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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 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1^ 150 L; I. •UUt- |2e |25 20 1.8 Photographic Sciences Corporation L25 iu iii.6 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 < <. y^ ^<i^ <? fw CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian ue microreproductions historiques 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 *■-.{ p li «.i^ \ m 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 '%«,, r*.-^^ iiilisti, >vliii, ill KiM?, rnv. iiust <>t Ami'ricii, iiinl ciiii- VCHNcU llll- <illll)'llll, tllllt om iMiinillit III Aciipiilni. thti liurniiicrM of lh»> next tiut lluTe WU.1 " no luw lie- 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- he direction of the celebra- liey Bupceeded - mvmn m;?Ji»L.miiMu mmii !h»i.m i. ! m mi}^ii0MMmisSi^^ r IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) ^ /. y. i/.. ^ ^ij.^ ^ «v^ O^A 1.0 I.I Mi 1^ U: |40 2,5 2.2 Photographic Sciences Corporation 2.0 1.8 11.25 ill 1.4 i 1.6 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. U580 (716) 872-4503 .....Am^ iP ii CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut canadien de m:croreproductions historiques <^ 6^ sai. O ^l%A;mi:noU.' FOUNDER OF THE CITY OF BOSTON, AND FIRST GOVERNOR OF MASSACHUSETTS. *.^» *.i« 1! ^a^k'^* * ■%;; «*«5h^J 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. » 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) /. IL (/. Z. 1.0 I.I 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 r ,r* ■"^ ■t^' m:'0 **^ 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- ^S^SftW-r^f* IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) ^ 4r 1.0 I.I |50 *'^~ IS WUU 2.5 22 1.8 L25 11111.4 111.6 V ^ n %1:^> r ^a^ ' i^L"" J^ >.^ PhotDgrapliic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 -1-.. 1 y CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de nicroreproductlons historlques L 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^ ^»lb ■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 ^*4'.,V»iA, .^^"^J^ , 'itt;jis.».aif.i--x-.-.i. ... «>, % IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1 ^ '/i^A^ i v\% i f i ^^^ -^^ 1.0 I.I L&IM 2.5 2.2 yo ^ 124 £f 11° 12.0 KJUU 11.25 11.4 — 6" PiiDtographic Sdences Corporation It m 1.6 23 WBT MA.IN ST«I6T WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716)872-4503 — J*. "^ ^V tmmmrnirm A ^ ^ ^ ^ CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical MIcroreproductlons / Instltut Canadian de microreproductlons historlques i 1 •11; ifc •I 1' i 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 , ,, IIMMi. if iillMi" ;i !; .:i| III.' mi ' I P 'III I ! |i' '■I I l!HH''i!'i' 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 f ^TT^ijijff^vrfsg^tfsy^H^so:^:. ■ ti it^w \jL ■ ;..."vy-.v)>'-'i''\'^'Al)'»iH 1 f.\.: ifi i j i 1 H 1 ! iill l^ |li ■iH 1 o iWli iLmw ri- • ■ l) 'l ' 'W)>"' ' o liliffll k'm' K ■• M If/ ¥'"{ .li"^/ ■ 8 h 'i 'iV' '/ -■^ i », nfli) ' ' u "^(1 ;lrtlli •3 ' i'lllii m 1 KKIWi ' * '](((,/'■' '' (111 ' O II iiwN^^I^^I ■S ii a \ '4 fi^ / J i^!r^k^;v'-^< ^' \ ^ ,1 l^^-^r .19 HHrai 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 s'flsii M NKMnM liltoNKiJtniit. '^*-M.^ **»i r*, '■- 1 S|^«5-« r- ■# - ■■'■' * -■ ■■■i S„^^ . 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) / O V V. ^ ^ ^.■ I. 1.0 145 I.I F M IM 12.5 I' I 2.2 1^ .^ mil 2.0 Sciences Corporation 1.8 IL25 IIIIII.4 mil 1.6 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716)8721503 I .% V w 6 ^ ^"^^ V ; r CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques JL m V's:f*f*'^ ^jse-^^i ■iiM^i0tti i^ i*A«i*^ 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 .■**' *^^' iiwwik M! ,,«»>.••»<«»*» i ^^^-sifi M ,-,.«*... •-*'■ ps: itofv-^ *#'"' \%'»^* . -i'S „i^j! 6 GO 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^'^' r 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 ■■*? i ••*v». i4:,.<«*„..^ W-n-f- m 'it- 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 ^>, IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) &» 1.0 I.I |50 ""=^ ^ US, 2.5 2.0 1.8 L25 liu 11.6 ^:^J^ Hiotographic Sciences Corpomtion 23 WEST NMH STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) U72-4503 1 lO : f k \ ^ \ k. 1. CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHIVI/ICIVIH Collection de microfiches. 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) 1.0 I.I 11.25 b4|28 12.5 ■^ 1^ 12.2 !: 1;° III 2.0 1.8 1.4 IIIIII.6 ^%. 7^ HiotograpMc Sciences Corporation 23 WES7 MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 : ,V4 ^^ Li CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques <\ S V .Mt 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 f I initii. w£t. .-: 'm m' ■■47A l^ir^ -f 1 1 111" m- f, M M^^^^-^^'sm ^^M '«" ^%, ■ ' f * ■ iU !i^^ :\, .•!.;■« ■A .m$ P^ ■¥. '.m .Kf.h f'^nll >if '4VE "'•midlm i»fc«geW9 i.,>| i ) l. iiill(i .i .l l *i| l iii* » » » *** ' *' ' '" ' '" ' '' ' !■■ , itt m ■■111 ■H^^laiiiii ii'ii'rfPTftW" - |gS*L™5EJ ,IS4!MIBi*RjP!lH!Bn*''i«r'a» - 1*1,, 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 nt stTvices the lered fe, lich ices ' I corded, igravi. tfords an fl ^ ■' *:j«.- fcf» -» vryi' ■ II liiiindi' 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 .-J MMM amm tmMi from i!ii>Hn i<i- ho \v(irl(l ill nwt', ■iiig ftmall Jiv ili'- ." 'I'li.Tc is t!i(. [» of n p;iriiciil;ir •w of a twelvc- k. of a (Ifiy, of ail i liavo often st'cn 3. Mil is short- enough to siilisry 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 itch or tar, thick, ses of hero'i* .■.►) j The field oi ih. ir 1 y themselves do not hat account. Tlse contemplate their IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) // 7, III 1.0 I.I 2.0 ■ 50 vx Itt l-LO 1.8 L25 iil.4 11.6 Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.f. 14580 (716) 872-4503 4^ 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 •• l)VJi <l !,%' ' .. i : 1 11 1 1 1 .1111: il^ii' , II • <^, ^.K% '/} <^ m V W IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) Hiotographic Sdences Corporation // o % ■^#^ 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, I .Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 I.VJ yo ■" ■« ■ E 114 "^ . mil ■ rt , . 1" — 11^ 1.25 1.4 III 1.6 ■; ^// ._ -> -^— ■ O %^ , /^. ;? ./^«' Ij' > ^ k CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut canadien de microreproductions historiques .JT 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«