportunities of becoming ac- 
 quainted with what is great atid beautiful 
 in creation, and, if possible, let their first 
 impressions be pleasant. Encourage them 
 to describe what they have seen, and ex- 
 plain what they do not understand. Let 
 books fall in their way, to sharpen their 
 relish and extend their knowledge of nat- 
 ural objects. The taste thus formed is 
 likely to continue, and to furiiish a con- 
 stant source of enjoyment through life. 
 How many, for want of this training, are 
 miserable, when left alone with nature ! 
 Her mountains are nothing to them but 
 heaps of unshapely earth ; and they see 
 nothing in streams but water in motion ; 
 and hear nothisig in the winds but con- 
 fused and unmeaning sounds ; and the 
 trees are only so high and of a certain 
 color ; and the clouds are only intercepters 
 of the sun's rays ; and the sky is blue, or 
 red, or green, but nothing more. They 
 are delighted to be relieved from their 
 dull companion, and hail the approach of 
 a shepherd's dog, or the sound of his 
 I master's voice in the distance, as a 
 
1 
 
 THE LOVE OB NATURE. 
 
 881 
 
 itc iiinst be morliid »ri!l ' 
 which can prefer the 
 , the less* Jo the greater, i 
 ignjficent, and, at hest, 
 miiiiiiture topy to the 
 original. 
 
 ted that 90 little ia Jonu 
 we speak of, and that 
 d devout attachment to 
 onders of the external 
 ly to be met with, not 
 learned, bnt amonj; the 
 :ated classes. We do 
 ensions, for these an; 
 3 easy to see that they 
 IS, and made to ser>'e a 
 >1 lovers of nature are 
 
 are constitutional dif- 
 ill produce diflferonces 
 I ; but these might, in 
 to be diflferences more 
 kind. The parent and 
 much to mend the mat- 
 mean that they should 
 d formal part of instruc- 
 ent that many children 
 ' conceive an aversion 
 ; upon as a task. I>et 
 unities of becoming ac- 
 t is great and beautifnl 
 
 possible, let their first 
 jsant. Encourage them 
 hey have seen, and ex- 
 not understand. Let 
 r way, to sharpen their 
 their knowledge of nat- 
 e taste thus formed is 
 , and to furnish a con- 
 injoyment through life, 
 ant of this training, are 
 left alone with nature ! 
 •e nothing to them but 
 y earth ; and they see 
 3 but water in motion ; 
 
 in the winds but con- 
 ming sounds ; and the 
 
 high and of a certain 
 ids are only intercepters 
 
 and the sky is blue, or 
 t nothing more. They 
 be relieved from their 
 nd hail the approach of 
 ;, or the sound of his 
 a the distance, as a 
 
 sweeter sound than any that nature has 
 to give. 
 
 \Ve rather think that the love we speak 
 of is never strong or lasting unless it be 
 roniracted in early life. The associations 
 of childhood are the strongest of any, and 
 usually go with us to the grave. Hence 
 
 are matters of total indiffertince. The 
 Christianity of Newton was not hurt but 
 heightened by' his frequent and ranu'St 
 readings of the wonders of the visible uni- 
 verse. David looked up into the heavens, 
 felt his own insignificance, and wondered 
 ail the more that God shoidd mind man 
 
 the all-prevailing love of the place of our \ at all. Whatever teaches us our own lit- 
 nativilv Perhaps few men had a finer | tleness and rebukes the spirit of pride 
 on of what was amiable in man- ' within us, brings us a step nearer God. 
 beautiful in art than Charles j We do not wish to lay undue stress upon 
 Lamb ; and yet, exquisite as was his sen- ; this point, and we are aware that cases of 
 sibility here, he does not appear to have \ an opposite kind might be urged ; but what 
 
 percepli 
 ners and 
 
 been capable of enjoying himself in the 
 
 society of lakes and mountains. Byron, 
 
 on the contrary, could say, and no doubt 
 
 truly :• — 
 
 " There is a plocRuro in llic patliless woods , 
 Tliere U a rupture on tlie lonely sliore ; 
 Tliere i« society, whore none intrudes, 
 By the deep sea, and music in its roar." 
 
 we do assert is, that, other things being 
 morally equal, there is greater probability 
 of the admirer of nature being brought to 
 think of God, than there is of the person 
 who sees neither beauty nor grandeur in 
 the works of creation. 
 
 Besides all, it is a kind of slight which 
 we cast upon nature — as Johnson or Ad- 
 But Byron, independently of the sterner ! dison somewhere expresses it— when we 
 structure of his mind, had the advantage ; do not look at the spectacles which she 
 of Lamb in his early training and habits. ! is constantly varying and exhibiting to us. 
 He had conversed with nature in her mo- \ Has the scene been formed and the cur- 
 ments of repose ; his fancy had mingled tain drawn for nothing ? or is the eye or 
 in the ennobling stir of the elements— had ^ ear unfitted to enjoy it ? We think it 
 drunk deep from the fountains of the hills, scarcely less a pleasure than a duty to 
 and imbibed the spirit of the solitary glens;: cultivate this taste in ourselves and our 
 he had put a tongue into the mysterious children. We hardly know the enjoyment 
 
 winds as they passed, and had gathered 
 the leaves of the forest, as the leaves of 
 the great sybil of nature. He retained 
 this love of nature to the last, and it seems 
 often to have been his only solace and en- 
 joyment. 
 
 The love of nature prepares the way 
 for the love and appreciation of the fine 
 arts. This is an additional advantage. 
 The discipline which the mind has under- 
 gone in contemplating the various aspects 
 and relations of nature, predispose it to 
 enjoy and to judge of what is excellent in 
 certain departments of the imitative arts. 
 It brings along with it a train of thoughts, 
 and feelings, and associations, which 
 readily attach themselves to what is great 
 or beautiful, not only in painting but in 
 poetry, and in all the higher developments 
 of the human mind. 
 
 Its effects are not only mental, but moral 
 also. Other things being equal, we think 
 the man who loves the works of God is 
 more likely to »hiiik of and to love God 
 himself than the man to whom these works 
 
 we would not sooner part with than this. 
 It is not merely that the senses are grati- 
 fied, but the feelings are refined and the 
 heart improved by it. The effect of a 
 moonlight scene on the mind which is ill 
 at ease, is well known. The imagination, 
 too, is necessarily exercised and strengthen- 
 ed by the unceasing analogies which are 
 constantly offering themselves between 
 what is spiritual and what is material. 
 But whoever may despise or forget these 
 things, it is least of all the part of the 
 Christian to do so. The volume of na- 
 ture is as truly the work of God as that 
 of providence or revelation. The great 
 Teacher habitually illustrated the one *^y 
 the other ; he stereotyped his doctrines in 
 the flowers, and trees, and hills. 
 
 It may be added, that the lover of na- 
 ture has a better chance of enjoying a 
 sound mind in a sound body. This is no 
 mean consideration. 
 
 The most ardent admirer of nature need 
 be in no fear of exhausting her stores, or 
 draining out her vast resources. The 
 
 J_ 
 
 jiiiimiiiiiiJMimiilliiai ^ 
 
882 
 
 AUGUST. 
 
 changes of weather, the rising and setting 
 sun, the play of the clouds, the revolution 
 of the seasons, the alternations of heat and 
 cold, and night and day, and drought and 
 moisture, and the unceasing diversity of 
 light and shade to which theso give rise, 
 preclude the possibility of entailing a sense 
 of sameness or insipidity on the oldest or 
 most diligent observer. As if lo guard 
 against this result, the surface of the earth 
 itself is thrown into the most varied 
 forms. 
 
 Independently, however, of the actual 
 differences and dissimilarity in scenery, 
 and apart from the variety of individual 
 form and of combination which are met in 
 the same kinds of it, whether of the calm- 
 ly beautiful or sternly sublime, there is a 
 constant vicissitude and change passing 
 over the prospect which we daily see, 
 that goes far to prevent that fttMng of 
 monotony which we mi^ht otherv/ise ex- 
 perience. The warm rich hce? of the 
 ,80uth and the cold harsh tints of the north 
 'alternately rest upon it. It smiles and 
 frowns, is gay or serious ; and the gayety 
 or pensiveness of to day is not the liveli- 
 ness or sedateness of to morrow — capri- 
 cious at one time as a Cleopatra, and stead- 
 fast as a Penelope at another ; and yet 
 that constancy or versatility is never ex- 
 actly alike, but different in detail and in 
 general effect. The unskilful eye may 
 see no difference, but the initiated does. 
 The experienced shepherd ean discrimi- 
 nate between the faces of his sheep ; the 
 musician feels the slightest flaw in tone, 
 or time, or in general balancing and ex- 
 pression ; and the accomplished artist at 
 once detects what is false in color or faulty 
 in form. 
 
 We can not but think, in whatever light 
 wo consider the subject we have touched 
 upon — that there are many and strong 
 reasons for dismissing the neglect with 
 which we generally treat it — whether we 
 look to the place which we occupy in 
 creation, or to the relations which we 
 sustain to the Creator, or to the kindness 
 he has shown in making " all nature 
 beauty to the eye and music to the ear" — 
 or whether we regard the pleasurable 
 emotions, refinement of mind, and health ' 
 of body, which we derive from a frequent I 
 and earnest intercourse with the boauiy j 
 
 and grandeur of the external universe. At 
 any rate we feel well assured that the 
 Christian is not justifiable in neglecting 
 to cultivate an acquaintance with the 
 " manifold works of God," for " in wisdom 
 he has made them all, and his tender 
 mercies are over all his works ;" and they 
 serve at once to illustrate his attributes, 
 his providence, and his grace. 
 
 AUGUST. 
 
 UGUST, 80 call- 
 cd in compliment 
 to the celebrated 
 lioman emperor 
 Augustus; and by 
 the Anglo-Sax- 
 ons, Arn-Munat, 
 intimating that 
 this was a month 
 for filling the barns with the products of 
 the land. Am is the Saxon word for 
 harvest. 
 
 In the beginning of this month the 
 weather is still hot, and usually calm and 
 fair. What remained to be perfected by 
 the powerful influence of the sun, is daily 
 advancing to maturity. The farmer now 
 sees the principal object of his culture, 
 and the chief source of his riches, waiting 
 only for the hand of the gatherer. Of the 
 several kinds of grain, rye and oats are 
 usually the first ripened ; but this varies, 
 according to the time of sowing, and some 
 of every species may be seen fit for cut- 
 ting at the same time. 
 
 Every fair day is now of great import- 
 ance ; since, when the grain is once ripe, 
 it is liable to continual damage while 
 standing, either from the shedding of the 
 seeds, from the depredations of birds, or 
 from storms. The utmost diligence is 
 therefore used by the careftii husbandman 
 to get it in, and laborers are hired I'rom 
 all quarters to hasten and complete th') 
 work. 
 
 The pleasing harvest scene is beheld 
 in its perfection only in the open-field 
 countries, where the sight can take in at 
 once an uninterrupted extent of land 
 waving with grain, and a multitude of 
 
 mm 
 
1 
 
 ) external universe. At 
 well nssureJ that tlio 
 ustifiable in noglectinjj 
 icquaintance witli tlio 
 )f God," for " in wisdom 
 in all, and his tender 
 11 his works ;" and they 
 illustrate his attributes, 
 d his grace. 
 
 JGUST. 
 
 UGUST, 80 call, 
 od in compliment 
 to the celebrated 
 Roman eiriperor 
 Augustus; and by 
 the Anglo-Sax- 
 ons, Arn-Monat, 
 intimating thot 
 this was a month 
 lis with the products of 
 I the Saxon word for 
 
 ng of thi& month the 
 t, and usually calm and 
 aed to be perfected by 
 nee of the sun, is daily 
 rity. The farmer now 
 
 object of his culture, 
 :eof his riches, waiting 
 f the gatherer. Of the 
 rain, rye and oats are 
 Dened ; but this varies, 
 ne of sowing, and some 
 lay be seen tit for cut- 
 me. 
 3 now of great import- 
 
 the grain is once ripe, 
 ntinual damage while 
 )m the shedding of the 
 predations of birds, or 
 3 utmost diligence is 
 he careAil husbandman 
 aborors are hired from 
 iten and complete th'i 
 
 Jrvest scene is beheld 
 )nly in the open-tield 
 e sight can take in at 
 ipted extent of land 
 1, and a multitude of 
 
 I 
 
 FIRMNESS OP CHARACTEH. 
 
 883 
 
 i people engaged in the various parts of the 
 ' labor It is a prospect equally delightful 
 to the cyo and the heart, and which ought 
 to inspire every sentiment of benevolence 
 to our fellow-creatures, and gratitude to 
 our Creator. 
 
 In a late season, or where favorable 
 opportunities of getting in the harvest 
 have been neglected, the grain on the 
 
 deed — teems with examples to show what 
 wonders may bo accomplished by resolute 
 perseverance and patient toil. 
 
 It is related of Tamerlane, the celebra- 
 ted warrior, the terror of whoso arms 
 spread through all the eastern nations, an>l 
 whom victory attended at almost ev(?ry 
 step, that he once learned, from an insect, 
 a lesson of perseverance, which had a 
 
 ground often suffers greatly from heavy striking effect on his future character and 
 storms of wind and rain. It is beaten to success. When closely pursued by his 
 the earth, the seeds are shed, or rotted by enemies— as a contemporary tells the a.iec- 
 the moisture; or, if the weather continues ; dote— he took refuge in smno old ruins, 
 warm, the grain grows, that is, the seeds | where, loft to h|s solitary musings, he 
 begin to germinate and put ' '* " ' 
 
 Grain in this state is sweet 
 it soon spoils on keeping ; 
 
 out shoots, 
 and moist 
 
 espied an ant tugging and striving to carry 
 away a single grain of corn. His un- 
 
 and bread j availing efforts were repeated sixty-nine 
 
 made from it is clammy and unwholesome. 
 
 The rural festival of harvest-home is an 
 extremely natural one, and has beer, ob- 
 served in almost all ages and countries. 
 What can more gladden the heart than to 
 see the long-expected products of the 
 year, which have been the cause of so 
 much care and anxiety, now safely housed, 
 and beyond the reach of injury 1 
 
 The; poor laborer, too, who has toiled in 
 securing another's wealth, justly expects 
 to partake of the happiness. The jovial 
 harvest supper cheers his heart, and pre- 
 pares him to begin without murmuring the 
 labors of another year. 
 
 FIRMNESS OF CHARACTER. 
 
 HERE is no trait in 
 >Jjy the human character 
 so potential for weal 
 or wo, as firmness of 
 purpose. It is won- 
 derful to see what 
 miracles a resolute 
 and unyielding spirit 
 will achieve. Before its irresistible ener- 
 gy the most formidable obstacles become 
 as cobweb barriers in its path. Difficul- 
 ties, the terror of which causes the pam- 
 pered sons of ease and luxu»y to shrink 
 back with dismay, provoke from the man 
 of lofty determination only a smile. The 
 whole history of our race — all nature, in- 
 
 times, and at each several time, so soon 
 as he reached a certain point of projection, 
 he fell back with his burden, unal)le to 
 surmount it. Dut the seventieth time he 
 bore away his spoil in triumph, and left 
 the wondering hero reanimated and ex- 
 ulting in the hope of future victory. 
 
 How pregnant the lessun this incident 
 conveys ! How many thousand instances 
 there are in which inglorious defeat ends 
 the career of the timid and desponding, 
 when the same tenacity of purpose, the 
 same unflinching perseverance, would 
 crown it with triumphant success. 
 
 Resolution is almost omnipotent. Sheri- 
 dan was at first timid, and obliged to sit 
 down in the midst of a speech. Con- 
 vinced of, and mortified at, the cause of 
 his failure, he said one day to a friend, 
 " It is in me, and shall come out." From 
 that moment he rose and shone, and tri- 
 umphed in a consummate eloquence. — 
 Here was true and moral courage. And 
 it was well observed by a heathen moral- 
 ist, that it is not because that things are 
 difficult that we dare not undertake them. 
 Be then bold in spirit. Indulge no doubts, 
 for doubts are traitors. In the practical 
 pursuit of our high aim, let us never lose 
 sight of it in the slightest instance ; for it 
 is more by a disregard of small things, 
 than by open and flagrant offences, that 
 men come short of excellence. There is 
 always a right and a wrong ; and if you 
 ever doubt, be sure you take not the 
 wrong. Observe this rule, and every ex- 
 perience will be to you a means of ad- 
 vancement. 
 
884 
 
 FlUENUSHIP. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 OW dear a gem 
 
 /5T5"' V* 'iM*V is fricndsbip. It 
 ( JrKtkJ'f^El^t. sweetens the bit- 
 ter cup, and it 
 smooths the tlior- 
 ny path of life. 
 •r f f' ^ ayi ^kSMWii^^ How pleasing the 
 V ' ^j^ 3^"'^' *»^ idea, how anima- 
 ting the thought, 
 that we have friends. How much to be 
 prized is a true friend in whom we may 
 Jilwnys confide. 
 
 Milt some ni»y ask, who are my friends, 
 and how may I know them? Let me 
 ask, how did the man, that fell ainonj; 
 thioves, know which was his friend ? You 
 would readily answer, the Samaritan, be- 
 cause he allowed mercy. 
 
 A true I'ritMid, whose heart is draw;, out 
 in synijialliy for those around, who is ready 
 to s()eiik a word of consolation to the af- 
 flicted, and whose hand is ready to ad- 
 minister relief without expecting recom- 
 pense, is to be prized above the sparkling 
 gems of earth. < 
 
 Hut a false friend is more to be dreaded 
 than an avowed enemv ; for we know the 
 design of an enemy is to injure, but a false 
 friend is like a serpent coiled in the grass, 
 lying in umbush for its prey, and its un- 
 happy victim is ensnared before he is 
 aware that danger is near. Some will be 
 our friends while prosperity blooms along 
 our pathway ; then all goes on pleasantly 
 and harmoniously ; but when adversity, 
 with its chilly blast, sweeps away the 
 flowers of prosperity, and naught but the 
 leafless stuck, the recollection of the past, 
 remains, then wo look around for our 
 friends. Alas ! they are gone — yes, gone 
 when we most needed them. 
 
 Hut, to obtain true friends, we have a 
 part to act ; we must show ourselves 
 friendly to our acquaintances and friends, 
 and those with whom we associate. Most 
 of us are strangers, from diflferent parts of 
 the country, in a city of strangers ; and 
 the majority of us are of the unfortunate 
 class. Jkiglit was our childhood's future, 
 for then prosj)erity and happiness encircled 
 our families, but misfortune overtakes us, 
 our worldly prospects are blighted ; then 
 
 we feel that exertion is to be made on our 
 part, and thither we resort to this. 
 
 Many of us have had our family circles 
 broken by the impartial hand of denth. 
 We have seen a kind father, an indulsient 
 iTiother, or both, consiijned to tlm silent 
 grave. Many of us have received the un- 
 welcome tidings of the death of parents 
 and friends. Unwelcome to tis indeed. 
 It is while perusing the pages of the fatal 
 letter which bore the message, that our 
 hearts aie ready to burst with grief. Pain- 
 ful thought! that we had not the privilege 
 of standing by their couch of pain, nnd 
 administering to their varied wants, or of 
 hearing their farewell advice, nor of see- 
 ing the last flicker of the lamp of life as 
 it was gently extinguished by the liand of 
 death. Then how alleviating to the af- 
 flicted soul it is, to have a friend that will 
 sympathize with us in our deep aillietion, 
 and with kind and consoling words pour 
 in the oil and wine into the bruised heart. 
 Again, if anything transpires, to add hap- 
 piness to the contented mind, how brightly 
 that spark will kindle when shared with a 
 true and faithful friend. 
 
 " Our joy», when cxtendoil, will always inrrense, 
 Our griefs whun divided, are husliod into puacu.'' 
 
 Under considerations like these ought 
 we not to show ourselves friendly to all 1 
 If we meet with a stranger, treat that 
 stranger kindly, for we know not what 
 secret sorrow is his. Wo little know 
 what painful emotions are throbbing in 
 his bosom. A mild word, or friendly 
 look, or some little act of kindness, may 
 be the means of alleviating much heart- 
 felt sorrow. 
 
 Usefulness. — It must be a great satis- 
 faction, at the close of life, to bo able to 
 look back on the years which are passed, 
 and to feel that you have lived, not for 
 yourselves alone, but that you have been 
 useful to others. You may be assured, 
 also, that the same feeling is a source of 
 comfort and happiness at any period of 
 life. There is nothing in this world so 
 good as usefulness. It binds your fellow- 
 creatures to you, and you to them ; it tends 
 to the improvement of your own character, 
 and it gives you zeal or importance in 
 society — much beyond what any artificial 
 station can bestow. 
 
n is to bo inndo on our 
 '. resort to this. 
 
 hud (iiir family rirchis 
 )artiai hand of death, 
 lid father, un ii)diil>!ei)t 
 Dnsifjnod to thu silciu 
 I have received the un- 
 f the death of parents 
 relcoine tu ii8 inileed. 
 T the pages of tlio fatal 
 the message, that our 
 bursit witli grief. Pain- 
 e had not the privihigo 
 sir couch of pain, nnd 
 leir varied wants, or of 
 ell advice, nor of see- 
 of the lamp of life as 
 guished by the liand of 
 ' alleviating to the af- 
 
 have a friend that will 
 I in our deep ailliction, 
 
 consoling words pour 
 
 1 into the bruised heart. 
 
 transpires, to add liap- 
 
 iited mind, how brightly 
 
 tile when shared with a 
 
 end. 
 
 jnded, will always inrrennc, 
 itled, aro liuslied into peace." 
 
 itions like these ought 
 rsclves friendly to all ? 
 a stranger, treat that 
 jr we know not what 
 his. Wo little know 
 tions arc throbbing in 
 lild word, or friendly 
 3 act of kindness, may 
 dleviating much heart- 
 
 It must be a great satis- 
 e of life, to bo able to 
 ears which are passed, 
 ou have lived, not for 
 3Ut that you have been 
 
 You may be assured, 
 3 feeling is a source of 
 iness ut any period of 
 othing in this world so 
 . It binds your fellow- 
 nd you to them ; it tends 
 t of your own character, 
 
 zeal or importance in 
 ^ond what any artificial 
 
 0J.1VKR CROMWELL. 
 
 885 
 
 Oliver CromweU.-Frora a picture by Walker, in the British MuBeum. 
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 proportion 
 vestigation 
 
 N the 3d Septem- 
 ber, 1658, died one 
 of the most remark- 
 able men any coun- 
 try has produced — 
 Cromwell, whose 
 character seems to 
 baffle almost in the 
 in which it stimulates our in- 
 vesuguuo... Howasbornon the25th April, 
 1599, at Huntingdon, England, of highly 
 respectable parents, and by his mothers 
 side, it is said, he was remotely coniiected 
 with the monarch over whose destinies he 
 was to exercise so great an influence. Ho 
 was considered an " obstinate" boy, and 
 both at school and college submitted un- 
 willingly to educational discipline. In 
 1616, he became a member of Sidney 
 college, Cambridge, whence he was re- 
 moved, at the death of his father, shortly 
 after, and entered at Lincoln's Inn for the 
 
 study of the law. He now gave way to 
 the dissipations which surrounded him, 
 and among his other evil propensities at 
 that time was gambling. This life lasted 
 two or three years ; at the end of that 
 period, finding he had diminished his for- 
 tune, alienated his friends, and, above all, 
 disgusted himself, he made a sudden and 
 lasting reformation. He now married. 
 Tho object of his choice was Elizabeth 
 Bourchier, daughter of Sir James Bour- 
 chier, to whom he was united on the 22d 
 August, 1620, and the match appears to 
 have been a happy one. His attachment 
 to the puritans now began to show itself : 
 some of the most unfortunate appear to 
 have found an asylum in his house. A 
 strong proof of the reality of his religious 
 conviction, as well as of his high moral 
 principle, as given in the circumstance of 
 his returning several sums of money, in 
 one instance as much as 120Z., which he 
 had formerly won by gambling, to the 
 losers. 
 
 \ 
 
886 
 
 OLIVER CnOMWELL. 
 
 Ill 1028 his political career organ in his 
 return for the borough of IIiintin({clon, at 
 the period v/hcn Charles I., by his arbitra- 
 ry and tyrannical conduct, was raising up 
 the 8tor:n which finally overwhelmed him. 
 In 1035 Cromwell had a farm at St. Ives; 
 but, either from the failure of the specu- 
 lation, or from the extent of his hospitality, 
 he now suffered from pecuniary embar- 
 rassments, lie was relieved at the death 
 of his uncle, Sir Thomes Stuart, by a be- 
 (juest of property to the volue of 500/. a 
 year in the isle of Ely. A remarkable 
 incident now occurred. Disgusted with 
 the aspect of affairs, religious and political, 
 in this country, and hopeless of any speedy 
 chantje for the better, ho resolved to go to 
 America. He and Hampden, afterward 
 one of the greatest of his coadjutors, were, 
 it is said, actually embarked, when the 
 vessel was detained, with seven others, 
 bound also to America, by an order of 
 council. This little circumstance seems 
 to stamp the depth of Cromwell's piety. 
 The example and society of the " pilgrim 
 fathers" could have little to attract so 
 thorough a hypocrite as Cromwell's ene- 
 mies have represented him to have been, 
 ^e now became an active local man of 
 business, and gradually gathered round 
 him a large body of friends and adherents, 
 while with the people generally he became 
 very popular. He first distinguished him- 
 self in personal opposition to his sovereign 
 in the matter of draining the fens of the 
 Bedford Level. The earl of Bedford and 
 other gentlemen " advent urers" had ob- 
 tained a power to drain that immense dis- 
 trict, reserving to themselves 95,000 acre.'s 
 as their reward for the accomplishment ol 
 the task. When the work was near'y 
 completed, ail. uitage was taken by Charles 
 of some complaints against the " adventu- 
 rers," by persons who thought themselves 
 aggrieved, to direct his own officers to 
 examine the drainage, with the intention 
 of depriving the rightful owners of their 
 property, if ho could but manage to fix 
 some blame upon them. That the nefari- 
 ous character of the proceeding might not 
 be mistaken, the king, in his instructions, 
 prejudged the case, and the officers re- 
 ported as he desired. Cromwell was 
 roused at this proceeding, md acted with 
 such vigor and address iu the matter, that 
 
 the whole county was filled with indignn. 
 tion at the king's conduct. The popular 
 title of lord of the Fens wns long upplicil 
 to Cromwell, and, as a mark of public up. 
 probation, he was elected member lor 
 Cambridge at the next parliament, in lOfO. 
 A royalist contemporary, Sir Philip 
 Warwick, thus describes liis appearaiict; 
 in the house at this period : " I came one 
 morning into the house well clad, and 
 perceived a gentleman speaking, wlinin 1 
 knew not, very ordinarily apparelled ; for 
 it was a plain cloth suit, which seemed to 
 have been made by an ill country tailor ; 
 bis linen was plain and not very clean ; 
 and I remember a spot or two of blood 
 upon his little band, which was not much 
 larger than his collar ; his hat was with- 
 out a hat-band ; his stature was of a good 
 size ; his sword stuck close to his side ; 
 his countenance swollen and reddish ; his 
 voice sharp and untunable ; and his elo- 
 quence full of fervor." His mind seetns 
 by this time to have undergon - a marked 
 change. The applause he had received 
 in the affair of the Fens, the conscious- 
 ness (perhaps for the first time) of the 
 powers therein apparent, and lastly, the 
 siimul.iiiiig nature of the events then going 
 on all around him, doubtless quickened the 
 hitherto dormant ambition, and impelled it 
 to seek a wider scope for its exercise. 
 " Henceforth was he a compound of such 
 virtues and vices, of qualities so various 
 and so opposed, that a mind and powers 
 exactly similar to his own were alone per- 
 haps capable of literally developing his 
 career. Religious to the last iti his private 
 and domestic conduct, he accustomed him- 
 self to the practice of a greater or less de- 
 gree of dissimulation throughout his public 
 life. Enthusiastic to a high degree in the 
 cause he had espoused, he yet calculated 
 consequences one by one as they occurred 
 with almost unfailing exactness. So sim- 
 ple were his language and manners, that 
 he appears incapable of disguising a pur- 
 pose that had arisen in his mind ; yet 
 by penetration and address the most ex- 
 quisite did he, at the same time, so read 
 the hearts and so accommodate himself to 
 the humors of all with whom he associated, 
 as at once to make them his firm friends, 
 and footstools to his future elevation over 
 them. His existence became a perpetual 
 
 
as fillod with in(1i),'nti. 
 ;ondiict. The popular 
 Puna wns long upplifil 
 s a mark of piihlic up- 
 
 elected member lor 
 xt parlianieni, in KilO. 
 3mporary, Sir I'liilip 
 cribes liis appeariiiici; 
 
 period : " I came one 
 house well clad, atiil 
 nnn speaking, whom I 
 narily apparelled ; fur 
 
 suit, which seemed to 
 r an ill country tailor ; 
 n and not very clean ; 
 
 spot or two of blood 
 , which was not miiih 
 ir ; his hat was with- 
 
 slaturo was of a j;ood 
 uck close to his side ; 
 ollon and reddish ; his 
 tunable ; and his clo- 
 or." His mind seems 
 3 undergoii ' a marked 
 ause he liad received 
 
 Fens, the conscious- 
 the first time) of the 
 )arent, and lastly, the 
 f the events then going 
 oubtless (juickened the 
 ibition, and impelled it 
 cope for its exercise, 
 e a compound of such 
 if qualities ao various 
 t a mind and powers 
 8 own were alone per- 
 terally developing his 
 
 the last in his |)rivate 
 ct, he accustomed him- 
 jf a greater or less de- 
 n throughout his public 
 to a high degree in the 
 sed, he yet calculated 
 y one as they occurred 
 g exactness. So sim- 
 ige and manners, that 
 e of disguising a pur- 
 en in his mind ; yet 
 address the most cx- 
 le same time, so read 
 :commodate himself to 
 h whom he associated, 
 them his firm friends, 
 
 1 future elevation over 
 ce became a perpetual 
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 887 
 
 harlequinade ; his expressions shifting 
 from tlio spiritual to the coarsely jocular ; 
 his coi\duct from the pliant to the ovor- 
 benring— from the submissive to the most 
 viheinont contradictions and the boldest 
 opposition. He could enter with an equal 
 zest into the occupations of preaching, 
 lighting, and reigning; was equally at 
 home in the prayer-meeting, the camp, 
 and the palace. Meanwhile, in every 
 tliango of time and circumstance, religion, 
 far from contracting, enlarged her hold 
 upon his feelings, but gradually deserting 
 his judgment, the success that attended all 
 his undertakings taught his enthusiasm so 
 greatly to extend it in idea, that finally 
 his every action appeared to him directed 
 by a heavenly guidance, and his very 
 crimes the oflspring of a decreed neces- 
 sity, or instruments to execute upon earth 
 God's righteous vengeance." 
 
 In 1641, the parliament remonstrated 
 boldly with the king on his unconstitution- 
 al aild oppressive acts, and Cromwell, 
 with Pym, Hampden, and other democrat- 
 ic leaders, warmly supported it. \Vhen 
 it became apparent to all parlies that the 
 sword alone could decide the dilTcrences 
 between (ho king and the people, Crom- 
 well raised a troop of horse in his own 
 county, and, on the actual breaking out of 
 the civil war, acted • ith such vigor and 
 address as t 11 royalist a;ove- 
 
 ments in i' eighboring counties, and 
 keep ill cm from the first devoted to the 
 parliament. Not the least extraordinary 
 trait iu Cromwell's character was his mili- 
 tary f^enius. Without experienci , or hav- 
 ing luid anything like a military education, 
 ciinmencing the study at a period of life 
 when most other commanders have achiev- 
 ed their reputation, and although fre- 
 quently placed in the most desperate situ- 
 lions, he was never beaten. At Marston 
 Moor, Stamford, and Newbury, ho suc- 
 cessively overthrew the king's forces, and 
 at last obtained so signal a reputation, that 
 the parliament excepted him from its 
 " faelf-denying ordinance," passed to pre- 
 vent members of the house of commons 
 from holding any command in 'ho army. 
 At the battle of Naseby, in 1645, Crom- 
 well commanded the right wing, and was 
 the chief agent in the obtaining that signal 
 victory. Thanks were voted to him in 
 
 the following year, and a pension settled 
 up>n him to the ami'int of 2,500/. a year. 
 Tho great events which followed in 
 rapid sequence are well known. The 
 king in despair throw himself iqion the 
 Scottish army, which had entered Kng- 
 land in pursuance of the " solemn league 
 and covenant" made between the parlia- 
 monts of the two countries. By the Scots 
 be was delivered up to the parliamentary 
 commissioners. Cromwell and his parly, 
 the independents, were now in great dan- 
 ger from the presbyterians, who com- 
 manded a majority in the house of com- 
 mons, and who, flushed with the conscious- 
 ness of their slrength, endeavored, with 
 that intolerance of spirit which was their 
 great distinguishing characteristic as op- 
 posed to the independents, to crush all 
 other sects, and in particular to disband 
 that very army to which they owed all 
 their successes, in order to form a new 
 one more in accordance with their own 
 tenets. The soldiery resisted, and thus 
 was begun the struggle which in a measure 
 compelled Cromwell to take many of those 
 arbitrary steps for which his ambition has 
 had the discredit. One Come* Joyce, at 
 the head of a party of horse, obtained pos- 
 session for the army of the person of the 
 king, and Cromwell that very day left 
 London to avoid br^ng seized by the pres- 
 byterians and sent > the Tower. He was 
 received with shouts by the soldiery, and 
 a solemn engagement was entered into 
 not to disband or divide without redress 
 of grievanrcs, security against oppression 
 to the whole freeborn people of England, 
 and the dismissal of the presbyterians 
 trom the government. Negotiations were 
 now commenced by all parties with the 
 king, whde at the same time the army 
 marched toward London, meeting in their 
 way a large minority of the parliament, 
 CKisisting of course of independents, while 
 many of the presbyterians fled on its an- 
 proach. There seems no cause to uouDt 
 tie sincerity of Cromwell in his endeavors 
 to replace Charles on the throne, though 
 on a more equitable foundation; while 
 the bad faith of the king is certain, and 
 ultimately caused the treaty to be brought 
 to a sudden conclusion. Charles now 
 made his escape, but was again detained 
 in the isle of Wight. The repubhcans of 
 
 
 =ril 
 
OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 the army, who formed by far the most 
 numerous part of it, seem to have been 
 dissatisfied with Cromwell for not pro- 
 ceeding faster and more boldly in that 
 course, which, when he did pursue it, 
 brought down every kind of opprobrium 
 on his name. They now gave him plainly 
 to understand that he must join them or 
 be sacrificed. He did join them, though 
 not till he had completely put down the 
 more violent and ultra of the party, and 
 from that time all thought of the restoration 
 of the king appears to have been given up. 
 The presbylerian majority was made a 
 minority by the very simple though not 
 very constitutional application of Colonel 
 " Pride's purge," that officer being station- 
 ed at the door of the house of commons 
 to arrest a great number of the principal 
 presbyterians as they entered. It was the 
 remainder of this parliament that deter- 
 mined upon the trial of the king, and 
 caused their determination to be carried 
 into effect, which resulted in his execution 
 before Whitehall. During the sittings 
 which took place in Westminster hall, 
 Cromwell attended regularly every day. 
 When the sentence was known, many ap- 
 plications were made to him to interfere 
 and stay the execution. To Colonel Crom- 
 well, his cousin, who thus applied, he said, 
 «' Go to rest, and expect no answer to car- 
 ry to the prince, for the council of affairs 
 have been seeking God, as I also have 
 done, and it is resolved by them all that 
 the king must die." 
 
 Cromwell was now employed in Ire- 
 land, which had rebelled, and he reduced 
 it to submission in an almost incredibly 
 short space of time, but not without the 
 commiaal of cruelties upon the unhappy 
 natives, a crime from which he was re- 
 markable free in all his other campaigns. 
 The next very important incident was the 
 battle of Dunbar, in 1650, where he de- 
 feated the Scots, who had taken up the 
 cause of Charles II., and were about to 
 invade England. In this engagement 
 Cromwell's military genius shone out most 
 brilliantly. He defeated an army of 27,- 
 000 men with only 12,000, and that too 
 under the greatest disadvantages of posi- 
 tion. Thfs battle furnishes two instances 
 of his religious enthusiasm amounting al- 
 most to sublimiiv. The Scots were on 
 
 the hills, Cromwell on the plain at their 
 feet : the latter, seeing no hope of draw- 
 ing them from their position, sent round, 
 during the night preceding the battle, a 
 detachment to the enemy's rear, to attack 
 them in a weak part. While this manrcu 
 vre was in progress of execution, Crom- 
 well beheld, at daybreak, most unexpect- 
 edly, the Scots descending to attack him. 
 He at once c ied out, " God is delivering 
 them into our hands ! They are coining 
 down upon us !" Again, in the thick of 
 the fight, he beheld the sun just beginning 
 to appear, and immediately his voice was 
 heard grandly pealing out, while his arm 
 was seen directed toward the glorious 
 luminary, " Now let our God arise, and 
 his enemies shall be scattered !" Charles 
 II. having in the interim marched into 
 England, Cromwell hastily followed, over- 
 took, and totally defeated him at Worces- 
 ter. He now received additional honors 
 and pensions. On the 20ih April, 1653, 
 the struggle between the independents 
 and the presbyterians was again sum- 
 marily decided in favor of the former, for 
 the time, by the famous dissolution of the 
 long parliament. This parliament first 
 met on the 3d November, 1640, in the 
 reign of Charles I., and was the longest, 
 with one exception, of any on record. Af- 
 ter Cromwell had entered the house, he 
 addressed himself to St. John the chief 
 justice, telling him that " he was come to 
 do that which grieved him to the very 
 soul, and that he had earnestly, with tears, 
 prayed to God against it, nay, that he had 
 rather be torn in pieces than do it, but 
 that there was a necessity hud upon him 
 therein, in honor to the glory of God and 
 the good of the nation." This was spoken 
 so as not to be generally heard. Imme- 
 diately after he called to Major-General 
 Harrison, who was on the other side of 
 the house, to come to him, and to him he 
 declared that " he judged the parliament 
 ripe for a dissolution, and this to be the 
 time of doing it." Harrison requested him 
 to consider seriously before attempting a 
 thing so great and dangerous. " You say 
 well," he replied, and sat still for about a 
 quarter of an hour longer, till, the debate 
 having closed, the question was about to 
 be put. He then said again to Harrison, 
 " This is the time I must do it," and sud- 
 
ill on the plain at tl)('ir 
 eeing no liope of draw- 
 uir position, sent rouTid, 
 
 preceding tho battlo, a 
 
 enemy's rear, to attack 
 irt. While this nianccu 
 ;ss of execution, Croin- 
 lybreak, most iinnxpect- 
 escending to attaciv him. 
 out, " God is delivering | 
 ids ! They are coming 
 
 Again, in the thick of 
 id the sun just beginning 
 mediately his voice was 
 aling out, while his arm 
 id toward the glorious 
 
 let our God arise, and 
 be scattered !" Charles 
 i interim marched into 
 rll hastily followed, over- 
 lefeated him at Worces- 
 ;eived additional honors 
 )n the 20lh April, 1653, 
 ween the independents 
 jrians was again sum- 
 I favor of the former, for 
 amous dissolution of the 
 This parliament first 
 Vovember, IGIO, in the 
 I., and was the longest, 
 in, of any on record. Af- 
 
 I entered the house, he 
 If to St. John the cliief 
 
 II that " he was come to 
 ;rieved him to the very 
 had earnestly, with tears, 
 ainst it, nay, that he had 
 1 pieces than do it, but 
 necessity laid upon him 
 to the glory of God and 
 tion." This was spoken 
 jenerally heard. Imme- 
 :alled to Major-General 
 as on the other side of 
 le to him, and to him he 
 e judged the parliament 
 ition, and this to be the 
 
 Harrison requested him 
 isly before attempting a 
 \ dangerous. " You say 
 , and sat still for about a 
 ir longer, till, the debate 
 e question was about to 
 I said again to Harrison, 
 e I must do it," and sud- 
 
890 
 
 OLrVEE CROMWELL. 
 
 denly starling up, first addressed some 
 violent reproaches to the speaker, alleging 
 that the parliament had cheated the coun- 
 try, and displayed only the grossest venal- 
 ity ; and then, stamping with his foot, he, 
 in a furious manner, desired the speaker 
 to leave the chair, and called out to the 
 house, according to Bate, " For shame ! 
 get you gone ! give place to honester men, 
 and those that will more faithfully dis- 
 charge their trust." Ludlow says, ho told 
 them that the Lord had done with them, 
 and had chosen other instruments for the 
 carrying on his work that were more 
 worthy. 
 
 Although several of the members rose, 
 one only had the boldness to speak, in 
 spite of his commands that they should 
 remain silent. This member, who has 
 been thought to be Sir Peter Wentworth, 
 inveighed in bitter terms against the atro- 
 city of the proceeding. He had not, how- 
 ever, uttered more than a sentence or 
 two, when Cromwell, stepping into the 
 middle of the house, cut him short, by ex- 
 claiming " Come ! come ! quick, put an 
 end to your sitting ; call them in ! call 
 them in !" Two files of musketeers now 
 marched into the house. On this, Sir 
 Harry Vane called out from his place, 
 " This is not honest ; yea, it is against 
 morality and common honesty." — " Oh ! 
 Sir Harry Vane ! Sir Harry Vane !" an- 
 swered Cromwell, " the Lord deliver me 
 from Sir Harry Vane!" He followed 
 these words by a string of im(^ctives ad- 
 dressed to other individual members. The 
 whole was now a scene of confusion and 
 uproar. This is the moment which West 
 has chosen. The speaker is still in his 
 chair, in vain endeavoring to calm tho 
 disorder. The clerks also retain their 
 places at the table ; but in front of that 
 stands the dictator, pointing with emphatic 
 contempt to the mace, the venerated sym- 
 bol of the dignity of the assembly, and 
 calling to one of the soldiers, who is obey- 
 ing his orders, " Take away that fool's 
 bauble." Of the rest of the troops, some 
 are at his back, and others are seen with 
 their raised halberds mixed with the mem- 
 bers in every part of the house, and en- 
 deavoring to f .event the attempts of several 
 of them to speak. The person on the left in 
 our engraving, who is seen stretching forth 
 
 
 his hands in an attitude of such vehement 
 enthusiasm, and who has evidently ar- 
 rested Cromwell's eye as he is issuing 
 his command for the removal of the mace, 
 may be supposed to be Wentworth or 
 Vane protesting against that last excess 
 of indignity and outrage. The speaker, 
 having declined to leave his chair until 
 he was forced, was handed down from it 
 by Hanison. All the other members then 
 retired, Cromwell remaining till the last 
 had left the house. He then ordered the 
 doors to be locked, and w,'>''ed away. 
 
 A new parliament was summoned, in 
 the persons of 139 members, to whom 
 Cromwell's writs were directly addressed, 
 and who were upon the whole men of 
 good family or of military distinction, 
 though mixed with some inferior person- 
 ages ; among them one whose name was 
 given to the parliament in derision. Bare- 
 bone. On the 16lh December, 1G53, he 
 assumed the title of lord high protector 
 of England, Scotland, and Ireland. It is 
 well known that he wished to have been 
 king, but a considerable portion of his 
 most faithful adherents in tho army were 
 opposed to that desire ; accordingly, when 
 he was formally invited to assume the 
 crown, he declined. Like his unhappy 
 predecessor, Cromwell dissolved parlia- 
 ment after parliament, but certainly nut, 
 like him, with the evident intention of 
 creating a despotic authority. 
 
 From the time that Cromwell's influence 
 directed the foreign relations of the coun- 
 trj', it is astonishing to see tho respect and 
 fear the very name of England inspired. 
 The Dutch, with their famous admiral 
 Van Tromp, were signally defeated, and 
 stripped of their pretensions to the sover- 
 eignty of the seas ; Jamaica, was annexed 
 to its dominions; the Spaniards were com- 
 pelled to sue for peace after some severe 
 defeats in the low countries ; and every- 
 where English alliance and English friend- 
 ship were courted, and not unfrequently in 
 the most servile manner. The last days 
 of Cromwell appear io have been much 
 embittered by the dread of assassination, 
 which the chivalric royalists, as they de- 
 lighted to consider themselves, did not 
 hesitate openly to recommend. He wore 
 armor under his dress ; never stirred with- 
 out his guards ; he bocame morose and 
 
tude of such vehement 
 'ho has evidently ar- 
 
 eye as he is issuing 
 e removal of the mace, 
 
 to be Wentworth or 
 jainst that last excess 
 utrage. The speaker, 
 
 leave his chair until 
 
 I handed down from it 
 
 the other members then 
 
 remaining till the last 
 
 He then ordered the 
 
 and w,'>''ed away, 
 mt was summoned, in 
 9 members, to whom 
 rexe directly addressed, 
 on the whole men of 
 f military distinction, 
 
 some inferior person- 
 1 one whoso name was 
 nent in derision, Bare- 
 th December, 1653, he 
 of lord high protector 
 nd, and Ireland. It is 
 e wished to have been 
 derable portion of his 
 :ents in the army were 
 ire ; accordingly, when 
 invited to assume the 
 d. Like his unhappy 
 iwell dissolved parlia- 
 nent, but certainly nut, 
 e evident intention of 
 ; authority. 
 
 lat Cromwell's influence 
 (1 relations of the coun- 
 g to sec the respect and 
 I of England inspired. 
 
 their famous admiral 
 
 signally defeated, and 
 retensions to the sover- 
 , Jamaica, was aimexed 
 he Spaniards were com- 
 leace after some severe 
 
 countries ; and every- 
 ince and Englishfriend- 
 
 and not unfrequently in 
 nanner. The last days 
 lar io have been much 
 dread of assassination, 
 c royalists, as they de- 
 er themselves, did not 
 recommend. He wore 
 ess ; never stirred with- 
 lie became morose and 
 
 CAUSE OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.-THE EEIN-DEEB. 
 
 891 I 
 
 melancholy. The death of his favorite | 
 daughter. Lady Claypole, whom he loved 
 with the deepest and tenderest affection, 
 gave the finishing stroke to his unhappi- 
 ness. It is by no means an improbable 
 supposition that the days of the stern am- 
 bitious protector of England were shorten- 
 ed by that romantic and not uncommonly 
 disbelieved malady, a broken heart. He 
 died on the anniversary of his two battles 
 of Dunbar and Worcester, in the sixtieth 
 year of his age. He was buried with the 
 greatest pomp and magnificence ; but the 
 miserable spite of Charles II. could not 
 allow his remains to rest in peace ; they 
 were taken up at the restoration, hung upon 
 the gallows at Tyburn, and then flung into 
 a hole at its foot. 
 
 CAUSE OF THE AMERICAN 
 REVOLUTION. 
 
 HEN President Ad- 
 ams was minister at 
 th3 court of Saint 
 James, he often f" 
 his friend and coui 
 tryman, Benjamin 
 West, the late pres- 
 ident of the royal 
 academy. Mr. West 
 always retained a strong and unyielding 
 affection for his native land. Mr. West 
 one day asked Mr. Adams if he should 
 like to take a walk with him, and see the 
 cause of the American revolution. The 
 minister having known something of this 
 matter, smiled at the proposal, but told him 
 that he should be glad to see the cause of 
 that revolution, and to take a walk with 
 his friend West anywhere. The next 
 morning he called according to agreement, 
 and took Mr. Adams into Hyde park, to a 
 spot near the Serpentine river, where he 
 gave him the following narrative : " The 
 king came to the throne surrounded by 
 flattering courtiers, one of whose frequent 
 topics it was, to declaim against the mean- 
 ness of his palace, which was wholly un- 
 worthy of a monarch of such a country 
 as England. They said there was not a 
 
 sovereign in Europe who was lodged so 
 poorly— that his sorry, dingy old brick 
 palace of St. James looked like a stable, 
 and that he ought to build a palace suita- 
 ble to his kingdom. The king was fond 
 of architecture, and would therefore listen 
 to suggestions which were in fact all true. 
 This spot you see bare was selected for 
 the site, between this and this point, which 
 was marked out. The king applied to 
 his ministers on the subject; they inquired 
 what sum would be wanted by his majes- 
 ty, who said that he would begin with a 
 million. They stated the expenses of the 
 war, and the poverty of the treasury, but 
 his majesty's wishes should be taken into 
 full consideration. 
 
 " Sometime afterward the king was in- 
 formed that the wants of the treasury wore 
 too urgent to admit of a supply from their 
 present means, but that a revenue might 
 be raised in America, to supply all the 
 king's wishes. This suggestion was fol- 
 lowed up, and the king was in this way 
 first led to consider, and then to consent 
 to the scheme for taxing the colonics ." 
 
 THE REIN-DEER. 
 
 HE rein-deer, an ani- 
 mal of the most im- 
 portant service in the 
 districts of which it 
 is native, is found no- 
 where but within the 
 polar regions. Sev- 
 eral attempts have 
 been made to introduce it into more tem- 
 perate climates, but they all failed. 
 
 From the earliest times the rem deer 
 appears to have been domesticated by .he 
 Laplanders ; and that dreary region owes 
 to this animal whatever it possesses of 
 civilization, and whatever comforts tend 
 to render it supportable to the inhabitants. 
 The Laplanders are divided into two 
 very distinct classes ; one who are settled 
 in their habits, living on or near the coast, 
 and supporting themselves by fishing; 
 the other inhabiting the mountains, and 
 wandering through the summer and winter 
 with no shelter but their tents, and no 
 
 J 
 
 67 
 
 MPM 
 
892 
 
 THE EEIN-DEER. 
 
 provision but their rein-deer. These valu- 
 able animals, however, are subjoct to a 
 visitation in the summer which compels 
 their owners to repair to the coast, fre- 
 quently an arduous journey, in order to 
 mitigate their sufferings and preserve their 
 
 lives. 
 
 It is well known, from the account of 
 I those travellers who have visited Lapland 
 during the summer months, that the interior 
 parts of it, particularly its boundless forests, 
 are so infested by various species of gnats 
 and other insects, that no animal can es- 
 cape their incessant persecutions. Largo 
 fires are kindled, in the smoke of which 
 the settle hold their heads, to escape the 
 attack of their enemies ; and even the na- 
 tives themselves are compelled to smear 
 their faces with tar, as the only certain 
 protection against their stings. No crea- 
 ture, however, suffers more than the rein- 
 deer from the larger species (oeslrus 
 tarandi), as it not only torments it inces- 
 santly by its sting, but even deposites its 
 egg in the wound it makes in its hide. 
 The poor animal is thus tormented to such 
 a degree, mat the Laplander, if he were 
 to remain in the forests during the months 
 of June, July, and August, would run the 
 risk of losing the greater part of his herd, 
 either by actual sickness, or from the deer 
 fleeing of their own accord to mountainous 
 situations to escape the gad-fly. From 
 these causes the Laplander is driven from 
 tho forests to the mountains that overhang 
 the Norway and Lapland coasts, the ele- 
 vated situations of which, and the cool 
 breezes from the ocean, are unfavorable 
 to the existence of these troublesome in- 
 sects, which, though found on the coast, 
 are in far less considerable numbers there, 
 and do not quit the valleys ; so that tho 
 deer, by ascending the highlands, can 
 
 avoid them. , i ■ ! 
 
 Early in September the herds and their i 
 owners leave the coast, in order to reach 
 their winter quarters before the fall of the 
 snows. With the approach of winter, the 
 coat of the rein-deer begins to thicken, and 
 like that of most other polar quadrupeds to 
 assume a lighter color. It is, however, 
 when the winter is fairly set in that the 
 peculiar value of the rein-deer is felt by 
 the Laplanders. Without him, commu- 
 nication would be almost utterly suspend- 
 
 ed. Harnessed to a sledge, the rein-doer 
 will draw about 300 lbs ; but the Lap- 
 landers generally limit the burden to 
 240 lbs. The trot of the rein-deer is about 
 ton miles an hour ; and the animal's pow- 
 er of endurance is such, that journeys of 
 one hundred and fifty miles in nineteen 
 hours are not uncommon. There is a 
 portrait of a roin-deor in tho palace of 
 Drotningholm (Sweden), which is repre- 
 sented, upon an occasion of emergency, 
 to have drawn an ofcicer with important 
 despatches the incredible distance of eight 
 hundred English miles in forty-eight hour3. 
 This event is stated to haye happened in 
 1099, and the tradition adds, that the deer 
 dropped down lifeless upon his arrival. 
 
 During the winter, the food of the rein- 
 deer is the lichen or mosa, which they 
 display wonderful quickness of omell in 
 discovering beneath the snow. In the 
 summer they pasture upon all grsen herb- 
 age, and browse upon the shrubs which 
 they find in their march. They also, it is 
 now well ascertained, eat with avidity the 
 lemming or mountain rat, affording one of 
 the few instances of a ruminating animal 
 being in the slightest dsgree carnivorous. 
 Of course, in a country where their 
 services are so indispensable, rein-deer 
 constitute the principal wealth of the in- 
 habitants. The number of deer belong- 
 ing to a herd is from three hundred to 
 five hundred ; with these a Laplander can 
 do well, and live in tolerable comfort. 
 
 Von Buch, a celebrated traveller, has 
 well described the evening milking-time, 
 of which a representation is given in our 
 engraving : " It is a new and a pleasing 
 spectacle, to see in the evening the herd 
 assembled round the gamme (encamp- 
 ment) to be niilked. On all the hills 
 around, everything is in an instant full of 
 life and motion. The busy dogs are every- 
 where barking, and bringing the mass 
 nearer and nearer, and the rein-deer bound 
 and rim, stand still, and bound again, in 
 an indescribable variety of movements. 
 We never hear the foot on tho earth, and 
 nothing but the incessant crackling of his 
 knee-joints, as if produced by a repetition 
 of electric shocks— a singular noise ; and 
 from the number of rein-deer, by whom it 
 is at once produced, it is heard at a great 
 distance. When all the herd, consisting 
 
"^ 
 
 a sledge, the rein-doer 
 300 lbs ; but the Lap- 
 r limit the burden to 
 
 1 of the rein-deer is about 
 ; and the animal's pow- 
 
 s such, that journeys of 
 1 fifty miles in nineteen 
 [icommon. There is a 
 i-deor in tho palace of 
 weden), which is repre- 
 
 occasion of emergency, 
 n ofScer with important 
 credible distance of eight 
 miles in forty-eight hour?, 
 ited to have happened in 
 dition adtls, that the deer 
 eless upon his arrival, 
 liter, the fooJ of the rein- 
 en or mosa, which they 
 111 quickness of cmcil in 
 jath the snow. In the 
 iture upon all grsen herb- 
 
 upon the shrubs which 
 
 march. They also, it is 
 lined, eat with avidity tho 
 ntain rat, affording one of 
 8 of a ruminating animal 
 htest degree carnivorous. 
 1 a country where their 
 
 indispensable, rein-deer 
 rincipal wealth of the in- 
 
 number of deer belong- 
 is from three hundred to 
 ith these a Laplander can 
 5 in tolerable comfort. 
 
 celebrated traveller, has 
 the evening milking-time, 
 esentaiion is given in our 
 
 is a new and a pleasing 
 5 in the evening the herd 
 id the gamme (encamp- 
 lilked. On all the; hills 
 ing is in an instant full of 
 
 The busy dogs are every- 
 , and bringing the mass 
 er, and the rein-deer bound 
 slill, and bound again, in 
 le variety of movements, 
 the foot on the earth, and 
 incessant crackling of his 
 if produced by a repetition 
 ks — a singular noise ; and 
 ir of rein-deer, by whom it 
 iccd, it is heard at a great 
 m all the herd, consisting 
 
 wma 
 
 
 fi<i 
 
 rr^'jl*-U"^5f^ 
 
 J'L 
 
 
 fe,' 
 
 fe-js-:. 
 
 m 
 
 
 ^^^■ 
 
 '^'i^' 
 
 '---■^ ■■.,#■ 
 
894 
 
 HONOR AND TRUTH.-CUllIOUS FACTS ABOUT THK SPIDER. 
 
 of three or four hundred, at last reach the 
 gamme, they stand still, or repose them- 
 selves, or frisk about in confidence, play 
 with their antlers against each other, or 
 in groups surround a patch of moss u»iw- 
 sing." 
 
 HONOR AND TRUTH. 
 
 ™ HERE is no prouder 
 j^vy title to the respect of 
 
 our fellow-creatures 
 than the being what 
 is known as — " a man 
 of his word." As 
 there is nothing so 
 ^ mean as treachery, so 
 
 there is nothing more noble than truth. 
 Never break a promise once given. On 
 no occasion sloop to a falsehood. It is 
 sometimes thought a mark of sharp intel- 
 lect in trade to overreach a customer, but 
 the morality which sanctions such an act 
 is low, knavish, and contemptible. Dis- 
 simulation is rarely to bo excused : the 
 meaner vice of simulation never. If you 
 can not reveal the truth, stoop not to coun- 
 terfeit a lie. It is alike dishonorable to 
 utter a falsehood or to act one. Many 
 persons affect to think that there can be 
 no lying unless in words, and accordingly 
 take gi pains to deceive others by 
 looks, ; 's, and deeds. But there is 
 somethii. base as well as wrong in such 
 conduct. We would rather a man would 
 lie to us openly, than cheat and beguile us 
 by such contemptii le stratagems. The 
 essence of falsehood is deceit, and he who 
 deceives a neighbor, yet avoids putting 
 the lie in words, is quite as criminal and 
 far meaner than the bold, frank, bad man, 
 who openly violates truth, instead of 
 skulking into corners to outrage her in 
 sccrcti 
 
 In the present day, alas ! there is too 
 little regard for truth. The good old- 
 , fashioned morality of our sires, which re- 
 ' garded falsehood as the most detestable 
 of acts, has come to be looked on as an 
 obsolete affair, very appropriate for the 
 days of our grandfathers, but not at all 
 fitted for their active, enterprising, and 
 quick-witted descendants. " You did him 
 
 finely," says the dealer to his clerk, when 
 the latter has succeeded in getting off a 
 lot of goods at the highest prices. " A 
 sharp youngster that," says the merchant, 
 in hearing of the lad, who has, in imitaiion 
 of his elders, just overreached a customer. 
 " That's a keen fellow : nobody will get 
 ahead of him," wo hear continually ap- 
 plied to individuals noted for sharp deal- 
 ing. Is there any wonder that when de- 
 ception is thus encouraged, the morals of 
 trade should be loose, or a disregard of 
 truth infect even private life ? No man 
 can long maintain two characters — one 
 for the counting house and one for the 
 
 parlor. 
 
 " He who will habitually tell falsehoods 
 is not to be trusted," said Sir Walter Scott, 
 and few men understood human nature 
 better, or scorned base actions more. 
 Parents should remember this. The child 
 who learns to lie will not be long in learn- 
 ing to do worse. The youth who dis- 
 regards truth, though he may grow up to 
 be apparently a man of rectitude and hon- 
 or, has a character rotten at the core, and 
 will be tempted into many a mean and dis- 
 creditable action, thinking that a few false 
 words will conceal his guilt. Oh ! suffer 
 any error in a child rather than an indif- 
 ference to truth. Teach him never— 
 either by word, look, or action— to degrade 
 himself to falsehood. Learn him to loathe 
 a lie. Instruct him that every noble na- 
 ture, that every man of honor scorns and 
 detests untruth, whether in public or pri- 
 vate life, as something inexpressible base. 
 
 CURIOUS FACTS ABOUT THE SPIDER. 
 
 E have many ex- 
 amples in the anato- 
 my of animals, of a 
 compensation in the 
 structure of one or- 
 gan for the defects 
 of another. The 
 ponderous weight of 
 the elephant's heatl 
 rendered it necessary that his neck should 
 be 80 short, that it is impossible for him, 
 
1 
 
 ^ 
 
 niK spiDKa. 
 
 ealer to his clerk, when 
 cceded in gelling off a. 
 le highest prices. " A 
 hat," says the merchant, 
 ad, who has, in imitation 
 overreached a customer. 
 ;llow : nobody will gel 
 ve hear continually ap- 
 is noted for sharp deal- 
 y wonder that when de- 
 ncouraged, the morals of 
 loose, or a disregard of 
 I private life ? No man 
 in two characters — one 
 house and one for thb 
 
 habitually tell falsehoods 
 d," said Sir Waller Scott, 
 iderstood human nature 
 ed base actions more, 
 member this. The child 
 
 will not be long in learn- 
 ). The youth who dis- 
 lugh he may grow up to 
 nan of rectitude and hon- 
 or rotten at the core, and 
 nto many a mean and dis- 
 
 thinking that a few false 
 ;al his guilt. Oh ! suffer 
 hild rather than an indif- 
 1. Teach him never — 
 ook, or action — to degrade 
 ood. Learn him to loathe 
 
 him that every noble na- 
 man of honor scorns and 
 whether in public or pri- 
 ething inexpressible base. 
 
 fS ABOUT THE SPIDER. 
 
 E have many ex- 
 amples in the anato- 
 my of animals, of a 
 compensation in the 
 structure of one or- 
 gan for the defects 
 ^ of another. The 
 ponderous weight of 
 the elephant's head 
 essary that his neck should 
 It it is impossible for him, 
 
 OtEANERS OF THE PONTINE MARSHES. 
 
 895 
 
 with it, to reach the ground, and even 
 llioiifh he might have fed upon shrubs and 
 trees* yet ho would not have been able to 
 drink, had not this inconvenience been 
 remedied by the length and flexible na- 
 ture of the proboscis. The weakness of 
 the legs and feet in the bat, is compensa- 
 ted by the strength of its hook ; and the 
 want of web feet in the crane, which has 
 to seek ils food in the water, by a long 
 leg, that enables it to wade, and a long 
 bill, by which it can grope. 
 
 A scarcely less wonderful instance of 
 this compensation is to bo found in the 
 spider— an insect, which however much 
 we are wont to despise, yet claims our 
 serious altenlion as exhibiting in ils struc- 
 ture and habits, evident marks of benevo- 
 lent wisdom. It will, perhaps, be well 
 known to our readers, that flies constiiuie 
 the principal food of this insect ; they may 
 not, however, be acquainted with the re- 
 markable fact, that it is furnished with no 
 wings to pursue its prey. To supply this 
 deficiency, it is provided with an ap- 
 paratus, by which it is able to weave webs 
 for the entangling of its prey, and to fabri- 
 csle hlUe cells for its own habitations. 
 
 A careful examiner of a spider, will 
 perceive little toats or spinners in its body, 
 in which are numerous small tubes, from 
 each of these is drawn a slender thread, 
 and all of these uniting together, a strong 
 compound thread issues from each spin- 
 ner. The claws with which the creature 
 arranges these threads, are not less deli- 
 cate in construction than the threads them 
 selves, and answer several important pur- 
 poses in the economy of the animal. 
 
 One species of spider has an apparatus 
 not unlike a carding machine, by which it 
 forms the adhesive parts of the snare. 
 The texture of the threads varies, accord- 
 ing to the purpose they are meant to serve 
 —those designed for the web being much 
 more fragile than those intended to shelter 
 the eggs of the female insect from cold, or 
 from the attacks of its enemies. 
 
 The manner in which the garden spider 
 fabricates the web from these threads, is 
 exceedingly curious, and well worthy of 
 notice, lis first act is to form a circular 
 outline, which it effects by fastening ils I 
 threads on every leaf, for a considerable 
 distance around. This accomplished, itl 
 
 next draws a cross thrcail from some con- 
 venient point in it, to the opposite side, 
 and taking the middle of this, as a centre, 
 it draws out various lines to tho circum- 
 ference, resembling the spokes of a wheel. 
 With the same centre, it spins several 
 circles, fastening ils threads to ihe spokes, 
 and having thus finished its work and 
 tested ils security, it returns to its own 
 retreat, generally a cell in tho centre of 
 the web, to wait till a vibration of the 
 strings anno' nces the approach of prey. 
 How wondetiul the contrivance by which 
 God has thus enabled this little creature 
 to provide for the supply of its wants ! 
 Man would have thought it impossible 
 that an insect thus requiring smaller 
 creatures for ils support, and yet posses- 
 sing no means of following them in their 
 flight, could have continued in existence ; 
 but tho goodness and tho wisdom of God 
 have abundantly provided for this emer- 
 gency. 
 
 It surely then can not become us to 
 despise or wantonly to destroy an animal 
 on which he has bestowed so much of his 
 gracious care. Is it not rather our duty 
 to learn some of those lessons it is so ^vell 
 calculated to teach of the power, wisdom, 
 and benevolence of the great Creator ? 
 We may be assured that the more we 
 contemplate him in his works, the more 
 will our admiration be excited, our humili- 
 ty deepened, our gratitude strengthened, 
 and our love inflamed. 
 
 GLEANERS OF THE PONTINE 
 MARSHES. 
 
 HE wliolc of the 
 Campagne, or plain 
 of Rome, from the 
 Tiber to the nintin- 
 tains on the frontier of 
 the Neapolitan king- 
 dom, is marshy, and 
 during the summer 
 months most unhealthy ; but the southern 
 part of this tract, called, par excellence, 
 the "Paludi" (or the marshes) is more 
 particularly distinguished for its insalubrity 
 From Torre Tro Ponii to Tersaxina, e 
 
 J 
 
890 
 
 OLEANEKS OV TliK TONTINE MAU3HES. 
 
 ^311''' 
 
 distaiicf" of ixvpnty-five miles, iho land is ' 
 low iiiiii fl;il, iind in soino pnrln. both in- j 
 hiiid ill the loot of the inoinilninH niiil np'ir 
 the soaslK.rp, covPied with water. In 
 breadth from th<' soa-lino :olbc Api'iinincs, 
 the district varies from ten to twelve miles, 
 and on this wide expanse tlierc is seart-t'ly 
 a hillock, scarcely a tree. It is traversed 
 by a noble road, as straight as an arrow ; 
 the liigh-road from Rome to Naples, run- 
 ning in part over tho celubraKMl Via Ap- 
 pia, which was laid down in tho time of 
 the Roman republic, about three centuries 
 Ix'fore the Christian era. In travelling 
 along this road, tho eye ranges over a rich 
 expanse of pasture and cor' lands, the 
 cultivated part, however, bearing but a 
 small proportion to tho pasturage. Not a 
 hedge, not a fence of any kind, occurs for 
 marry miles, the limits of the vast farms 
 being merely marked by termini, or stinies 
 sunk in tho ground. Scarcely a human 
 habitation is to be seen, except at very 
 wide intervals a large gloomy casah, look- 
 ing more like a fortress than a peaceful 
 farm-house. 
 
 Smiling under a clear blue sky, and lit 
 up by a glorious summer sun, this great 
 flat, though monotonous, is for a while 
 pleasant to look upon. Green and smooth, 
 it is not unlike many parts of Cambridge- 
 shire, or the more open parts of the fens 
 of Lincolnshire ; but the same causes— 
 an insufficient drainage, ani the vicinity 
 of stagnant waters, which in England pro- 
 duce ague, here, in a hotter climate, gen- 
 erate malaria fevers of the worst descrip- 
 tion. Hence, beyond a few families whose 
 chief occupation is taking caru of herds of 
 buffaloes and wild cattle that range the 
 waste, there is no fixed population in the 
 Pontine marshes. About tho end of Octo- 
 bcr, when the great heats of summer, 
 wliich render tho plain unhealthy, have 
 ceased, the poor and laborious peasants of 
 the Apennines come down from their 
 mountains in bands and perform the no- 
 i cessary labtirs. Some few stay till May, 
 ' but in general they return as siiun as they 
 have finished their ploughing and sowing. 
 At harvest-time, which occurs about the 
 middle of June, they descend again to the 
 low country, and our engraving represents 
 the arrival «)f a family party wiih all its 
 baggage and appurtenances Tho engra- 
 
 ving is from the design of a German arti**!, 
 Robert, who has gi»en the scerie with 
 admirable Iru'h and nature. It is com- 
 mon for a family to move with ;ill lis mem- 
 bers, from the hoary grandfather to tlic . 
 infant in arms, and to carry all their siin- ;1 
 pie hou9eli(dd goods and moveable proper- | 
 ly with them. The senior of tho party 
 acts as "caporale,"orhead man, arranges 
 tho job with the factor or farmer, and re- 
 ceives tho wages of his children ind 
 grandchildren. When they reach the 
 scene of their operalitms they unload iheir 
 car, and sometimes set up a rude so-t of 
 tent to snado them at their meals, and 
 protect them from the dews at night. 
 This care, however, is not always 'nken, 
 and many of them oat and sleep without 
 any shelter, spreading their blankets on 
 the bare ground. They sometimes make 
 temporary huts of bulrushes and canes, 
 which grow to a prodigious height in the 
 more marshy parts of the plains. Where 
 the soil is very damp, we have sometimes 
 seen these huts set u|wn poles at tho beittht 
 of six or eight feet from tho ground. 'I'he 
 occupants, wh(» only use thoin for sleep- 
 ing, climb up and enter by an nperinre, 
 which is rather a hole than a dw)r-way : \ 
 a structure of this kind hwks like a gi- 
 gantic bee-hive, or an Indian wigwam set 
 upon stilts. 
 
 In the daytime, while the meu an.l 
 women are all at work, tho children, where 
 there are any, are carried to tho field, and set 
 down on the ground near the reapers, fur 
 wolves arc not unfreqncnt visiters in these 
 marshes. The peculiar way of swa-ldlioi; • 
 infants, which is coininon in all the south 
 of the Peninsula, has not escaped our 
 artist's attention. The little creidures are 
 bound and wrapped round and round, un- 
 til, in tlieir lower estreiniiieH, ihey ltw»k 
 like Egyptian mummies. Thoujjh this 
 practice,' by which tlw legs are confined 
 iind allmvJd no play, !«hould not seem a 
 1 very juilicious one, the peasants, and the 
 ! la/zaroni of Naples, among wluun it i.i 
 e(|ually prevalent, arc, g<!iierally speaking. 
 i a remarkably fine-legged generation. The \ 
 spare fiMxl and the hard I**'* led by tbuse ' 
 ■ poor mountaineers, have Ir* i de»cribe<i in 
 1 accounts of the managemei. of »he great 
 ' farms oftho Maremnta. Aiih ugh, puning 
 , the best face on a bad bu.Hiiie»» vhey arnvo 
 
:8. 
 
 sign of a Gorman aTfi«t, 
 gi»t!ii the sceno wiili 
 11(1 naturft. li is roin- 
 > move witli all its iiipiii- 
 lary uramlfalluT to tlic 
 1 to carry all ihcir »iin- 
 [U and moveablf pr()|Hr- 
 hc senior of tho parly 
 ," or head man, arrniiL'cs 
 actor or farmer, and rc- 
 s of his children iml 
 When they roach the 
 rations they unh>ad tlioir 
 )9 set up a rude ao-f of 
 urn al ttieir inoali, and 
 m tho dews at )ii!»ht. | 
 rer, is not always 'aken, j 
 n oat and sleep without { 
 ading their blankds on 
 They sometimes make 
 »f bulrushes and canes, 
 prodijjious height in the 
 Is of the plains. Whore ' 
 amp, we have sometimes 
 l u|w>n poles at iho heiuht 
 Bt from tho yronnd. 'I'ho 
 )idy use thorn for sleep- 
 id enter by an aperture, 
 I hole than a door-way : j 
 is kind looks like a ^'\^ j 
 or an Indian wiywam »«;i 
 
 no, while the men an:l 
 work, tho children, whsre 
 carried lo the field, and set 
 und near the reapers, fur 
 nfroqncnt visiters in those 
 [wculiar way of swaddlinu-i 
 I coiniiwn in all the south i 
 la, has not oscajied our j 
 , The little creatures are 
 ped round and round, un- | 
 cr extremities, ihi-y hwik 
 tnumniics. Thoujjh thi* 
 ich Um) le«« nro conlinod 
 
 play, should not siein a 
 no, iho peasants, and the 
 iples, among whom it i» 
 It, are, generally spoaktnij. 
 e-legged jjeneration. The 
 the hard li'"* led by these 
 er»,huvob-# i de^cnbeti in 
 
 managenu'i. of the gn-at 
 remma. Ahh ugh, puttinjj 
 a bad businesa vhcy arrive 
 
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 |gS*L™5EJ ,IS4!MIBi*RjP!lH!Bn*''i«r'a» - 
 
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 898 
 
 BRPTEMDER. 
 
 piping and dancing, it is seldom that they 
 can return in the same merry mood, the 
 malaria fever being pretty sure to seize 
 one half of them more or less violently. 
 As soon as the corn is rut, the reapers 
 make ail the haste they can from the 
 pestilential flat, which, by the month of 
 July, becomes so dangerous that few or 
 none will venture to remain in the fields 
 by night. The livid aspect of those few 
 families that are bound to the spot is in- 
 deed a shocking proof of its un wholesome- 
 ness. We remember few things more 
 pathetic than the reply that one of these 
 walking spectres madi -a traveller who 
 was struck with the abundant sources of 
 disease, and the sickly appearance of the 
 people. " How do you manage to live 
 here ?" {Come si vive qui), said the stran- 
 ger. (Signor, si muore), " Sir, we die." 
 Some of these parties of reapers have ma- 
 ny miles to travel before they reach their 
 homes on the healthy mountains. They 
 walk along in troops, the healthy support- 
 ing the sickly ; for it is only a few of the 
 better sort that can command the luxury 
 of riding in a buffalo-car. These vehicles 
 are of the most primitive or rudest descrip- 
 tion : one solid piece of wood, roughly 
 hewed, forms axle-tree and axles, and 
 upon this the wheels revolve with a fear- 
 ful noise of which our word " creaking" 
 conveys no idea : they scream, shriek, 
 and groan. We have often heard them at 
 more than a mile's distance. The beasts 
 that draw them are the most sulky and 
 savage of all domesticated quadrupeds, 
 and are sometimes known to throw down 
 their driver and press him to death. The 
 strength of this species of buffalo, which 
 attains its highest perfection in the low 
 marshy lands of the Roman and Neapoli- 
 tan states, is, however, prodigious. A 
 pair of them will draw an immense car 
 heavily laden over the roughest roads, 
 and across the bed of a river, if necessary, 
 with the water over their shoulders. On 
 such occasions they keep their snouts 
 erect, and above the water, blowing like 
 hippopotami. In many parts of the coun- 
 try, where there are no bridges to cross 
 the numerous mountain streams, ail com- 
 munication would be interrupted at certain 
 seasons of the year, if it were not for the 
 strength and aquatic habits of these animals. 
 
 SEPTEMBER. 
 
 HIS, though now the 
 ninth month of the 
 year, was formerly the 
 seventh as its name 
 imports, boingderived 
 from the two Latin 
 jIT^i jlMr ^^ vtoTiia Srptem nnd Im- 
 V ~ '^' I -^ Jer. The Saxons call- 
 
 ed it Gorst-monat, or barley-month. 
 
 This i^, in general, a very agreeable 
 month ; ho distinguishing softness and 
 serenity if autumn, with its deep blut> 
 skies, prevailing through great part of it 
 The days are now very sensibly shorten- 
 ed ; and the mornings and eveninjis are 
 chilly and damp, though the warmth is still 
 considerable in the middle of the day. 
 This variation of temperature is one cause 
 why autumn is an unhealthy time, espe- 
 cially in warmer climates and moist situa- 
 tions. Those, who are obliged to be 
 abroad «arly or late in this season, should 
 be guarded by warm clothing against the 
 cold fogs. 
 
 Toward the end of this month, the 
 chimney or common swallow entirely dis- 
 appears. There are various opinions con- 
 cerning the manner in which these birds 
 dispose of themselves during the winter ; 
 some imagining that they all fly away to 
 distant southern regions, where insect food 
 is at all times to be met with ; others, that 
 they retire to holes and caverns, or even 
 sink to the bottom of ponds and rivers, 
 where they pass the winter months in a 
 torpid, and apparently lifeless state. Tlial 
 many of them migrate to other countries, 
 seems sufficiently proved. The swilt, the 
 swallow, and one of our martins, have 
 been seen at Siena Leone and the island 
 of St. Thomas, in the months of January 
 and February : they have been traced in 
 their course across Spain and Portugal ; 
 but some, probably, always stay behind, 
 which are the younger broods, or smaller 
 kinds, that are incapable of so long a flight, 
 and p'jrish. For some time before their 
 departure, they begin to collect in flocks, 
 settling on trees, basking on the roofs of 
 buildings, or gathering round towers and 
 steeples, whence they take short excur- 
 sions, as if to try their powers of flight. 
 Not only the swallow tribe, but many 
 
 -;.«^^»i^^^p?S«SJ^S^«^3»»fF«SK-- 
 
 ; ■-^^«5BB|^^rtVi.«JJJ9Wri»«'tr«'' 
 
 .# 
 
~J 
 
 TEMBER. 
 
 i^ HIS, though now the 
 r\ ninth month of the 
 i year, was formerly the 
 seventh as its name 
 imports, boingderived 
 from the two I^aiin 
 :^ words Sfptem and Im- 
 her. The Saxons call- 
 I, or barley-month. 
 <neral, a very agreeable 
 inguishing softness and 
 mn, with its deep blni> 
 through great part of i; 
 w very sensibly shorten- 
 rnings and evenings are 
 though the warmth is still 
 the middle of the day. 
 temperature is one cause 
 n unhealthy time, espe- 
 climates and moist situa- 
 who are obliged to be 
 ate in this season, should 
 arm clothing against the 
 
 end of this month, the 
 non swallow entirely dis- 
 are various opinions con- 
 ler in which these birds 
 jelves during the winter ; 
 that they all fly away to 
 regions, where insect food 
 be met with ; others, that 
 les and caverns, or oven 
 om of ponds and rivers, 
 the winter months in a 
 ently lifeless state. Thai 
 ligrale to other countries, 
 y proved. The swill, the 
 le of our martins, have 
 rta Leone and the island 
 in the months of January 
 they have been traced in 
 Dss Spain and Portugal ; 
 bly, always stay behind, 
 junger broods, or smaller 
 capable of so long a flight, 
 >r some time before th* ir 
 jegin to collect in floclv^, 
 J, basking on the roofs of 
 hering round towers and 
 e tht;y take short excur- 
 yr their powers of flight, 
 swallow tribe, but many 
 
 OAK-BARK PEELKRfl. 
 
 899 
 
 other small birds which feed on insects, 
 disttijpear on the approach of cold weather, 
 when the insects themselves arc no longer 
 to be met with. 
 
 Those sweet and mellow-toned song- 
 sters, the wood-lark, thrush, and black- 
 bird, now begin their autumnal music : 
 but it is not the full joyous note of spring : 
 frequently the song proceeds from the 
 young birds of the year imitating the 
 parental note, and influenced by the state 
 of the temperature 
 
 the wood in a few years causes the bark 
 to assume a rough appearance, the con- 
 tinued growth rending it in a perpendicu- 
 lar direction, as may generally be seen in 
 all aged trees. In the birch-tree, owing 
 to the peculiarity of the bark, strips of it 
 are continually peeling ofT, being n > longer 
 adapted for their intended purposes. 
 
 Corks are formed from the dead bark of 
 the cork-tree, which is taken off at certain 
 seasons of the year, being separuled with- 
 out difficulty from the portions of more 
 
 •rwo'o'JT.T.-pocie, of Iriy-binl. .roU.ce,,. gro«.h. The vigor of . .-e. i. 
 
 season for the death's-hen ^ moth : " This 
 creature," says Mr. Knapj,, " was former- 
 ly considered as one of our rarest insects, 
 uiid doubtful if truly indigenous; but for 
 the last twenty years, from the profuse 
 cultivation of the potato, is become not 
 v.iry uncommon in divers places. The 
 markings n its back represent to fertile 
 imaginations, the head of a perfect skele- 
 ton, with the limb-bones crossed beneath. 
 
 The most useful fruit this country af- 
 fords, the apple, successively ripens, ac- 
 cording to its difl*erenl kinds, from July to 
 September or October ; but the principal 
 harvest of them is about the close of this 
 month. They are now gathered for cider 
 making, which in some c untries is a 
 busy and important employment. 
 
 OAK-BARK PEELERS. 
 
 ARK is the outward 
 coveringof plants and 
 trees, one of its func- 
 tions being to pri)tect 
 the inner structure 
 from the effect of sud- 
 den changes of tem- 
 perature. On this 
 account, the bark of 
 the pine-trees which 
 are found in the most inclement regions 
 of North America is often from a foot to 
 fifteen inches in thickness. Another of 
 its uses is to convey to the roots those 
 juices which are elaborated in the foliage. 
 In a young plant the bark is covered with 
 a smooth thin skin ; but the expansion of 
 
 every eight or ten years after it is fifteen 
 years old ; some which have regularly 
 submitted to this operation living for 150 
 years. 
 
 A description of oak growing in the 
 United States produces the quercitron 
 bark, which forms so important an article 
 as a yellow dye. The medicinal value 
 of the Peruvian bark has been known about 
 two centuries, but it was not until fifiy 
 years after its introdiidion in Europe that 
 its qualities were duly appreciated The 
 original cinchona of Peru, which is of a 
 pale color, i« becoming f-arce. When 
 dry it is scarcely odorous, but becomes so 
 when used as an infusion. The two 
 other descriptions are the red bark and 
 the yellow bark. The fruit is less bitter 
 than that of the cinchona, but its astringent 
 qualities are greater. The nearer the 
 second approarhes the color of an orange 
 the better is its quality : it is comparative- 
 ly worthless when it assumes a hue be- 
 tween red and yellow. It is bitter to the 
 taste, but its properties are not astringent. 
 The bark of a tree always contains a 
 greater proportion of the principle of a 
 plant than any other organ. Oak-bark 
 possesses a chymical property which is 
 used in converting hides into leather. The 
 astringent quality which effects this is 
 called tannin. Heath, gall-nuts, birch- 
 tree bark, myrtle leaves, leaves of wild 
 laurel, and willow-bark, have been used as 
 substitutes for oak-bark, and even oak saw- 
 
 Before being used in tanning, the bark 
 is ground into coarse particles, and a layer 
 is put upon each skin in the tan-pit. With- 
 out bark or tannin the skins woiiM dissolve 
 into glue, but the astringency which it pos- 
 
 MHNM 
 
 tmmnatttm 
 
 J 
 

 
 
 ANIMAL LANOUAOK. 
 
 „,.H.r^ occa«ion« a proi-es* cxnclly iha 
 r,,vrrM', ami lorms llit) i.ui»Bluuce cnllud 
 
 Ifutlmr. . . . 
 
 'I'liH endTnviiig acciimpanyntu tlim arii- 
 cle rt-pt.'sents ii piiriv of worn, ii <'iinau.;,l 
 i„ peplini! th.i l)iiik iVcin an <.i.k.tr«o. 1 lim 
 on'riition is p.Trorine.l in il." l'.llowin« 
 „,„ t: (imiinl)tro( \vi.im>i. rall-'d "biirk- 
 iTs' iint caili luiiiisliiMl Willi li^lll st"'ft- 
 luin.lle.l iniill.-l« ihm.I.m)!' hard wood, al-out 
 
 ,.i"lii or iiiiio i"'-!"''' '•'"«- ''''*"" "'"^'""', 
 stuinre al llie luc.', and llio other end 
 sharpened liko a wed^e, in order the 
 „„.ro fiiHily to mako an in.ision in the 
 hark, which is done all alon« tl..- side ot 
 il.o tree which hnp|)en« to be upporn.oHt, 
 i„ „ 8irainht lino; and as two barkers 
 n, i.erally work lo- in it is proper ihal 
 while one is en ployed .n makmK an in- 
 cision with th«. n.:il.-t. th other, being 
 furnished with : p.. itd in.-> uinent called 
 the "barking-bii. " -utb ll<. bark across 
 the tree in lenplh ^f ''r'.a two feet ^^K 
 inches to three let*, and then, by forcing 
 a shovel-shaped instrument called a "p"!- 
 in.r.iron" between the bark t.n i (he wood, 
 ea"sily separates the former, and pe^Js ^ 
 from lh« timber in entire pieces. 1 he 
 iariier branches are afterward stripped in 
 a similar manner. This business being 
 chiclly do.io in the early spring season, 
 the vast trunks are left in the situations in 
 which they first fell till the gathering ol 
 the crops in autumn permits their remova . 
 During this time they get blanched to al- 
 most perfect whiteness, an-l in the midst 
 of the summer verdure have a very singu- 
 lar but picturesque appearance. 
 
 The bark, when peeled, is carefully 
 dried for two or three weeks, and then 
 piled in stacks of about eight feet square 
 by fifteen feet in height, and sold to the 
 tanner. 
 
 ANIMAL LANOUAOK. 
 
 Generosity.— There is a great dis- 
 titiciion to be made between generosity ot 
 manner an 1 generosity of heart. A good 
 man, wi a the noblest sentiments and 
 feelings, is sometimes disguised by a 
 certain coldness and formality of manner ; 
 while a libertine, whose life is spent m 
 the grntification of self, imposes on llie 
 multitude, by the bravery and frankness 
 of his air, for a most generous-hearted 
 fellow. 
 
 ANClIAf'.F- as 
 fur as the eonii-ni- 
 nicalion of ide; s 
 l^ by certain miults 
 '\ of contiict, I y ges- 
 ■y I 'ire, or by soinuU, 
 can bo called by 
 that name — seems 
 to bo possessed in 
 common by all living creatures 'i'he 
 first or simplest form in whicu this t aciiliy 
 is manifested amimg animals, is 'hat ot 
 ,,,„„t,ci— a species of intercommi .i. :iuon 
 beautifully illustrated by the lu.hitt o( r^^a 
 insectsas'the ..nt. If you siatterlha r '.iO., 
 of an ant's nest in your apartment, you 
 will bo furnished with a proof of their 
 language. The ants will take»a thousand 
 different paths, each going by itsell, to 
 increase the chance of discovery ; they 
 will meet and cross each other in all di- 
 rections, and perhaps will wander long 
 before they can lind a spot convenient lor 
 iheir reunion. No sooner does any one 
 discover a little chink in the lloor, thn.ugh 
 which it can pass below, than it returns to 
 its companions, and, by means of certain 
 motions of its antenna!, makes some ol 
 them comprehend what route they are to 
 pursue to find it, sometimes even accom- 
 panying them to ihe spot : these, in their 
 turn, become the guides of others, till all 
 know which way to direct their steps. 
 The mode of communication employed by 
 bees, beetles, and other insects, is much 
 of the same nature, being almost entirely 
 confined to contact, and rarely or ever 
 partaking of gesticulation, which may bo 
 considered as the next form of language 
 in the ascending scale. 
 
 In expressing their wants, fee'ings, atul 
 passions, almost all the higher annuals 
 make use of gesticulalion. The dog 
 speaks with his eye and ear as signiheanl- 
 ly as he does by his voice : the wagi-ing 
 of his tail is quite as expressive as the 
 shake of a human hand : and no panto- 
 mime could better illustrate conscious er- 
 ror, shame, or disgrace, than his hanging 
 ears, downcast look, and tail depressed, 
 as he slinks away under rebuke. 1 he 
 dog,indeed,is an admirable physiognomist, 
 
 9 
 
 
 r»rf*r*W!«#wiNlli*lf« 
 
*>*.•..■' 
 
 902 
 
 ANIMAL LANGUAGE. 
 
 whether actively or passively considered. 
 If you can read craving, fear, or anger, in 
 his countenance, so he will kindness or 
 surliness in yours, just as readily as he 
 can interpret the physiognomy of one of 
 his own species. Observe that huge 
 mastiff gnawing a bone on the other side 
 of the street, and see how the Newfound- 
 land that is coming up on this side deports 
 himself. First he stands stock-still : not 
 a muscle of his frame is moved : the mas- 
 tiff lakes no notice of him. Next, he ad- 
 vances a few steps, looks intently, wags 
 his tail once or twice : still not a glance 
 from the mastiff, which is evidently stri- 
 ving not to observe him. On the New- 
 foundland goes, with an indifferent amble, 
 keeping as closely to this side as he can, 
 and thinks no more of the mastiff. Had 
 the latter, however, lifted his head from 
 the bone, had he exchanged one glance of 
 recognition, had he brushed his tail even 
 once along the pavement, the Newfound- 
 land would have gone gambolling up to 
 him, even though the two might have had 
 a tussle about tho bone in the long-run. 
 Here, then, is an example of strict physi- 
 ognomy or pantomime, quite as well un- 
 derstood between animals as the most 
 ardently-expressed sounds. Again, mark 
 that couple of terriers, bound on a secret 
 rabbiting excursion to yonder hill-side. 
 Two minutes ago, that shaggy native of 
 Skye was dozing on his haunches, as little 
 dreaming of a rabbit-hunt as of a journey 
 to the antipodes. But his little pepper- 
 and-mnstard friend awoke him from his 
 revery, and nricking up his ears, gam- 
 bolled significantly around him. Next he 
 scampered onwar ' for a dozen of yards 
 or so, looked anxiously back, again scam- 
 pered forward, looked bsrk, whined, and 
 returned. Then he set out, scenting the 
 ground as if he had made some important 
 discovery, slopped suddenly, made a short 
 detour, tracking some imaginary scent as 
 eagerly as if a treasure of venison lay be- 
 neath his nose. This at length rouses 
 his friend of Skye, and away they trot as 
 slyly to the hill as any couple of poach- 
 ers. Now our pepper-and-mustard hero 
 is beating the whine-bushes, while his 
 comr.t J stands outside the cover, ready 
 to pounce on the first rabbit that makes iis 
 appearance. Not a whine, not a yelp is 
 
 heard — the whole is conducted by signs 
 as significant and as well understood as 
 the most ingenious system of marine 
 signalizing. 
 
 Independent of the humble kind of ex- 
 pression which gesticulation implies, many 
 of the higher animals are possessed of 
 vocal language, by which they can give 
 the most intelligible utterance to iheir 
 feelings of delight, pain, fear, alarm, 
 recognition, rffection, and the like. Nor 
 does this language differ in aught but 
 degree from that which we ourselves en- 
 joy. Our organs may be capable of a 
 greater variety of tones and modulations : 
 and yet in some cases this is more than 
 questionable : all that can be said is, that 
 the human organization is capable of more 
 perfect articulation, and this articulation 
 is a thing of art, imitation, and experience, 
 depending upon the higher degree of in- 
 telligence with which the Creator has 
 endowed us. The brute creation express 
 their feelings and passions by certain 
 sounds, which are intelligible, not only to 
 those of their own species, but in a great 
 degree to all other animals. Man, in his 
 natural state, does little or nothing more. 
 It is civilization — the memory of many 
 experiences, aided by his higher mental 
 qualities — which gives him his spoken 
 language ; each new object receiving a 
 name founded on association with pre- 
 viously-known objects, and each concep- 
 tion recfiiving expression by association 
 with ideas formerly entertained. Nothing 
 of this kind takes place among animals : 
 their limited endowments do not permit 
 of il, as the range of their existence does 
 not require it. Their language may be 
 considered as stationary in a natural slate, 
 though capable of some curious modifica- 
 tions under human training, or even un- 
 der certain peculiar changes of natural 
 condition. It is to this range of animal 
 expression that we would now direct at- 
 tention. 
 
 Take that barn-yard cock, for example, 
 which five minutes ago was crowing de- 
 fiance from the lop of the paling to his 
 rival over the way, and hear him now 
 crowing a very different note of delight 
 and affection to his assembled dames. In 
 a few minutes you may hear his peculiar 
 " cluck, cluck," over some tid-uit he has 
 
e is conducted by signs 
 d as well understood as 
 ious system of marine 
 
 f the humble kind of ex- 
 esticulation implies, many 
 mimals are possessed of 
 by which they can give 
 gible utterance to their 
 ight, pain, fear, alarm, 
 ;tion, and the like. Nor 
 age differ in aught but 
 
 which we ourselves en- 
 is may be capable of a 
 f tones and modulations : 
 i cases this is more than 
 I that can be said is, that 
 ization is capable of more 
 ion, and this articulation 
 imitation, and experience, 
 
 the higher degree of in- 
 
 which the Creator has 
 he brute creation express 
 md passions by certain 
 re intelligible, not only to 
 vn species, but in a great 
 er animals. Man, in his 
 38 little or nothing more. 
 1 — the memory of many 
 ed by his higher mental 
 I gives him his spoken 
 
 new object receiving a 
 on association with pre- 
 bjects, and each concep- 
 sxpression by association 
 rly entertained. Nothing 
 lOS place among animals : 
 idowments do not permit 
 »e of their existence does 
 
 Their language may be 
 ationary in a natural state, 
 [)f some curious modifica- 
 nan training, or even un- 
 uliar changes of natural 
 s to this range of animal 
 
 we would now direct at- 
 
 n-yard cock, for example, 
 ites ago was crowing de- 
 top of the paling to his 
 way, and hear him now 
 different note of delight 
 his assembled dames. In 
 ou may hear his peculiar 
 over some tid-uit he has 
 
 ANIMAL LANQUAOE. 
 
 903 
 
 discovered to which he wishes to direct 
 their attention ; his long suppressed gut- 
 tural cry of alarm, if the mastiff happens 
 to be prowling in the neighborhood ; or 
 his soft blurr of courtship, when wooing 
 the affections of some particular female. 
 All of these notes, even to the minutest 
 modulation, are known to the tenants of 
 the barn-yard, which invariably interpret 
 them in the sense they were intended. 
 Or take the barn-yard hen, and observe 
 the language by which she communicates 
 with her young. By one note she collects 
 and entices them under her wing, by an- 
 other calls them to partake of some insect 
 or grain she has discovered, by a third 
 warns them of danger, should any bird of 
 prey be sailing above, by a fourth calls 
 them away to another place, or leads them 
 honiC, should they have strayed to a dis- 
 tance. Nor are these various calls known 
 instinctively, as is generally believed, by 
 the young brood. We have watched the 
 habits of the barn-fowl with the closest 
 scrutiny, and arc convinced that a knowl- 
 edge of tho mother's notes is, to the young, 
 a process of acquirement : in the same 
 manner as a human child quickly, but 
 nevertheless by degrees, learns to com- 
 prehend tones of affection, doting, chidmg, 
 and the like. The knowledge of the low- 
 er aminals is in almost every instance ac- 
 quired ; a process necessarily more rapid 
 m them than ir man, as they much sooner 
 reach the limit of their growth and per- 
 fection. Animal language is most perfect 
 and varied among such animals as are 
 gregarious in their habits. Let the most 
 ignorant of natural history attend for a 
 few days to the habits of a flock of birds, 
 a herd of oxen, horses, deer, elephants, 
 or the like, and he will find that they make 
 use of a variety of sounds often totally 
 different from each other. Friendly rec- 
 ognition, hatred, fear, mirth, satisfaction, 
 the discovery of food, hunger, and so on, 
 are expressed each by a peculiar note, 
 which is distinctly and instantly compre- 
 hended by the whole flock. And as 
 among men, when simple sounds are in- 
 sufficient, 80 among animals gesticulation 
 is made use of to assist the comprehen- 
 sion and deepen the inipression. 
 
 If then, animals are really in possession 
 of a vocal language, it may be asked, is 
 
 that language capable of any modification, 
 improvement, or deterioration ; and have 
 we any evidence to that effect ? That 
 animal languagi' admits of extensive modi- 
 fication, he have ample proof in the histo- 
 ry of cage and singing-birds. The natural 
 note of the canary is clear, loud, and 
 rather harsh ; by careful training, and 
 breeding from approved specimens, that 
 note can be rendered clear, lull, and mel- 
 low, as that of the finest instrument. We 
 have further proof of such modification, in 
 the fact of a young canary being made to 
 im.- 4e the notes of the linnet or the gold- 
 finch, just as either of these may be taught 
 the song of the canary. The starling 
 and blackbird maybe trained to forsake 
 their wood-notes wild, and to imitate the 
 human whistle to perfection in many of 
 our national melodies. Nay, the parrot, 
 starling, raven, and even the canary, may 
 bo taught to articulate certain words and 
 phrases with more precision and emphasis 
 than the tyroes of the elocutionist. Nor is 
 artificial training always necessary to ac- 
 complish such modification ; for we have 
 the gay and lively mocking bird producing, 
 of his own free-will, almost every modula- 
 tion, from the clear mellow tones of the 
 wood-thrush, to the savage scream of the 
 bald eagle. While thus exerting him- 
 self, a person destitute of sight v jld sup- 
 pose that the whole feathered tribe had 
 assembled together on a trial of skill, each 
 striving to produce his utmost effect, so 
 perfect are his imitations. He many 
 times deceives the sportsman, and sends 
 him in search of birds that perhaps are 
 not within miles of him, but whose notes 
 he exactly imitates ; even birds themselves 
 are frequently imposed on by this admira- 
 ble mimic, and are decoyed by the fancied 
 call of their mates, or drive with precipi- 
 tation into the depth of thickets at the 
 scream of what they suppose to be the 
 sparrow-hawk. The mocking bird loses 
 little of the power and energy of his song 
 by confinement. In his domesticated 
 state, when he commences his career of 
 song, it is impossible to stand by uninter- 
 ested. He whistles for the dog— Ca;sar 
 starts up, wags his tail, and runs to meet 
 his master ; he squeaks out like a chicken 
 —and the hen hurries about with hanging 
 wings and bristling feathers, chucking to 
 
 J 
 
 HiWKHlWJUB' "I 1' ■5*^^^'' 
 

 904 
 
 ANIMAL LANGUAGE. 
 
 protect her injured brood. The barking 
 of the dog, the mewing of the cat, the 
 cjeaking of a passing wheelbarrow, follow 
 with great truth and rapidity. He repeats 
 the tune taught him by his master, though 
 of considerable length, fully and faithfully. 
 He runs over the quivering of the canary, 
 and the clear whistlings of the Virginian 
 nightingale or redbird, with such superior 
 execution and effect, that the mortified 
 songsters feel their own inferiority, and 
 become altogether silent, while he seems 
 to triumph in their defeat by redoubling 
 his exertions. 
 
 As there is thus an evident capability 
 of modification, so there must, to a certain 
 degree, be improvement or deterioration, 
 as surrounding circumstances are favor- 
 able or unfavorable to the development of 
 the vocal power. A young canary brought 
 up in the same room with a goldfinch and 
 linnet, if he does not slavishly adopt the 
 notes of either, will often be found to add 
 them to his own natural music. The 
 natural voice of the dog, so far as that can 
 be ascertained from wild species of the 
 family, is more a yelp and snarl than a 
 bark ; and yet what is more full and sonor- 
 ous than the voice of the Newfoundland 
 or mastiff"? The wild horse— depending 
 so much as it does upon the society of its 
 kind — acquires the nicest modulations of 
 neighing, so as to express pleasure, fear, 
 recognition, the discovery of pasture, and 
 so forth ; while the labored hack has scarce- 
 ly, if at all the command of its vocal organs. 
 The voice of animals is jusl as evidently 
 strengthened and increased in variety of 
 tone by practice, as is that of the human 
 sinffer and orator, and thus becomes capa- 
 ble^ expressing a wider range of ideas. 
 Indeed it is certain that, if animals are 
 placed in situations where the use of their 
 language is not required, they will in a 
 short time lose the faculty of speech al- 
 together. Thus, on the coral island of 
 Juan de Neva, where the dogs have been 
 left from time to time, and where, finding 
 abundance of food, they have multiplied 
 prodigiously, it is assorted that the breed 
 have entirely lost the faculty of barking. 
 Wt! knew an instance of a young canary, 
 just bursting into song, which was render- 
 ed permanently dumb by being shut up in 
 a darkened chamber, and by occasionally 
 
 having a cloth thrown over its cage, ilmt 
 its notes might not disturb an invaliil. 
 This treatment was continued for several 
 months; and so eflfectually did it dtsimy 
 the clear, brilliant notes of the youn^- «r, 
 that he was never afterward known to 
 utter a note beyond a simple " iwcei, 
 tweet" of alarm. As the human speedi 
 is affected by disease and old age, so like- 
 wise is that of the lower animals. Tlie 
 husky, paralytic voice of the old shepherd- 
 dog, is a very different thing from the full- 
 toned bark of his athletic years ; formerly, 
 its modulations could give expressions to 
 joy, fear, anger, reproach, and the like ; 
 now, its monotony is destitute of all mean- 
 ing. We were once in po.ssession of a 
 starling, which we had taught to utter a 
 number of phrases, and to whistle in per- 
 fection a couple of Scottish melodies. 
 After a severe moulting attack, not only 
 was his power of voice destroyed, but his 
 memory apparently so much affected, that 
 phrases and melodies were ever after 
 jumbled incoherently together ; much like 
 the chattering of an old man in his dotage, 
 or like those individuals who, after severe 
 fevers, forget some of the languages they 
 have acquired, or make themselves intel- 
 ligible through a new jargon of English, 
 French, and Latin phrases. 
 
 But it may be asked — if the lower ani- 
 mals thus make use of a vocal language, 
 are those to whom it is addressed at ail 
 times capable of interpreting its meaning? 
 The well-known habits of gregarious ani- 
 mals, in our opinion, ought to answer this 
 question. Every individual, in a herd of 
 wild horses or deer, most perfectly un- 
 derstands every gesture and sound of the 
 watch or leader, which is stationed for 
 the general safety. Nor is such under- 
 standing altogether instinctive, but a pro- 
 cess of training and tuition quite analogous 
 to what lakes place in our own case. Fur- 
 ther, the speech, if we may so call it, of 
 one animal is not only understood by the 
 animals of its class, but in a great measure 
 by the other animals that are in the habit 
 of frequenting the same localities. Thus 
 the chaffinch, which discovers the spar- 
 row-hawk sailing above, instantly utters a 
 note of alarm — a note known not only to 
 the other chaffinches, but understood and 
 acted upon by all others of the feathered 
 
 1^^ 
 
THE HALLS OF TUB M0NTEZUMA8. 
 
 iTown over its cage, ili.it 
 not (listurh an invalid, 
 /as continued for sevcriil 
 effectually did it dcrsimy 
 it notes of the youn- -r, 
 ver afterward known to 
 iyond a simple " iwcei, 
 As the human speeih 
 lease and old age, so like- 
 he lower animals. Tho 
 voice of the old shepherd- 
 fferent thing from the full- 
 1 athletic years ; formerly, 
 :ould give expressions to 
 reproach, and the like ; 
 ny is destitute of all mean- 
 once in possession of a 
 we had taught to utter a 
 ies, and to whistle in per- 
 lo of Scottish melodies, i 
 moulting attack, not only i 
 )f voice destroyed, hut his 
 itly so much affected, that 
 lelodies were ever after j 
 ently together ; much like | 
 f an old man in his dotage, 
 lividuals who, after severe 
 ime of the languages they 
 sr make themselves intel- 
 a new jargon of English, 
 itin phrases. 
 
 3 asked — if the lower ani- 
 use of a vocal language, 
 lom it is addressed at all 
 F interpreting its meaning ? 
 n habits of gregarious ani- j 
 inion, ought to answer this 
 ry individual, in a herd of 
 deer, most perfectly un- 
 r gesture and sound of the 
 er, which is stationed for 
 fety. Nor is such under- 
 ithcr instinctive, but a pro- 
 and tuition quite analogous 
 lace in our own case. Fur- 
 :h, if we may so call it, of 
 lot only understood by the 
 lass, but in a great measure 
 limals that are in the habit 
 the same localities. Thus 
 which discovers the spar- 
 ing above, instantly utters a 
 —a note known not only to 
 inches, but understood and 
 all others of the feathered 
 
 race within hearing. The suspen ion of 
 every song, the rustling into »!»« '^'^^e 
 beneath, the sly cowering into the first 
 recess, or the clamor of impotent rage, 
 abundantly attests how well they have 
 interpreted the original note of alarm. But 
 if all other evidence were wanting of the 
 rapacity of the lower animals to interpre 
 other voices than theii own, the fact that 
 many of them learn to interpret human 
 words, and to distinguish human voices 
 would be sufficient attestation. 1 hus tlie . 
 voung horse taken from the hills, learns 
 in a few months to discriminate the words 
 spoken to him by his driver; and so do 
 the ox, the dog, and other domesticated 
 animals. This comprehension of vocal 
 sounds evidently implies a sense of lan- 
 uage-a sense that, on their par also 
 the expression of certain sounds will meet 
 with a certain interpretation. 
 
 Such is the language of the lower ani- 
 mals : lim-.d, no doubt, when compared 
 with that of the human race ; yet all-sul- 
 ficient for their wants, and only inferior 
 because not combit.ed with that higher m- 
 t,lligence wlucli, after all, forms the true 
 ,listi^,clion between ntan a.id his lellows 
 of the animal creation. 
 
 THE HALLS OF THE MONTEZUMAS. 
 
 ONTEZUMA 
 11., ascended 
 the Mexican 
 throne A. D 
 1502, at the 
 age of twenty- 
 three, before 
 Mexico had 
 been discover- 
 ed by Europeans. He died 30th June 
 1520, in the forty-second year oi his age, 
 of wounds inflicted by the fP*"^!*^ '^'^-i 
 coverers whom he had invited o h.s royal 
 palace. Historians agree in admiring his 
 character. . , „„,«„t 
 
 On ascending the tl^™"«' ""V '^"" f "' 
 with tin spacious residence of his latlier, 
 he erected another, much more magni- 
 ficent, fronting on the place mayor ot the 
 present city of Mexico. So vast was 
 
 this great structure, that, as one of the 
 historians informs u€. the space covered 
 by its terraced roof might have aff^ord- 
 ed ample room for thirty knights to run 
 their courses in a regular tourney. His 
 father's palace, although not so high, was 
 I 80 extensive that the visiters were too 
 much fatigued in wandering through the 
 apartments, ever to see the whole of it. 
 The palaces were built of red stone, orna- 
 mented with marble, the arms of Monte- 
 zuma's family (an eagle bearing a tiger in 
 his talons) being sculptured over the inair 
 entrance. Crystal fountains, fed by great 
 reservoirs on the neighboring iil.s, played 
 in the vast halls and gardens, ai d supplied 
 water to hundreds of marble ba!hs in the 
 interior of the palaces. Crowds of nobles 
 and tributary chieftains were continually 
 saunteritig through the halls, or loitering 
 away their hours in attendance on the 
 court. Rich carvings in wood adorned 
 the ceilings, beautiful mats of palm leal 
 ' covered the floors. The walk- were hung 
 with cotton richly stained, t.e skins o 
 wild animals, or gorgeous draperies ol 
 fea --work wrought in imitation ol birds, 
 in ;- aiid flowers, in glowing radiance 
 of c.'''..rs. Clouds of incense from golden 
 censors diff'used intoxicating odors through 
 splendids apartments occupied by the 
 nine hundred and eighty wives and five 
 thousand slaves of Montezuma. 
 
 He encouraged science and learning, and 
 ' public schools were established through- 
 out the greater part of his empire. 1 he 
 city of Mexico in his day, numbered twice 
 as many inhabitants us at present and one 
 thousand men were daily employed in 
 watering and sweeping its streets, keep- 
 ing iheni so clean that a man could traverse 
 the city with little danger of soihng his 
 feel and his hands. A careful police 
 guarded the city. Extensive arsenals 
 uranaries, warehouses, an aviary for the 
 most beautiful birds, menageries, houses 
 for reptiles and serpents, a col ection ot 
 human monsters, fish-ponds, butlt ot mar- 
 ble, and museums and pub ic libraries all 
 on the most extensive scale, added heir 
 attractions to the great city of the Aztecs, 
 i Gorgeous temples-i« which human vic- 
 il'were sacrificed, and their Wood baked 
 in bread, or their bodies dressed for food 
 to be devoured by the people at religious 
 
906 
 
 THE PARKS OF ENGLAND. 
 
 festivals — reared their pyramidal altars 
 far above the highest edifices. Thou- 
 sands of their brother men were thus sac- 
 rificed annually. The temple of Maxtili, 
 their war-god, was so constructed that its 
 great alarm-gong, sounding to battle, 
 roused the valley for three leagues around, 
 and called three hundred thousand armed 
 Aztecs to the aid and service of their 
 monarch. So va.jt was the collection of 
 birds of prey, in a building devoted to 
 them, that 500 turkeys, the cheapest meal 
 in Mexico, were allowed for their daily 
 consumption. Such were the " halls of 
 the Montezumas !" The summer resi- 
 dence of the monarch, on the hill of Cha- 
 poltepec, overlooking the city, was sur- 
 rounded by gardens of several miles in 
 extent, and here wore preserved until the 
 middle of the last century, two statues of 
 the emperor and his father. The great 
 cypress trees, under which the Aztec 
 sovereign and his associates once held 
 their moonlight revels, still shade the 
 royal gardens. Some of them, fifty feet 
 in ci vumference, are several thousand 
 years old, but are yet as green as in the 
 days of Montezuma, whose ashes, or those 
 ot his ancestors, render sacred, in the 
 eye of the native Mexicans, the hill of 
 Chapoltepec. Natural decay and a wa- 
 ning population now mark the seat of pow- 
 er of the groat Montezumas. 
 
 THE PARKS OP ENGLAND. 
 
 HE parks abound with 
 trees of extraordinary 
 age and size. They 
 are not like the trees 
 of our original forests, 
 growing up to a great 
 height, and on account 
 of the crowded state 
 of the neighborhood throwing out but few 
 lateral branches ; what they want in 
 height they gain in breadth, and if we may 
 be excused for a hard word, in umbrageous- 
 noss. We measured one in Lord Bogot's 
 celebrated park in Staffordshire, and going 
 round the outside of the branches, keep- 
 
 ing within droopings of the circuit, was a 
 hundred yards. The circumference of 
 some of the celebrated Oiiks in the park 
 of the duke of Portland which we measur- 
 ed together, which ho did us the kind- 
 ness to accompany us through his grounds, 
 seemed worthy of record. The Utile 
 porter oak measured 27 feet in circum- 
 ference, the i^reat porter oak 29 feet in 
 circumference, the seven sisters 33 feet 
 in circumference. The great porter oak 
 was of a very large diameter 50 feet above 
 the ground, and an opening in the trunk 
 of green dale oak was at one time large 
 enough for the passage of a small carriiigu 
 through it ; by advancing years the open 
 space has become contracted. Theae, in- 
 deed, are noble trees, though it must be 
 confessed that they were thrown quite 
 into the shade of the magnificent Ken- 
 tucky button wood or sycamore, of whose 
 trunk we saw a complete section at Der- 
 by, measuring 25 feet in diameter, and 
 75 feet in circumference. This was 
 brought from the United States, and in- 
 deed well might be denominated the 
 mammoth of the forest. 
 
 In these ancient parks, oaks and beech- 
 es are the predominant trees, with occa- 
 sional chestnuts and ashes. In very many 
 cases we saw the beauty and force of that 
 first line in the pastoral of Virgil, where 
 he addressed Tityrus as " playing his lute 
 under the spreading shade of the beech- 
 trees." These trees are looked upon with 
 great veneration ; in many cases they are 
 numbered ; in some a label is affixed to 
 them, giving their age ; sometimes a stone 
 monument is erected, saying when or by 
 whom this forest or this clump was plant- 
 ed ; and commonly some family record is 
 kept of them as a part of the family histo- 
 ry. We respect this trait in the character 
 of the English, and we sympathize with 
 them in the veneration for old trees. They 
 are the growth often of centuries, and the 
 monument of years gone by. 
 
 We can not enter into the enthusiasm of 
 an excellent friend, who used to say that 
 the cutting down of an old tree ought to 
 be made a capital offence at law ; and we 
 would always advise that an old tree, 
 •tanding in a conspicuous station either 
 for use or ornament should be at leart 
 once more wintered and summered before 
 
>»l 
 
 circuit, was a 
 lumference of 
 8 in the park 
 h we measur- 
 us the kind- 
 \i his grounds, 
 
 The little 
 5t in circum- 
 ik 29 feet in 
 isters 33 feet 
 sat porter oak 
 50 fnet above 
 in the trunk 
 )ne time large 
 small carriage 
 ■ears the open 
 I. These, in- 
 jh it must be 
 thrown quite 
 nificent Ken- 
 )re, of whose 
 ection at Der- 
 diameter, and 
 
 This was 
 tates, and in- 
 ominated the 
 
 ks and beech- 
 a, with occa- 
 
 In very many 
 d force of that 
 
 Virgil, where 
 aying his lute 
 
 of the beech- 
 ked upon with 
 3ases they are 
 is affixed to 
 etimes a stone 
 J when or by 
 mp was plant- 
 mily record is 
 5 family histo- 
 i the character 
 mpathize with 
 1 trees. They 
 :uries, and tho 
 
 enthusiasm of 
 
 ed to say that 
 
 tree ought to 
 
 law ; nnd we 
 
 an old tree, 
 
 station either 
 
 d be at leapt 
 
 nmered before 
 
 03 
 
 r 
 
 pr 
 
 o 
 B 
 
 i|!||||l|||'i'S 
 
 " l|!f4ii,ii 
 
 ii.iii ::^ 
 
 58 
 
 l^v l^'^'f^ 
 
908 
 
 THE VEGETABLE KINGDOM. 
 
 the nifciice of death, which may be pas8- 
 e:l upon it, is carried into execution. 
 
 The trees in the park of the palace of 
 Hampton court are many of them, the 
 horse chest.iut and the lime, of great emi- 
 nent beauty ; several straight lines of them 
 forming, for a short clear bright day, at 
 the season of their flower?f»g, we passed 
 through this magtviiicent av^inue with in- 
 expressible dekght. We pissed through 
 them again lato in the autvmn, when tiie 
 frost had marred their beauty, and autum- 
 nal gales hcid stripped off theii i. aves ; but j 
 they were still venerable in ai ' simpltv 
 majesty of their gigantic and spreading 
 arms. We could not help reflecting with 
 grateful emotion on i^ at beneficeiil power, 
 which nWi) presemiv breathe upon these 
 appar*: '(' lifeless suifues, and clothe them 
 withth. •rUue" \g foliage of spring, and 
 the rich .lal ipi u 'kJ glori. i of summer. 
 So bo it w! tr»" i<. v'ho ^la*'*; got far into 
 the autumn, oi i'and shivoring in the win-" 
 tor of life. 
 
 Tbi ci'.en! of these parks in many cases 
 filled me with surprise. They embraced 
 hundreds, in some instances thousands of 
 acres, and you enter them by gates, where 
 >i porter's lodge is always to be found. Af- 
 ter entering the park gates, we have rode 
 sometimes several miles before reaching 
 the house. They are generally devoted 
 to pasturage of sheep, and cattle, or deer. 
 In the park at Chatsworth, the herd of 
 deer are kept at no inconsiderable ex- 
 pense, requiring abundant pasturage in 
 summer, and hay and grain in winter. An 
 English pasture is seldom or never plough- 
 ed. Many of them have been in grass 
 bevond the memory of any one living. 
 The turf becomes close and hard ; and the 
 feeding of sheep and cattle undoubtedly 
 enriches the land especially under the 
 rirciul management of one eminent farm- 
 er--ar-d many more doubtless, are like 
 him— on whose pasturage grounds the 
 mrnnres of the cattle are daily and evenly 
 8pr*;iid. 
 
 In speaking of the parks in the country, 
 we ought not to pass in silence the magnif- 
 icent parks of London, as truly magnificent 
 they must be called, including St. James' 
 park, Green pi' , Kensington gardens, 
 Hyde park, ani »U'^ent's park. 
 
 Kensington gt ' ' :ns, exclusive of private 
 
 gardens, within its enclosure contains 227 
 acres, Hyde park, 380 acres, Green park, 
 connected with St. James' park, 87 acres ; 
 terraces connected with Regent's park, 
 80 acres — m&king a grand total of 1,202 
 acres. To thfti-. shoiiid be atklsd Uiu 
 large, elegant, .raJ 'ighly er.ibelliHlied 
 public squares iis varki's parts of Lomlovi, 
 nnd even in thev(io*t cun-dfd f;ir'.8 of t^ie 
 old city, which in all piobability, e>c(;;J 
 1 ,000 acres. 
 
 These liiagnificer.t parks, it must be 
 rjjnembered, ire in the midst of a populous 
 tosvn, including up.vard of 2,000,000 of 
 inliabitants, are now open to the public 
 fot oxer. ; je,beal(h,andamus£imeiit. They 
 aio at tl^ 8fti<.e time, to a d^'gree, shocked 
 with shf flp ni;d cows. 
 
 It is imj^ossible iv< o\er-estimato the 
 value to beaUh of theso open spaces, and 
 the amount of recreation and rational en- 
 joyment they afford to this vast popula- 
 tion. 
 
 Windsor tipreat park contains 3,500 
 Hcres, and the little park 300 acres. 
 
 THE VEGETABLE KINGDOM. 
 
 T is now midsummer 
 — the bright sun shines 
 throughout the long day, 
 diffusing light and heat 
 over the face cf nature 
 — the earth is in its full 
 luxuriance ; and in the 
 words of Milton, "it 
 were an injury and sul- 
 lenness against nature not to go forth and 
 taste her beauties, and mingle in her re- 
 joicings with heaven and earth." 
 
 What a change a few months has brought 
 about ! Lately, the earth was bound up ^ 
 in the severe frosts of winter — not a leaf 'j.i 
 or a gay blossom was to be seen — all was 
 apparent barrenness and desolation. And 
 so was the earth before it was first clothed 
 with tht gre-m herb — a bare, rocky, and 
 barren masr. Vegetables are as it were 
 the clothinr, ' " •> earth ; flowers, shrubs, 
 and trees, i unaments. There is a soft- 
 ness ill '. appropriateness in the subdued 
 tingii 0? ,v;,o<.-n, whicii is with very few 
 
! contains 227 
 1, Green park, 
 ark, 87 acres ; 
 Irgcnt's park, 
 total of 1,202 
 )e 'Kk'sd .'it! 
 t embelli«lif';l 
 rt8i-->i' Loiuloij. 
 ed f;irt8 of I'se 
 jbiluy, eycc;..] 
 
 J, it must be 
 tof a populous 
 r 2,000,000 of 
 to the public 
 sement. They 
 U'gree, siocked 
 
 ir-estimato the 
 3n spaces, and 
 id rational en- 
 is vast popula- 
 
 :ontain3 3,500 
 30 acres. 
 
 KINGDOM. 
 
 )w midsummer 
 ight sun shines 
 )ut the long day, 
 [ light and heat 
 ! face cf nature 
 rth is in its full 
 ce ; and in the 
 )f Milton, "it 
 injury and sui- 
 te go forth and 
 lingle in her re- 
 earth." 
 
 nths has brought 
 was bound up 
 Iter — nol a leaf^ 
 e seen — all was 
 esolation. And 
 Aras first clothed 
 bare, rocky, and 
 3 are as it were 
 flowers, shrubs, 
 There is a soft- 
 in the subdued 
 ; with very few 
 
I 
 
 •J 10 
 
 THE VEOETABLE KINGDOM. 
 
 excnplions tbo prevailing livery of the 
 earih— something which is pleasing and 
 refreshing for the eye to look upon, with- 
 out being too glaring or dazzling. 
 
 Vegetables, though they do not possess 
 ihe structure and sensation.^ of living ani- 
 mals, have yet a ki.nd of life of which 
 mere matter is altogether dostilulo, Thoy 
 form a link, and a most important one, bc- 
 tween mineral substances, such as rocks 
 and stones, and animated beings. Ihit 
 tliough they are thus endowed with a kind 
 of vitality, yet, as to actual composition, 
 lliey are, like all animals, not excepting 
 man himself, literally formed out of the 
 " dust of the earth." 
 
 A few simple substances, such as car- 
 bon, sulphur, phosphorus, potash, soda, 
 lime, magnesia, combined with three gase- 
 ous bodies, oxygen, nitrogen, and hydro- 
 gen, make up the whole of the matter of 
 which plants are composed. Now, ex- 
 actly the same substances combine to form 
 the flesh and bones of animals; but as 
 animals can not extract and combine these 
 substances directly from tho air, water, 
 and soil, they have to depend either di- 
 rectly or indirectly on vegetables for their 
 nourishment. No animal, even the sim- 
 plest or most minute or insignificant, can 
 live on inorganic matter. A groat pro- 
 portion of quadrupeds derive their sole 
 support from grasses and green herbs, and 
 many kinds of birds from grain and seeds ; 
 these become the prey of carnivorous ani- 
 mals, and aflbrd them their sole means of 
 subsistence. Fishes prey upon flies and 
 insects, which either directly or indirectly 
 derive thei: subsistence from the vegetable 
 kingdom ; and man, as well as some other 
 animals, lives indiscriminately both on 
 animal and vegetable matter. We thus 
 find 'hat vegetables perform a most im- 
 portant ofiice in creation. By their pecu- 
 liar structure and functions, and under the 
 laws of vital action, they assimilate air, 
 water, and earthy salts, and form out of 
 them tho matters called gluten, starch, 
 sugar, and oils, which become the food ol 
 animals. 
 
 It is to the operations of vegetables, 
 too. that we owe a considerable proportion 
 of the Boil which covers the earth. If 
 we examine the rocks and stones around 
 us, wc shall find their surfaces covered 
 
 with circular patches of gray and yHlow- 
 ish lichens. These are simple plants, the 
 minute seeds of which, wafted by the 
 winds, fall on tho rocks, and adhere to 
 them by means of a glutinous matter on 
 tho lower sides of the seed. Ailrariing 
 moisture from tho air, they germinate, 
 increase, and then moulder to deeay. 
 Their remains, mingling with the motdder- 
 ing rocks beneath, in time accimuilale a 
 certain depth of soil, which still goes on 
 increasing, till at last it becomes a deep 
 bed fit for receiving and nourishing other 
 species of plants that may be driven 
 toward it by tho agency of tho winds, of 
 birds, or other means which nature em- 
 ploys for the diffusion of vegetables. In 
 this manner have our deepest and most 
 fertile soils derived their origin. We find 
 also vast accumulations of decayed plants 
 making up peat mosses — and vegetables 
 of a still more remote growth treasured up 
 in the bowels of the earth in the form of 
 that most valuable mineral, coal. 
 
 In common language, we speak of plants 
 as living, as growing or increasing, and 
 as fading and dying. Now, this is strictly 
 correct. A. plant is an organized struc- 
 ture, having numerous minute cells and 
 porous tubes through which a sap or juice 
 flows, and by which all the functions are 
 performed, tending to increase, preserve, 
 or multiply the species. It is possessed 
 of what has been called irritability, which 
 in many respects resembles some of tho 
 motions of animals, as is exemplified in 
 the shrinking oi ;he sensitive plant when 
 touched by the hand, the movements of 
 the leaves of plants toward the light, and 
 tho twining of their tendrils round oth«;r 
 neighboring substances for support. But 
 plants have not sensation. Tiiey do not 
 feel like animals, nor exhibit any traces 
 of consciousness. In short, they possess 
 only that lowest form of vitality .vliich has 
 been called organic life. 
 
 Plants vary greatly in their structure, 
 but the generality have' roots, stems, 
 branches, leaves, blossoms, and recepta- 
 cles for the maturation of tho seeds. Per- 
 vading the roots and stem, there are a 
 series of minute hollow tubes and spiral 
 vessels through which the sap passes up- 
 ward from the earth, -rnd, mounting to the 
 leaves, there combines with the gases of 
 
fray nnd yrllow- 
 iin|)l«! pinnis, the 
 
 wafU'il by ilif 
 , nnJ a-HuTo to 
 linous matter on 
 pi<<l. Ailraciint; 
 they gcrminati-, 
 iildur to (Ifi-ay. 
 kith tlie» iHoiililer- 
 iR accuniiiiiiic a 
 ch still gopH on 
 becomes a deep 
 nouriHhing otlier 
 may be ilrtven 
 of tho winds, of 
 Inch nature om- 
 
 vegetables. In 
 Bopest nnd most ; 
 origin. We find , 
 >f decayed plants ■ 
 —and vegetables 
 wth treasured up 
 th in the form of 
 il, coal. 
 
 ve speak of plants 
 r increasinjj, ;ind 
 jw, this is strictly 
 
 organized si rue- 
 minute cells and 
 ich a sap or juice 
 the functions are 
 icrease, preserve, 
 It is possessed 
 irritability, which 
 ibles some of the 
 is exemp!i(iiHl in 
 isitive plant when 
 he movements of 
 'ard the light, and 
 idrils round otli<;r 
 for support. But 
 n. They do not 
 xhibit any traces 
 hort, they possess 
 vitality .vhich has 
 
 in their structure, 
 ive' roots, stems, 
 oms, and recepta- 
 f the seeds. Per- 
 3tem, there are a 
 r tubes and spiral 
 the sap passes up- 
 d, mounting to the 
 with the gases of 
 
 TUB VEOETABLB KINGDOM. 
 
 911 
 
 the aimojipherc, ami thu» becomes fin- 
 verted into n nniritious jiiicc, which again 
 (leseeiids, and in dimrihuted throughout 
 I very part of the plant for its growth and 
 nourishment. The outer hark of the plant 
 
 consume the oxygen of tho atmosphere, 
 and give out carbonic acid, so that in pro- 
 cess of lime the air we breathe woidil be- 
 come vitiated, were its oxyijen not con- 
 tinually renewed by the operations of the 
 
 of a thin membrane, somewhat vegetable kingdnm. Here then we per- 
 
 likc the skin of animals, and serves a 
 similar purpose, to protect the parts be- 
 neath from the air and frinn external in- 
 jury ; serving al-^o fur the exhalation and 
 absorption of nxiitture through its numer- ' 
 
 ceive another providential adju-iimeni ; 
 not only do plants contribute fond for 
 animals, but they arc also the great re- 
 generators of tho atmosphere, the purity 
 of which is equally subservient to animal 
 
 o'lS pores. Immediately under tlie skin existence. 
 
 is a soft pnlpv structure, consisting of in- 1 Mot there remains another feature of 
 numerable eell.s. and which is of a green ! plants to bo noticed— the Howers or blos- 
 color in alim)st all vegetables. Of this : soms, those variously tinted portions which 
 kind of structure, mo, the leaves of j.lants add such beauty and splendor to the face 
 are composed. Tnder this cellular sub- <'f nature. Wo can not in the summer 
 stance, we lind in woodv plants the true ' seas.ni turn our eyes in any direction, 
 bark or Wcr, composed of numerous fibres i where we do not (hid the trees, hedges, 
 running in a longitudinal directi<m, and ! and fields, loaded with gorgeous oriiaincnts, 
 having tho appearance, when sliglnly j fr»»m which proceeds alMi a mingled odor 
 macerated, of a fine net-work. In this ! of delightful sweets. Even the meanest 
 portion of the bark the peculiar virtues of | weed beneath our feet shows its lilt e 
 planu principally are found ; such as I white star, or yellow, red, or variously 
 gums, resins, essential oils, as cinnamon, ' spotted gem of blossom. Nature is not 
 peppermim, turpentine, and the astringent only bountiful in bestowing the useful and 
 tannin of tho oak. The wood is found ; necessary, but profuse in pouring forth 
 immediatciv under this, circle within cir- | beauties to please and gratily the senses, 
 cle, extending to the pith, which is situa- ' Nature, however, is not profuse in vaul- 
 ted in the centre. The outer circle of \ each of those brilliant cups and curiously 
 wood next the bark is softer and juicier tinted fibrils has its decided use : and all 
 
 than those in the centre, being the newest ; 
 and as a circle is formed each year, the 
 number in a transverse section, near the 
 root, will commonly denote the age of the 
 tree, at least all those trees of temperate 
 regions. Throughout the woody fibres, 
 but especially liie outer circles, there are 
 numerous tulies and cells, generally six- 
 sided, through which sap and air freely 
 flow. The leaves of plants are most im- 
 portant appendages, and may be compared 
 to the lungs of animals. Plants will not 
 live if deprived of their leaves, or if they 
 have not Iree access to the sun and air. 
 During the day, and in sunshine, the leaves 
 of plants continually absorb tho carbonic 
 acid and nitrogen gases of the atmosphere, 
 which enter into union with their juices, 
 while oxygen gas is as constantly exhaled. 
 In the darkness of night this process 
 ceases, and a portion of the carbonic acid 
 of their juices is thrown off. Now, this 
 daily action of plants is just reverse of the 
 breathing jirocess of animals — the latter 
 
 the parts coinbino to carry out the great ; 
 conservative plans of creation. Like ani- 
 mals, plants are possessed of organs ne- 
 cessary to accomplish the purpose of na- 
 ture — the reproduction and continuation 
 of the s|)ecies. From remote aniicpiity, 
 the importance of the organs of the (lower 
 in perfecting the seed was known ; and 
 although Liiinffius did not wholly make 
 this discovery, yet it is to him we owe iis 
 complete elucidation about the year 1730. 
 If we take a common wild rose, wo may 
 readily perceive the several parts of this 
 Btruclure. The green bulb attached to 
 the flower stein is the ovary, where the 
 seeds are matured. Above this is a green 
 cup or calyx, notched into segments, and 
 which serves to support the parts of the 
 flower above. The flesh-colored leaves 
 form the corolla, an undivided body in some 
 plants, but in this, as in many others, divi- 
 ded into numerous petals; this corolla, 
 which is generally the showiest part of 
 all flowers, serves as a protection and de- 
 
 ■••*. \tmmt,%. 
 
 •frfJi-' 
 
 t*ti 
 
 ni 
 
r- 
 
 912 
 
 THE VEGETABLE KINGDOM. 
 
 fpnce of thf! parts within. These consist 
 o( the pistil or fcmal'- (lower in the centre, 
 and of the stamm ~ot nrrale flowers runijeil 
 around the circuinfcrencp. The stamens 
 carry on their to; - an obloni» loosely at- 
 Inched hody. •vhi'^i. i^ th** anther, con- 
 taining the ;.■ /'^n or fudi.i/ing dusk, which 
 in due time bursts and scatters its con- 
 tents on I'm /iX'Mflof the pistil. In sorne 
 plants, the blossom contains only the pis- 
 tils or fei'ile flowers, while the stamens 
 grow on other plants, or on separate twigs 
 of the same plant. In such in*)' . 
 the pollen is borne along by i". ^ agency 
 of the wind, or of the bee or other insects, 
 roiiniing from flower to flower in search 
 ol food. 
 
 Such is a rapid glance of the arrange- 
 ments of nature in oven the lowliest plants. 
 From the simple moss or lichen up to the 
 tall cedar or the splendid magnolia, there 
 are of course many diversities of this 
 structure — but all are on one uniform plan, 
 and every plant produces its " seed after 
 its kinJ .*' What a field here for the exer- 
 cise of the attention, and for exciting pleas- 
 ing am] wonderful thoughts of that Being 
 " who in wisdom has contrived the whole !" 
 When the celebrated traveller, Mungo 
 Park, found himself alone in the barren 
 wilds ol Africa, robbed, maltreated, and 
 then deserted by cruel and savage ro' en, 
 he sat for some tune gazing nrour. him 
 with amazement and terror at his utter 
 abandonii ont. " Whichever way I turn- 
 ed," he touchingly rela'^s, " nothing ap- 
 peared but danger and difficulty. I saw 
 myself in a v".st wildcniess, and f s hun- 
 dred miles fr- any F ropean S' ment. 
 At this momei.t, painful as n v i, Uoctions 
 were, the extraordinary beau of a small 
 moss in fructificr.tiof\ inresisiihly caught 
 my eye. Can .mi Being, thought !, vvho j 
 planted, watered, u.id brought to perfection 
 in this obscure part of the world a thing 
 which appears of so small impo'ti.,cti, 
 look with unconcern upon th - situaU'in of 
 creatures formed after his n »>" -4^ ''• 
 Surely not ! Reflections lik s»e wtli 
 uot allow me to despair. 'tar up, 
 and, disregarding both hunger and fatigue, 
 travelled forward, assured that relief was 
 at hand — and I was not disappointed." 
 
 It was an old opinion, and one which 
 is not quite eradicated even at this day. 
 
 ihat the earth, when dug up in any pisre. 
 will spontaneously produce plants without 
 seed. Nothing, however, can be men- 
 fallacious. It is true, the whole face ol 
 nature t( -ms >vilh seeds of plants that 
 r mie floating on the air, and are borne 
 about and scattered by birds and animals 
 and other means ; but in situations where 
 no transmission of this kind can o ur, 
 experiment has proved that there will he 
 no vegetation, and that ever)' plant must 
 proceed from some seed orgrnf'.or nwt of* 
 . 'Tent plant. Malpighi procured a quanti- 
 ty of enr'h dug from a great depth, and 
 enclosed it in a glass vessel, whose month 
 was covered over with several fold.-* of 
 silk, so as to admit air and water, but to 
 exclude all such seeds as might come 
 from without ; the result was, that no 
 plant grew from ^His earth. Mr. Keith 
 performed asiroilai t'Xi)orin)eiii. On 15th 
 April, 1811, he procured a quantity of 
 black clay taken from the depth of 100 
 feet, and exposed it to the action of the 
 air and weather. It was placed upon a 
 slate in one of the quarters of his ganJen. 
 On the 15lh of May, he placed upon an- 
 other slate a similar r.t.antity of earth tak<i 
 from the depth ol 15U leet, under a hand- 
 glass, which was only removeil to give 
 the earth an occasional w> nng. No 
 symptoms of v* ^etation appc in either 
 
 the one or the other till the -id o, Septem- 
 ber following, whan sever;, plants were 
 founu , -nging front the surface of the 
 exposed clay, and one also from the sur- 
 f;;ce of the insulated clay. The former 
 proved to be plants of the common grourid- 
 se which was t'fion coming up froin seed 
 over all the garden, and hr« "e easily a. 
 coimted for; the latter w. a plant < 
 ranunculus sceleratus, the si ed of winch, 
 he E vs, was undoubtedly brought to the 
 clay along with the water it was watered 
 with, which was procured rom a neigh- 
 boring pond, around the » les of whic' 
 me plant grew ir« j»rofu»ioii. 
 
 The various met .ods whi j nature em- 
 ploys to di orse the diflTere.t varieties of 
 seeds over he earth are ' v wonder! iil. 
 Many plan when tlie seed is fullv ripe, 
 discharge it . n the seed-cover or piriatrp 
 with a jerk or elu-tic spring. The com- 
 mon oat is thrown out in this way ; and 
 the loud crackling of the pods of the br^ (i 
 
 ■ 
 
 L 
 
p ill nny plane. 
 9 plants without 
 , cnii l>e morfl 
 9 whole f(»c6 of 
 
 of plants that 
 
 anil lire borne 
 rds anil animals 
 lituations where 
 iind can o iir, 
 U there will hr 
 fery plant ntust 
 grnff.or root of a 
 roc\»reil a quariti- 
 jreat depth, and 
 lol, whose month 
 sereral folds of 
 id water, b»t to 
 as might come 
 It was, that no 
 iTth. Mr. Keith 
 iment. Onl5lh 
 d a quantity of 
 »e depth of 100 
 ihe action of the 
 s placed upoi» a 
 r» of his garden. 
 
 placed upon un- 
 lity of earth iak< . 
 it, under a hand 
 removed to give 
 I w> nng. No 
 pp( in cither 
 
 he 3d uj Septem- 
 erai plants were 
 le surlace of the 
 .iso from the siir- 
 ay. The former 
 
 common ground- 
 ling up from seed 
 
 hence easily ai 
 wa a plant ot 
 le 81 od of which, 
 y brought to the 
 Br it was watered 
 »d i'rom a iieigh- 
 I e<'s»e8 of whic' 
 ion. 
 
 whi h nature em- 
 lereitt varieties of 
 J t'i.lv wondorlid. 
 seed is fullv ripe, 
 d-coveror;^.Wmrjf> 
 prinij. The corn- 
 in this way ; and 
 
 pods of tiio bri n 
 
 rUEBINQ OLIVES. 
 
 913 
 
 in a dry sunshiny day, which .* caused 
 by their bursting and scattering about the 
 contained seeds, must have been frequent- 
 ly noticed. The cones of fir-trees remain 
 on the tree till the summer succeeding 
 that ot which they grow ; when the hot 
 weather commences, the scales of which 
 they aro composed burst open, and the 
 seeds are scattered to a considerable dis- 
 tance. Then, there arc the downy ap- 
 pendages which buoy up the smaller seeds, 
 as the thistle and dandelion, carrying them 
 through the air to great distances — the 
 currents of rivers, floating down seeds horn 
 one district to another — and even the tides 
 and currents of the ocean, which boar 
 along the germs of vegetation from separate 
 regions of the globe. Birds, too, by feed- 
 ing on particular seeds, carry them to 
 great distances, where b< ing often voided 
 entire, they vegetate. is is particular- 
 
 ly the case with stone iruits, as cherries 
 and plums. 
 
 The seed of a plant, as the common 
 bean, consists of the outer skin or cover- 
 ing, within which is contained a starchy 
 substance divi- 'd into two halves, called 
 cotyledons. At ihe place where these two 
 join, just opposite to the o iter eye or black 
 spot of the bean, is situaiud the germ or 
 rudiment of the future plant. When the 
 bean is put into the earth and subjected 
 for a few days to heat, moisture, and air, 
 it begins to germinate. The starch of the 
 coty don is converted into sugar, and af- 
 ford I nntritious juice for the sustenance 
 1 ' y gt. .1, till this latter is old enough 
 I to h out roots into the soil and provide 
 I for itsi If. The cotyledons thus resemble 
 the white and yolk of a bird's egg, or the 
 milk supplied by a mammiferous animal. 
 The springing germ consists of two parts 
 — the rootlet, w' invariably takes a 
 downward course in the earth, and the 
 leaf-bud, which as w iriably aspires up- 
 ward. This is an arable provision in 
 nature ; for ia wha ver position a seed 
 may fall into the soil, leaf always 
 
 reaches the surface, and us is preserved, 
 and vegetates; whf^eas, isad it not re 
 cei''"1 this fixed dtu imination, it might 
 ha . remained in the soil and rotted. 
 
 Some seeds b ve only one colys on, 
 as the common o, vhile the germint »g 
 buds or sporules f ihe infe ir class- f 
 
 vegetables can not bo said to possess a true 
 cotyledon at all. 
 
 IJesidos propagation by seeds, many 
 plants may be raised from slips or cuttings, 
 roots, and buds, taken from a parent plant 
 and placed in the soil. The reproductive 
 power of most plants is goncnUly very 
 great. Some, it is true, produce only one, 
 two, or three seeds, but others again an 
 inconceivable number, h ingle > apsule 
 of tobacco often contains a Uiousa, I se- Is. 
 The head of the white poppy has prod ed 
 eight thousand ; and the capsule of the 
 vanilla from ten to fifteen thousand. A 
 plant of elecampane will produce altogether 
 three thousand seed* ; and a plant of the 
 great cat's tail ton thousand; while a single 
 stalk of sploenwort produces a million. 
 
 GATHERING OLIVES. 
 
 _ HE method of gn'^ier- 
 Wying the olive vari> m in I 
 difTerent parts of the 
 Peninsula. ■ The most 
 general way in Portu- 
 gal, however, is to 
 beat them down with 
 ^ long poles, and after- 
 
 ward collect them in sacks, or baskets. 
 Both the oil and the fruit aro inferior by 
 this method, as the fall bruises the prod- 
 uce too much. The Spaniards gather 
 them a", by hand, and though the process 
 is more laborious and more expensive, 
 ample compensation is made in the supe- 
 riority of these olives over those beaten 
 down by poles. When intended for food 
 they are prepared in two ways : one is 
 simp'y t cut them and soak them in salt 
 and water, adf^ n ' a few herbs to give a 
 flavor; the is first to dry them in 
 
 the sun, xvbsi ;»y they become black, and 
 afterward to put them in jars, with oil, 
 salt, pepper, or other spices, adding also 
 a few herbs. When eaten by the natives, 
 ihey are invariably flavored with oil and 
 a little vinegar. With us, olives e used 
 inly at the tables of the weaU'u)- as a 
 luxury—disagreeable enough to those who 
 are unaccustomed to their flavor ; but in 
 the countries of their growth they ar. 
 
 •..,ti; 
 
^l^^^R 
 
 PLEA8UIIK AFTEa PAIN. 
 
 915 
 
 
 esufiilittl ailiclcs of food. The shnpherJ 
 tnkcs nothing with him to the field but a 
 lilllo bread, a lli k of wine, and a horn of 
 olivpH ; ilid cum ticro, or carman, onrrie» 
 with him only his wineskin, his loaf, and 
 olives ; and iho laborer in the field, and 
 the peasant in his cottaKO, often have 
 nothinii morn till nightfuU : indeed bread 
 and olives (orm an extremely nutritive and 
 rel'reshin!{ diet. 
 
 Tlu! olive-tree is extremely picturesque 
 and grotesque in its form ; the trunk some- 1 
 times con.sisiinK of a huge mass of decay- 1 
 ed wood, Willi young and gracefulbranch- 
 es springing from the top and sides ; at 
 other times a large and bushy tree may 
 bo seen supported upon two or more small 
 fragments of the same apparently dead 
 wood, while the remainder of the trunk is 
 completely hollowed out. The wood burns 
 readily when green, and the leaves emit 
 a strong sparkling flame, and apparently 
 contain much oil. The ground between 
 the olive-trees is not lost, being frequently 
 sown with grain, and sometimes, though 
 rarely, planted with vines. The deep 
 color of the foliage of this most useful tree 
 gives a solemn cnaracter to the landscape, 
 and subdues the usual vivid brilliancy of 
 color— the effect of the clearness of the 
 atmosphere and the heat of the climate. 
 Green, such as adorns our own meadows, 
 is a color never seen in a Portuguese land- 
 scajM) : the scanty herbage, which springs 
 up spontaneously, is burned by the sun 
 into a bright straw color ; and the soil, 
 through tiio great heat, becomes almost 
 white. On the sides of the hills, how- 
 ever, the beautiful pale purple flower of 
 the wild thyme, and the delicate gray of 
 its leaf, co'ntrast prettily with the sur 
 rounding glare ; and it is only the olive 
 with its deep hues and the low bushy 
 vine!< which can claim the nan ■ of green. 
 The cultivation of the orange and the 
 lemon is confined chiefly to the neighbor- 
 ,hood of largo cities, very few groves of 
 these fruits being met with in the open 
 country. 
 
 The manner of rear! ti^ the vine is some- 
 what peculiar in the P* linsula. While in 
 Italy, and in some parts of France, the 
 vine gracefully curls around the poles 
 placed in the earth for their support, and 
 the rich fruit hangs in large bunches from 
 
 every branch ; in the Peninsula, the vine 
 is cut down almost to the ground, and in 
 winter bus much the appeariinco of a 
 withered and blackened stump. With 
 spring, however, the branches shoot out 
 in every direction till they attain the size 
 of a currant-bush, which, indeed, they 
 very much resemble. Only a few of these 
 branches are suffered to remain, and those 
 which are left are cut at the end to prevent 
 them running into useless wood : the vine 
 thus trimmed produces from eight to a 
 dozen bunches ; but these are of a sujierior 
 flavor, and make the best wines. When 
 the grapes are gathered, which is done 
 with great care, and mostly by women, 
 the inferior bunches are surt'ered to remain 
 for a day to two, when they also are gathor- 
 ed, and manufactured into a wine of lower 
 quality, or hung up to dry for winter con- 
 sumption. 
 
 I i 
 
 PLEASURE AFTER PAIN. 
 
 E greatly admire 
 the .sentiment which 
 the poet Dryden ex- 
 presses in one of 
 his most celebrated 
 odts, " Sweet is 
 pleasure after pain." 
 We have often ex- 
 perienced its truth, 
 and are quite in love with the paradox, 
 that our miseries both multiply and height- 
 en our enjoyments. The Creator, un- 
 doubtedly, "could have preve.ned the en- 
 trance of evil, both physical and moral, 
 into our world. We can easily imagine a 
 condition of things from which pain, in all 
 its shapes, should have been excluded. 
 We can fan^y a state fair and smiling, as 
 we believe Eden to have been— its beauty 
 without one marring speck, its happiness 
 without a single particle of alloy. We 
 can realize, in thought at least, that golden 
 age about which the poets have sung so 
 sweetly, and on which the mind loves to 
 linger. But in such a scene there must 
 have been wanting one very exquisite 
 kind of pleasure— " the pleasure after 
 pain ;" the inhabitants of such a world 
 
 i-l-A' 
 
 
 *'♦!<♦ >W.,5i 
 
 UPWpPv" • 
 

 I 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 [ 
 
 91G 
 
 JLEASUKE AFTER PAIN. 
 
 must have been deprived of a species of 
 joy as high in its tone, perhaps, as any 
 we taste. There might, in such a system 
 of things, have been much worthy of its 
 author, and reflective of his glory. The 
 powers of nature might have produced as 
 astonishing resuUs as they do at present, 
 and have been balanced with as exquisite 
 skill. The stars might have shone in a 
 firmament as deep and blue as that in 
 whose bosom they now burn. The planets 
 might have woven their mystic dance 
 round a sua as vast and lustrous as that 
 they circle now. The clouds might have 
 been clothed in as rich a purple. The 
 flowers might have yielded as delicious a 
 perfume. The mountains might have 
 reared their heads as majestically on high, 
 the brooks prattled as merrily, and the 
 rivers rolled as grandly to the sea. The 
 seasons might have performed their wonted 
 rounds ; the shower and the sunshine com- 
 bined their fructifying energies, and trees 
 and herbs clothed the face of the earth. 
 There might also have been creatures to 
 partike of what was thus liberally provi- 
 ded ; and earth, and air, and water, have 
 teemed with sentient existences. There 
 might, too, have been — the crown and 
 ornament of the whole — a being gifted 
 with reason and aflPection, capable of ad- 
 miring the beauty such a system would 
 present, and tracing the wisdom from 
 which it sprang ; qualified not only to en- 
 joy the good, but to love and adore the 
 Giver. This in truth — the absence of evil 
 supposed — is but our notion of ptimeral 
 paradise. In such a world, however, 
 there would, as we have said, have been 
 wanting tbut very exquisite kind of de- 
 light derived from the remembrance of 
 pain ! The power of contrast cornea to 
 oar aid in the creation of this joy ; con- 
 trast, indeed, is the principal element of 
 the happiness we are speaking of. The 
 classical reader will promptly recall the 
 use which the hero of the iGneid made 
 of the " pleasure after pain" principle, 
 v/hen La was beset with hardships and 
 dangers. He revived his own spirit, and 
 he cheered the drooping spirits of his 
 companions, by adverting to the future, 
 and intimating the probability, that the 
 time might come when the recollection of 
 what they were then er'uring would prove 
 
 a source of enjoyment. " Perhaps," ex- 
 claimed the son of the venerable Anchises, 
 " it will one day yield us delight to re- 
 member these sufil'erings." 
 
 We detect in the kingdom of nature 
 emblems of the principle in question ; as, 
 indeed, all great and lovely principles have 
 their adumbrations in nature. Earth, with 
 its grand and beautiful scenes, was educed 
 from an unshapely mass, " without form 
 and void." The gold which glitters most 
 lustrously is that which the fire has tor- 
 tured into purity. There is no calm so 
 tranquil as that which succeeds the hurri- 
 cane ; no sunshine so bright and gladden- 
 ing as that which breaks on the earth 
 through an April shower. Were it not 
 for the power of variety and contrast, what 
 joy should we have from the most delicious 
 of the seasons T Do not the bleakness 
 and dreariness of winter lend a charm to 
 the beauties of the spring and the glories 
 of summer ? And do we not detect in 
 these, and numerous other instances, the 
 operation and the typo of the sentiment 
 we profess so warmly to admire — " sweet 
 is pleasure after pain" 1 
 
 The power of the law of contrast is 
 indeed remarkable. We know, for exam- 
 ple, that a sweet and lovely scene never 
 looks so attractive as when placed side 
 by side with one which is rugged and 
 grand ; that never does a cottage home, 
 with its blooming garden and patch of 
 verdure around it, seem so lv»witching an 
 object as when situated at the base of 
 some towering Alpine summit. Beauty 
 reposing on the lap of grandeur, is an 
 i^^a with which every enthusiastic ad- 
 tr.irer of fine scenery is familiar. Painters 
 know this principle well, and in eelecting 
 subjects for their sketches, they are fond 
 of such a combination of the beautiful and 
 sublime as that in question. Again, in 
 delineating character, poets and novelists 
 avail themselves of this same law to 
 heighten the effect of their descriptions. 
 We have placed side by side the gentle 
 and the stern, the timid and the brave, the 
 intriguing and the open, i\e selfish and 
 the generous : opposite qual icd, in short, 
 are placed in vivid contra^, with one 
 another, so that, just as the cottage home 
 we have supposed looks all the more 
 char:iiing that it reposes at the foot of the 
 
Perhapss," ex- 
 able Anchises, 
 delight to re- 
 
 3om of nature 
 I question 
 principles have 
 . Earth, with 
 es, was educed 
 ' without form 
 h glitters most 
 le fire has tor- 
 is no calm so 
 eeds the hurri- 
 it and gladden- 
 on the earth 
 Were it not 
 contrast, what 
 I most delicious 
 the bleakness 
 !nd a charm to 
 ind the glories 
 not detect in 
 instances, the 
 the sentiment 
 Imire — " sweet 
 
 of contrast is 
 now, for exam- 
 [y scene never 
 en placed side 
 ia rugged and 
 cottage home, 
 and patch of 
 lv>witcbing an 
 at the base of 
 mmit. Beauty 
 randeur, is an 
 nthusiastic ad- 
 iliar. Painters 
 md in eelecting 
 , they are fond 
 le beautiful and 
 on. Again, in 
 s and novelists 
 same law to 
 lir descriptions, 
 side the gentle 
 id the brave, the 
 ihe selfish and 
 lal 'ieti, in short, 
 tra& . with one 
 le cottage home 
 i all the more 
 t the foot of the 
 
 gloomy Alpine precipice, the attributes of 
 virtue wear all the more enticing aspect 
 when seen in immediate contrast with 
 those of vice. 
 
 Now, it is this law that comes into 
 operation when the remembrance of former 
 sorrows and hardships comes to heighten 
 present joys. Wc look back on the past. 
 We remember its struggles. We think of 
 the difficulties and dangers we had to 
 contend with, and which, happily, we 
 have now surmounted. We contrast our 
 present with our past condition— the bright 
 with the gloom— and the contrast is de- 
 lighlful. Indeed, our joy is comparatively 
 a lame thing apart from this retrospect. 
 The recollection of pain lends a peculiar 
 zest to pleasure. Health is relished far 
 more keenly by those who have just re- 
 covered, than by those who have never 
 lost it. The rest of the laboring man is 
 sweetened by the remembrance of his 
 toils. The shore is made a thousandfold 
 dearer to the mariner when he recalls the 
 rude buffetings of the ocean. There is 
 much of the human heart in the lines, we 
 know not whose they are : — 
 
 " I envy not the dame, whoso lord 
 Was never forced to roani> 
 Bhe never knew the boundless joy 
 Of soch a welcome home I" 
 
 They who never knew the agony of one 
 of those partings, which Byron says "press 
 the life from out young hearts," can never 
 know the re J joy of meeting again. Every 
 moment of anxious expectation — every 
 tear rushing to the eye — every sob burst- 
 ing frop' the bosom — is silently laying up 
 an accession to the ecstacy of the hour 
 when those sobs shall all be stilled, and 
 those tears kissed away. They, if in this 
 vale of tears there be any such, whose 
 attachment is never put to such a test, 
 and whose hearts are never visited by 
 such a pang, can not realize a happiness 
 worthy of being named with that which 
 has come bright from the furnace of anxi- 
 ety and anguish. To be relieved from a 
 state of racking suspense — to vanquish a 
 difilculty we dared not hope we should 
 over be able to overcome — to be rescued 
 from the pressure of want, or relieved 
 from acuie bodilv lain — to be reeonciled 
 to one dearly loved and with whom we 
 had quarrelled — these, and such as these, 
 
 whenever experienced, bring illustrations 
 of the truth of the maxim we have been 
 considering : " sweet is pleasure alter 
 pain." And, in connexion with higher 
 motives to submission when we are suf- 
 fering, this may help to console and en- 
 courage us, that to 'ook back on past trials 
 will one day be the means of heightening 
 our joys. This thought, too, should go 
 far to reconcile us to our present condition, 
 and induce us to seek with ardor that 
 purer and nobler state after which we 
 aspire. It can not, indeed, be doubted 
 that the recollection of the past will be 
 one main element in future blessedness. 
 The toils and trials of our pilgrimaj^e will 
 help to deepen our i^cslasy when we have 
 reached that abode where there is no pain. 
 
 THE CITY OF YORK. 
 
 N the Roman times, 
 York may be said to 
 have been, more than 
 London, the capital of 
 England. The Roman 
 emperors who visited the 
 countrj' for the most part 
 took up their residence 
 at York. Here the em- 
 peror Severus died in the year 211, after 
 having made York his headquarters dur- 
 ing the three or four preceding years 
 which he spent in the island. Three re- 
 markable mounts, a little west from the 
 city, still bear the name of the hills of 
 Severus: and many other remains that 
 have been discovered in later ages attest 
 the Roman domination. After the estab- 
 lishment of the Saxon heptarchy, York 
 became the capital of the kingdom of 
 Nor'humbeiJand. Although, on the ar- 
 rival of the Normans, this district, like the 
 rest of the kingdom, quietly submitted in 
 the first instance to the invaders, it was 
 the scene on which, soon afterward, a 
 struggle was made by a powerful confed- 
 erac'y of Saxon iords and their retainers 
 to regain their independence. This in- 
 surrection, however, was soon crushed by 
 the activity and energy of the conqueror, 
 who, laying siege to York, starved it into 
 
 ^!1 
 
 mi. 
 
 *i- 
 
I 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
'lil 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 
 o 
 >l 
 
 5 
 
 Cm 
 
 o 
 
 THE CITY OF VORK 
 
 919 
 
 a surrender in six months, and then, after 
 his usual fashion, erected a fortress in the 
 close neighborhood of the town, to keep 
 it for the future in awe. This was the 
 origin of the present castle, situated at the 
 souiiiorn extieniity of the city, in the angle 
 formed by the conlluance of the two rivers. 
 At a liulii distance is a ruin called Clifford's 
 Tov.er, wliich was the keep of the old 
 castle, and look its name from the ClifTords, 
 wiiorii William appointed the first governors 
 of that stronghold. In early times parlia- 
 nionis were frequently held at York ; and 
 in 1299, Edward I., even removed the 
 courts of law from London to this city, 
 where they continued to sit for seVen 
 years. 
 
 The city of York stands in the midst 
 of au extensive plain, the largest certainly 
 in Great Britain, if not, as has been some- 
 times asserted, in Europe. Viewed from 
 the immediate neighborhood, the peculiari- 
 ty whicli most strikes the eye is the an- 
 cient wall by which it is encompassed — 
 supposed to have been built by Edward 
 I., about 1280, on the line of the old Ro- 
 man fortification. This wall, which had 
 fallen greatly into decay, never having 
 recovered from the damage it sustained 
 when the city was besieged by Sir Thomas 
 Fairfax and General Lesley, in 1644, has 
 been lately repaired, and a walk is now 
 formed along the top of part of it, which 
 is a favorite resort of the inhabitants. 
 
 Seen from a greater distance, York 
 presents a crowd of pointed spires shoot- 
 ina up from the midst of the houses, the 
 indications of those numerous parish 
 churches of which it still retains twenty- 
 three out of forty-two vhich it forr^erly 
 possessed. Far above all these, however, 
 rise the enormous bulk and lofty towers 
 of the Minster, which stands in the north 
 part of the city, and to the east of the 
 river. In the opposite quarter is the 
 castle, a large building, 'erected about the 
 beginning of .he last century, on the site 
 of the Conqueror's Fortr^sS; and serving 
 £s a prison for criminals and debtors. 
 Besides the county prison are the county 
 hall, the courts of Assize, and other public 
 buildings. 
 
 The entire circuit of the walls of York 
 is about three mileo and three quarters, 
 being somewhat less than that of the vuils 
 
 of th'5 city of London. The space within, 
 however, is much less densely occupied 
 by strtets and houses than it is in London. 
 
 In a description of York, its ancie\it 
 gates ought not to be forgotten. They are 
 four in number, namely, Micklegate bar to 
 the southwest, over the entry from Lon- 
 don ; Walmgate bar to the southeast. 
 Monk bar to the northeast, and Bootham 
 bar to the northwest, facing the great road 
 from Scotland. All these structures are 
 at least as old as the thirteenth century ; 
 and the inner arch of the Micklegate bar, 
 which is a portion of a circle, has been 
 supposed to be of the Roman times. 
 
 The chief glory of this city, however, 
 is the noble cathedral, of York Minster. 
 The term Minster, is a corruption of the 
 Latin Monastcrium, a house tenanted by 
 monks, or what we still call a monastery. 
 Minster, however, is now generally used 
 to designate a cathedral church, ;o which 
 it was iio doubt originally applied with a 
 reference to the retinue of religious per- 
 sons forming the chapter of each of these 
 establishments, and giving it the appear- 
 ance of a monastic community. 
 
 Among buildings in what is called the 
 Gothic style, York Minster has generally 
 been regarded as without a rival in I'^ng- 
 land, or perhaps in Europe. The estab- 
 lishment of the p"^sent see of York dates 
 from a considerably more recent era. 
 Augustine, the apostle of the English, 
 a» ived in the isle of Thanet, which form- 
 ed part of the kingdom of Kent, in the 
 year 597. He was soon after consecrated 
 archbishop of Canterbury, and according 
 to the generally-received account, died in 
 605. Kent, however, was as yet, and 
 for some time after, the only portion of 
 the island into wliich the light of the 
 gospel had penetrated. Pope Gregory, 
 indeed, by whom Augustine and his com- 
 panions had been deputed, had command- 
 ed tha*. an archbishop should be esialjlish- 
 ed at York, to exercise the same jurisdic- 
 tion over the northern parts of the country 
 as Augustine was authorized to exercise 
 over the south. But it was not till the 
 year 624 that any attempt even seems to 
 have been made to introduce Christin.iiity 
 into the northern district. 
 
 This magnificent pile was in part erect- 
 ed by several successive archbishops. 
 
 f: 
 
 
li 
 

 
 THE CITY OP YOEK. 
 
 The whole was probably finished, and 
 ihe Minster brought to the state in which 
 we now see it, about 1410 or 1412. 
 
 It is perhaps the most perfect example 
 to be anywhere found of t' c history and 
 progress of the Gothic style during the 
 period of rot much leai than two centu- 
 ries, which its construction occupied. In 
 this place we can only remark generally, 
 that a continued and regular improvement 
 in grace and lightness of form, and a 
 more and more lavish profusion of minute , 
 and elaborate ornament, will be found to 
 form the leading characteristics of that 
 progress in England, during the whole of 
 the period in question. 
 
 York Minster, is built in the form of a 
 cross, the longer bar, forming the choir 
 and nave of the church, lying, as usual, 
 east and west, and the shorter, called the 
 transept, north and south. Over the centre 
 of the building, supported on four massive 
 pillars, rises a grand tower to the height 
 of 213 feet from the floor. This is said 
 to be only a portion of the altitude original- 
 ly designed by the architect, who intended 
 to surmount this stone erection by a steeple 
 of wood covered with lead, had he not been 
 deterred by a fear lest the foundation should 
 prove insufficient to sustain so great a 
 weight. Over the west end of the builu- 
 ine are two other towers or steeples rising 
 to the height of 196 feet. The whole 
 length of the building from east to west is 
 524i feet, and that of the transept, from 
 north to south, 222. The length of the 
 choir is 157J^ feet, and its breadth 46*; 
 in addition to which the east end of the 
 choiv contains a chapel behind the altar 
 dedicated to vhe Virgin, making an entire 
 len«rth of 222 feet. The length of the 
 nave is 261 feet ; its breadth (including 
 the aisles), 109 ; and its height, 99. 
 
 York Minster has not the advantage of 
 standing upon a height ; yet its enormous 
 mass makes it a conspicuous object from 
 a great distance, and nothing can be 
 grander <r -e imposing than the aspect 
 which i's ;oi > buttresses and gray towers 
 preserit a t\cy are seen rising over the 
 surrovirrii'fi liouses of the city, which look 
 like Ihw structures of a more pigmy genera- 
 tion beneath the gigantic and venerable 
 pile. For the present the gtandeur of the 
 Minster mjst be sought for principally m 
 
 its interior. The efTect of the whole 
 prolonged and lofty extent, as seen on en- 
 tering from the great west door, is perhai)3 
 as sublime as any ever produced by archi- 
 tecture. Under favorable circumstances, 
 such as the rioh illumination of a sotting 
 sun, the impressions of awe, and venera- 
 tion, and we may add, delight, produced 
 upon the mind by the grandeur and beauty 
 of this wonderful building, are perhaps 
 superior in intensity to the efl'ects of any 
 other work of man's hands. We doubt 
 whether the finest Grecian temple could 
 ever so touch the hidden springs of en- 
 thusiasm in our nature. The choir is 
 divided from the nave by a stone screen ; 
 but this ornamental partition is so low as 
 not to intercept the view of the portion of 
 the roof beyond, nor " the dim religious 
 light" streaming from the magnificent 
 " storied window" that fills the cast end 
 of the building. The screen and the great 
 east window are two of the proudest orna- 
 ments of the cathedral. The former is 
 a work in the very richest style of orna- 
 mental carving; and fortunately it is in 
 almost perfect preservation. It is divided 
 into compartments by fifteen inches, which 
 contain the statues of the English kings 
 from the conqueror to Henry VI. inclusive. 
 The great east window is of the vast di- 
 mensions of 75 feet in height by 32 in 
 breadth. It is formed of above 200 com- 
 partments of painted glass. The fabrica- 
 tion of this noble specimen of art was 
 begun in 1405, by John Thornton, of 
 Coventrv, whose agreement was to oom- 
 plcte it in three years, during which time 
 he was to have a salary of four shillings 
 a week, with 100 shillings additional per 
 annum, and 10?., more on finishing tlie 
 work, if it should be done to the satisfac- 
 tion of his employers. 
 
 Attached to the northern transept of the 
 cathedral is the Chapter house, an oc- 
 tagonal building, with a conical roof, the 
 interior of which consists of ^ one apart- 
 ment of great magnificence, it is 63 feet 
 in diameter and 67 feet 10 inches in 
 height, the arched roof being supported 
 without pillars. Around are arranged the 
 stalls, forty-four in number, formed of ttie 
 finest marble, and having their canopies 
 sustained by slender columns. A win- 
 dow occupies each of the eight sides, 
 
 *. "l^uOlcH, 
 
 
 -#• 
 
 S& .% ■ 
 
 -" Vi^, 
 
THE WOULD. 
 
 923 
 
 except that in which is the entry from the 
 transept. 
 
 York Minster contains a good many 
 tombs, some of them of considerable 
 beauty ; but these we can not here at- 
 tempt to describe. Among the curiosities 
 preserved in the vestry we can notice 
 only the ancient chair, said to have been 
 used at the coronation of some of the 
 Saxon kings, and on which the arch- 
 bishop is still on certain occasions ac- 
 customed to seat himself; and the famous 
 horn of Ulphus, one of the most curious 
 relics of Saxon antiquity which have been 
 preserved to our times. 
 
 York Minster was very nearly destroy- 
 ed in 1829, by the act of an insane indi- 
 vidual, Jonathan Martin, who, having con- 
 cealed himself in the choir after service 
 the preceding evening, contrived to kindle 
 a fire in that part of the building, which 
 was not discovered till seven o'clock in 
 the morning. By this time the wood-work | 
 of the choir was everywhere in a blaze ; 
 but by great exertions, and especially by 
 sawing through the beams of the roof, 
 and allowing it to fall upon the flames 
 below, the conflagration was in a few 
 hours subdued. The damage done con- 
 sisted i ti <3 entire destruction of the stalls 
 of the cncr -.c i of the 222 feet of roof 
 by which tu x part of the buildiig was 
 covered. The organ over t' screen was 
 also destroyed, but the screen itself es- 
 caped uninjured. A public stb:,ciip'. in 
 was immediately comme-fceH, for ilie re^ , 
 pair of a loss which was juf ly ^ insideref^ ■ 
 a national one, and the sum •.! ^"'O^Of'^ 
 I was collected within two mor.rt: T.ie 
 ' task of eff"ecting the restoration was com- 
 mitted to Mr. Smirke ; and the work was 
 admirably completed in the spring of 1832. 
 The scrupulous care with which the resto- 
 ration of York Minster has been accom- 
 plished, so as to preserve every detail of 
 the building, is highly creditable to the 
 architect and his employers. The roof 
 has been executed in teak, and the carved 
 work of tae choir in oak. With the ex- 
 ception that the choir looks cleaner and 
 freshen than formerly, a person unac- 
 quainted with its destruction would be 
 unable to perceive any change. The 
 organ, in York Minster, was one of the 
 finest in Europe. 
 
 THE WORLD. 
 
 ^ HE complete revoUi- 
 ^ lion in the condiiionof 
 '^ the world, during the 
 pastcentury, which its 
 commercial transac- 
 tions indicate, has 
 been efl'ected by the 
 v^ \ inventions of genius, 
 
 and not by the operations of arms. The 
 agents, by whose instrumentality this re- 
 sult has been accomplished, have in the 
 main, sprung up where they were little 
 expected to arise. The United States, 
 scarcely free from the evils consequent 
 upon a long and bloody struggle for their 
 independence,began to manifest that depth 
 of research and enterprise of action, which 
 elevated their ancestry to the empire of 
 Europe. In rapid succession, men came 
 into notice then, who were resolved to im- 
 prove upon the inventions of the past. 
 Applyin" to the most useful purposes the 
 quadrant" which their countryman, God- 
 frey had years before conytructed, and 
 availing themselves of the advamages con- 
 sequent upon a knowledge of the nature 
 and application of electricity, which had 
 been fully established by tho incomparable 
 Franklin, they went on to erect a vast 
 system of practical science, upon which 
 schemes of the most extensive benefit to 
 the human race have been perfected. Ful- 
 ton, in the latter part of last century, con- 
 ceived the bold idea of propelling vessels 
 by steam-power, against the most rapid 
 currents, which although tried before in 
 England, had proved a failure. Confident 
 of eventual success, this fearless philoso- 
 pher, notwithstanding he was pronounced 
 a visionary in Europe and America, en- 
 tered upon a train of experiments, which 
 finally placed commerce upon the basis 
 which it now occupies. 
 
 Learning, it is true, received a tempo- 
 rary shock from the revolutionary move- 
 ments which characterized the culy por- 
 tion of the present century. In England, 
 Scotland, the United States, and France, 
 its progress, however, has been in advance 
 of previous ages. England and Scotland 
 substantiate the position, by ths attain- 
 ments of Herschel, Lardner, Browster 
 and Arrott, in astronomy, optics, and math 
 
 59 
 
 
 «((;■." 
 
 •If'' 
 
 :*%. 
 
 "nr 
 
r ' 
 
 *» 
 
 924 
 
 THE WORLD. 
 
 emalhics; of Whewell, Mills, M'Cauley, 
 DiinonJ, Brougham, Wakely, and De 
 Lolme, in eiliics and politics ; of Cooper 
 and Carpenter, in physics; of Byron, 
 Rogers, Moore, Campbell, Scott, arid 
 Montgomery, in poetry; of Dickens in 
 descriptive composition ; of Sheridan, 
 Bulvver, and Jerrold, in dramatic works ; 
 and of Macready in tragic performances. 
 The United States demonstrates the 
 same truth, in being able to enumerate 
 among her citizens the names of Davies, 
 Bowditch, Adrian, and Giimmere, as math- 
 ematicians ; of Franklin, Godfrey, Rush, 
 Fulton, Hare, Day, and Silliman, m natu- 
 ral philosophy ; of Jay, Story, Marshall, 
 and Kent, as jurists; of Wayland, Vothake, 
 Channing, Upham, Sparks, Jarvis, Wil- 
 son, and Potter, as political and moral 
 writers ; of Dwight, Barlow, Longfellow, 
 Bryant, Willis, Whittier, and Halleck, as 
 poets ; of Forrest, Murdock, Scott, Booth, 
 and Charlotte Cushman, in the drama ; of 
 Payne, Conrad, Stone, and Bird, as tragic 
 composers ; of Irving, Cooper, and Neal, 
 as novelists; of Bancroft, Miner, and 
 Prescott, as historians ; and of West, Al- 
 ston, and Sully, as artists. 
 
 France also attests the same fact, by 
 the researches of Esquiroll, Arago, and 
 Guizot, in the natural sciences ; and by 
 the works of Thiers, Dumas, Sue, Bernard, 
 Fevel, and Scribe, in polite and elegant 
 literature. 
 
 The greatest impulse has been given to 
 the advance of the arts and the improve- 
 ment of the age, by the liberal and foster- 
 ing course of policy pursued by Louis 
 Philippe in relation to inventions, and in 
 the cases of learned men ; such a course, 
 in fact, as must to all ages rank that mon- 
 arch among tlie greatest patrons of science 
 that Europe has ever produced. 
 
 Germany still maintains the elevated 
 position as a scientific nation, which she 
 has held for ages, and by tae works o 
 Von Savigny and Gans, Raumer and 
 Rotteck, Grabbe and Brentano, Heine 
 and Pichler, MuUerand Wurm, has great- 
 ly contributed to the common stock of the 
 republic of letters ; while Italy and the 
 northern powers, though politically check- 
 ed and severed by the interposition of her 
 Austrian and Prussian influences, cultivate 
 a literature in common with her, in all Us 
 
 departments. Though it must be con- 
 fessed that among all these nations there 
 is a greater desire to imitate the English 
 standards than to elevate their own, which 
 has the sanction of the past in its recom- 
 mendation. The long and devastating 
 civil wars which have raged throughout 
 the peninsula of Europe, have produced 
 their necessarily-retarding indnences upon 
 the cause of science, the progress and 
 improvement of which this plane had been 
 previously hailed with great delight by its 
 friends and patrons throughout Christen- 
 dom. 
 
 The present century has been, and 
 still continutes to be, remarkably prolific 
 in the means for the diffusion of useful 
 knowledge. Institutions adapted to this 
 end, have sprung up, both in Europe and 
 America. Of this description are the as- 
 sociations for the founding of libraries 
 designed to circulate among the masses 
 of society ; the publication of magazines 
 upon a principle of cheapness, wliich en- 
 sures the possession of them by the hum- 
 blest members of society ; the dissemina- 
 tion of religious knowledge among the 
 savage and pagan portions of our race, and 
 for the establishment of those noiseless 
 agents for good — the sabbath schools — 
 which are now pervading every part of 
 the world. In the prolestant United 
 States of America, the most efficient 
 means have been taken in this great work, 
 by' the endowment, at public expense, 
 of colleges and seminaries of learning, 
 as well as by the adoption of the certain 
 means of information, in the < r 'ition of 
 public schools, in most of the states, sup- 
 ported by a direct tax upon the citizens, 
 and an annual legislative uppropriation. 
 Some portions of the British possessions 
 in North America have followed this no- 
 ble example ; and to a mind which has 
 contemplated th« incrcKsing thirst for 
 knowledge, and for years marked the 
 course of the catholic republics of South 
 America, as evinced by the large number 
 of students, which flock thence to the 
 colleges of the United States, the convic- 
 tion that they will eventually adopt the 
 same ' at and certain means of per- 
 petuating their freedom, contain nothing 
 novel or at variance with the process of 
 fair reasoning. 
 
 F>-''s««a!Q3t:i€4^€^»««^»4^SMKK^t(3%!fea99ti 
 
 uWWmi i i I] i r <» JM«trf i towMmi i w.jijritg 
 
If must be con- 
 lese nations there 
 litate th« Enttlish 
 ) tlu'ir own, wliich 
 past in its rccom- 
 and devastatin;^ 
 raged throu};ho\it 
 (o, have produced 
 n{Tiriniit>nces upon 
 the progress and 
 his plaee had been 
 great delight by its 
 oughout Christon- 
 
 y has been, and 
 •emarkably prolilic 
 diffusion of useful 
 ns adapted to this 
 oth in Europe and 
 cri|)tion are the as- 
 indiiig of libraries 
 among the masses 
 lation of magazines 
 eapness, wliich en- 
 f them by the hum- 
 \\y ; the dissemina- 
 w ledge among the 
 ions of our race, and 
 of those noiseless 
 
 sabbath schools — 
 iding every part of 
 
 prolestant United 
 the most efficient 
 nin this great work, 
 at public expense, 
 naries of learning, 
 piion of the certain 
 , in the cr -ation of 
 3t of the states, sup- 
 s upon the citizens, 
 lative appropriation. 
 
 British possessions 
 vc followed this no- 
 
 a mind which has 
 icreiising thirst for 
 
 years marked the 
 : republics of South 
 by the large number 
 flock thence to the 
 id States, the convic- 
 Bventually adopt the 
 •tain means of per- 
 lom, contain nothing 
 
 with the process of 
 
 OCTOUER. 
 
 925 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 OTOBEH, so na- 
 med from the two 
 liMtin words, oclo 
 and («(/;^T, although 
 it is now the tt-nth 
 month in our calen- 
 dar, was inrmerly 
 the niifhth in the 
 cal-^ndar of Ronuilus : by our Saxon an- 
 cestors called Wi/n-7iioit(ii,m wine month. 
 Tiie great business of nature with re- 
 .spect to the vegetable creation at this 
 .seasim, is dissemination. Plants having 
 gone through the progressive stages of 
 springing, flowering, and seeding, have at 
 li-ngtii brought to mat\irity the rudiments 
 of a I'uiure progeny, wliich are now to be 
 committed to the fostering bosom of the 
 earth. This being done, the parent vege- 
 table, if of the herbaceous kind, either 
 totally dies, or perishes as far as it rose 
 above ground ; if a tree or shrub, it loses 
 all its tender parts which the spring and 
 summer had put forth. Seeds are scat- 
 tered by the hand of nature in various 
 manners. The winds, which at this time 
 arise, disperse far and wide many seeds 
 v.hich are curiously furnished with feath- 
 ers or wings for this purpose. Hence 
 plants with such seeds are, of all, the 
 most universally to be met with ; as dan- 
 delion, groundsel, ragwort, and thistles. 
 Other seeds by the means of hooks, lay 
 hold of passing animals, and are thus 
 carried to distant places. The common 
 burs are examples of this contrivance. 
 Many are contained in berries, which be- 
 ing ealen by birds, the seeds are discharg- 
 ed again uninjured, and grow where they 
 happen to fall. Thus carefully has nature 
 provided for the distribution and propaga- 
 tion of plants. 
 
 The gloom of the falling year is in soine 
 measure enlivened, during this month es- 
 pecially, by the variety of colors, some 
 lively and beautiful, put on by the fading 
 leaves of trees and shrubs. 
 
 It is just at this point of time, when 
 the trees and shrubs exhibit such a varie- 
 ty of tints, that landscape painters are 
 particularly fond of exercising their art. 
 
 To these temporary colors are added 
 the more durable ones of ripened berries, 
 
 a vaiietyof which now enricliour fields and 
 pastures. Anionu these are pariiciilarly 
 distinguished the hip, the fruit nf the wild 
 rose ; the haw, of the bawihorn ; the 
 blackberry, of the bramble ; ami the l)er- 
 ries of the alder, Indly, and woody night- 
 shade, and of the spindle-tree, the last of 
 a most beautiful color. These are a prov- 
 idential supply for the birds during the 
 wimer season ; and it is said thai tiny are 
 most |)lenlifiil when the ensuing winter is 
 to be most severe. 
 
 The common martin, whoso nest, hunn 
 under the eaves of our houses, afl'ords so 
 agr»?eable a spectacle of parental fond- 
 ness and assiduity, usually disappears in 
 October. As this, though one of the 
 smallest of the swallow-kind, slays the 
 latest, its emigration to distant climates 
 is less probable than that of the others. 
 The sand-martin, which breeds in holes 
 in the sandy banks of rivers, and about 
 clifl's and quarries, most probably passes 
 the winter in a torpid Mate in those holes. 
 The weather about this time is some- 
 times extremely misty, sviih aperfect calm. 
 The ground is covered with spider's webs 
 innumerable, crossing the path, and ex- 
 pended from one shrub to another. It is 
 a frequent appearance in this season, and 
 a certain indication of a tine and warm day. 
 Mr. While gives the following account 
 of them, in his history of Selborne: "The 
 remark that I shall make on these cobweb- 
 like appearances, called gossamer, is, that 
 strange and superstitious as the notions 
 about them were formerly, nobody in these 
 days doubts but they are the real produc- 
 tion of small spiders, which swarm in the 
 fields in fine weather in autumn, and have 
 a power of shooting out webs from their 
 tails, so as to render themselves buoyant 
 and lighter than air. Every day in fine 
 weather, in autumn chiefly, do 1 see those 
 spiders shooting out their webs and mount- 
 ing aloft; they will go oil" from your 
 fin'ger, if vou will take them Into your 
 hand." 
 
 These webs are often formed into long 
 white filaments, and may be set'ii tlouting 
 in the air ; to this appearance Shakspere 
 alludes •-- 
 
 " A lover may bestriito tlie t;ossaiiiiT _ 
 
 'Iliat idled in tlio \vaiiti»i sin er lur, 
 
 And yet not lull, so lib'lit ia vai.ily." 
 
 
 ■Wr 
 
 -,'"- 
 
 ■ 1 1 ■ ■ 
 
 •i 
 
 ill 
 
 1 
 
 
 8 
 
 
 till 
 
 4^ 
 
 ^! 
 
 -n.p! 
 
 '"•>»«< t 
 
 iH0l 
 
 ^r*^< 
 
 MK 
 
 0mt 
 
 
 
 "^<^^ 
 
 ' ' I i ni l- 
 
i 
 
 926 
 
 THE NEWFOUNDLA.^.) DOO. 
 
 THE NEWFOUNDLAND DOG. 
 
 ji^ HIS powerful, intol 
 r^yligeiit, and docile ani 
 mal, which in its un 
 mixed state is cer 
 tainly the noblest ofi 
 the canine tribe, is a | 
 native of the country 
 ^ the name of which it 
 
 bears, and may be considered as a distinct 
 race. Its introduction into this country 
 is of comparatively recent d t.. ; and the 
 fine animal kn-.wn to us by I'nc name o 
 Newfoundland dog is only half-brt d, and 
 of size inferior to the dog in us native 
 state, when it measures about six feet and 
 a half from the nose to the extremity of 
 the tail, the length of which is two feet. 
 In its own country it only barks when 
 greatly irritated, uid then with a mani- 
 festly painful effort, producing a sound 
 which is described as particularly harsh. 
 Its exemption from hydrophobia in New- 
 foundland appears to be well auihenti- 
 
 The dog is employed by the settlers as 
 a be ■ -. of burthen in drawing wood from 
 the ■:!>*.* vi.^r to the coast. Three or lour 
 of (Ijr r, vuked to a sledgo will draw two 
 or tivf'Jd" hundred weight of wood with 
 ^'-.yj.x !",;cilitv for several miles. In this 
 servirv , hey are said to be so sagacious 
 and willing as to need no driver or guide ; 
 but, having delivered their burden, return 
 without delay to the woods in the expecta- 
 tion of receiving some food in recompense 
 for their labor. From the activity of his 
 di3position,the Newfoundland dog delights 
 in being employed ; and the pride ol be- 
 ing useful makes him take uncomnrion 
 pleasure in carrying in his mouth for miles 
 baskets and other articles, of which, as 
 well from that satisfaction as from the 
 fidelity of his character, it would be dan- 
 gerous for a stranger to dispute possession 
 with him. In many respects he may be 
 considered as a valuable substitute for the 
 mastiff as a house-dog. 
 
 The Newfoundland dog is easily satis- 
 fied in his food. He is fond of fish, 
 whether fresh or dried ; and salt meat or 
 fish is more acceptable to hui thati to 
 most other animals, as well as boiled 
 potatoes and cabbage. When hungry, 
 
 however, ho has not vory strong scruplr^ 
 about appro|)riaiiiig such tlesh or fish as 
 tails in hi^ vay, or even of destroying 
 poultry or iieei For ibf blood of ili« 
 Ittiier anim ., h( much appetii.-, and 
 
 sucks it from thu m.^l v ithoul leeding 
 on the cfircass. 
 
 It in well known that th. Newfound- 
 land dog ' ui «wiin very ii'^t, dive wiih 
 ease, and bring thin ^s up from the bottom 
 of the water. Other << gs can swim, but 
 not so willingly, or so well. This suijc 
 rioritv he (iwes to the 8lru< ture of the 
 foot, which is s ni-webbed between the 
 toes ; thus presemin).' w extended surface 
 lo press away the water from liohind, and 
 th, n collapsing when it is dra«u forward, 
 previous to making the siruke. This 
 property, joined lo m 'h courage, and a 
 generous disposition, i :ibies this dog to 
 render those important st-rvices the 
 preservation of endangered iife, (' . hich 
 such numerous instances 'e recorded, 
 and of which our engraviuij affords an 
 illustration. 
 
 A Newfoundland dog. k pt at the ferry- 
 house at Worcester, was rumo,.s for hav- 
 ing, at different periods, saved three per- 
 sons from drowning ; and so fond was he 
 of the water, that he seemt 1 to consider 
 any disinclination for it in other dogs as 
 an insult on the species. If a dog was 
 left on the bank by its master, and, m the 
 idea that it vould be obliged to follow the 
 boat across the river, which is but narrow, 
 stood yelping at the bottom of the steps, 
 unwilling to take the water, the New- 
 foundland veteran would go down to him, 
 and with a satirical growl, as if m mock- 
 ery, take him by the back of the neck and 
 throw him into the stream. 
 
 A native of Germany, fond of travelling, 
 was pursuing his course through Holland, 
 accompanied by a large Newfoundland 
 dog. Walking one evening on a high 
 bank, which formed one side of a dike, or 
 canal, so common in that country, his foot 
 slipped, and he was precipitated into the 
 water, and, being unable to swim, he soon 
 became senseless. When he recovered 
 his recollection, he found himself in a 
 cottage on the opposite side of the dike to 
 that from which he had fallen, surrounded 
 by peasants, who had been using the means 
 so generally practised in that country for 
 
 J 
 
 HMHMI 
 
1 
 
 ry strong scruplp'^ 
 ■h flesh or fish as 
 ,011 of (lesiroyiiig 
 • thn bioDil i>r the 
 luch appetilf, ami 
 u V ithout feeding 
 
 at th 
 
 Newfouncl- 
 ury , i-ii, dive wi h 
 up from the b(»iioin 
 ■ -.gs can swim, but 
 well. This supe- 
 e BlrvKture of the 
 hbed between the 
 i!i extended siirf;n:< 
 ir from behind, and 
 t is drawn forward, 
 the 8tri)ko. This 
 ich courage, and a 
 ..lables this <l'>g to 
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 lered fe, lich 
 
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928 
 
 HEUOKB. 
 
 rpatorinjr nnlmiuion. The arcoiint given 
 liy ilio pea.Mimis w;is, tluit tmo <>f lliPin tp- 
 tiirniii;.' h<imo frmn his labor, ohscrvj'd. at 
 a ciinsi(l«Tal)le distance, a larue ilou in the 
 waipr 8wimniiii|i,' mid dragging, luid somo- 
 tiinrn pushing, Honicthing vvhirh h«i sonm- 
 .m! ti) liav»i great difTu tdty in Hupporling, 
 hilt which ho at length auccet-ded in gt-t- 
 ting into a Binnll creolt on the opposite 
 side to that on which the men were. 
 
 When the animal had pulled what he 
 hud hitherto supported, as far out of ihe 
 water as he was able, the peasant dis- 
 covered that it was the body of a man. 
 ' The dog, having shaken himself, began 
 industriously to lick the hands and face 
 of his master, while the rustic hastened 
 across ; and, having obtained assistance, 
 the body was conveyed to a neighboring 
 hcmse, where the usual means of resuscita- 
 tion soon restored him to sense and recol- 
 lection. Two very considerable bruises, 
 with the marks of teeiii, appeared, one on 
 his shoulder, the other on the niipo of the 
 neck ; whence it was presumed that the 
 faithful animal first seized his master by 
 the shoulder, and swam with him in this 
 manner for some time ; but that his sa- 
 gacity had prompted him to let go his hold, 
 and shift his grasp to the neck, by which 
 he had been enabled to support the heud 
 out of the water. It was in the latter 
 position that the peasant observed the dog 
 making his way along the dike, which it 
 appeared he had done for a distance of 
 nearly a quarter of a mile. It is there- 
 fore probable that this gentleman owed 
 his life as much to the sagacity as to the 
 fidelity of his dog. 
 
 HEROES. 
 
 AKING the du- 
 ration of the 
 fame or notori- 
 ety of heroes 
 a distinguishing 
 characteristic of 
 the tribe, we 
 shall find this 
 description of ; 
 persons exhibiting a very remarkable sort ', 
 
 of variety. Descending from ihowe L'i- 
 I'ni'lic forms wliicli hold ihe world in awe, 
 we sbiill lind them " growing hiikiII by ile- 
 grees and beaniU'iilly less." 'i'lien- is ilie 
 hero of all time, the hent of a pariieuhir 
 period or epoch, the hero of .•\ twelve- 
 monih, the hero of a week, of a day, of an 
 hour, nay, there is, for we have often seen 
 him, the hero of n minute. Hii is short- 
 lived fame indeed, but enough to satinfy 
 some ambitions. We have known the 
 hero of a minute very proud of liis brief 
 notoriety, although ho had hardly time to 
 taste tht intoxicating beverage before its 
 towering effervescence, its deceitful froth, 
 had vanished, leaving behind only a little 
 va|)id moisture. 
 
 The hero of all time is generally a great 
 warrior — a mighty manslayer— one who 
 has laid countries waste, and filled many 
 lands with the lamentations of widows and 
 fatherless children — a sort of personage 
 for whom the world entertains an extra- 
 ordinary reverence and respect. 
 
 The hero of a particular period or epoch 
 is generally a statesman of an amount of 
 talent or force of character suflficient to 
 keep the world talking oi' him while he 
 lives, but not enough to keep him in its 
 remembrance after ho is dead. 
 
 The hero of a twelvemonth is, for the 
 most part, a political one — a gentleman 
 who has taken the popular side of some 
 rather toughish popular question, and has 
 advocated it with vigor — a bustling, loud 
 speaking, energetic fellow, with a capital 
 front, whom nothing can daunt, who tri- 
 umphs in victory, but who is never abash- 
 ed by defeat. 
 
 The hero of a week is also a political 
 one. He is a gentleman who has said 
 some .strong things on some agitating topic 
 of the day, but who is never heard of again. 
 He came suddenly into the world's pres- 
 ence, and as suddenly made his exit. No- 
 body can tell where he goes to, but the 
 darkness in which he is enshrouded is so 
 intense, that he seems to have sunk, as it 
 were, into a sea of pitch or tar, thick, 
 dense, impenetrable. 
 
 The remaining classes ot' hero'i* .n^ 
 men of local notorieiy. The field oi ih. ir 
 fame is small ; but they themselves do not 
 look a bit smaller on that account. T'.-o 
 eyes with which they contemplate their 
 
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 3. Mil is short- 
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 have ki)(»wi> th») 
 roiul of his hrief 
 1(1 hardly time to 
 vcm^o hpfore its 
 Its decpitfiil froth, 
 ihind only a little 
 
 generally a groat 
 siayfir — one who 
 , and filled many 
 ns of widows and 
 ort of per8ona<,'e 
 ertaiiis an extra- 
 respect. 
 
 ir period or epoch 
 1 of an amount of 
 icter sufficient to 
 
 of him while he 
 ) keep him in its 
 
 dead, 
 imonth is, for the 
 •ne — a )_'onllenian 
 liar side of some 
 question, and has 
 — a bustling, loud 
 ow, with a capital 
 ■u daunt, who Iri- 
 lio is never abash- 
 
 is also a political 
 lan who has said 
 nine agitaiinf; topic 
 ver heard of again, 
 the world's pre^- 
 lade his exit. No- 
 5 goes to, but the 
 s enshrouded is so 
 to have sunk, as it 
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 ses of hero'i* .■.►) j 
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 1.8 
 
 L25 iil.4 11.6 
 
 Photographic 
 
 Sciences 
 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, N.f. 14580 
 
 (716) 872-4503 
 
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 iMSiaitaiUIAifct.^ 
 
<:. 
 
 
 Us 
 
 CIHM/ICMH 
 
 Microfiche 
 
 Series. 
 
 CIHM/ICMH 
 Collection de 
 microfiches. 
 
 Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Instltut Canadian de microreproductions historiques 
 
 :\ 
 
 \ 
 
 6^ 
 
 •il.^ 
 
J. 
 
ADAM'S PEAK, IN THE ISLAND OF CEYLON. 
 
 929 
 
 own greatness have a magnifying power 
 which gives them a very pleasant and 
 comfonabhi view of iheir own importance. 
 The hero of a day and the hero of an 
 hour being much alike in their leading 
 characteristics, we do not think it neces- 
 sary to treat them separately. They arc 
 gen-.iemen who, to the astonishment of all 
 who knew them, and to the no small as- 
 tonishment of themselves have made a 
 pithy speech at a public meeting. They 
 have knocked the arguments of the oppo- 
 sing party to shivers, and shown clearly 
 how supremely ridiculous their ideas on 
 the subject were. The speech is quite a 
 hit, and creates a prodigious sensation at 
 the moment. On the breaking up of the 
 assembly the successful orator is pointed 
 out, and on every side we hear, in low 
 whispers, " There he is ! there he is !-- 
 that's him ! that's him !" The succeed- 
 ing night, however, alas ! sleeps all this 
 reputation away ; and by the morning both 
 speech and speaker have beer, all but utter- 
 ly forgotten. . 
 
 Then there is the hero of a minute, the 
 most amusing of the whole fi'e. We 
 might adduce many specimens of tho class 
 to which he belongs : one may be quite 
 suflicient to convey a pretty correct idea 
 of him. You have no idea, gentle reader, 
 who he can possibly be— what sort of feat 
 it is that gives birth to a fame so evanescent 
 _so very short-lived. Have you ever 
 been to a very crowded meeting in a very 
 hot day, perhaps in July or August, when 
 everything is glowing, melting, burning, 
 perspiring— when you might broil steaks 
 on the slates of your own or any other 
 house— when vegetation is burnt up, every 
 blade of grass looking like a brass wire- 
 when running streams become weak and 
 sickly, their lively brawling subsiding into 
 a feeble and scarcely audible trickle- 
 when every tongue is parched, and every 
 living thing tortured by an unendurable 
 ihirst : have you, dear reader, ever been 
 to such a meeting under such circum- 
 stancps ? The heat of the place is sti- 
 fling, the crushing and squeezing dreadful 
 _a feeling of sulTocation oppresses the 
 whole assembly ; you think of the black- 
 hole of Calcutta, of the horrors of which 
 you never had half so lively an idea be- 
 fore All of a sudden you hear some one 
 
 call out in a loud, determined lone—" Let 
 down the windows!" You look in the 
 direction of the voice, and perceive a liiilc 
 stout man, with a very red faee, the per- 
 spiration streaming down his cheeks, and 
 his eyes starting from their soc^kets, who 
 has contrived to raise himself by some 
 means or other above the level of the as- 
 semblage, and is making desperate efforts 
 to reach one of the windows. All eyes 
 are fixed upon him, and an expression of 
 approbation of the daring little man's 
 temerity is on every countenance. That 
 daringlittle man— he who shouted, "Down 
 with the windows!" and who afterward 
 seemed to stand aghast at his own courage 
 I — is the hero of a minute ! 
 
 ADAM'S PEAK, IN THE ISLAND OF 
 CEYLON. 
 
 VERY amusing 
 collection might 
 be made of the 
 wonderful and 
 fabulous accounts 
 of this i.iountain, 
 given at difTerent 
 ages of the world, 
 by pagan, Chris- 
 tian, mussulman, and Hindoo travellers ; 
 but it will be more instructive to our read- 
 ers to give them an accurate description 
 of the spot. . 
 
 The peak has always been considered 
 as a holy mount, a pilgrimage to which 
 was highly meritorious and biMeficial. It 
 is sharp like a sugar-loaf, and on the top 
 a flat stone with the print of a foot like a 
 man's on it, but far bigger, being about 
 two feet long. The people of this land 
 count it meritorious to go and worship this 
 impression; and generally about their 
 new year, which is in March, they, men, 
 women, and children, go up this vast and 
 high mountain to worship. 
 
 Its narrow apex, which is only twenty- 
 three paces long by eighteen broad, is 
 surrounded by a wall, in which there are 
 two distinct openings to adinit p.lgnms 
 corresponding to the two tracks by wjmh 
 alone the mountain can be ascended. 1 he 
 
 
 ij-i"*'** 
 
 p 4>rf 
 
 ''■**%. M 
 
 *'f$. 
 
■1^' 
 
 I 
 
 ,^6-= 
 
 ALPHABETICAL WRITING. 
 
 931 
 
 elevation of this apex is 6,800 feet above ] 
 the level of lUe ara ; the granitic peak or 
 cone restinc upon a very high mountain be- 
 lonsinc to the chain which forms the ram- 
 part of the upper country. Nearly rn the 
 centre of the enclosed area is a large 
 rock, one side of which is shelving, and 
 can bo easily ascended. On t le top of 
 this mass, there stands a small square 
 wooden shed, fastened to the rock, as also 
 to the outer walls, by means of heavy 
 chains. This security is necessary to 
 prevent the euitice being hurled from its 
 narrow base by the violence of the winds. 
 The roof atid posts of this little budding, 
 which is used to cover the Sri Fadf, or 
 holv foot-mark, was adorned with flowers 
 and" artificial figures made of party-colored 
 cloth. The impression in the rock is 
 found to have b^en formed in part by the 
 chisel, and in part by elevating Us outer 
 border with hard mortar : all the elevations 
 which mark the spaces between the toes 
 of the foot have been made of limo and 
 sand. The impression, which is hve feet 
 and a half long, two feet and a half broad, . 
 and from one and a half to two inches i 
 deep, is encircled by a border of gilded 
 copper in which are set a few valueless 
 gems. According to the books res]- >cting 
 Buddhoo, it appears that he stepped from 
 the top of the peak to the kingdom ol 
 Siam. The Buddhists profess to believe 
 that the impression is a mark made by the 
 last foot of Buddhoo which lelt Ceylon. 
 We believe it was the Arabs, who traded 
 here in very early ages, that first changed 
 the hero of the tale, and gave the foot- 
 mark to Adam, our first father. 
 
 ALPHABETICAL WRITING. 
 
 L 
 
 T is evident that the first 
 and most obvious mode 
 by which thought can 
 be expressed and con- 
 veyed to the eye, is by 
 the representation of ac- 
 tual objects. Hence 
 the species of writing 
 which the learned have 
 termed ideographic, that is, in which knowl- 
 
 edge is conveyed, first, by repnsentations 
 of the objects of thought; secondly, by 
 symbols. The origin of designing is co- 
 eval with that of mankind ; and men ear- 
 ly availed themselves of this art to make 
 their thoughts visible. To make it be un- 
 derstood, for example, that one man killed 
 another, they drew the figure of a dead 
 man stretched on the ground, and of anoth- 
 ' er standing by him upriuht, with some 
 ; deadly weapon in his hand. To let it be 
 ' known that some one had arrived by sea, 
 * they drew the figure of a man disembarking 
 ■ from a ship, and so on. This kind of wri- 
 tin■^ if we may so employ the word, was 
 very earlvused in Egypt, and most proba- 
 bly, also.'in most of the ancient nations.^ 
 
 In Greek, the word graphcin signifies 
 indiU'erenlly either to write or to paint. 
 In Mexico, when the Spaniards landed, 
 i the inhabitants conveyed intelligence of 
 i the event to Montezuma by sending him 
 a large ch)th, on which they carefully 
 painted what they had seen. It is uniie- 
 cessary to i'v.. t'on the difliculty and in- 
 convenience (-1 this method of writing ; 
 and to lessen these, recourse was had to 
 the symbolic or emblematic variety of id- 
 eographic writing. In this method abbre- 
 viations or characteristic parts w.-re intro- 
 duced instead of the cniirc object. 'I'hus, 
 the ancient Egyitians «re said to have 
 I represented a siege " scali.g-ladder ; 
 
 a battle, by two ham. x d g a buckler 
 and a bow, &c. Abstract .oeas wore, al- 
 so, reprt^sented bv symbols, or sensible ob- 
 Ijecis, suppiised to have a certain analogy 
 ,10 them : as, ingratitude by a viper, provi- 
 dence by an eye, the head of a hawk, &c. 
 From ideographic was derived syllabic 
 writing. It must have been early remarked 
 that the sounds formed by the voice m 
 speaking are articulate and well-defined : 
 and the idea occurred of endeavoring to 
 represent such sounds by appropriate signs. 
 Thus the word republic, in th- writing ot 
 which we use eight letters, would be writ- 
 ten with three syllabic cliaracters. J lie 
 President de Goguet suspects that origin- 
 ally all the Asiatic nations, known to the 
 ancients under the names of Syrians and 
 Assyrians, used the syllabic mode ol wri- 
 ting. We may, he thinks, discern the ves- 
 lioes of this in an ancient tradition, which 
 ascribes the invention of writing to the 
 
 ( ■ ii»ii« 
 
 
932 
 
 ALPHABETICAL \V11ITING. 
 
 Syrians ; but acknowledges that the PhcB- 
 „icians impr..v.d, made it more simple, 
 an.l hrought the characters to perfection. 
 lUit this mode of writing, though a vast 
 inmrovement on .vhat is purely uleograph- 
 ic, is still very imperfect and cumbersome 
 The vast number of characters required 
 in It overburdens the memory, and occa- 
 sions the greatest confusion. 1 he exisW 
 n.r hnsiuage of the Chinese, which is 
 panly ideographic and par. y «yH-bic is 
 L example of this. In it there are a cer- 
 tain number of elementary signs or keys 
 (uvo hundred and fourteen) which are 
 stricilv hieroglyphic or symbolical ; that 
 is. they are abridged representations o 
 vilihle objects. From these two hundred 
 and fourteen elements all the characters of 
 the language (80,000 it is said) are formed 
 bv varying and combining their figures; 
 every compound character representing 
 one or mole syllables having a distinct 
 
 "'•fhe defects incident to ideographic and 
 syllabic writing being thus obvious, inge- 
 nious individuals would early endeavor to 
 find out some simple and precise me hod 
 of commu.acaling their ideas. And at 
 le„.'ih the method of alphabetic writing, 
 the'I'reatestof all inventions made by man 
 and%vhich has been the great instrument 
 of his civilization, was introduced and per- 
 fected. In this method syllab.es are de- 
 composed into their elemen s : and the few 
 simple sounds emitted by the voice being 
 represented each by its appropriate mark 
 or letter, syllables and words are formed 
 Ty their cLbina.ion ; the latter serving 
 
 not only to describe external .ibjec s, bu 
 "o dep.c^t the workings of the mind, and 
 every shade and variety of thought. 
 
 Before entering into the much-disputed 
 
 question respecting the origin of this mode 
 
 3f writing, it is necessary to indicate he 
 
 new light^thrown upon the subject by the 
 
 recent discoveries of Dr. Young, and more 
 
 especially of M. ChampoUion, as to the 
 
 phonetic writing of the Egyptians. We 
 
 K already seen that the hieroglyph.cal 
 
 characters of that people denoted, m the 
 
 fi St place, objects either of sense or 
 
 thought; that is, they were ideographic^ 
 
 But, according to the new theory they 
 
 cane in the'course of time to denote 
 
 sounds; and those not syllabic mere- 
 
 ly but alphabetical. For example, the 
 Egyptian word Ahom signified an eaule ; 
 therefore, stood .'or the letter A, with 
 which that word begins.— B was repre- 
 sented by a censer (Berbe). U some- 
 times by a mouth (Ro), sometimes by a 
 tear (Rim6). According to the views of 
 these recent discoverers, a great propor- 
 tion of the inscriptions on Egyptian monu- 
 ments and papyri are partly ideographic, 
 partly alphabetical ; i. e. some cli^.racters 
 represent objects or ideas ; and these are 
 intermingled with others which merely 
 stand for letters. Dr. Young, who l.rst 
 conceived the notion of the plumetic al- 
 phabet, imagined that it was only employ- 
 ed when foreign words or names (as those 
 ' of Greek kings), were introduced. M. 
 ChampoUion carried the discovery lurlher, 
 and applied it to the deciphering of words 
 and names in the language of the c..untry. 
 The name of the ancient king Sabaco, 
 among others, being found by this mode 
 of interpretation, would appear to show 
 that the phonetic writing was used as early 
 as 700 years B. C. It is not withm our 
 present province to discuss the question, 
 upon what ground of probability this theory 
 rests. But if a complete phonetic alphabet 
 should be discovered, in the language ot 
 that country in which the earliest germs 
 of knowledge and civilization seem to 
 have been developed, it is prol)ab e that 
 we shall have made a considerabl« step 
 toward tracing the origin of pure alpha- 
 betical writing in other languages. As it 
 is although various atf mpts have been 
 m'ade to show the symbolical origin of the 
 letters in the most ancient alphabets, it 
 can not be said that any very f "sfactory 
 result has been obtained And from the 
 total want of all recorded knovyledge con- 
 cerning the invention of alphabetical wri- 
 ting, and the difBculty of accounting for it 
 on any known principle of mental associa- 
 tion, the hypothesis of divine revelatiori 
 has obtained considerable currency ; but 
 it need hardly be observed, how ill such 
 a doctrine agrees with all ^^o^'^YZ 
 by analogy of the dealings of Providence 
 
 with man. 
 
 It is a common fault never to be satis- 
 fied with our fortune, nor dissatisfied with , 
 our understanding. 
 
•r oxainplo, t^e 
 iiified an oaale ; 
 letter A, with 
 — B wah repre- 
 rbe). U soine- 
 somotimiis 'jy a^ 
 to the views of 
 a great propor- 
 Eyyptiaii nionu- 
 rtly ideographic, 
 some cliaraciers 
 J ; and these are 
 s which merely 
 foung, who I'lrst 
 the pliiineiic al- 
 K'iLS only employ- 
 r names (as tliose 
 introdnced. M. 
 discovery further, 
 iphering of words 
 ge of the country, 
 jnt king Sabaco, 
 nd by this mode 
 appear to show 
 was used as early 
 is not within our 
 :uss the question, 
 Sability this theory 
 phonetic alphabet 
 .n the language of 
 ho earliest germs 
 ilization sceir to 
 t is proljable that 
 considerable step 
 lin of pure alpha- 
 languages. As it 
 ;tompts have been 
 lulical origin of the 
 icient alphabets, it 
 y very satisfactory 
 d. And from the 
 ,ed knowledge con- 
 )f alphabetical wri- 
 of accounting for it 
 e of mental associa- 
 if divine revelation 
 oible currency; but 
 jrved, how ill such 
 , all that we know 
 lings of Providence 
 
 U never to be satis- 
 nor dissatisfied with 
 
 ROTTERDAM. 
 
 933 
 
 ROTTERDAM. 
 
 OTTERD.VM is a 
 seaport town, situa- 
 ted on the north bank 
 of the Meuse, which 
 is there about a mile 
 in width ; it is abtmt 
 twenty miles from its 
 mouth; twelve miles 
 from the Hague, and 
 thirty-six from Amsterdam. The breadth 
 of the town is traversed by the Rolte or 
 lloter, a small river which here falls into 
 the Meuse, and gives its name 'o the city. 
 About the year 1270, the town was 
 walled, and received the title and pnvi- 
 leges of a city. The growth of the town 
 to that importance which it ultimately at- 
 tained was very gradual, but took place 
 principally during the period in which the 
 united provinces were under the yoke ol 
 Spain. The other facts of its history are 
 soon related. Twenty-seven years after 
 the date we have mentioned, the town 
 was taken by the Flemings ; and, in 1418, 
 by Waidegrave, lord of Brederode. The 
 town was taken possession of by the 
 French in January, 1794 ; and it suffered 
 much in the general decline of the Dutch 
 commerce during the long period of war 
 which terminated in 1815. If we add to 
 this that the town sustained much damage 
 in February, 1825, in consequence of an 
 extraordinary rise of the waters of the 
 Meuse, we have exhausted the leading 
 facts in the history of Kolterdam 
 
 Rotterdam is built in the form of a 
 trianulf, the largest side of wliirli rxt-uus 
 lor about a mile and a half along llie ri«iii 
 bank of the Meuse, which hero rescm M.- 
 an arm of the sea. The town, as .livul.i! 
 by its numerous canals into in>ul;ir spots 
 connected by draw-bridges, necessarily 
 resembles Amsterdam. Here also i.ie 
 canals are generally bordered with trees, 
 a circumstance which gives lo the sea- 
 ports of Holland a vernal appearance 
 which is almost peculiar to them. Tbe 
 town is not fortified, but it is surrounded 
 by a moat, and entered by six gates, two 
 of which are toward the water. 'I'lio 
 streets of the town are in general, siraiglit, 
 and long, but narrow. Sevei l oi tlum 
 are so very similar, that a stranger has 
 much difficulty in recognising any distinc- 
 tion. The foot pavement usually consists 
 of a' line of bricks. The long and stately 
 row of houses facing the Meuse.and called, 
 from its row of trees, the " Boomt.jes," is 
 the finest part of the town, whether we 
 regard its buildings or the pleasant pros- 
 pect over the Meuse. Next to the Booint- 
 jes, the quay of the Haring Vleit is the 
 most pleasant place in the city. Many 
 of the houses are built of free-stone, which, 
 not being the produce of the country, must 
 have been brought to the spot at a great 
 expense. The celebrated Bayle once re- 
 sided on this quay— and the spot on which 
 his house stood is still pointed out to 
 strangers. The suburbs of Rotterdam are 
 very pleasant, and afford a very favorable 
 specimen of the Dutch taste in rural scene- 
 ry. The gardens, upon a level with the 
 
 of the safest and most commodious har- 
 bors in Europe; and the waters are so 
 deep, that the largest vessels can come 
 and take in or discharge their cargoes at 
 the warehouses of the merchants in the 
 midst of the town, by means of the nu- 
 merous canals by which, even more than 
 Amsterdam or any other Dutch city, it is 
 intersected. It is owing to this lacility 
 that the number of vessels which enter and 
 ' clear out yearly at Rotterdam has generally 
 eoualled, and often exceeded, the number 
 at Amsterdam, notwithstanding the greater 
 wealth and population of the latter port. 
 
 a mathematician ; but still their neatness 
 and luxuriance leave a pleasing impression 
 on the mind. Most of the principal mer- 
 chants of the town have their country-seats 
 in the suburbs. Upon most of the gates 
 and houses there is a motto indicative ol 
 the peace of mind of the owner, or the 
 character of the place ; such as the fol- 
 lowing : " Peace is iny garden," — " Hope 
 and repose,"—" Almost out of w^^n,"— 
 " Look upon those beneath you, (this 
 was inscribed upon a large house that 
 commanded some little cottages), " Very 
 well content," &c. These inscriptions 
 , are seldom used but by opulent tradesmen ; 
 
 *M 
 
 '*^^fM I 
 
 iM 
 
 '"t"*-- 
 
HISTORY. 
 
 935 
 
 smons th*" WjibeT cU«s*s they art «o«i- 
 siuK>r*d to be a U«U' unvtuml wiih rul- 
 csritv, (hough ihey sonwumos indulge lu 
 
 them. 
 
 rh<' houses of RottervlAm arc raihor 
 convcnien*. than elegant, the jvfculi«r »tyl<« 
 ot' Outoh architecture being num' than 
 u»uar.v prevalent there. They ar* ot the 
 height o\ tour. live, or six »tor\e#, and. in 
 s.Mue »}u:irterti, the IrvMit wall* prv^ject as 
 thev ascend, so as to place the higher 
 part of the building several feet beyond 
 the perpendicular. In many of the houses 
 the srxnmd-fliKir is m>t inhabited.bui serves, 
 with Its gate and archtnl passage, merelv 
 as an entrance to the warehouses behind. 
 In their interior arrangements and furni- 
 ture, the houses of Ro^te^^lam, and of many 
 iMher Dutch towns, possess a degree ot 
 convenience, lightness, and comlort. which 
 ' is not olien realiied on the continent, and 
 1 i«. perhaiw, exceeded only in this country 
 Altogether, no scene can at tirsl be more 
 novel or interesting to a stranger than 
 lh.it which Kottervlam presents ; masts ot 
 shii>s enlivened bv gav :,ireamers. beauti- 
 ' ful staielv trees and lofty leaning houses 
 ; appear mingle*.!, and at one view he sees 
 i before hmrthe characteristic teatures ot 
 ; the countTj-, the city, and the sea. 
 
 HISTORY. 
 
 ^^1?^HEREVF.R litera 
 
 r '^^ *y lure has had an influ 
 Lv~ ff^ ... .k.. „,io.t. 
 
 ence on the minds 
 of men, history has 
 been one of the 
 sources frv)m which 
 they have taken 
 ihe iTWst copious 
 draughts, and by 
 which thev have become so eminently 
 useful. Were we to take a retrosiHXtive 
 Tiew of the ditTtrent literar),- characters 
 that have tl*Hirished frv>m the i>er»ixl ot 
 Honwr to the present, we should find that 
 to gain an extensive knowledge of historv 
 has been one of their chief pursuits, and 
 upon the utility of this department of litera- 
 ture, thev have freviueutly dilated. AU 
 
 claasea of «>cietr, the rieh and the p»h>t, 
 the noble and ignoble, the learned and 
 unlearned, peruse its varied (vages. ajw 
 preciate us benelits. and justly rank it jj 
 among the U'net^cial studies to be pursuetl j 
 bv the true seeker of knowKslge. 
 " All experience pr\»ves the necessity (*( , 
 having at least s.-ne acquaintance with 
 historv, for without it a man can not mingle 
 \n the company of the learned, or discuss ■ 
 with any degree o\ justness, even the 
 common topics of the day. T;' .-ri-y-, 
 historv is an imeresting t.ask ; and he wh.> 
 makes a diligent search into the past ,, 
 knows this to b<' a truth worthy o( apprv>- 
 ballon. The student, afker p^Mu'enng over 
 Latin and Greek, and leanung the science 
 of mathematics all the day long, lind* eii- 
 jovment and rest to his mind in r\>ading 
 over m the night watches, the scenes o( 
 former times. The philosopher w ith eager 
 attention, scans every |>age. On the one 
 hand, he discovers the weakness and de- 
 praviiv of the human heart, and. on the 
 oilier, man's true intellectual character ; ( 
 he is also taught ihvvse precepta and doc- 
 trines which sup}H>rt his opinions and 
 contribute to his advancement. The ora- 
 tor seeks time to view the amaiing reve- 
 lations of history. There he nunMs with 
 ! examples worthy of imitation ami admira- 
 ' lion ; their lives', actions, and prxnluctions, 
 he examines with unwearied diligence, 
 for, bv this means, he forms a just esii- 
 j mate of an orator, and pt^rceives what he 
 must do to gain an erer-enduncg reputa- 
 ' lion among men. The legis' v reviews 
 . the historic page with pleasur:.a iaterest; 
 - it shows him in what manner th^' gwvern- 
 ments and laws of ditTerent countries have 
 acted u|wn human society, and under what 
 cirvumstances thrones have been demol- 
 ished, and kingdoms desol.atetl. It ex- 
 plains those means bv which nations en- 
 joying the rich blessings of atlluence and 
 pixwperitv, have suddenly been hurled into 
 ruin. It" assist.s hun in devising laws 
 which will have a tendency to moralixe 
 the communitv and advance it in {nnver 
 and intelligence. The milit.ary chiettain 
 takes delight in surveying the manners 
 and discipline of those renowned warriors 
 who grace the annals of the past. It is 
 bv them he judges his own rules and 
 rcelhods, and bv comparing them he culls 
 
 •*''^;t*dt 
 
 /.is 
 
 'Tiiiim 
 
 
r 
 
 936 
 
 THE HEART. 
 
 tlioso which would bo tho most suitnble to 
 his (l.>Hi(Tiis. The poet, with watohfiil eye 
 mill anxious heart, searches the history of 
 l)ntilps, grand achievements, exploits of 
 renuliihle heroes, and the writings and 
 p.rm.niil qualities of distinguished bards. 
 The secret operations of nature are thus 
 opt'iily revealed, and subjects of careful 
 niedit ilion are amply aftbrded him. Thus 
 we might go on to show the usefulness ot 
 history to the sculptor, and all professions 
 and gradations in human life ; but thus 
 much is suflicient. 
 
 " History," as a modern writer correctly 
 remarks, "is calculated to enlighten the 
 judgment upon those subjects which have 
 a direct bearing, no. only upon individual 
 utility and comfort, but also on the wel- 
 fare of community at large. 
 
 " It leads to a knowledge of man in his 
 social relations, and speaks with a warn- 
 ing voice to the oppressor, and infuses 
 coTisolaiion and courage into the oppress- 
 ed. Upon the high principle of religious 
 motives, virtue has been roused to exer- 
 tion, or has been strengthened to the en- 
 durance of remediless wrong by a belief 
 in a future state." It directs man to the 
 accurate principles on which to establish 
 society, and instructs hiin to avoid the 
 gross opinions which have been advanced 
 lor the sole purpose of corrupting and 
 demoralizing the human race, and places 
 him in the virtuous path that will guide to 
 fortune, power and fame. It exhibits the 
 secret springs of all human governments, 
 and evinces tho proper, firm foundation on 
 which to erect a governmental fabric that 
 will endure the raging scourges of time. 
 It teaches the instability of human great- 
 ness, the changes that have controlled the 
 happiness of man. Men have been raised 
 to importance, and to be the riders of, 
 niiuhty nations, and in tho midst of all the j 
 honors issuing from such a source have 
 suddenly sank into oblivion and utter for- 
 getfulness. It discloses the many fas- 
 cinating habiliments which vice has as- 
 sumed, and by means of which the world 
 has been deluged with crime, and covered 
 with total darkness. It speaks in soul- 
 thrilling accents to shun all the temptations 
 and blandishments of sin, and direct the 
 mind to the contemplation of a nobler and 
 more enchanting theme, the Deity— the 
 
 rcwarder of good, and tho punisher of 
 evil. (Miris utility, the beacon light of 
 modern bisl.iry.is fast illumining the patli- 
 way of man, and guiding immortal miml 
 to "the acme of glory and i)erfoction to 
 which its Creator has destined it. 
 
 THE HEART. 
 
 HE heart has an ap- 
 propriate sensibiliiy, 
 '^' hy which it is held 
 united in the closest 
 connexion and sym- 
 pathy with the other 
 vital organs ; so that 
 it participates in all 
 the changes of the general system of the 
 
 bodv. , . , II 
 
 But connected with the heart, and tle- 
 nendiiic on its peculiar and extensive ap- 
 paratus is what demands our attention ; 
 and this is the organ of breathing : a part 
 known obviously as the iimtrument of 
 speech, but which proves to be more. 1 He 
 or-an of breathing, in its association with 
 the heart, is the instrument of expression, 
 and is tho part of the frame, by the action 
 of which the emotions are developed «rul 
 made visible to us. Certain strong feel- 
 ings of the mind produce a disturbed con- 
 dition of the heart ; and through that cor- 
 poreal induence, directly from the heart, 
 indirectly from the mind, the extensive 
 apparatus constituting the organ of breath- 
 ing is put in motion, and gives us tho out- 
 ward signs which we call expression. 
 The man was wrong who found fault with 
 nature for not placing a window before 
 the heart, in order to render visible human 
 thoughts and intentions. There is, in 
 trutli^ provision made in the countenance 
 and outward bearing for such discoveries. 
 One, ignorant of the grounds on which 
 these opinions are founded, has said, ''Ev- 
 ery strong emotion is directed toward the 
 heart : the heart experiences various kinds 
 of sensation, pleasant or unpleasant, over 
 which it has no control ; and thence the 
 agitated spirits are diffused over the body. 
 The fact is certainly so, although the 
 [language be figurative. How are these 
 I spirits diffused, and what are their effects ? 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
THE HEART. 
 
 0137 
 
 ;he piinisher of 
 Hiiicon li,i»lit of 
 miiiiiii,' tlie piiili- 
 iiiiiniirlal luim) 
 ml jH'rfeclion ti» 
 itinud it. 
 
 IT. 
 
 lipart has an ap- 
 rinlo seiisiliili'V, 
 vhieh it i« li«'l(l 
 ill in the closest 
 lexion ami syin- 
 y with tho oilwr 
 orsjans ; -so ilnt 
 irlicipates in all 
 ral system of the 
 
 le heart, and tle- 
 inil extensive ap- 
 ils onr attention ; 
 breathing : a part 
 le iirstrument of 
 to be more. The 
 i association with 
 ent of expression, 
 ime, by the action 
 ire developed «nd 
 ■rtain strong feel- 
 e a disturbed con- 
 l through that cor- 
 y from the heart, 
 lid, the extensive 
 le organ of breath- 
 1 gives us the out- 
 ! call expression. 
 10 found fault with 
 
 a window before 
 nder visible human 
 18. There is, in 
 n the countenance 
 r such discoveries. 
 
 grounds on which 
 ded,ha8 said, "Ev- j 
 lirected toward the 
 ences various kinds 
 nr unpleasant, over 
 il ; and thence the 
 ised over the body." 
 y so, although the 
 3. How are these 
 lat are their effects 1 
 
 „„ „„■ . x,.mlo.l ,..«... or ,»p nu m ^ ., '.U , f 1,„ lip I ' ■".' 
 
 i,„, .„M »i »" «-i)- » I";'""' f ,"'" ' « I " , ' ;, , f L r,r. '-..r «l,y i. ll.,. W.oA 
 
 llu.s.,\,r,:.ns moving in «ympathy vn. ^^ ^^^ f,,,^ Ihe d.r.-ct inlUu.nco 
 
 tlH. n.uu!..hc same uniformity .s produced ^;' ""\ -i^; ,„,. However strange il 
 
 a.nnng men. in their internal leelings. » '''^ J, JV^,, •,„,,,,,,,, ..,,s, it i.s to 
 
 emotions, or passions, as there exi s m "^^y »> '^ "^ „„j „„ ,^,, ,„ended 
 
 ,he,r ideas ^^[ '^^^^^^^^^ZJS^^: t nnil; of bre^U.ing. that we arc to 
 uni orm operations of the organs oi s( use ,>(r,.cts 
 
 Let us' place examples b^'^re "^ and , trace thes.^.l^^^^^^^^^^^ ^.^^^^ 
 
 tl.,n trv Jhelher the received ."^"^'""^ i . ^;^, ^"^a ^ By a strong elVort 
 
 of tbe passions will furnish us >^-'l\»" f^^" i J, , ^w 'd tokens may be restrained, at 
 
 1,„,U:,„ .,,• ,he phenomeiia or whether ^';' °" ^^ ^"ij^j „, „,, J,,,,,,, ,,..,ring of 
 
 Ive must go deeper, and seek the assistance |j^-;'J' ^;'«;\ ^^,,„^ ^^^ ....rering can 
 
 ofaiiaioiny. . .u„,„ i rp^irain the natural fulness^ of his features. 
 
 In tho expression of the passions, '^'^'^ "/'."/Tj ';°,", f,i ^olor of his cheek, the 
 
 is a e..mp'und inllnence in "P^^""". °J,, ,^ J, ^t' rre^.^^ and clearness 
 
 Let us euM.e.nplate the "PP''":^"';^^?^ "^ 'X™^^^ voile? The villain may 
 
 .error. VVe can -^^y. ™^ ^^J^,,: ^^Z his voice, and mask his purpose 
 
 „,an stamls vyith e> es '"'' ' -^ "^'^ , . .^m, n ,i,t and libertine words, or carry an 
 
 the ..l.jeet of his leurs, he eyebrovvs ele vui . „ comempt of all suiter 
 
 we u„ly perceive .he i„te,,l »pplic»uon murderer, .- ,. „^„ j,,„, ,,,., ^„ ,^.k , 
 iif Ills iiiiii.l u> llie I'bjecl uf iM oppreuen- y„,aj „„„„„,. VCI.)- look joo |,.loI" 
 ''"'''-■'n,;^ *lel""nrL'.Ue,Trere Bu, .he].,, feeling, of ni.i.kiiid Jciianil 
 
 ing alone to escape, which betray how 
 much he feels, and how much he restrains. 
 
 his breathing is short and rapid, l! 3io is 
 a iiasi.in.' and convulsive motion ot his 
 lips a tremor on his hollow cheek, a 
 gulping and catching of his throat ; and 
 why does his heart knock at his ribs, while 
 yet' tli«rc IS no force of circulation ?— tor 
 his lilLs and cheeks are ashy pale. 
 
 So in grief, if we attend to the same 
 clas^ of phenomena, we shall be able to 
 draw an exa:i picture. Let us imagine 
 to o.as.hes the overwhelming inlhience 
 
 The Sabbath.— The people of nearly 
 all nations have a special regard for one 
 day i„ each week. Christians observe 
 Sundav; the Greeks, Monday; the 1 er- 
 sians, "Tuesday ; the Assyrians, Ueil.ies- 
 tlay; the Egyptians, Thurs.lay: tne 
 
 L 
 
 to oiasehe, the overwhelm, g . uen^ «ay , '^iJ^^ J tl^ Jews, Saturday. 
 of urnf on women. The object in her , , ,J "^^^ .^ > . ^,,3 ^^^^^ ;, , ,,a.baih 
 mind has absorbed all the powers of the , ^ I" «;/;y ^ ,„j j^ ,vould be well 
 
 '"" J;:vual: • ;;:ey ^ n::r:dess and | good on the sabbath-day." 
 
 Ira 
 
 s 
 
 limlib 
 
 ■r'*"»^ 
 
 ^ •.V4 
 
 ■f't^k 
 
 i'iiitff 
 
THE LYNX.-TUR APPKAIIANCE8 OF DE8IQN IN THE UNIVRllSB. 
 
 THE LYNX. 
 
 K UK lynxps form a 
 J^ small section in tho 
 very extensive genus 
 fclis, or cat tribe of 
 animals, in which 
 they are principally 
 dislinguished by the 
 ^ . length of the fur, the 
 
 shortness of the tail, and by the brush- 
 es of hair with which their cars are fur- 
 
 The lynx is about the size of a mod- 
 erately large dog, measuring about two 
 feet and a half from the head to the com- 
 mencement of the tail, which is about six 
 inches long, the eyes, which are prover- 
 bially piercing, are of a pale yellow color. 
 The long and soft fur is generally of a 
 bright red color, marked on the back and 
 limbs with blackish-brown spots ; three 
 lines of black spots on the cheeks join a 
 large black oblique band on each side of 
 the neck under the ear : the fur of these 
 parts is longer than elsewhere and torms 
 a kind of laternal beard. The forehead 
 and top of the head are dotted with black ; 
 and on the top of the neck there are four 
 lines of the same color, the middlemost ol 
 which is broken and interrupted. Ihe 
 dark spots form two oblique bands on the 
 shoulders, and transverse bands on the 
 
 fore-legs. , 
 
 The lynx was formerly spread over the 
 Old World. It was common in France, 
 and has only disappeared from Germany 
 at a comparatively recent period. It is 
 still found in the north of Europe, and 
 e»en in Portugal and Spain. It is vory 
 common in the forests of northern Asia, 
 and in the Caucasus. That which in- 
 I habits the more southern parts of Asia, 
 and is found in Africa, is a rather distinct 
 variety called caracal, a contraction of the 
 Turkish name kara, black, and kulach,ew. 
 It is chielly distinguished by its uniform 
 vinous rrd color, by its ears, which are 
 black both without and within, and by a 
 longer tail than any other lynx possesses. 
 America is known to have two, or perhaps 
 three varieties of the lynx. The first is 
 that which, after Bufl.n, is called the 
 Canada lynx. lis color is gray, its tail is 
 longer than that of the comaion lynx, and 
 
 the hairs on tho cars are shorter. Some 
 individuals have the fur so thick and long, 
 especiiilly on tho paws, that ih.-y have a 
 very ditferent appearance from the t.uro- 
 pean lynx; the identity of which with 
 this species is asserted by some naturalists 
 
 111 
 
 and disputed by others. !l is lound 
 great abundance in the districts n.-oui 
 Hudson's bay, when.e from 7,000 to 9.000 
 skins are yearly exported. It is a timid 
 creature, and makes but slight resistance 
 when brought to bay by the hunter ; for 
 thouRh, like the cat, it spits and erects the 
 hair on its back, it is easily destroyed 
 with a slender slick. The other variety 
 (filix rufa) which is found in tho United 
 States, is smaller than the one just men- 
 tioned. It has the form and distribution 
 of spots of the European variety ; but the 
 ground color is gray ; its spots are more 
 numerous, deeper on the back, and paler 
 on the sides and limbs. 
 
 The howl of the common lynx has a 
 considerable resemblance to that of the 
 wolf. When assailed, it is by no means 
 passive. When attacked by a dog, it lies 
 down on its back, and strikes so desperate- 
 ly with its claws, that it frequently com- 
 pels the assailant to withdraw. 
 
 THE APPEARANCES OF DESIGN IN 
 THE UNlVE?iSE. 
 
 S every part of 
 the universe with 
 which we are ac- 
 quainted exhibits 
 evident marks of 
 design, we must 
 of necessity in- 
 fer, that it gprung 
 from a Wise &v.d 
 Intelligent Cause. The inference is ob- 
 vious and undeniable. It is, indeed, prm- 
 cipally upon this argument, that our belie 
 in the existence of God is founded ; and 
 as it has been often place* in a false light 
 by atheists and skeptics, we shall endeavor 
 to vindicate its justness from tho objections 
 of some able, and chiefly of some late 
 
 "^^Srorder to speak distinctly upon this 
 
 I 
 
IVEllSB 
 
 B shorter. Some 
 80 thick and lung, 
 that tht-y liavo a 
 :e from the Kviro- 
 ^f of whii'li with 
 »y some naturalists 
 I. It iH found in 
 le districts al/out 
 roin 7,000 to 9,000 
 3d. It is a timid 
 I slight resistance 
 ly the hunter ; for 
 pits and erects the 
 I easily destroyed 
 The other variety 
 ound in the United 
 the one just men- 
 m and distribution 
 m variety ; but the 
 its spots are more 
 he back, and paler 
 I. 
 
 !ommon lynx has a 
 ince to that of the 
 , it is by no means 
 led by a dog, it lies 
 strikes so desperate- 
 t it frequently com- 
 dthdraw. 
 
 S OF DESIGN IN 
 IVE?iSE. 
 
 S every part of 
 the universe with 
 which we are ac- 
 quainted exhibits 
 ^ evident marks of 
 J design, we must 
 |V of necessity in- 
 ^fer, that it sprung 
 from a Wise i,t.t 
 The inference is ob- 
 . It is, indeed, prin- 
 ument, that our belief 
 3od is founded ; and 
 place* in a false light 
 ics, wc shall endeavor 
 iss from the objections 
 chiefly of some late 
 
 k distinctly upon this 
 
940 
 
 THE APPEARANCES OF DESIGN IN THE UNIVERSE. 
 
 ■li 
 
 subject, it is necessary to have a precise 
 and accurate notion of what is meant by 
 design, because some persons seem not 
 to have given sufficient attention to this 
 matter, and have involved themselves in 
 
 perplexity. , i- .• .1., 
 
 In common life we understand distinctly 
 what is meant by design. We say that a 
 man acts with design and foresight, when 
 his actions tend to bring about some end, 
 and vere performed by him with this view 
 If a man propose to make a clock, and 
 adjusts wheels and weights to one another, 
 80 that a motion is produced by means ot 
 which the hours are pointed out, we say 
 that he acts with design, and we say that 
 the piece of work which is produced 
 manifests contrivance. Whenever any- 
 thing is properly adapted for producmg an 
 end, or answering a purpose, we say it is 
 done with design. It is in this sense that 
 the word design has been employed m 
 stating this argument. It has been shown, 
 that important ends are served by means 
 of the bodies of which the material world 
 consists, and that their revolutions are 
 directed to the accomplishment of ce tain 
 valuable purposes. It has also been shown, 
 that the fabric and limbs of the human 
 body, and the faculties of the human mind, 
 are well fitted for those offices which they 
 pe-form. In all these things there are un- 
 deniable marks of wisdom and intention. 
 
 When there appears design or contri- 
 vance in anything, the question naturally 
 occurs, from what did it proceed? and 
 the obvious answer is, that it proceeded 
 from a designing cause. In this case 
 there is no occasion for any chtin ol 
 reasoning. The judgment is formed in- 
 tuitively, and without any intermediate 
 step. That every effect must have a 
 cause, is an axiom manifest to every per- 
 son ; and it seems to be equally evident, 
 that every effect that exhibits marks ol 
 design, must have proceeded from a de- 
 signing cause. Whatever is well adapted 
 for answering an end, must have been 
 adapted by its author and contriver to an- 
 swer thai purpose. No judgments we can 
 form appear to be more self-evident than 
 these ; and accordingly t^iey seem to have 
 been formed by the whole of mankind, 
 with respect to every subject to which 
 they are applicable. 
 
 It may then be laid down as a first 
 principle, founded on the constitution of 
 our minds, and standing in need of no 
 proof whatever. " that design, wherever 11 
 is observed, naturally, and therelore ne- 
 cessarily, suggests to us the notion of a 
 cause." The one conception is always 
 connected with the other. We apply this 
 principle in all the common affairs of life. 
 If we behold a ship well built, completely 
 rigged, and properly accommodated lor ^ 
 containing a car?o of goods, or for lodging 
 a number of passengers during a long 
 voyage, we never hesitate in pronouncing, 
 that it must have been the workmanship 
 of a skilful carpenter. If we look at a 
 palace adorned with all the elegant orna- 
 ments of architecture, and conveniently 
 disposed for the accommodation of its in- 
 habitants, and for exhibiting to spectators 
 their splendor and magnificence, we can not 
 entertain the slightest doubt of its having 
 been contrived by an architect, and execu- 
 ted by the hands of artists, adequate to such 
 a noble piece of workmanship. If we 
 were going through a desert, and saw a 
 wretched hovel erected, though we ob- 
 served no vestige of living creatures near 
 it, we would immediately ascribe it to in- 
 telligent beings, and conclude, without 
 further reflection,' that man had once been 
 there. Aristippus, the philosopher, was 
 shipwrecked upon an island; and he, 
 along with his fellow-sufferers, were wa k- 
 ' ing on the shore, deploring their miserable 
 fate, and not doubting but they would soon 
 be attacked and destroyed by barbarians, 
 or torn to pieces by wild beasts. While 
 they were in this situation, the philosopher 
 made a discovery which dispelled his 
 own fears ; and by means of which he was 
 enabled to rouse the drooping spirits ol his 
 companions. He perceived certain math- 
 ematical figures scratched upon the sand 
 of the seashore. The judgment which 
 he formed was certain, and it was imme- 
 diate. " Let us take courage, my friends, 
 said he, "for I discern the vestiges of 
 civilized men." He never imagined that 
 regular figures, adapted to the demonstra- 
 tion of abstract truths, could have been 
 accidentally formed by the foot of a sea- 
 fowl ; nor even that they could have been 
 drawn by the hand of savages. In these 
 suppositions there would have been no 
 
tu 
 
 [VERSE. 
 
 I laid down as a first 
 
 on tho constitution of 
 landing in need of no 
 hat design, wherever it 
 ally, and therefore ne- 
 j to us the notion of a 
 1 conception is always 
 5 other. We apply this 
 ) common affairs of life, 
 ip well built, completely 
 erly accommodated for 
 ) of goods, or for lodging 
 sengers during a long 
 hesitate in pronouncing, 
 ! been the workmanship 
 inter. If we look at a 
 ith all the elegant orna- 
 cture, and conveniently 
 jccommodation of its in- 
 • exhibiting to spectators 
 
 magnificence, we can not 
 titest doubt of its having 
 r an architect, and execu- 
 »f artists, adequate to such 
 f workmanship. If we 
 igh a desert, and saw a 
 
 erected, though we ob- 
 5 of living creatures near 
 [jediafely ascribe it to in- 
 and conclude, without 
 ,« that man had once been 
 us, the philosopher, was 
 on an island ; and he, 
 llow-sufferers, were walk- 
 , deploring their miserable 
 bting but they would soon 
 
 destroyed by barbarians, 
 ( by wild beasts. While 
 3 situation, the philosopher 
 ery which dispelled his 
 
 by means of which he was 
 
 the drooping spirits of his 
 ie perceived certain math- 
 i scratched upon the sand 
 !. The judgment which 
 certain, and it was imme- 
 j take courage, my friends," 
 I discern the vestiges of 
 He never imagined that 
 
 adapted to the demonstra- 
 ;t truths, could have been 
 rmed by the foot of a sea- 
 i that they could have been 
 land of savages. In these 
 lere would have been no 
 
 THE APPEARANCES OF DESIGN IN THE UNl\riRSE. 
 
 941 
 
 probability. He instantaneously judged 
 thai they must have been constructed by 
 mei. who had made progress in knowl- 
 edge and mental improvement ; and who, 
 of%onsequence, must have attained to 
 gentle and polished manners. If we hear 
 •i tune well played, we never imagine that 
 the sound is produced without the efforts 
 of a musician ; and if we read an excellent 
 poem, we arc immediately convinced that 
 it is the work of a good poet. We never 
 imagine that letters accidentally thrown 
 down, could form themselves into an Iliad 
 or an Eneid. We do not even imagine 
 that a person of small abilities could have 
 arranged words, or contrived incidents, 
 so as to have formed works of such dis- 
 tinguished merit. We are naturally led 
 to assign a cause adequate to the effect, 
 and to ascribe poems of such beauty and 
 grandeur to minds of a superior order. In 
 our connexions with men, in the same 
 manner, we observe their words and their 
 actions. We consider these as effects 
 proceeding from an interna! cause. We 
 judge of the cau-'o from the effects which 
 we observe ; and we conclude, that he 
 who acts and speaks with prudence and 
 discernment, must possess facuhies cor- 
 responding to his behavior. 
 
 All these judgments proceed from our 
 constitution. We are so made that we 
 naturally form them, just in the same man- 
 ner as we pronounce snow to be white ; 
 or as we infer the existence of a substance 
 from discerning its qualities. The whole 
 of mankind form similar judgments, and 
 they do it intuitively. They use no argu- 
 ment on such subjects, and they can use 
 none. They employ no intermediate steps, 
 as in a cl^ain of reasoning ; and do not ar- 
 rive at their conclusion by adjusting prem- 
 ises to one another. 
 
 If we judge in this manner in the ordi- 
 nary transactions of life, i* is surely to be 
 expected that we should judge in the same 
 manner with respect to the design and 
 contrivance discernible in the fabric of the 
 universe. If a mathematical figure be 
 scratched upon the sand, we instantaneous- 
 ly ascribe it to a designingf cause, and ac- 
 knowledge that he who formed it was 
 a man acquainted with certain abstract 
 truths. If we observe a building or an 
 elegant contrivance, we ascribe them to 
 
 an arsist. If we see well-directed con- 
 duct, we conclude that he who performed 
 it is a prudent agent. Can we then be- 
 hold the regularity and order of the uni- 
 verse, the subservirncy of every part to 
 the rest, the exr«illent adjustment of means 
 to ends, and the invariable succession of 
 revolutions, without pronouncing immedi- 
 ately that there must be an intelligent cause 
 that produced them ? It is impossible to 
 behold tho planetary system, to consider 
 how nicely its parts are fitted to one an- 
 other, how regularly its motions are di- 
 rected, and how beneficial every part of it 
 is to living creatures, without declaring 
 that it is the workmanship of a wise be- 
 ing. The bodies of animals are infinitely 
 b r constructed, and are also much more 
 c^. plex, than the best machine of human 
 contrivance ; and if no person ever thought 
 a watch was formed without intention, can 
 any person imagine that animal bodies 
 were produced without an artist ? 
 
 If we take into consideration the pro- 
 vision that is made for the support of ani- 
 mal life, the instinct with which every 
 creature is furnished, its appetites and its 
 passions adapted to its manner of life, we 
 observe still more and more reason fci 
 drawing the same conclusion. The facul- 
 ties which man possesses, the powers of 
 understanding and of action, and his ca- 
 pacity for discerning what is fair and 
 beautiful, and of prosecuting what is hon- 
 orable and proper, must obtain from every 
 candid mind an acknowledgment that this 
 lord of the lower world must have been 
 formed by the hand of wonderful intelli- 
 gence. " He that planted the ear, shall 
 he not hear? He that formed the eye, 
 shall he not see ? He that teachelh man 
 knowledge, shall he not know ?" The 
 judgment in this case is as natural 'and 
 necessary as in any other whatever. It 
 flows from a principle in our constitution, 
 and it has been formed in all ages. 
 
 These judgments which we form con- 
 cerning causes, from observing their ef- 
 fects, must be founded upon an original 
 principle in our constitution. They are 
 universal, and yet nobody assigns a reason 
 for them. They are evidently not con- 
 clusions from reasoning. It is impossiblo 
 to point out any intermediate steps by 
 which they are proved, and nobody hiis 
 
 1 'F^; 
 
 J 
 
 1:^0 ■ 
 
 
 
942 
 
 THE APPEARANCES OP DESIGN IN THE UNIVERSE. 
 
 attempted it. No man can give any argu- 1 
 ment by which it can be shown, that a 
 mathematical figure must be the work of 
 an intelligent being, and could not be the 
 work of a fowl or of a quadruped. Wo 
 judge indeed in this manner, but we can 
 assign no reason for our judgment, any 
 more than we can assign any reason why 
 we judge that two and two make four. 
 Neither did we learn to judge in this man- 
 ner by experience. From experience we 
 can acquire knowledge only concerning , 
 contingent truth or matters of fact, which i 
 may be, or may not be. without any ab- ! 
 surdity. We can never learn from expe- : 
 rience any knowledge concerning neces- 
 sary truths which must be, and which it' 
 involves an absurdity to suppose not to be. 
 We may learn from experience that bodies 
 gravitate. This is not a necessary truth ; 
 ft is only contingent, and depends on the 
 will of the Creator ; and if he had pleased, 
 bodies might had opposite properties, or 
 might not have existed. But we can not 
 learn from experience that the whole is 
 equal to all its parts. This is a necessary 
 truth, and necessarily flows from the no- 
 tions we have of a whole and of its parts. 
 It must be true ; and it is impossible, and 
 involves absurdity, to think otherwise. 
 Now, our judgments concerning the con- ■ 
 nexion of effects and causes, are judgments ' 
 concerning necessary truths. We do not 
 iudge that the connexion may take place, 
 but that it must take place. These judg- 
 ments, therefore, are of such a nature, as 
 experience can not suggest. 
 
 Some persons, unwilling to admit that 
 the world sprung from a designing cause, 
 have pretended that everything sprung 
 from chance, or from absolute necessity. 
 That the world arose from accident, was 
 strongly urged by the ancient Epicureans; 
 and that it sprung from necessity, or ab- 
 solute and undirected fate, has been in- 
 sisted upon by some speculative atheists 
 and skeptics, both in ancient and modern 
 times. It is, however, to bo remarked, 
 that these are only forms of expression, 
 without any clear and distinct meaning. 
 Chance and absolute necessity are words 
 expressing certain abstract notions ; and 
 neither the notions, nor the terras that 
 denote them, can possibly be the causes 
 of anything whatever. They are not ac- 
 
 tive beings, capable of accomplishing any 
 end. In common language we attribute 
 many things to chance. If a die bo 
 thrown, we say it depends upon chance 
 what side may turn up ; and, if we draw 
 a prize in a lottery, we ascribe our suc- 
 cess to chance. We do not, however, 
 mean that these effects were produced by 
 no cause, but only that we are ignorant 
 of the cause that produced them. There 
 are mechanical causes, which determine 
 what side of a die will cast up, as certain- 
 ly as anything else ; and if we could ad- 
 just perfectly the degree of force with 
 which it is thrown, and particular direc- 
 tion, together with the nature of the sur- 
 face on which it passes, we could tell 
 precisely what side would appear. This, 
 however, wo can not do ; and because the 
 event depends on circumstances which 
 we can not foresee, we ascribe it to a 
 cause of which we are ignorant ; and to 
 such uncertain and undetermined causes, 
 we give the name of chance ; not meaning 
 that there is no cause, but that we can not 
 ascertain it. 
 
 Again, when all things are ascribed to 
 necessity, if those who use the term have 
 any meaning at all, they can not mean 
 that they sprung from no cause ; they 
 must only mean that the cause, whatever 
 it was, acted necessarily, and not from 
 choice. They must conceive the first 
 cause to have been actuated by some in- 
 voluntary force, as a machine is moved 
 by weights and springs, so that the effect 
 must necessarily be produced; and can 
 not mean that there was no cause. If we 
 I ascribe, then, everything to chance, we 
 I do not exclude a cause ; we only say we 
 ' do not know what that cause is. If we 
 ascribe everything to necessity, we also 
 admit a cause, though a different one from 
 what is admitted by those who acknovvl- 
 edge design. The only question then is, 
 whether the cause admitted to be a design- 
 ing cause or not 1 
 
 That the universe must have proceeded 
 from a designing cause, and could not possi- 
 bly have proceeded from a cause without 
 design and intelligence, by whatever name 
 it may be denominated, whether it be call- 
 ed chance, or necessity, or fate, is exceed- 
 ingly obvious. Nothing beautiful, regular, 
 and orderly, ever proceeded, or can pro- 
 
 ■- ■m«i* i w.ft-J'itfWtwwW 
 
3E. 
 
 accomplishing any 
 ;uage we attribute 
 ce. If a die be 
 ends upon chance 
 ; and, if we draw 
 re ascribe our suc- 
 
 do not, however, 
 
 were produced by 
 It we sre ignorant 
 uced them. There I 
 3, which determine 
 
 cast up, as cerlain- 
 md if we could ad- 
 gree of force with 
 lid particular direc- 
 3 nature of the sur- 
 sscs, we could tell 
 ould appear. This, 
 lo ; and because the 
 ircumstances which 
 
 we ascribe it to a 
 re ignorant ; and to 
 ndetermined causes, 
 hance ; not meaning 
 , but that we can not 
 
 lings are ascribed to 
 w use the term have 
 they can not mean 
 um no cause ; they 
 the cause, whatever 
 sarily, and not from 
 t conceive the first 
 ictuated by some in- 
 a machine is moved 
 igs, so that the effect 
 I produced ; and can 
 was no cause. If we 
 thing to chance, we 
 ise ; we only say we 
 that cause is. If we 
 to necessity, we also 
 [h a different one from 
 y those who acknowl- 
 only question then is, 
 dmitted to be a design- 
 
 9 must have proceeded 
 ise, and could not possi- 
 from a cause without 
 nee, by whatever name 
 ited, whether it be call- 
 isity, or fate, is exceed- 
 thing beautiful, regular, 
 proceeded, or can pro- 
 
 THE APPEARA -IS OF DESIGN IN THE UNIVERSE. 
 
 943 
 
 ceed, from an undelsigning cause. Sup- 
 pose matter to have existed originally of 
 itself, and to have been endued with mo- 
 tion from eternity ; and suppose that mo- 
 tion to have been continued withoutdiminu- 
 tion ; there is no doubt but these materials, 
 continually agitated, would, in the course 
 of millions of ages, have assumed various 
 forms ; but there is no probability that ever 
 these forms would have been regular, and 
 much less that there should bo regularity 
 in all their revolutions, mutual connexions, 
 and dependencies. Did ever chance form 
 a machine so regular as a watch ? Throw 
 the different wheels, and springs, and pin- 
 ions, of which a watch is composed, into 
 one vessel, and keep the whole in motion 
 for ages, and after all, neither the whole, 
 nor any part of them, will ever be properly 
 placed and adjusted. Take a case that 
 has often been put in handling this argu- 
 ment. Suppose a triangular prism, with 
 thret- unequal sides, and a scabbard per- 
 fectly adapted to it, to be both set in mo- 
 tion through empty space ; grant both of 
 them the power of altering their motions, 
 and of flying up and down in every possi- 
 ble direction, it is infinity to one that they 
 will never meet. Supposing they did 
 meet, it is still infinity to one that they do 
 not meet in that one particular direction 
 in which the prism will enter its scabbard. 
 If chance, then, can not effectuate those 
 simple adjustments, to which the design 
 of a child is equal, how can it be imagined 
 that it should adjust the innumerable parts 
 and revolutions in the universe * There 
 is not the slightest shadow of probability 
 to justify such a supposition. Even though 
 chance should sometimes have stumbled 
 upon a regular form, after a variety of 
 trials— in the way that Epicurus imagined 
 men, and animals, and vegetables, to have 
 been fashioned— these forms would again 
 have been immediately destroyed, in the 
 same manner that the monstrous appear- 
 ances that had existed before them, in in- 
 finite multitudes, were destroyed, in con- 
 sequence of the motion and changes cf 
 situation which, upon that supposition, 
 are always going on among the particles 
 of matter. If chance never could arrange 
 unorganized matter into those beautiftil 
 and regular forms with which we see it 
 invested, could it, or necessity, or any 
 
 blind cause, by whatever name it may be 
 called, ever produce a being endued with 
 life, sensation, intelligence, and the power 
 of voluntary action ? Can that which has 
 itself no design or understanding, produce 
 a wise and intelligent mind ? The sup- 
 position is absurd. It is supposing an 
 effect to be produced by an inadequate 
 cause ; which is precisely the same thing 
 as to suppose it produced by no cause at 
 all. It is strange that such an opinion 
 should have ever been embraced by phi- 
 losophers, the folly of which is manifest 
 even to a child. An infant, if its bells on 
 its rattle be taken away, never dreams 
 that they were taken away by nobody, but 
 j immediately judges that they were rc- 
 ' moved by some person or other. Even 
 I a dog, if a stone be thrown at him, never 
 imagines that the pain he feels arose with- 
 out a cause. He either flies from the 
 place, that he may be exposed to no fur- 
 ther sufferings, or he turns with resent- 
 ment to defend himself. If an inhabitant 
 of Terra del Fuego, or Lapland, who had 
 never seen an army, nor knew the use of 
 firearms, were brought to see a regiment 
 reviewed, would he imagine that all their 
 orderly motions and evolutions were the 
 effects of blind chance 1 Would he not 
 immediately perceive that they arose from 
 design and premeditation ? The motions 
 of a single human body are much more 
 regular, and more various, than those of a 
 large body of soldiers upon a field-day. 
 Why then imagine that these motions are 
 carried on without design ? What then 
 shall we say of the regularity observable 
 in the whole human race, in inferior ani- 
 mals, in plants, in unorganized matter, and 
 through the whole extent of the universe? 
 Or, what shall we say of the intelligence 
 of that man, who seriously believes that 
 the whole is produced without a design- 
 ing cause 1 
 
 Life a Journey.— Consider heaven as 
 your home ; yourself as on a journey to it ; 
 the affliction you meet with as a course 
 of discipline to prepare you for it ; and 
 the treasures you may possess as given 
 to defray your expenses on the way, and 
 to enable you to do something for those 
 who do not enjoy your blessings. 
 
 ■•^tl! 
 
 

 I 
 
 044 
 
 THK UNU. 
 
 TllK r.NU. 
 
 11 K >r"« nppi'nn ii« 
 if \i wiTO u iom|<i>»iinl ! 
 of (li(< horsf, ox, anil 
 
 »»!»>»■ •'"' '' piirtiili''" "• 
 ihi. i-liariuiiTs of iiU 
 lliiro, mtil '«" •'"■ 
 
 no.-k, iHvlv. ntul mil. ..ro thoso of ,x wHl- 
 fo„uoa smuU horso ; ih.> forinor is InrmsluMl 
 «.i.l,uiu.mo..u..lll.ol.iil isl.M.Kan.llW- 
 i.m Tho lin>l>» nro sloiultT, vigorous, 
 xvril-knii. nn.l ro^-mhlo il.oso ol u «t«il. 
 xvhilr ih.' Uoa.l lui.l horns roiniiul us o Iho 
 l.utValo. T\w .>Vos i>v.< liuvonivu, «•»'! ''X- 
 
 pr.-ssivo »>r Kroul l.ro.-iiy . 
 which .iTo ronuno.i to both soxrs. d..s.l> 
 r.-s.MHhlo those of th.- si>v!.^.< n»p.' bufl.lo, 
 ,.vc.<pl thai thovaro smallor ; lh.;y amo 
 f,„n> a Imsal mass of horn, oxpan.lmj; iko 
 H holinoi ov.>r ih.^ forohoail, \v1i.mum« ih.'v 
 HW...'P (lownxvanl holwo.'U tho .-yos. aiul 
 , thon s.xhlonlv turn upwar.l, au.l souiowl>"» 
 ouixvara. fMtaiuK ii> « »»>n'p pon.i. I hoir 
 siiuaiion IS «ltou«>thcr mi.-h as to ovorshn.l- 
 ow tho ovos. proamiuK an asprcl ol mis- 
 picion nml vin.liotivon.-ss. lh.> .hallron 
 is furnishtul with a mauo-liU.' tul\ ol brisi- 
 Iv hairs ; ami iho chin an.l throat aro cov- 
 or.ul vvilh hairs of a «imilar iharaoirr. a - 
 HO forminK a .haK«y hoara, xvh.lo a lull 
 ,„«,,« lloxvs aoxvn from iho n..a.-r-siao of 
 ll»o uoik, ami from bolxxron tho fovo-hna.s ; 
 that ah.n« tho i.pp.>r riago ol tho nook 
 l„-i„« th.ok ana upright. Iho homl is 
 hoavv ; ana tho mn/.«lo is oxpana.Hl into 
 tt tluok musonlar valv.-. or llap, whioh shuts 
 aoxvn liko a Inl. so as looloso tho aporturo 
 of tho nostrils, xvhioh aro thus oapablo ot 
 h,Mnn opoiioa or olo8«a at will. Tho larh- 
 rv««»l «i"»» ioiisi.sls of a small ghxul 
 h'oloxv tho angle of ouoh oyo, ana con- 
 coah-a in a tuft of long hair, hy winch it 
 is ouiiroly snrnnHuU<a. 
 
 Tho gnu is a nativo of tho wihl kar- 
 roos of South Africa, aiul tho hilly ai«- 
 tricts, wh»>r« it roams «omciimo» Hingly, 
 
 imtives mnl tho colonists. Tlicy arc. hoxv- 
 ovor, <xtromolv wihl, aiul not to l»o ap- 
 proa '-oa xviiliotit aillUuity. On tho lirsi 
 alarm, away fcours tho troop, not in a In- 
 mnltuous mass, hut in smj;lo (ilo, following; 
 a l*mlor ; ana as thoy aro soon vv.ilopinij 
 in tlio aistanco ovor tho plain, thoy so nnuh j 
 rosomhlo zohras, or »pmg«as- -tenants ol I 
 llio same wiMs— that xvorc it not lor tho 
 aUVcronco of color, they might easily '"■ 
 mistaken for thoso animals. The t;,Mi.-ral 
 eoh)r of tho gnu is aeop unilur t.roxvn, 
 ranging upon black ; tlio tail ami mano aro 
 Kray, llie latter, inaee.l. nearly white. 
 Their speea, as might bo expectea Iroin 
 Iho vigor ana compactness of ilioir boay 
 „jj, „.,., e*. ana limbs, is very groat. When first 
 liio horns, alarinoa, however, tliey ao not oxert it. but 
 
 but mostly ill largo liera=». which migrat. 
 nccoraing to lh« season. The oxtoni ol 
 ilsrang.tintluuntorior regions is not known. 
 As far, howovor. as irav oilers have pone 
 trattul, horas have boon mot ami chasoa ; 
 
 plunge about. Ilmuing out ihoir heels. Init 
 ting at various obp'cis, ana exhibiting 
 omolions of v.oleni fnry. It is seia..m 
 that thoy venture n|>«m an attack unless 
 hara pnmsoa, or woumloa. when they ao- 
 fonil thomsolvos with aosperation : ilrop- 
 piiig on thoir knoos, thoy aart forwara up- 
 on tlioir rash enemy witli exiraor-linaiy 
 force ami impotuosiiy. ana niiloss ho bo 
 cool ami preparotl, h« can not escape his 
 
 i fa to. 
 
 That tho gnu is soinolimcs seen single 
 appears from tho account of Sparrmaii. 
 xvho observes. " On tlio '2 lih I was in- 
 aucoa to stay longer a little longer on this 
 spot, by tho hopes of shooting a gnu winch 
 had boon soon ranging by itself about this 
 part of tho country. T(>nu is the llot- 
 lonlot name for a •ingular animal winch. 
 xviih rospoct lo its form, is between tho 
 horso uiul tho ox. Tho siao of it is about 
 that of a common gaUoxvay, the length t»l 
 it being somoxvhal al>iml live feci, and iho 
 height of U ratlier more than four. The 
 j{iui then waiuh'ring in ihese parts was 
 probably an oM buck, which Au\ not care 
 to keep company any long<>r with iht< henl 
 to which it belongea. t»r haa boon acci- 
 aeiitally soparatoa from it. As tins ihat 
 xvaa soon here kept upon tho open plains, 
 ami wo conia imt steal upon it bv creeping 
 lowfvas it from among the buslies, I en- 
 aoavoroa to o\ ortako it on horseback ; ami, 
 imleoa. lit lirst I got almost within gun- 
 shot of tho animal, when it ahowoa lis 
 viciou* aisposition in making various cur- 
 
 rsS «';;-■■:'. ';wu;:;u, .:;■...« i ;ou::;..;.w.»... «..■».■■» -j^ ■■■■■■-' -^;^_| 
 
 l iaj Et wii^ ^i' " " *"■"" — ''" ' ^-f^^— ^^f*!^'**' 
 
I. 'rin\v :irf,lnMV. 
 itiiil not lo •»«' "P- 
 iiltv. «>n 'Ix' •"•''*• 
 
 iriiop, not in :» Hi- 
 mslr I'll"'. r<>ll«i\vin}j 
 iiro «<'«'ii giiHopiMi? 
 pli>in,tlu\v Ht> nnuh 
 imn«i»!<- -tiMiaitts of 
 «fri> it not lor tlio 
 n'V minlii I'UNily I-- 
 mU. 'I'll- ui'iuTiil 
 ilcrp uinlxrliritwK. 
 ».- tail !»iul i»i>m' !»ri' 
 i>i<il. tifiuly wliito. 
 I l)«> cxpofinl iVom 
 liiosM ol' tlii'ir liiiily 
 jjroiit. WIh'II lirni 
 V do not «'X«<rt il, btil 
 out llunr lu'i'ls, hul- 
 »Ms, nit'l I'slul'iiinR 
 I'nry. li >!* sililoin 
 im i»« iitlHik tnilcss 
 ulnl, whon llioy ilo- 
 I ilespvrsuion : tlrop- 
 hoy ilart lorwunl iip- 
 
 w'iih oxiivtor.liiciiy 
 y, Mu\ \\\\\vs» li« 1)1' 
 I can itol osi'rtpo his 
 
 •motiiMOs soou «inj{l«> 
 H'ouiii ol' Spiunniui, 
 
 th© -Jlili I was m- 
 a liillo longtr on this 
 shooting; ii «»» wliiih 
 ig by iiHoir alioul iliis 
 
 'I'C'hm is llt«' ll"i- 
 jgulnr ai»iu»itl whioli, 
 loriu, is lu'twoi-n llio 
 riio sia<> of It IS almiil 
 illoWHv. tlio l.'ni>il> «»r 
 Ixiul livi> iVoi, anil i)n> 
 noio iliiin lour. Tit*" 
 H in lltoso palls was 
 K, wltiili iliil not caro 
 y lonm-r wiihlho licnl 
 i>il, or l»a»l Iwon lu-ii- 
 rom it. As tliis thai 
 upon iho opon plains, 
 «<ul upon il l>v »'ri>opii»>{ 
 nig tho l>«is^t<'s, I on- 
 } It on hoTschack ; nn«l, 
 ol uhnosl within (jnn- 
 , whi-n il sltowt'il iis 
 in making various our- 
 mging out h«>hiiul with 
 
946 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF MYSTERY. 
 
 one or both legs, and butting against the 
 mole.bill« with its horns ; but immediate y 
 upon ihis, it fled with considerable velocity 
 in a direct line over the plain as far as the 
 eye could discern it, and I can not help 
 thinking that this was one that was become 
 furious, as the other gnus I have chased ^ 
 since, would frequently stop to look back : 
 at their pursuers, as soon as they had 
 gained ground of them in any considera- 
 ble degree. What contributed not a little 
 to this gnu's having escaped me. was that 
 ,he ground was rocky ; and that an ardent 
 desire for dissecting this animal induced 
 me to push my horse on too fast at first, so 
 that in a little time it was quite out of 
 breath, and all over in a tremor." liuleed 
 so excessively was the horse fatigued, tha 
 Sparrman could not even chase a jacka 
 that was feasting on an elk-antelope sho 
 the day before. At a subsequent period 
 he met with large herds of gnus, and was 
 more successful. Mr. Pringle observed 
 the gnu among the hills at Bavian s river: 
 he informs us that its flesh in all its qual- 
 ities, has much resemblance to beef. He 
 also asserts, that, like the buffalo and ox, 
 this animal is enraged by the sight of scar- 
 let " It was one of our amusements to 
 hoist a red handkerchief on a pole, and 
 observe them caper about, lashing their 
 flanks with their long tails, and tearing up 
 the ground with their hoofs, as if they 
 were violently excited and ready to run 
 down upon us ; and then all at once, as 
 we were ready to fire upon them, to nee 
 them bound away, and again go prancing 
 round us at a safer distance." This aver- 
 sion to scarlet we have ourselves noticed 
 in individuals in captivity, and on one oc- 
 casion, much enraged a gnu by suddenly 
 displaying the scarlet lining of a cloak. 
 
 The gnu when taken young may be 
 tamed without much difficulty. Sparrman 
 caught a calf, and as he says, " had like- 1 
 wise previously seen and examined anoth- ! 
 er tame one of the same size which wa» 
 intended as a present for the governor : it 
 was feared, however, that this as well as 
 the young hartebeests which they were en- 
 deavoring to bring up tame, would be sub- 
 iect to a kind of furor or madness. W hy 
 so we are not informed. Mr. Pnngle as- 
 sures us that the gnu taken young will be- 
 come as domesticated as the cattle of the 
 
 I . ■ 
 
 farm, with which it associates, harmlessly 
 Eoing to and returning from pasture ; it 
 appears, however, that few farmers like to 
 domesticate it, as it is liable to a cutane- 
 ous eruption which it communicates to the 
 cattle, and which is invariably fatal, in 
 confinement the gnu often becomes fero- 
 cious, and is not to be approached without 
 caution ; the females are less dangerous 
 than the males, and more easily manage- 
 able. 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF MYSTERY. 
 
 HE phosphorescence 
 of the marshes, the 
 ignis fatuus, Will-o'- 
 thc-Wisp, Jack-o'-the- 
 Lantern, or Friar 
 Rush, and the Corpse 
 Candles, are mere lu- 
 .^ minous exhalations, 
 
 strained into the marvellous by the vulgar, 
 and thus set down as heralds of immortality. 
 The parhelia, or mock suns, are pro- 
 duced by the reflection of the sun s light 
 on a frozen cloud. 
 
 The corona, or halo around the sun, 
 moon, and stars, is easily illustrated by the 
 zone, formed by placing, during a frost, a 
 lighted candle in a cloud of steam or va- 
 por The Aurora Borealis is arctic dec- 
 tricitu, and is beautifully imitated by the 
 passage of an electric flash through an ex- 
 Lusted glass cylinder. The rainbow is 
 a combination of natural priss^ts, breaking 
 the light into colors ; and it may be seen 
 in the cloud, or in the spray of the ocean, 
 in the cascade of Niagara, or indeed, m 
 any foaming spray on which the mendian 
 sun-beams fall, or even in the dewy -rass, 
 lying, as it were, on the ground. 
 i The •• Spectre of the Brocken, is a 
 mere shadow of the spectator, or a gi- 
 gantic scale. The phantom, the " Schat- 
 ferrmann," according to vulgar tradition, 
 haunts the lofty range of the Hartz moun- 
 tains, in Hanover. It is usually observed 
 when the sun's rays are thrown horizontal y 
 on their fleecy clouds, or vapor, of highly 
 reflective power, assuming the shape ol a 
 tfigantic shade on the cloud. 
 I When Franklin set his bells a-nngmg 
 
ociates, harmlessly 
 I from pasture ; il 
 few farmers like to 
 liable to a cutane- 
 ommunicatos to the 
 ivariably fatal. In 
 ften becomes fero- 
 iipproathcd without 
 are less diingerous 
 lore easily manage- 
 
 ■ OF MYSTERY. 
 
 [E phosphorescence 
 f the marshes, the 
 inis fatuus, Will-o'- 
 ^ic-Wisp.Jack-o'-the- 
 jantern, or Friar 
 lush, and the Corpse 
 ^iuulles, are mere lu- 
 iiinous exhalations, 
 rellons by the vulgar, 
 oralds of immortality, 
 mock suns, are pro- 
 ion of the sun's light 
 
 alo around the sun, 
 sily illustrated by the 
 :ing, during a frost, a 
 cloud of steam or va- 
 iorealis is arctic eke- 
 ifully imitated by the 
 3 flash through an ex- 
 er. The rainbow is 
 uralprissus, breaking 
 ; and it may be seen 
 le spray of the ocean, 
 liagara, or indeed, in 
 tn which the meridian 
 fen in the dewy ^rass, 
 I the ground, 
 f the Brocken," is a 
 le spectator, or a gi- 
 phantom, the " Schat- 
 ig to vulgar tradition, 
 ge of the Hartz moun- 
 It is usually observed 
 are thrown horizontally 
 ds, or vapor, of highly 
 isuming the shape of a 
 he cloud, 
 set his bells a-ringing 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF MYSTERY. 
 
 947 
 
 bv drawing down the electric fluid from 
 the thunder-cloud, and when Columbus 
 told to the hour the sun's eclipse, can we 
 wonder that the Indians listened as to one 
 endued with preternatural knowledge or 
 that the other might be thought superhu- 
 man ? And when the king of Siam was 
 assured that water could be congealed 
 into ice, on which the sounding skate 
 could glide, can we wonder that he smiled 
 in absolute disbelief of such a change, and 
 called the tale a lie ? Thus, when the 
 peasants of Cardigan, who were not versed 
 in Poniine architecture, looked on the 
 bridge which the monks had thrown across 
 the torrent of the Monach, they could not 
 believe it a work of human, but of .n/rrna 
 hands, and called it the " Devil's Bridge 
 
 The records of antiquity teem with 
 tales of fatal prognostics to heroes, kings, 
 and emperors, whose deaths, indeed sel- 
 dom take place without a prophecy, trom 
 Aristotle, we learn that the death of Alex- 
 ander was foretold in a dream of bude- 
 mius, and that of Cffisar by h.s wife, Cal- 
 phurnia. The emperor Manus dreamed 
 that he saw Attila's bow broken, and the 
 Hun king died on the same night ; and 
 Sylla died on the night succeeding that on 
 which he dreamed of such a fate. Valerius 
 Maximus, records the death of Oaius 
 Grffichus immediately after a dream ot U, 
 by his mother. Caracalla foretold his 
 assassination in a dream. Cyrus breamed 
 of the exact moment in which he died. 
 The death of Socrates was foretold to 
 him by a lady. The essence of the dream 
 is usually a want of balance between the 
 representative faculty and the judgment } 
 being produced, directly or indirectly, by 
 the excitement of a chain of ideas, rational 
 or probable in parts, but rendered in dil- 
 ferent degrees extravagant, or illusive, by 
 imperfect association. Thus, the ideas 
 of a dream may be considered a species 
 of delirium ; for the figures and situations 
 of both are often of the most heterogeneous 
 description, and both are ever illusive, 
 being believed to be realities, and not be- 
 ing subject to the control of our intellect. 
 Yet, if the most absurd dream be atiaU/sed, 
 its constituent parts may consist either ol 
 ideas, in themselves not irrational, or ol 
 sensctions or incidents, which have been 
 individually felt or witnessed. 
 
 Napoleon, when ho was marching upon 
 Acre had a Nile boat which some of his 
 troops destroyed; the boat's name was 
 U Italic, and from this he said, " Italy is 
 lost to France." And so it was. 
 
 During the siege of Jerusalem, for seven 
 days, a man paraded round the walls ex- 
 claiming, with a solemn voice, " Wo to 
 Jerusalem !" and on the seventh day he 
 added : " Wo to Jerusalem and mysilj ! 
 when at the moment of this anathema, a 
 missile from the enemy destroyed Inin. 
 
 When dark events were overclouding 
 Poland, to Sorvenski, the warrior, a con- 
 vert to magnetism, it was imparted in a 
 vision that Warsaw should be deluged in 
 blood, and that he should fall in battle. 
 In two years these forebodings were lul- 
 
 filled. . , ,. , ,. 
 
 Oliver Cromwell had reclined on his 
 couch, and extreme fatigue forbade the 
 coming on of sleep. On a sudden his 
 curtains opened, and a gigantic female 
 form imparled to him that ne should be 
 the greatest man in England. The puri- 
 tanical faith and ambition of Cromwel , 
 might have raised during the distracted 
 state of the kingdom, something even be- 
 yond this ; and who may decide if the 
 spectre had whispered "thou shalt be 
 king hereafter," that the protector would 
 have refused the crown, as on the feast 
 of Lupercal, it had been refused by Ctcsar. 
 An officer in the duke of Marlborough s 
 army named Prondergast, meniioncJ to 
 many of his friends that he should die on 
 a particular day. Upon that day a battle 
 took place with the French, and after it 
 was over, and Prondergast was still alive, 
 his brother officers, while they were yet 
 in the field, jestingly asked him where 
 was his prophecy now. Prondergast 
 gravely replied, " I shall die yet, noiwith- 
 ftandiJg what you see." Soon afterward 
 there came a shot from a French battery, 
 to which the orders for a cessation of arms 
 had not yet reached, and he was killed 
 upon the spot. . , 
 
 But can these shallow stories be cited 
 as prophecies ? The links in the chain of 
 causation are evident, and the veriest 
 skeptic can not doubt their sequence, 
 where there was so strong a probability^ 
 It is merely by reflecting on the past and 
 judging the future by analogy. Natural 
 
 |<(r" 
 
948 
 
 MOUHNINO WOMEN OF THE EAST. 
 
 events of human actions have laws o 
 govern ihem.and there is seWom forcsigh 
 tithoulthe reflection on these laws. Lord 
 Mansfield, when asked how ^he French 
 revolution would end, replied, It is an 
 event without a precedent, and, theretore, 
 without a prophecy." , , _, . „ 
 
 "In 1811," writes Lord Byron, in a 
 letter to Mr. Murray, " my old school and 
 former fellow-poet, the Irish secretary, 
 told me he saw me in St. James street. 
 I was then in Turkey. A day or two 
 afterward, he pointed out to his brother a 
 person across the way, and said, I here 
 is ihe man I took for Byron.' His brother 
 answered, ' Why it is Byron, and no one 
 else ' I was at this time seen to write 
 my name in the palace book. I was then 
 ill of a malaria fever. If I had died, 
 here would have been a ghost story. 
 
 A farmer of Teviotdale, riding home in 
 the gloom of the evening, saw, on the wal 
 of a cemetery, a pale form, throwing about 
 her arms, and moving and chattering lo 
 the moon. With not a little terror, he 
 spurred his horse, but as he passed the 
 phantom it dropped from its perch, and, 
 like Tarn O'Shanter's Nannie, it fixed it- 
 self on the croup of his saddle, and clasped 
 him lightly round the waist with arms ot 
 icv coldness. He arrived at honie, and 
 with a thrill of horror exclaimed, " lake 
 aff Ihe ghaist !" and was carried shivering 
 to bed. And what was the phantonri T A 
 maniac widow, on her distracted pilgrim- 
 age to the grave of her husband, for whom 
 she had mistaken the ill-fated farmer. 
 
 The president of a literary club at Fly- 
 mouth being very ill during its session, 
 the chair, out of respect, was left vacant. 
 While they were silting, his apparition, 
 in a white dress, glided in and took formal 
 possession of the chair. His face was 
 pale and cadaverous ; he bowed in silence 
 to the company ; carried his empty glass 
 to his lips, and solemnly retired. They 
 went to his house, and learned that he 
 had just expired ! The strange event was 
 kept a profound secret, until the nurse 
 confessed on her death bed that she 
 had fallen asleep, that the patient had 
 stolen out, and, having the pass-key of the 
 garden, had returned to his bed by a short 
 path before the deputation, and had diea 
 a few seconds after. 
 
 MOURNING WOMEN OF THE EAST. 
 
 EW oriental customs 
 appear so strange to 
 the traveller, as the 
 rites and ceremonies 
 performed in eastern 
 countries on the de- 
 cease of a Moslem. 
 On thr jccasion of a 
 deaU. in the cast, the 
 women of the family, the mother, wives, 
 sisters, &c., break (Mc into the most vio- 
 lent lamentations, crying out, " O, my mas- 
 ter ' O, camel of the house ! 0, my mis- 
 fortune !" &c., in which they are often i 
 joined by the females of the neighborhood, 
 who come to the house of mourning and 
 unite with the inmates in their wailings. 
 But that their grief may bo expressed with 
 all the exaggeration possible, there are 
 certain individuals who make it their busi- 
 ness to weep and lament for the dead, and 
 who ofier their services on all such occa- 
 sions, " for a consideration ;" depending 
 on such exertions for their livelihood. 
 That is to say, in all Moslem cities there 
 are women who may be hired to attend on 
 the corpse, and to aid the mourners in be- 
 wailing the death of their friend, which 
 they do with the most violent gesticula- 
 tions, weeping, shrieking, rending their 
 clothes, and by other means intimating an 
 intensity of sorrow (which it is almost 
 needless to say they can not feel) tor the 
 loss their employers have sustained. 1 he 
 practice of hiring public mourning women 
 on such occasions appears to bo of great 
 
 antiquity. . , .i. u 
 
 The root of this rather singular though 
 very prevalent custom seems lo be, that 
 the Eastern nations require manifestations 
 of strong feeling to be marked, palpable, 
 and exaggerated. Hence their emotions, 
 particularly those of grief, have a most 
 violent and loud expression ; and, still un- 
 satisfied, and apprehensive that their own 
 spontaneous manifestations of sorrow, 
 when a death occurred, were inadequate 
 to the occasion, and rendered insufficient 
 honor to the dead, they thought of employ- 
 ing practised women to add their eff^ective 
 and manifest tributes of apparent grief. 
 iThus mourning became an art, which de- 
 
N OF THE EAST. 
 
 EW oriental customs 
 ippear so strange to 
 ihe traveller, as the 
 rites and ceremonies 
 performed in eastern 
 countries on the de- 
 cease of a Moslem. 
 On thr jecasion of a 
 deati. in the oast, the 
 y, ihe mother, wives, 
 yt,( into the most vio- 
 ying out, " O, my mas- 
 e house ! 0, my mis- 
 which they are often 
 8 of the neighborhood, 
 Duse of mourning and 
 ates in their wailings. 
 may bo expressed with 
 m possible, there are 
 who make it their busi- 
 iment for the dead, and 
 irices on all such occa- 
 lideration ;" depending 
 I for their livelihood, 
 ill Moslem cities there 
 ly be hired to attend on 
 aid the mourners in be- 
 of their friend, which 
 most violent gesticula- 
 irieking, rending their 
 ler means intimating an 
 w (which it is almost 
 By can not feel) for^ the 
 rs have sustained. The 
 public mourning women 
 » appears to be of great 
 
 s rather singular though 
 istom seems to be, that 
 is require manifestations 
 to be marked, palpable. 
 Hence their emotions, 
 » of grief, have a most 
 (xpression ; and, still un- 
 rehensive that their own 
 nifestations of sorrow, 
 jcurred, vvere inadequate 
 ind rendered insufficient 
 I, they thought of employ- 
 men to add their eflfective 
 bmes of apparent grief, 
 became an art, which de- 
 
950 
 
 COURTESY 
 
 volved on women of ■hrill voices, copious 
 of tears, and skilful in lamenting anil prais- 
 ing the dead in mournful songs and eulo- 
 gies. When a person in a family died, it 
 was customary for the female relatives to 
 seat themselves upon the ground in a sep- 
 arate apartment, in a circle, in the centre 
 of which sat the wife, daughter, or other 
 nearest relative, and thus, assisted by the 
 mourning women, conducted their loud 
 and piercing lamentations. At intervals, 
 the mourning women took the leading part, 
 on a signal from the chief mor.rner ; and 
 then the real mourners remained compara- 
 tively silent, but attested their grief by 
 sobs, by beating their faces, tearing their 
 hair, and sometimes wounding their per- 
 sons with their nails, joining also aloud in 
 the lamenting chorus of the hired mourn- 
 ers. The family of the deceased general- 
 ly send for two or more Neddabehs (or 
 public wailing women) ; but some persons 
 disapprove of this custom, and many, to 
 avoid unnecessary expense, do not conform 
 to it. Each neddabeh brings with her a 
 tar (or tambourine), which is without the 
 tinkling plates of metal that are attached 
 to the hoops of the common tdr. The 
 nedddbehs beating their tars, exclaim sev- 
 eral times, " Alas for him !" and praise his 
 turban, his handsome person, «fcc.; and 
 the female relations, domestics, and friends 
 of the deceased (with their tresses dishev- 
 elled, and sometimes with rent clothes), 
 beating their own faces, cry in like man- 
 ner, " Alas for him !" This wailing is 
 generally continued at least an hour. It 
 is of course resumed at intervals. The 
 details vary in different parts of the east, 
 and in some places the musicians form a 
 separate body, as they did among the He- 
 br6W8 
 
 " The custom of employing hired mourn 
 ers was also in use among the Greeks and 
 Romans, who probably borrowed it from 
 the east. Some of the Roman usages 
 may contribute to illustrate those of scrip- 
 ture. When a person expired whom his 
 relatives or friends wished to hotior by ev- 
 ery external testimony of grief, some 
 mourners were called, who were stationed 
 at the door, and who, being instructed in 
 the leading circumstances of the life of the 
 deceased, composed and chanted eulogies 
 having some reference to these circumstan- 
 
 ces, but in which flattery was by no monnM 
 spared. Then, when the time arrival lor 
 the body to be carried to the funeral pile, 
 a choir of hired mourners attended, who 
 by their bare breasts, which they often 
 smote, their dishevelled hair, and thi^ir 
 mournful chants and profuse tears, moved, 
 or sought to move, the minds of the spec- 
 tators in favor of the deceased, and to 
 compassion for his bereaved friends, whose 
 respect for his memory their own presence 
 indeed indicated. These women were un- 
 der the directirn of one who bore the title 
 prxfica, who regulated the time and tone 
 of their lamentations. They were attired 
 in the black robe of mourning and (..Mic- 
 tion, called by the Romans pulla. It 
 should be observed that, as intimated by 
 the prophet Jeremiah, a principal object 
 of the displays of the hired mourners was 
 to rouse the sorrow of the bereaved rela- 
 tives, maintaining the excitement of adlic- 
 tion by enumerating the virtues and qual- 
 ities of the deceased, as well as, by the 
 same means, to excite the sympathising 
 lamentations of those not immediately in- 
 terested in the event. 
 
 The scene represented in the engraving 
 is a Turkish cemetery, to which the imme- 
 diate female relatives pay daily visits to 
 the grave for some days after the inter- 
 ment ; but in cases of unavoidable absence 
 their places are also supplied here by the 
 hired mourning women. 
 
 COURTESY. 
 
 E do not hesitate to 
 claim for courtesy, 
 as Doctor Johnson 
 did for cleanliness, 
 a place among the 
 virtues. It is a vir- 
 tue, and one which 
 greatly promotes the 
 comfort and happi- 
 ness of mankind. It is the sugar in the 
 cup of life— the sweetener of domestic 
 and social existence. The very name of 
 this grace is so associated with the stiff, 
 frigid, and in some instances, ludicrous 
 forms of etiquette, that we are apt to over- 
 
 
 jjiuiiHiwwm ■iiiiiii*i'wi 
 
Bry was by no moans 
 the time arrivuil lor 
 I to the funeral pile, 
 irnera atlendpcl, who j 
 i, which they often 
 lied hair, and their 
 profuse tears, moved, 
 B minds of the spec- 
 ie deceased, and to 
 •eaved friends, whose 
 y their own presence 
 fiese women were un- 
 me who bore the title 
 d the time and tone 
 They were attired 
 mourning and i.-T'.ic- 
 Romans puUa. It 
 that, as intimated by 
 h, a principal object 
 B hired mourners was 
 )f the bereaved rela- 
 B excitement of afTlic- 
 the virtues and quaU 
 sd, as well as, by the 
 lite the sympathising 
 e not immediately in- 
 
 jnted in the engraving 
 y, to which the imme- 
 ss pay daily visits to 
 
 days after the inter- 
 f unavoidable absence 
 
 supplied here by the 
 len. 
 
 ITESY. 
 
 KE do not hesitate to 
 claim for courtesy, 
 as Doctor Johnson 
 did for cleanliness, 
 a place among the 
 V virtues. It is a vir- 
 tue, and one which 
 greatly promotes the 
 comfort and happi- 
 It is the sugar in the 
 iweetener of domestic 
 e. The very name of 
 ssociated with the stiff, 
 le instances, ludicrous 
 that we are apt to over- 
 
 C0URTE8Y. 
 
 951 
 
 look its worth, and have inadequate ideas 
 of its importance. These forms, unless 
 they bo all the more extravagant, are by 
 no means to be neglected ; but it should 
 not be forgotten that they are often punc- 
 tiliously observed by persons who do not 
 know what real politeness is— in whose 
 minds the sentiments that create true cour- 
 tesy have no place. 
 
 To be courteous in the best sense, we 
 must have an humble estimate of ourselves 
 and our attainments. Excjssivo vanity 
 and true politeness will not be found to- 
 gether. When you meet with a person 
 who is on the very best terms wiih him- 
 self, and has a most extravagant idea of 
 his own importance, you need not expe_ct 
 to receive very courteous or respectful 
 treatment from him. It can scarcely have 
 escaped the notice of the least observing, 
 that the artificial manners current in soci- 
 ety are constructed in deference to the 
 sentiment of humility. "The tendency 
 of pride," says one of the greatest and 
 best of men, " to produce strife and ha- 
 tred, is sufTicieiitly apparent from the pains 
 men have been at to construct a system of 
 politeness, which is nothing more than a 
 sort of mimic humility, in which the sent 
 timents of an offensive self-estimation are 
 so far dis-guised and suppressed as to make 
 them compatible with the spirit of society ; 
 such a mode of behavior as would natural- 
 ly result from an attention to the apostolic 
 Miiuntv.ion, ' Let nothing be done through 
 strife or vain glory ; but in lowliness of 
 mind let each esteem other better than 
 themselves.'" And if even the hollow 
 forms of this virtue be so important that 
 we can not dispense with them, how inuch 
 more valuable must the reality be ; if the 
 painting be both useful and pleasing, how 
 excellent and charming the original ! Hu- 
 mility, then, it should be kept »" mi"<^> " 
 essential to genuine courtesy. The really 
 humble individual will not usurp a place to 
 which he has no claim. He will be con- 
 tent with his own share, or rather less, in 
 conversation. Even when conscious of 
 being in the right, he will not express his 
 convictions in that rude and boisterous 
 tone, which creates disgust both at the 
 speaker and what he says ; he will not 
 stale his views as if they were so many 
 self-evident axioms, reminding wise and 
 
 sensible listeners of the taunt of a vener^ 
 able scripture worthy, " No doubt but ye 
 are the people, and wisdom shall die with 
 you." He will beware of exalting him- 
 self above others ; of hinting even indi- 
 rectly their inferiority to him. He will 
 not lake the faults and misfortunes of oth- 
 ers as incense to his own vanity — a prac- 
 tice which, though common, is mean and 
 despicable. It i* easy lo see how an hum- 
 ble opinion of one's self will thus promote 
 genuine |x)liiene8s. 
 
 Affeclionateness is another of its es- 
 sential prerequisites. To be pleasingly ] 
 well-bred, we must have a regard for those 
 with whom we mingle ; for its absence no 
 artificial deference will compensate. The 
 great desire of every person when he goes 
 into society, sh(»uld be to contribute as 
 largely as possible lo the general fund of 
 happiness— to impart as well as receive 
 pleasure. Good will toward all with whom 
 we feel it right to associate, must shine 
 through the countenance, flow from the 
 tongue, be conveyed in the cordial grasp 
 of the hand: and in a thousand ways, 
 easier felt than described, be made appa- 
 rent. Why should we blush to confess that 
 we have a kindlv feeling toward our fel- 
 low-creatures ? ' Why seek to hide the 
 sympathies that are so honorable to us ? 
 Why not circulate as widely as we can, 
 those feelings of brotherhood which are 
 of such advantage to our race? There 
 are some, indeed, who have so degraded 
 themselves that they may be thought hard- 
 ly entitled to affection. But even when 
 called to mix with such persons, we should 
 remember that kindness has a killing pow- 
 er, and that the best way to make a man 
 respect himself, is to show that others still 
 would fain respect hiin, would he but act 
 so as to enable them to do so. Affeclion- 
 ateness is indispensable to that kind of 
 politeness which a man with a heart rel- 
 ishes. There is no mistaking cold artifi- 
 cial manners for the genuine courtesy of 
 the heart. Persons with the gloomy and 
 scowling look— the harsh, querulous, and 
 domineering tone— on whose brows you 
 can trace the clouds of the quarrel that 
 was just hushed up as you crossed their 
 threshold, never can be courteous m the 
 best sense of that term. There is no good 
 society, no circle worth spending an hour 
 
 
 
COURTR8V. 
 
 ,n. where Live i« not i guest. Her pres- 
 ««o :^ indispt-nHable lo iho "feast of 
 rwMon and »1ie flow of sovu ' 
 
 A scrupulous and delicali- i. ;,'nr«l to Ih*" 
 (irtlmu- T oth«r«, is also an c»«.Mtial iti- 
 grediem ii. '>ie character of a weU-brf.i 
 person. Tl.-^ most guarded, indeed, may 
 
 im, •• Do unto others as you would hnvo 
 others do iinio you "^ 
 
 A prying ''""' inil«ii»itive disposition, fno, 
 
 is ineoinpalilile with true politiMiPss. Iin- 
 
 iuTtinenl curiosity is one of the chiel 
 
 Hies of social intercourse, ll is easy to 
 
 sec how it becomes so. You put a ([uei 
 
 person, ii.-^ iii"»' ^"'V"''"'r'7"',,;V,rn I tic.n regoeclinn eiriumstances wliidi you 
 
 edlv, violate the fir-it law of correct 
 manners, which is to tn:.ko all around us 
 feel as easy and cheerful as possible 
 There arc some persons so sensitive ami 
 touchy on almost every topic, whose sen- 
 sitiveness, too, arises from their overween- 
 inir sclf-c(mceit, that (»ne can scarcely be . 
 
 which common sense might tell you iho 
 party you inierri.){iite is not willing to dis- 
 close. The luiier must either eipiivociiie, 
 or directly fi.lsifv , or. much to the annoy- 
 nnce of his own feelings, slate dislinclly 
 ihat the question is one you have no right 
 to put, and which, therefore, he does not 
 So that if to preserve 
 as well as 
 
 m^e them offence ; while there are tnose , "' "'l" ^ VV '■ "•'i,, ^.e object of good 
 Uo have so little regard H.r . he_ feelings » -- -,tr P u^plv it. tlio sociafcir- 
 
 of others, that we almost feel it a duty, 
 when an opportunity occurs, to lend them 
 a pretty hard blow in return. We quite 
 noree with 'he sentiment of one of the 
 jrreatesl of moralists-" They who can 
 not take a jest, ought not to make one. 
 These exceptions apart, however, there is 
 such a thing as wantonly tampering with 
 the feelings of those with whom we min- 
 gle, which is one of the grossest outrages 
 upon good breeding. If il'e gentle Cow- 
 per was right when he said that he would 
 ,,ot enter upon the list of his friends, the 
 man who wouhl heedlessly set foot upon 
 a worm, what are we to say of those who 
 intentionally would crush or wound that 
 sensitive, and sprightly, and loving thing. 
 
 manne.s, every Paul Pry in the socia cir 
 de must be a very ofTensive person indeed. 
 We should keep a " sharp look out" on 
 those whose conversation is chiefly in the 
 ijuesiion form. 
 
 True courtesy has other elements on 
 which we do not enlarge at present. 
 There is, for example, purity of conversa- 
 tion— that purity which teaches us to shun | 
 not merely open obscenity, but which is ' 
 often as dangerous— covert insinuation. 
 Then there is the propriety of feeling as 
 much at ease as may be consistent with 
 due respect to others. " Ease," Lord 
 Chesterfield says, " is the standard of po- 
 liteness." We must be courteous to those 
 beneath our own roof, would we practise 
 
 High., r'''?r"x?t rXX' T.C n oo.^^^^^^^^^^^^^ "■ '"'■ -""" 
 
 fitted ' V ^i< " .n 'incw..teous aud unfeeling | time a gentleman. ^ 
 allusina i*. i'J J it. to stir a _8igh, or 
 
 kindle .<iM>' And every : .n 1^ awaro 
 when si.ch alii, ions in his o« u case would 
 be felt cruel, and ho should not forget to 
 act toward his neighbor on the golden max- 
 
 The moment of parting is the first mo- 
 ment that we feel how dear we are to each 
 other. The reserves of the heart are bro- 
 ken, and the moved spirit speaks as it feels. 
 
1 at 
 
 you would hnvc 
 
 rsilive {1i8posilini\,t(!ii. 
 1 true poliU'iirss. Iir»- 
 itt ono of the cliiff 
 rcour^*!! It in ««»>■ H) 
 so. You put a i\uvH- 
 •uinstniices wliicli you 
 iw anyiliiuj; iilxiui, nu<\ 
 i«tn uii({lit tell you tlu) 
 ic i;* uot willinn to tlis- 
 iiUNi ciilier ciiuivocatt', 
 )r, niuih to the ainioy- 
 j'liiigs, slate Jisiiuiily 
 oue you have no nul" 
 tliereforp, lio does not 
 So that if to pn-servH 
 I, to impart as well as 
 , be tilt! ohj.ct of j,'ood 
 ul Pry in the social cir- 
 jfTfusiv*" person indecil. 
 1 " sharp look out" ou 
 rsalion is chiefly in the 
 
 has other elements on 
 t enlarge at present, 
 iple, purity of conver.sa- 
 ^rhich teaches us to shun 
 Dbscenity, but which is 
 us — covert insinuation. 
 
 propriety of feeling as 
 may be consistent with 
 others. " Ease," Lord 
 
 •' is the standard of po- 
 ust be courteous to those 
 roof, would we practise 
 
 grace in society. We 
 that politeness is a grace 
 >r. Some may affect to 
 rs the less for their sense, 
 
 vi!'„e That man has 
 a mcnt ''aiiu ..lis to the 
 y iv'.j's *»■ ' dares to 
 itiw.i ^. ihe established 
 of society ; and even the 
 ed in mind will be all the 
 30 accomplished in man- 
 1 vulgar error that a man 
 a genius and at the same 
 
 of parting is the first mo- 
 il how dear we are to each 
 erves of the heart are bro- I 
 ,-ed spirit speaks as it feels. 
 
 REAL QHKATNE88.-THE BUIOHT flIOK OP HtmAN.TY. 
 
 UM ORKATNESS. 
 
 ti 
 
 E who possess** 
 the divine powei i 
 of the «oul, is a 
 
 hesTs the itiont heavy burden, cheerfully, 
 who is calmest in storms and moni fearless 
 under in"iaco and ftowii*. whoso reliance 
 on truth, on virtue, on V.oA, is most unfal. 
 f .».. .n.,i I. a terinff— and im thii a sreatness which is 
 
 Sr^lace' when, iXly . abound in .onspicuou. Nations t 
 it may 
 
 THE BRIGHT SIDE OF HUM.\MTY. 
 
 TiiF.nE are good men everywhere. 
 There are men who are good lor goo.l- 
 I'n • " 
 
 You may 
 ^j^.:i^, /^^^ r"^ clothe him vi^ith 
 ,p^f^W^ rf^^^^K rags, chain him 
 ' :.^ to slavish tasks 
 
 -but he iM still great. You may shut 
 him out of your houses, but God opens to 
 hitM heavenly mansions. Ho makes no ^ "y |^'j^; -j. „hscurity."in retirement, 
 
 show indeed i" «»>« ^tfe*^'* "^ "^ t'tiJf I breath ^^^ 
 
 city, but a clear thought, a pi.re affecU^n »«";";", ,^„„^„ ,„ the world, and | 
 
 a resolute act of a virtuous life, will have »;e;' /^^^^.^'y, ,,„ ,,„„,,„, ,herc are good 
 a dignity of quite another kind and fa ne cr '^^^^ ,„.i le.up- 
 
 hi.h'er, \han -cumulation of ^-^J^^ \ZZU ^Lx ..ll'the ^everitV of earthly 
 granite, of plaster and stucco, however, , ^^j^,,^^, j,^.^^ 
 
 Cunningly put together or thouj^h J. etc - '^■^,;.^- ^,, ^ ,he dark; nids that 
 
 i„g far beyond our ^ght.— Nor is this aiL J j jj„ ^ u,,,,, ,i we must 
 
 Ue.l greatness has nothing to do with a 1 surround 
 
 man's sphere. It does not he in the 
 ma^M.itude of his hwn outward agency, in 
 the'exteot of the effects which il produces. 
 Perliaps the greatest men in our city, at 
 this moment, are buried in obscurity. 
 Grandeur of character is wholly in tho 
 f(,«:e of thought, moral principle andjove, 
 and Ih "" 
 
 Biirruuii'i nii-i-.. --- 
 
 admit the sad truth, that many are wrong, 
 and persist in being wrong; H^'. •"'">' 
 are false to every holy trust, and uthless 
 toward every holy affection ; ih many 
 are coldly selfish, and meanly s Msual; 
 yes, cold and dead to everything hat is 
 not wrapped up in their own little • irthly^ 
 
 '• .1.-1, 1. r ii>roiini>il up in 
 
 so : 
 ) bo- 
 
 ..moral principle and love ^ ^ '''^ ^^ Jarkly wrapped 
 „ may be found in the "'-"^'esH Jt«re« . o m ^ y.^^^ 
 
 ceudition of life. A man brought up to the veu ^^y^ n ^^^ ^,^,.^^j 
 
 an oi^scure trade, and hemmed in ^X ^^e | his^»» ^^ ^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ hg^,,, „n,d 
 
 th" throng of the false and the fait! .ess. 
 There are warm and generous he irts, 
 which the cold atmosphere of surrouv. mg 
 selfishness never chills ; and eyes un ^ed 
 
 sorr -vs 
 
 an oiiscure irauti, miu ..v. . , 
 
 wants of a growing family, may in this heve 
 
 narrow sphere, perceive more clearly, dis- the 
 
 criminate more keenly, seize on the 
 
 ri-'ht means more decisively, and have 
 
 more presence of mind in difficulty, than 1 sem,uu«=.^^^^^^^^^^ ^, .^^^ 
 
 another who has accumulated vast «''^^« '" ^J'^ 'Jifh sympathy for th,- so 
 
 of knowledge by laborious study, and h« T^s Yes! there Ire good men ul 
 
 has more of intellectual greatness M^O^ of nher . ^^^^ ^^^^ ^ ^^^^^ ^^ 
 
 a man who has gone but a few m>l<^« «[«'" Zrr^^nA giveth his angels charge to k. p 
 home, understands human "=^^"^« ^""^H 2'.%^ nowhere in the holy roc d 
 
 __.: „„,1 ..f«wTVicphnrartfir more lueiii » ""^ , • .,„ ^^ airn? -■ 
 
 detects motives, and weighs character more 
 sagaciously, than another who has travel- 
 ed over the known world, and makes a 
 name by his reporis of different countries. 
 It is tho force of thought which measures 
 intellectual, and so it i the force of prin- 
 ciple that measures moral greatness, that 
 highest of human endowments, that bright- 
 esT manifesto of the divinity. The greates^t 
 w 
 
 are these words more precious or strm 
 than rhose in which it is written that G. d 
 loveth the righteous ones. Such men are 
 there Let not their precious virtues I ^ 
 distrusted. As surely and as evidenll, 
 as some men have obeyed the calls . 
 
 ambition and pleasure, «" «'"^'' y ^^ • . 
 evidentlyhaveothermenobeyedh vot. 
 
 ,f the divinity. The greatest « 'ae^y^^v. ^ ._ . .^^^^^ ^^ ^^^ 
 
 man IS he who chooses the nght with ; of;;'^^^^^;^^ of God, than to enjoy 
 invincible resolution, who resists the sore ^;^™ f^^ a season.- Why, 
 
 temptations from within and without, whu the pleasure 
 
 •te 
 
every meek man suffers in conflict keener 
 far than the contest for honor and applause. 
 And there are such men, who, amid in- 
 jury and insult, and misconstruction, and 
 the pointed finger, and the scornful hp of 
 pride, stand tirm in their integrity and 
 allegiance to a loftier principle, and still 
 their throbbing hearts in prayer, and hush 
 them to the gentle motion of kindness and 
 pity Such witnesses there are even in 
 ihis bad world : signs that a redeeming 
 work is goingforward amid its derelictions; 
 proofs that it is not a world forsaken of 
 heaven ; pledges that it will not be for- 
 saken ; tokens that cheer and touch ev- 
 ery good and thoughtful mind, beyond all 
 I other power of earth to penetrate and en- 
 kindle it. 
 
 DEATH OF GENERAL WOLFE. 
 
 N 1759 It was resolved 
 by the British govern- 
 ment to make a vigorous 
 and effectual effort to 
 conquer Canada from 
 the French. Three ex- 
 peditions were prepared 
 which were all ultimate- 
 ly to unite. General 
 Amherst was to march from New York, 
 seize the forts of Ticonderoga and Crown 
 point, and sailing along Lake Champlain, 
 and down the Richelieu into the St. Law- 
 rence, join General Wolfe, who by that 
 time would have arrived before Quebec 
 with a fleet and army. The third expedi- 
 tion was to take Fort Niagara ; afterward, 
 sailing across Lake Ontario and down the 
 Cataraqui, take Montreal; and then, i» 
 necessary, co-operate with Amherst and 
 Wolfe. The plan was a bold one, but li- 
 able to many interruptions which could 
 not be foreseen, or at least prevented. 
 Each armament succeeded, in spite ot 
 many difficulties, in accomplishing its sep- 
 arate objects ; and as Wolfe was success- 
 ful without the co-operation of the others, 
 v.e may confine our attention to him alone. 
 The fleet containing Wolfe and his ar- 
 my arrived at the island of Orleans with- 
 
 out obstruction. Montcalm, the French 
 commander-in-chief, a bravo officer, imme- 
 diately encamped with a numerous army, 
 composed of regular troops, militia, and 
 Indians, along the shore, down to the 
 banks of the Montmorenci, a river which 
 liierally/a//s into the St. Lawrence about 
 seven miles below Quebec. He rightly 
 judged that Wolfe would try to land below, 
 not above the city. Meantime fiie-ships 
 were sent floating down the river, and 
 nothing could have saved the English fleet 
 and transports, if the sailors, with daring 
 ' courage, had not boarded the burning ves- 
 sels, and towing them on shore, left them 
 to blaze away to the water's edge. The 
 attempt was made twice, and each time 
 failed in the same manner. Wolfe land- 
 ed, and tried to cross the Montmorenci 
 above the falls, in the face of the French 
 array, but was driven back with a losp of 
 500 men and many brave officers. 
 
 The defeat mortified the young hero so 
 severely as to bring on a fever, but though 
 he was greatly reduced by his illness, his 
 anxiety to retrieve his reverse doubtless 
 strung his mind to that pitch of determi- 
 nation which enabled him to accomplish 
 bis object. The English took possession 
 of Point Levi, opposite Quebec ; and the 
 fleet sailed past the city without damage. 
 Montcalm deemed himself perfectly se- 
 cure above the city, never imagining that 
 Wolfe would effect % landing. He ihere- 
 ' fore only placed a numerous line of sen- 
 tinels along the summit of the steep and 
 rocky banks. Time was now becoming 
 precious to Wolfe ; it was the beginning 
 of the month of September, and a Cana- 
 dian winter was not for distant. After 
 anxious searching, he selected a little in- 
 dentation of the bank, rather more than a 
 mile above the city, still called Wolfe's 
 cave. Here he proposed to land the 
 troops in silence and secrecy during the 
 night, and making them clamber up a nar- 
 row path, that at present, though well- 
 beaten, is difficult of ascent in broad day- 
 light, to form them in order of battle on 
 the table-land above, called the plains of 
 Abraham. On the 13th of September, an 
 hour after midnight, the first division of the 
 troops landed, one of the first being Wolle 
 himself. "I scarcely think," he whis- 
 pered to an officer near him, " that there 
 
 It 
 1 
 
 mtmrn 
 
Montcalm, the r'rench 
 lief, a bravo officer, imme- 
 d with a numerous army, 
 gular troops, militia, and 
 the shore, down to the 
 )ntmorenci, a river which 
 ,0 the St. Lawrence about 
 low Quebec. He rightly 
 fe would try to land below, 
 ity. Meantime fire-ships 
 ling down the river, and 
 ive saved the English fleet 
 if the sailors, with daring 
 t boarded the burning ves- 
 g them on shore, left them 
 
 the water's edge. The 
 lade twice, and each time 
 me manner. Wolfe land- 
 ,0 cross the Montmorenci 
 
 in the face of the French 
 driven back with a loss of 
 lany brave officers, 
 nortitied the young hero so 
 bring on a fever, but though 
 
 reduced by his illness, his 
 rieve his reverse doubtless 
 id to that pitch of deicrmi- 
 enabled him to accomplish 
 he English took possession 
 
 opposite Quebec ; and the 
 it the city without damage, 
 imed himself perfectly se- 
 ! city, never imagining that 
 jfTect % landing. He ihere- 
 ed a numerous line of sen- 
 ae summit of the steep and 
 Time was now becoming 
 olfe; it was the beginning 
 of September, and a Cana- 
 (vas not far distant. After 
 hing, he selected a little in- 
 he bank, rather niore than a 
 lie city, still called Wolfe's 
 
 he proposed to land the 
 nee and secrecy during ihe 
 iking them clamber up a nar- 
 at at present, though well- 
 Scult of ascent in broad day- 
 
 1 them in order of battle on 
 I above, called the plains of 
 )n the 13lh of September, an 
 dnighi, the first division of the 
 1, one of the first being Wolfe 
 [ scarcely think," he whis- 
 )fficer near him, " that there 
 
 
is any possibility of getting up, but you 
 must do your endeavor." The Highland- 
 ers and light infantry scaled the path, dis- 
 lodged a sergeant's guard at the top, and 
 the news was carried to the astonished 
 Montcalm, that the English were on the 
 plains of Abraham. 
 
 He brought down his army, and the bat- 
 tle began about nine in the morning. 
 Shortly after its commencement, Wolfe 
 was shot in the wrist j he wrapped hand- 
 kerchief round it, and continued giving 
 orders. Advancing at the head of the 
 grenadiers, with their bayonets fixed, 
 another shot entered his breast. He 
 leaned upon an officer, who sat down for 
 the purpose, and death was stealing over 
 him. A. cry of "They run, they run!" 
 startled him : " Who run ?" he asked with 
 eagerness. " The French." "What! do 
 they run alre&dy ? — then I die happy." 
 He expired almost immediately afterward. 
 
 Montcalm was mortally wounded by the 
 only gun which the English had been able 
 to drag up the heights : he died in Que- 
 bec next day. Quebec capitulated on the 
 17th ; and the English fleet left the river, 
 a strong garrison being placed in the city. 
 During the winter the garrison suffered 
 severely from the scurvy ; and in the 
 spring of 1760, the French came down 
 from Montreal, and occupied the plains of 
 Abraham. General Murray risked an en- 
 gagement was defeated, and driven into 
 Quebec But for the opportune arrival of 
 an English fleet in the river, the city 
 might have been reoccupied by its origi- 
 nal owners, and Wolfe's victory rendered 
 what battles often are — a mere waste of 
 human life. 
 
 All Canada surrendered in 1760, the 
 inhabitants quietly taking the oath of al- 
 legiance to their conquerors, so that the 
 province was not devastated by a prolonged 
 resistance. It was ceded to Britain ' in 
 full sovereignty by the treaty of Paris, in 
 1763. 
 
 To detract anything from another, and 
 for one man to multiply his own conveni- 
 encies by the inconveniences of another, 
 is more against nature than death, than 
 poverty, than pain, and the rest of exter- 
 nal accidents. 
 
 EMULATION. 
 
 MULATION, taken 
 in its restricted and 
 exact sense, may be 
 defined as that prin- 
 ciple by which we 
 are incited to cope 
 with others whose 
 path of exertion runs 
 parallel to our own. 
 There are two affections of the mind par- 
 tially resembling this, from both of which 
 it is of consequence to distinguish it. 
 Ambition and envy are certainly to be 
 viewed as two varieties of the same gen- 
 eral tendency. The aim of the former 
 exceeds that of emulation. There is em- 
 braced in it, as a co-element with the de- 
 sire of distinction, an avidity of power. 
 The ambitious man will not be satisfiet' 
 with quiescent and contemplative supe- 
 riority ; his ultimate and proper object — 
 an object the losing sight of which would 
 denude him of the quality in question — is 
 the vigorous and continued assertion of his 
 anticipated ascendency. The aim of emu- 
 latioij is praise, that of ambition is power. 
 A mind under the influence of the one 
 feeling locks beyond the contest to the 
 otium cum dignitate, the blended distinc- 
 tion and repose in which it is expected to 
 issue ; a mind actuated by the other only 
 contemplates the struggle as introductory 
 to the toils of a higher sphere. Of the 
 insignia of success, those of emulation are 
 the robe and the crown, those of ambition 
 the sword and the sceptre. 
 
 If a difference is thus perceptible be- 
 tween two emotions, each of which, though 
 vicious in excess, is essentially good and 
 praiseworthy, that, surely, subsisting be- 
 tween either and a third essentially evil 
 and reprehensible, although in one aspect 
 resembling the others, can not be difficult 
 of detection. To dilate on the distinction 
 between envy and ambition is foreign to 
 our present design. Perhaps the latter of 
 these dispositions is at a still more ap- 
 preciable remove from the former than 
 emulation is, the purely benevolent feel- 
 ings being more decidedly implied in the 
 right exercise of power, than in the mere 
 possession of superiority. Our present 
 
 I 
 
ULATION. 
 
 [^ MULATION, taken 
 6) in its restricted and 
 exact sense, may be 
 defined as that prin- 
 L ciple by which we 
 Tj are incited to cope 
 1^ with others whose 
 ^ path of exertion runs 
 parallel to our own. 
 ections of the mind par- 
 this, from both of which 
 ence to distinguish it. 
 i^y are certainly to be 
 ieties of the same gen- 
 i'he aim of the former 
 lulation. There is em- 
 :o-eIement with the de- 
 I, an avidity of power, 
 an will not be satisfiec' 
 id contemplative supe- 
 ite and proper object — 
 g sight of which would 
 quality in question — is 
 >ntinued assertion of his 
 ency. The aim of emu- 
 it of ambition is power. 
 9 influence of the one 
 and the contest to the 
 e, the blended distinc- 
 which it is expected to 
 uated by the other only 
 truggle as introductory 
 ligher sphere. Of the 
 , those of emulation are 
 rown, those of ambition 
 sceptre. 
 
 is thus perceptible be- 
 B,each of which, though 
 is essentially good and 
 surely, subsisting be- 
 i third essentially evil 
 although in one aspect 
 ers, can not be difficult 
 dilate on the distinction 
 ambition is foreign to 
 Perhaps the latter of 
 is at a still more ap- 
 from the former than 
 )urely benefolent feel- 
 cidedly implied in the 
 awer, than in the mere 
 eriority. Our present 
 
 plan, however, only requires us to dis- 
 tinguish emulation from envy. 
 
 The line of demarcation is bold and 
 broad. Envy, we have said, is in its own 
 nature an evil affection ; emulation, exist- 
 ing in proper measure, a good. The one 
 has been habitually present to the bosoms 
 of the best and most illustrious of the 
 human race, and we have strong grounds 
 for concluding that it is common with ours 
 to superior natures ; the other is the char- 
 acteristic of the vicious and depraved 
 among men, and if harbored by an angel 
 would transform him into a fiend. Emula- 
 tion springs from a due regard to our own 
 character and position, a wish for such 
 advancement in any pursuit as may pro- 
 cure for us the approval of our own con- 
 sciences, and also the esteem and good 
 offices ol our fellows ; envy is a state of 
 mind usually resuhing from culpable in- 
 feriority, in which the depression or down- 
 fall of a competitor is the one thing con- 
 templated and desired. " A man," says 
 Lord Bacon, " that hath no virtue in him- 
 self ever envieth virtue in oliiers, for men's 
 minds will either feed upon their own good 
 or upon others' evil ; and who wantcth 
 the one will play upon the other, and 
 whoso is out of hope to attain another's 
 virtue, will seek to come at even hand by 
 depressing another's fortune." The one 
 feeUng is a just and proper mode of self- 
 love ; the other is a wicked perversion 
 of that law of our being, making evil its 
 good, turning the successes of other men 
 into gall and bitterness to the solitary 
 malcontent, and their misfortunes into the 
 subject of his gratulation. The one is 
 opposed to sloth and insensibility ; the 
 other is the antithesis of benevolence. 
 Emulation employs no means to gain its 
 object but such as are open and honorable : 
 envy will stoop to the meanest and the 
 guiltiest. The former disposition involves 
 a specific regard to our own interests — a 
 wish to enjoy the fruits of a well-earned 
 preferment : the latter would often pur- 
 chase injury to another by incurring injury 
 to self. The one i« virtuous self-love, 
 with a tendency to expand to philanthropy ; 
 the other is vicious self-love, issuing, 
 still more certainly, in the darkest ma- 
 levolence. 
 
 We must be mindful, however, while 
 
 asserting these distinctions, that there are 
 complex mental states in which any emo- 
 tion may co-exist with others is an almost 
 infinite variety of shade and of develop- 
 ment. Indeed, as the score of letters that 
 make up the alphabet may be grouped into 
 millions of different words, or as tlie half- 
 dozen pieces of stained glass i^; a kaleido- 
 scope form endless combinaUons of colors, 
 so the human mind, though endowed 
 originally with few separate principles of 
 thought or of action, possesses, boi h from 
 the agency of external impulses a;id from 
 the reciprocal influence of its own facul- 
 ties, an inconceivable range of diversified 
 consciousness. It is seldom, if ever, that 
 any of our powers is operating singly. 
 Several are generally employed in the 
 formation of an idea or emotion, which 
 will be each modified by the respective 
 prominence of these while educing it. 
 And thus it frequently happens, that in a 
 state of mind which the decided pre- 
 ponderance of better views and motives 
 may entitle to be regarded as the state of 
 emulation, there is traceable a slight in- 
 fusion of malevolent feeling, the presence 
 of which in larger proportion would con- 
 stitute the emotion envious. Indeed vir- 
 tue, as connected with this part of our 
 constitution, seems rather to consist in the 
 immediate repression of those evil affec- 
 tions into which, in particular, disappoint- 
 ed emulation may degenerate, than in the 
 attempt to escape all liability to their in- 
 cipient growth. The wise purposes of 
 the moral government of God may render 
 it necessary that the root of bitterness re- 
 main in the soil ; our duty being to watch 
 and to check the least symptom of develop- 
 ment. 
 
 We wish to notice the influence, in the 
 first instance, of natural temperament, and, 
 in the second, of education, in modifying 
 the susceptibility we speak of. 
 
 In natural temperament there is among 
 mankind an extreme diversity. Some, 
 endowed with acuteness of apprehension, 
 and a peculiar proneness to the exercise 
 of the affections, act with ardor, with con- 
 stancy, and with feeling. Other minJs 
 there are, again, of dull, phlegmatic mould 
 — nature's Dutchmen — constitutionally in- 
 difiTerent to a thousand matters that would 
 excite the emotions and determine the 
 
 %H 
 
 ^1' 
 
 
 
 ■fv. 
 
958 
 
 EMULATION. 
 
 measures of the more susceptible sort. A 
 third class, and that by far the largest, 
 seem to unite, in some sort, the distinguish- 
 ing attributes of both the others, exhibiting 
 toward objects apparently alike calculated 
 in themselves to engage their regard, al- 
 ternately the most lively interest and the 
 most profound indifference. We do not 
 contemplate in this distribution the bent 
 which the mind may acquire from causes 
 extraneous to itself— the influence of cir- 
 cumstances in repressing certain natural 
 tendencies, in fostering others, and in 
 modifying all. Our observations are di- 
 rected exclusively to native temperament, 
 to original, innaie susceptibilities. And 
 their correctness* with this restriction, is 
 quite apparent. We may continiiiiUy re- 
 mark in children the fathers of the men, 
 the difference alleged manifested most 
 unequivocally long before circumstances 
 have room to optsrate in producing it ; or 
 where there is ao mutual adaptation be- 
 tween these and the dispositions that are 
 evolving. Nay, do not we frequently wit- 
 ness the development of pecular disposi- 
 tions in spite of the action of circumstan- 
 ces directly hostile, the former changing 
 not changed by the latter ? And whether 
 these be simply neutral or positively ad- 
 verse, there is ne<5e3silated in both cases 
 the supposition o' an independent cause, in 
 one that of a counter-cause more potent 
 than its antagonist within the mind itself; 
 in other words, there is established a 
 natural diversity in temperament. This 
 is an ultimate fact in our constitution. 
 Now the fact relates to the existence of 
 an agency which may effect the principle 
 of emulation, in common with all the ac- 
 tive powers, in two modes ; first, in the 
 , way of determining its force, and, second- 
 ly, in the way of indicating its objects. 
 If the temperament of an individual is 
 quick and sensitive, emulation will be 
 vividly present to his mind, and will form 
 a very powerful incentive to exertion ; if 
 that temperament be, on the contrary, 
 sluggish and inert, this emotion will be 
 but seldom feh, and, when felt, but feebly. 
 Emulation, agun, may be largely swayed 
 by teniperament as respects the choice of 
 its objects. When the animal principles 
 of our nature are predominant, these will 
 produce low and debasing aims. When 
 
 the individual is the victim of inordinate 
 vanity, there will be a similar perversion 
 of the feeling to aims that are puny and 
 ridiculous. It is only when a man, in the 
 exercise of reason and conscience, and 
 informed and stimulated by an influence 
 from above, has succeeded in correctin<; 
 what is wrong, and in confirming what is 
 right in the original bent of his mind ; in 
 reclaiming his affections from unworthy 
 objects, and in fixing them on such as are 
 noble and '.iriuous— it is then only that 
 this excellent faculty is seen in its true 
 aspect, operating in its proper sphere, and 
 accomplishing the high ends for which it 
 was imparted. , 
 
 We are not, however, to suppose that j 
 temperament only diroit.s the capacity of 
 emulation to objects «.v murally good or as 
 morally evil. It often communicates what 
 we may style, in contradistinction, an in- 
 nocent variety of aim. One man, for ex- 
 ample, whose love of knowledge is natu- 
 rally ardent, will be ambitious to distance 
 his competitors in the walks of learning; 
 another, in whom the desire of gain is 
 strong, will aspire to influence in the mer- 
 cantile community ; while a third, in whom 
 the love of country is the ruling passion, 
 will aim at the reputation of a distinguish- 
 ed patriot. Emulation, which niay be 
 called an adjective emotion, supposing and 
 dependent on the concurrent action of some 
 other of the emotions, falls, in these and 
 the like instances, into the channel which 
 original temperament has dug for it, and 
 flows in that beneficially. The sentiment, 
 while susceptible of vicious, is equally 
 susceptible of virtuous variety of direction. 
 Bacon writing the Novum Organon, Galileo 
 scanning the stars, Milton musing on Par- 
 adise Lost, Newton establishing the theory 
 of gravitation, Harvey ascertaining the cir- 
 culation of the blood— are all most illus- 
 trious instances of the truth of this posi- 
 tion. 
 
 Emulation, however, may be materially 
 modified by education — an influence, in- 
 deed, decreasing in strength iu exact pro- 
 portion to the markedness and decision of 
 natural temperament, yet, from the absence 
 of these characteristics in the mass of 
 minds, more extensively potent than the 
 other. We use the term education in its 
 I widest sense, intending by it not the bare 
 
ihe victim of inordinate 
 be a similar perversion 
 lims that are puny and 
 only when a man, in the i 
 n and conscience, and 
 nulated by an influence j 
 jucceeded in correcting , 
 id in confirming what is \ 
 lal bent ol' his mind ; in 
 (Teclions from unworthy 
 ing liiem on such as are 
 IS — it is then only that 
 ;uliy is seen in its true 
 in its proper sphere, and 
 e higli ends for which it 
 
 owevcr, to suppose that 
 ! direits the capacity of 
 els (1.V murally good or as 
 jften communicates what 
 
 contradistinction, an in- 
 
 aim. One man, for ex- 
 m of knowledge is natu- 
 
 be ambitious to distance 
 n the walks of learning ; 
 m the desire of gain is 
 e to influence in the mer- 
 y ; while a third, in whom 
 try is the ruling passion, 
 sputation of a distinguish- 
 lulation, which may be 
 oe emotion, supposing and j 
 
 concurrent action of some 
 otions, falls, in these and 
 !8, into the channel which 
 iment has dug for it, and 
 eficially. The sentiment, 
 le of vicious, is equally 
 rtuous variety of direction, i 
 e Novum Organon, Galileo 
 rs, Milton musing on Par- 
 ton establishing the theory 
 arvey ascertaining the cir- 
 blood — are all most illus- 
 
 of the truth of this posi- 
 
 owever, may be materially 
 ucation — an influence, in- 
 g in ^.t^ength in exact pro- 
 larkedness and decision of 
 mont, yet, from the absence 
 .cteristics in the mass of 
 [tensively potent than the 
 i the term education in its 
 ntending by it not the bare 
 
 EMULATION. 
 
 959 
 
 apprehension of certain branches of learn- 
 ing, but the operation, both on the intellect 
 and on the character, of all those agencies 
 by which the human beinft is surrounded 
 between the periods of infancy and man- 
 hood. If these influences be on the side 
 of evil, the sentiment of emulation will 
 either be stifled or directed habitually to 
 pursuits that are vain, vicious, and vile. 
 If they be good, the young mind will be 
 instructed as to the legitimate objects of 
 the emotion, and the temper in which ihey 
 ought to be prosecuted. How powerfully 
 each order of agenciet acts we have in- 
 numerable proofs. If, to take an illustra- 
 tion from a well-known passage in ancient 
 history, the love of fame co-operated in 
 the mind of Brutus with the love of coun- 
 try, to determine him on the sacrifice of 
 his oflspring : — 
 
 " Vincet amor patriae, lauduniqae iramensa cupido," 
 how must the principle of emulation have 
 been warped and perverted by the sublime- 
 ly barbarous notions of the nation and the 
 time ! And it was probably the false light 
 in which he had been taught to contem- 
 plate the deed of his progenitor, that led 
 the younger Brutus to the perpetration of 
 a crime almost equally repugnant to un- 
 sophisticated nature, the assassination of 
 his benefactor and his friend. To take 
 instances of a class— the prize-fighter who 
 vaunts his brutal strength and brutal sci- 
 ence as superior to those of his brother 
 boxers ; the miss whose desire is fulfilled 
 if she can flaunt in gayer silks than the 
 other girls of the neighborhood, and be 
 seen hanging on the arm of a more buck- 
 ish admirer — are examples from each of 
 the sexes of the vast influence exerted by 
 early training in lowering the sentiment 
 of emulation. But this influence, as that 
 of temperament, is not all on one side. 
 By imbuing the heart of youth with the 
 best principles, and storing iu intellect 
 with the choicest knowledge ; by placing 
 constantly before it the noblest models of 
 genius and virtue, that it may drink in their 
 spirit, and look itself into their likeness ; 
 by surrounding it with circumstances cal- 
 culated to foster its aspirings and invigor- 
 ate its eflbrts after excellence, and re- 
 moving such as clog or cramp these — 
 •' B«pren iu noble rage, 
 " And freeze the genial current of the rwul," 
 
 by lenient censure of its defects, and 
 liberal praise of i's successes ; by such 
 means as these we shall enlist this noble 
 susceptibility in the cause of goodness, 
 and give it a direction the happiest in its re- 
 sults alike to the individual and mankind. 
 We can not conclude without a brief 
 notice of the evidence deducible from this 
 part of our constitution of the benevolence 
 of the Deity. This quality is strikingly 
 displayed, first, in the implanting the af- 
 fection we have been considering, and, 
 secondly, in the provision for its diversified 
 direction. In emulation we have the chief 
 primary incentive to the acquisition of 
 knowledge. The wish to be informed 
 would lose much of its vividness, if ignor- 
 ance were no longer regarded as shame- 
 ful. It is the principle we have been con- 
 sidering that gives the original impulse to 
 enter on the paths of literature and science 
 paths that at first are thorny and repul- 
 sive, and that only appear charming as we 
 proceed. Literature and science have in- 
 deed inherent attractions amply sulFicient 
 to detain the initiated, but emulation it is 
 that must attract to them the novice. It 
 is this that prevents his becoming dis- 
 heartened by the difliculties with which 
 he must struggle in the pursuit of knowl- 
 edge ; that nerves him for the tedious and 
 diflicult ascent of 
 
 ■• The steep where fame'» prood temple ■hines afar." 
 
 Divest man of this capacity, and the fresh- 
 ness and buoyancy of his being are gone 
 with it. The choicest of the pleasures of 
 hope and of taste, being those dependent 
 on emulation, are annihilated. Society 
 stagnates, learning is neglected, and life be- 
 comes a dull, because an objectless routine. 
 Nor is the goodness of God less con- 
 spicuous in providing for this faculty such 
 diversity of aim. The constitution of the 
 world, and the condition of man, necessi- 
 tated its exercise toward a variety of ob- 
 jects. The all-wise and merciful Creator 
 has, therefore, seen fit to implant in difler- 
 ent minds certain native tendencies and 
 preferences, by virtue of which they are 
 induced to enter on different courses ol 
 useful exertion. By this arrangement 
 there is secured at once a large amount of 
 distinction to individuals, and an increase 
 of general advantage to society. 
 
 f't 
 
 
960 
 
 PERICLES. 
 
 PERICLES. 
 
 „ HE birth of Pericles 
 ^ appears to liavo taken 
 place a little later than 
 the year 500 before 
 Christ. He was de- 
 scended of the noblest 
 blood of Athena, but 
 was inferior in wealth 
 to many among his contemporaries. At 
 an early age he showed signs of great 
 abilities. His education was conducted 
 by the ablest teachers of the usual ac- 
 complishments ; and, in addition, he ex- 
 ercised and sharpened his mental powers 
 by diligent and eager study of the deepest 
 speculations of the Greek philosophers. 
 His infancy and boyhood witnessed the 
 stirring events of the Persian war, and the 
 rapid growth of Athens in wealth and 
 dominion. Such events, with the brilliant 
 career laid open to his distinguished coun- 
 trymen and predecessors, Themistocles 
 and others, were highly calculated to fan 
 and nourish the ambition of a powerful 
 mind; and even in youth he seems to 
 have formed his character and carriage 
 upon the model becoming a statesman. 
 He early attracted notice, not only by his 
 sweetness of voice, fluency of language, 
 and dignified beauty of person, which re- 
 minded the aged of the usurper Pisistratus, 
 but also by the gravity of his demeanor 
 and decorum of his conduct. From his 
 first entrance into public life, he devoted 
 himself with unremitting application to 
 business ; he was never to be seen out of 
 doors but on the way between his house 
 and the seat of council ; he declined all 
 invitations to the entertainments of his ac- 
 quaintance, and confined himself to the 
 society of a very seltct circle of intimate 
 friends. He bestowed the most assiduous 
 attention on the preparation of his speech- 
 es ; and so little disguised it, that he used 
 to say he never mounted the platform with- 
 out praying that no inappropriate word 
 might drop from his lips. The impression 
 thus produced was heightened by the calm 
 majesty of his air and carriage, and by 
 the philosophical composure which he 
 maintained under all provocations. And 
 he was so careful to avoid the effect which 
 familiarity might have on the people, that 
 
 he was sparing even in his attendance at 
 the assembly, and, reserving his own ap- 
 pearance for great occasions, carried miiiiy 
 ol his measures through the agency of his 
 friends and partisans. 
 
 After the disappearance of Aristides nnd 
 Themistocles, Cimon succeeded to tho 
 direction of the state, and was, for his 
 personal qualities, as well as for his birth 
 and wealth, the recognised head of the 
 aristocratic party. His talents as a gen- 
 eral and politician were approved by a 
 series of brilliant successes, and his char- 
 acter was well suited to acquire and retain 
 popular favor ; for ho was affable, of easy 
 access and convivial habits, and both by 
 policy and temper liberal even to ostenla- 
 tion. His fortune, large by inheritance, 
 was largely increased by the spoils of the 
 war ; and he made it contribute to his 
 power by seasonable presents to the poor, 
 by keeping open table for the divi.sion of 
 citiiens to which he belonged, by throw- 
 ing open his private gardens and orchards 
 to the public, constructing new walks for 
 their recreation, and, in short, by every 
 sort of popular largess. 
 
 Pericles first came forward in public 
 life, B.C. 469. Cimon's frequent absence 
 in military commands gave to the young 
 aspirant a great advantage, which he im- 
 proved by degrees, and before long be- 
 came the acknowledged chief of a power- 
 ful party. On the other hand Cimon pos- 
 sessed a powerful engine in his immense 
 wealth, which the more limited means of 
 Pericles could not rival. To obviate this, 
 Pericles became the author of a series of 
 measures, bad, as it appears to us, in 
 principle, and pernicious in their ultimate 
 results, though not destitute of plausible 
 grounds on which they might seem proper 
 to the author, and on which they have 
 been defended by favorable historians. 
 We allude to those by which the revenue 
 was diverted from the legitimate objects 
 of all revenue — the payment of expenses 
 of government, the execution of works of 
 national utility, and, under moderate re- 
 strictions, national luxury and grandeur, 
 and the relief of temporary and accidental 
 distress — to provide shows and amuse- 
 ments, and to maintain a large proportion 
 of the poorer class, almost in idleness, as 
 pensioners on the state. It was probably 
 
 HMHi 
 
n in his altencl.iiico iit 
 reserving his own ap- 
 ccasions, carried many 
 ough the agency of his 
 
 IS. 
 
 arance of Arisliiles and 
 ion succeeded to th(5 
 late, and was, for his 
 as well as for his birth 
 ecognisod head of the 
 His talents as a gen- 
 wero approved by a 
 uccesses, and his char- 
 jd to acquire and retain 
 ho was affable, of easy 
 ial habits, and both by 
 liberal even to 09ten;a- 
 , large by inheritance, 
 sed by the spoils of the 
 de it contribute to his 
 lie presents to the poor, 
 able for the division of 
 he belonged, by ihrow- 
 le gardens and orchards 
 tructing new walks for 
 ind, in short, by every 
 gess. 
 
 anie forward in public 
 :)imon's frequent absence 
 nds gave to the young 
 Ivantage, which he ini- 
 ss, and before long be- 
 ledged chief of a power- 
 9 other hand Cimon pos- 
 1 engine in his immense 
 B more limited means of 
 I rival. To obviate this, 
 the author of a series of 
 IS it appears to us, in 
 miciout) in their ultimate 
 lot destitute of plausible 
 I they might seem proper 
 id on which they have 
 by favorable historians, 
 se by which the revenue 
 m the legitimate objects 
 the payment of expenses 
 he execution of works of 
 and, under moderate re- 
 lal luxury and grandeur, 
 temporary and accidental 
 vide shows and amuse- 
 laintain a large proportion 
 188, almost in idleness, as 
 le state. It was probably 
 
 P*>. 
 
 m^m 
 
962 
 
 PERICLES. 
 
 -*.ai 
 
 with a view to the development of this 
 policv, and to his own security in so doing, 
 that he proposed and carried a law, by 
 which the powers of the ancient and re- 
 vered court of Areopagus, a body essential- 
 ly aristocratic in its constitution, were 
 greatly narrowed : among other things the 
 control of the treasury was taken away 
 from it, and vested in the assembly of the 
 people. Events which overclouded for 
 a time the favor and esteem in which 
 Cimon was still held, enabled the demo- 
 cratic party to procure his banishment in 
 461, or, as some place it, two years later. 
 Wars followed with the Boeotians and 
 Spartans, in which the Athenians, on the 
 whole, succeeded so ill, as to give the 
 friends of Ci.non a good opportunity of 
 contrasting his glories with the ill success 
 of the existing administration ; and within 
 five years of his banishment he was re- 
 called, apparently with the full concurrence 
 of Pericles. A sort of coalition between 
 the most respectable and moderate of both 
 parties was then formed ; and until the 
 death of Cimon, B. C. 449. party strife 
 was almost at an end. Cimon, however, 
 was too wise and temperate to satisfy a 
 large section of his followers ; and the | 
 attempts of the aristocratical party to gain 
 the ascendency were renewed, after his 
 death, under the guidance of one Thu- 
 cydides, not the historian of that name. 
 He was an able man, well skilled in the 
 art of managing a popular assembly ; but 
 he was striving in a cause seldom success- 
 ful—to retard the spirit of the age. The 
 contest was ended by his banishraient in 
 444 ; and from that time till death, with 
 a short interruption or two, the sway of 
 Pericles over the minds and councils of 
 the Athenians became little less than ab- 
 solute. , , J -.u 
 A truce for thirty years, concluded with 
 Sparta B. C. 445, left him at liberty to 
 develop his domestic policy. This, set- 
 ting aside the question how far, in framing 
 that policy, he was actuated by personal 
 motives, was directed, first, to extend and 
 strengthen the Athenian empire ; secondly, 
 to raise the confidence and self-esteem of 
 the Athenians themselves to a level with 
 the lofty position which they occupied. 
 At this time, those states which during 
 the Persian war had entered into alliance 
 
 =========== 
 
 with Athens were reduced almost into the 
 condition of subjects ; and it was sought 
 to increase the power of the leading slate 
 by converting her assumed authority into 
 a still more absolute and recognised do- 
 minion. Before this time the contribution, 
 originally levied by common consent, ap- 
 plied to common purposes, and kept in a 
 common treasury in the sacred island of 
 Delos, had been arbitrarily increased, and 
 the place of deposite had been removed 
 to Athens. The next step was to deny 
 all responsibility as to the application of 
 it ; and to maintain the right of the Athe- 
 nians, so long as they fulfilled the original 
 object of its imposition, the protection of 
 Greece against the common enemy, to 
 dispose of the surplus after their own 
 desire. The means thus placed at his 
 disposal enabled Pericles, during the thirty 
 years' truce, to carry still further that ap- 
 plication of the public revenue, toward 
 satisfying the wants and furnishing the 
 amusements of the people, of which we 
 have before spoken, and to execute those 
 architectural wonders, which, even more 
 than his military successes and political 
 honors, have illustrated his name in all 
 succeeding ages. The city and harbor 
 of Piraeus had been fortified by Themisto- 
 cles ; the long walls, which connected the 
 city and the harbor, had been built by 
 Cimon on a scale which defied such means 
 of assault as the military science of the 
 day c'luld bring against them. Thus 
 Athens, secure against danger by land, 
 and sure of access to the sea, enjoyed *« 
 advantages of an island. It was now that 
 the Acropolis was covered with those 
 magnificent and lasting edifices, which 
 even to this day would scarce have shown 
 the injuries of lime, if man had spared 
 them. A splendid fortified portal, called 
 the Propylffia, at once guarded and orna- 
 mented the sacred precinct, in the middle 
 of which, among other buildings of lesser 
 note, rose the Parthenon, or temple of 
 Minerva, constructed of the purest and 
 most brilliant marble, and adorned within 
 and without by the richest sculptures, de- 
 signed by Phidias, the Homer of Grecian 
 art. The splendid porticoes which ran 
 all round it were lined with the friezes 
 and metopes which form the bulk of the 
 Elgin marbles in the British Museum; 
 
"fp^' 
 
 FERICLE8. 
 
 963 
 
 Juced almost into the 
 1 ; and it wns sought 
 r of the leading slate 
 ssumed authority into 
 ) and Tocognised do- 
 I time the contribution, 
 common consent, ap- 
 irposes, and kept in a 
 
 the sacred island of 
 itrarily increased, and 
 te had been removed 
 ^\^ step was to deny 
 
 to the application of 
 the right of the Athe- 
 ey fulfilled the original 
 tion, the protection of 
 5 common enemy, to 
 rplus after their own 
 IS thus placed at his 
 rides, during the thirty 
 ry still further that ap- 
 ubiic revenue, toward 
 Its and furnishing the 
 
 people, of which we 
 I, and to execute those 
 ers, which, even more 
 successes and political 
 trated his name in all 
 
 The city and harbor 
 n fortified by Themisto- 
 Is, which connected the 
 )or, had been built by 
 vhich defied such means 
 military science of the i 
 
 against them. Thus 
 gainst danger by land, 
 I to the sea, enjoyed ifco 
 aland. It was now that 
 as covered with those 
 lasting edifices, which 
 ould scarce have shown 
 me, if man had spared 
 d fortified portal, called 
 once guarded and orna- 
 d precinct, in the middle 
 other buildings of lesser 
 Parthenon, or temple of 
 icled of the purest and 
 irbie, and adorned within 
 lie richest sculptures, de- 
 8, the Homer of Grecian 
 did porticoes which ran 
 ■e lined with the friezes 
 lich form the bulk of the 
 in the British Museum; 
 
 and the pediments at cither end were filled 
 with groups of statues, which, mutilated 
 us they are, are acknowledged to be second 
 to none among the masterpieces of an- 
 tiquity. They were richly ornamented 
 with gold, .nd relieved, a practice not 
 familiar to modern taste, with the most 
 brilliant colors. Within was the statue 
 of the goddess, of colossal size, and of the 
 most costly materials, ivory profusely orna- 
 mented with gold. . 
 
 While Pericles was thus laboring to 
 render Athena the focus of attraction to 
 Greece, his own house, though he ab- 
 stained from indiscriminate visiting and 
 convivial entertainments, was the resort 
 of the most eminent teachers of philosophy 
 and literature. We can not here pass 
 silently over his connexion with the ce e- 
 brated Aspasia, a favorite subject of allu- 
 sion and ridicule with the scandal-mon- 
 gers and satirists of the day. She was a 
 Milesian, of great beauty and talent, edu- 
 cated far above the usual level of the sex 
 in Greece, with the view of making a 
 profitable market of her accomplishments. 
 Her condition in this respect is noi to be 
 judged according to the refinement of 
 modern manners, still less by the pure 
 rules of Christian morality. The fascina- 
 tion of her person, manners, and conversa- 
 tion, won for her the enduring love of Peri- 
 cles, who in her behalf divorced his wife, 
 and placed her at the head of his house- 
 hold : a legal marriage he was unable to 
 contract with her. She was his constant 
 companion, the partner of his counsels, 
 and his adviser; she engaged in equal 
 terms in the most abstruse discussions ot 
 the philosophers whom Pericles loved to 
 assemble at his house ; and her reputation 
 for eloquence was such that, in one of the 
 dialogues of Plato, Socrates represents 
 himself as her pupil, with the intimation 
 that she " had made many good o'taUits, 
 and Pericles among the number." Indeed 
 her influence over the great sUtesman af- 
 forded matter for continual attacks to the 
 comic poets, such as calling them »ne -Ju- 
 piter and Juno, the Hercules and Omphale 
 of Athens. It also gave ground occasion- 
 ally to more serious charges ; for men 
 boldly asserted, that to gratify her personal 
 animosities, he had engaged his country 
 in the wars against Samoa aud Megara. 
 
 And though the influence of Pericles was 
 too deeply rooted for his enemies to ven- 
 ture on a direct attack, it is clear that ihcy 
 were numerous and powerful, from the 
 success with which ihey aimed an indirect 
 blow at both his happiness and his repu- 
 tation, by assailing some of his most in- 
 timate friends. The freedom of discus- 
 sion and speculative turn of conversation 
 encouraged at his house, where many of 
 the speakers treated the received religion 
 of Greece with very light respect, furnish- 
 ed ground for a criminal prosecution against 
 his former preceptor and most intimate 
 friend, Anaxagoras, the issue of which is 
 not altogether clear : it appears however 
 that the philosopher found it either neces- 
 sary or expedient to retire from Athens 
 for the remainder of his life. Aspasia 
 was involved in the same charge of im- 
 piety, coupled wiih a grosser and more 
 degrading accusation ; and owed hor de- 
 liverance to the great personal exertions 
 of Pericles, who condescended on this 
 occasion to u«e even tears and personal 
 entreaties to work upon the judges in her 
 behalf. These prosecutions took place 
 just before the outbreak of the Pelopon- 
 nesiau war: the storm however soon blew 
 over, and his power and reputation stood 
 as high as ever during the remainder of 
 his life, with the exception that a charge 
 of peculation was brought against him ; 
 but the historian Thucydides, a contem- 
 porary of the highest veracity, and no 
 friend to Pericles, has testified to his in- 
 tegrity in the strongest terms. The ex- 
 tent of his influence is most remarkably 
 shown by one measure which he persuaded 
 the Athenians to adopt. This was no less 
 than a transfer of the whole population of 
 Attica with all their moveables to the 
 space included within the walls of the 
 city and its ports, abandoning the country, 
 without resistance, to the invasion of the 
 enemy. His grounds for this were, the 
 inexpediency of risking the limited body 
 of Athenian citizens in pitched battles 
 against the Peloponnesian armies, which 
 were superior both in number and reputa- 
 tion, and even if defeated, might be re- 
 cruited to any amount ; and on the other 
 hand, the superiority of the Athenians at 
 sea, which enabled them to draw inex- 
 Ihaustible supplies of all things needful 
 
904 
 
 PERICLES. 
 
 from their subjects and trading connexions, 
 and the strength of their city, which defi- 
 ed such methods of assault as military 
 skill had yet invented. These advantages, 
 and their abundant revenue, would enable 
 them at pleasure to protract the war; while 
 the funds of llie Peloponnesians, who de- 
 rived little profit from trade and colonies, 
 were not likely to last through an expen- 
 sive struggle. And he warned them not 
 to seek new conquests, but to content 
 themselves with defending what they al- 
 ready enjoyed. 
 
 The event proved the justice of his 
 views in all respects. The first invasion 
 of Aliicii took place B. C. 431. Though 
 the people had reluctantly assented to his 
 policy, and removed into the city, yet the 
 spectacle of their country ravaged by an 
 insuUing enemy tried their patience se- 
 verely, and they demanded with loud and 
 bitter reproaches to be led into the action. 
 Pericles remained unmoved, and would 
 neither lead an army to the field nor sum- 
 mon an assembly to deliberate on the sub- 
 ject. Trees, he said, when cut down 
 might shoot up again, but men were not 
 so easily replaced. But he provided a 
 vent for the active spirit of the people, by 
 sending various expeditions to ravage the 
 seacoast o'' (he enemy's country. At the 
 close of the campaign the usual tribute of 
 funeral honors to those who had fallen in 
 battle was celebrated; a circumstance here 
 mentioned because Pericles pronounced 
 the funeral oration on this occasion, and 
 in the want of any genuine specimen of 
 his eloquence the speech attributed to him 
 by Thucydides, becomes doubly interest- 
 ing as being very possibly a pretty faith- 
 ful report as to the topics which Pericles 
 employed on the occasion, and an imitation 
 of his style. 
 
 The second year of the war was more 
 calamitous. In the course of it the cele- 
 brated plague of Athens broke out. The 
 general misery produced by this fearful 
 visitation emboldened the enemies of Peri- 
 cles to institute a prosecution, in conse- 
 quence of which he was deprived of his 
 military command, and heavily fined. In 
 the following year he recovered both his 
 office and his "scendency over the people. 
 But in the summer B. C. 429, be was 
 himself carried off by a lingering illness, 
 
 having alrearlv lost by the pestilence his 
 two legitime sons, his sister, and the 
 most valued of his friends. The death of 
 his younger son, a very promising youih, 
 appears to have cut him to the heart. He 
 placed the funeral garland on the head of 
 the corpse, according to custom, but in 
 doing so — a most unusual mark of emotion 
 — he burst into tears. When he was 
 near his end, and apparently insensible, 
 his friends, gathered round his bed, re- 
 lieved theJr sorrow by recalling the re- 
 membrance ol his military exploits, and 
 of the trophies vhich he had raised. He 
 interrupted ihein, and observed that they 
 had omitted the most glorious praise which 
 he could claim. " Other generals iiad been 
 as fortunate, but he had tiever caused an 
 Athenian to put on mourning :" a sin^'dar 
 ground of satisfaction, notwithstaudini, the 
 caution (herein alluded to) of his muiuy 
 career, if he had been conscious of having 
 involved liis country in the bloodiesi war 
 it had ever waged. His death was a loss 
 which Athens could not repair. Many 
 were eager to step into his place ; but 
 there was no man able to fill it ; and the 
 fragments of his power were snatched by 
 unworthy hands. He died when the cau- 
 tion on which he valu.;* himself was more 
 than over needed to guard Athens from 
 fatal errors; and when the humanity which 
 breathes through his dying boast might 
 have saved her from her deepest disgrace. 
 
 LENGTH OF DAYS. 
 
 At Berlin and London the longest day 
 has sixteen and a half hours. At Stock- 
 holm and Upsal, the longest has eighteen 
 and a half hours, and the shortest five and 
 a half. At Hamburg, Dantzic, and Stettin, 
 the longest day has seventeen hours, and 
 the shortest seven. At St. Petersburg 
 and Tobolsk, the longest has nineteen, 
 and the shortest five hours. At Torneo, 
 in Finland, the longest day has twenty- 
 one hours and a half, and the shortest two 
 and a half. At Waudorbus, in Norway, 
 the day lasts from the 2l8t of May to the 
 22d of July, without interruptior ; and in 
 Spitzbergen the longest day lasts three 
 month«' and a half. 
 
 I- 
 
the pestilence his 
 [lis sister, and the 
 ids. The death of 
 Y promising youth, 
 1 to the heart. He 
 land on tlio head of 
 to custom, but in 
 lal mark o( emotion 
 . When he was 
 larently insensible, 
 round his bed, re- 
 y recalliiii; the re- 
 itary exploits, and 
 le had raiNod. He 
 observed that they 
 orious pntise which 
 r generals had been 
 id never caused an 
 Liming :" a hin^'dar 
 lotwitlistaudiiiL, the 
 I to) of his niiiila'y 
 conscious of having 
 [1 the bloodiest war 
 is death was a loss 
 not repair. Many 
 ito his place ; but 
 to fill it ; and the 
 r were snatched by 
 died when the cau- 
 ' himself was more 
 juard Athens from 
 he humanity which 
 dying boast might 
 r deepest disgrace. 
 
 f DAYS. 
 
 Ion the longest day 
 hours. At Stock- 
 ngest has eighteen 
 lie shortest five and 
 )antzic, and Stettin, 
 venteen hours, and 
 At St. Petersburg 
 ;est has nineteen, 
 lours. At Torneo, 
 It day has twenty- 
 nd the shortest two 
 lorbus, in Norway, 
 21st of May to the 
 nterruptior ; and in 
 sst day lasts three 
 
 LORD CHATHAM. 
 
 9B5 
 
 Portrait of WUlism Pitt, Lord Chatham. 
 
 LORD CHATHAM. 
 
 ILLIAMPITT, 
 
 usually distinguish- 
 ed as the great Lord 
 Chatham, was born 
 at London in the year 
 1708, and was the 
 son of Robert Pitt, 
 Esq.,ofBoconnocin 
 Cornwall. He was 
 educated first at Eton and afterward at 
 Trinity college, Oxford, of which he was 
 entered a gentleman commoner in l^^o. 
 On leaving the university he purchased a 
 cornetcy in the Blues ; but urged probably 
 by the desire of obtaining a more suitable 
 field for the display of his abilities than a 
 military life afTorded, in 1735 he procured 
 himself to be returned to parliament for 
 the family borough of Old Sarum. Sir 
 Robert Walpole was then at the bead of 
 affairs ; and Pitt immediately joined the 
 opposition, which evenv. "ly compelled 
 
 that minister to retire in 1742. For the 
 part which he thus took, he was, the year 
 
 after he entered parliament, deprived by 
 Walpole of his commission, but was com- 
 pensated by being made one of the gentle- 
 men of the bedchamber to the prince of 
 Wales. His eloquence, as soon as he be- 
 gan to take a part in the debates, raised 
 him to distinction and importance ; and 
 imperfectly as the proceedings of the house 
 were then communicated to the public, his 
 reputation as one of the most powurful 
 speakers of the day seems to have rapidly 
 spread itself over the nation. It was in 
 1740, ill the course of his contest with 
 Walpolo's administration, that on a motion 
 relating to impressment, he made his fa- 
 mous reply to Mr. Horatio Walpole, the 
 brother of the minister, vindicating him- 
 self from the double chargo of youth and 
 theatrical elocution. Walpole's adminis- 
 tration was succeeded by that of Lord 
 Carteret (afterward the earl of Granville), 
 but this change did not introduce Pitt to 
 office. The celebrated Sarah, dutchess of 
 Marlborough, however, left him in 1744 
 a legacy of JBl 0,000, in reward, as it was 
 expressed in the will, of the noble disin- 
 
 
 ■'I'!* 
 
 m 
 
 'mi 
 
 "Vh,! 
 
 ^1»» 
 
966 
 
 LORD CHATHAM. 
 
 tcrosic.lness with which he had maiiiiain- 
 cd iho aulhority of the laws, and prevented 
 iho ruin of his. country. The followtnK 
 year he resigned his post in the household 
 of the prince. In 1746, under the pre- 
 miership of the duke of Newcastle, Mr. 
 I'itt was for the first time chosen to fill « 
 place in the government, being appointed 
 to the office of vice-treasurer for Ueland, 
 from which he was transferred the same 
 year to that of paymaster-general of the 
 forces. In this situation, which he held 
 for nearly nine years, he displayed his 
 characteristic activity, energy, and decis- 
 ion, and the most high-minded mtegrity 
 and contempt for many of the customary 
 profits of oifice. In 1755, however, on a 
 disagreement with the majority of his 
 colleagues, he resigned : but, in little more 
 than a year after, the force of public opin- 
 ion compelled his recall ; and on the 4th 
 of December, 1756, he was appointed 
 principal secretary of state. In the April 
 following, finding his views still thvvarted 
 by the rest of the cabinet, he again re- 
 tired ; but within less than three months 
 the king was obliged to yield to the na- 
 tional voice, the ministry was driven from 
 power, and a new one was formed under 
 the auspices of Pitt, who, reinstated in his 
 former place of secretary of state, now 
 exercised under that name the authority 
 of premier. For the next four years Pitt 
 may be regarded as having been the di- 
 rector of the energies of England ; and 
 they are four of the most glorious years 
 in the history of the country. Victory 
 crowned the British arms wherever they 
 appeared, whether on sea or on land ; the 
 French were beaten at almost everv point 
 both in the east and in the west ; the vast 
 territory of Canada was wrested from them, 
 almost before the government at home was 
 aware that it was in danger ; and they 
 were eventually stripped of nearly all their 
 other colonies in every part of the world. 
 Along with these successes abroad, tran- 
 quillity and contentment at home no les« 
 remarkably distinguished the supremacy 
 of this able, patriotic, and popular minis- 
 ter. In October, 1760, George II. died, 
 and the ascendency of new principles 
 which the new reign brought along with 
 it, before long compelled Pitt to tender 
 his resignation of his services. His ad- 
 
 ministration terminated, and that of Lord 
 Uute commenced in October, 1761. Al- 
 though Pitt, however, had found it neces- 
 sary to retire from the manngemi'iit of 
 affairs, his sovereign was so sensible of 
 his great deserts, that a barony was be- 
 stowed upon his lady, and a pension of 
 three thousand a year granted to him for 
 their conjoint lives and for that of his 
 eldest son. After this, he remained out 
 of office till 1766, when, after the failure 
 of the Rockingham administration, it wsis 
 found necessary in the embarrassed state 
 of public affairs, occasioned by the first 
 troubles respecting the American stamp 
 act, again to call for the assistance of ttie 
 man who was generally believed best able 
 to serve the country ; and in July that 
 year he was intrusted with the formation 
 of a new cabinet. In the arrangement 
 which he made upon this occasion he 
 reserved to himself along with the pre- 
 miership the office of lord privy-seal, as 
 better suiting than one of more active du- 
 ties, the enfeebled state of his health, now 
 greatly broken down by attacks of tbo 
 gout, to which he had long been subject. 
 He also went to the upper house with the 
 title of earl of Chatham. He now applied 
 himself with his best endeavors to heal 
 the differences with America; but the 
 opposition of his colleagues rendered him 
 unable to carry into effect the measures 
 which he would have taken for this pur- 
 pose ; and, in December, 1768, he again 
 resigned. Lord Chatham lived for nearly 
 ten years after this ; and, although his in- 
 creasing infirmities compelled himto spend 
 much of his time in retirement in the coun- 
 try, he frequently presented himself in his 
 place in parliament, when important dis- 
 cussions were to take place, and never 
 distinguished himself more than he did, 
 on some of these occasions, by his eloquent 
 atid indignant appeals against the headlong 
 course of misgovernmenl in which minis- 
 ters were proceeding, and his maintenance 
 of the constitutional rights and liberties of 
 his couutrymen. It was the contest with 
 AmericR, which called forth from Lord 
 Chatham the most brilliant efforts of his 
 latter days, and perhaps of his life. He 
 may be said to have expired in resisting 
 the infatuated measures which, in provo- 
 king this war, led to the dismembermeri* 
 
 =7\=sr 
 
 
 «i 
 
OBOaOE WABHINOTON. 
 
 9«7 
 
 I, and tliiil of Lord 
 )ctobor, 1701. Al- 
 had found it nccea- 
 ho manni^Pinrnt of 
 was so seniiiblo of 
 R barony was he- 
 r, and a pension of 
 r granted to liini for 
 nd for tbat of liis 
 s, he rcmniniid out 
 en, after the failure ] 
 Iminisiration, it was 
 le embarrnssod stale 
 asioned by the first 
 (le American stamp 
 he assistance of ttio 
 lly believed best able 
 ' ; and in July that 
 
 I with the formation 
 In the arrangemt-nt 
 n this occasion ho 
 along with the prc- 
 f lord privy-seal, as 
 le of more active du- 
 itoof his health, now 
 
 II by attacks of the 
 d long been subject, 
 upper house with tlie 
 im. He now applied 
 ist endeavors to heal 
 I America ; but the 
 leagues rendered him 
 
 effect the measures 
 te taken for this pur- 
 mber, 1768, he again 
 atham lived for nearly 
 
 and, although his in- 
 ompelled him to spend 
 etirement in the couu- 
 Bsented himself in his 
 , when important dis- 
 ake place, and never 
 (If more than he did, 
 asions, by his eloquent 
 Is against the headlong 
 ment in which minis- 
 g, and his maintenance 
 
 rights and liberties of 
 t was the contest with 
 illed forth from Lord 
 brilliant efforts of his 
 rhaps of his life. He 
 re expired in resisting 
 lures which, in provo- 
 10 the dismembermeti* 
 
 „1„.„ a m..l,on on ,1„. ...l.)«;> «■». '» J>° 1 ^ „, ,„„•„,„,„, . h,„ .„„„„l „, ,,„ „. 
 
 \> 111*11 *1 iii«'»n»ii "■■ • -•- 4 
 
 .liscussed, he apprifd for the lant lime 
 in ihn house of lords, Uuning on the arm 
 of his son. wiih his majestic figure wrapped 
 in fhinneU, and Iwh ice pale iii .<»'■'»• 
 Afier delivering his nentimonts with his 
 accustomed fervor, he sat down. On 
 rising again, however, a short time after- 
 ward, u, reply to some observations which ;;;';-".-,j;-„f, he place was broken by 
 
 had been made upon h'^'"'''^"'"' *^\^' Vthe no.so of distant thunder. He was 
 haek in the arms of the duke ol (umber- '»^^ ' *« ;' '' ,,, ,.„„„„,, j,„,,i,i„„ 
 
 tuated by some urgent nec<-ssity. The ri- 
 der forsaking n good road for a by-path 
 leading thrinigh the woods, indicated a de- 
 sire to avoid the gaze of other travellers. 
 He had not left the house where he in- 
 quired the direction of the above-men- 
 lioned path, more than two hours, before 
 
 land and Lord Temple, who sat beside 
 him, speechless, and to all appearance, 
 insensible. Lord Chatham recovered so 
 far as to bo removed to his couniry-houso 
 at Hayes, where he lingered till the 12lh 
 of May, when he expired, entirely ex- 
 hiiust.d. in the seventieth year of his age. 
 The characteristics of this celebrated min- 
 ister were vigor, decision, a mind prophetic 
 of consequences, and an eloquence so com- 
 manding that probably nothing quite equal 
 to it has distinguished any oilier speaker 
 in modern times. Judging rather by the 
 ^fleets which it is recorded to have pro- 
 duced, than by any pretended reports o 
 particular speeches, it must have cntamed 
 an extraordinary share of the vehemence 
 and power by which Demosthenes, 'u an- 
 cient Greece, " wielded at will that fierce 
 democracy." 
 
 GENERAL WASHINGTON. 
 
 NE pleasant even- 
 , ing, in the month 
 
 ^3EjiW^ ^" — a man was ob- 
 served entering the 
 borders of a wood, 
 near the Hudson 
 river, his appear- 
 ance that of a person above the common 
 rank. Tlie inhabit.iiit8 of a country vil- 
 lage would have dignified him with the ti- 
 tle of 'squire, and from his manner pro- 
 nounced him proud ; but those more ac- 
 customed to society, would inform you 
 there was something like a military air 
 about him. His horse pantee as if it had 
 been hard pushed for some miles, yet, from 
 
 soon after obliged to dismount, travelling 
 becoming dangerous, as darkness con- 
 cealed surrouniling objects, except when 
 the lightning's Hash afforded him a ino- 
 meiii:iry view of his situation. A peal 
 loud.r and of longer duration than any of 
 the preceding, which now burst over his 
 head, seeming as if it would rend tho 
 woods asunder, was quickly followed by 
 a heavy full of rain which penetrated the 
 clothing of the stranger ere ho could ob- 
 tain tlie shelter of a large oak, which 
 stood at a little distance. 
 
 Almost exhausted with the labors of the 
 day, he was al)out making such disposi- 
 tion of the saddle and his own coat, as 
 would enable him to pass the nighl with 
 i what comfort circumstances would admit, 
 j when he espied a light glimmering through 
 I the trees. Animated with tho hope of bet- 
 ter lodgings, he determined to proceed. 
 The way, which was somewhat steep, be- 
 came attended with more obstacles th». 
 farther he advanced ; the soil being com- 
 posed of clay, which the rain had render- 
 ed so soft that his feet slipped atevery sti p. 
 By the utmost perseverance, this difficulty 
 was finally overcome without any acci- 
 dent, and ho had the pleasure of finding 
 himself in front of a decent looking farm- 
 house. The watch dog began barking, 
 which brought the owner of the mansion 
 to the door. 
 
 " Who is there ?" said he. 
 " A friend who has lost his way, and 
 in search o( a place of shelter," was the 
 
 answer. , „ i 
 
 " Come in, sir," added the speaker, and 
 
 whatever my house will afford, you shall 
 
 have, with welcome." 
 
 " I must provide for the weary compan- 
 
 io.i of my journey," remarked the other. 
 But the former undertook the task, and 
 
 'Wk^: 
 
 '***»« 
 
 
4-; 
 
 after conducting the new-comer into ajoo"! 
 where his wife was seated, he led the 
 horse to a well-stored barn, and there pro- 
 vided for him most bountifully. On re- 
 joining the traveller, he observed, I hat 
 is a noble animal of yours, sir." 
 
 " Yes," was the reply, " and I am sor- 
 ry that 1 was obliged to misuse him so as 
 to make it necessary to give you so niuch 
 trouble with the care of him ; but 1 have 
 yet to thank you for your kindness to both 
 
 " I did no more than my duty, sir," said 
 the entertainer, "and therefore am enti- 
 tled to no thanks. But Susan," added he, 
 turning to the hostess with a half-reproach- 
 ful look, " why have you not given the 
 gentleman something to eat?" 
 
 Fear had prevented the good woman 
 from exercising her well-known benevo- 
 lence ; for a robbery had been committed 
 bv a lawless band of depredators, but a 
 few weeks before, in that neighborhood, 
 
 better for thinking of his God, than all his 
 kind inquiries after our welfare. I wish 
 our Peter had been home from the army, 
 if it was only to hear this good man tiilk ; 
 I am sure Washington himself could not 
 say more for this country, nor give e. bet- 
 ter h= story of the hardships endured by 
 our bra /e soldiers." 
 
 " Who knows now," inquired the wile, 
 " but it may be himself after all, my dear ; 
 for they do say he travels just so, all alone, 
 sometimes. Hark ! what's that ?" 
 
 The sound of a voice came from the 
 chamber of their guest, who was now en- 
 iraged in his private religious worship. Al- 
 fer thanking the Creator for his many irier- 
 cies, and asking a blessing on the inhab- 
 itants of the house, he continued, " And 
 now, Almighty Father, if it be thy holy 
 will, that we shall obtain a place and a 
 name among the nations of the earth, 
 grant that we may be enabled to show our 
 gratitude for thy goodness, by our endeav-- 
 
 few weeks betore, in laa^ ""3!'""""':;: 1 ors to fear and obey thee. Bless us with 
 ed that this man might be one of them 
 
 At her husband's remonstrance, she now 
 readily engaged in repairing her error, by 
 preparing a splendid repast. During the 
 meal there was much intereslin? conversa- 
 tion among the three. As soon as the 
 worthy countryman perceived that his 
 guest had satisfied his appetite, he info^ed 
 him that it was now the hour at which the 
 family usually performed their devotions, 
 inviting him at the same time to be pres- 
 ent. The invitation was accepted in these 
 
 words : — , 
 
 " It would afford me the greatest pleasure 
 to commune with my heavenly Preserver, 
 after the events of the day ; such exercises 
 prepare us for the repose which we seek 
 
 '" The'host now reached the Bible froin 
 the shelf, and after reading a chapter and 
 singing, concluded the whole* with a fer- 
 vent prayer; then, lighting a pme knot, 
 conducted the person he had entertained 
 to his chamber, wished him a good nights 
 rest, and retired to the adjoining apart- 
 ment. , . ,, ,, „. 
 
 " John," whispered the woman, that 
 is a good gentleman, and not one of the 
 highwaymen as I supposed." 
 
 " Yes, Susan," said he, " I like 
 
 him 
 
 and let our victories be tempered with hu 
 maniiy Endow, also, our enemies with 
 enlighte.ied minds, that they may become 
 sensible of their injustice, and willing to 
 restore liberty and peace. Gran! the pc 
 tition of thy servant, for the sake of him 
 whom thou hast called thy beloved Son ; 
 nevertheless, not my will, but thine be 
 done. Amen." 
 
 The next morning, the traveller, decli- 
 ning the pressing solicitation to breakfast 1 
 with his host, declared it was necessary 
 for him to cross the river immediately; at 
 the same time offering part of his purse 
 as a compensation for what h#had re- 
 ceived, which was refused. 
 
 " Well, sir," continued he, " since you 
 will not permit me to recompense you for 
 your trouble, it is but just that I should in- 
 form you on whom you have conferred so 
 many obligations, and also add to them by 
 requesting your assistance in crossing the 
 rivev. I had been out yesterday, endeav- 
 oring to obtain some information respect- 
 ing our enemy, and being alone, ventured 
 too far from the camp. On my return, I 
 was surprised by a foraging party, and c»n- 
 ly escaped by my knowledge of the roads, 
 and the fleetness of my horse. My name 
 is George Washington." 
 
of liis God, than all bis 
 r our welfare. I wish 
 n home from the army, 
 lear this good man talk ; 
 \gton himself could not 
 country, nor give a bel- 
 3 hardships endured by 
 
 I." 
 
 [low," inquired the wife, 
 
 niself after ail, my dear ; 
 
 travels just so, all alone, 
 k ! what's that ?" 
 
 a voice came from the 
 
 guest 
 
 who was now en- 
 
 te religious worship. Af 
 Jreator for his many mer- 
 a blessing on the inbab- 
 iise, be continued, " And 
 father, if it be thy holy 
 all obtain a place and a 
 16 nations of the earth, 
 y be enabled to show our 
 goodness, by our endeav- 
 bey thee. Bless us with 
 ouncils, success in battle, 
 ries be tempered with bu- 
 V, also, our enemies with 
 ds, that they may become 
 r injustice, and willing to 
 nd peace. Grant the pe> 
 vani, for the sake of him 
 called thy beloved Son ; 
 )t my will, but thine be 
 
 ming, the traveller, decli- 
 ng solicitation to breakfast 
 declared it was necessary 
 I the river immediately ; at 
 offering part of his purse 
 tion for what hdlhad re- 
 was refused. 
 
 continued he, " since you 
 me to recompense j'ou for 
 is but just that I should in- 
 hom you have conferred so 
 ns, and also add to them by 
 r assistance in crossing the 
 ;cen out yesterday, endeav- 
 some information respect- 
 , and being alone, ventured 
 le camp. On my return, I 
 by a foraging party, and on- 
 my knowledge of the roads, 
 )ss of my horse. My name 
 shington." 
 
 THE BOA C0N8TEICT0R. 
 
 n 
 
 Surprise kept the listener "lent /or * 
 moment; then, after ""«"«='=?« «<^""y "! 
 Dealing the invitation tc partake of some 
 Refreshment, he hastened to call two ne- 
 groes, with whose assistance >« P'^^^f 
 fhe horse on a small raft of tinriber that 
 was lying in the river, near the door, and 
 Toon conveyed the general to the opposUe 
 side of the river where he l«ft b^'^P"" 
 sue his way to the camp, wishing hun a 
 safe and prosperous journey. On h s re 
 u n to the house, he found that while he 
 was engaged in making preparations for 
 Tonveying the horse across the river, his 
 llustrous%i8iter had persuaded his wife 
 to accept a token of remenribrance, which 
 ihe family are proud of exhibiting to ^h. 
 dav The above is only one of the haz 
 Js encountered by this truly great pa- 
 triot, for the purpose of transmitting to 
 nrteriiy the treasures we now enjoy. 
 C us acknowledge the benefits received 
 bv our endeavors to preserve them m their 
 purity ; and by keeping in remembrance 
 The great Source whence these blessings 
 flosv we may be enabled to render our 
 SamU worthy of being enrolled with that 
 
 of the Father of his country. 
 
 THE BOA CONSTRICTOR. 
 
 HE place which the 
 boa should occupy in 
 a regular system is 
 not well determined, 
 and this arises from 
 the circumstance that 
 travellers have enter- 
 ,s^ , ed much into the his- 
 
 tory and habits of the larger species of 
 serpents without carefully describing the 
 animals themselves. We shall be con- 
 tent to follow Blumenbach in stating that 
 the enormous reptile usually called the 
 boa constrictor is found in the East Indies 
 and in Africa, and does not appear to diHer 
 much from the amaru of South Amonca, 
 which was worshipped by the Amis ot 
 Peru It is the largest of serpents. Its 
 average length appears to be about thirty 
 feet but it sometimes attains to forty, filty, 
 or even sixty feet; it therefore occupies 
 the relaiive position among reptiles which 
 
 the elephant does among quadrupeds, and 
 the whale among the inhabitants of the 
 sea. In the venomous species, the poison 
 fangs are in the upper jaw— somewhat 
 larger than the other teeth, projected for- 
 ward in the act of biting, but at other times 
 disposod along the roof of the mouth. 
 These are wanting in the boa, but other- 
 wise the teeth are disposed much in the 
 same manner as in other serpents— being 
 long, sharply pointed, and inclined back- 
 ward of no use for mastication, but evi- 
 dently intended cnly for the purpose of 
 holding the prey. The genus is dis- 
 tinguished by having a hook on each side 
 the vent ; the body is compressed, inflated 
 toward the middle ; the tail is prehensile ; 
 the scales small, particularly upon the 
 back of the head. The ground color of 
 the boa constrictor is yellowish gray, with 
 a large chestnut colored interrupted chain, 
 extending down the back from the head 
 to the tip of the tail, and jubtrigonal spots 
 down the sides. The name "constrictor 
 is derived from the terrible muscular pow- 
 er by which it crushes to death the un- 
 fortunate animals embraced in its folds. 
 It is true that most serpents possess, in 
 some degree, this constrictive power, but 
 it is not commonly used by the smaller 
 species in seizing their prey, the mouth 
 and teeth alone sufficing for the purpose. 
 Requiring food only at long intervals, 
 the boa constrictor, like most other ser- 
 pents, spend the greater part of its life 
 coiled up asleep, or in a state of stupor, 
 in which, if it has recently been gorged 
 with food, it may be overcome with little 
 danger or difficulty, although to attack U 
 in an active state would be madness. But 
 when it becomes hungry, the gigantic 
 reptile assumes an activity strikingly in 
 contrast with the loggish inertness it be- 
 fore exhibited. When properly m wait 
 for prey, it usually attaches itself to the 
 trunk or branches o." a tree, in a situation 
 likely to be visited by quadrupeds for the 
 sake of pasture or water. In this posture 
 it swings about, as if a branch or pendent 
 of the tree, until some unhappy animal 
 approaches, and then, suddenly relinquish- 
 ing its position, it seizes the unsuspecting 
 victim, and coils its body spirally around 
 the thi-oat and chest. After a few mef- 
 fectual cries and struggles, the poor un- 
 
 >'mifin^ 
 
 
 .5 
 
 fT'. 
 
 
 "11 
 
 i 
 
 J§ 
 
GEMS OF THOUGHT. 
 
 971 
 
 n 
 
 tangled animal is suffocated and expires. 
 It is to be remarked that, in producing 
 this effect, the serpent does not merely 
 wreathe itself around the prey, but places 
 fold over fold, as if desirous of adding as 
 much weight as possible to the muscular 
 effort; these folds are then gradually 
 tightened with such immense force as to 
 crush the principal bones, and thus not 
 only to destroy the animal, but to bring 
 its carcase into a state the most easy for 
 its being swallowed. This having been 
 effected, the boa addresses himself to the 
 task of swallowing the carcase. Haying 
 pushed the limbs into the most convenient 
 position, and covered the surface with its 
 glutinous saliva, the serpent takes the 
 muzzle of the prey into its mouth, which 
 is capable of vast expanion ; and, by a 
 succession of wonderful muscular con- 
 tractions, the rest of the body is gradually 
 drawn in, with a steady and regular mo- 
 tion. As the mass advances in the gullet, 
 the parts through which it has passed re- 
 sume their former dimensions, though us 
 immediate position is always indicated by 
 an external protuberance. Their prey 
 generally consists of dogs, goats, deer, 
 and the smaller sorts of game. Bishop 
 Hober considers as quite untrue the stones 
 of their attacking such animals as the 
 buffalo or the chetah ; but men are by no 
 means exempt from their attacks. This 
 is shown by the following anecdote, which 
 the engraving illustrates :— 
 
 The captain of a country ship, while 
 passing tho Sunderbunds, near Calcutta, 
 sent a boat into one of the creeks to ob- 
 tain some fresh fruits which are cultivated 
 by the few miserable inhabitants of this 
 inhospitable region. Having reached the 
 shore, the crew moored the boat under a 
 bank, and left one of their party to take 
 care of her. During their absence, the 
 lascar, who remained in charge of the 
 boat, overcome by heat, lay down under 
 the seats and fell asleep. While ho was 
 in this happy state of unconsciousness, an 
 enormous boa constrictor emerged from 
 the jungle, reached the boat, had already 
 coiled its huge body round the sleeper, 
 and was in the very act of crushing him 
 to death, when his companions fortunatelv 
 returned at this auspicious moment ; and, 
 attacking the monster, severed a portion 
 
 62 
 
 of its tail, which so disabled it that it no 
 longer retained the power of doing mis- 
 chief. The snake was then easily de- 
 spatched, and found to measure sixty-two 
 feet and some inches in length. 
 
 GEMS OF THOUGHT. 
 
 ONVERSATION is the 
 daughter of reasoning, 
 the mother of knowledge, 
 the breath •f the soul, 
 the commerce of hearts, 
 the bond of friendship, 
 and the nourishment of 
 content. 
 
 Open your heart to 
 sympathy, but close it to despondency. 
 The flower which opens to receive the 
 dew shuts against rain. 
 
 He who dreads giving light to the peo- 
 ple is like a man who builds a house with- 
 out windows for fear of lightning. 
 
 The shortest day of our year comes in 
 winter— fit emblem of our life, at once 
 dark, cold, and short. 
 
 Men, like books, have at each end a 
 blank loaf— childhood and old age. 
 
 Graves are but the prints of the loot- 
 steps of the angel of eternal life. 
 
 Peace is the evening star of the soul, 
 as virtue is its sun, and the two are never 
 
 "oat sorrows are like thunder-clouds, 
 which seem black in the distance, but 
 grow lighter as they approach. 
 
 Universal love is like a glove without 
 fincers which fits all hands alike and none 
 closely ; but true affection is like a glove 
 with fingers which fits one hand only and 
 sits close to that one. 
 
 Passion is a keen observer, but a wretch- 
 ed reasoner. It is like the telescope whose 
 Held is clearer, the more concentrated it is. 
 
 Esteem is the mother of love, but the 
 daughter is often older than the mother. 
 
 The grafts that circumstances make in 
 our character, we are apt to regard as its 
 
 native fruit. ... . 
 
 Our evil genius, like the junior member 
 of a deliberative body, always gives its 
 views first. 
 
 '''&':. 
 
 
 '%, 
 
972 
 
 SCRIPTURAL ALLUSIONS TO DEW 
 
 A gentle heart is like ripe fruit which 
 bends so low that it is at the mercy of ev- 
 ery one who chooses to pluck it, while the 
 harder fruit keeps out of reach. 
 
 To seek to soothe a ruffian by reason, 
 is to attempt to bind a buffalo with a gar- 
 land of flowers. 
 
 Wisdom is an open fountain, whose 
 waters are not to be sealed up, but kept 
 ninning for the benefit of all. 
 
 Calumny is like the wasp that teazes 
 and against which you must not attempt 
 to defend yourself unless you are certain 
 to destroy it ; otherwise it returns to the 
 charge more furious than ever. 
 
 Little minds rejoice over the errors of 
 men of genius, as the owl rejoices at an 
 
 eclipse. 
 
 Man passes his life in reasoning on the 
 past, in complaining of the present, and 
 trembling for the future. 
 
 Pleasure is seldom found where it is 
 sought. Our brightest blazes of gladness 
 are commonly kindled by unexpected 
 
 sparks. 
 
 Misery requires action — happiness, re- 
 pose. 
 
 Fancy rules over two thirds of the uni- 
 verse—the past and the future — while Re- 
 ality is confined to the present. 
 
 Hope is like a bad clock, for ever stri- 
 king the hour of happiness, whether it 
 has come or not. 
 
 Riches are not easily acquired, and 
 when acquired, are, with extreme care, 
 preserved ; but when death comes they 
 are gone ! Be not, therefore, too anxious 
 for wealth. The poisonous tree of this 
 v/orld bears two fruits of exquisite savor ; 
 poetry, sweet as nectar, and the society 
 of the good. 
 
 As a stone is raised with great labor up 
 a mountain, but thrown down in an instant, 
 thus are our virtues acquired with difficul- 
 ty, our vices with ease. 
 
 The vicious, norwithstanding the sweet- 
 ness of their words, and the honey of 
 their tongues, have a whole storehouse of 
 poison within their hearts. 
 
 There is no union between the thoughts, 
 the words, and actions of the wicked ; 
 but the thoughts, words, and actions of 
 the good, all agree. 
 
 The truly great are calm in danger, 
 merciful in prosperity, eloquent in the as- 
 
 sembly, courteous in war, and anxious for 
 fame. 
 
 Danger should be feared when distant, 
 and braved when present. 
 
 Every one looking downward becomes 
 impressed with his own greatness, but 
 looking upward, feels his own littleness. 
 
 As a mound of earth raised by the ants, 
 or the sands in the hour-glass, so religion, 
 learning, and riches, increase only by de- 
 grees. 
 
 The alloted days and nights of human 
 life, like a current down the sides of a 
 mountain, pass away not to return. 
 
 SCRIPTURAL ALLUSIONS TO DEW. 
 
 OSTorallofthe 
 grand phenom- 
 ena and aspects 
 of nature are 
 menliont'd in 
 Scripture, and 
 so applied as to 
 teach or illus- 
 trate some im- 
 portant lesson. They are spoken of as 
 declaring the glory of God in creation , 
 they are employed to represent his deal 
 ings with the children of men. Th' snow 
 the hail, the thunder, and the storm, are 
 appealed to as gradually showing forth his 
 power and terrible majesty; the wind 
 " that bloweth where it listeth," the early 
 and the latter rain, and the gently drop- 
 ping dew, are used as appropriate images 
 of the blessings continually showered 
 down from on high, and especially of the 
 influence of the Holy Spirit upon the soul. 
 The Bible, designed to be an intelligible 
 record of divine instruction, abounds in 
 imagery borrowed from material nature, 
 and expressly adapted to arrest and charm 
 the attention. It contains many beautiful 
 allusions to the phenomena of dew, a few 
 of which we propose making the subject 
 of this article. 
 
 The beneficial effects of dew, in re- 
 viving and refreshii'-' the entire landscape, 
 have already been adverted to. How fre- 
 quently do we observe the aspect of the 
 fields and woods improved by the dews of 
 
I war, and anxious for 
 
 feared when distant, 
 esent. 
 
 g downward becomes 
 ; own greatness, but 
 Is his own littleness, 
 irth raised by the ants, 
 hour-glass, so religion, 
 , increase only by de- 
 
 and nights of human 
 down the sides of a 
 y not to return. 
 
 lUSIOTIS TO DEW. 
 
 OST or all of the 
 grand phenom- 
 ena and aspects 
 of nature are 
 mentioned in 
 Scripture, and 
 so applied tsto 
 teach or illus- 
 trate some im- 
 Tiey are spoken of as 
 y of God in creation , 
 to represent his deal 
 renofmen. Th. snow 
 der, and the storm, are 
 dually showing forth his 
 le majesty; ilie wind 
 ere it Jisteth," the early 
 n, and the gently drop- 
 d as appropriate images 
 continually showered 
 h, and especially of the 
 oly Gpirit upon the soul, 
 ed to be an intelligible 
 instruction, abounds iii 
 1 from material nature, 
 pted to arrest and charm 
 contains many beautiful 
 lenomena of dew, a few 
 )ose making the subject 
 
 effects of dew, in re- 
 lir-' the entire landscape, 
 1 adverted to. How fre- 
 sorve the aspect of the 
 improved by the dews of 
 
 8CH1PTUHAL ALLUSIONS TO DEW. 
 
 973 
 
 a single night? In the summer season, 
 especially, when the solar heat is most 
 intense, atid when the luxuriant vegetation 
 requires a constant and copious supply of 
 moisture, an abundant formation of dew 
 seasonably refreshes the thirsty herbs, and 
 saves them from the parching drought. In 
 easteti countries, like Judea, where the 
 summer is fervid and long contmued, and 
 the evaporation excessive, dew is both 
 more needed, and formed in much greater 
 abundance, than in our more temperate 
 climate. There it may bo said to inter- 
 pose between the vegetable world and the 
 scorching influence -of a powerful and un- 
 clouded sun— to be the hope and joy of 
 the husbandman, the tlieme of his earnest 
 prayer and heartfelt gratitude. Accord- 
 ingly, the sacred writers speak of it as the 
 choicest of blessings wherewith a land 
 can be blessed ; while the want of it is 
 with them almost synonymous withacurse. 
 Moses, blessing the land of Joseph, classes 
 the dew among " the precious things of 
 heaven;" and David, in his lamentation 
 over Saul and Jonathan, poetically invo- 
 king a curse upon tho place where they 
 fell, wishes no dew to descend, tipon the 
 mountains of Gilboa. The Almighty him- 
 self, promising, by the mouth of one of 
 his prophets, to Wess his chosen people, 
 says, " I will be »n the dew unto Israel ; 
 he shall grow ps the lily, and cast forth 
 his roots as Leb-inon." Here the refresh- 
 ing and fertilizing effects of dew beaati- 
 fufly represent the prosperity of the nation 
 which God Bpeciiflly favors and protects. 
 The dew is also employed, by the prophet 
 Micah, to illustrate the influence of God s 
 peonle in the midst of an evil world, where 
 he says, that " the remnant of Jacob shall 
 be in the midst of many people, as a dew 
 from the Lord." What emblem more ex- 
 pressive of that spiritual life, in some of 
 its members, which preserves a people 
 from entire corruption and decay 1 
 
 Another beautiful application of the 
 dew in Scripture, is its being made to rep- 
 resent the influence of heavenly truth on 
 the soul. In the commencement of his 
 sublime song, Moses employs these ex- 
 (luisito expressions : " My doctrine shall 
 drop as the rain, my speech shall distil as 
 I the dew ; as the small rain upon the ten- 
 der herb, and as the showers upon the 
 
 grass." Similar passages might be quoted 
 from the sacred writers, wherein, by a fe- 
 licity of comparison that all must at once 
 acknowledge, the word and ordinances of 
 God are likened to tho dew of the field. 
 How strikingly the reviving effects of dew 
 upon the parched and thirsty vegetation of 
 the sun-scorched plain, -typify the moral 
 and spiritual freshness diffused by the 
 word preached in its purity, and received 
 with faith and love. As the dew of a 
 night will sometimes bring back beanty 
 and bloom to unnumbered languishing 
 plants and flowers, and spread a pleasant 
 freshness over all the fields, so will some 
 rich and powerful exposition of revealed 
 truth, or some ordinance, dispensed with 
 genuine fervor, not unfrequently enliven 
 and refresh a whole Christian congrega- 
 tion, or even sprc ad a moral verdure over 
 a large portion of the visible church. If 
 the soul be stained in its intercourse with 
 tho world ; if, like the grass on the way- 
 side that is covered with dust, it contract 
 imiTurity with tho beaten paths of life, the 
 word of God falls upon it with a refresh- 
 ing influence, like the dews of night upon 
 that grass, to water it, and to wash awf.y 
 all marks of contact with surrounding 
 corruption. If it be scorched by the 
 withering sun of persecution, and pine 
 for spiritual nourishment and support, that 
 same word bedews it with tho sweetest 
 influences, and affords it sustenance, in 
 richness and salubrity like that of the 
 heavenly manna itself. 
 
 But let us not forget that the word of 
 God sheds a healing influence only when 
 it is rendered effectual by the Spirit of all 
 truth. The Spirit worketh through the 
 instrumentality of the word ; silently, se- 
 cretly, and powerfully worketh; falling 
 gently, operating unseen, and diffusing re- 
 freshment around, like the balmy dews of 
 night. Of the Spirit's agency the dew is, 
 indeed, the finest and aptest illustration. 
 As dew to the parched and drooping flow- 
 er, so is the Spirit shed upon the Chris- 
 tian's soul ; as the "dew of Hermon," or 
 " tire dew that descends upon the moun- 
 tains of Zion," spreading freshness and 
 beauty over the whole surface of the 
 ground, so is th3 Spirit poured out in rich 
 abundance upon the church, the spiritual 
 Zion, in times of reviving and refreshing 
 
 mm 
 
9U 
 
 THE FOOD OF MAN.-GLA8Q0W. 
 
 from the Lord. As we spring from our 
 couch, therefore, on the bright summer 
 morning, and walk joyfully lorth into xhe 
 fragrant fields, to breathe the inspiring air, 
 feast our eyes upon the glowing mixture 
 of colors in which all nature is arrayed, 
 and listen to the sweet and various music 
 that ascends from every grove, let us not 
 fail to derive a high spiritual lesson from 
 the dew that is so thickly strown upon 
 the grass beneath our feet. Distilled m 1 
 the silent night by the reciprocal influen- 
 ces of heaven and earth, it bathes and re- 
 freshes each blade and flower with its 
 stainless moisture. Let us regard i as 
 the chosen image of God's choicest bles- 
 sing, the cleansing and sanctifying influ- 
 ence of his Spirit npon the heart of roan. 
 
 is derived from Persia, where ii still grows 
 in a native state, small, bitter, and with 
 poisonous qualities. Tobacco is a native 
 of Mexico and South America, and lately 
 one species has been found in New Hol- 
 land. Tobacco was first introduced inlo 
 England from North Carolina, in 1586. 
 by Raleigh. Asparagus was brought from 
 Asia ; cabbage and lettuce from Holland ; 
 horse-radi.sh from China ; rice from Ethi- 
 i opia ; beans from the East Indies ; onions 
 and garlics are natives of various places 
 ' both in Asia and Africa. The sugar cane 
 is a native of China, and thence is derived 
 the art of making sugar from it. 
 
 THE FOOD OF MAN. 
 
 The potato is a native of South America, 
 and is still found wild in Chili, Peru and 
 Monte Video. In its native state the 
 roots are small and bitter. The first men- 
 tion of it by European writers is »" 15«8. 
 It is now spread over the world. Wheat 
 and rye originated in Tartary and Sib^ia, 
 where they are still indigenous. The 
 only country where the oat is found wild 
 is in Abyssinia, and thence may be con- 
 sidered a native. Maize or Indian corn 
 is a native of Mexico, and was unknown 
 in Europe until after the discoveries of 
 Columbus. The bread-fruit tree is a na- 
 tive of South Sea islands, particularly Oia- 
 heite. Tea is found a native nowhere ex- 
 cept in China and Japan, from which 
 country the world is supplied . The cocoa- 
 nut is a native of most equinoctial coun- 
 tri->s, and is one of the most valuable trees, 
 as food, clothing, and shelter, are aflforded 
 by it. CofTts :3 a native of Arabia Felix, 
 but is now spread inlo both the East and 
 West Indios, The best coflee is brought 
 from Mocha, in Arabia, whence about 
 fourteen millions of pounds are annually 
 exported. St. Domingo furnishes from 
 sixty to seventy millions of pounds yearly. 
 All the varieties of the apple are derived 
 from the crab apple which is found native 
 in most parts oi the world. The peach 
 
 GLASGOAV. 
 
 LASGOW, is the 
 roost populous city 
 in Scotland, and oc- 
 cupies a highly ad- 
 vantageous situa- 
 tion on the banks 
 of the Clyde, in 
 Lanarkshire, a few 
 miles from the place 
 where the river expands into an estuary, 
 42 miles from Edinburgh, 397 from Lon- 
 don, and 196 from Dublin. The external 
 appearanca of this great city is elegant 
 and impressive. The streets are regular 
 in arrangement, and substantially built ot 
 smooth stone. The public buildings are 
 in general handsome, and, in most in- 
 stances, disposed in such a manner as to 
 be seen to advantage. The more ancient 
 part of the city extends along the line o 
 the High street, between the cathedral 
 and the river ; the more modern and ele- 
 gant part stretches toward the northwest. 
 On the left bank of the river, and connect- 
 ed by three bridges, is situated the popu- 
 lous barony of Gorbals, bearing the same 
 reference to Glasgow which Soulhwark 
 bears to London. Westward from the 
 lowest of the bridges, both sides of the 
 river are formed into quays, which, owing 
 to recent operations for deepening the 
 channel, are now approached by vessels 
 drawing about fourteen or fifteen feet 
 water. The quay on the right or north bank 
 
1, where ii slill grows 
 all, bitter, and with 
 Tobacco is a native 
 America, and lately 
 found in New Hol- 
 first introduced inio 
 Carolina, in 1586, 
 ^us was brought from 
 etluce from Holland ; 
 lina ; rice from Ethi- 
 I East Indies ; onions 
 ires of various places 
 ica. The sugar cane 
 and thence is derived 
 gar from it. 
 
 'iskKJ 
 
 mm 
 
 tn 
 
 3G0W. 
 
 LASGOW, is the 
 rnosl populous city 
 in Scotland, and oc- 
 cupies a highly ad- 
 A vantageous situa- 
 ^tion on the banks 
 ^ of the Clyde, in 
 ' A Lanarkshire, a few 
 miles from the place 
 spands into an estuary, 
 >burgh, 397 from Lon- 
 Dublin. The external 
 ) great city is elegant 
 The streets are regular 
 id substantially built of 
 le public buildings are 
 )me, and, in most in- 
 in such a manner as to 
 ige. The more ancient 
 Uends along the line of 
 between the cathedral 
 3 more modern and ele- 
 >s toward the northwest, 
 if the river, and connect- 
 es, is situated the popu- 
 jrbals, bearing the same 
 5gow which Soulhwark 
 1. Westward from the 
 dges, both sides of the 
 into quays, which, owing 
 ions for deepening the 
 f approached by vessels 
 fourteen or fifteen feet 
 on the right or north bank 
 
 m 
 
 '\X 
 
 H > 
 
 tr 
 
 '4/t \ mt\r 
 
 ^K'.] 
 
 \Ui 
 
 iVlK 
 
 f*i»<, 
 
 
 iik 
 
r::=:n 
 
 978 
 
 GLASGOW. 
 
 is ilonominated tho Broomielaw. Tweniy 
 years ag<. the Broomielaw was a Innile.J 
 extent of quay, ranging along the northern 
 side of the Clvde, from the Broomie aw, 
 or Jamaica street bridge, downward, to 
 which only vessels of a comparaHvely 
 small amount of tonnage came up ; and 
 but five or six years ago, the southern side 
 was an extent of green sward, on which 
 the inhabitants could walk or sit, contem- 
 plating the " shipping" on the opposite 
 side. But now the river is rendered wider 
 and deeper at the Broomielaw ; the north- 
 ern quay extends an imnoense length along 
 the bank ; and on the southern side, where 
 children might once safely gambol, and 
 school-boys spent their Saturday holydays 
 in rolling about among the grass, is now 
 a handsome quay, with its sheds and cranes 
 and pulleys, and a stair, facing the o, J 
 stair on the northern side, imnwdiately 
 under the bridge, to which the » herring 
 boats" did and still do come ; and whence, 
 in earlier and simpler days, most respect- 
 able citiaens might be seen trudging home- 
 ward of a morning, bearing some ch<)ice 
 and fre8h-k)oking, and hard-bargained-for 
 herrings dangling from a string by the 
 gills The old and massive Broomielaw 
 bridge with all its architectural garnish- 
 ing*, has been taken down, and the band- 
 some structure represented in our engra- 
 ving erected in ite place. It has recently 
 been extended to 3,a40 feet in length, 
 while that OD the south bank is 1,260 
 
 Glasgow took its rise as a dependency 
 } of the cathedral of the bishops (latteriy 
 archbishops) of the see bearing its name. 
 It was not, however, till long after the ret- 
 ormatioo, that it became a seat of con- 
 siderable population. About the roiOdle 
 of the eighteenth century, it had acquired 
 a considerable share of the import colomal 
 trade, which it slill retains; but during 
 the last seventy years, it has chiefly been 
 distinguished as a seat of roauutactures. 
 The weaving of lawns, cambrics, and 
 similar articles, commenced in Glasgow 
 in 1725. The advantages enjoyed by the 
 city for the importation of cotton, in tune 
 gave a great impulse to that species of 
 manufacture. In 1 834, out of 1 34 cotton- 
 factories existing in Scotland, 100 belong- 
 ed to Glasgow, and the importation of cot- 
 
 1 
 
 ton into that port amounted to 95,703 
 bales. In the wearing of thm miiteria!, 
 upward of 15,000 power-looms, aiul 32,- 
 000 hand-loom weiivers, wero nt the same 
 time employiHl by tlie mannracturers ot 
 Glasgow. Of calico-printing establish- 
 ments there are upward offorty. It would 
 be vain »o attempt an exact ennmcniiion 
 of the less prt)minent features of the bimi- 
 ness carried on in Glasgow. The chtef 
 articles of importation, iMisides cotton, are 
 sugar, rum, lea, tobacco, and timber. Hie 
 chief articles manufactured m prepared, 
 besides cotton goods, are sugar, soap, 
 glass, iron, ropes, leather, chymical stulTs, 
 Ind machinery. There were recently 
 seven native banks, and several branches 
 of other banks. Duritvg a year extending 
 from a certain period in 1839, to;^ ce«ain 
 peiiod in 1840, 5,484 res-sels, of 296 3tl<{ 
 tonnag';, arrived at tho Glasgow harbor ; 
 the customhouse revenue of 1839 was 
 jBt68,97o, and the harbor duos of the 
 twelvemonth ending August 31 of that 
 year were i35ft26. It is worthy of re- 
 mark, that the Clyde was th« ftrst river in 
 the elder hemisphere on which steam 
 navigatiwi was exeinpiifted. A sJeam- 
 vessel of three-horse power was set afloat 
 on the rirer in January, 1W2, by Mr. Hen- 
 ly Bell of Helensburgh ; and th«re were 
 twenty such vessels on she Clyde bclore ! 
 one had disturbed the waters of the 
 Thames. In 1935, there were siiiy -seven 
 steam-vessels.of 6,691 aggiegale towiagc, 
 connected with Glasgow, eighteen of 
 which plied to Uverpo-.l, BelSast, Dublin, 
 and Londonderry. Within ilie last lew 
 years, the city has become a great centre 
 of the iron trade, this metal being produced 
 io the neighborhood to an annual amount 
 of not less than 200,000 tcMis. As a ne- 
 cessary consequence of tl>e commerce and 
 manufactures which tk>urish iu Glasgow, 
 the city has a vast retail traae in all the 
 articles of luxury and neces-sity which are 
 used by human beings. Bui no circum- 
 stance connected with Glasgow could give 
 so impressive an idea of the height to 
 which business has been carried m it, as 
 the rapid advance and present great amount 
 of its population. By the census of 1791 , 
 the inhabitants were 66,578 ; and by the 
 first government census in 1801, they were 
 : 77,385. But these numbers have been 
 
 J 
 
imoiintpil to 95,70n 
 njT of thin miitorml, 
 wer-looms, ain! 32,- 
 ■rs, wfir« at llie snmo 
 |)e maniifadurers of 
 n-priiitii»g cstaMiMh- 
 rd offorty. It would 
 n exact enttfucniion 
 features of »he h\m- 
 riasgow. The chief 
 0, l>esi(le» cotton, are 
 CO, and timber. Tlie 
 bctured or prepared. 
 Is, are su^ar, soap, 
 itber. chymical stu(7s, 
 rhere were recently 
 aT>d several branches 
 riftf a year extending 
 1 in 1839, to a certain 
 4 Tessels, of 296,303 
 iiw Glasgow harbor ; 
 eve»U6 of J839 was 
 
 harbor dues of the 
 g August 3! of that 
 It is worthy of le- 
 s VV33 tb« first river in 
 e»e on which steam 
 ;eiJ>p*i(>ed. A sJeam- 
 e power was set afloat 
 My, l»12,byMr. Hmi- 
 lurgh ; and there were 
 s on the Clyde before 
 (1 tbe waters of the 
 , there were sixty-seven 
 ,691 aggiegate toniiago. 
 Glasgow, eighteen of 
 eipo.d, Belfast, l>«blin, 
 
 Witbii* tlw last few 
 
 become a great centre 
 lis metoi being produced 
 ►d K) aa annual at>u>unt 
 00,000 iiMW. As a ne- 
 ice o£ live commerce and 
 3b tloutisli itt Glasgow, 
 I letaik Hade in all the 
 Hvd Bccessity which are 
 )eings. B«* i» circum- 
 with Glasgow could give 
 
 idea of the height to 
 as been carried in it, as 
 ai>d present great ammmt 
 
 By the census of 1791, 
 ere 66,578 ; and by the 
 lenstts in 1801, they were 
 ese numbers have been 
 
t 
 
 973 
 
 OLABQOW. 
 
 increased in 1811, 1821. and 1831. re- 
 spectively to 110,749, 147.043, and 202,- 
 426. As the increase is about 7.000 per 
 annum, the present amount (1841) is sup- 
 posed to be fully 285,000-a mass of 
 population which, at the time of the union, 
 could not have been dreamed of as likely 
 ever to exist in any ScoUish city. 
 
 The cathedral, or high church, is situa- 
 ted in the northern outskirts of the city, 
 near the upper extremity of the High 
 street. The bulk of the existing building 
 was constructed at the close of th" twelfth 
 century, in place of another which had 
 been consecrated in 1136, but was de- 
 stroyed by fire. It consists of a long nave 
 and choir, a chapter-housp projecting from 
 the northeast angle, a tower and spire in 
 the centre, and a crypt extending beneath 
 the choir or eastern portion of the build- 
 ing In the nave, termed the outer high 
 kirk, was held the celebrated general as- 
 sembly of the church, November, 1638, 
 by which episcopacy was abolished and 
 pure presbytery replaced--the first great 
 movement in the civil war. 
 
 The elevated ground, near the east end 
 of the cathedral, has been formed into an 
 ornamental place of sepulture, under the 
 appellaiion of the Necropolis. Since 
 1831, the society of merchants, its pro- 
 prietors, have expended the sum of £6,000 
 m laying out about twenty-four acres of 
 cround in walks and shrubberies, and in 
 connecting the spot with the opposite slope 
 by means of a bridge across the inter- 
 niediato rivulet. The taste manifested m 
 the whole scheme and in its execution, is 
 extremely creditable to the city. Ihe 
 walks, several miles in extent, command 
 an extensive view of the neighboring coun- , 
 try They are skirted by numberiess 
 sepulchral plots and excavations, where 1 
 alrf.ady affection has been busy in erecting 
 its " frail memorials," all of which, it may 
 be mentioned, are fashioned according to 
 certain regulations, with a view to general 
 
 keeping and effect. . j „„ 
 
 The college buildings are situated on 
 the east side of the High street about half- 
 way between the cathedral and the Iron- 
 gato. They consist in a sort of double 
 court; the front which adjoins to the 
 street being 330 feet in length, and three 
 stories in height. The whole edifice has 
 
 a dignified and venerable appearance. A 
 large piece of ground behind the college 
 is formed into a park or green, interspersed 
 with trees and hedges, and always kept in 
 grass, to be used by the students as a place 
 of exercise or amusement. In the college 
 there are appointed professors or teachers 
 of about thirty branches of science, theolo- 
 gy, and polite literature. At the back of 
 the interior court stands the modern Gre- 
 cian building which contains the Hunte- 
 rian Museum. This is a large collection 
 of singular natural objects, coins, medals, 
 rare manuscripts, paintings, and relics of 
 antiquity, originally formed by Dr. William 
 Hunter, the celebrated anatomist, and be- 
 queathed by him to this university, at 
 which ho received his education. While 
 the college confers professional education, 
 popular instruction is attainable, under 
 unusually advantageous circumstances, 
 through the medium of the Andorsoiiian 
 institution, an extensive school of science 
 founded at the close of the last century, 
 and connected with which there is a gen- 
 eral museum, containing many curious ob- 
 jects, and constantly open to the public. 
 
 The most attractive modern building in 
 Glasgow is the royal exchange in Queen 
 street, a most superb structure, erected in 
 1829, as a point of assemblage for the 
 merchants in the western part of the city. 
 The principal room is a large hall, sup- 
 ported by a double row of columns, and 
 used as a reading-room. The front of the 
 exchange consists of a magnificent portico, 
 surmounted by a cupola ; and, as the build- 
 ing is isolated, the other sides are also 
 of decorative architecture. The portico 
 is 74 feet in width and 27 deep ; and the 
 body of the building is 177 feet by 71. 
 I The principal room is 93 feet by 62, 
 and 36 high in the centre. Altogether, 
 ' this building, supported by a set of very 
 elegant domestic structures of similarly 
 august proportions, impresses the mind of 
 a stranger as something signally worthy 
 of a great city. „, 
 
 Since the reform act of 1832, Glasgow 
 has the privilege of returning two mem- 
 bers to parliament. The places of wor- 
 ship, charitable institutions, and associa- 
 tions of various kinds for public objects, 
 are very numerous. A laudable zeal for 
 the improvement of education marks the 
 
 J 
 
rable appearanco. A 
 1(1 behind the college 
 or groon, interspersed 
 as, and always kept in 
 the students as a place 
 iment. In the college 
 professors or teachers 
 hes of science, theolo- 
 ture. At the back of 
 ands the modern Gro- 
 i contains the Hunte- 
 18 is a large collection 
 objects, coins, medals, 
 aintings, and relics of 
 formed by Dr. William 
 ited anatomist, and be- 
 lo this university, at 
 his education. While 
 professional education, 
 is attainable, under 
 geous circumstances, 
 im of the Andersonian 
 nsivo school of science 
 >se of the last century, 
 1 which there is a gen- 
 lining many curious ob- 
 ly open to the public, 
 tive modern building in 
 yal exchange in Queen 
 Brb structure, erected in 
 of assemblage for the 
 western part of the city. 
 om is a large hall, sup- 
 le row of columns, and 
 •room. The front of the 
 of a magnificent portico, 
 upola ; and, as the build- 
 be other sides are also 
 hitecture. The portico 
 h and 27 deep ; and tlie 
 ding is 177 feet by 71. 
 oom is 93 feet by 62, 
 the centre. Altogether, 
 )ported by a set of very 
 ; structures of similarly 
 IS, impresses the mind of 
 mething signally worthy 
 
 rm act of 1832, Glasgow 
 5 of returning two mem- 
 >nt. The places of wor- 
 institutions, and associa- 
 kinds for public objects, 
 us. A laudable zeal for 
 X of education marks the 
 
980 
 
 t;;;;^^^;^^!;;^^^^ 
 
 riiv • and a normal school, or seminary 
 orM.e cariuR of .eacher»-.hc .r«l m 
 Z em,.iro-l.as been creeled under the 
 
 niisnices of a nrivale socioiy. 
 
 ""'ffo moans' of communication mco... 
 
 nexion with Gbsgow. are ^f^^^^^ 
 character of the city as one of the grjaltsi 
 empo ia of cummerco and manufacture m 
 To worhl. Besides a river, navigable by 
 lts:rsdrawi.,«nfteenfectofwa.^^^^^^^^ 
 which pives the moans of a rc.i ly com 
 municarion with the western shores of 
 SSn with Ireland, and with America. 
 Sn".'rth and Clyde canal, of which a 
 b anch ccmes to Port Uundas, in the,north- 
 ern suburb., serves to convey goods and 
 na sengers to the eastern shores of the 
 LTand while canals of less note connect 
 he ciiy-ith Paisley and Johnstone in one 
 
 'di^ectiL. and with the g-t ^J-fie^s "f 
 Monkland in the other. There is also a 
 ra wav which traverses the same grea 
 "oaSd by Garnkirk and WUhaw and 
 conveys paasengers as well as coal and 
 go^ds Another railway, connec ing the 
 ^Uy with Kilmarnock. Ayr and the po 
 
 of Ardrossan, was opened in 1840. uur 
 ?nK the year 1841 a third railway, pass- 
 "! by Falkirk and Linlithgow to Edin- 
 bu'^^gh! was opened. Others are projected. 
 The steam communication between Glas- 
 inesicai. r»..V,l n nnrl Other 
 
 THE CONSTANCY OF NATURE AND 
 FAITHFULNESS OF (iOD. 
 
 The steam commuiin.'»""" 
 
 iw and Liverpool. Dublin, and other 
 Ch ports, is conducted on a scale which 
 L y Je culled grand The vessels are 
 Lerb in magnitude, decoration, and pow- 
 er^ and they sail frequently and rapidly. 
 The "team intercou.se between Glasgow 
 and various places in Scotland, both for 
 passengers La objects of traffic, is also 
 
 Sucted on a g-at -,^«- \™J« J:' 
 places touched at in the Clyde and t^ the 
 Tuth are Greenock Dunbarton. Dunoon 
 Rothesay, Arran, Gourock, ^00"'*"^ 
 Ayr. Among the places to the north to 
 t h oh vessels' sail regularly, are Inveraor. 
 Campbelton, Oban. Stuffa, and lona « 
 Arisais. Skye, Stornoway, and Inverness, 
 fn ope^ning up markets for West.Highland 
 produce, and introducing loj;""f» '"X 
 lurn, these vessels have also been ofmirkr 
 ed ervice, insomuch that the value of 
 property in those hitherto seclud. 1 dis- 
 S has experienced a considerable rise. 
 Th^country around Glasgow abounds ni 
 busy towns and villages. 
 
 't- 
 
 HE constancy of na- 
 .^turo is laiiul'i by uni- 
 '^ versalexporitiiice.and 
 even strikes ilm popu- 
 lar eye as the most 
 characteristic of those 
 features which have 
 X been impressed upon 
 
 her It may need the aid of philosophy 
 o iearu how unvarying nature is in all 
 Wr processes-how even her seeming 
 anonEs can be traced to a law that is 
 inSle-how what might appear at 
 st^o be the caprice, of her wayward- 
 „,„ in fact the evolutions of a 
 TcVn m baf'lr changes--and that 
 
 Te more thoroughly she is sifted and put 
 to the test by the interrogations of the 
 curSs. the more certainly wiU they find 
 tha she walks by a rule which knows no 
 'abatement, and perseveres -'J "bed. "^ 
 fnnuteo in that even course from whicn 
 SeeyS of strictest scrutiny has never yet 
 detected one hair-brcadth of deviation. It 
 Ts To longer doubted by men of science 
 LreverTremaining semblance o irregu- 
 larity in the universe is due, not to the 
 fickleness of nature, but to the ignorance 
 Srman-that her most hidden movements 
 are conducted with a uniformity as rigor- 
 ous as fa"e-that even the fitful agitations 
 Jth" weather have their law and their 
 nrinciule-thai the intensity of every 
 lEreeze and the number of drops in every 
 showei and the formation of every cloud, 
 and a l the occurring alterations of storm 
 and Junshine, and the endless shiftmgs of 
 ' Zperature, knd those tremulous varieties 
 of tL air which our instruments have 
 enaWed is to discover, but have not ena- 
 Wed us to explain-that still they follow 
 each other by a method of succession, 
 which! thougJ grea-dy more intricate . 
 yet as absolute in Use f as the order ot 
 Ihe seasons, or the mathematical courses 
 
 more Te are acquainted with her the more 
 Te we led to recognise her constancy ; 
 S To view her as a mighty though com- 
 
188 or aoD. 
 
 i' OF NATl'UK AND 
 NESS OF (;<)D. 
 
 r HE constancy of na- 
 ^turo is iuiikI'I liy uni- 
 '^ versalexpiiriuiicc.iind 
 I even sirikus llm I'opu- 
 
 lur eye as tho most 
 
 characleristicuflhoso 
 ^^ features which have 
 "" been impressed upon 
 d the aid of philosophy 
 varying nature is in all 
 how even her seeming 
 I traced to a law that is 
 what might appear at 
 aprices of hor wayward- 
 tct, the evolutions of a 
 never changes— and that 
 ,hly she is sifted and put 
 the interrogations of the 
 e certainly will they find 
 )y a rule which knows no 
 perseveres with obedient 
 ; even course from which 
 eat scrutiny has never yet 
 ir-brcadth of deviation. It 
 aubted by men of science 
 lining semblanco of irrogu- 
 liverse is duo, not to the 
 iture, but to the ignorance 
 er most hidden movements 
 with a uniformity as rigor- 
 ,at even the fitful agitations 
 r have their law and their 
 
 the intensity of every 
 B number of drops in everv 
 le formation of every cloud, 
 cuning alterations of storm 
 and the endless shiftings of 
 nd those tremulous varieties 
 lich our instruments have 
 discover, but have not ena- 
 dain— that still they follow 
 y a method of succession, 
 h Erea'dy more intricate, is 
 ite in itself as the order of 
 jr the mathematical courses 
 
 This is the impression ot 
 
 iphical mind with regard to 
 
 is strengthened by each new 
 
 It is made to science. 1 ne 
 acquainted with her the more 
 
 to recognise her constancy ; 
 her as a mighty though com- 
 
 THB CONSTANCY OF NATUllE AND FAITHKl/LNKSa OK OOD. 
 
 081 
 
 plicated machine, all whoso results nro ' 
 sure, and all whoso workings aro invaria- 
 ble. , , 
 
 IJut there is enough of patent and palpa- 
 ble regularity in nature, to give also to the 
 popular mind the same impression of her 
 constancy. There is a gri.>»» and general 
 experience that teaches the same lesson, 
 and that has lodged in every bosom a kind 
 of secure' and steadfast confidence in the 
 uniformity of her processes. The very 
 child knows and proceeds upon it. He 
 is aware of an abiding character and prop- 
 erty in the elements around him— and haB 
 already learned as much of the fire, and 
 tho witer, and the food that he eats, and 
 the firu. ground that he treads upon, and 
 even of tho gravitation by which he must 
 regulate his postures and his movements, 
 as to prove that, infant though he be, he 
 is fully initiated in the doctrine that nature 
 has her laws and her ordinances, and that 
 she continueth therein. And the proofs 
 of this are ever multiplying along the 
 journey of human observation : insomuch, 
 that when we come to manhood, we read 
 of nature's constancy throughout every 
 department of the visibla world. It ineets 
 us wherever we turn our eyes. Both the 
 day and the night bear witness to it. The 
 silent revolutions of the firmament give U 
 their pure testimony. Even those ap- 
 pearances in the heavens v hich super- 
 stition stood aghast, and imagined that 
 nature was on the eve of giving way, are 
 the proudest trophies of that stability which 
 reigns throughout her processes— of that 
 unswerving consistency wherewith she 
 prosecutes all U<;r movements. And the 
 lesson that i> Jius held forth to us from 
 the hea\ .ms ai)Ove, is responded to by the 
 earth b. iow ; just as the tides of ocean 
 wail the footsteps of the moon, and, by an 
 attendance kept up without change or in- 
 terinisaion for thousands of years, would 
 seem to connect the regularity of earth 
 with the regularity of heaven. But, apart 
 from these greater and simjpler energies, 
 we see a course and a uniformity every- 
 where. We recognise it in the mysteries 
 of vegetation. We follow it through the 
 succesaive stages of growth, and maturity, 
 and uecay, both in plants and animals. 
 We discern it still more palpably in that , 
 beautiful circulation of the element of wa- 1 
 
 ter as it rolls its way by many thousand 
 channels to tho oceun— and, from liio sur- 
 face of this expanded reservoir, is Jgain 
 uplifted to tho higher regions of the at- 
 mosphera- and is there dispersed in light 
 end fleecy magazines over tho four quar- 
 ters of tho globe— and at length accom- 
 plishes its orbit, by falling in showers on 
 a world that waits to be refreshed by it. 
 And all goes to impress us with tho regu- 
 larity of nature, which in fact teems, 
 throughout all its varieties, with power, 
 and principle, and uniform laws of opera- 
 tion— and is viewed by us as a vast labora- 
 tory, all the progressions of which have a 
 rigid and unfailing necessity stamped upon 
 
 them. 
 
 Now this contemplation has at times 
 served to foster tho atheism of philosophers. 
 It has led them to deify nature, and to 
 
 11 HUB iOU IIIOI.. ." J --- . 
 
 make her immutability stand in the place 
 of God. They seem impressed with the 
 imagination that had the Supreme Cause 
 been a being who thinks, and wills, and 
 acts as man does, on the impulse of a felt 
 and a present motive, there would bo more 
 the appearance of spontaneous activity, 
 and less of mnta and unconscious mechan- 
 ism in the administrations of the universe. 
 I It is the verv unchangeableness of nature, 
 and the .;ea'dfastness of those great and 
 mighti processes wherewith ' < living 
 power that is superior to nature, and is 
 able to shift or to control her, is seen to 
 interfere- it is this which seems io have 
 impressed the notion of some blind and 
 eter al fatality on certain men of loftiest 
 but deluded genius. And, accordingly, 
 in France, where the physical sciences 
 have of late been the most cultivated, have 
 there also been the most daring avowals 
 of atheism. The universe has been al- 
 firnied to be an everlasting and indestructi- 
 ble effect ; and f'ouUhe abiding constancy 
 that is seen in i>.ature through all her de- 
 partments, have they inferred that thus it 
 has always b«en and that thus it will 
 
 I ever be. . • .u • 
 
 But this atheistical impression that is 
 derived from the constancy of nature is 
 not peculiar to the disciples of philosophy. 
 It is the familiar and the practical impres- 
 sion of everyday life. The world is ap- 
 prehended to move on steady and unvary- 
 ing principles of its own ; and these sec 
 
ondary causes have usurped, in man's ea- 
 timaiion, the throne of the Divinity, Na- 
 ture, in fact, is personified into God : and 
 as we look to the performance of a machine 
 without thiniiing of its maker, so the very 
 exactness and certainty wherewith the 
 machinery of creation performs its evolu- 
 tions, has thrown a disguise over the 
 agency of the Creator. Should God in- 
 terpose by miracle, or interfere by some 
 striking manifestation of providence, then 
 man is awakened to the recognition of 
 him. But he loses sight of the Being who 
 sits behind these visible elements, while 
 he regards those attributes of constancy 
 and power which appear in the elements 
 themselves. They see no demonstration 
 of a God, and they feel no need of Him, 
 while such unchanging and such unfailing 
 energy continues to operate in the visible 
 world around them ; and we need not go 
 to the schools of ratiocination in quest of 
 this infidelity, but may detect it in the 
 bosoms of simple and unlettered men, who, 
 unknown to themselves, make a god of 
 nature, and just because of nature's con- 
 stancy ; having no faith in the unseen 
 Spirit who originated all and upholds all, 
 and that because all things continue as 
 they were from the beginning of the crea- 
 tion. 
 
 Such has been the perverse effect of 
 nature's constancy of the alienated mind 
 of man : but let us now attend to the true 
 interpretation of it. God has, in the first 
 instance, put into our minds a disposition 
 to count on the uniformity of nature, inso- 
 much that we universally look for a recur- 
 rence of the same event in the same cir- 
 cumstances. This is not merely the be- 
 lief of experience, but the belief of instinct. 
 It is antecedent to all the findings of ob- 
 servation, and may be exemplified in the 
 earliest stages of childhood. The infant 
 who makes a noise on the table with his 
 hand for the first time, anticipates a repe- 
 tition of the noise from a repetition of 
 the stroke, with as much confidence as 
 he who has witnessed for years together 
 the unvariablencss wherewith these two 
 terms of the succession have followed 
 each other. Or, in other words, God, b) 
 putting this faith into every human crea- 
 ture, and making it a necessary part of his 
 mental constitution, has taught him at all 
 
 times to expect the like result in the like 
 circumstances. He has thus virtually tolJ 
 him what is to happen, and what he has 
 to look for in everj' given condition — and 
 by its so happening accordingly, he just 
 makes good the veracity of his own dec- 
 laration. The man who leads us to ex- 
 pect that which he fails to accomplish, 
 we would hold to be a deceiver. God 
 has so framed the machinery of his per- 
 ceptions, as that we are led irresistibly to 
 expect that everywhere events will follow 
 each other in the very train in which we 
 have ever been accustomed to observe 
 them — and when God so sustains the uni- 
 formity of nature, that in every instance 
 it is rigidly so, ho is just manifesting the 
 faithfulness of his character. Were it 
 otherwise, he would be practising a mock- 
 ery on the expectation which he himself 
 had inspired. God may be said to have 
 promised to every human being that na- 
 ture will be constant — if not by the 
 whisper of.an inward voice to every heart, 
 at least by the force of an uncontrollable 
 bias which he has impressed on every 
 constitution. So that, when we behold 
 nature keeping by its constancy, we be- 
 hold the God of nature keeping by his 
 faithfulness — and the system of visible 
 things, with its general laws, and its suc- 
 cessions which are invariable, instead ol 
 an opaque materialism to intercept from 
 the view of mortals the face of the divini- 
 ty, becomes the mirror which reflects upon 
 them the truth that is unchangeable, the 
 ordination thai never fails. 
 
 Conceive that it had been otherwise — 
 first, that man had no faith of the con- 
 stancy of nature — then how could all his 
 experience have profited him ? How could 
 he have applied the recollections of his 
 past to the guidance of his future history ? 
 And what would have been left to signalize 
 the wisdom of mankind above that of veri- 
 est infancy ? Or suppose that he had the 
 implicit faith in nature's constancy, but 
 that nature was wanting in the fulfilment 
 of it — that at every moment his intuitive 
 reliance on this constancy was met by 
 some caprice or waywardness of nature, 
 which thwarted him in all his undertakings 
 —that instead of holding true to her an- 
 nouncements, she held the children of 
 men in most distressful uncertainty by the 
 
OF GOD. 
 
 ke result in the like 
 las thus virtual ly told 
 n, and what he has 
 iven condition — and 
 iccordingly, he just 
 ;ity of his own dec- 
 fho leads us to ex- 
 'ails to accomplish, 
 e a deceiver. God 
 ichinery of his per- 
 ,re led irresistibly to 
 re events will follow 
 Y train in which we 
 Listomed to observe 
 so sustains the uni- 
 t in every instance 
 just manifesting the 
 jharacter. Were it 
 B practising a mock- 
 n which he himself 
 nay be said to have 
 man being that na- 
 nt — if not by the 
 voice to every heart, 
 of an uncontrollable 
 mpressed on every 
 t, when we behold 
 1 constancy, we be- 
 uro keeping by his 
 I system of visible 
 \\ laws, and its suc- 
 nvariable, instead ol 
 n to intercept from 
 le face of the divini- 
 • which reflects upon 
 s unchangeable, the 
 fails. 
 
 d been otherwise — 
 10 faith of the con- 
 in how could all his 
 edhim? How could 
 recollections of his 
 f his future history ? 
 been left to signalize 
 d above that of veri- 
 pose that he had the 
 ire's constancy, but 
 ting in the fulfilment 
 noment his intuitive 
 stancy was met by 
 wardneHS of nature, 
 1 all his undertakings 
 ling true to her an- 
 sid the children of 
 al uncertainty by the 
 
 EATIONAL RELIGION.— MEXICO. 
 
 983 
 
 freaks and the falsities in which she ever 
 indulged herself — and that every design 
 of human foresight was thus liable to be 
 broken up, by ever and anon the putting 
 forth of some new fluctuation. Tell us, 
 in this wild misrule of elements t:hanging 
 their properties, and events ever flitting 
 from one method of succession to another, 
 if man could subsist for a single day, when 
 al! the accomplishments without were thus 
 at war with all the hopes and calculations 
 within. In such a chaos and conflict as 
 this, would not the foundations of human 
 wisdom be utterly subverted ? Would not 
 man, with his powerful and perpetual ten- 
 dency to proceed on the constancy of na- 
 ture, be tempted at all times, and by the 
 very constitution of his being, to proceed 
 upon a falsehood ? It were the way, in 
 fact, to turn the administration of nature 
 into a system of deceit. The lessons of 
 to-day would be falsified by the events of 
 to-morrow. He were indeed the father 
 of lies who could be the author of such a 
 regimen as this — and well may we rejoice 
 in the strict order of the goodly universe 
 which we inhabit, and regard it as a noble 
 attestation to the wisdom and beneficence 
 of its great Architect. 
 
 RATIONAL RELIGION. 
 
 What is true and rational religion ? In 
 answering this important question, we shall 
 come to the point at once, without preju- 
 dice or sectarian influence ; and laying 
 aside all traditionary superstition, inquire 
 what is now the will of the blessed Deity, 
 with regard to the conduct of the children 
 of men. What course of conduct, in us, 
 frail, erring human creatures will now, un- 
 der all the present existing circumstances, 
 be acceptable and approved by our divino 
 Creator, who continually watches over us, 
 and observes our every act, and the thoughts 
 of our hearts ? We have so diligently ex- 
 amined the answer which we are now 
 about to give to these questions, and so 
 attentively viewed the subject in all its 
 bearings, and with all its evidences and 
 demonstrations, that we can not think it 
 possible that there is any ground to doubt 
 its correctness. First, then, let us, as 
 
 rational creatures, be ever ready to ac- 
 knowledge God as our Creator and daily 
 Preserver ; and that we are each of us 
 individually dependent on his special care 
 and good will toward us, in supporting the 
 wonderful action of nature which consti- 
 tutes our existence ; and in preserving us 
 from the casualties, to which our compli- 
 cated and delicate structure is liable. Let 
 us also, knowing our entire dependence 
 on Divine Benevolence, as rational crea- 
 tures, do ourselves the honor to express 
 personally and frequently, our thanks to 
 him for his goodness ; and to present our 
 petitions to Him for the favors which we 
 constantly require. This course is ration- 
 al, even without the aid of revelation : 
 but being specially invited to this course, 
 by the divine word, and assured of the 
 readiness of our Creator to answer our 
 prayers and recognise our thanks, it is 
 truly surprising that any rational being 
 who has ever read the inspired writings, 
 should willingly forego this privilege, or 
 should be ashamed to be seen engaged in 
 this rational employment, or to have it 
 known that ho practises it. Next to the 
 worship of God by thanksgiving and pray- 
 er, we should repel and banish all feelings 
 of anger and bitterness toward our fellow- 
 beings, and cherish love and kind feelings 
 toward them. This course is also ration- 
 al, having the example of God in his kind 
 dealings toward us ; and conduces at once, 
 to the glory of God, the happiness of man- 
 kind in general, and to our own individual 
 happiness and prosperity in particular. 
 It is a rational duty to be ever reconciled 
 and resigned to the dispensations of Divine 
 ProviJ'tnce ; and to trust in the goodness 
 and benevolence of God for the present 
 and future, and to feel willing to have it 
 known among our associates, that we 
 follow a rational course. This is rational 
 religion. 
 
 MEXICO. 
 
 The natural resources of Mexico are 
 immense, hardly surpassed by any country 
 in the world. With a low coast, and al- 
 luvial bottoms, the interior of the country 
 rises into vast plains, or steppes, at a 
 height greater than that of the highest 
 
 # 
 
 •Jti, 
 
 .*(». 
 
 ■^^1 
 
 JH 
 
984 
 
 THE LUXOE OBELISK. IN THE PLACE LOUIS XVI., PARIS. 
 
 stsu^ 
 
 «i«k 
 
 mountains of our states, and yet fertile, 
 temperate, and although much of it within 
 the tropics, having a climate capable ot 
 yielding the vegetable productions ol Bur- 
 gundy, in France, or of Devonshire, in 
 England. One day's journey, says Hum- 
 boldt, will take the traveller from the suf- 
 focating atmosphere of the coast, to the 
 region of eternal snow. Its greatest in- 
 convenience and disadvantage is that of 
 very shallow harbors; a disadvantage 
 which extends to the whole of fexas, 
 and is a great barrier in the way of com- 
 merce. . , . . • „„„, 
 The part of Mexico which is most 
 thickly inhabited— that is the southern ex- 
 tremity— is rich in soil and mines, and ca- 
 pable of supporting as dense a population 
 as any country in Europe. The popula- 
 tion is of a very mixed character, being, 
 as some affirm, three fifths Indian, or a rnix- 
 ture of Spanish and Indian blood. Ihe 
 character of the inhabitants, even m the 
 city of Mexico, itself, will not compare 
 fa/orably with any country in Europe in 
 point of civilization-still there is some- 
 thing of the nobleness of the Indian char- 
 acter to be found, but more of the treach- 
 ery of the Spaniard. .1 
 The following is a list of the principal 
 cities with something like the number ot 
 inhabitants in each : — 
 Mexico, 
 Puebla, 
 Guanaxuato, 
 Guadalaxara, 
 Chihuahua, 
 Oaxoco, 
 
 San Louis Potosi, 
 Zacatecas, — ' — , 
 
 The city of Mexico is represented as 
 a place of great splendor, and containing 
 mSre wealth in gold and silver than any 
 other city of equal inhabitants, on the 
 globe. Most of the wealth, however, is 
 under the control of catholic pnests. 
 
 The seaports are small-Vera Cruz 
 being the largest, and that contains only 
 about 15,000 inhabitants. Campeachy, 
 the next seaport of importance, contains 
 about 6,000. Acapulco and Tampico are 
 the remaining seaport towns •■ the lorntier 
 contains about 5,000 inhabitants, and the 
 latter about 3,000. In the province o 
 1 California, however, are several towns on 
 
 the coast, Monterey being the only one of 
 much importance. The revenues of the 
 country is $15,000,000 per annum, and 
 her national debt amounts to $94,000,000, 
 so that after paying her annual interest 
 she has for the support of the army and 
 for the purposes of government, about 
 $10,000,000 active funds. 
 
 185,000 
 72,000 
 60.000 
 45,000 
 45,000 
 40,000 
 20,000 
 23,000 
 
 THE LUXOR OBELISK, IN THE PLACE 
 LOUIS XVI., PARIS. 
 
 » HE smaller of the 
 1^ two obelisks of Luxor, 
 is now erected on one 
 of the most remark- 
 able sites of Paris— 
 the scene of many of 
 those tragedies which 
 ^ . marked that most ex- 
 
 traordinary period of modern history— 
 the first French revolution. 
 
 The space called the Place Louis XVl. 
 lies between the gardens of the Tuileries 
 and the avenue or road, thickly planted 
 on each side with tall shady trees, which 
 is called the Champs Elysees. or Elysian 
 Fields— a rather high-sounding appella- 
 tion for the walks under these trees are 
 far inferior to the walks in the gardens 
 of the palace, of which a partial view is 
 given in our engraving. 
 
 A ship, which was constructed express- 
 ly for the conveyance of the obelisk, sail- 
 ed from Toulon in March, 1831, and ar- 
 rived at Thebes in the heat of summer. 
 The first operation of the French on their 
 arrival was to clear the lower part of the 
 obelisks, which was buried to a considera- 
 ble depth. Both the obelisks are in a 
 state of perfect preservation : the larger 
 is about 80 English feet high, and the 
 other about 76 feet. To conceal this 
 difference, the smaller obelisk had been 
 placed on a higher pedestal than the other, 
 and somewhat in advance of it. lb:ee 
 vertical rows of hieroglyphics cover the 
 faces of both obelisks : the middle row is 
 cut nearly six inches deep ; the two others 
 are scarcely cut into the stone. This dil- 
 ference in the sculpture varies the re- 
 flection and the shadows. The pedestal 
 
986 
 
 MOUNTAINS. 
 
 which was uncovered by the French, con- j 
 tains on the northeast and southwest faces 
 respectively four cynocephali, which have 
 on the chest the cartouche that is consid- ^ 
 ercd to contain t' n name of Harnesses. . 
 
 It is perhaps correctly remarked by M. | 
 do Laborde that the difference in the , 
 size of the two obelisks may have arisen I 
 from the difficulty of finding two blocks 
 of granite of the same dimensions without 
 a flaw. 
 
 The smaller of the two obelisks was 
 selected by the French as being in a bet- 
 ter state of preservation, and also lighter 
 than the other : and yet the smaller is 
 calculated to weigh about 246 tons. The 
 obelisk was lowered by very simple means, 
 consisting of an anchor firmly fixed in the 
 ground, a long beam of wood, and a few 
 ropes and pulleys : the whole obelisk re- 
 mained suspended for two minutes, during 
 the operation of lowering it at an angle of 
 32 degrees. It was safely conveyed to 
 
 It was erected in the Place Louis AVI. 
 during the summer of 1836. It was ex- 
 posed to some danger during the operation, 
 not from the want of care or skill in raising 
 ■X, but from a very different cause. " The 
 Paris archteologists," says a newspaper 
 of the time, " are so rapacious that two 
 guards placed round the obelisk of Luxor 
 were not sufficient to protect the top, which 
 was left uncovered. In spite of the penal- 
 ties of the law, which are extremely se- 
 vere, several fragments were broken off, 
 and pieces not the size of a hazel-nut sold 
 for two guineas each. It was found ne- 
 cessary to cover the monument entirely 
 to save it from these Vandals." When 
 all the preparations were completed, the 
 obelisk was safely raised on the 25th Oc- 
 tober, the king and royal family witnessing 
 the operation from the Hdtel de la Marine, 
 Place de la Concorde. 
 
 French words are of^en used where 
 JSnglish words might be found more ex- 
 pressive ; but in the present instance the 
 Dhrase coup iPail is a good description of 
 iho view from the Tuileries. The eye 
 ooks down the noble vista where this 
 fine remnant of ancient Egyptian art and 
 opulence now stands, in the centre of that 
 jpot which was literally the "field of 
 blood" of an awful time. Beyond it is 
 
 the road running through the Champs 
 Elysees, ascending the gentle slope which 
 is crowned by the triumphal arch begun 
 by Napoleon, who died a prisoner and an 
 exile, and finished by Louis Philippe, 
 who saw the commencement of that revo- 
 lution in which his father perished, and 
 which drove himself to wander over Eu- 
 rope ; and who has now become, by a 
 ; second revolution, king of France. 
 
 MOUNTAINS. 
 
 HERE is a charm 
 connected with moun- 
 tains so powerful that 
 the merest mention 
 of them, the merest 
 sketch of their mag- 
 nificent features, kin- 
 dles the imagination, 
 and carries the spirit at once into the 
 bosom of their enchanted regions. Hov/ 
 the mind is filled with their vast solitude ! 
 how the inward eye is fixed on their si- 
 lent, their sublime, their everlasting peaks ! 
 How our heart bounds to the music of their 
 solitary cries— to the tinkle of their gush- 
 ing rills ! to the sound of their cataracts- 
 how inspiriting are the odors that breaths 
 from the upland turf, from the rock-hung 
 flower, from the hoary and solemn pine ! 
 how beautiful are those lights and shadows 
 thrown abroad, and that fine transparent 
 haze which is diffused over the valleys 
 and lower slopes, as over a vast, inimitable 
 
 picture ! , . , i. 
 
 The heat of summer has dried up the 
 moisture with which winter rains saturate 
 the spongy turf of the hollows ; and the 
 atmosphere, clear and settled, admits of 
 the most extensive prospects. Whoever 
 has not climbed the long and heathy as- 
 cents, and seen the trembling mountain 
 flowers, the glowing moss, the richly- 
 tinted lichens at his feet; and scented 
 the fresh aroma of the uncultivated sod, 
 and of the spicy shrubs ; and heard the 
 bleat of the flock across their solitary ex- 
 panses, and the wild cry of the mountain 
 birds, the raven, or the eagle ; and seen 
 the rich and russet hues of distant slopes 
 
irough ihc Champs 
 le gentle slope which 
 ;riumphal arch begun 
 ed a prisoner and an 
 by Louis Philippe, 
 ncement of that revo- 
 
 fatber perished, and 
 ■ lo wander over Eu- 
 
 now become, by a 
 ng of Franco. 
 
 :tains. 
 
 HERE is a charm 
 connected with moun- 
 tains so powerful that 
 the merest mention 
 of them, the merest 
 sketch of their mag- 
 nificent features, kin- 
 dles the imagination, 
 )irit at once into the 
 lanted regions. Hov/ 
 ith their vast solitude ! 
 9 is fixed on their si- 
 heir everlasting peaks ! 
 ds to the music of their 
 te tinkle of their gush- 
 nd of their cataracts— 
 the odors that breaths 
 irf, from the rock-hung 
 ary and solemn pine ! 
 ose lights and shadows 
 I that fine transparent 
 fused over the valleys 
 3 over a vast, inimitable 
 
 imer has dried up the 
 ;h winter rains saturate 
 the hollows ; and the 
 and settled, admits of 
 prospects. Whoever 
 e long and heathy as- 
 le trembling mountain 
 ing moss, the richly- 
 his feet; and scented 
 f the uncultivated sod, 
 shrubs ; and heard the 
 icross their solitary cx- 
 ild cry of the mountain 
 r the eagle ; and seen 
 t hues of distant slopes 
 
 MOUNTAINS. 
 
 987 
 
 and eminences, the livid gashes of ravines 
 and precipices, the while glittering line 
 of falling waters, and the cloud tumultu- 
 ously whirling round the lofty summit; 
 and then stood panting on that summit, 
 and beheld the clouds alternately gather 
 and break over a thousand giant peaks 
 and ridges of every varied hue — but all 
 silent as images of eternity ; and cast his 
 gaze over lakes and forests, and smoking 
 towns, and wide lands to the very ocean, 
 in all their gleaming and reposing beauty, 
 knows nothing of the trerisurcs of pictorial 
 wealth wliich mountains possess. 
 
 But when we let loose the imagination 
 from even these splendid scenes, and give 
 it free charter to range through the glorious 
 Alps, Apennines, or Andes, how is it pos- 
 sessed and absorbed by all the awful 
 magnificence of their scenery and charac- 
 ter ! The sky-ward and inaccessible pin- 
 nacles, the — 
 
 " Palncet where notnre thrones 
 Bublimity in icy Imlls I" 
 
 the dark Alpine forests, the savage rocks 
 and precipices, the fearful and unfathom- 
 able chasms filled with the sound of ever- 
 precipitating waters ; the cloud, the si- 
 lence, the avalanche, the cavernous gloom, 
 the terrible visitations of heaven's con- 
 centrated lightning, darkness, and thun- 
 der ; or the sweeter features of living, 
 rushing streams, spicy odors of flower and 
 shrub, fresh spirit-elating breezes sound- 
 ing through the dark pine grove ; the ever- 
 varying lights and shadows and aerial hues ; 
 the wide prospects, and, above all, the 
 simple inhabitants. 
 
 We delight to think of the people of 
 mountainous regions ; we please our im- 
 aginations with their picturesque and quiet 
 abodes ; with their peaceful, secluded lives, 
 striking and unvarying costumes, and prim- 
 itive manner-- We involuntariy give to 
 the mountaineer heroic and elevated quali- 
 ties. He lives among noble objects, and 
 must imbibe some of theiv nobility ; he 
 hves among the elements of poetry, and 
 must be poetical ; ho lives where his fel- 
 low-beings are far, far separated from their 
 kind, and surrounded by the sternness and 
 the perils of savage nature ; his social af- 
 fections must, therefore, be proportionately 
 concentrated, his home feelings lively and 
 strong ; but, more than all, he lives with- 
 
 in the barriers, the strongholds, the very 
 last refuge which Nature herself has rear- 
 ed to preseive alive liberty in the earth, 
 to preserve to man his highest hopey, his 
 noblest emotions, his dearest treasures — 
 his faith, his freedom, his hearth, and 
 home. How glorious do those mount nin- 
 ridges appear when we look upon them 
 as the unconquerable abodes of free hearts ; 
 as the stern heaven-built walls from which 
 the few, the feeble, the persecuted, the 
 despised, the helpless child, the delicate 
 woman, have from age to age, in their last 
 perils, in all their weaknesses and emer- 
 gencies, when power and cruelty were 
 ready to swallow them up, looked down, 
 and beheld the million waves of despotism 
 break at their feei — have seen the rage 
 of murderous armies, and tyrants, the 
 blasting spirit of ambition, fanaticism, and 
 crushing domination, recoil from their 
 bases in despair. " Thanks be to God 
 for mountains !" is often the exclamation 
 of our heart, as wo trace the history of 
 the world. From age to age, they have 
 been the last friends of man. In a thou- 
 sand extremities they have saved him. 
 What great hearts throbbed in their defiles 
 from the days of Leonidas to those of 
 Andreas Hofer ! What lofty souls, what 
 tender hearts, what poor and persecuted 
 creatures have they sheltered in their stony 
 bosoms from the weapons and tortures of 
 their fel!ow-men ! — 
 
 "Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saintp. whoso bones 
 Lie scattered ou the Alpiuo nioautaiua cold I" 
 
 was the burning exclamation of Milton's 
 agonizeJ 'tnd indignant spirit, as he beheld 
 those sacred bulwarks of freedom for once 
 violated by the disturbing demons of the 
 earth ; and the sound of his fiery and la- 
 menting appeal to heaven will be echoed 
 in every generous soul to the end of time. 
 Thanks be to God for mountains ! The 
 variety which they impart to the glorious 
 bosom of our planet were no small ad- 
 vantage ; the beauty which they spread 
 out to our vision in their woods and wa- 
 ters, their crags and slopes, their clouds 
 and atmospheric hues, were a splendid 
 gift ; the sublimity which they pour into 
 our deepest souls from their majestic as- 
 pects ; the poetry which breathes from their 
 streams, and dells, and airy heights, from 
 the sweet abodes, the garbs and manners 
 
 m 
 
 03 
 
988 
 
 METAI'IIYSTCS OF BUSINE83. 
 
 Urn* 
 
 of the inhabitants, the songs and legends 
 which haro awoke in them, were a proud 
 heritage to imaginative minds ; but what 
 are all those when the thought comes, that 
 without mountains the spirit of man must 
 have bowed to the brutal and the base, or 
 sunk to the monotonous level of the plam. 
 When we turn our eyes upon the map 
 of the world, and behold how wonderfully 
 the countries where our faith was nurtur- 
 ed where our liberties were generated, 
 where our philosophy and literature, the 
 fountains of our intellectual grace and 
 beauty sprang up, were as distmctly wall- 
 ed out by God's hand with mountain ram- 
 parts from the eruptions and interruptions 
 of barbarism, as if at the especial prayer 
 of the early fathers of man's destinies, we 
 are lost in an exulting admiration. Look 
 at the bold barriers of Palestine ! see how 
 the infant liberties of Greece were shelter- 
 ed from the vast tribes of the uncivilized 
 north by the heights of Hffimus and Rho- 
 dope ' behold how the Alps describe their 
 magnificent crescent, inclining their op- 
 posite extremities to the Adriatic and fyr- 
 rhine seas, locking up Italy from the Gallic 
 and Teutonic hordes till the power and 
 spirit of Rome had reached their maturity, 
 and she had opened the wide forest of 
 Europe to the light, spread far her aws 
 and language, and planted the seeds oJ 
 many mighty nations ! . . m^ ■ 
 
 Thanks be to God for mountains ! Their 
 colossal firmness seems almost to break 
 the current of time itself; the geologist 
 in them searches for traces of the earlier 
 world ; and it is there too that man, resist- 
 ing the revolutions of lower regions, re- 
 tains, through innumerable years, his habits 
 and his rights. While a multitude of 
 changes has remoulded the people o 
 Europe, while languages, and laws, and 
 dynasties, and creeds, have passed over 
 it like shadows over the landscape, the 
 children of the Celt and the Goth, who 
 fled to the mountains a thousand years 
 ago, are found there now, and show us m 
 face and figure, in language and garb, 
 what their fathers were ; show us a fine 
 contrast with the modern tribes dwelling 
 below and around them ; and show us, 
 moreover, how adverse is the spirit of the 
 mountain to mutability, and that there the 
 fiery heart of freedom is found for ever. 
 
 METAPHYSICS OF BUSINESS. 
 
 E hear much of va- 
 rious circumstances 
 aflTecting business in 
 this busy country, 
 but few ever dream 
 of its being liable 
 to one inrtuence, 
 greater perhaps than 
 all the rest put to- 
 gether—the workings of human nature. 
 
 In the opening of the year, there is an 
 excitement of the hopeful and cheerful 
 sentiments, under which we are more dis- 
 posed to speculation and adventure. The 
 decline of the year, on the contrary, raises 
 melancholy and timorous sentiments ; we 
 then feel inclined to draw into our shells 
 and wait for brighter days : speculation 
 has no charms for us. In the one case 
 we are under the influence of hope ; in 
 the other, of cautiousness. It would al- 
 most, indeed, appear as if we were, in this 
 respect, subject to laws similar to those 
 which aff'ect birds and other lower animals, 
 causing them to exhibit no active industry 
 except in apring. It is only when we 
 have a future bright before us, that our 
 energies are fully roused. 
 
 These feelings are seen exercising a 
 most potent control over the sta'e of mar- 
 kets, and in all adventurous kinds of busi- 
 ness. These things are notedly oscilla- 
 tory ; and this is simply because hope and 
 cautiousness take command over us in an 
 alternating manner. The natural proce- 
 dure of the two feelings is this ; for a 
 time after an experience of evil or a threat 
 tt' danger, cautiousness is predominant. 
 Gradually, after a cessation of these ex- 
 periences, we forget them. Cautiousness 
 is lulled ; hope and confidence again awa- 
 ken ; and these go in increasing activity, 
 till danger and evil once more supervene, 
 and then they give way in a moment to 
 revived cautiousness. Thus it is that for 
 some time after such a " crash" as that of 
 1837, speculations are held in universal 
 dread ; so that even a really promising 
 one would be shunned. But by-and-by 
 the sufferings and losses are forgotten. 
 Men begin to touch and taste, aivd finding 
 no immediate harm, they at length take 
 whole mouthfuls. Hope gets into lull 
 
 "''»■« 
 
BUSINESS. 
 
 !!nr much of va- 
 I circumstances 
 ting business in 
 
 busy country, 
 ew ever dream 
 Is being liable 
 one influence, 
 ter perhaps than 
 ;he rest put to- 
 liuman nature, 
 ear, there is an 
 ul and cheerful 
 vo are more ilis- 
 idvenlure. The 
 ) contrary, raises 
 sentiments ; we 
 
 into our shells 
 ya : speculation 
 In the one case 
 ice of hope ; in 
 s. It would al- 
 wo were, in this 
 similar to those 
 er lower animals, 
 10 active industry 
 
 only when we 
 fore us, that our 
 
 sen exercising a 
 the sta'e of mar- 
 jus kinds of busi- 
 ) notedly oscilla- 
 because hope and 
 ind over us in an 
 lie natural proce- 
 ss is this ; for a 
 "of evil or a threat 
 1 is predominant, 
 ition of these ex- 
 m. Cautiousness 
 fidence again awa- 
 icreasing activity, 
 ! more supervene, 
 y in a moment to 
 Thus it is that for 
 " crash" as that of 
 held in universal 
 I really promising 
 . But by-and-by 
 ises are forgotten. 
 I taste, and finding 
 ley at length take 
 pe gets into full 
 
 METAPHYSICS OF BUSINESS 
 
 989 
 
 counnission, vice cautiousness retired, and 
 then we see the most visionary schemes 
 eagerly eaibr;iced, where rt'cently the most 
 plausible and prudent would have been 
 repudiated. A " crash," with its distres- 
 sing consequences in ilie ruin of individ- 
 uals, and emburassment of general busi- 
 ness, (Inally lays hope once more so com- 
 pletely prostrate, that for years men can 
 not bo induced to venture even on the fair- 
 est chances. The rise or fall of prices in 
 all alluirs admitting of the least spocula- 
 lion, is governed by the same principle. 
 ;V little ri^e from just causes excites hope, 
 under whose influence a further and un- 
 
 warranted rise takes placi 
 progress in this direction 
 
 Whik 
 
 the 
 remains un- 
 checked by any external cause, all is san- 
 j;uiuo expectation in the mercantile mind. 
 No one seems to have the least concep- 
 tion of a possible reverse. Everybody 
 wishes to buy from everybody. Reason 
 has nothing to do with it: it is a mere 
 sentiment which is at work. But let the 
 slightest prognostic of a turn cjihc into 
 view, and in an instant the hopilul feeling 
 sinks like a punctured wind-bag. A pan- 
 ic supervenes, and things never rest till 
 they are as much below the fair a',.d rea- 
 sonable point as they were formerly above 
 it. Have we not here, also, nearly the 
 
 workmen arc tempted by high wages to 
 exceed the proper hours of labor, in order 
 to produce a gooiJ deal n.jre cloth than 
 the public has immediate use for, while at 
 another, the whole system is laid utterly 
 idle because men somehow feel a heavy 
 market as an indication that the world is 
 at an end. Hence arise most important 
 results in our social economy. 
 
 How absurd to supposo business men 
 to be prosaic and over-sober of mind ! 
 They are tire greatest sentimentalists that 
 breathe. 
 
 Wo must now consider another portion 
 cf our subject. 
 
 Accustomed as we are in this country 
 to see almost every person engaged in 
 some kind of business or craft, we are apt 
 to suppose it the natural and ordinary 
 state of mankind. But some nations that 
 are by no means uncivilized work ex- 
 tremely little. The Turks, for example, 
 are an indolent people. Powerless, hand- 
 less, thev spend the whole day in perfect 
 vacuity, apparently never giving them- 
 selves the least concern about tiie means 
 of subsistence. And yet, somehow, the 
 Turks live. All the people along the 
 south of Europe are comparatively inert. 
 The Dolce Far Nicnte is the prevalent 
 taste of the Mediterranean nations. The 
 
 whole philosophy of what are called " bad! striking distinction of ihe Englishman 
 
 times V Manufacturers go on for a while 
 producing a particular article with the 
 greatest diligence, as if they believed 
 that mankind were in danger of some tre- 
 mendous inconvenience for want of it. 
 This enthusiasm in (we shall say) cotton 
 finds at length a slight check. In an in- 
 stant the manufacture ceases, the works 
 are stopped, the workmen are thrown idle. 
 For months there seems to reign over the 
 country a dreary conviction that mankind 
 are never to require cloth any more. Now 
 it was neither true at first that mankind 
 were in any pressing need of particular 
 goods, nor that now they have abjured 
 .ill further use of them. They use them 
 in a regular monotonous manner, and will 
 evermore do so. The irregularity is in 
 the mental impulses of the producers. 
 These men hapjien to regard their wares 
 
 and American in this respect seems to be 
 in a certain anxiety about the welfare of 
 himself and his family. He starts in life 
 with an awful sense of the necessity of 
 getting on in the world. He will, with 
 the greatest coolness, commence a busi- 
 ness which he knows will require his 
 being a daily and nightly slave for thirty 
 years, undreaming that he is making any 
 extraordinary sacrifice. He sees tiges of 
 bill-troubles before him, but looks upon it 
 all as a matter of releallcss destiny. 
 Even when the first claims of his sense 
 of duty have been fulfilled, end he knows 
 he is safe from poverty for life, he works 
 on for the love of working, rather than 
 walk into a system of idleness which 
 would present to him no enjoyable advan- 
 tages. Now, who ever heard, in the lit- 
 erature or history of any nations away 
 
 I 
 
 with alternative paroxysms of hope and ■ from central Europe and the United Slates, 
 despair. The consequence is that at one of such a thought predominating among 
 time a factory is put to top speed, and the ' them as the necessity of getting on in the 
 
 mm 
 
 'mk 
 
090 
 
 METAPHYSICS OF BUSINESS. 
 
 world 1 They are not, in generEl, altogeth- 
 er idle. They till, and weave, and fabri- 
 cate in a way which seems to be sufficient 
 lir their wants ; but they are totally unac- 
 quainted with that system of close and 
 incessant toiling after increase of goods, 
 which appears to be the first law of exis- 
 tence among us. It must also be remem- 
 bered that we know of the world having 
 existed for centuries upon centuries be- 
 fore it exhibited antjtchcre an example ol 
 this passionate attachment to workshop, 
 counter, and desk. There was no shop- 
 keeping worth speaking of m ancient 
 Greece or Rome. Factories existed not 
 among the Ptolemies. While the cru- 
 sades swept across Europe, there were 
 few men calling themselves merchants in 
 London. Paris, or Venice. It is smce the 
 close of the middle ages that men have 
 raised into vogue the idea that business is 
 the sheet-anchor of individuals and of na- 
 tions. There is thus a great difference 
 from past time to present, as well as from 
 other nations to us. This shows fully, we 
 think, that business is not a thing neces- 
 ' sary or unavoidable to our human nattare. 
 It can be no special result of certain fac- 
 ulties which have no other purpose or 
 mode of action. Yet this is what we 
 might suppose, if we were to see nothing 
 in business but the gratification of the 
 working or fabricating faculty, and of the 
 love of gain. It therefore appears that 
 the love of action and excitement, is what 
 chiefly animates the hard-working nations, 
 being the same impulse which once grati- 
 fied men in war and in the chase, and still 
 leads the born wealthy to the turf and the 
 gaming-club. It is but the phase m which 
 The mass of manly power and endowment 
 appears in modern civilized nations. And 
 accordingly trade has its heroes and con- 
 querots as well as history. 
 
 The view which we are disposed to 
 take respecting the benevolence of busi- 
 ness, accords with this idea as to their 
 main ends being, after all, but the gratifi- 
 cation of certain mental faculties, lo ap- 
 pearance there is nothing but selfishness 
 regarded in business, and if the pursuit oi 
 his own end by each individual conduces, 
 as Adam Smith endeavors to show, to the 
 general weal, it is no praise to the motives 
 of particular parties. But the worship of 
 
 fortune in reality involves no necessary 
 subjection of the heart to selfishness. 
 The fact is, that where business exists on 
 a considerable scale, its votaries act under 
 two opposite and apparently irreconcilea- 
 ble principles: in purely business matters 
 they are keen and inflexible, ever dispose.! 
 to exact the whole of their rights ; in do- 
 mestic and social matters, they may be at 
 the same time bountiful and conceding to 
 a surprising degree. Meet them upon a 
 bargain, and you would think them stern, 
 and wrapped up in views of their own in- y 
 icresi. See them next day in private, and i\ 
 you discover that they use their wealth j 
 with a generosity that shows they are far j 
 from loving it for its own sake. We have I 
 here a consideration which seems to take i 
 much from the force of those writings , 
 which hold up the present as an age of ,^ 
 Mammon-worship. The following of ,. 
 Mammon is a fact in itself; but it ought 
 to be taken in connexion with other cir- 
 cumstances, by which its effects are much 
 modified. Our ruling competitive princi- 
 ple unquestionably calls out emulation and 
 worse passions; but these are softened 
 by the humanity and largeness of soul 
 which are conspicuous features of the 
 mercantile mind in all above the strug- 
 gling classes. We are not, let it be fully 
 understood, inclined to believe that the 
 present plan is the best conceivable for the 
 subsistence of nations. We thoroughly 
 believe that, in time, such great bodies ol 
 people will feel and act more as only a 
 large kind of families, and enjoy almost, 
 if not altogether, in common the fruits ot 
 the general industry, finding that thereby 
 they realize greater enjoyments than are 
 to be obtained by each standing upon his 
 individual acquisitiveness. All this may 
 bo unhesitatingly admitted, and yet we will 
 say that the present system is far less sel- 
 1 fish than is generally supposed, seeing 
 that selfishness is the rule only m a cer- 
 tain routine of transactions so monotonous 
 as almost to be a complete abstraction, 
 while the kindly social affections in re- 
 ality prevail over, and give character to 
 the ordinary demonstrations of the mUi 
 
 "^ We hare here merely broken ground in 
 a subject which appears to us to possess 
 great interest. We willingly leave to oih- 
 
 % 
 
THE LAMMEIIGEYEU. OH BEAUDED VULTUIlE. 
 
 901 
 
 )lves no necrssary 
 ;art to sclfisliTicss. 
 c business exists on 
 ;s votaries act umlor 
 arenliy irrecoiicilea- 
 ;ly Imsiness matters, 
 Bxible, ever disposetl 
 
 their rif;hls ; in do- 
 tcrs, they may be at 
 111 and conceding to 
 
 Meet them upon a 
 Id think them stern, 
 ews of their own in- 
 xt day in private, and 
 cy use their wcaUh 
 t shows they are far 
 ;)wnsake. We have 
 which seems to talio j 
 D of those writings j 
 present as an age of | 
 
 The following of | 
 1 itself; but it onght 
 ■xion with other cir- 
 h its effects are much 
 ig competitive princi- 
 lUs out emulation and 
 It these arc softened 
 id largeness of soul 
 aous features of the 
 
 all above the strug- 
 are not, let it be fully 
 1 to believe that the 
 est conceivable for the 
 3ns. We thoroughly j 
 , such great bodies of 
 d act more as only a 
 ies, and enjoy almost, 
 
 common tho fruits of 
 r, finding that thereby 
 r enjoyments than are 
 ach standing upon his 
 reness. All this may 
 Imitted, and yet we will 
 <. system is far less sel- 
 ■ally supposed, seeing 
 
 the rule only in a cer- 
 sactions so monotonous 
 
 complete abstraction, 
 social affections in re- 
 
 and give character to 
 mstrations of the indi 
 
 lerely broken ground in 
 ippears to us to possess 
 e willingly leave to oih- 
 
 it nwro deeply, and | 'fHE LAMMEROEYER, OR BEARDED 
 
 all the various liy'its VLLTURE. 
 
 crs to investigate 
 
 place the iwalter in 
 
 in which it may be contemplated. Mean 
 
 while, some of these spoculatiuiis may be 
 
 brought lionie to men's bosoms. It is 
 
 HIS fine bird, which 
 , ^ ecjuals or exceeds the 
 '\ largest eagle in size, 
 is found throtgliout 
 the whole of the great 
 uiouiit'iinchuinsof the 
 Old World, being in 
 fact, though not any- 
 where numerous, very widely dispersed 
 
 very obvious that the interests oi a vast 
 body of p<M)ple— of that class generally 
 who live by labor— are involved to a seri- 
 ous extent in a briskness and dulness of 
 business. It is of importance for them lo 
 be aware that, so long as the competUive 
 
 mode endures, the amouiitof their incomes, wuero uum^.w"-. — ^ - • 
 
 ^nd even the question whether they shall u occurs in the Pyrenees and m tho Alps 
 have Inincon e at all or not, depend upon 1 of Germany, and Switzerland, where U is 
 the ex^L t J, which the faculty l>f hopL is 1 notorious (or its destrucliveness among the 
 acti e n th^brains of the employing class. | lambs and kids which are fed on the green 
 
 So long as employers are sanguine as lo 
 markets and results of mercantile combi- 
 nations, the horde of the industrious are 
 safe ; let the tide turn— and its ebb is as 
 
 •lopes of the lower ranges. 
 
 The intermediate situation assigned to 
 the liimmergeyer. and which is aptly ex- 
 pressed in the generic appellation fryi„wtus 
 
 sure as its (low-and a large proportion of L Greek compound deMgnalmg a vulture 
 sure as "s»i,^^^__f ''_,_. ±_l ,_ . ,^, \, .„. ,.^^\ ;. .learlv indicated in its 
 
 and an eagle), is clearly indicated in its 
 form and general habits. Of a powerlii 
 and robust make, it has neither the bill 
 nor the talons of the eagle, tho former be- 
 ing elongated, and hooked only at the top, 
 ai.d tho laiter comparatively small and 
 feeble ; nor has it an exclusive appetite 
 for blood, carrion and putrid animals being 
 
 this huge mullituJo must cease to be cm 
 ployed. The fact of hundreds of thou- 
 sands of people being thus withheld at 
 any time from a penury verging upon and 
 often trenching upon pauperism, only by 
 the afflatus of an accidental seniimeiit in 
 the minds of another portion of the com- 
 
 mS lur^^S S::£t\^ I ^;:il^d;;;^red by L The eagle b.u^ 
 
 mo t apt to stand aghast. It is surely by off his prey-the l-""f g^r^^^ '^"J ,^ 
 
 no means creditable to our national sa- , te.npls to re.uove it. but devours it on the 
 
 Lcitv that we should conte«tedly see spot; indeed, his grasp is too feeble to 
 
 imi^'of ilperity thus go ou to tlafinev- \ permU him u. "^^^^^^^ ^^ ^ 
 
 iuble breakdown, when thousands upon i a trifling weight. Attracted by he car 
 
 tho ^anL are sure U, he thrown into mi.- i .ase of some unfortunate an.nu ul. 1 
 
 ery, and yet believe it all to be in the fair, has perished among ^''^ " '^^ °^^^^^^^^ 
 
 a,.d proper course of things. No provis- \ mountains, a ""j^f " "/^/^^'^c bcK.tv^ a.ul 
 
 i.m by the industrious themselves for the ually congregate o share "^'' f '^''> ' -i^^^ 
 
 ay o'f certain evil; no arrangement by gorge like ^^ ^^^'^^^l^^;,,^ 
 
 the- sage and politic for softening the blow , lammergeyer ^j'^'^^.f '. ff^ , r/S^^^ 
 
 when it comes; no lesson for the future I himsell '« l'"^^'"^ "'^'*, \' ^"^""JnL^^^^^^^^ 
 
 taken from the past; and. above all, "« , k'J^. *"<i ^ '« ^^^^'^^^^^^ ^''^'^'y "^^ ;'!i^^ J^ 
 
 whispered alarm iuto any mind as to the with great ferocity ; 'l'^ t^'^^'-g; "^^^^^ 
 
 soundness of the social plans which in 
 volve such tremendous calamities. Ver- 
 ily, we are yet children acting upon our 
 first instincts, and the manhood of man — 
 the Uine of reason and true brotherly kind- 
 ness — seems yet far ofl. 
 
 The greatest and the most amiable priv- 
 ilege which tlie rich enjoy over the poor, 
 
 chamois is not secure, nor when rendered 
 desperate by hunger will the ravenous bird 
 forbear an attack on man. Children, in- 
 deed, are said to have often fallen sacri- 
 fices to its rapacity. Young or small ani- 
 mals are easily destroyed, for though 
 elougaied, the beak is hard and strong, 
 and well adapted for lacerating tho vic- 
 tim ; but larger animals, instead ot being 
 
 ilcge which Uie ricU enjoy over lue fMiot, mu . " o- "- - -- . _ ,- 
 
 is that which thev exercise theleast-ihe at once g-^-l'l^^^*^,^":', ^le uooa the Xe 
 privilege of making them happy. I insidiously assaulted while upon the edge 
 
 :ii 
 
'in 
 
 NOVKMUEB. 
 
 9'J3 
 
 of somo {irpcipice or Bte* ' declivity, the , 
 bird unexpeclo.Uy swcepmir upon them 
 with furv, and hurling them into the abyss 
 Jown which itplunRoH to glut its appoute. 
 Art illustriitivo of the boldness of the lam- 
 merKcyer, IJruce relates that, attracted by 
 Uio preparations for dinner, which his 
 servants wore making on the sumLiit ol a 
 lofty mountain, a bearded vulture slowly 
 made his advances to the party, afld at , 
 IcML'th fairly seated himself within the 
 ring they had formed. The alVrighted 
 natives ran for their lances and shields, 
 and the bird, after an ineffectual attempt 
 to abstract a portion of their meal from 
 tho boiling water, seized a largo piece ir 
 each of his talons from a platter that stood 
 by, and carried them off slowly ahing 
 the ground as ho came. Returning in a 
 few minutes for a second freight he was 
 
 ihot. . 
 
 There is little in the general aspect o 
 this bird to remind one ot the vulture, and 
 yet the character of the head, and the 
 general contour of the body, are strikingly 
 dillerent from those of the eagle ; there is 
 a want of dignity and quiet grandeur in 
 its attitude, and the glance of its red eye, 
 though keen and cruel, is deficient "» that 
 expression of daring and resolution which 
 we admire in the feathered monarch. 1 he 
 bristly beard which depends from the 
 lower mandible, tends also to give a pe- 
 culiar character to its physiognomy. 0« 
 the nidification of the liimmergeyer little 
 is ascertained, except that it selects the 
 most inaccessible pinnacles as the site ot 
 its eyry Pallas states that it is known to 
 breed on the high rocks of the great Altaic 
 chain, and beyond the lake Baikal. 
 
 In length this extraordinary bird meas- 
 ures about four feet from the bill to the 
 end of the tail, and tram nine to ten in 
 the expanse of its wings. Larger ad- 
 measurements have been given by various 
 writers, which are probably exaggerated 
 —none of the numerous specimens which 
 we have seen exceeding our statement. 
 
 The tarsi are short and almost hidden 
 by the feathers of the thighs ; the iris is 
 bright red; the wings are ample, the 
 second and third quill feathers being the 
 longest ; the tail is graduated ; the head 
 is clothed with feathers, and from the 
 sides of the under mandible proceeds a 
 
 row of black bristles, which form a beard 
 or pencil at its angle, and a layer of simi- 
 lar bristles, beginning at the eye, covers 
 the nostrils. The general color ol the 
 upper surface is dark grayish brown, the 
 centre of each feather having a longitudi- 
 nal dash of white. The neck and the 
 whole of the uiuh^r surface are white, tinted 
 with reddish brown. The ycniiig I'lrds 
 are darker in the general hue of theit 
 plumage than the adult, and the while 
 spots are larger and less defined ; in this 
 stage it has been mistaken for a distinct 
 species. 
 
 NOVEMBER. 
 
 OVEMRER. like 
 the two preceding 
 months, is derived 
 from two Latin 
 words, when its sta- 
 tion in the Roman 
 calendar rendered its 
 derivation more ap- 
 propriate : by the 
 Saxons it was termed Wint-mumit, in al- 
 lusion to the winds that frequently prevail 
 
 at this season. , i u 
 
 As the preceding month was marked by 
 the change, so this is dislinj^uishe.i by the 
 ;dl of the leaf. This last is so striking a 
 circumstance, that the whole declining 
 season of the year is often in common 
 language, named the fall. There ,s some- 
 thing extremely melancholy lu this gradual 
 process, by which the trees are stripped 
 Lf all their beauty, and loft so many monu- 
 ments of decay and desolation. 1 he first 
 of poets has deduced from this quick suc- 
 cession of springing and falling leaves, an 
 apt comi orison for the fugitive races of 
 
 men: — . 
 
 .< T ikn leaves on trees the race of man w fonnd. 
 
 Now g?eea "n youth, now witheriog on the ground. 
 
 Another race tflo followiog spring supplioB ; 
 
 Thov fall «ucce88ivc, and successive nae ; 
 
 Bo cenerations in their course decay ; 
 
 t, fiuuri^ t^so, when those are I--^,X^meh. 
 
 \ his loss of verdure, together with the 
 shortened days, the diminished warmth, 
 and frequent rains, justify the title of the 
 gloomy month of November : and other 
 animals seem to sympathize with man in 
 feeling it as such. 
 
 ■4-'i 
 
 'V 
 
 i 
 
JS^a 
 
 994 
 
 DKATHS OF LITTLE CHILDREN. 
 
 liMii 
 
 DEATHS OF LITTLE CHILDREN. 
 
 GRECIAN phi- 
 losopher being 
 asked why ho 
 wcplfor the death 
 of his son, since 
 ihr -sorrow was 
 vain, 11 'ilied, " I 
 weep on that very 
 account." And 
 his answer became his wisdom. It is 
 only for sophists to pretend that wo whose 
 eyes contain the fountains of tears need 
 never give way to them. It would be un- 
 wise not to do so on some occasions. 
 Sorrow unlocks them in her balmy moods. 
 The first bursts may be bitter and over- 
 wholining ; but the soil on which they 
 pour, would be worse without them. They 
 refresh the fever of the soul— the dry tnis- 
 ery which parches the countenance into 
 furrows, and renders us liable to our most 
 terrible " flesh-quakes." 
 
 There are sorrows, it is true, so great, 
 that to give them some of the ordinary 
 vents is to run a hazard of being over- 
 thrown. These we must rather strength- 
 en ourselves to resist, or bow quietly and 
 drily down in order to let them pass over 
 us, as the traveller does the winds of the 
 desert. But where wo feel that tears 
 would relieve us, it is false philosophy to 
 deny ourselves at least that first refresh- 
 ment ; and it is always false consolation 
 to tell people that because they can not 
 help a thing, they are not to mind it. The 
 true way is to let them grapple with the 
 unavoidable sorrow, and try to win it into 
 gentleness by areasonablo yielding. There 
 are griefs so gentle in their very nature, 
 that it would be worse than false heroism 
 to refuse them a tear. Of this kind are 
 the deaths of infants. Particular circtim- 
 stances may rejHer it more or less advisa- 
 ble to indulge iu*|;rief for the loss of a 
 little child ; but, in general, parents should 
 be no more advised to repress their first 
 tears on such an occasion, than to repress 
 their smiles toward a child surviving, or 
 to indulge in any other sympathy, it is 
 an appeal to the same gentleness ; and 
 such appeals are never made in vain. 
 The end of them is an acquittal from the 
 
 I .== 
 
 harsher bcr.ds of affliction — from the ty- 
 ing down of the spirit to one melancholy 
 idea. 
 
 It is the nature of tears of this kind, 
 however strongly they may gush forth, to 
 run into quiet waters at last. We can not 
 easily, for the whole course of our lives, 
 think with pain of any good and kind 
 person whom wo have lost. It is the 
 divine nauin! of their qualities to conquer 
 pain and doath itself ; to turn the memory 
 of them into pleasnre ; to survive with a 
 placid aspect in our imaginations. We 
 are writing at this moment just opposite 
 a spot which contains the grave of one 
 inexpressibly dear to us. Wo see from 
 our window the trees about it, and the 
 church spire. The green fields lie around. 
 The clouds are travelling over head, alter- 
 nately taking away thn sunshine and re- 
 storing it. The vorn ' winds, piping of 
 the flowery summer-time, are ncv«'rlheless 
 calling to mind the far-distant and danger- 
 ous ocean, which the heart that lies in 
 that grave had many reasons to think of. 
 And yet the sight of this spot does not 
 give us pain. So far from it, it is the 
 existence of that grave which doubles 
 every charm of the spot; which links the 
 pleasures of our childhood and manhood 
 together; which puts a hushing tcndrrncss 
 in the winds, and a patient joy upon the 
 landscape ; which seems to unite hoiucn 
 and earth, mortality and immorlaliiy, the 
 grass of the tomb and the grass ol llio 
 green field, and gives a more maternal 
 aspect to the whole kindness of nature. 
 Itdocs not hinder gayety itself. IIap|)iiiess 
 was what its tenant, through all her 
 troubles, would have diffused. To diff"use 
 happiness, and to enjoy it, is not only 
 carrying on her wishes, but reahzing her 
 hopes ; and gayety, freed from its only 
 pollutions, malignity and want of sympathy, 
 is but a child playing about the knees of 
 its mother. 
 
 The remembered innocence and endear- 
 ments of a child stand us instead of virtues 
 that have died older. Children have not 
 exercised the voluntary offices of friend- 
 ship ; they have not chosen to be kind 
 and good to us, nor stood by us from 
 conscious will in the hour of adversity. 
 But they have shared their pleasures and 
 pains with us as well as they could ; the 
 
1 
 
 iciion — from llio ty- 
 t to one melancholy 
 
 r tears of tluH kind, 
 yr may gush forth, to 
 at last. Wo can not 
 
 course of our livus, 
 any good and kind 
 avo lo8t. It is tho 
 r qualities to conquer 
 ; to turn tho memory 
 3 ; to survive with a 
 : imaginations. We 
 nomenl just opposite 
 ns tho grave of one 
 3 us. Wo see from 
 es about it, and the 
 reen fields lie around, 
 lling over head, alter- 
 thc sunshine and re- 
 nal winds, piping of 
 lime, are nev-rtheless 
 ar-distanl and danger- 
 he heart that lies in 
 ' reasons to think of. 
 )f this spot does not 
 far from it, it is the 
 [rave which douliles 
 ipot ; which links tho 
 ildhnod and manhood 
 I a hushing tendfrness 
 patient joy upon tho 
 eems to unite heaven 
 
 and immortality, the 
 and tho grass of tho 
 ves a more maternal 
 3 kindness of nuture. 
 jrety itself. IIapj)iness 
 ant, through all her 
 ! diffused. To diffu.so 
 enjoy it, is not only 
 hes, but reahzing her 
 r, freed from its only 
 and want of sympathy, 
 ig about the knees of 
 
 innocence and endear- 
 id us instead of virtues 
 ir. Children have not 
 itary offices of friend- 
 ot chosen to be kind 
 lor stood by us from 
 ;he hour of adversity. 
 •ed their pleasures and 
 dU as they could ; the 
 
 DEATHS OP LITTLE CUILDllEN. 
 
 995 
 
 interchan^;o of good offices between us 
 has, of necessity, been loss mingled with 
 the troubles of the world; tho sorrow 
 arising fn.m their death is the only one 
 which w< (an associate with their memo- 
 ries. TIkso are happy thoughts, that can 
 not die. Our loss may always render 
 them pensive, but they will not always be 
 painful. It is a part of the bonignity of 
 nature, that pain docs not survive like 
 pleasure, at any time, much less where 
 the cau.so of it is an innocent one. Tho 
 smile will remain reflected by memory, 
 as tho moon reflects the light upon us, 
 when the sun has gone into heaven. 
 
 When writers like oursolf quarrel with 
 earthly pain (wo mean writers of tho same 
 intentions, without implying, of course, 
 anything about abilities or otherwise), .in.^ 
 are misunderstood it they are supi ostd to j 
 quarrel with pains of every soi . This | 
 would be idle and efl'eminato, Tbr do | 
 not pretend, indeed, that humanity Mu;ht ^ 
 not wish, if it could, to bo enlirelj ■^^ 
 from pain ; for it endeavors at all uuies 
 to turn pain into pleasure, or at least to 
 set off tho one with tho other ; to make 
 the fornv r a zest, and tho latter a refresh- 
 ment. The most unaffected dignity of 
 suffering docs this ; and, if wise, ac- 
 knowledges it. The greatest benevolence 
 toward others, the most unselfish relish of 
 their pleasures, even at its own expense, 
 does but look to increasing tho general 
 stock of happiness, though content, if it 
 could, to have its identity swallowed up 
 in that splendid contemplation. We are 
 far from meaning that this is to bo called 
 selfishness. We are far indeed from 
 thinking so, or of confounding words. But 
 neither is it to bo called pain, when most 
 unselfish ; if disinterestedness be truly 
 understood. The pain that is in it softens 
 into plea^^ure, as the darker hue of the 
 rainbow melts into the brighter. Yet even 
 if a harsher line is to be drawn between 
 the pain and pleasure of tho most unselfish 
 mind (and ill health, for distance, may 
 draw it), we should not i^uarrel with it, 
 if it contributed to the general mass of 
 comfort, and were of a nature which gen- 
 eral kindliness could not avoid. Made as 
 we are, there are certain pains without 
 which it would bo difficult to conceive 
 certain great and overbalancing pleasures. 
 
 We may conceive it possible for beings 
 h) be mado entirely iiapj)y ; but in our 
 composition, something of pain scorns to 
 bo a necessary ingredient, in onltr that 
 tho materials I'lay turn to as fine account 
 as possible ; though our clay, in ll'o course 
 of ages and experience, may bo refined 
 more and more. We may gel rid of the 
 worst earth, though not of earth ilself. 
 
 Now the liability to iho lo^s of children 
 — or rather what renders us sensible of it, 
 tho occasional loss itself— seems to be one 
 of those necessary bitters thrown into tho 
 cup of humanity. We do not mean that 
 every one must lose one of his children, 
 in order to enjoy the rest; or that every 
 individual loss afllicts us in tho same pro- 
 portion. Wo allude to tho deaths of in- 
 fants in general. These miglu bo as few 
 ni wo could render ihetii. Hut if none at 
 «'■. ever took place, wo should regard ov- 
 V.: little child a i a man or woman secured ; 
 <ni i it will easily bo conceived what a 
 ..orld of endearing cares and hopc.i this 
 security would endanger. Tho very idea 
 of infancy ^ niM lose its conlinimy witii 
 us. Girls and boys would be future rnen 
 and women, not present children. They 
 would have attained their full growth in 
 our imaginations, and might as W(dl have 
 been men and women at once. On tho 
 other hand, those who have lost an infant. 
 
 are never, as 
 
 it were, without an infant 
 child. They are the only persons who, 
 in one sense, retain it always ; and they 
 furnish their neighbors with tho same 
 idea. Tho other children grow up to 
 manhood and womanhood, and suffer all 
 the changtis of mortality. This one alone 
 is rendered an immortal child. Dca'h 
 has arrested it with his kindly harshness, 
 and blessed it into an eternal image of 
 youth and innocence. 
 
 Of such as these are the plcasantest 
 shapes that visit our fancy and our hopes. 
 They are the ever-smiling embloiii ot 
 joy ; the prettiest pages that wait u^on 
 imagination. Lastly, " of these are tho 
 kingdom of heaven." Wherever there is 
 a province of that benevolent and all — ac- 
 cessible empire, whether on earth or else- 
 where, such are the gentle spirits that 
 must inhabit it. To such simplicity, or 
 the resemblance of it, must they come. 
 Such must be the ready confidence of 
 
 
 m 
 
 •%*l 
 
 
 K»Bteag!ESiS«SaSS35: 
 
 ii^ 
 
. .. .'* 
 
 t! 
 
 ''*»!■'?. 
 ^1« 
 
 996 
 
 PETRIFIED CASCADE OF PAMBOUK KALESI. 
 
 their hearts, and creativeness of their 
 fancy. And so ignorant must they be ot 
 the " knowledge of good and evil ; losing 
 their discernment of that self-created trou- 
 ble, by enjoying the garden before them, 
 and not being ashamed of what is kindly 
 and innocent. 
 
 PETRIFIED CASCADE OF PAMBOUK 
 KALESI. 
 
 HE petrified cascade 
 \^of Fambouk Kalesi, 
 '^^ as it is called by the 
 Turks, is situated in 
 Hierapolis, Asia Mi- 
 nor. The country 
 around exhibits deci- 
 ded marks of violent 
 volcanic action. Nearly the whole dis- 
 trict of the Mccander is hablo to earth- 
 quakes, and is burrowed under by chan- 
 nels full of fire and water as far as the 
 interior of the country. The ^YlZ!; 
 ern part of Asia Minor is full of thermal 
 springs ; they are found also at Brusa 
 near the range of the Olympus. The 
 rivprs also are loaded with calcareous 
 sediment, and, like the streams of other 
 countries where limestone prevails, are 
 found unfit for drinking. The singular 
 eflect of this cascade is produced by the 
 rapid deposition of calcareous matter. Ur. 
 Chandler has given the folio wmg descrip- 
 
 tiou of it : — , 
 
 " The view of the petrified cascade was 
 so marvellous, that the description of it, 
 to bear even a faint resemblance, ought 
 to appear romantic. The vast slope, which 
 at a distance we had taken for rhalk, was 
 now beheld with wonder, it seeming an 
 immense frozen cascade, the surface wavy, 
 as of water at once fixed, or in Us head- 
 long coursa s" Meidy petrified. Round 
 about us were many high, bare, stony 
 ridges ; and close by our tent one with a 
 wide basis, ard a slender rill of water, 
 clear, soft, anu warm, running in a small 
 channel on the top. A woman was wash- 
 ing linen in it, with a hild at her back ; 
 and beyond were cabins of the Turco- 
 mans, standing distinct, much neater than 
 
 any we had seen ; each with pouhry feed- 
 ing, and a fence of reeds in front. 
 
 "It is an old observation that the coun- 
 try about the Mseander, the soil being light 
 and friable, and full of salts generating in- 
 flammable matter, was undermined by fire 
 and water. Hence it abounded in hot 
 springs, which, after passing under ground 
 from the reservoirs, appeared on the moun- 
 tains, or were found bubbling up in the 
 plain, or in the mud of •he river. 
 
 " The hot waters of Hierapolis have 
 produced that most extraordinary phe- 
 nomenon, the cliflF, which is one entire 
 incrustation. They were anciently re- 
 nowned for this species of transformation. 
 It is related they changed so easily, that 
 being conducted about the vineyards and 
 gardens the channels became long fences, 
 each a single stone. They produced the 
 ridges by our tent. The road up to the 
 ruins, which appears as a wide and high 
 causeway, is a petrifaction ; and overlooks 
 many green spots, once vineyards and 
 gardens, separated by partitions of the 
 same material. The surface of the flat 
 above the cUflf is rough with stone and 
 with channels, branching out in various 
 directions ; a large pool overflowing and 
 feeding the numerous rills, some of which 
 spread over the slope, as they descend, 
 and give to the white stony bed a humid 
 look resembling salt or driven snow when 
 melting. This crust, which has no taste 
 or smell, being an alkaline, will ferment 
 with acids ; and Picenini relates that trial 
 of it had been made with spirit of vitriol. 
 The waters, though hot, were used in 
 agriculture." 
 
 That the inhabitants of Hierapolis were 
 proud of their city is indicated by one of 
 the inscriptions copied by Chandler from 
 the walls of the ruined theatre, and which 
 he thus translates: "Hail, Hierapolis, 
 golden city, the spot to be preferred be- 
 fore any in wide Asia; revered for the 
 rills of the nymphs ; adorned with splen- 
 dor."—" The nymphs," adds Dr. Chandler, 
 "presided over springs and fountains." 
 Hierapolis is described by Laborde as 
 " situated on a plateau (platform, or table- 
 land) detached from the chain of mount- 
 ains which separates the valley of the 
 Gallus from the chain of the Mseander, 
 and which rises to a great height toward 
 
[.ESI. 
 
 ; each with poultry feed- 
 if reeds in front, 
 jservation that the coun- 
 mder, the soil being light 
 ill of salts generating in- 
 was undermined by fire 
 ice it abounded in hot 
 ter passing under ground 
 :s, appeared on the moun- 
 und bubbling up in the 
 lud of the river, 
 ters of Hierapolis have 
 lost extraordinary phe- 
 iff, which is one entire 
 ley were anciently re- 
 species of transformation, 
 y changed so easily, that 
 about the vineyards and 
 inels became long fences, 
 ine. They produced the 
 at. The road up to the 
 aears as a wide and high 
 strifaction ; and overlooks 
 ots, once vineyards and 
 ted by partitions of the 
 The surface of the flat 
 is rough with stone and 
 branching out in various 
 rge pool overflowing and 
 erous rills, some of which 
 5 slope, as they descend, 
 white stony bed a hmnid 
 salt or driven snow when 
 crust, which has no taste 
 an alkaline, will ferment 
 [ Picenini relates that trial 
 made with spirit of vitriol. 
 lOUgh hot, were used in 
 
 ibitants of Hierapolis were 
 nty is indicated by one of 
 copied by Chandler from 
 I ruined theatre, and which 
 ates : " Hail, Hierapolis, 
 e spot to be preferred be- 
 ide Asia; revered for the 
 [iphs ; adorned with splen- 
 ymph8,"adds Dr. Chandler, 
 r springs and fountains." 
 described by Laborde as 
 plateau (platform, or table- 
 i from the chain of mount- 
 sparates the valley of the 
 tie chain of the Maaander, 
 !S to a great height toward 
 
998 
 
 STttAY THOUGHTS ON THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 the rrnfro of the country. A copious 
 sprinjr tlnws in tho middle of the plateau 
 and, (liroctcd by little canals which still 
 rctii'in thi^ir ancient use, is lost in tho 
 plain, after hr'ng traversed the town, 
 and formed tho cascades upon tho side o 
 iho rocks. The cascades are represented 
 with their character of petrifaction or 
 stalactite." The name of Pambouk Kalesi 
 (the fortress or castle of cotton) has been 
 .riven from tho white aspect of tho cas- 
 cades. 
 
 STRAY THOUGHTS ON THE BEAU- 
 TIFUL. 
 
 T is a much more easily 
 performed task to d'aw 
 a correct picture, in all 
 its details, of a land- 
 scape in nature or a 
 scene in human life, 
 embodying a beauty or a 
 defect, than, separating 
 them from tho frame- 
 work in which thev are set, to give an 
 abstract and general definition of either. 
 However cognizable at first sight a quality 
 or a power may be, when displayed in 
 esse, so inextricably blended is matter 
 with \li our habitudes of thought, that it 
 seems as necessary to the formation of a 
 mental conception as to tho cxcircise of 
 our corporeal functions. Mental and physi- 
 cal are coupled in oar nature, strangely 
 but strongly ; and etherialists on the one 
 hand, and materialists on the other, grum- 
 bling as they list, on they must jog together, 
 mingling here, diverging there, till the 
 final separation come. The most eflicicnt 
 handmaid of pure intellect is a irequent 
 reference to things external ; and puzzled 
 though it may be in its unaided sell, to 
 form a conception of a something it knows 
 to exist, but can not anatomize, a glance 
 at tho difficulty, as developed passively or 
 actively, will afford all that is needed, 
 better iuid in a more tangible form, than 
 after tho expenditure of the labors of a 
 schoolman. Thus, in the endless attempts 
 at a definition of the abstract beautitul, 
 how var.ousthe theories propounded, how 
 
 absurd tho ingenuities uttered ! One phi- 
 losopher seeks its mystical home in a 
 certain dcfmite combination of lines and 
 curves, which he gravely lays down wiili 
 mathematical precision; a second dillVrs j 
 from the former in some of his conforma- 
 tions, and proceeds as gravely to defend 
 his doctrine ; while a third, disagreeing 
 with both, is inclined to place it in an in- 
 definable harmony or adaptation between 
 the spectator and the spectacle — tho ob- 
 jective and the subjective. Whether, ac- 
 cording to tho last theory, distortion is to 
 be viewed as beauty in the abstract, be- 
 cause it appears perfection to the individual 
 eye, or whether tho opinion of thn majority 
 is to decide this point, wo bhall leave to 
 others to determine, and proceed to make 
 two or three rambling remarks on some 
 of the objects in which, we opine, the 
 mass of our unmystified readers will dis- 
 cover beauty, albeit they dissect not their 
 lines and curves. 
 
 The first and most natural quarter in 
 which we would seek for an illustration 
 of the beautiful is in the inanimate world ; 
 and the search will not be in vain. All 
 praise be to Him who created th's glorious 
 universe — the green earih, the blue heav- 
 ens, and the silvery stars ! On the inouni- 
 ain's summit, or in the still valley— on 
 the ocean's shore, or on the richly culli- 
 vated plain— the manifestations of besvuiy 
 are apparent, and confront the beholder at 
 every turn. In casting tho eye over a 
 scene such as poets love— where " water- 
 fails leap amid wild islands green," and 
 sunshine mingles with leafy shade— whore 
 tho air is ringing with a thousand songs, 
 inarticulate bii* eloquent— where the em- 
 erald slope melts gradually 'nto the dim 
 blue of the distant hill— wo become in- 
 stantaneously impressed with a sensation 
 
 of dolig'u. 
 
 heedlass in which of the 
 
 elements of the picture the charm lies, or 
 whether, if one were removed, our admi- 
 ration would be diminished, wo acknowl- 
 I edge that herein is loveliness — herein we 
 I have a definition of beauty from nature's 
 I own vocabulary. Who can measure the 
 ' humanizing iiilhience of the contemplation 
 of such scenes ? Yet it is not in the ag- 
 gregate alone that this quality is found ; 
 for the wing of the bulterdy or the petal 
 of the tiniest flower displays its oxisiouce 
 
 ■lllg^WwiW* 
 
 
uttered ! One plii- 
 lystieal home in a 
 inalion of lines nw\ | 
 voly lays clown wiili j 
 n ; a aecoml dilVi'i's j 
 mo of his conronna- 
 is gravely to ilffeiid 
 a third, disagrecini; 
 
 to place it in an iii- 
 
 adaptatioii between 
 5 spectacle — the ob- 
 jtive. Whether, ac- 
 leory, distortion is to 
 
 in the abstract, be- 
 ction to the individual 
 pinion of the majority 
 t, wo bhall leave to 
 and proceed to make 
 ig remarks on some 
 hich, we opine, the 
 fied readers will dis- 
 ihey dissect not their 
 
 St natural quarter in 
 ak for an illustration 
 
 the inanimate world ; 
 not be in vain. All 
 3 created this glorious 
 
 earth, the blue heav- 
 ilars ! On the mouni- 
 tho still valley— on 
 r on the richly culii- 
 ii\ifestation3 of bc;vuiy 
 mfront the beholder at 
 sting tho eye over a 
 I love — where " water- 
 x\ islands green," and 
 ith leafy shade — where 
 ilh a thousand songs, 
 quent — where the em- 
 aradually 'nto the dim 
 , hill — we become in- 
 issed with a sensation 
 jd'ass in which of the 
 ;ture the charm lies, or 
 3re removed, our admi- 
 minished, wo acknov/1- 
 
 loveliness — herein we 
 if beauty from nature's 
 
 Who can measure the 
 ice of the contemplation 
 Yet it is not in the ag- 
 t this quality is found ; 
 e butterfly or the petal 
 iV displays its existence 
 
 STRAY THOUGHTS ON THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 909 
 
 as the wide-spread and complicated pros- "cao w chant or el j ^^^^ 
 
 pect. Storm.s have their I'f"'^;/'^^';! f^.^^TtrslndC^ P^^^ the tombs of 
 'gramleur. their sublimity ; and could tha ; 2 ^V^ t fa elmecture i. magnifi- 
 strong antagonistic feeling wliu wo ^» , »J>"^ ""^^ (5^^^^ „ ^j,,^, ^f preservation 
 
 possess, in the tear of personal danger be , cen , ^ "^ . ^^^^^^J^^ eharm of 
 
 'subdued, doubtless their f ""'^''"Pl'^ \"" "'. , r,f o exp' ^ "l" i'« 
 
 would be as grateful as ^ f^//, ""^''^ I S^^'.^^^^^^ 
 
 scenes. ^'l-J-^^ ^ j-,^,J;r-wh n. n sTSi'ere or there marking their last re.t- 
 well as sound; and at tunes wucn. '" , ..m . (^ ,„,Hm is throwing 
 
 U,„ sk...p., (.«.««., .1.0 woria »■■■'»•";«•• '^-fc"^ liJi 1 o,,8l. .1.0 .n-»ivc .u.J 
 
 poured upon the Sybarite. H'^t the 
 mmlity of which we speak exists in all the 
 works of God, can not for a moment be 
 doubted ; but it is to be found in varying 
 diM-ree in difleront objects ; and thus, by 
 contrast, tho eflecl of its abundant presence 
 is heightened— sunshine for cloud— llie 
 oasis for the desert—" L>.'auty for ashes. 
 
 There is a beauty general and a beauty 
 individual, or particular. Certain scenes 
 are of audi a d.-scripiion as at once to 
 excite in the bosoms of spectators, con- 
 stituted as ordinary mortals, emotions ol 
 delight— they overpower, they silence, 
 
 1 1 i__!^~*:,..» <^>ii-\ii I'll I (\ tilG 
 
 impressed with delightful awe, and pro- 
 nounce it beautiful. In what does it con- 
 sist ^ Not in association alone ; lor were 
 tho process of decay somewhat further ad- 
 vanced, the inflnence^sf association, though 
 
 still as powerful, woi .Id not sullice to call 
 up the same pleasurable feeling. Not in 
 tho naked aspect of the scene alone ; for 
 that, without something more, would give 
 but a soulless delight, while, in advenliiious l| 
 circumstances, no innate charm can lie. 
 Search, ve wi . en, and tell wbere>n 
 consists the eleu ^n. o\' beauty ! 1 hanks 
 in«..u«, be to God, the peasant can feel its power, 
 „...o-- - . . . „,„,,•... To the though unaided by philosophy, 
 they lead admiration captn e. 1 o o beauty in all the living works 
 
 Englishman and to tho native of somo | \^^"l^^ ^ ^ ^ird, and beast, and 
 foreign clime, they, upon the ^^^'^-^^'f^JZ^^^^^^^^ 
 
 prindples of human nature, appear equa ly ^^^^r ^ ^'^ =^ ^^j ,„„i,,,t to which 
 
 leautilul-the vale of Tempe wo dd pre- Ay.^" '^"^ '^^ P ^^^jj , „,„,, ,1, 
 sent tho same attractions to the visiter of ««]»' ° " j . 5 ^-^^^ J- y^j, Ughi re- 
 to-dayasitdidtohimofgeneratious go ismo^^^^^^^^ an agonic™ of shade, there is 
 AnotLr scene, again has a locaUpm.de q« re he an^g^^^ ^ ^^^ ^_^ 
 to tho individual beholder ; ''"'^ *^" f/M ?'," hers tell us that we have the perfec- 
 iuferior to many m charms or i«=^""'f "^'"SnWsical beauty in his intellectual 
 of charms altogether, yet m his eyeath tmn pljy ^^^^,^ ^J^.,^^^^ ,„,,„,,,,„, 
 
 holds in her bosom no spot halt so loveiy. i ihin<r which is not matter ; 
 
 Some little incident if his isolated history ^J ^^^'/^^^j^Ji' ,„„,,i eonstitution, are 
 
 investing with a s(ml each fea ure the ^h^'^' ^J^J , ^f sunshine-fitful, in- 
 
 landscape. changes his estimate, and en- to be ,omut g ^^^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^ 
 
 dears it all. The favored inhabitant of the ^«"^J;y^\^7 There is a beauty in the 
 
 sunny south sees not more beau y in his to be prized, ine 7 . , . 
 
 blossomy land, than does the Norseman 
 in his steril shores and pine-clad mount- 
 It con- 
 
 march of the man who, returning amid the 
 glad welcomings of thousands from elfect- 
 ing his country's deliverance, and crown- 
 ed with the garlands of victory, is content 
 
 "'There is a beauty '^^'VP^f °„„/J, "J^; 1 ^"tr'thrtribul^^^ra naUon's gratitude, 
 sists not in association alono-not n the wim .^ ^^^^ ^^^^^ 
 
 
(.#*? 
 
 ...*•<■»» 
 
 ^^m 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 
 1000 
 
 THOUGHTS ON WINTER. 
 
 trmntations of want, which bcGCt him at 
 every step. There is a beauty m the 
 character of the moralist, who enunciates 
 hi.rh problems pregnant with interest to 
 society, and who casts generously upon 
 iho world the products of his great mind, 
 replete with instruction and refinement to 
 mankind— legacies inexhaustible, univer- 
 sal. And there is a beauty, too, in the 
 walk of the simple peasant, who, with his 
 Bible in his hand, strives in all things to 
 conform in his conduct to the will ot the 
 Supreme, and, unlearned though he be, 
 yet knows enough to make hun love lus 
 neighbor as himself. There is u beauty 
 in the merry laugh of light-heaited youth, 
 as vet untainted by guile, and fresh as a 
 I^Iay m.;rning. There is a beauty also in 
 the holy tear of the stricken penitent 
 which tells of the casting out of the evil 
 
 spirit. ., 
 
 There is a beauty in woman, bmile 
 not, most galant reader, at this sapient 
 truism. The rank heresy of even lor a 
 moment imagining that a fact, indubitable 
 as the nersonal charm of woman is, can 
 re.uure'ainrmation, we mean not to bo 
 jruilty of— it is of her moral attractions 
 we now speak. The power of the female 
 character for good who can estimate ! the 
 mim! .r of woman's melting chanties, in 
 the palace and in the cottage, who can 
 count! Truly was she formed an help 
 meet unto Adam— smoothing asper-'.y, 
 liffhtening sorrow, gladdening joy— a per- 
 sonification of the beautiful, the contem- 
 plation of which corrects, elevates, re- 
 fines Whether it be the ivory brow 
 circled with sparkling diadem, or the sun- 
 burnt forehead wreathed with rushes from 
 the brook, the impress of beauty is there, 
 rt.iecting the moral loveliness that uwells 
 
 within. , T? „ 
 
 G aze we upon the works of man ? 1:. ven 
 there is to be found ample food for ad- 
 miration. Not alone in the stupendous 
 pyramids, seemingly the memorials ot 
 coniaint power and folly— not alone m the 
 most finished edifices of stateliest archi- 
 tecture— nor in the classic productions oi 
 master pencils— nor in the bright com- 
 positions of inspired minds, is beauty to 
 be discovered ; but in every raossgrown 
 ruin and tenantless hall are gems to bo 
 met with— flowers with fruits, the admira- 
 
 ' ble with the admonitivo. Wo might pro- 
 ceed to enumerate beauty in a thousand 
 shapes in nature, in art, in man's moral 
 bein<', but we retrain. Ml the glory of 
 ihis^arlh, and of what it contains, is but 
 a mirrored reflection, not an innate (piality. 
 J In the sunshine of its Creator's smile, it 
 I uoars a pleasing aspect, and, in the words 
 of old Spenser, let it be:— 
 
 That, with the ^-lory of so goodly sight, 
 
 The lienrw of men. llint fonillv hero ndniiro 
 
 Fnir seemiiis; shows, niul feed on vaiii doliglit. 
 
 Transported with celestial desiro 
 
 or those fair forms, may lift ihei.isclvos in) Inglier, 
 
 And learn to love, with patient, Imnihle duty, _^ 
 
 Tlic ICternal Fountain of that heavenly beauty. 
 
 THOUGHTS ON AVINTER. 
 
 GETS have number- 
 ed among the felicities 
 of the golden age ar. 
 exemption from the 
 change of seasons, and 
 a perpetuity of spring ; 
 but wo think that they 
 have not made sufli- 
 cient provision for that 
 insatiable demand for new gratifications 
 which seems particularly to characterize 
 the nature of man. Our sense of dcligh 
 is in a great meas.ro comparative, and 
 'arises at once from the sensations winch 
 we feel, and those which we remeinber. 
 Thus ease after torment is pleasure for a 
 time, and we are very agreeably recreated 
 when the body, chilled with ihe weather, 
 is gradually recovering its natural tepidity , 
 but the joy ceases when we have forgotten 
 the cold : we must fall below ease again, 
 if we desire to rise above it, and purchase 
 new felicity by voluntary pam. It is 
 therefore not unlikely, that however the 
 fancy may be amused with the description 
 of regions iu which no wind is heard but 
 the gentle zephyr, and no scenes are dis- 
 played but valleys enamelled with un- 
 fading flowers, and woods waving their 
 perennial verdure, we should soon grow 
 weary of uniformity, find our thoughts 
 languish for want of other subjects, call 
 on heaven for our wonted round of seasons, 
 and think ourselves liberally recompensetl 
 for the inconveniencies of summer and 
 
 1 
 
 J 
 
THOUGHTS ON WINTER. 
 
 1001 
 
 vo. Wr might pro- ' 
 cauty in a tlioiis;iiul 
 art, in man's moral 
 1. All tho glory of 
 at it contains, is but 
 not an innate (luality. 
 s Creator's smile, it 
 ect, and, in the words 
 be:— 
 
 io goodly sit'lit, 
 fondly lici-o ndniirn 
 rt fccil on vain dollglit. 
 ial desire 
 
 f lift ilR'insidvo3 np liigher, 
 pationt, luiniMc duty, 
 )f ihat heavenly beauty." 
 
 ON WINTER. 
 
 DETS have number- 
 ed among the felicities 
 jf tho golden age ar. 
 exemption from tho 
 change of seasons, and 
 a perpetuity of spring; 
 but wo think that they 
 have not made suffi- 
 cient provision for that 
 for new gratifications 
 cularly to characterize 
 Our sense of delight 
 j^ro comparative, and 
 I vhe sensations which 
 3 which we remember, 
 rmenr is pleasure for a 
 ery agreeably recreated 
 illed with ihe weather, 
 ring its natural tepidity , 
 when we have forgotten 
 t fall below ease again, 
 ) above it, and purchase 
 voluntary pain. It is 
 kely, that however the 
 scd with the description 
 :h no wind is heard but 
 and no scenes are dis- 
 ^s enamelled with un- 
 nd woods waving their 
 1, we should soon grow 
 nity, find our thoughts 
 t of other subjects, call 
 wonted round of seasons, 
 es liberally recompensed 
 liencios of summer and 
 
 winter, by new perceptions of the calnr.- 
 ^ess and .nildniss of the intermediate 
 
 ^T;:?'se-n has its particular po.c: 
 of.tnkmgthemind. The nakedness and 
 iispeviiy of the wintry world hll tho be 
 ho derli.h pensive and 1- """'^ ^ "^^ 
 i.hment;.sthe vanely of the scene s 
 lessened, its grandeur is increased , anU 
 lire muKl is swelled at once by .he m.nged 
 
 idea. .>f the present and the pasl-o c 
 beauties which have vanished Irom he 
 eyes, and tho waste and desolation tliat 
 are now before them. 
 
 Yet let us refiect on the blessings Heaven 
 cranls ue :tt this season, which appears to 
 Leo severe. The frost and cold prevent 
 ma-iy hurtful vapors in the higher regions 
 of iho afnosphere from falling upon us, 
 and eveti purify the air. Far from being , 
 always bad ior our health, it o ten strength- 1 
 ens It, and preserves the humors Iron, 
 putrefaction, which a constant heal wou j | 
 cu-lainiy occasion. It the vapors which , 
 collect lu the atntosphere were '^l^' ays to 
 f«)l m r.in, the earth would be too oft 
 and wet, our bodies would be too full ol 
 humor, and too much relaxed ; whereas 
 tho cold braces and promotes tho circula- 
 tion of the blood. In very hot countries 
 and where the winters are rainy and we , 
 serious and mortal disease, are much 
 more frcpicnt than elsewhere. \Vc are 
 told by travellers, that in Greenland, where 
 the ground is covered with mountains ol 
 ice, aitd where, in winter, the days are 
 only four or five hours long, the air is 
 very wholesome, clear, and light; and 
 except a few complaints in the chest and 
 eyes (occasioned partly by the quality o , 
 the food), they have seldom there the , 
 disorders so common in Europe. Us 
 also certain that the constitution of tl it 
 human body varies according to ll.e .1 - 
 ferent climates; consequently the inhabit- , 
 ants of the northern countries have co.i- 
 stitutions adapted to exlremocold and are 
 generally strong and robust As man, 
 though active by choice, and though labor 
 iru'cessary to him, is still glad to inter- 
 rupthisenqdoyments to taste the sweets 
 of sleep; so also nature yields to the 
 charo .f seasons, and takes a pleastare 
 in i-: because, in reality it contributes 
 toward our wellaro and happiness. Al- 
 
 though our fields and gardens be buried 
 in snow, this is necessary, in order to 
 preserve them from tho cold, as well as 
 L prevent the grain from corrupting, riio 
 ground req.dres rest after having yieWed 
 in the summer -aX that we want lor the 
 winter. If our present wants had not 
 been provided for ; if in this severe season 
 we were obliged lo cviUivato the earth, 
 there might be some foundation for our 
 complaints. I3ut provision is made lor 
 these ; they are all stiiu'lied, and we enjoy 
 a repose suitable to the season. 
 
 To these advantages let us add what 
 has frequently been remarked, and is al- 
 ways very pleasatUly felt, that winter Ikis 
 becMi celebrated as the proper season for 
 n'erriment and gayety. VVe are seldom 
 invited by tho votaries of pleasure to ook 
 abroad for any other purpose than that we 
 may shrink back with more satisfaction to 
 ! our coverts, and, when we have heard the 
 Ihowl of the tempest and !elt the gnpe of 
 I tho frost, congratulate each other with 
 1 more gladness upon a close room, an easy 
 ' chair, a large fire, and a smoking dinner, j 
 Winter brings natural inducements to jol- i 
 lity and conversation. Diflerences we 
 now, are never so elVectually laid asleep, 
 I:" by some common calamity. An enemy 
 unites all to whom ho threatens danger. 
 Tie rigor of winter brings generally to 
 the satne fireside those who by the o> 
 
 nosition of inclinations, or dUlereuce ot 
 ^mryn>«"t. moved in various directions 
 5nrin<r the other parts of tho year ; and 
 wSthey have met, and find it t^heir 
 mti nferest to remain together, they 
 Lecomc endeared to each other by mutual 
 "omlances, and often wish »or the co, - 
 
 Snce of the social season, with all Us 
 
 bleakness and all its severities. 
 Id Johnson has remarked an advantage 
 
 of v4iter, whichmenofhisstampw.il 
 
 ?eclwh peculiar energy, and it is cer- 
 
 i :•;,; fout^ed on truth. ^^XT"^^ .t 
 'siudv and imag.nation," says he, tne 
 winter s genrr-;ily the chief time ol labor 
 gIo.:;!^ a.^ silence produce comp.^re^ 
 
 • mind and concentration ot ideas, ano > • 
 'Nation of external pleasure naturu.y 
 Luses an efi-ort to find enterta.nrn t w. h- 
 i„ This is tho season in «hich those 
 whom literature enables to find amuse- 
 ment for themselves have more than com- 
 
 
 esHftaw^siaiy^ 
 
1002 
 
 THE COMMONPLACE. 
 
 mon convictions of their own happiness. 
 Wlien they arc condemned by the c'.e- 
 ments to retirement, and debarred from 
 most of the diversions which are tailed in 
 to assist the (light of time, they can find 
 new subjects of inquiry, and preserve 
 themselves from that wearines-t which 
 hangs always flagging upon the vacant 
 mind." 
 
 The winter, however, diflers vnry es- 
 sentially in some countries. If w feel 
 ourselves disposed to compUiin, Kl us 
 consider the following facts, which rtlato 
 to a great part of those nations, which 
 •lave neither spring nor autumn. Tlv 
 i:oi't is as intolerable in .summer as the 
 cold Ui in w'f!' f The severity of the 
 latter is su^b Miu the spints of wine in 
 the thermome',( i fressv. When 'i'.e door 
 of a warni room u c^oaed, tho outward 
 a.r which comej i t irnw rd! the vapors 
 into snow, «rsd tl.i)i> mj oar like thick white 
 clouds. li .'.ny iok' goes out ol' the house, 
 he is almost siitrccatdd, and ihe air seems 
 to pierce through him. Everything ap- 
 pears dead, as nobody dares to venture 
 abroa(1 Sometimes the cold becomes so 
 inttnbc all of a sudden that, if they are 
 not saved in time, people are in danger of 
 losing an arm, a leg, or even their life. 
 The fall of snow is still more dangerous ; 
 the wind drives it with such violence that 
 nobody can find their way ; the trees and 
 bushes are covered with it, the sight is 
 blinded by it, and people sink into preci- 
 pices at every step. In summer it is con- 
 stantly light for three months, and in win- 
 ter it is perpetual night during the same 
 space of time. Those who complain of 
 the coM in our countries, seem not to know 
 our advantages. ^ 
 
 Yet we are mistaken if we suppose that 
 the inhabitants of the pole are unhappy 
 from the severity ard length of their win- 
 ter. Poor, yet exempt, through simplicity, 
 from all desires difficult to gratify, those 
 people live content in the midst of the 
 Tocks of ice which surround them, with- 
 out knowing the blessings which the south- 
 ern nations consider as an essential part 
 of their happiness. If the barrenness of 
 their soil prevents th .1 from having such 
 variety of production, i the earth as we 
 have, the sea is so mucu the more bounti- 
 ful in her gifts to them. Their way of 
 
 living inures them to cold, and enables 
 them to defy storms. As to p.irticuhir 
 resources, without which thuy could not 
 bear the rigor of the c!)!ii«t.\ n-iture pro- 
 vides them with abundanco. Thoir deserts 
 are full of wild beasts, whi..^9 fur proiects 
 them from cold. The .■eitKU<ir furnishes 
 them with fovl, drink ^ joJj, r.'')lho:v and 
 tents. These are most of their wants, 
 and it costs litlif trouble \ > get thtMn sup- 
 plied. When the sun does not rise with 
 then), thtiv are surrounded with darkness, 
 but i.;»tuio itself lights a torch lor thorn— 
 the auroia bore vlis bri>;htens their night. 
 Perhaps ^bese people coiDiider their coui 
 
 try as" the g.oattsi and happi-s' upon 
 earth, and may pity ui as mnrh as wo pity 
 them. 
 
 Winter, too, has its moral and religious 
 uses and lessons. There are the winter 
 of adversity, the winter of age, and the 
 winter of the tomb, of all which it speaks 
 and is the emblem. And there is no 
 season in which there are more pressing 
 calls for charity, an'l none in which the 
 rich ought to feel th; ir own comforts with 
 a gratitude more liveiy, and be conse(iucnt- 
 ly more disposed to exertions in favor of 
 the poor : — 
 
 " Soro pierced by wintry winds, 
 
 How many slirinli into the eonlid hut 
 
 Of checrlesg poverty ! . . 
 
 . . . Thought fond mnn 
 
 Of these 
 
 The conscious heart of charity would warm 
 
 And lier wide wish benevolence dilate." 
 
 THE COMMONPLACE. 
 
 is most likely his 1 
 any charicteristi- 
 distinguis'^ him ' 
 His counter •-'': 
 a short wai". 
 
 NY person who 
 looks around the 
 circle of his ac- 
 quaintance, will 
 find at least one 
 individual who 
 passed through 
 the world almost 
 unheeded ; for it 
 i.,'.)'tune not to jiossess 
 uiviininent enough to 
 .rt the rest of mankind, 
 is so commonplace, lliat 
 ly much frequented street 
 
 will show UH i. 'yast a half-dozen sets of 
 
1 to colJ, and enables 
 rms. As to piirticuhr 
 , whicli il(..y cov.iil not 
 the cliiiiiitr, n-iiuro pi'i- 
 undanco, Thoir dewerts 
 asts, whosa fur proi.octs 
 The iciiKUt!' furnishes 
 Irink, )'jd-t, t-'thc;., and 
 9 moat of iheir wants, 
 trouble ■. i get them sup- 
 ! Sim does not rise with 
 rrounded with diukness, 
 ights a torch for ihem — 
 s bri'^htens their niylii. 
 op'e consider their coun- 
 ;tav and h,!pj)i'-' upon 
 lym as mncli as wo pity 
 
 LS its moral and religious 
 
 1. There are the winter 
 
 winter of age, and the 
 
 h: of all which it speaHs 
 
 iloin. And there is no 
 
 there are more pressing 
 
 and none in which the 
 
 i their own comforts with 
 
 iveiy, and be conseqnent- 
 
 l to exertions in favor of 
 
 •reed by wintry winds, 
 ik into the sordid liut 
 'orty ! . . 
 I fond maa 
 
 cart of charity would warm 
 riah benevolence dilate." 
 
 THE COMMONPLACE. 
 
 1003 
 
 COMMONPLACE. 
 
 NY person who 
 looks around the 
 circle of his ac- 
 quaintance, will 
 find at least one 
 individual who 
 passed through 
 the world almost 
 unheeded ; for it 
 I'tune not to possess 
 ^ uuiinent enough to 
 fff un the rest of mankind. 
 ;c \9 80 commonplace, that 
 tuiy much frequented street 
 : least a half-dozen sets of 
 
 features of a similar cast. His height is | 
 80 very ordinary, thut at least thirty per 
 cent, of his fello- .--men measure the same 
 number of feet and inches. His shape is 
 neither handsome nor disproportioncd. 
 Had. indeed, he been blessed with a de- 
 formity, it would have set a mark upon him 
 by which he might have been known from 
 oihor persons of his own age and status 
 
 Nor is it his outward aspect only which 
 herds an individual of this class with 
 the multitude. There is as little to dis- 
 tinguish him from the mass in his mmd 
 as in his person. He has neither ambition 
 nor energy to dart ahead of the crowd 
 He does exactly as other people do, and 
 would not do anything which other people 
 do not do for the world. He is timid, 
 reserved, and apparently grave. Of con- 
 versation he has liule, and it requires a 
 strong stimulant to set his tongue in mo- 
 tion: argument is of course quite out ot 
 the question with a man who seldom has 
 courage to differ aloud with the most ex- 
 travagant opinions. Though he never 
 asks questions, he will answer them ; but 
 when he does, he is sure to tell you some- 
 thing you know already. As the snail 
 comes out when it is touched, and again 
 retires into its shell, so do the common- 
 place require to be stimulated by a ques- 
 lion ere they will " come out." Having 
 spoken, they shrink back under the crust 
 of conscious insignificance. 
 
 Despite all these defects, however, the 
 commonplace are among the most useful 
 members of society, only their usefubess 
 begins where that of more brilliant spirits 
 ends. Feeling their general deficiencies, 
 they court favor by doing what a great 
 many other people decline. In fact it is 
 only their readiness to oblige— their un- 
 failing good-nature, which prevents them 
 from being utterly overlooked and neg- 
 lected. When, for instance, a party is 
 being made up, Mr. Nobody is added to , 
 the list of guests because vaere is some 
 old lady to see home. He is always 
 ready to carve, so is asked out to dinner 
 now and then. When three persons are 
 inclined to have a game at whist, ho is 
 preferred to "dummy;" or when seven 
 want to dance a quadrille, he is asked to 
 join merely because he makes the eighth. 
 He is invited to pic-nics for the sole reason 
 
 64 
 
 that his contributions will increase the 
 stock of champagne, and reduce to each 
 paying member of the party a proportion 
 of ..te general expenses. Besides his 
 uses in these respects, the commonplace 
 man is of signal service at the social board 
 and in the midst of conversation, for this 
 seemingly paradoxical reason ; he seldom 
 talks himself. If every convive were a 
 wit, a genius, or a philosopher, there 
 would be no contrast, no relief; like a 
 play, all of whose characters are kings, 
 or a picture, with all lights and no shadows. 
 Hence the commonplace perform an im- 
 portant part in a social tableau; they 
 harmonize contrasts ; they are the neutral 
 tints which blend the high lights of intel- 
 lect with the deep shadows of stupidity. 
 Where there are voluble talk^^rs, they are 
 invaluable ; they listen well, and relieve the 
 monotony of a long story by exclamations 
 which encourage the narrator, and which 
 no one else will condescend to make ; 
 such as .. indeed !"—" really !"-" how 
 strange !"—" remarkable !" with a care- 
 fully nursed and very impressive " extra- 
 ordinary !" for the catastrophe. Again, 
 the commonplace man never winces at 
 a sly jest whicli may be aimed at him. 
 Indeed he rather likes it— he is delighted 
 to be tanen notice of on any terms. 
 
 To all rules there are exceptions ; and 
 a few of the commonplace make desperate 
 struggles to be known and distinguished 
 from the general herd. Some adopt a 
 conspicuous style of dress ; others eccen- 
 tricity of manners. They often try to 
 disgnise the hopeless commonnoss of their 
 figures by means of odd-shaped hats, many 
 hued waistcoats, and curiously-colored 
 gloves. It has often been a matter of sur- 
 prise what becomes of certain extraordi- 
 nary cravats and stocks one sees display- 
 ed in hosiers' shops : some of an ultra 
 cerulean blue, spangled all over wjih gilt 
 stars. Observation, however, will show 
 that they are manufactured for the com- 
 monplace, who alone are seen to wear 
 them. Even these expedients are often 
 found to fail, and the victims of Nature s 
 impartiality occasionally call m her aid to 
 help them out of the crowd into which 
 they feel themselves to be so firmly 
 I wedged. They let their hair grow to in- 
 ordinate lengths, coax their whiskers into 
 
 S4**^ 
 
mm 
 
 1004 
 
 IIFB WITHOUT AN AIM. 
 
 •trange shape., while those who are very 
 bold indeed mount mustaches. In nine 
 cases out of ton, however, not one of these 
 exnedicnts succeed, and even in the tithe 
 of instances in which the object is gained, 
 the notice attracted is seldom of a flatter- 
 
 *" Another extrinsic expedient resorted to 
 bv the commonplace is that of taking unto 
 ihemselveshigh-soundingChristiannames. 
 Whether the extreme prevalence ol the 
 name of " Smith" gives rise to the nolu.n, 
 or whether it be a fact, can not be decided , 
 but ceriain it is. that this popular cognomen 
 and commonplace peo|)le are very gen- 
 erally associated. At a random, but mod- 
 erate compulation, at least a moiety of the 
 commonplace are called " Smith." Out 
 of this legion a few of the bolder spirits, 
 scorning the shackles of non-individuality j 
 .which this name fastens to them, put a 
 .p^face of prenomes to that «hich they | 
 inherit from their ancestors. This, then, 
 accounts for the frequent occurrence of 
 » Constantine Agrippa." " Mackenzie Mac- 
 kintosh," "Pelham de Crespigny, and 
 a hundred equally euphonious prefixes, 
 which end like the bathos of an extrav- 
 agant poem, in the surname Smith 
 Upon paper, this expedient answers. So 
 loSg as the writer of the classical or 
 aristocratic signature keeps out of sight, 
 yorimagination is very likely to picture 
 lim as something more »han common 
 His high-sounding names make a grea 
 effect in advertisements, p ay-bills, and 
 the prospectuses of joinl-stock companies ; 
 but once get introduced to bim-once 
 sund face fo face with him. and the ^rand 
 associations called up by his Christ a„ 
 names whea in print, vanish l^e the 
 .'baseless fabric of a vision. His ap- 
 pearance, manners, and co«versation. are 
 Jerhaps so intensely commonj^ace that 
 
 have described are useless. The real y 
 commonplace will be commonplace m 
 spite of the most persevering f "'gf «' «« 
 long as the^e efforts are directed to mere 
 externals. It is only by me«>«\«"X^; 
 and the cultivation of mtellect. that their 
 emancipation is to be worked out. 
 
 LIFE WITHOUT AN AIM. 
 
 Those of us who are familiar with the 
 shore, may have seen, attached to the 
 inundated reef, a creature, whether a plan 
 or animal you could scarcely tell, rooted 
 to the rock as a plant might be, and twirl- 
 ins its long lentacula as an animal would 
 do This plant-animal's life is somewhat 
 monotonous, for it has nothing to do but 
 erow and twirl its feelers, float m the tide, 
 or fold itself up on its foot-stalk when that 
 tide has receded, for months and years 
 together. Now, would it not be very dis- 
 mal to be transformed into a zoophyte T 
 Would it not be an awful punishment, 
 with the human soul still in us, to be 
 anchored to a rock, able to do nothing but 
 spin about our arms or fold thom up again, 
 , and knowing no variety, except when the 
 receding ocean left us in the daylight, or 
 the returning waters plunged us into iJie 
 I green depths again, or the sweeping tide 
 I brought us the prize of a young periwinkle 
 or an invisible star-fish? But what better 
 is the life we are spontaneously leading • 
 What greater variety marks our existence, 
 than chequers the life of the sea-ane,mone? 
 Does not one day float over us after an- 
 other, just as the tide floats over it, and 
 find us much the same, and 1««:\7» ^;;&";^ 
 tating still? Arewemoreusefu ? What 
 real service to others did wo render yester- 
 day ? What tangible amount of occupa- 
 tion did we overtake in the one hundred 1 
 and sixty-eight hour, o: which last week 
 consisted? And what higher end in 
 living have we than that polypus? We 
 eo through certain mechanical routines 
 of rising, and dressing, and visiting, and 
 dining, and going to sleep again ; and are 
 a little roused from our usual lethargy by 
 the arrival of a friend, or the effort needed 
 to write some note of ceremony. But as 
 it courtesies in the waves, and vibrates its 
 exploring arms, and gorges so^e dainty 
 medusa, the sea-anemone goes through 
 nearly the same round of pursuits and 
 enioyments with our intelligent and im- 
 mSl self. Is this a life for a rational 
 and responsible creature to lead 1 
 
 If we had no faults ourselves we should 
 not take pleasure in observing those ol 
 others. 
 
 I 
 
 '*«•« 
 
PHOUT AN AIM. 
 
 vho are familiar with the 
 ) seen, attached to the 
 creature, whether a plant 
 juUl scarcely tell, rooted 
 plant might be, and twirl- 
 iciila as an animal would 
 animal's life is somewhat 
 it has nothing to do but 
 18 feelers, float in the tide, 
 on its foot-stalk when that 
 sd, for months and years 
 , would it not be very dis- 
 iformed into a zoophyte ? 
 be an awful punishment, 
 n soul still in us, to be 
 ack, able to do nothing but 
 jrms or fold thom up again, 
 ) variety, except when the 
 left us in the daylight, or 
 waters plunged us into the 
 »ain, or the sweeping tide 
 prize of a young periwinkle 
 star-fish? But what better 
 ire spontaneously leading? 
 ■ariety marks our existence, 
 the life of the sea-aneinone? 
 
 day float over us after an- 
 the tide floats over it, and 
 he same, and leave us vti^e- 
 \re we more useful ? What 
 others did wo render yester- 
 tangible amount of occupa- 
 >vertak« in the one hundred 
 It hourf o" which last week 
 And what higher «nd in 
 re than that polypus? We 
 certain mechanical routines 
 i dressing, and visiting, and 
 oing to sleep again ; and are 
 I from our usual lethargy by 
 a friend, or the effort needed 
 5 note of ceremony. But as 
 in the waves, and vibrates its 
 ,ns, and gorges some dainty 
 
 sea-anemone goes through 
 iame round of pursuits and 
 with our intelligent and im- 
 
 Is this a life for a rational 
 ble creature to lead t 
 
 no faults ourselves we should 
 easure in observing those of 
 
 DECEMBEH. 
 
 ions 
 
 DECEMBEH. 
 
 B>5^ HIS month still re- 
 |*\ tains itsoriginal name, 
 derived from the Latin 
 words decim and «ot- 
 ber, although its place 
 in the calendar is dif- 
 ferent from that ori- 
 ginally assigned to it. 
 Bv our Saxon ancestors it was styled 
 Wintcr-monat, i. e. winter-month : upon 
 their conversion toChristianity,they named 
 
 it Heligh-monat, or holy-month. 
 
 >v 
 
 the mole, keep close in their winter-quar- 
 ters in the northern regions, and sleep 
 away great part of the season. 
 
 " Hedgehogs," says Mr. Kiiapp," were 
 formerly an article of food ; but this diet 
 was pronounced to be dry, and not nutri- 
 tive, ' because ho puttclh fortli so m;iny 
 prickles.' This liillo quadruped, upon 
 suspicion of harm, rolls itself up in a 
 ball, hiding his nose and eyes in the 
 hollow of his sliimach, and thus the com- 
 mon organs of perception— hearing, si'C 
 ing, and smelling— are precluded from 
 action ; but by the sensibility of the spin*'*, 
 he seems fully acciuainled with every dan 
 
 Jhe changes which take P^^ce m he ^at may threaten him, and upon any 
 
 face of nature during this «'«".l»'."« ' »« ^i^^mpt to uncoil himself, if these spines 
 
 V advances in the prog- l\ .'.,.„, . „ ;...„...,ii,.,..|„ r.uracts. as- 
 
 more than so many advances in the prog 
 ress toward universal gloom and desola- 
 tion : — 
 " No mark of vegetable life \r seen, 
 
 No bird to bird repeaU liw tuneful caU. 
 Bavii Uie dark leaves of somo rudo Lwergreen. 
 
 Save the lone rcdbreaat<».tl.c "O" B^^^g^^JJ^ 
 
 The day now rapidly decreases; the 
 weather becomes foul and cold ; and, as 
 Shakspere expresses it— 
 
 " Tlic rain and wind beat dark December." 
 
 Several of the wild quadrupeds now 
 take to their winter concealments, which 
 they seldom or never quit during the win- 
 ter Of these, some are in an absolutely 
 torpid or sleeping state, taking no food for 
 a considerable time ; others are only 
 drowsy and inactive, and continue to feed 
 on provisions which they have hoarded 
 up In our climate few become en- 
 tirely torpid. Bats do so, and retire early 
 
 be touched, he inmiediately retracts, as 
 suming his globular form again, awaiting 
 a more secure period for retreat." 
 
 Little was known of tlie habits of rhe 
 mole, until M. St- Hilaire, the eminent 
 French naturalist, brought to light some 
 interesting particulars concerning this little 
 animal : the manner in which she forms a 
 receptacle for her young is very curious : 
 in order to render the receptacle which 
 she and her young occupy, not liable to 
 be injured by the rain, she makes it al- 
 most even with the ground, and higher up 
 than the runs, which servo as channels to 
 carry oflf the water. 
 
 The place of her abode is chosen with 
 the greatest care, generally constructed at 
 the foot of a wall, or near a hedge or tree, 
 where it has no chance of being broken 
 in. The nest for the young is composed 
 of blades of wheat, with which the mole 
 
 dy torpid Bats "X'r'thev remain forms a sort of mattrass. The power o 
 to caves and holes, ^^"^/W^'Jf 'J Smelling in the mole is very acute, and 
 the whole winter, suspended ^X .^'»« '""* ^ "e.f.e in all probability directs her it. 
 
 feet, and closely -"Pf^^ "P ^ '^J^; ! the sTrc i of food. Her Larch for prey 
 branes of the fore feet. As ^beir food is '" ^ , ■ ^,,^ „,„,„i„g a„d 
 
 starved, did not nature thus render food, 
 uimecessary for them. Dor-mice also he 
 torpid the greater partof the winter, though 
 they lay up sUires of provision. A warm 
 day sometimes revives them, when they 
 cat a little, but soon relapse into their 
 former condition. , ^ , i 
 
 Squirrels, and various kinds of field 
 
 usually feeding, and whose means of sub 
 sistencc must be greatly increased by this 
 little animal driving worms to the surlace 
 of the earth. 
 
 The early vegetables which now flour- 
 ish are the numerous tribes of mosses, and 
 the lichens or liverworts. The mosses 
 nut forth their singular and minute part 
 
 
 i 
 
lOOG 
 
 THE CHETAH. Ott HUNTING LEOPARD. 
 
 ,■>«? 
 
 nature is J. ad to him. Lichens cover the 
 ditch banks, and other neglected spots, 
 with a lealher-like siibst u.cc, which in 
 some countries serve as lood both to men 
 and cattle. The rein-derr U.-.lieu is the 
 erratest treasure of the .,.oa,- '-apknc. is 
 who dejend upon r- m the » in ort of 
 their oily species oi domeBiic cattle, du- 
 ring th lir tedious win ers. 
 
 On the twenty-^ijcond of December hap- 
 pens the wintur soWtice, or shortest day ; 
 when the sun is iiardly ten hours above 
 the horizon. 
 
 The farmer has little to do out of door< 
 in the course of this month. His chief 
 attention is bestowed upon the feeding 
 and n'nnnjjement of his cattle, and various 
 matters <!' household economy. 
 
 The festival of Christmas occurs very 
 seasonably, to cheer this comfortless pe- 
 riod of the year. Great preparations are 
 made for it in the country, and plenty of 
 rustic dainties arc provided for its celebra- 
 tion according to the rights of ancient hos- 
 pitality. Thu'? the old year steals away 
 scarcely marked and unlamented ; and a 
 new one begins, with lengthening flays 
 and brighter skies, inspiring fresh 1 jpes j 
 and pleasing expectations ; — 
 
 " MysteriouB round ! what skill, wiiat force divine, 
 tleep felt, in the no appear; a simple train; 
 Yet »o delightful, mixed with such kind art, 
 Such beauty and bonoficence combined! 
 Shade, unperccived, bo softtM.ing intoBhade; 
 And all io forrainR an har ionious whole. 
 Th»i, aa they still 8ucc<;ed, they ravish still I 
 
 THE 
 
 a distil; » stripe of this color passes from 
 the inner angle of the eye to the mouth. 
 A thin hog-lik- mane runs down the back 
 of the neck. The forehead and outline 
 of the profile are onvpx ; the eye is very 
 fine, largf, lod expressive. 
 
 The mode of coursing with the chetah 
 is thus described: they are led out in 
 chains with blinds over their eyes, and 
 sometimes carried out in carts ; and when 
 antelopes or other deer are seen on a 
 plain, shonld any of them be separated from 
 the res» 'he chelah's head is brouglu to 
 ittcj it, t..<' blinds are removed, and the 
 chain taken off. He immediately crouches 
 and creeps along with his belly almost 
 touching the ground, until lie gels within 
 a short distance of the deer, who, although 
 seeing him approach, appears so fascina- 
 ted, that he seldom attempts to run away. 
 The chetah then makes a iew surprising 
 springs, and seizes him by the neck. If 
 many deer are near each other, hey often 
 escape by flight; their number giving 
 them confidence, and preventing their feel- 
 ing the full force of that fascination which 
 to a single deer produces a sort of panic, 
 and appears to divest him of the power, 
 1 or even inclination, to n i . ■■ ly or make 
 resistance. It is clear that they must 
 always catch thetn by stealth, or in the 
 iPftnner we have des( ibed, for the 'e 
 » 80 swift even af^ ';ommon deer. 
 To this account we may add that, ■ hould 
 the chetah n his aim, he desists from 
 further pursuit, and slinks ack to his 
 master, who replaces the hood, and re- 
 serves him for another chance. When he 
 is successfal, the ferocity of his nature at 
 once i\H\> .ys itself, so that, to reniver the 
 prey, the keeper is obliged to be ex me- 
 ly cautious, enticing him with meat c . ried 
 HF c;:. .tah is a na- for that purpose. 
 
 tivo of India, where i The chetai: (felisjnhata) belonirs to the 
 it is trained for the I typic.--l genus (Jelis) of the "can -osiers 
 chase ; and also of j of Onvier, though in one point it ffers a 
 '.;ght departure of form nom t! ffr'>">P 
 ' vh which it is associate , we all sde to 
 ! semi-retractih' mdition of the tlons. 
 we exaoiine th talons of the ''on or 
 I, er, we find thet' -apable f b> ug with- 
 drawn into a sheai so that unless when 
 brought into action mey are comple'ely 
 hidden. This retractabil 'y results from 
 the mechanism of the joint uniting the 
 
 CHETAH, ..U HINTING 
 LEOPARD. 
 
 Africa. It is as large, , 
 or nearly so, the ' 
 leopard, but is le 
 rior in height, m 
 to the length of its limbs, whiou ar« 
 slender and tapering ; its body also is less 
 robust. The fur is more than moderately 
 full, and of n yellowish fawn-color, beauti- 
 fully coveref^ with round black spots ; and 
 
ibis color passes from 
 the eye to the mouth, 
 lie runs down the back 
 ) forehead and outliii'i 
 nnvpx ; the eye is very 
 pressive. 
 
 ursing with the chetah 
 : ihoy are led out in 
 8 over their eyes, and 
 out in carts ; and when 
 r deer are seen on a 
 
 ■ them be separated from 
 h's head is brought to 
 < are removed, and the 
 le immediately crouches 
 
 with his belly almost 
 id, until he gets within 
 
 ■ the deer, who, although 
 ach, appears so fascina- 
 m attempts to run away, 
 makes a - w surprising 
 IS him by th< neck. If 
 ar each other, hey ofien 
 ; their number giving 
 »nd preventing their feel- 
 of that fascination which 
 iToducea a sort of panic, 
 ivest him of the power, 
 in, to n I ..■ ly or make 
 IS clear that they must 
 )in by stealth, or in the 
 I desc ibed, for thi- 'e 
 
 as common deer, 
 t we may add that, • houlil 
 hia aim, he desists from 
 and slinks ark to his 
 ilaces the hood, and re- 
 oiher chance. When he 
 5 ferocity of his nature at 
 elf, so that, to recover the 
 
 is obliged to be ex mo- 
 ing him with meat c , ried 
 
 felisjiihata) belonffs to the 
 ~elis) of the " can ssiers" 
 gh in one point it ffers a 
 ! of form irom t' 
 I associate , we al 
 i! iiidition of thti 
 
 tl talons of th<' 
 leii -apable f bt . _ 
 heat so that unless when 
 nion uiey are compie'ely 
 
 retractabii 'y results from 
 I of the joint uniting the 
 
 lo to 
 Jons, 
 on or 
 
 with- 
 
 ^ 
 
 » 
 
*m 
 
 1008 
 
 THE 8CIBNCE OF THR 8CRin'JKK9. 
 
 I isl phnlHngHl l.one to ih« one which l>re- 
 c,.Je« it. so that ih« former Imno which 
 is ....rtially enc.nedin the talon or hooked 
 
 nH.l, is u1Iow.m1 to pn« hy the inner side 
 ..I its prech-ccHsor. The retraction is in- 
 
 observation or erroneous views of inan, 
 not from any miHsintoinent or inaccuTacy 
 in the sacred record. 
 
 It has been said that the scriptttres con- 
 tain the germ of all true phiUwophy. 
 Most certain it is that science has grown 
 
 ul 113 iiii.tii « - ■■■' ,. Mn«t certain U is nm* oticiivu ••i." n 
 
 voluntarily effected by a ''»'«'"»'' ^""''^M ™X flourished almost exclusively 
 which acts as a sort of spring, and by tt^e ^.^^^^^^ ^^.^^^ ^^ mankind to 
 
 naiural action of the extensor muscles of 
 the fore-arm operating by - ms of tendons 
 „„ ihe bone, to which u.cso formulab e 
 engines are attached. Now, in the cholah, 
 the lal.ms are al best but pariinlly retractile 
 from the laxity of the li|,™"'^ ""i^"": 
 
 among thai favored portion of mankind o 
 whom the sacred writings have been made 
 known. These ennobling truths have ex- 
 punded the mind, sub-lucd the crude and 
 roaming intellect, nnd directed the judg- 
 ment to views both of physical and moral 
 
 ,ru... io« .u-v - - n . ,,„ .' 1 at nature, which have been conducive in tho 
 
 scquenily, are more worn and bU "tea at ^ ^^ ^^^ progress of civihza- 
 
 Ihe pointH ban is the case in the lion, | h s 
 
 tiger, or p.aiher ; besides this, the paw is 
 less rounded and cat-like, and, in fact, 
 more approaching that of the dog m its 
 ceneral lorm than is to be found in any 
 other of the genus. In anatomical con- 
 formation, however, as well as in disposi- 
 tion, the chelah is strictly feline. 
 
 THE SCIENCE OF THE SCRIPTURES. 
 
 tion. 
 
 Though the sacred writers on no occa- 
 sion professedly treat of natural science, 
 yet we find many allusions to the opera- 
 tions of nature scattered through their 
 pages. Much of the beautiful imagery .| 
 scripture, loo, is drawn from natural ob- 
 ieclB— the flowers of the field, the birds 
 of the air, and the beasts of the forest, are 
 all employed to illustrate and exalt the 
 ways of Providence with man. What a 
 treasure would be found could we recover 
 this day the lost treatises of Solomon 
 
 HRN we consider I on all these subjects ! 
 
 that the sacred wri 
 tings are specially 
 devoted to the mor- 
 al and spiritual con- 
 cerns of mankind, 
 we are not to look 
 into them for scien- 
 tific disquisitions, 
 much less for the explanation of many of 
 those deep mysteries— those ultimate cau- 
 ses, which 8«-.em beyond the grasp of the 
 human intellect, and were evidently iti- 
 tended to be for ever hid from man in his 
 sublunary condition. At the sarne time, 
 considering the highauthority of the scrip- 
 tures, when they do casually allude to 
 physical phenomena, we naturally expect 
 that no statements at variance with phys- 
 ical science shall be given. Accordingly, 
 we 
 
 Many illustrations might be given of the 
 accuracy of scientific allusions found in 
 scripture ; we shall select a few. 
 
 Solomon says (Ecclesia? s, i. 7), " All 
 the rivers run into the sea i yet the sea is 
 not full : into the place from whence the 
 rivers come, thither they return again. 
 This is just the modern explanation of atmo- 
 spheric evaporation. Clouds of moisture 
 rise from the ocean, float about in the at- 
 mosphere, descend in rain, and, collecting 
 into rivers, this moisture, after ministering 
 to plants and animals, flows again into the 
 I sea. From the expression, " there ariseth 
 a little cloud out of the sea" (1 Kings, 
 xviii. 43), and various other similar allu- 
 sions, it is perfectly evidtiil that tho sa- 
 cred writers were familiar with atmospher- 
 ic evaporation. Yet, at a comparatively 
 
 science shall be given. A««™" 87. '^ V'y;;^^ u was a favorite theory ot 
 we find that the language of «c"pture is | «^°J«^" PJj^^";- ^J^^ ^^e waters of the ocean 
 extremely guarded-we might almos say «^f ^^^'^ ''^^^^ ^he sea through 
 
 most wonderfully precise in tins parucur ™^d« '^^^^^^^^ Pj ^^^^^ . ,„d .^us Al- 
 
 and moreover, where there may appear a 
 discrepancy between its statements and 
 the phenomena of nature, that discrepan- 
 
 the porous sand and rocks ; and thus fil 
 tered, lost their saline particles, and then 
 issued as springs of fresh water from the 
 
 :%lrrsr::rrr.hrsd.=»i^ ^..^ .lae,. A„d .>.. ... 
 
oneoui Titwi of man, 
 aioment or inacturacy 
 
 rd. 
 
 ibat the scriptures con- 
 ■ all true philosophy, 
 that science has grown 
 sil almost exclusively 
 (1 portion of mankind to 
 writin);s have been made 
 nnobling truths have ex- 
 suhiluod tht crude and 
 , and directed the judg- 
 ih of physical and mural 
 re been conducive in tho 
 
 the progress of civiliza- 
 
 cred writers on no occa- 
 ireat of natural Hcience, 
 y allusions to the opera- 
 scattered through their 
 r the beautiful imagerv .1 
 drawn from natural ob- 
 rs of the field, the binh 
 le beasts of the forest, are 
 illuiiraie and exalt the 
 nee with man. What a 
 )e found could we recover 
 lost treatises of Solomon 
 jects ! 
 
 lions might be given of the 
 lentific allusions found in 
 ihuU select a few. 
 I (Ecclesiasi s, i. 7), "AH 
 iilo the sea ; yet the sea is 
 le place from whence the 
 lither they return again." 
 nodern explanation of atmo- 
 iiion. Clouds of moisture 
 cean, float about in the atr 
 iend in rain, and, collecting 
 I moisture, after ministering 
 nimals, flows again into the 
 s expression, "there ariseih 
 out of the sea" (1 Kings, 
 various other similar allu- 
 rfeclly evid«jiit that the sa- 
 ere familiar with atmospher- 
 ,. Yet, at a cc .iparaiively 
 , it was a favorite theory of 
 , that the waters of the ocean 
 ly up from the sea through 
 id and rocks ; and thus fil- 
 ir saline particles, and then 
 ngs of fresh water from the 
 a and sides. And this eX' 
 
 THK «JCIKNCE OF TIIK SCIUI'TURKS. 
 
 1 00'.) 
 
 :J 
 
 nlanalion was made to harmoniie with lh« 
 words of Solomon just quoted. Nothing 
 could be more incorrect than ihi.explana- 
 ,i„„, both in a chymical and mechanical 
 acceptation. Unchymical. ecau.e no fiU 
 tration will deprive watei .f salts dis- 
 solved in it by a chymical ao. Jtion-unme- 
 chanicul, because no fluids, even suppo- 
 sing a capillary attraction, will rise in 
 such quantities, or to such heights, con- 
 trary to the known laws of hydrostatics. 
 When clearer views of tho laws of evapo- 
 lion revealed the falsity of this theory, the 
 error was extended to Solomon also, al- 
 though it is evident that his statement 
 i acr* "» both with the actual process of na- 
 tiire, as well as with the latest and more 
 correct exposition of this process. 
 
 It is not a little remarkable to observe, 
 that Moses, in his detail of the animal cre- 
 ation, follows exactly the modem zoologi- 
 cal arrangement— that is, he begins with 
 the formation of the simplest animals, and 
 ascends in the scale according to the com- 
 nlexity of the higher structures. Now, it 
 is evident that Moses did not in this in- 
 stance adopt any cotemporary systmn 
 of zoology, because the system of the 
 Egvpiian priests, as far as we learn from 
 Pythagoras and Aristotle, who gleaned 
 part of their information from them, was 
 by no means so scientific. From Aristotle 
 downward, a very incomplete arrangement 
 of tho animal kingdom prevailed ; and, in 
 fact, it was not rill the time of Cuvier, in 
 the beginning of the present century, that 
 anything like a correct arrangement ol an- 
 imal beings was accomplished. Alter 
 lone and laborious researches made by 
 this great naturalist and his coadjutors in- 
 to the minute structure and comparative 
 anatomy of animals, a system was Iramed, 
 beginning with the simplest and lowest 
 forms of creeping things, and ascending 
 by a progressive scale to the most perit t 
 
 animals. . . , j „„ 
 
 Now, supposing an uninspired and un- 
 scientific person in the time of Moses to 
 have set about constructing an account ot 
 the creation, it is most likely that he would 
 have commenced with man and she high- 
 er animals, and gone on in the ■soending 
 scale— a system which was, indeed, fol 
 
 The spontaneous production ol animals 
 from the earth or soil without a parent, 
 and the equivocal production of new spe- 
 cies from the bodicn of other larger ani- 
 mals, were also drer ms of the pliilosoph.rs 
 of former days, and are indeed to some 
 extent prevalent in the present time. 
 Yet tho distinct succession of species 
 from parent species, is an express state- 
 ment of the scriptural narrative—" Lot 
 every plant and every animal brin<; forth 
 seed after its kind." The minute obser- 
 vations of tho microscope have, by pro- 
 digiously enlarging the field of vinion, 
 shown that the habits of even tho smallest 
 animal are perfectly in accordance with 
 this scriptural statement. 
 
 The distinction between matter and 
 spirit is repeatedly alluded to in the 
 sacred writings. The organization of tho 
 human body and its subsequent endow- 
 ment with life is also unequivocally slated. 
 " Tho Lord God formed man of ihe dust 
 of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils 
 the breath of life, and man became a living 
 soul." Theories of materialism have in 
 all ages been prevalent in opposition to 
 this view ; yet the phenomena of life can 
 never be satisfactorily explain d on the 
 supposition that it is the result of matter 
 alone. Tho physiologist must assume a 
 vital force, or power, or principle ; the 
 moralist a thinking principle or mind. 
 We can not look at the intelligent eye 
 
 we can not contemplate the motions 
 
 and actions of even the simplest animal 
 
 without being conscious ihat there is 
 
 something here more than in the rocks 
 and stones, and the inert and lilcless 
 matter around us. " Who knoweth the 
 spirit of man that goeth upward, and the 
 spirit of the beasl that goeth downward to 
 the earth?" (Ecclosiastes iii. 21.) "Or 
 ever the silver cord be loosed, or the 
 golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be 
 broken at the fountain, or tho wheel broken 
 at the cistern : then shall the dust return 
 to the earth as it was ; and the spirit shall 
 return mito God who gave it." (Ecclesi- 
 astes xii. 6, 7.) 
 
 When a seed of any plant, as wheat or 
 barley, is put into the ground and sub- 
 jected to the action of heat, moisture, and 
 
 ;em which was, indeed, lol- 'Jf;^"=" I" '"Vi„be or cotyledon immedi- 
 lowedby all the writers on animaU pre- , -J tgtS: to atume a nJw action. The 
 vious to the discoveries of Luvier. i »«'/ b 
 
 mtrnm 
 
 k&Mi 
 
1010 
 
 THE SCIENCE OF THE SCRIPTURES. 
 
 ^f:B% 
 
 Starchy matter of which the great bulk of 
 it is composed undergoes a chymical 
 change, and is speedily converted into a 
 half-liquid sugar ; in this state it affords 
 nourishment to the young and minute germ 
 in the centre, until this germ pushes out 
 roots into the surrounding soil. In this 
 respect the seed may be said to die, as Us 
 greater part passes from the oiganized 
 state under which it had hitherto resisted 
 decay, to the condition of inorganic or 
 dead matter. Any one may satisfy him- 
 self of this by pulling up a plant of wheat 
 or barley when it is about an inch above 
 ground ; the slough of the seed will then 
 be found attached with its centre collapsed, 
 and in a state of rottenness. Hence St. 
 Paul's comparison of the resurrection of 
 the body to the germination of a seed is, 
 in all that is necessary for such analogies, 
 scientifically correct : " That which thou 
 sowest is not quickened except it die 
 (1 Corinthians xv. 36.) We have tne 
 same comparison made by Christ himself: 
 " Verily, 1 say unto you, except a corn of 
 wheat fall into the ground and die, it 
 abidelh alono ; but if it die, it bnngeth 
 forth much fruit." (John xii. 24.) 
 
 By some flimsy and superficial cavillers, 
 these have been instanced as cases of the 
 little dependence to be placed in the sci- 
 entific accuracy of the Scriptures. Yet 
 (he speakers on these occasions were al- 
 luding to a fact which was within the 
 sphere of the least observant of their 
 hearers ; for if they examined a young 
 plant, " it may chance of wheat or of some 
 other grain," they could not fail to see 
 attached to the green budding germ the 
 remnants of the seed in a state of rotten- 
 ness and decay. ,.,,.. 
 The iacred writers frequently illustrate 
 their precepts by allusions to the scenery 
 and operations of nature. None are more 
 . frequent than references to the revolving 
 I seasons. "Spring time and harvest, 
 breathe of cheering hope and of promises 
 fulfilled. Iw "Palestine, and indeed m all 
 the warmer regions of the globe, the sea- 
 sons differ somewhat in their sequences 
 from what takes place in this country. 
 Along the whole southern shores of the 
 Mediterranean, and in the most fertile 
 parts of Asia, including Palestine, in con- 
 sequence of the early spi. ig, the grain 
 
 crops, as well as other fruits of the earth, 
 come early to maturity, so that harvest 
 comes on and is finished before midsum- 
 mer. Hence that scriptural simile, " the 
 harvest is past, the summer is ended, and 
 we are not saved," is strictly correct as to 
 the sequence of the respective seasons, 
 although it would appear an inaccurate 
 allocation of terms as applied to our north- 
 ern climates. 
 
 The scripture language is very guarded 
 with respect to all physical allusions be- 
 yond the sphere of our earth. The heaven- 
 ly bodies — the sun, moon, and stars — are 
 casually alluded to as objects displaying 
 the majesty of the Creator ; but astroni)my 
 was a field too wide and too remote fiom 
 tho moral wants of man to be entered into. 
 Any actual information regarding these 
 bodies, would perhaps have proved of too 
 distracting a nature for his present limited 
 sphere to be of any use. Wo accordingly 
 find, that when any allusion is made to 
 them, it is simply as they are seen by us. 
 Hence the sun is said to rise and set, just 
 in such language as is used at the present 
 day by the vulgar, as well as by the best 
 informed astronomers. And hence the 
 famed persecution of Galileo arose from 
 the bigotry of the age, and the supremacy 
 of the religion to which he belonged ; not 
 to anything in Scripture in the slightest 
 degree opposed to astronomical science. 
 
 This very reserve of the Scriptures on 
 all delicate points is an internal evidence, 
 among many others, of their authenticity 
 and high authority. They are as remark- 
 able for what they withhold as ior what 
 they i part. What mere mortal, in wri- 
 ting even on the most sacred subjects, is 
 not fond of a somewhat over display of 
 knowledge? Perhaps this accurate and 
 guarded language of scripture in all that 
 respects secular science, can not bo more 
 forcibly brought out than by contrasting it 
 with the writings of uninspired theologians. 
 We need only allude here to the books 
 called Apocryphal for examples of what 
 we mean ; and if we turn to the pages of 
 the early fatliers who wrote aficv the in- 
 troduction of Christianity, we s . 11 fii»d 
 that whenever these uninspired me.) touch 
 upon science, it is but the science of their 
 own day, and consequently full of all sorts 
 of errors and crudities. 
 
other fruits of the earth, 
 naturity, so that harvest 
 iinishod before midsum- 
 it scriptural simile, " the 
 ihe summer is ended, and 
 I," is strictly correct as to 
 ' the respective seasons, 
 lid appear an inaccurate 
 [)8 as applied to our north- 
 language is very guarded 
 all physical allusions be- 
 sf our earth. Theheaven- 
 iun, moon, and stars — are 
 to as objects displaying 
 le Creator ; but astronomy 
 wide and too remote fiom 
 I of man to be entered into, 
 brmation regarding these 
 lerhaps have proved of too 
 ture for his present limited 
 any use. Wo accordingly 
 n any allusion is made to 
 )ly as they are seen by us. 
 is said to rise and set, just 
 je as is used at the present 
 >ar, as well as by the best 
 inomers. And hence the 
 lion of Galileo arose from 
 he age, and the supremacy 
 to which he belonged ; not 
 Scripture in the slightest 
 1 to astronomical science, 
 jserve of the Scriptures on 
 ints is an internal evidence, 
 )lhers, of their authenticity 
 )rity. They are as remark- 
 they withhold as for what 
 What mere mortal, in wri- 
 he most sacred subjects, is 
 somewhat over display of 
 Perhaps this accurate and 
 lage of scripture in all that 
 ar science, can not bo more 
 ht out than by contrasting it 
 gs of uninspired theologians. 
 y allude here to the books 
 rphal for examples of what ,, 
 d if we turn to the pages of I 
 Brs who wrote aftcv the in- J 
 Christianity, we s 'H find 
 r these uninspired me.i touch 
 it is but the scionca of their 
 consequently full of all sorts 
 crudities. 
 
 
 FREEDOM OF THE MIND.-BORDEAUX. 
 
 101 
 
 1 
 
 After these examples of scriptural ac- 
 curacy, we ought surely to hesitate ere 
 we give way to skeptical doubts on any 
 adverse propositions. Such is the im- 
 perfection of human science, that every 
 new step we make in it is but the correc- 
 tion of an old error. We build up fabrics 
 of speculation to-day, which the facts of 
 to-morrow level with the dust ; whereas, 
 the dicta of scripture are the results of 
 infinite wisdom, and are founded on the 
 adamantine rock of ages. 
 
 Far be it from us, however, to seem to 
 damp the energies of scientific pursuit, or 
 to cast the slig'^test shade on the beauty 
 and utility of true science. The more 
 perfect that it becomes, the nearer will it 
 resemble that Divine Wisdom which at 
 first framed and continually upholds the 
 material universe. 
 
 FREEDOM OF THE MIND. 
 
 When the mind once tries its strength, 
 it can no longer be restrained. The at- 
 tempts to keep it down have served only 
 to render it, in most cases, from its native 
 elasticitv, the more impatient of these 
 restrictions. The civil arm has often been 
 exerted to establish the supremacy of some 
 one sect, which, in the struggles atid 
 revolutions of society, has happened to be 
 uppermost. It has put forth the power of 
 the laws. It has tested the efficacy of 
 pecuniary penalties. It has seen what im- 
 prisonment and torture would do. It has 
 kindled the flames of persecution; and has 
 tried the effect of fire upon the flesh, by way 
 of correcting the irregularities of the mind. 
 Every method which human ingenuity or 
 refined cruelty could devise, has been 
 attempted to restrain the inquiry of men ; 
 or rather to bring them to a conformity to 
 the predominant standard of religious doc- 
 trine. . . _^,. , ., 
 
 But it has all been in vain. With the 
 attempt to produce uniformity or conform- 
 ity of faith or worship, dissent and diver- 
 sity of opinion have increased. Some- 
 times such attempts have pp-'ially suc- 
 ceeded for a time, but the reaction in the 
 eud has always been proportioned to such 
 
 success. The human mind naturally re- 
 sists compulsion. 
 
 Men in general prefer to go wrong of 
 their own accord, rather than be compelled 
 to go any way at the will of another, who 
 they know has no rightful authority over 
 them. When you attempt to fcrce men 
 to believe a doctrine or rite, which does 
 not approve itself to their own jiidgment 
 or knowledge, you immediately invito them 
 to inquire into the authority of the one, or 
 the reasonableness of the other ; and in- 
 quiry under such circumstances commonly 
 leads to doubt, and doubt often leads to 
 dissent. If encroachment and intolerance 
 have led to dissent, these in their turn have 
 often prompted to further encroachments 
 and multiplied restraints on the freedom 
 of inquiry. 
 
 But all would not do. The thoughts 
 of men will be free. You can place no 
 restrictions on their inquiries, which the 
 mind will not sooner or later break through 
 or transcend. As it is said of an eminent 
 artisan, that as yet he nac found no vessel 
 strong enough to contain the powerful 
 steam which his ingenuity has taught him 
 the means of generating, still more may 
 it be said of the action of the human mind, 
 that it possesses in itself an expansive 
 force, which, when excited, will surmount 
 every artificial barrier. 
 
 BORDEAUX. 
 
 ORDEAUX is one 
 of the largest and 
 most beauliiul cities 
 of France. Many of 
 the streets, squares, 
 quays, public build- 
 ings, and private 
 % houses, of Bordeaux, 
 are remarkably fine, 
 and even magnificent, while they derive 
 additional splendor from the striking view 
 which they present from the river. The 
 stone bridge over the Garon..e is one of 
 the finest works of the kind on the conti- 
 nent, and is 531 yards in length, or one 
 third longer than London bridge. It has 
 seventeen arches, the seven central arches 
 
 
TIAHGAIN-HUNTERS. 
 
 1013 
 
 having each a span of ..c-hiy-seven fee . 
 the l>rea.liU belweu the parupels is ht y 
 fe..t anil iho roadway is nearly level. 1 rie 
 ditnoullies attending the «^«f "'! " , |^\'^ 
 hrid.^e was very great, owing to the depth 
 of the river, which in one part is tweniy- 
 1 feet at low.water. with a nsu,g «de 
 
 of from twelve to eighieen feet, and a 
 curre,.t which often Hows with the velocity , 
 of seven miles an hour; a.iu to add t 
 these obstacles, there .8 a shifting at^d 
 sandy bottom. The bridge v^as begun in 
 18U, and finished in 1824. 
 
 Several of the finest streets are lined 
 with trees, and form a fine P^me'.ado 
 Thus the Cours d'Albret is nearly half a 
 mile long, and the Cours du 'IN.urny and 
 1 Jardin Public for.n together a line 
 three quarters of a tnile m length lie 
 principal square is the Place Louis Phil- 
 llpe Premier, formerly Place Louis Seize 
 each side of which is a quarter of a mile 
 long. At one end it is open to the river , 
 
 on^the other it is "«TW^'i J is 
 Douze Mars, beyond which the place s 
 enclosed by a range of houses in the torm 
 of a crescent. On the sides plots of con- 
 siderable size are planted wUh trees, form- 
 ing the Alices Angouleme and de Berri 
 There are several other fine 8q""«« ^-^ 
 .. places." and a public garden. I he ex- 
 change and the <=»«»«7house. both fine 
 edifices, form two sides of t^e Pbc« , 
 Uovale The quays stretch to a great 
 Eh along the river, and have an ap- 
 
 nearance at once interesting and imposing 
 Thepublicbondiug-warehousesforcolonial 
 
 and other merchandise and produce are 
 Remarkable for their extent and beauty. 
 The principal theatre for size and mag- 
 nificeSce isScarcely exceeded by any m 
 Europe. Neither the cathedral nor the 
 ri6 el de ViUe are marked by any very 
 sinking features. Bordeaux ?0Bfe^^^^\ 
 the public establishments of a city of tke 
 
 ^''%tT.re a mint, an observatory, an! 
 acadcmie universiUiire, a ^oll^ge royal 
 schools of "chit^oture. hydrography and 
 navigation, botany and natural history, 
 drawinyr and painting, medicine and sur- 
 g"r severaUearned societies a public 
 library.museumof antiquities.and a gallery 
 
 "'Ce'aKu the chief ouaet of the south- 
 
 western and even of the southern and mid- 
 land parts of France, lis silualion on 
 the Garonne, not far from the estuary ot 
 the Gironde. which receives the waters 
 both of the Garonne and the Uor.logne, 
 gives to Bordeaux the advjuitag?. of nearly 
 one thousand miles of river naviaaiion 
 The Canal du Midi, 154 miles long, con- 
 nects the Garonne with the Mediterranean. 
 Bordeaux has always been celebrated for 
 its wines, which forms '.he staple article 
 of commerce. 
 
 BARGAIN-HUNTERS. 
 
 HERF is a large 
 class v\ persons who 
 are so inveterately 
 prone tobargain-hunt- 
 ing. that they jldorn 
 or never purchase 
 anything of an abale- 
 , ^ able natme which 
 
 ihev do not cheapen as much as possible. 
 Thfs h"bit is not so much attributable to 
 any lack of means in the buyers, as to a 
 childish love of obtaining a maximum 
 nuan ity at a minimum va'ne. which af- 
 ?ord them the additional gi-ification o 
 boastinK afterward of their bargains, and 
 comSenting themselves on their own 
 ' Swdness. Vithsuch persons the pur- 
 Sasc of .ixpennyworth of oranges is a 
 oagcily seized to gratify their av ntt 
 p Spensity as the order for a set of pi , 
 and wo have known instances of u.di- 
 vi'n, possessed of ample pecuniary re- 
 1 ou"c«. so confirmed in this habu^as to 
 wander In anxious uncertainty from stall 
 ' To ital before they could decide the mo- , 
 mentous question as to which was the 
 most eligible per-nyworlh of apples. 
 
 This habit^f bargain-huiUitig, while 
 W9 laugh at it for its folly, d^erves to be 
 renounced for its mischief. It holds out 
 ia Jremium to unfair trading, to trickeiy 
 I and lying : it is a cruel oppression of him 
 who buys upon him who sells, and power- 
 1 Tuny as^sists'n lowering the hard-earned 
 ' wages of the poor mechanic. The manu- 
 iFacfurer s compelled, ii. order to gra i y 
 I the morbid love of cheapness, to produce 
 
 MiLiiti ' niriiMMiinnmiiwr- 
 
1014 
 
 BARGAIN-HUNTERS. 
 
 goods of the most trashy and useless 
 description, and to reduce the wages of 
 those whom he employs to the lowest frac- 
 tion. The shopkeeper, in order to secure 
 this description of customers, is forced to 
 adulterate his articles ; to profess them to 
 be what he knows they are not ; to exert 
 himself, by short weight, lying puffs, in- 
 ferior substitutions, and a thousand un- 
 worthy artifices, to keep on a fair equality 
 with his neighbors. No sooner does a 
 new shop open, the owner of which pro- 
 fesses to sell cheaper than usual, than he 
 is patronised by the bargain-hunters, to 
 the great injury and often ruin of his more 
 conscientious, competitors. Whether he 
 himself ever intend to pay for his stock is 
 not inquired into ; whether he intend to 
 pursue an honest and honorable 'lourse is 
 held to be no business of the customers : 
 he sells cheapest, and this supersedes 
 every other consideration. The conse- 
 quence too often is, that the bargain- 
 offering tradesman, after having injured 
 many a respectable shopkeeper aroiind 
 him, suddenly decamps at the expiration 
 of a lew moiuhs, and the secret of his 
 bargains is at length apparent; namely, 
 that never having intended to pay for the 
 goods himself, any receipt must be a clear 
 gain to him, and he could thus afford to 
 sell at prices which must be ruinous to 
 the upright dealer. 
 
 This cheapening mania exercises also, 
 a most pernicious influence in producing 
 distrust, duphcity, and nmanly feeling, 
 between seller and buyer. The seller, , 
 sharpened by past experience, is m sell- ^ 
 defence compelled, in order to obtain a j 
 remunerating profit, tr ask more than the 
 real value of the art: "■ . in order to leave 
 room for the abate... .>.. which he expects 
 as a matter of course to follow. The 
 offer by the buyer of less than is asked is 
 really an insult, for it virtually implies 
 that the seller is either a fool or a rogue , 
 _a fool to take so little, or a rogue to ask 
 so much ; and thus the straight-forward 
 honesty and integrity which should char- 
 acterize dei.:ing8 in the market or the 
 shop, as much as anywhere else, is set 
 aside, and seller and buyer meet together 
 with a feeling that confidence and honor 
 are out of place there, and that cunning 
 and overreaching are among the recognised 
 
 moralities of trade. The seller, while he 
 introduces the article tohis customer, fuels 
 a conviction that unless he adds an untruth 
 to the specification of tho price, unless an 
 assertion is made or a warranty given 
 which it would be absurd to believe, die 
 article will be rejected, and the hesitaiint; 
 customer will not purchase it, but p;itroiiise 
 some other less scrupulous tradesman. 
 The bargain-hunter, on his side, turns the 
 article over in a contemptuous manner, 
 exerts his ingenuity to find some fault in 
 it which shall afford a pretext for a lower 
 offer, and having found a real or an im- 
 aginary one, bids something below what 
 he often must know is its real value. The 
 poor tradesman wants ready money, the 
 article really cost him more, he knows of 
 other shops where it may be had at that 
 price, and, with a sickening heart and an 
 inward condemnation of the selfishness 
 of man, he accepts the offer, and the 
 purchaser departs with his bargain. But, 
 strange metamorphosis, the article so re- 
 cently pronounced almost worthless, the 
 purchaser now boasts oi as excellent, 
 worth double the money, and delights to 
 hear his friends innocently express their 
 surprise how it could possibly have been 
 made for the price. Such a mode of 
 dealing is unmanly, unKenerous, and un- 
 just, and requireT but to be candidly con- 
 sid'^red to be denounced by all who think 
 and feel rightly. 
 
 The influence of this pernicious system 
 upon the laboring part of the community 
 is cruel and disastrous. We sec eviuy 
 few days deplorable accounts of women 
 who are compelled to sew for the merest 
 pittance, and the shopkeepers are denoun- 
 ced for their cruelty. But the blame, we 
 are persuaded, lies less with the imme- 
 diate than the remc'tf employers. The 
 public, which vents its anger on the sliop- 
 keeper, is the real transgressor ; for the 
 dealer merely obeys the popular demand. 
 Pressed upon by the insane cry for low- 
 priced articles, as well as by a general 
 competition, the manufacturer and shop- 
 keeper, if they would do business at all, 
 must reduce their expenses to the lowest 
 point in order to obtain auy profit, and to 
 this end a.e compelled to wring from theii 
 workpeople the utmost amount of wtrk 
 for the least possible remuneration. U'l- 
 
 'MX 
 
e. The seller, wliiie lie 
 licletohis customer, feels 
 unless he adds an uniruih 
 m of tho price, unless an 
 le or a warranty given 
 3e absurd to believe, ihe 
 jected, and the hesii;itint: 
 , purchase it, but p-.itronise 
 i scrupulous tradesman, 
 ler, on his side, turns the 
 a contemptuous manner, 
 iiity to find some fault in 
 lord a pretext for a lower 
 y found a real or an im- 
 s something below what 
 ow is its real value. The 
 wants ready money, the 
 St him more, he knows of 
 (re it may be had at that 
 a sickening heart and an 
 nation of the selfishness 
 cepls the offer, and the 
 ts with his bargain. But, 
 rphosia, the article so rc- 
 ;ed almost worthless, the 
 boasts 01 as excellent, 
 le money, and delights to 
 s innocently express their 
 could possibly have been 
 price. Such a mode of 
 lanly, unj^enerous, and un- 
 PT but to l)e candidly con- 
 anounced by all who think 
 
 I 
 
 6 of this pernicious system 
 ng part of the community 
 isasirous. We see eviuy 
 orable accounts of women 
 slled to sew for the merest 
 le shopkriepers are ilenoun- 
 •ueity. But the blame, we 
 lies less with the inune- 
 I remc'd employers. The 
 ^ents its anger on the shop- 
 real travnsgressor ; for the 
 obeys the popular demand, 
 by the insane cry for low- 
 , as well as by a general 
 tie manufacturer and shop- 
 V would do business at all, 
 iieir expenses to the lowest 
 lo obtain auy profit, and to 
 )mpelled to wring from iheii 
 le utmost amount of wtrk 
 lossible remuneration. Uti- 
 
 A HABIT OF OBSEKVATION. 
 
 1015 
 
 reasonably protracted hours are resorted 
 to, toil is not allowed to cease with tho 
 day, the labor of the woman is introduced 
 to supersede that of the man, and that of 
 the child to supersede both, education is 
 necessarily neglected, deformity produced, 
 stimulants resorted to, vicious habits form- 
 ed, and squalor and disease are induced ; 
 and all this too often that the purchaser 
 may procure an article at a fractional 
 abatement. The occasional subscription 
 and the cold donation of charily are but 
 a poor reparation for depriving the work- 
 man of his honest earnings, and the manly 
 independence of pocket and of characte' 
 which it is so desirable he should possess. 
 It is true that the payment of lair prices 
 by the buyer will not always secure fair 
 remuneration to the operative, but the 
 habit of cheapening must have a tendency 
 to lower wages and itulict misery on the 
 producers. I 
 
 The pernicious practice of bargain- ; 
 hunting is by no means confined to the I 
 rougher sex. It is lo be lamented that 
 the practice is far too common among that 
 sex whose kindness of heart and sensibility 
 need no eulogy, and whose propensity in 
 this respect we can attribute to no other 
 source than thoughtlessness. It is per- 
 haps also partly to be accounted for by the 
 fact, that females generally have less 
 money at command than men, and there- 
 fore when they spend it are perhaps some- 
 what more unreasonable in their exchan- 
 ging expectations. A little thought as to 
 the amount of misery to others which must 
 result from the gratification of this pro- 
 pensity, would surely be sufficient to con- 
 vince them of its unreasonableness and 
 inhumanity. Little do ladies think, while 
 they aiB cheapening the thread and the 
 tape, or the shavls, or the linens, they 
 purchase, how much poverty and misery 
 they are assisting to entail on the sickly 
 operative who makes them, and how much 
 of the ignorance and V;M<uiion and vice, 
 the bare mention o! Hi;-.', shocks their 
 sensibilities, is traceable to this baneful 
 practice. 
 
 The habit we have denounced is also 
 very fallaciouj in a pecuniary point of 
 view. The roost shrewd and practised 
 cheapener is often deceived, and finds, 
 after he has secured the bargain, that, to 
 
 use the common phrase, " it is too cheap 
 to be good," or that he did not really want 
 it, and therefore it was dear at any price. 
 He discovers too late that what he has 
 bought was made to be looked at rather 
 than used, to deceive rather than satisfy, 
 and that the little he gave for it was far 
 too much for such an article, as it was 
 really worth nothing. The cheapest things 
 may be very dear, and the dearest very 
 cheap, and good articles can not reason- 
 ably be expected at any other than fair 
 prices. Independently therefore of the 
 injury which the habit of cheapening in- 
 flicts upon ihe workman, it is deceptive 
 and unprofitable even to the purchaser. 
 The prices of shopkeepers are certainly 
 not p.lways to be paid without demur, for 
 this would be to hold out a premium to 
 imposition and extortion, but there should 
 be considerateness on the part of tho 
 purchaser as to what ought to be the fair 
 price of such an article. To deal as much 
 as possible with tradesmen who are known 
 for their integrity and uprightness, with- 
 out being seduced by every unprincipled 
 adventurer who professes to be " selling 
 ofl" under prime cost," and closing business 
 at a "tremendous sacrifice," will be found 
 in the long-run not only the truest econo- 
 my, and the most satisfactory to the pur- 
 chaser, but also the most advantageous to 
 the wellbeing of society and the general 
 interests of honesty and honor. 
 
 A HABIT OF OBSERVATION. 
 
 The means of exciting thought and re- 
 flection are not confined to books. Nor 
 is intellectual progress confined to the 
 study of books. The whole world, both 
 of nature and of man, is full of instruction, 
 and if studied, it will not oidy ^ill the mind 
 with knowledge, but will afford that in- 
 tellectual exercise which will promote 
 I intellectual development. If then you 
 have formed the habit of observation, you 
 will never be at a loss for employment for 
 youi' thoughts. Every person you meet 
 will, in the peculiarity of character pr«i- 
 sented, aflbrd food for thought ; every 
 event of providence, and every object of 
 nature, will thus be the means of intellec- 
 tual development. Bui what is the habit 
 
 ^% 
 
lOlG 
 
 MARSEILLES. 
 
 of observation ? It is not morely the look- 
 inir ai thinuB. but the habit of thinking and 
 reflocting upon what you see. The inan 
 of observation is not the man who has 
 actually seen the greatest number and 
 erentesi variety of objects ; he is the man 
 who has reflected the most carefully upon 
 v.hat he has seen, and in this way, de- 
 rived the most valuable instruction from 
 them What we would have you seek is 
 the habit of inquiry, and thought, and re- 
 flection, in regard to every object that may 
 be presented to your notice, seeking the 
 peculiarities, inquiring the causes, learmng 
 the efl'ects, and tracing the relations and 
 connexions of one circumstance, event, 
 or object, with another. In this way you 
 will be constantly making improvement— 
 your it)lellectual powers will be constantly 
 acquiring new strength and greater free- 
 dom and more full development. Form, 
 then, the habit of close, accurate observa- 
 lion, and you ^ill bo possessed of a pow- 
 erful instrument for intellectual unprove- 
 
 '"*Nay more, this habit will have a further 
 and more extensive influence. If you can 
 employ your mind in thinking about the 
 objects you have seen, you can also, under 
 the influence of the same habit, employ it 
 in thinking about the lectures and dis- 
 courses which you have heard. And who 
 is it that derives the greatest profit from 
 what he hears ? Not the one who hears 
 the most or listens with the deepest in- 
 terest at the time. But ho who thinks 
 most ca> ully of what he has heard after 
 he has I le hearing. And here is the 
 point where many fail, and the reason that 
 they do not derive so much improvement 
 as they might otherwise from the lectures 
 and discourses which they hear. They 
 hear with interest and with pleasure, but 
 when they have done '.tearing, they turn 
 their thoughts to other things. What they 
 have heard is soon gone from their minds, 
 and no distinct and lasting impression is 
 left But if they would think over what 
 ihev have heard, or talk it over with their 
 cornpanions, or write out an abstract, they 
 would make it more entirely their own, 
 they would gain much valuable knowledge, 
 which they now let slip, and they would 
 acquire by the means great intellectual 
 strength and development. 
 
 MAllSEILLES. 
 
 ARSEILLKS. 
 the great sea- 
 port of France 
 on the .Medi- 
 terranean, was 
 founded six 
 centuries bufore 
 the Chrisiinn 
 era, by the pi'ii- 
 ple of Phocea, a Greek colony of Asi-i 
 Minor. It soon flourished, and its in- 
 habitants formed minor settlements on the 
 coasts of Gaul, Spain, and Italy. From 
 its earliest infancy Marseilles has been an 
 important place of maritime commerce. 
 The soil in its neighborhood is sterile, 
 and does not bountifully repay the labors 
 of the cultivator. This circumstance, and 
 the advantageous position of Marseilles, 
 naturally diverted the energies of its popu- 
 lation to trade. At the present time a 
 fifth of the customs' duties collected in 
 France, or nearly $5,000,000, is contri- 
 buted by Marseilles ; and its commerce is 
 increasing, the occupation of Algiers by 
 the French having brought the trade with 
 that pan of Africa into thv hands of the 
 Marseillaise. There are many soap manu- 
 factories and tan-yards at Marseilles. The 
 refining of sugar is an important branch 
 of industry. The trade in perfumery and 
 olive-oil is also considerable. The ex- 
 ports of Marseilles consist of colonial prod- 
 uce, brandy, wine, liqueurs, syrups, pre- 
 served fruits, capers, anchovies, oil, soap, 
 verdigris, perfumery, madder ; manufac- 
 tured goods, consisting of light woollens, 
 silks, shawls, ribands, gloves, hardware, 
 &c. : and the chief articles of import are 
 sugar, coffee, cotton, indigo, pepper, iron, 
 dye-woods, hides ; and, when the trade 
 in grain is active, wheat from the Black 
 sea, Sicily, Italy, and Africa. The har- 
 bor is in the heart of the city, capacious 
 and sheltered, but it does not admit vessels 
 of the larger class ; and as the accumula- 
 tion of refuse from the shipping is not 
 carried away by tides (the Mediterranean 
 tides being scarcely perceptible) the port 
 is frequently offensive. The form of the 
 harbor resembles an elongated horse- 
 shoe : tho entrance is defended t/ forts 
 
 ^M^'^^'-:'^'- 
 
ARSEILLES. | 
 the great sea- 
 port of France 
 on ihe Medi- 
 terranenn, was 
 founded six 
 centuries before 
 the Chrisiiiiii 
 era, by the pt-o- 
 a Greek colony of Asia 
 1 flourished, and its in- 
 minor settlements on the 
 Spain, and Italy. From 
 cy Marseilles has been an 
 of maritime commerce, 
 neighborhood is sterile, 
 luntifully repay the labors 
 Tiiis circumstance, and 
 IS position of Marseilles, 
 )d the energies of its popu- 
 At the present time a 
 stoms' duties collected in 
 rly $5,000,000, is contri- 
 illes ; and its commerce is 
 occupation of Algiers by 
 ing brought the trade with 
 rica into thv hands of the 
 There are many soap manu- 
 i-yards at Marseilles. The 
 at is au important branch 
 Phe trade in perfumery and 
 (O considerable. The ex- 
 iles consist of colonial prod- 
 rino, liqueurs, syrups, pre- 
 sapers, anchovies, oil, soap, 
 umery, madder ; manufac- 
 jnsisting of light woollens, 
 ribands, gloves, hardware, 
 chief articles of import are 
 cotton, indigo, pepper, iron, 
 ides; and, when the trade 
 :tive, wheat from the Black 
 aly, and Africa. The har- 
 heart of the city, capacious 
 but it does not admit vessels 
 and as the accumula- 
 from the shipping is not 
 by tides (the Mediterranean 
 larcely perceptible) the povt 
 offensive. The form of the 
 nbles an elongated horse- 
 trance is defended t/ forts 
 
 SgVj.l ! UJHHIMWJ»«HU>J'>-». II I I UH I II 
 
1018 
 
 CONCISE HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH BIBLE. 
 
 placed opposite each other. The lazaretto 
 occupies an arci of above 278,000 square 
 yards, and is considered the finest estab- 
 lislimenl of the kind in Europe : the quar- 
 antine regulations are severe, but a gen- 
 eral revision of these laws for the coun- 
 tries on the Mediterranean is likely to 
 take place. 
 
 CONCISE HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH 
 BIBLE. 
 
 HE history of the 
 ^S, English Bible compre- 
 hends a period of nine 
 hundred years. The 
 venerable Bede trans- 
 lated the Psalter and 
 the gospel into the 
 Anglo-Saxon, by or- 
 der of King Alfred. The price of a Bible 
 in 1274, fairly written, with a commenta- 
 ry, was from $150 to $250, though m 
 1840, two arches of the London bridge 
 were built for $123. 
 
 Richard Rolles was one of the first to 
 attempt a translation of the Bible into the 
 English language, as it was spoken after 
 the conquest. He wrote a paraphrase in 
 verse on the book of Job, and a gloss upon 
 the psalter, but the whole Bible, by Wick- 
 liffe, appeared between 1360 and 1380. 
 
 A bill, in the year 1490, was brought 
 into the house of lords, to forbid the use 
 of English Bibles ; but it did not pass. 
 A decree of Arundel, archbishop of Can- 
 terbury, in 1403, forbade unauthorized 
 persons to translate any text of Holy Scrip- 
 ture into English, as well as prohibited 
 the reading of any translation till approved 
 of by the bishops, or a council. Several , 
 persons were burned for reading the word 
 of God. 
 
 In the reign of Henry the Fifth, a law 
 was passed, that " whoever should read 
 the Scriptures in their mother-tongue, 
 should forfeit land, cattle, body, life, and 
 goods, from I heir heirs for ever, and be 
 condemned tor heretics to God, enemies 
 to the crown, and most arrant traitors to 
 the land." And between 1461 and 1493, 
 Faust, or Faustus, who undertook the 
 sale of Bibles at Paris, where printing 
 
 was then unknown, narrowly escaped 
 punishment. He was taken for a miigi- 
 cian, because he produced them so rapid- 
 ly, and because one copy was so much 
 like another. 
 
 The Latin Vulgate, printed at Mayntz, 
 in 1462, was the very first printed edition 
 of the whole Bible in any language, bear- 
 ing the date and plate of its execution, 
 and the name of the primer. The first 
 pinted edition of the Holy Scriptures in 
 any modern language, was in German, in 
 the year 1467. The New Testament by 
 Luther, revised by Melancthon, appeared 
 in 1521 . William Tyndal, in 1520, print- 
 ed his English Testament at Antwerp ; 
 but those who sold it in England, were 
 condemned by Sir Thomas Moore, the 
 lord chancellor, to ride with their faces 
 to the horses' tails, with papers on their 
 heads, and to throw their booKS and them- 
 selves into the fire at Cheapside. Tyndal 
 himself was strangled and burned. His 
 dying prayer was, " Lord, open the king 
 of England's eyes." John Fry, or Fryih, 
 and William Koye, who assisted Tyndal 
 in his Bible, were both burned for heresy. 
 Cranmer obtained a commission from 
 the king to prepare, with the assistance of 
 learned men, a translation of the Bible. 
 It was to be printed at Paris ; but the in- 
 quisition interfered, and 2,500 copies were 
 seized, and condemned to the flames. 
 Some of these, however, being, through 
 avarice, sold for waste paper, by the officer 
 who superintended the burning, were re- 
 covered, and brought to England, to the 
 great delight of Cranmer, who, on receiv- 
 ing some copies, said that it gave liim 
 more ioy than if he had received two 
 thousa'id pounds. It was commanded that 
 a Bible should be deposited in every piirish 
 church, to be read by all who pleased, and 
 1 permission at last was obtained to ail sub- 
 Ijects to purchase the English Bible for 
 I themselves and families 
 I In thb year 1535, Coveruale's folio Bi- 
 I ble was published. In the reign of Ed- 
 ' ward the Sixth, new editions appeared. 
 In Mary's reign, the gospellers, or reform- 
 ers, fled abroad, but a new translation of 
 the New Testament, in English, appeared 
 at Geneva, in 1587, the first which had 
 the distinction of verses, with figures at- 
 i tached to them. 
 
ble:. 
 
 wii, narrowly escaped 
 
 was taken lor a iiuij^i- 
 
 proJuced ihein so rapid- 
 
 ono copy wa8 so much 
 
 gale, printed at Mayntz, 
 very first printed edition 
 o in any liinj»uage, bear- 
 place of its execution, 
 the primer. The first 
 the Holy Scriptures in 
 jage, was in German, in 
 The New Testament by 
 jy Melanclhon, appeared 
 mTyndal, in 1 520, print- 
 Testament at Antwerp ; 
 old it in England, were 
 Sir Thomas Moore, the 
 to ride with their laces 
 ils, with papers on their 
 Dw iheir booKS and them- 
 re at Cheapside. Tyndal 
 uigled and burned. His 
 IS, " Lord, open the king 
 59." John Fry, or Fryth, 
 lye, who assisted Tyndal 
 e both burned for heresy, 
 lined a commission from 
 are, with the assistance of 
 translation of the Bible, 
 nted at Paris ; but the in- 
 red, and 2,500 copies were 
 ndemned to the flames, 
 however, being, through j 
 waste paper, by the officer 
 led the burning, were re- 
 ought to England, to the 
 Cranmer, who, on receiv- 
 es, said that it gave him 
 if he had received two 
 g. It was commanded that 
 le deposited in every parish 
 sad by all who pleased, and 
 i8t was obtained to all sub- 
 ise the English Bible for 
 
 families 
 15.35, Coveriiale's folio Bi- 
 hed. In the reign of Ed- 
 h, new editions appeared, 
 n, the gospellers, or reform- 
 d, but a new translation of 
 meni, in English, appeared 
 1587, the lirst which had 
 of verses, with figures at- 
 
 DUTIE8 TO SOCIETY AND OUHflKLVES. 
 
 10i9 
 
 A quarto edition of the whole Bible 
 was printed at Geneva, 1560. by Rowland 
 Harte. A New Testament in Welsh, ap- 
 peared in 1569 ; the whole Bible m 1588, 
 and the English translation ailed the 
 Bishop's Bible, by Alexand^ arkcr, in 
 1568 It was 1582 that the Roman Cath- 
 olic Rhemish Testament appeared, and in 
 1609 and 1610. that their Doway Old 
 Testament was printed. In 1607. was 
 began, and in 1311 was completed, a new 
 and more correct translation, being the 
 present authorized version of the Holy 
 Scriptures, by forty-seven learned persons 
 (fifty-four were appointed), chosen Irom 
 Ihe two universities. This edition has 
 been truly styled, " not only the glory of 
 the rich, and the inheritance of the poor, 
 but the guide of the wayworn pilgrim, the 
 messenger of grace, and the means of 
 knowledge, holiness, and joy to millions. 
 
 DUTIES TO SOCIETY AND OUR- 
 SELVES. 
 
 HE truly polite must 
 beanhabituallycheer- 
 ful person. But cheer- 
 fulness, it will be said, 
 is a matlerof tempera- 
 ment and of circum- 
 stance. Then if we 
 possess it not, we 
 should cultivate it as a duty. 
 
 There is no word in our language more 
 commonly used, nor any one less defined 
 or less understood than " happiness. it 
 is sometimes taken to mean pleasurable 
 sensations derived through the senses; 
 sometimes it means a peculiar state of 
 mind. Perhaps it is easier to tell what 
 happiness is not, than what it is. The 
 most perfect health is not happiness un- 
 less one has something to do. Health 
 and riches do not make one happy. These 
 accidents of being rather excite cravings 
 for enjoyment. They are means, not ends. 
 A rich man can ride but one horse, or sit 
 but in one coach, or eat but one dinner, 
 or wear but one suit of garments, or live 
 but in one house at a time. Persons m 
 moderate circumstances can do the same. 
 
 Health, riches, power, and distinction, 
 do not make happiness. Distinction is 
 troublesome : it has more pains than pleas- 
 ures : it is jealous, envious, and distrust- 
 ful. Power does not make one happy ; 
 it demands the most busy watchfulness to 
 keep it. If lost, its absence is often fol- 
 lowed by painful suffering, and the pos- 
 session of it is always accompanied by 
 the fear of losing it. Riches are some- 
 times regarded as means of enabling one 
 to live in elegant luxury, and even in 
 voluptuous enjoyment. This is no way 
 to be happy ; the appetites soon become 
 satiated ; the stomach wears out ; the 
 senses are palled; diseases come; the 
 body may be racked on a velvet couch as 
 well as on a straw bed. 
 
 Is there, then, any such thing as happi- 
 ness? There must be such a thing, or 
 the laws of nature, which provide for 
 physical, intellectual, and moral being, are 
 false and deceitful, and the gift of revela- 
 tion is a fable. 
 
 If there be such a thing as happiness, 
 it will be found in that knowledge of and 
 obedience to the laws of nature which 
 make health, physical and spiritual. It 
 will be for .id in obeying the propensity 
 to action, w- some continu.,us, useful end ; 
 that is, in pursuing reasonably some one 
 of the many vocations in society which 
 tend to secure one's self respect and peace 
 of mind, and which tead also to the com- 
 ' mon good. 
 
 But there may be disappointments, ill 
 luck, and causes of mortification and sor- 
 row. These, we apprehend, do not se- 
 riously disturb any well-regulated mind 
 when there is a consciousness that no 
 reasonable foresight or prudence would 
 have discovered and prevented the cause. 
 Perfect happiness in this world, it must 
 ever be remembered, is not to be expect- 
 ed: the only happiness that we can really 
 attain consists in a certain contented tran- 
 quillity of mind under all the shocks and 
 changes of this mortal life. There is a 
 point called the happy medium ; and this 
 should be an aim in all human arrange- 
 ments. Be moderate in all things. 
 
 For example, to take no amusement is 
 bad, for it deprives the mind of needful 
 rest and recreation ; so likewise it is bad 
 to be altogether given up to amusement, 
 
'" ^ 4 
 
 1020 
 
 THE NATIONAI, QALLEllY OF ENGLAND. 
 
 for .hon L'l serious objods are lost sight 
 of The true plan .. lo take amusement 
 
 iu modoration. i .„ „ 
 
 Some minds have never awakened to a 
 tasle for poetry, fiction, th.' imitative arts, 
 and music, .nd they thus U-so much pleas- 
 ure, which others enjov ; again there are 
 Bome in whom nature has implanted and 
 use cuUivated so strong a prodileclion lor 
 these things, that it becomes a vice. 
 
 To be too much in society, is sure to 
 deteriorate the human character making 
 it frivolous, and incapacitating it for taking 
 abstract and elevated views : on the other 
 hand a perfectly solitary hie weakens the 
 mind, lays it open to odd fancies and ec- , 
 Sntricities, if not to lOTOchondrm and | 
 ends in some instances by aliogether 
 throwing it from its balance. 1 he me- 
 dium is here also found selutary. 
 
 To be extravagantly gay, in a worm 
 where so many evils lurk around our ev- 
 ery step, and so many onerous things claim 
 our attention, is wrong ; so is it to be al- 
 ways serious, seeing that the world also 
 contulns the materials of much happiness. 
 What is proner is, that we should be uni- 
 formly chr .vA without letting our cheer- 
 ulness n:,. • <' frivolity, or, if we have 
 causoto.uv., that wc should grieve in 
 modem^un, b.Ueving that a benignant 
 Providen-.^ will make all right in the end. 
 
 \ 
 
 THE NATIONAL GALLERl 
 ENGLAND. 
 
 OF 
 
 HE British National 
 Gallery, like the mu- 
 seum, arose out of the 
 collection of a private 
 individual. The only 
 difference is, that Sir 
 Hans Sloane directed 
 ^ , his museum to be of- 
 
 fered after his death, to the nation on pay- 
 ment'of a specified sum ; but Mr. Anger- 
 stein merely ordered his pictures to be 
 sold for the benefit of his heirs, not con- 
 Iplating, perhaps,, that they might form 
 the nucleus of a national collection. 
 
 John .Tulius Angerstem was born at bt. 
 Petersburgh, in 1735, and came to Eng- 
 
 land when he was about fourteen years 
 of a«e, under the .are and prMronane of 
 an eminent Engliv. R'-sian meTch»n , 
 Andrew Thompsor Ef .. He rose ulti- 
 mately to be one oi the n. ^ conspicuous 
 „K.rchants of London. In his c -racter 
 he united pTon,pl and ri.tive bu.ness 
 habits to an urbane nd a checrf.-l d.s- 
 JLition. having he ability to acquire 
 wealth, and a heart to use it. In rally- 
 ing his taste, by collecting ra- and valu^ 
 able pictures, he was gr ally -ided by the 
 advice of th. late Sir Thomis La^vrence, 
 with whom he was i^ mate. Mr An- 
 gerstein died on the 22d ... I: iuary, 18-2 , 
 and in the following year his gallerv ol 
 pictures was bought by government for 
 1 the sum of 57,000i. 
 
 ' There appears to hu -e be. • a common 
 opinion entertained that the g.ilery about 
 to be formed was to be ph.r. 1 -n con- 
 nexion with the British Museun, A 
 parently acting on this supposition a ae 
 
 ?ear 1823, the late Sir George Beam mt 
 {.resented to the trustees of the m«s, urn 
 a collection of pictures ; and an . ' 'i- 
 lection of ancient pictures came into laeir 
 hands in 1831, in pursuance of the wil 
 of the Rev. Holwell Carr, who directed 
 that they should be placed in the same 
 building with those of Mr. Angerstein and 
 s"r George Beaumont. As the National 
 1 Gallery has been made a separate insiitu- 
 ' tion from that of the British Museum t 
 so happens that the pictures are thus 
 vested in two different sets of trustees, on 
 behalf of the public. 
 
 The pictures forming the National Gal- 
 lery had been kept in Pall Mall : but 
 different proposals were made at various 
 times for^he purpose of obtaining an 
 eligible building to receive them. At 
 if when the King's Mews at Charing 
 
 Cross was about to be pu»ed down and 
 Uie site built upon for shops, Mr. W.lkins 
 suggested the propriety of appropriating 
 thrspace for a national gallery if one 
 was intended to be built. The idea v^as 
 approved; and in 1832 parliament voted 
 50000L for the erection, and in IBJa, 
 UfiOOl. more. Mr. WUkins was appointed 
 architect, and the building was rapidly com- 
 
 ^''if 'the view given, the engraver has 
 I introduced a design for ornamenting the 
 
iNO. 
 
 was abo'it foi.rleen yean 
 tie (ire and pi'tronago of 
 igli- i R"ssiaii merchant, 
 )8or Ei Tie r^^e uUi- 
 e 01 the I 1 conspicuoui 
 .ondon. li. his* r' iracter 
 ntpt and native bus ncss 
 irbane and a checrf"! Jis- 
 ig he ability to accjuire 
 leart to use .t. In fralify- 
 )y collecting tar and vftlu- 
 16 was gr ally aided by the 
 ato Sir 'Ihomas Lawr. nee, 
 e was ii matt'. Mr. An- 
 n the 22d of Jnauary, 1822 ; 
 lowing your his gallerv of 
 bought by government ior 
 
 ars to ha e bef n a common 
 Bincd that the guilery about 
 
 was to be plac d in con- 
 ihe British Museum A 
 g on this supposition > le 
 e late Sir George Beu.. mt 
 the trustees of the museum 
 f pictures ; and an. nf ol- 
 ient pictures came into vaeir 
 Jl, in pursuance of the will 
 Holwell Carr, who directed 
 lould be placed in the same 
 I those of Mr. Angerstein and 
 Beaumont. As the National 
 been made a separate mslUu- 
 it of the British Museum, it 
 
 that the pictures are thus 
 
 different sets of trustees, on 
 
 1 public. 
 
 res forming the National C,al- 
 ,en kept in Pall Mall : but 
 iposals were made at various 
 he purpose of obtaining an 
 tiding to receive them. At 
 the King's Mews at Charmg 
 ibout to be pulled down, and 
 It upon for shops, Mr. Wilkins 
 Ihe propriety of appropriating 
 for a national gallery, if one 
 .d to be built. The idea was 
 and in 1832 parliament voted 
 r the erection, and in 1835, 
 ,re. Mr. Wilkins was appointed 
 [id the building was rapidly com- 
 
 I 
 
 _J 
 
..#^" 
 
 1023 
 
 ANIMAI. HUMANITY. 
 
 centre of Trafalgar Square. But we are 
 not aware that anything has yet been de- 
 cided upon with respect to it. 
 
 The number of pictures at present in 
 the Gallery is over two hundred. Such 
 a collection, it is obvious, can only be but 
 the commencement of a national gallery. 
 Though the collection be small and con- 
 fined, it contains some pictures of the very 
 hitthest order; and, as a whole, it is a 
 superior one, and quite worthy of forming 
 a bcginninf( to a collodion intended for a 
 nation auch as Great Britain. 
 
 Of the more remarkable of the pictures 
 may bo mentioned, the " Raising of Laza- 
 rus " by Sebastian del Piombo, painted 
 by 'him in 1518-'l9, in competition with 
 Kaffaelle, then employed on his picture 
 of the " Transfigurauon." This vmy re- 
 markable picture is declared to be the 
 second in the world. For the purchase 
 of the two large Correggios, in 18.^4, 
 parliament granted the sum of 11,550/. 
 The first of these pictures is the original 
 " Ecce Homo" of Correggio. The sub- 
 ject maybe understood by the title—" Ecce 
 Homo"—" Behold the Man !" (John xix. 
 5 ) It is difficult to say anything about 
 this wonderful production of art, so as to 
 convey a rig^it idea of it to those who have 
 not seen it. The other picture is also an 
 admirable one; the subject is-" Mercury 
 teaching Cupid to read." 
 
 It is unnecessary, at present, to specily 
 other pictures in the Gallery by Rem- 
 brandt; Rubens, Claude, &c. Of remark- 
 able productions by English painters, there 
 are Sir Joshua Reynolds's picture of Lord 
 Heaihfield, with the keys of the fortress 
 of Gibraltar; Gainsborough's "Market 
 Cart •" Wilson's " Land-storm, with the 
 story'of Niobe ;" and the well-known pro- 
 ductions of the two Anglo-Americans, 
 Benjamin West and Copley, the father 
 of the present Lord Lyndhurst, namely, 
 « Clvist healing the Sick," and the 
 " Death of the Earl of Chatham." To 
 these may be added the series of ^Mar- 
 riage a la Mode," and Wilkie's "Blind 
 Fiddler." There is rather a pleasing cir- 
 cumstance to be mentioned, connected 
 with the gift of this last picture to the 
 National Gallery. Sir George Beaumi>nt, 
 presented, in 1823, to the trustees of the 
 British Museum a collection of pictures, 
 
 but requested permission, in 1826, to with- 
 draw two, which he deemed unworthy of 
 being placed in a national gallery, and to 
 substitute two others for them, one of 
 them bein^ this picture of Wilkie's 
 
 The National Galleiy is open the first 
 four days of the week to the public, and 
 the other two to artists. 
 
 ANIMAL HUMANITY. 
 
 T is extremely curious 
 to observe in animals 
 ways and doings like 
 those of human beings, 
 It is a department of 
 natural history which 
 has never been honored 
 with any systematic 
 study ; perhaps it is 
 thought too trifling for grave philosophers. 
 We must confess, however, that there is 
 some value in the inquiry, as tending to 
 give us sympathies with the lower am- 
 mals, and to dispose us to treat them more 
 kindly than we generally do. 
 
 The sports of animals are peculiarly 
 .fTecting. It is reported by all who have 
 the charge of flocks, that the lambs resem- 
 ble children very much in their sports. In 
 the mellowed glory of a July evening, 
 while the ewes are quietly resting in prep- 
 aration for their night's sleep, the lambs 
 got together at a little distance, perhaps 
 in the neighborhood of a broomy knoll, 
 and there begin a set of pranksome frolics 
 of their own, dancing fantastically about, 
 or butting, as in jest, against each other. 
 The whole affair is a regular game at 
 romps, such as a merry group of human 
 y junkers will occasionally be allowed to 
 enjoy just before going to bed. It is 
 highly amusing to witness it, and to trace 
 the resemblance it bears as to human do- 
 ings ; which is carried sometimes so far, 
 that a single mamma will be seen looking 
 on close by, apparently rather happy at ^^ 
 the idea of the young folks being so merv; |,vj 
 but anxious also that they should not bo- m 
 have too roughly ; otherwise, she must | 
 certainly interfere. t .i,» i^ 
 
 Monneys have similar habits. In the 
 countries of the Eastern Peninsula and 
 
 ■ AgS-'W" 
 
■!> I < ' 
 
 permiwion, in 1826, to with- 
 ich he deemed unworthy of 
 n a national gallery, and to 
 ) others for them, one of 
 is picture of Wilkie's 
 al Galleiy is open the first 
 ihe week to the public, and 
 to artists. 
 
 MAL HUMANITY. 
 
 T is extremely curious 
 
 to observe in animals 
 
 1 ways and doings like 
 
 those of human beings. 
 
 ^> It is a department of 
 
 ^ natural history which 
 
 ^ has never been honored 
 
 '^ with any Bystematic 
 ^ study ; perhaps it is 
 rifling for grave philosophers, 
 nfess, however, that there is 
 in the inquiry, as tending to 
 ipathies with the lower ani- 
 dispose us to treat them more 
 we generally do. 
 is of animals are peculiarly 
 [t is reported by all who have 
 ,f flocks, that the lambs resem- 
 very much in their sports. In 
 3d glory of a July evening, 
 ves are quietly resting in prep- 
 their night's sleep, the lambs 
 r at a little distance, perhaps 
 rhborhood of a broomy knoll, 
 egin a set of pranksome frolics 
 n, dancing fantastically about, 
 as in jest, against each other, 
 atfair is a regular game at 
 li as a merry group of human 
 fill occasionally be allowed to 
 before going to bed. It is 
 ising to witness it, and to trace 
 lance it bears as to human do- 
 ;h is carried sometimes so far, 
 ie mamma will be seen looking 
 by, apparently rather happy at 
 the young folks being so men; 
 s also that they should not be- 
 roughly ; otherwise, she must 
 nterfere. 
 
 8 have similar babtU. In Itie 
 of the Eastern Peninsula and 
 
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SCRAPS OF CURIOUS INFORMATION. 
 
 1023 
 
 Archipelago, where thoy abound, the ma- 
 trons are often observed, in the cool of the 
 evening, sitting in a circle round their 
 Utile ones, which amuse themselves in 
 various gambols. There is a regard, how- 
 ever, to discipline : and whenever any 
 foolish babe behaves decidedly ill, the 
 mamma will be seen to jump into the 
 throng, seize the offender by the tail, and 
 administer exactly that extreme kind of 
 chastisement which has so long been in 
 vogue among human parents and human 
 teachers. 
 
 That there is merriment — genuine hu- 
 man-like merriment— in many of the lower 
 animals, no one can doubt who has ever 
 watched the gambols of the kid, the lamb, 
 the kinen, or the dogs, which— 
 " Scour away in long excursion, 
 And worry other iu diver»ion." 
 
 But there is something to be observed in 
 these sports still more human-like than 
 mere sport. The principle oi mahe-helieve, 
 or jest as opposed to earnest, can be dis- 
 cerned in many of their merry-makings. 
 
 The kindly social acts of anitnals, among 
 themselves and toward mankind, is alsr. 
 an interesting subject of observation. A 
 few months since some workmen, engaged 
 in repairing the cathedral of Glasgow, ob- 
 served an unusual concourse of sparrows 
 coming regularly to a hole in one of the 
 slanting walls, and there making a great 
 ado, as if feeding some birds within. Curi- 
 osity being at length excited, the men pro- 
 ceeded to examine the place, and found 
 that a mother-bird, after the flight of her 
 brood, had got her log enUngled in some 
 of the tlireads composing her nest, so that 
 she was kept a prisoner. The leg was 
 visibly swollen by the chafing produced 
 by her efforts to escape. In this dis- 
 tressing situation the poor bird had been 
 condoled with and fed by hei fellows, ex- 
 actly as a human being might have been 
 in similar circumstances. 
 
 SCRAPS OF CURIOUS INFORMATION. 
 
 The atmospheric pressure on the sur- 
 face of the earth is near 15lbs. per square 
 inch. The weight or pressure of vrater, 
 is about seven ounces per square inch for 
 every foot of its depth— 845 cubic feet of 
 
 atmospheric air, are as heavy as one cubic 
 foot of water. The bones of birds are 
 hollow, and filled with air instead of 
 marrow. The flea jumps 200 times its 
 own length, equal to a quarter of a mile 
 for a man. The Romans lay on couches 
 at their dining tables on their left arms, 
 eating with their right. The walls of 
 Nineveh were 100 feet high, and thick 
 enough for three chariots abreast. Baby- 
 lon was 60 miles within the walls, which 
 were 76 feel thick and 300 feet high. 
 The earth is 7,916 miles in diameter, and 
 24,880 miles round. Forests of standing 
 trees have been discovered in Yorkshire, 
 England, and Ireland, imbedded in stone. 
 A man is taller in the morning by half an 
 inch than he is at night. The atoms com- 
 posing a man are supposed to be changed 
 every forty days, and the bones in a few 
 months. Fossil remains on the Ohio 
 proves that it was once covered by the 
 sea. When the sea is of a blue color, it is 
 deep water ; when green, shallow. Book- 
 keeping, by double entry and decimal 
 arithmetic, was invented in 1501. Pocket 
 watches were first introduced into Eng- 
 land, from Germany, in 1501. The color 
 of the mourning dress among the Chinese 
 and Siamese, is white ; with the Turks 
 blue and violet ; Ethiopians gray ; Peru- 
 vians mouee-color ; Japanese white ; Per- 
 sians brown, and Egyptians yellow. The 
 human body can be brought to endure a 
 heat of 280 degrees of Fahrenheit. The 
 experiment has been tried successfully in 
 this country. -In the year 1510 a shower 
 of stones fell at Padua, Italy. One of 
 these stones weighed 120 pounds. 
 
 A box 24 inches by 16 inches square, 
 and 22 inches deep, will contain a barrel, 
 or 10,752 cubic inches. — A box 16 inches 
 by 16 8-10 inches deep, will contain a 
 bushel, or 2,150 4-10 inches.— A box 12 
 by II 2-10 inches square and 8 inches 
 deep, will contain a half a bushel, or 
 1,075 cubic inches.— A box 8 inches by 
 8 4-10 inches square and 8 inches deep, 
 will contain I peck, or 237 8-10 cubic 
 inches.— A box 8 by 8 inches square, 
 and 4 2-10 inches deep, will contain one 
 half peck or 268 8-10 cubic inches.— 
 A box 4 inches by 4 inches square, and 
 4 2-10 inches deep, will contain one quart, 
 or 67 2-10 cubic inches. 
 
 Y^- 
 
X 
 
 ,.r>t'n OHFAT MEN— HOROLOGY 
 THE END or FOUR GRBAl Mr.i 
 
 1024 
 
 "^^J^I^TfouiTgiieat men. 
 
 The four creat personages who occupy 
 
 h r emu es bound with chaplcts d.pp.^d 
 ' • 1, T.o,l of countless millions, looked 
 
 ™ieS Ihe miniess of ihc «0lld, and 
 
 0„n t»d, .mtaenua and »uwep>, ." « 
 '°'ci«»"''aftcr having c«n,,u.,.d eight 
 
 rh,=h l.d bYJh'i. g.ea...t »»«.«"• 
 
 Bo»»PABt«, »h08C m.nJalos ting, and 
 p„peTr;ed;.r»hav,ngm,e .a-b 
 
 aa s in lonely banishment a mosmral- 
 
 Iv exiled from the world, yet w'^"® " 
 l,lLomeumesseehiscou,U«,sba^^ 
 
 waving over ihe deep, but wnicn 
 nor could not bring him aid. 
 
 Thus these four men, who seem lu 
 siandu'e rquesentatives of all those whom 
 
 fr.ends-aud one a lonely ex.le. How 
 are the mighty fallen . 
 
 HOROLOGY. 
 
 OROLOGY, or 
 the art of meas- 
 uring time by 
 hours, minutes, 
 and seconds, was 
 known and prac- 
 tised in very 
 early times ; but 
 for its connexion 
 with correct mo- 
 i,on;p, we are indebted to the monks of 
 
 tZm. Z,. The -d l-'Xh 
 
 was in use among the ancients, whitt^ 
 ra has led manylo infer that mechanica 
 contrivances similar to our clocks, were 
 S in use. This inference is doubtless 
 Itneous, since no ancient wr.ter e^•e 
 ! alludes to an instrument of that kin.l. l ne 
 I pE the engraved dial, the clcps!,dr^-^<^^^ 
 '{Chour-ghls, were the only horolog.i 
 known pfior t'o the sixth or seventh cen- 
 
 '"'piUars, the length, inclination and re- 
 turn of whose shadows, indicate^ the prog- 
 less of time upon the level surface ar.mnd 
 ;SUs.^re^^Ue.tV.b.t.^ 
 
 j::^^^ositlt;:vSnceof\hefacOt^t 
 the obelisks of Egypt were iised fo t u 
 purpose 1 and some have hazarded the 
 
 Tplnionihat the Py--'.'l%;;rsit i 
 to the same use, as their f^""" f ^^^f ^ '^^^^ 
 respond precisely with the cardinal po nts 
 of K composs.' It is certain that pillars 
 wee used^ Greece for this purpose. 
 XsTugustus thus used the E.yin- 
 obelisks which he carried to 1 o no, .1.^ 
 fict may be taken &s circumstanUa eM 
 dencrthat for this purpose they had been 
 devoted when first reared. 
 ' Vhese huge d^als -re succer^ed b 
 those of a more portable kmd. Ih" >' 
 vemion of the dial proper, is conceded U 
 ^6 bylonians, although the tirst men 
 tiono ineon record, refers to a anvu 
 irtUt belonged to Ah., the .■w. 
 ik.ne who reigned about seven hundrt 
 Ue.r's 1 C. ''And Isaiah the proplu 
 SitheLord and he brought 
 
 shadow ten degrees backward wh 
 
 1 it luid gone down in the dial ot Alu/. 
 i2KVxx.U. As the Jews were 
 1 no rne^ns an inventive people, it is su 
 
 ■mmKm>^ 
 
X 
 
 HOROLOGY. 
 
 OROLOGY, or 
 the arl of meas- 
 uring time by 
 hours, minutes, 
 and seconds, was 
 known and prac 
 lised in very 
 early limes ; hut 
 for its connexion 
 with correct mo- 
 are indebted to the monks of 
 aees The word horologium 
 among the ancients, which 
 many W infer that mechanical 
 3 similar to our clocks, were 
 This inference is doubtless 
 since no ancient writer ever 
 n instrument of that kind. 1 he 
 ngraved dial, the ckpswlra-.^nA 
 a,s, were the only horologu 
 or 10 the sixth or seventh cen- 
 
 the length, inclination and re- 
 ose shadows, indicated the prog- 
 
 ,e upon the level surface an.und 
 5 were doubtless the first lime- 
 
 ' li is believed (although we ^, 
 ositive evidence of the fact) that , I 
 ks of Egypt were used or this , 
 
 and some have hazarded ihe j 
 lat the pyramids were also put j 
 me use, as their four sides cor-, 
 necisely with the cardinal points 
 ,mD0»8. It is certain that pillars 
 edw Greece for this purpose; 
 .ugiistus thus used the Lgypuan 
 which he carried to Home ihis 
 r be taken v^s circumstanUa evi- 
 m for this purpose ihey liad been 
 when first reared. 
 8 huge dials were succeeded by 
 ■amore portable kind. Ihe "", 
 of the dial proper, is conceded to 
 3ylon.ans, although the hrst men- 
 L on record, refers to a faniou 
 U belonged to Aha. the Jew .. 
 ,ho reigned about seven hundred 
 I C '' And Isaiah the pr..phel 
 
 ;„ the Lord : and he hrouglu the 
 , ten degrees backward by whu.h 
 
 goue down in ihe dial ol Aha/., 
 as XX. U. As the Jews were by 
 ^MS an invenlive people, U is sup- 
 
 HOaOLOY 
 
 posed that Ahaz procured this horologi^um 
 at Damascus, where he obtained an altar 
 and other curious things. 
 
 Of the construction of this dial we have 
 no certain means of determining, but it 
 is probable that it was similar to that in- 
 troduced to the knowledge of the western 
 nations by Berosus the Chaldee Ihe 
 Rabbins says that it was a concave hemis- 
 phere, in the middle of which was a g obe, 
 whose shadow fell upon iwenly-eight lines 
 engraved upon the cavity. This descrip- 
 tion accords with that of one attributed to 
 Moses and Apion. He says that Moses 
 made a cavity and near it set a piUar, the 
 shadow of whose top fell into the cavity 
 and passed round it with the sun, thus 
 marking the hours. Josephus pronounces 
 this relation of Apion, false Anaximan- 
 der who first introduced the dial into 
 Greece, obtained a knowledge of it m 
 Chaldea, about the time of the Jewish 
 captivity. The dia' of this traveller not 
 only marked the ...;s,but the equinoxes, 
 the solstices, and by their means, he 
 seasons. Such dials were used by the 
 Egyptians, and though chiefly employed 
 as equinoctial dials in astronomical calcu- 
 lations, yet they were used for horary in- 
 dications'. All ' f theso were hoUow or 
 hemispherical, as represe-^' m hg i oi 
 
 speaking of the dial of the Chaldean, calls 
 it a hemicyclium or half-circle), believe 
 that either of the two following figures 
 belter represents, the dial of Berosus. 
 
 Fig. 3. 
 
 Figure 3 is copied from the " Antiquities 
 de Herculaneum" and represents a dial 
 formed of white marble, supposed to be of 
 Etruscan construction. It was found at 
 Civita in 1762. It is one of the most 
 primitive class, and hko fig. 4 so nearly 
 resembles those of Chaldea, that most an- 
 tiquarians agree that these, the dial of 
 Berosus, and the dial of Ahaz, are all the 
 same in form. 
 
 Fig. 1. 
 
 our engravings. This dial was found at 
 Ravenna, about one hundred years since, 
 and appeared mounted on the shoulders 
 
 of a Hercules. ■ i „ 
 
 Figure 2 represents a large marb e sun- 
 dial once upon the point of a rock near 
 the monument of Thrasyllus at Athens. 
 It is supposed by some to represent the 
 one whose invention is attributed to Be- 
 rosus, bblj.enamed. who lived in the time 
 of Alexander ; while others, guided by 
 the meager remarks of Vitruvius (who, m 
 
 Fig. ■». 
 
 ! 
 
 J 
 
 ■="*iSBIi|B^ 
 
1 
 
 1026 
 
 HOHOLOGY. 
 
 Fig. 5. 
 
 Our fifth illustration represents a singu- 
 lar kind of dial which was used by both 
 the Greeks and Romans. How antique 
 its origin is, we can not determine. This 
 was found at Herculaneum, in 1754, and 
 in 1755, a similar one was dug up at 
 Portici. The one represented in our en- 
 graviiig, is in the form of a ham, the tail 
 serving as a gnomon or object for casting 
 a shadow, and having at the extremity a 
 hook or ring for suspending it. The dial 
 is on the back of the ham, where seven 
 vertical lines are engraven, under which, 
 in abbreviation, are the names of the 
 t.velve months, commencing with January. 
 Six horizontal lines intersect the vertical 
 ones and show the extent of the shadows 
 cast by the gnomon on the sun's entering 
 each sign of the zodiac. The hours of 
 
 the day are also pointed out by these in- 
 tersections, the shadow descending with 
 the rising and ascending with the setting 
 
 sun. 
 
 Our next illustration represents a com- 
 pound dial, which exhibits djals on four 
 different faces of the stone. It was found 
 at one of the ancient cross-ways of Athens, 
 where it is supposed to have been erected 
 for the public good. It is now in the 
 British Museum among the collection of 
 antiquities known as the Elgin marbles. 
 
 We have space only to give the general 
 rules to be observed in the construction of 
 dials, which are applicable to them all. 
 Suppose 12 planes, making with each 
 other, angles of fifteen degrees, passing 
 through the axis of the earth and dividing 
 the sphere into 24 equal parts, one of 
 these planes being the meridial of the 
 place of the observer; commence from 
 the meridian and moving toward the west, 
 number these planes I, 2, 3, 4, <S[c., up to 
 twelve, which will be the lower meridian 
 of the place ; commencing from this point, 
 number as before, 1, 2, 3, &c., t'. 12, which 
 will now fall on the upper meridian. 
 These will form a series of hor.iry circles, 
 in passing from one of which to the next, 
 the sun will occupy one hour. At noon 
 it will be on the meridial numbered 12 ; 
 an hour previous it was on the last horary 
 circle preceding, and it was 1 1 o'clock ; 
 an hour after, it will be on another circle 
 representing 1 o'clock and thus it pro- 
 ceeds till the lime of setting, and com- 
 mences again at its rising. Suppose now 
 an opaque plane, passing through the 
 centre of the earth, and intersected by the 
 
 Compoand dial of Atheng. 
 
oinled out by these in- 
 fjadow descending with 
 ending with the setting 
 
 ation represents a com- 
 1 exhibits djals on four 
 ihe stone. It was found 
 nt cross-ways of Athens, 
 sed to have been erected 
 3od. It is now in the 
 among the collection of 
 I as the Elgin marbles, 
 i only to give the general 
 'ed in the construction of 
 applicable to them all. 
 nes, making with each 
 fifteen degrees, passing 
 of the earth and dividing 
 24 equal parts, one of 
 ng the ineridiai of the 
 server ; commence from 
 moving towawl the west, 
 ines 1, 2, 3, 4, &c., up to 
 ill be the lower meridian 
 nmencing from this point, 
 , 1,2, 3, &c.,t')12,which 
 on the upper meridian, 
 a series of horary circles, 
 one of which to the next, 
 upy one hour. At noon 
 i meridial numbered 12 ; 
 1 it was on the last horary 
 , and it was 11 o'clock ; 
 will be on another circle 
 o'clock and thus it pro- 
 ime of setting, and corn- 
 its rising. Suppose now 
 ie, passing through the 
 :th, and intersected by the 
 
 HOROLOGY. 
 
 1027 
 
 twelve planes in as many diverging straight 
 lines, and mark these lines with the num- 
 hers belonging to their respective planes. 
 This opaque plane will represent the face 
 of a dial, the straight lines will form the 
 horary lines marked on its surface, and 
 the style, or gnomon, will represent the 
 axis of the eariii, and will project its 
 shadows successively on each of the hour 
 lines, the number affixed to which will 
 show the hour of the day. This is the 
 theory of dials ; and one calculated for 
 any given place, will serve for any other 
 place under the same meridian, provided its 
 position in the latter place be parallel to 
 its position in the former place. 
 
 The most simple method for measuring 
 time, next to the dial is the hour-glass, 
 which was doubtless used prior to the 
 more complicated clepsydrse. 
 
 Hour-glasses are made of various forms 
 for the purposes of ornament, but the in- 
 terior construction of all is necessarily the 
 same. It represents two cylindrical cones 
 of glass, joined at the apex. At the point 
 of conjunction there is a small aper.ure, 
 just large enough for a certain sized sand 
 in a given quantity to pass through within 
 the space of an hour. This sand is put 
 into one of the cones, and when it has all 
 run out into the other, completing the 
 measurement of the hour, the glass is re- 
 versed, and the sand again commences its 
 
 descent. . u. 
 
 The Clepsydra or water-clock was brought 
 into use by the Greeks at an early period, 
 probably about the time of Pythagoras. 
 They were first constructed by the phi- 
 losophers for the purpose of determining, 
 by measuring time precisely, some ot 
 their problems ; such as the time required 
 for a certain body of a given weight to 
 pass through a medium of given distance 
 and density. Their correctness caused 
 them to be used afterward for the measui;e- 
 ment of time. Ctesibius of Alexandria, 
 who flourished about two hundred years 
 prior to the Christian era, spent much 
 time in bringing this instrument to per- 
 fection, yet he did not advance it to that 
 point of usefulness to which the Greeks 
 afterward carried it. . 
 
 The utile portion of the clepsydrae is 
 simple, but the ornamental parts were 
 often made in a complicated and expeusivo 
 
 style. In the earliest water-clocks, which 
 were in principle of action similar to the 
 hour-glass, the indication of time was 
 eflected by marks corresponding to either 
 the diminution of the fluid in the contain- 
 ing vessel, during the time of emptying, 
 or to the increase of the fluid in the re- 
 ceiving vessel during its time of filling ; 
 but it was found that the water escaped 
 much more rapidly out of the vessel when 
 it was full, than when it was nearly empty, 
 owing to the difference in the pressure of 
 the atmosphere, and it required great in- 
 genuity in adjusting the marks upon the 
 index, so as to correspond with thft varia- 
 tion. 
 
 Clepaydrge. 
 
 The construction of a clepsydrte for 
 the most correct measurement of tinie is 
 shown in our engraving. The cylinder 
 A on which twelve hours are marked, is 
 hollow, and serves for a reservoir to con- 
 tain the water. At the bottom is an aper- 
 ture through which the water passes into 
 the pipe B ; this pipe has a very small 
 orifice whence the water escapes with a 
 certain rapidity, and falls into the cup be- 
 low, having an opening at the bottom 
 similar to the reservoir. From this cup 
 the water flows into the receiving cylin- 
 der G in which it rises to a given height 
 each hour. A piece of cork with a wire 
 D attached is placed in this cylinder, and 
 floats on the surface of the water, lo 
 
1028 
 
 HOROLOOY 
 
 the wire an index-hand is fixed which, 
 as the corii rises, points out the hours 
 upon the larKe cylinder. A siphon E,s 
 atiach.d, which exhausts the water m the 
 cylinder C as soon as it rises to a certain 
 height, and tlie indicator falls to figure I, 
 to commence its daily labor again. By ^ 
 increasing the length of the two cyhnders 
 twenty-four hours may bo marked and 
 measured, before the clock needs mndin^l 
 up hy the siphon. When Julms C(Esar 
 invaded Britain he found a kind of c^ep- 
 8ydr.x in use among the inhabitants of the | 
 southern part of the island, 'hey were , 
 in common use at th.u time in Rome, and 
 continued so in Italy, as late as the sixth , 
 century of our era. 
 
 At what precise time clocks or machines | 
 for horological purposes, combining wheels 
 and springs, were invented, can not be 
 determined. Vitruvius mentions incident- , 
 ally an Alexandrian artist who combined 
 springs and wheels with the clepsydrae 
 about 41 B. C. It is mentioned in an o d | 
 chronicle, that Haroun al Raschid, caM, 
 of Bagdad, sent a clock as a present to 
 Charlemagne, hut from a more minute , 
 detail elsewhere given, it seems to have I 
 been an ingenious clepsydra, vihich had 
 the addition of belU. to record by sounds 
 the termination of each hour. 
 
 It is related that an artist named Dondi, 
 constructed a clock for the city of Padua 
 in the fourth century, and that a short 
 time afterward one Zelaiider made one for 
 the same city, still more complex, which 
 was repaired in the sixteenth century by 
 Janellin Turrianus, the mechanic of Charles 
 V. These, two, were doubtless improved 
 
 ^ Tve have no positive proof that clocks, 
 similar to those now in use, were made 
 previous to, or about the commencement 
 of the twelfth century. Near the close 
 of the eleventh century, William, abbot of 
 Heischan in Saxony " invented," accord- 
 ing to his biographer, "a horologium 
 similar to the celestial hemisphere ; and 
 from corroborative testimony, it appears 
 clear that this monk was either the in- 
 ventor of the modern clock, or was the 
 first to introduce it into Europe. 
 
 In the thirteenth century. Sultan Saladm 
 gave a clock to the emperor Frederic 11., 
 which was put in motion by weights and 
 
 wheels. It marked the hour, the course 
 of the sun and moon, and the planets in 
 the zodiac. On this fact, many authors 
 found a reasonable belief, that clocks were 
 invented by the Saracens and made known 
 to Europeans in the time of the crusades^ 
 During the sixteenth and seventeenth 
 centuries, great improvements were made 
 in the construction of clocks, many ot 
 which exhibited a complication of ma- 
 chinevy for the exhibition of automatic 
 fiuures, as well as sidereal and lunar ob- 
 seivations, truly wonderful. Of these, the 
 clocks of Strasburg and Lyons were the 
 most remarkable. The invention of the 
 pendulum, and its great improvements by 
 a combination of metals, advanced the art 
 of clock-making rapidly from the seven- 
 teenth to the eighteenth century, and 
 brought it to that perfection and accuracy 
 which it now exhibits. 
 I Watches, or as they may be properly 
 I called, portable clocks, came into use in 
 1 England a short time prior to the reign of 
 Queen Elizabeth. The first watches were 
 not intended to be worn about the person, 
 1 but were constructed for the convenience 
 ! of transmission from place to place. A 
 watch in the reign of Elizabeth was abou 
 the oize of a dessert-plate of the present 
 day. This applies more pariicularly to 
 one owned by the queen herself. But 
 Shakspere, who lived during her reign, 
 alludes in his Twelfth Night to a watch 
 evidently worn in the pocket. In the 
 reign of Charles I. their dimensions were 
 considerably reduced ; but^it was not till 
 the reign of James, near the close of the 
 seventeenth century, that pocket-watches 
 came into general use. 
 
 Watches were quite common m trance 
 and Germany about the middle of the six- 
 teenth century, but they were too unwield- 
 ly for pocket service. A Germaii named 
 Huygens and Dr. Hooke. an Englishman 
 ! for a long time disputed for the honor of 
 the invention of the watch proper; the 
 majority give the palm to Dr. Hooke. 
 
 Our space will not permit us to give a 
 
 detailed description of the mechanism of 
 
 modern time-keepers, included under the 
 
 several names of clock, watch, and chro- 
 
 I nometer. We introduce an engraving rep- 
 
 i resenting the machinery of a common 
 
 ' watch, and this will serve to illustrate the 
 
1 the hour, tne course 
 )n, and the planets in 
 lis fact, many authors 
 beUcf, that clocks were 
 icons and made known 
 D time of the crusades, 
 eenlh and seventeenth 
 provements were made 
 n of clocks, many of 
 I complication of ma- 
 ixhibilion of automatic 
 sidereal and lunar ob- 
 )nderful. Of these, the 
 g and Lyons were the 
 The invention of the 
 great improvements by 
 netals, advanced the art 
 rapidly from the seven- 
 ghteenth century, and 
 perfection and accuracy 
 
 ibiis. 
 
 s they may be properly 
 locks, came into use in 
 ime prior to the reign of 
 The first watches were 
 3 worn about the person, 
 cled for the convenience 
 Prom place to place. A 
 n of Elizabeth was about 
 ssert-plate of the present 
 ies more particularly to 
 the queen herself. But 
 lived during her reign, 
 welfth Night to a watch 
 in the pocket. In the 
 I. their dimensions were 
 luced; but it was not till 
 [les, near the close of the 
 tury, that pocket-watches 
 al use. 
 
 B quite common in France 
 bout the middle of the six- 
 but they were too unwield- 
 rvice. A German named 
 Ir. Hooke, an Englishman, 
 disputed for the honor of 
 uf the watch proper; the 
 \e palm to Dr. Hooke. 
 ill not permit us to give a 
 plion of the mechanism of 
 jepers, included under the 
 of clock, watch, and chro- 
 introduce an engraving rep- 
 machinery of a common 
 3 will serve to illustrate the 
 
=■= M 
 
 1030 
 
 HoaoLoaY. 
 
 principle of all other horological machines 
 of tho present day. 
 
 Figure 1 repiesents the dial-plate with 
 the hour and minute wheels and indices. 
 X is the minute wheel, Z the hour wheel, 
 and Y the cannon pinion, or a hollow 
 piece of steel which adheres by friction 
 to the arbor of the centre wheel of the 
 watch, and passes through a socket in the 
 hour wheel. At the lower end are leaves 
 or teeth that turn the minute wheel. To 
 the upper square end the minute hand is 
 attached, while the hour hand is fastened 
 to the socket of the hour wheel. 
 
 Figure 2 and figure 6 present two views 
 of the machinery of a watch ; the first, of 
 all between the plates, the second, of the 
 whole complete. Figure 2 gives the forms 
 of the wheels, and figure 6 their action. 
 In the former, A is the box containing the 
 mainspring ; G is the main wheel with 
 the fusee attached ; H is the centre or 
 sectmd wheel ; I the third wheel ; K the 
 conirate wheel turning horizontally with 
 perpendicular teeth ; L the balance-wheel ; 
 FEE the pillars which connect the plates ; 
 d the chain attached to the fusee and 
 mainspring box ; e a small piece of steel 
 borne down by a delicate spring /, to 
 prevent the chain from running off the 
 fusee at the top. 
 
 Figure 6 represents the action thus : 
 A the cylindrical box containing the main- 
 spring round which the chain is wound 
 connecting it with the fusee. To the 
 fusee the main wheel G is attached, hav- 
 ing fortv-eight teeth on its circumference, 
 which lifrns a pinion of twelve teeth, fixed 
 on the arbor of the centre wheel H, so 
 called from its being in the centre of the 
 watch ; it has fifty-four teeth which turn 
 a pinion of six teeth, on the arbor of the 
 third wheel I, which has forty-eight teeth ; 
 it is sunk in a cavity formed in the pillar 
 plate, and turns a pinion of six, on the 
 arbor of the contrale wheel K which has 
 forty-eight teeth, by which it turns a pinion 
 of six, attached to the balance-wheel L, 
 which has fifteen teeth. One of the pivots 
 of the balance-wheel turns in a frame M, 
 called pottance, and the other pivot runs 
 in a smaller piece called counter-poltance. 
 The teeth of the balance-wheel impel the 
 balance. The arbor of the balance, called 
 the verge, has two small pallets or leaves 
 
 L 
 
 projecting from it at nearly right angifs ; 
 these are acted upon in such a inaiintT by 
 the teeth of the balance-wheel, that, at 
 every vibration of the biilanco, aided by a 
 fine spring, a tooth of the wheel is allow- 
 ed to escape or pas^i by, at the same time 
 giving an impulse to the balance. This 
 part of the watch is called the escape- 
 ment from this fact, and is clearly shown 
 in figure 7. 0, p, s, r, indicate the bal- 
 ance, g the hairspring, k the balance- 
 wheel, A the pinion in which the conirate 
 wheel acts, and m, n,lhe two pallets upon 
 the verge. The arrow I denotes the di- 
 rection in which the balance-wheel moves. 
 A, figure 5, is the box with the main- 
 spring coiled up within it. a is a small 
 square hole in which a thick piece of 
 steel, attached to the mainspring is in- 
 serted, which holds that end of the spring 
 fast, while by the other end attached to 
 the arbor B, it is coiled up. F, shows 
 the bottom of the main wheel with the 
 ratchet /, and F, g, the fusee on which 
 the chain is wound, and which is attached 
 to the main wheel. Fij,ir,o 4, shows the 
 form of the pottance. V, is the place for 
 the slide containing the hole for the bal- 
 ance-wheel pivot, and I the bottom on 
 which the verge pivot rests. Figure 8, 
 shows the top plate with the balance o, 
 the hairspring v, the regulator z, and the 
 index to the regulator marked R, A. 
 
 When it was ascertained by navigators 
 that good time-keepers were highly useful 
 in determining correctly the longitude at 
 sea, the attention of the mechanics and 
 even of the government itself of England, 
 was turned to the subject of so improving 
 spring clocks, or watches, as to make them 
 capable of enduring the vicissitudes of heat 
 and cold without variation. In the reign 
 of Queen Anne, the parliament offered a 
 rewardof twenty thousand pounds sterling, 
 for a method of determining the longitude 
 with the accuracy of thirty miles, or half 
 a degree of a great circle. Harrison, a 
 watchmaker, after great labor and industry, 
 produced a time-keeper which he called 
 a chronometer, that procured him the o»- 
 fered reward. He effected his object in 
 equalizing the contraction and expansion 
 of the spiral spring and balance, by a com- 
 bination of two metals, of opposite ex- 
 Ipansions, by which he formed a self- 
 
NO I'EHBON UNIMPORTANT. 
 
 arly njjht anulns ; 
 such a iniiiincr liy 
 ce-whcel, thai, at 
 iilanoo, aiileil hy a 
 10 wheel is alh>w- 
 , at the same tiino 
 le balance. This 
 called the escape- 
 is clearly shown 
 , indicate the bul- 
 {, k the balance- 
 which the contrato 
 e two pallets upon 
 2 denotes the di- 
 ance-wheel moves, 
 ox with the main- 
 I it. a is a small 
 a thick piece of 
 mainspring is in- 
 Lt end of the spring 
 3X end attached to 
 ed up. F, shows 
 in wheel with the 
 10 fusee on which 
 1 which is attached 
 'i4,ii;e 4, shows the 
 V, is the place for 
 le hole for the bal- 
 1 I the bottom on 
 I rests. Figure 8, 
 with the balance o, 
 regulator z, and the 
 marked K, A. 
 ained by navigators 
 1 were highly useful 
 lly the longitude at 
 the mechanics and 
 It itself of England, 
 ect of so improving 
 les, as to make them 
 e vicissitudes of heat 
 ition. In the reign 
 mrliament offered a 
 land pounds sterling, 
 raining the longitude 
 thirty aiiles, or half 
 circle. Harrison, a 
 at labor and industry, 
 per which he called 
 procured him the ol- 
 iTected his object in 
 iction and expansion 
 id balance, by a com- 
 als, of opposite ex- 
 he formed a self- 
 
 roKulating curb. This principle is now 
 applied to pendulum clocks, with the ad- 
 al'ion of mercury, placed in a jar wh.ch 
 forms the ball of the pendulum. Fheso 
 are the only clocks that will keep time 
 during a whole year, exposed to the vi- 
 cisMtudcs of the seasons, without change. ] 
 The chronometer has now become an 
 indispensable instrument on board of every 
 vessel. When properly rejjulatod and 
 rated, it is astonishing to witness the 
 accuracy with which they measure lime^ 
 About five years since, we had charge ol 
 one for several months, and from Novem- 
 ber till the following May, it did not vary 
 quite five seconds from its rale. 
 
 NO PERSON UNIMPOIITANT. 
 
 HE pride of wealth 
 and individual state 
 tend to make many 
 members of the social 
 scene appear extreme- 
 ly unimportant. And, 
 in our ordinary moods, 
 , we are accordingly 
 
 very apt to feel toward such persons as if 
 S w^ero scarcely entitled to be reckoned 
 as existing. We here commit a great 
 mistake It would be of little use in this 
 place to show its inconsistency with high 
 Soclrines as to the nature and destiny of 
 man, but the same end may be served if 
 it can be shown as fallacious iipon the 
 simplest worldly considerations. No mem- 
 ber then, of any body of men can be un- 
 important, so long as men live in society 
 for in that state-such are the relations 
 arising from the fact of our all partaking 
 of the same nature-the highest are liable 
 to be affected in some degree in their 
 fortune and happiness by the meanest. 
 So bound up are wo together in interests, 
 that what hurts one hurls all, and we really 
 thrive as much in things favorable to our 
 neighbor, as in those bearing immediately 
 upon ourselves. ,. 
 
 First, as to a community of bodily quali- 
 ties. Here the pride of natural endow- 
 ment, as well as that of conventional dig- 
 nity, is sadly humbled; for, as is well 
 known, there is not the slightest difference 
 
 between the physical conslUuiion of the 
 greatest man and that of the humblest. 
 IJolh, accordingly, are liable alike to in- 
 fluences calculated to operate injuriously 
 on the bodily frame. When any one asks, 
 therefore, of what earthly consequflnco to 
 the proud and great is the exuicnce of 
 any particular specimen of the humble, it 
 may be sufficient to point out that an in- 
 1 feclioim disease affecting the latter may 
 be communicaled to the former, and in- 
 volve both in common ruin. How ollen 
 has it happened th;il a beggar has brought 
 to a city a malady which has swept off 
 multitudes ot the higher as well as interior 
 classes' "'.'he rising of disease among 
 the miserable classes, and its spreading 
 upward among the affluent, is unfortunately 
 a phenomenon not confined to past periods 
 of history. It is on such occasions that 
 the importance we are all of to each other 
 is brought most affectingly before us. We 
 then see how it might have been of con- 
 sequence to some family living m easy 
 and elegant circumstances, that some other 
 particular family living in wretchedness, 1 
 in a distant part of the same town, had 
 been in time succored with a brotherly 
 help, and so redeemed from the danger 
 they were in of proving a bane to all 
 around them. It is a terrible .orm of 
 admonition, but is it not a just one, con- 
 sidering that wo really arc one family, and 
 therefore ought to love and cherish one 
 another ? The care of the disease which 
 has been allowed to arise, the charge of 
 the helpless dependants of those who 
 have perished— these being exactions so 
 much greater than what would have pre- 
 vented the evil at first— may well be re- 
 garded as penalties incurred by society 
 for its omissions of duly. Man, in his 
 hardness of heart, or under the guidance 
 of lalse principles, may rebel "gamsl 
 these ordinations of Providence ; but, till 
 he can change the arrangements by which 
 we all move and breathe, he must choose 
 between the two courses, either to regard 
 all his fellow-creatures as brothers, and to 
 act by them accordingly, or to remain ex- 
 posed to the many dangers by wliich, 
 through his neglect of this maxim, he 
 must ever be surrounded. 
 
 We may now inquire how the humble 
 become of importance to the rest from a 
 

 \ 
 
 NO PKIISON UNIMPOllTANT. 
 
 loaa 
 
 T 'e „, „„-,,i,iitlon This I »ro hrought into coi.t.irt ; .md wlnr.. this 
 
 community of moral coniUtu Ion »» " » , ^j,, i,p „ mud. mnro 
 
 >^^uu^y^r'^''^^"^:^:^^:T':T:^!:i'z p«w:;f:i .;';..i..n.-y to lonow .... 1...., or 
 
 conduct ox.Mnplir.-.l. Who <ui. l-ll w .!,t 
 lascir.iiiioi. 1..) .niiy, every moment ol lll^. 
 life, bo cxerr' ing over m.mo l....).Me, 
 tl.ouph m.known worshippers, .•udi..;,' 
 them riyht or wronK ac( orchi.f,' iis he may 
 chance to act ? There are no .lo.ihl very 
 various degrees of personal inlhieiK-r; yet 
 it is e.iually indubitable that hardly any 
 person is so extremely hu.nblo as not to 
 bo surrounded by some who, either from 
 
 the same hiw as physical, and that we 
 arc thus, as in the former case, enabl.ul 
 to affict each other for ^""'1 "' «^''' [" 
 the classes culled miserable, who are the 
 humblest of all, there must needs bo, as a 
 ueneral result, very low moral conditions. 
 Hero, indeed, we usually find a concontra- 
 tion of almost all tho vices of which our 
 nature is capable. Tho corruptions spread 
 outward and upward, exactly like a pesti- 
 Inice, and inevitablyjend '» ,c"';|'';^'^'_;;^^*;^ 
 tlif bettor classes. " """" 
 
 ■J lonil to contaminate i oo Biiri>Miiiu<.- ■} -• — - . „ 
 
 which they occasion for a delensive vigi 
 lance on the part of their sup.'r.ors they 
 do a great injury, for thus are ...en s hearts 
 shut up, and mutual love and conf.dcnco 
 extinguished. Still worse are the resu ts 
 of tho penal severities which they call 
 for, for every blow of tho sword ol Justice 
 tends in some degree to harden the fee - 
 inus of the community. Ihus are the 
 mean made important to the exalted ; thus 
 does the moral situation of the poorest and 
 vilest of mankind become a matter of some 
 interest to tho very highest, wide as is 
 the social gulf which appears to lie be- 
 tween them. . 1 -.u ,„ 
 Let us now see how it stands with re- 
 gard to an individual against the whole 
 mass of society. There is a tendency in 
 „,any persons to suppose that they are 
 unimportant to their fellow-creaturer, and 
 that their conduct also is unimportant, be- 
 cause they form respectively but one out o 
 a mighty number. There could not well 
 be a greater mistake than this for there 
 is no such thing as a thoroughly detached 
 and isolated individual: we are all in- 
 extricably tied up and interlaced with each 
 other ; so that no man can live or act 
 without affecting others in some degree, 
 and, to some purpose, concerning their 
 weal or wo. Look alone to the principle 
 of imi.a.ion. Through this principle every 
 one is, consciously or unconsciously, modi- 
 fving the tendencies of all who have op- 
 portuuiiies of seeing or judging ot him. 
 That disposition which more or ^^^^J^'^ 
 s 
 
 
 of both, will be affected to good or evil by 
 his example. 
 
 Iksides this, it is in the very nnt.iro ot 
 every moral phenomenon to be dillustve. 
 A gm.d or bad act is like a slono dropped 
 in a pool, which sends out a successu.n 
 of waves all around, until tho impulse l.rst 
 given is exhausted. The good act goes 
 forth smiling in the face of mankind, and 
 makes all smile delightedly who see or 
 hear of it ; tho bad act bursts out with a 
 frown, which darkens all around it. That 
 is to say, when we witness or are in- 
 formed of an act comprising conscuMi- 
 tiousness, kindness, self-sacrifice, mag- 
 nanimity, or any other noble principle, we 
 naturally are warmed by it into a love ol 
 the same good principle, and are sireniiih- 
 cned in a wish to do likewise. And when 
 we see or hear of an act comp/ising ui- 
 humanity, base deception, or injustice, we ^j 
 are at the best roused into the exercise ot || 
 a resentful principle, which, though we 
 may call it honest indisnalion, does in 
 reality give us no pos.ive advance as 
 moral beings-possibly we are only sullied 
 by the passing of a wave of the muddy 
 waters of error over our minds. Accord- 
 ingly, that there should ever be a bad deed j 
 done, or a foid or harsh word spoken is | 
 a misfortune and an evil to all around— | 
 no saying to how remote a shore ot soue- | 
 ty's mighty ocean. A moment sees the ; 
 deed done or the word issued, a..d years 
 may not see its waves spent on those dis- 
 tant beaches. Little.aud apparently trivial 
 
 n.at disposition which more or l^.^f'"" ' "'^^J^/' «„ act and react in t^ 
 ;pires tis to walk l^y ^^ "^'^hbon f , a 
 
 example, tells power ully, eve n b> Use . ""'^J^'^ ^ ^^^ ^^j devouring n.isch.ef. 
 iu u.aking everybody's conduct impo tan. , j'!^^ ^^^ ,,, ^f families daily broken ; 
 '^^-'''''Z:^^::ii!:S^^ \ ^^ poo! -ta.. by momentary slips. 
 
 in many to ' 
 
 |L- 
 
 I 
 
art i unci wIhta thin 
 ill hn a tniu'li miiri' 
 J Ibllow l\w lino of 
 Willi nm li'll what 
 Dvery iii'inicnl nl IiIh 
 over 81)1110 liiiml>lo, 
 •orHhippors, l«'!i(liii« 
 acconliiiff as ho may 
 iro nro ii« (li>ul)l very 
 rsonul inniiciici'; yt'l 
 able ihai hardly any 
 ■ly hunihlo »>* '"<»' '*' 
 nnc who, eiihur from 
 on, or from a inixiurf 
 led to K*""! or evil hy 
 
 in the very naturo of 
 nenon to be tlitl'iisive. 
 I like a Htono dropped 
 mds out a siKU'ession 
 until iho impulse first 
 
 The good act goes 
 face of mankind, and 
 jlightedly who see or 
 
 act bursts out with a 
 IS all around it. That 
 re witness or are in- 
 comprising conscien- 
 i, self-sacrifice, mag- 
 ler noble principle, we 
 ed by it into a love of 
 ciple, and are sirennih- 
 3 likewise. And when 
 an act comp^rising iri- 
 cption, or injustice, we 
 ied into the exercise of 
 )le, which, though we 
 Bt indiijnation, does in 
 posiive advance as 
 3ibly we are only sullied 
 
 a wave of the muddy j 
 er our minds. Accord- | 
 lould ever be a bad deed j 
 ■ harsh word spoken, is j 
 in evil to all around- 
 remote a shore of socie- j 
 1. A moment sees the | 
 word issued, and years | 
 aves spent on those dis- 
 tle,andapi.arenllylrivial 
 ct and react in the sf here 
 tial at length it comes to 
 and devouring mischief, 
 of families daily broken; 
 als, by momentary slips, 
 
 BPECTACLK8. 
 
 1033 
 
 lay up Hlores of calamity for them-ielves 
 lh\m arise wars and desolations «t k ng- 
 doms, retarding the coming of «"•<"» '» 
 ,na n.lofmnely. If lhi« i« ™ »rue view 
 of the matter, it follows that no mans 
 con.luct is unimportant to «".';'« y-'" 
 .lividually. we reap the beneht ot ovt y 
 good emotion that rises m the bosom 
 another- collectively, wo are punisnul 
 for the errors of every individual. 
 
 If the humblest be thus morally im- 
 portant to the rest, how m eh more so 
 Src those whose position gives them more 
 
 than the average proportion ot inlluence 
 AH conducts bears an immense increasi 
 of consequence when it is connected in 
 the popular mind with rank, wealth, talent, 
 „od d.st.nction-usually held m estee„K 
 
 Great, accordingly, is the responsibility o 
 those so endowed lor their every word 
 and deed. Here there can, indeed bo no 
 pretence of the unimportance ol individual 
 conduct, for the eflVcts are open, palpable, 
 and uniier^ally acUnowl.d«ed. It would 
 be too much to expert that the claim upon 
 
 «uch |.ers<n.s should be in every case 
 curefullv regarded, but lei its importance 
 
 „l least be as generally impressed as possi- 
 ble 'I'he responsibility seems particular- 
 ly obligatory where the superiority con- 
 l!,rred is that of superior intellect. We 
 ,her., look more exp.eungly tor every form 
 of good, and are the iuor.^ rejoiced or sad- 
 dened as our expectation '\g^,fj'f "J 
 disappointed. Pitiable, too, h it for he 
 erring spirit himself, for how thoroughly 
 does he' thereby balk the design wWu 
 Providence had formed in his tavor! Men 
 of superior intellect are the natural lead- 
 ers ot' their species. 'p«y l'^^'" ^J^"^ 
 placed before them, to be secured by the 
 i.ht use of their abilities. Their abusmg 
 that gift is as thoroughly a cuslmg ot 
 precious fortune at their feet, as is the 
 prodigal spending of a miser's hoard by 
 L impatient heir. They mignt go crown- 
 ed ailiidst their fellows, with Ine palm- 
 ,ree« of triumph waving around them, ad 
 they consent to wallow m the mire, to the 
 disgrace of themselves and the pollution 
 
 of their neighbors. 
 
 Let no one, then, ever say to himself or 
 
 others, I am of no consequer.ee ; 1 am , 
 poor and despised, and of no accoun;! 
 or, I am only one among many, and have 
 
 „o inrtuonco. The poorest class tolls 
 powerl.dly on the highest. I ho despised 
 is a subject of very fair anxiety to the 
 most exaltedi and every person, however 
 limited his gifts !>• continually operating 
 for good or evil on all around hun. 
 
 Sl'l'CTACLES. 
 
 CCOIIDING to 
 the best authori- 
 ties, spectacles 
 consist of two 
 lenses so arrang- 
 ed in frames as 
 to aid defective 
 vision. To this 
 , . , end, and to suit 
 
 every sort of visual deficiency, great varie- 
 ties of the article have been invented. 
 There are magnifying glasses and dimin- 
 ishing glasses, and glasses through which 
 objects appear of their actual s..e. I here 
 are spectacles for daylight, spectacles fo 
 candlelight, and spectacles tinted with all 
 sons of hues, from pleasing pmk to a 
 sombre slate-color. Some are constructed 
 to enable the wearer to perceive things 
 which are at a distance ; others to increase 
 the distinctness of things which are near ; 
 Dr. Wollaston's periscopic spectac es al- 
 low of looking sidewise; and Do La 
 Court's retlecting glasses make up lor the 
 want of eyes in the back of the head, fo 
 
 they reveal what is going on behind backs . 
 Again, viewing spectacles m rderence o 
 quality, and as articles ot manufacture and 
 
 i trade, there arc good, inditVerent, ana do- 
 cldedly bad spectacles, the last being 
 
 ' made not so much to be seen through, as 
 —like the razorf' described by Peter 
 Pindar-to sell. These generally give 
 distorted appeara. .3 to objects, lor the 
 clearer viewingof wmch they were brought 
 
 to assist. . , 
 
 It is our purpose in this article to 
 abandon the literal signification of the 
 word spectacles, and to treat the term ab- 
 stractedly from the actual article which is 
 seen in the shops, in pedlars' packs, and 
 on the noses of our elderly friends. We 
 seek to give greater currency to the more 
 enlarged, though metaphorical sense in 
 
 J 
 
*^^q 
 
 1034 
 
 SPECTACLES. 
 
 which the word is used by many authors 
 of high repute, both ancient and modern. 
 Thus, Chaucer sailh, that :— 
 '< Poverte a ipectaed is, as thinketh rac, 
 Through which he may his very friends see. 
 And Dryden, in commenting on the genius 
 of Shakspere, truly observes, that the great 
 dramatist "was naturally learned— he 
 needed not the spectacles of books to read 
 nature." Thus, as a man is sometimes 
 said to "see" that which is invisible, suca 
 as a fine thought, the point of a joke, or 
 the force of an argument, so would we 
 draw attention, not to mechanical, but to 
 psychological spectacles— not to those 
 which aid or derange the actual organs 
 of sight, but to those which assist or falsi- 
 fy the mental vision. . 
 
 These metaphorical spectacles being 
 worn by a large majority of mankind, are 
 in quite as great variety as the spectacles 
 we have described, and suit themselves to 
 every age and condition. Ardent and im- 
 aginative youth, for example, on first enter- 
 ing active life, wears spectacles which ex- 
 hibit everything in the brightest colors. 
 Itf keen sense of enjoyment, which makes 
 it feel the mere act of existence to be a 
 pleasure, extracts gratification out of what- 
 ever is presented to the senses. Painful 
 feelings, when excited in the young, are 
 transient, and serve rather to heighten the 
 effect of general enjoyment than to lessen 
 it. Worldly experience has yet to darken 
 the glowing picture— to give more truth- 
 ful, and, alas ! less favorable views of 
 mankind, but, on the other hand, to ex- 
 change for restless and fevered, more 
 permanent end assured sources of happi- 
 ness. Hence, to the glowing imagination 
 of such natures it is always summer ; and 
 they do not, as in after-life, enjoy the 
 coming of the spring, because they know 
 no winter. To them all men appear good, 
 all nature seems beautiful. Sucli tem- 
 peraments see everything coleur de rose — 
 they wear pinh spectacles. 
 
 These spectacles are by far the most 
 dangerous to the real as well as to the 
 mental perception. "The habitual use 
 of tinted spectacles," remarks an expe- 
 rienced optician, " gives rise to a succes- 
 sion of violent changes of color, which are 
 painful to the unpractised, and must bo in- 
 jurious to those who have become inured 
 
 to them." This is exactly the case with 
 the false medium through which the world 
 is often seen by youthful enthusiasm. 
 Many a young man, viewing mankind in 
 too glowing a light, has had some act of 
 human frailty (by which, perhaps, he is 
 made to 8ufl"er) unexpectedly revealed to 
 him— has had the pink spectacles sudden- 
 ly dashed from his vision ! Then, in pro- 
 portion as all was before unduly brilliant 
 and beautiful, all appears now as falsely 
 dark. He is what is called a "disap- 
 pointed man." His imagination, which 
 at first exaggerated the goodness of man- 
 kind, now exaggerates its wickedness. 
 The darkened spectacles which are sub- 
 stituted as much incapacitate him from 
 enjoying the brightness of the sun, as 
 those he previously wore increased it ; 
 and he who before saw universal good- 
 ness, ceases to believe in benevolence ; 
 and the character of every human being 
 appears to be shaded with self-interest or 
 other faultiness. By constantly regarding 
 the shadows of the picture, and those 
 only, he grows old in his fatal uncharita- 
 bleness, and is reduced to the ur.amiable 
 condition of a cynic— a Diogenes ; but a 
 Diogenes who looks for honest men— not 
 with a lamp, but with a dark lantern— 
 for his vision is obscured with " clouded" 
 spectacles. Of a similar stamp arc those 
 desponding spirits who have a taste for 
 the dismals of this life ; who take delight 
 in sighs and sadness, pathetic emotions, 
 and heart-rending wo, and view human 
 nature " through the lens of a tear." 
 
 Other varieties of spectacles are very 
 generally worn, which are neither pink nor 
 clouded, but work in matters of lesser 
 importance the effects of both. The 
 wearers of them are never contented with 
 truth and nature simply as they see her. 
 If they have to describe a hill, for exam- 
 ple, they will tell you the ascejit is almost 
 perpendicular, and make reference to the 
 Alps. A slight drizzle they exaggerate 
 to a perfect torrent : for with them ii never 
 rains but it pours. In picturing a female 
 acquaintance, with however moderate pre- 
 tensions to beauty, they constantly ap- 
 ply the well-worn similitude ccmcerning 
 angels. Their particular friends are pat- 
 terns of virtue, their enemies monsters of 
 wickedness. They see everything in ex- 
 
 
is exactly tlie case with 
 thr^yugh which the world 
 y youthful enihusiasm. 
 lan, viewing inankind in 
 ht, has had some act of 
 y which, perhaps, he is 
 mexpeclediy revealed to 
 5 pink spectacles sudden- 
 is vision ! Then, in pro- 
 is before unduly brilliant 
 I appears now as falsely 
 hat is called a " disap- 
 His imagination, which 
 ed the goodness of man- 
 rgerates its wickedness, 
 pectacles which are sub- 
 h incapacitate him from 
 rightness of the sun, as 
 usly wore increased it ; 
 fore saw universal good- 
 believe in benevolence ; 
 ter of every human being 
 baded with self-interest or 
 By constantly regarding 
 f the picture, and those 
 old in his fatal uncharita- 
 reduced to the unamiable 
 cynic — a Diogenes ; but a 
 looks for honest men — not 
 ut with a dprk lantern — 
 1 obscured with " clouded" ^ 
 a similar stamp arc those I 
 rits who have a taste for | 
 this life ; who take delight 
 adness, pathetic emotions, 
 ling wo, and view human 
 h the lens of a tear." 
 ies of spectacles are very 
 , which are neither pink nor 
 vork in matters of lesser 
 B effects of both. The 
 m are never contented with 
 re simply as they see her. 
 describe a hill, for exam- 
 ell you the ascejit is almost 
 and make reference to the 
 ht drizzle they exaggerate 
 rrent : for with them ii never 
 lurs. In picturing a female 
 with however moderate pre- 
 jauty, they constantly ap- 
 Bvorn similitude concerning 
 ir particular friends are pat- 
 ;, their enemies monsters of 
 They see everything in ex- 
 
 tremes, anl are themselves subject by 
 turns, the met delightful happiness a.ul 
 "oL direst misery. When a hu e p^ea^^- 
 ed they declare they are enchanted , vvhc 
 a Hi. c paine J, » the agonv is excruciaUng 
 Nothing that passes before, y-nd anJ 
 witlnnthem,seemstopvesenl t.elfa U^ 
 
 does to other eyes ; lor the lact is, they 
 wear mognijying glasses. „„ •„„„„bs 
 
 Other persons want comprehensiveness 
 of .en a vision. Prop..und to them a-.y 
 gu scheme of benevolence or utih ly 
 ?nd they try to scare you away from ;.t by 
 sum mnlr up the petty difficulties which 
 tie the way. Praise the character ot a 
 m; a Id Uiey peck away the value ol 
 Hu commendations by hinting certain 
 minor fauhs and immaterial p.ccad.Uoes. 
 T e .pect s they wear contract the. 
 range of v. ..on to a small circle; they 
 ca.hu>t see beyond a cevtair distance a,. 
 
 have :u,i an idea beyond to-day. Thi igs 
 or thoughts of large dimensions are ou ol 
 their ken, but they have a wonderful d s- 
 cr minaii^n for small ones. They make 
 excellent anatomists and entomologist, 
 tv'nle they appear unable to umlerstaud , 
 the genera' principles of natural his tiy. 
 Shosv them the boundless ocean, and they 
 
 will discourse of pebbles-a laiidscap 
 and they talk of plants. Speak of the 
 eSs of war, and they will try to remem- 
 ber whether any of their acquaintance has 
 swelled the list of killed a.id wotrnded- 
 if ,hey can recollect none, then thtp,' can 
 not see why war should be so much con- 
 demned, more particularly since they hap- 
 pen to have a friend who made a fortune 
 as an army contractor, and gives capital 
 dinners. Such men, it will be obser^ved. 
 never see things through the same .ued.uni 
 which the rest of the v/orld does ; there 
 is always a diminishing power which con- 
 tracts li.dr vision, and though aiming a 
 principles, they fasten on a mean set ol 
 details. Many of this class are to be 
 |-,,„ud in the critical world. A swarm ot 
 Ihem fastened on the old English drama- 
 tists at the end of the last century, wrote 
 voluminous commentaries on the mean- 
 ing of single words, and indued portly 
 pamphlets to discuss whether we shot, d 
 write Shakspcar or Shakspere. In modern 
 times, these minute observers discover, m 
 a new book, where the co-nwis have bjcn 
 
 66 
 
 left out, or misplaced ; or. like Sergeant 
 Circuit in Foote's farce, m.n-su.t an i.s,nr- 
 i.ur author in the courts of cnt.c.sni lor 
 leaving out an s. These geniuses wear 
 diminishing glasses. 
 
 ■l-h.'u co.ne your shy people, who can 
 I not look you straight in the face and on y 
 ' see out of sid,:-spectacles ; next, those who 
 never see what is before ihe.n m Us true 
 phasis, and who, do what you will lor 
 [hem, torture the inolivo of your acts to 
 so.ne impulse .p.ite diflerent to that whi-.h 
 dictated it. This is the consequence ot 
 wearing distorting spectacles. 
 
 Above all, we must not forget those 
 psychological curiosities who pr.dc them- 
 selves on being extremely sharp observers. 
 They are generally gifted w.lh piercu.g 
 eyes and busy tongues, and are consta.itly 
 trvin.r to look round cor.iers— to penetrate 
 i.,'to places where there is nothing to see, 
 and to make discoveries where there is 
 nothing to find out. These are amo.ig 
 the "clever" of the human race, who 
 boast of never being deceived, for their 
 eyes are everywhere ; though, unfortuiiaic- 
 Iv. it mostly happens they are everywhere 
 but where they ouglit to be ; a.id i.v P'^-r- 
 forming their indefatigable periscope, are 
 so often lookh.g oehind, that a slutiib e is 
 now and then the consequence. 1 liese 
 wotdd appear to apply to their mental per- 
 ception tkeperiscopical reflecling spectacles. 
 There is, besides, a vast variety of 
 spectacles .nounted by certai.i ind.f .duals 
 before their mental perceptions, which 
 have no at.alogy to those to be found in 
 llie opticiati's catalogue. The most gen- 
 erally worn are professional spectacles 
 Physicians, for instan.e, often see through 
 .nedical spectacles. An esteemed vale- 
 tudit.arian, who has retired from medical 
 practice, invariably answers our ordt.nir> 
 innuiryof'Howdoyoudoto-dayt with 
 a dia<xnosis of his complaints ; and when 
 you succeed in drawing him out concer.i- 
 1 .ng the lloath.g news of the day he makos 
 especial inquiries after the "p-tbhcheahh 
 
 in your neighborhood " He d.sangu.shes 
 ! his friends not by their outward appoai- 
 I ance or general disposii.ons, but by the 
 I state ot -heir health; ^^n^ instead of ca- 
 ! ing people by their names, he talks of he 
 
 1 lady with the l.vor-complainl, the gentle- 
 Tpan alliicled with b.v.:.chiti3, or that niece 
 
1036 
 
 8PECTACLE3. 
 
 of his who is troubled with syncope. He 
 will point out Mr. So-and-so as an ex- 
 cellent person in some respects, but blames 
 him severely for not wearing thick shoes 
 in wet weather, and talks of the poor 
 man's catarrh as if the complaint were a 
 moral crime. When he travels, he ob- 
 serves nothing but the climate and the 
 diseases of the population : when he makes 
 a call, he takes away the compliment of 
 the visit by declaring he came out for a 
 little exercise-i-in short, all liis actions 
 are regulated by medical principles, and 
 all he sees is presented through a medi- 
 cated medium. In a similar manner one 
 class of men wear statistical, another geo- 
 logical, and a third gastronomical specta- 
 cles, the last judging of every object in 
 !, nature by its eatableness or drinkableness. 
 Lastly, "the man of fashion— sees the 
 world through an opera-glass. 
 
 It is on account of the number and 
 variety of mental spectacles which differ- 
 ent people wear, artd the pertinacity with 
 which they keep them on, that truth is so 
 difficult to be met with. Thus, a dozen 
 men shall look at the same object, yet 
 their account of it will differ in some 
 material particulars ; for the impressions 
 it makes upon their minds depend entirely 
 upon the kind of spectacles they happen 
 to wear, which, fixing their attention upon 
 especial characteristics, and on them only, 
 blind them to other important features. 
 As an illustration of this, let us suppose a 
 number of individuals looking at some or- 
 dinary object— something plain, palpable, 
 and about which it would appear to be im- 
 possible to differ either in description or 
 otiinion ; say, for example, a flock of sheep 
 in a field. The young observer, with his 
 pink spectacles, paints to you their pic- 
 turesque grouping, the innocent playful- 
 ness of their gambols, and the pleasing 
 animation they give to the surrounding 
 scenery : his account of them would be, 
 that they are " beautiful sheep." He wilh 
 the clouded spectacles, on the contrary, 
 instinctively fastens his observai; "i on the 
 black sheep ; he picks out the lean ones, 
 and builds a theory thereon, by which he 
 would endeavor to prove the deterioration 
 of stock in this country j describing this 
 particular ^ock as a " wretched one. 
 The •:.dn with magnifying glasses insists 
 
 that there must be at least twenty score ; 
 but his friend with the diminishers pins 
 him down to units , while the statistician 
 with cruel pertinacity counts the whole 
 flock, triumphantly certifying that there 
 are exactly one hundred and thirty-eight 
 sheep and nineteen lambs. He also reck- 
 ons, that, supposing there be so iniiny 
 poirads of wool upon each sheep, the whole 
 produce of the flock would be so much at 
 the then market price of wool ; thai this 
 wool would be capable of making so many 
 yards of cloth, which cloth would, if cut 
 to advantage, furnish so many hundred 
 garments. Let iis now suppose the gas- 
 tronomer to make a characteristic remark 
 on the fineness of the mutton, and the rich 
 order it is in for the spit, the statist would 
 launch into another branch of nuiiieration, 
 by setting down the number of joints the 
 whole flock would cut up into : so many 
 haunches, or. if separated, so many legs 
 and so many loins ; or, if the loins should 
 be destined for broiling, so many mutton 
 chops. Take the statements of either of 
 these observers separately, and a false, or 
 at most a limited idea of the actual objects 
 would be derived ; but put them together, 
 and we are in possession of every fact 
 concerning sheep which it is useful or 
 necessary to know. Thus, the specific 
 views afforded by the various sorts of 
 spectacles which mankind put on, are of 
 the utmost value, when assembled and 
 properly weighed by persons who do not 
 habitually wear any spectacles. 
 
 Few are, however, entirely without 
 mental spectacles at some time of their 
 lives — and how constantly are circum- 
 stances changing them ! How apt are we 
 to allow health or sickness, prosperity or 
 misfortune, to place spectacles before our 
 vision, which tinge everything around us 
 with the prevailing feeling ! In ill health, 
 how " weary, flat, stale, and unprofitable" 
 are the same objects from which, when in 
 the full enjoyment of health, we derived 
 pleasure and happiness. On the other 
 hand, how many by no means romantic or 
 picturesque scenes are hallowed in the rec- 
 ollection, when viewed through the specta- 
 cles created during some moment of de- 
 light enjoyed there— the society of a mend 
 we have esteemed, or the amile of one we 
 have loved ! 
 
 =THI END. 
 
 ^\)\- 
 
 ^X'^ 
 
 '.clu3 
 
f 
 
 It least twenty score ; 
 , the (liminishcrs pins 
 , while the statistician 
 3ity counts tlie whole 
 
 certifying that ihero 
 ndred and ihirty-eijjlit 
 
 lambs. He also reeli- 
 ng there be so niiiny 
 \ each sheep, the whole 
 k would be so much at 
 ■ice of wool ; that this 
 able of making so many 
 ich cloth would, if cut 
 lish 80 many hundred 
 I now suppose the gas- 
 a characteristic remark 
 the mutton, and the rich 
 16 spit, the statist would 
 r branch of numeration, 
 le number of joints the 
 
 cut up into : so many 
 jparated, so many legs 
 
 ; or, if the loins should 
 oiling, so many mutton 
 I statements of either of 
 iparately, and a false, or 
 dea of the actual objects 
 ; but put them together, 
 ossession of every fact 
 i which it is useful or 
 •w. Thus, the specific 
 »y the various sorts of 
 mankind put on, are of 
 , when assembled and 
 by persons who do not 
 ny spectacles, 
 irever, entirely without 
 a at some time of their 
 
 constantly are circum- 
 
 them ! How apt are we 
 r sickness, prosperity or 
 ice spectacles before our 
 ge everything around us 
 ig feeling ! In ill health, 
 I, stale, and unprofitable" 
 Bcts from which, when in 
 mt of health, we derived 
 ippiness. On the other 
 
 by no means romantic or 
 Bs are hallowed in the rec- 
 iewed through the specta- 
 ing some moment of de- 
 re— the society of a iriend 
 jd, or the Bmile of one w«