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SMITH A McMUBCHY'S ELEMENTARY AIUTHMXTIO.
SECOND BOOK OJr HEADINO LESSONS.
THIRD " " "

FOURTH ••««.« J

FIFTH •• . •• •*

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TORONTO:
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Eookselier^. 5; - or,

PEI I ^1

^o7

Entered according to Act of Provincial Legislature^ in the Year
One Thousand Eight hundred and Sixty-aeven, by the
Beverend Egerton Ryersox, LL.D., Chief Superin-
tendent of Education for Ontario, in the OJJice of the
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PEEFACE.

Year
'>y the
perin-
f the

The present volume forms the Fourth of the Cana-
dian Series of School Books.

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Exercises to reed with ease and intelligence, is presented
in this volume with a collection of interesting extracts,
chiefly in the form of narrative^ which is peculiarly at-
tractive to the youthful naind.

At the same time- they embody facts and phenomena
of a most instructive character, with which it is desirable
the pupil should, at this stage of his progress, become
acquainted.

The arrangement adopted in the first five sections of
the volume is geographical. The Extracts comprise in-
cidents in History, Biography, Travel, Discovery, and
Adventure, with Sketches of Manners and Customs, Nat-
ural History, &c., relating to the most important countries
in the world, and classified under their appropriate head-
ings. But while it has been sought to enlarge the mind
of the pupil by introducing him to other lands and ages^

PREFACE.

particular attention has been paid to the North American
Provinces, by devoting to them, and to the empire of
which they form so important a part, a large portion of
the book. It has been desired to impart to a work design-
ed for the training of the youth of our country, a nation-
al character, which may help to cherish in their minds
ideas and sentiments favorable to the culture of a gen-
erous, patriotic spirit.

The Sixth Section consists of Miscellaneous Extracts,
which have been selected with a view to their furnishing
an additional variety of reading lessons, suitable for the
pupil as he advances in his studies, and which may serve
as a fit preparation for entering on the Fifth or concluding
volume of the series.

X^The
vPartiil
/Sir ./|
»Tlie
^Histoij

Education Ojpice,
Toronto, December, 1867.

CONTENTS.

AMERICA

x The Norwegian Colonien in Greenland
^Fartinf; with the Esquimaux
/Sir John Franklin ....
»TI»e Hudson Bwy Company
iHistory of Vancouver Island

^The Fislieries of British Columbia
k The Chinook Indians ....

iThe Lost Hunter

^A Female Crusoe ....

The Wolverine

Destruction of the Red River Colony

Hiawatha's SuHing ....
^ ^Foundintj; of the North American Colonies
J -^he Great Auk .

The Voyage of the Golden Hind

Sir Humphrey Gilbert .
^he MountiiK -r in Newfoundland
•f Sable Island ....
yrUe Coal Fields of Nova Scotia
>«Di8covery of America .

yThe Prarrits

sTIIe United Empire Loyalists

^Jack Frost ^

vPiteher Plants . . . .'
AMoose Hunting in Nova Scoria .

Histoiical Sketch of Prince Edward Island
4,Ship-huihiing in New Brunswick
-* The Ship-Build«'rs

Fire in the Woods

Autumn Woods

The Lazaretto at Triicadie .

Left Ashore on Anticosti

Labrador an I other Teas

Story of Wapwian

The Maple ....
fDeat*: of Montcalm
iLines on the Death of Wolfe .

ffhe Rlvefr St. Lawrence
fJacques Carrier at Hochelaga

The Victt)ria Bridge .

The liapid ....

Gallantry of a Marine .

Fishing for Muskaloimge .

Squirrels . / ..
^Indian Summer

An Indian Council
rFalls of Niagara .

PAOC

Scoresby . . 1
Kane ... 8
Punch ... 6
Ballantyne . . 7
British North Ame-
rica . .11
Edinburgh Review 14
J'aulKane . . U
Street . . .17
Leisure Hour . . 21
Milron&Cheadle . 24
Ross's Jitd River . 26
Longfellow . . 27
Pedley . . .30
Links in the Chain o2
British Enterprise . 34
Loiijifellow . . 87
Corniack's Journey 88
Martin .42
Cain))I ell's Readers 44
Roheribon . . 40
Bryant . .49
Siibiiie . . .58
Miss Gould . . 67
Campleli's Readers 58
Li.'iir. Haidv. . 60
Hill's Actount. . 62
Camiibell's Readers 66
Wintrier . . 67
Norman Macleod . 69
Bryant . . .73
Gov. Gordon . . 74
Lever . . .76
Campleli's Readers 81
Biilliintyne . . 83
Darnell . . .' ?«
Hawkins . . 88
Gnldsmith . . CO
London Journal . 80
HawkiiiA . . 98
Cassell's Paper . 96
Sangster . . 97
Cassell's Paper . 98
Lanman . . .99
Mr . Traill . . 101
Mrs. Moodie . . 108
Sir F. B. Head . 106
Earl of Carlisle . 107

CONTENTS.

The Taking of Detroit

Lumbering

KAinefica to Great Britain
y.The Fnlls of Ni'iffora.

The Skater and the Wolves
\The Skater's Soik)

Tlie Prairies of Nortli America .

Inteu;rity Rewarded
"iA SoiKi of Einipralion .
X-T/te IVesterii fluiiter
■^The ISackii'oodsnian

Boyltood of iienjamin West

An Adventure in tlie Life of Audubon
■^he Natural Britl^re
MThf f.>'if>'e of the Dismal Siramp .
„The Anierirnii Ejigle
^iCortez in Mexico ....

Trapping a Tipir

■^Son^ of the Emirjrants in Bermuda
4JMie Buccanneers.

A Visit to the Botanic Gardens of St.V
)(T/ie West Indian Islands

Shark Adventure in Panama
NLTiie Earthquake of Caraccas

A llair-bi'eadtii Adventure inDomerar

The FnitJjful Noffro . ...
X'The llnmminq-Bird

An Adventure in Brazil
4|<;!onque8t of Peru

Story of Maldnnata and the Puma
The Gauclio of tlie Pampas

rampbell's Readers . 108

Stevenson . . . Ill

Allston . .118

Brainerd . . 114

Whitehead . . .116
H. B. T. ... 118

Face of the Etirth . .119

Sliarpe's Magazine , .121

Mrs. Ilemans . 122

Bryant ... 124

Peabody . .126

Seif-Taiuiht Men . . 127

liomaiitir Incidents . . 128

Elthu Burritt . . 131
Mf)ore .... 136

Wood . .136

Cassell's Paper .189
Advt'nturrs on the

Mosquito shore . 141

Marvell . . . .143

7V<e .SV« . . .144

ncent Juvenile f^prfjet-me-not . 147

Montgomery . . 149

Travrl and Adventure . 160

Humboldt .151

The Naturalist . . 164

Hod/c of (i olden Deeds . 1 6G

Miirv Ilowitt . .167

ItiaPffiiTer . .158
Annals of TiOmantir.

Adrenture . . 161
Wild Sports of tlicWorld 166

8ir F. B. Head . 167

EUROPE

'^^A National Song .

Londt)n

The best kind of Revenge

Tlie Stage Conch
:xThe Battle of Blfvheim .
A T/<e Death of Keeldar .
/vOonqnesto^ Wales

The Taking of Edinburgli Castle

Bruce and the Spider

The Battle of Clontarf

The Four-leaved Shamrock . . . \

Lord Uilin's Daughter .

The Veteran Tar .

Incident at Bruges

The Baffled Traveller .
/Hermann, the Deliverer of Germany

The Village Garrison .

The Fouuding of Aix-la-Chapelle

Dora Green Well . . 169
Merchant Euierprise . 171
Cliambers . 174

Dickens. . . .176
Southev. . . 179

Scott ' . .181

White's Landmarks . 183
Scott . . . .186
Eliza Cook . . .188
Campbell's Readers . 190
Lover .... 194
Campbell . . .196
Moir . . . .196
Wordsworth . .200

The Christmas Tree . 201
Jerrer .... 204
Edinburgh Lit. Journal . 207
Once-a- Week . . "^ . 210

CONTElN^TS.

lers . 108
. Ill
. 118
. 114
. 115
. 118
.119

e . .121

. 122

124

. 125

. 127

f*. . 128
. 131
. 136
. 136
. 189

. 141
. 143
. 144

-not . 147
. 149

lit lire . 150
. 151
. 154

epf/s . 15C
. 157
. 168

tic

. 161

World 165

. 167

. 169
. 171
. 174
. 176
. 179
181
. 183
186
188
190
194
195
196
200
201
204
207
210

An Incident at Ratithon
The Dou iifall of Poland
Three Sueiifs in the Tyrol
The Siege of Hensburg
William rellnnd his Son
The Geysers of Iceland
The Maelstrom

^Battle of the Baltic
Tlie Burning of Moscow
The Grateful Jew
The lioad to the Trenches
The Batlle of Thermopylae

>^he Destruction of Pompei
view of Lisbon .
Bernardo del Carpio

..Taking of Gibraltar

AFRICA.

A Roman's Honor

The Battle of the Nile .

Ocean ....

Slavery . . ^ .

Afar in the Desert ^

1 he Source of the Nile

The Gorilla .

A Slave Hunt in the Sahara

The Slave''s Dream

Scene at St. Helena

The Giraffe

Discovery of the Cape of Good Hope

The Falls of the Zambesi

ASIA.

Alma River

The Lament of the Peri/er Ilinda

Askelon . ,

The Sponge

Richard the Lion-heart and the Saracens

The Cedar of Lebanon , . .

The Lrper

Mahomet ' ■

Interior of an Ancient Palace in Nineveh
f The Destruction of Sennacherib
Good Advice not to be Despised
The Siege of Delhi ....
The Pearl Fisheries of Ceylon .
A Day in Bangkok ....
Thu Death of Magellan

Browning •
Cunipbell
Titan

lietitlejf Raltmls
Ch(imt>ers\s Tracts
DutTerin
Wonders of the World
Camp be 11
St'gur'.s \arrative
Ewald .
LuHhiiigton .
Hiileigli .
Mn(j<iziue oj' Art
Taifourd
Mrs. Ilemnns
Overland Route

Book of Golden Deeds

Warburton

Byron

Cow])cr .

Pringlo .

Mihjcr .

Links in the Chain

Horace St. John

Longfellow .

7'ales of Discovery

Harris

The Sea

Livingstone .

Til

PAOB

. 2U

. 212
. 214
. 217
. 220
. 222
. 224
. 226
. 228
. 281
. 234
. 235
. 287
. 240
. 242
. 244

. 247
. 249

. 252
;253
. 254
. 256
. 258
. 260
. 262
. 264
. 267
. 270
. 272

Trench .

Moore .

The Latid and the Booh

Spratt & Forbes .

Koscoo .

Sharpe's Magazine

Willis .

Great Events of History

Lnyard .

Byron

Sharpe's Journal

Smiles

Sydney Smith

Nealo

'The Sea

AUSTRALASIA.

Discovery of Australia
The Lark at the Diggings .
The Wreckofthe '* Orpheus " .

Milner .
Charles Reade
C. A. L.

276

277
278
280
281
282
285
287
290
291
2i)2
294
296
2'J8
800

802
804
SCO

CONTENTS-

Fight with a Kangaroo

A New Zealand Chief .

Hie t'oial (Jruve .

PAOl

Wild Sports of the

World . . 808

Angus . . . 810

Paruival . . 312

MISCELLANEOUS.

The Journeying of the Isr elites .

T/ie Inquinj ........

*' Enoch y/alked with God"

The Passage of the Red Sea

The Burial of Afoses

Tlie SetUeuKMit of the Israelites in Canaan
Soiu; of Miriam ..--...
History of the Israelites from the Establishment

of tlie M narchy till the' Revolt of the Ten

Tribes

Hiftorv of the Israelites from tlie Revolt of the

Ten Tribes till the Capiiviiy

Usp thf. Pen

T!ie Hour of D^nth

History of tl:e Israolites from the Restoration of

the Jews till the Birth of Christ
History of tlie Israelites from the Birth of Christ

tin the Destruction of Jerusalem
Jerusalem O'fore the Siege .....

Palistine ........

Fallen is thji Throne ......

Thp Saviour ........

A Psalm of Life .

The Tencliing and Character of Jesus Christ

On the Dci«th and Sacrifice of Christ .

The Bock cf Affcs

Ch.-'st's Second Coming ......

All Crcatuits ciilird on to Praise God .

Tlie Chrisiiiin Salvation

The mill Spirit

All's for the Best

The Bitter L{wd

The Incarnation .......

.4m Elegi/. Written in a Country Churchjard
Hope Urijovd the Grave ....

The Voice, (f Spring ......

Tinu'S and Seasons ......

What is Time ?

Auburn .........

Thunder Stonn among the Alps

The Graves of a Household . . . . .

Separation ........

Story of Le Fevre r

Adam's Morning Hymn ......

Man was Made to Mourn . , . , i

Irish Nat. Series .

Charles Mackay .

Anon.

Dublin Universitt/

Magazine .
Alexander
Irish Nat. Series .
Moore .

313
317
318

319
821
323
825

Irish National
Series . . . 826

Ibid . . .8^
Caipenter . . 831
Mrs. Henians . 332
Irish National
Segtes . . .888

Ibid

. 886

Milman .

. 838

Heber .

. 839

Moore .

. 889

Montgomery .

. 840

Longft'llow .

. 842

Chateaubriand

. 843

Blair .

. 344

Tophuly

. 346

Hel er .

.847

Oiiilvie .

. 347

Thomson

. 849

Keble .

. 851

Tupper .

. 352

Hemans .

. 353

Milman .

.8«4

Gray

. 356

Beattie .

. 360

Mrs. Hemans

. 360

Rogers .

. 862

Marsden

. 808

Goldsmith

. 864

Byron .

. 865

Mrs. Hemans

. 366

Montgomery .

. 866

Sierne .

. 308

Milton .

. 874

Burns .

. 376

rAoa

■ts of the

•

. 308

•

. 310

•

. 312

Series

. 313

ackay

.317

•

. 318

Vnivers

/fy

. 319

. 321

Series

. 323

•

. 326

itional

•

. 328

•

. 82^

•

. 881

in?

. 832

tional

•

. 383

. 885

•

. 838

•

. 889

•

. 389

y •

. 340

. 342

and

. 843

•

. 344

. 346

. 347

. 847

. 849

. 861

. 362

•

. 363

. 3M

. 366

. 860

. 300

. S62

. S63

. 364

. 866

. 366

. 866

•

. 308

•

. 874

•

. 376

'T^'^r'^—'Z. _

THE NORWEGIAN COLONIES IN GREENLAND.

From Iceland — itself a Norwegian co^j^ny — Eric Rauda, having'
committed a serious crime (probably murder), fled in 981 or
982r" Taking his departure from the port of Snoefellzness, in
the western extremity of the island, he speedily fell in with
Greenland, where he landed, and spent the greater part of
three years in exploring a portion of it. Afterwards ho re-
turned to Iceland, where, having obtained a free pardon, he
disseminated a most exaggerated report of the natural attrac-
tions^of his newly -discovered territory, representing it not only '
as rich in herbage, but likewise ^ell stocked with cattle. The
Icelanders, comparing this finished picture with the scantiness
of their own country, were eager for emigration, anJT Eric
Rauda quickly returned to what he designatedthe green land,
at the he:'.d of an exodus comprising twenty-five vessels laden
with colonists of botTI sexes, together with their necggsary
stores. In 999, Leif, Eric Rauda's son, made a voyage to
Norway, and whilst there, by the good counsel of the king,
Olaus Tryggeson, was won from Paganism to the Christian
faith. lu the following year he returned to Greenland, accom-^

THE NORWEGIAN COLONIES IN GREENLAND.

panied by missionaries, in the hope of converting the en^re
colony ; and happily he succeeded, for the poor benJMted
creatures received with joy tKe tidings of the GosneT'^wpen-

sation. For several centyies after this the colonies seem to
have .prospered ; they were divided into two settlements, both
extending from Cape Farewell towards tbe north — the one on
the east coast, the other on tho we&t ; the former called O^ster-
bygdt, the latter Westerbygdt. In both were many towns and
hamlets, containing churches and coqj|^iis ; but the eastern
seTtlement waTthe more extensive, andcontained, in the town
of Garde, the Bishop's resi3ence. The descendants of the
original settlers appear to have flourished unSer Norwegian
government until 1256, when the colony rebelled against
Magnus, King of Norway, but was reduced to submission by a
naval armament despatched against them by Eric, King of
Denmark, Magnus's uncle-in-law. The approach to the east
coast appears to have been by no means difficult in remote
times, so that a constant correspondence was kept up between
that settlement and Norway. The colonists on the western
coast, it is generally believed, were destroyed by the Skroellings^
or wild Greenlanders ; but the fate of those on the eastern side
is wrapt in mystery. ,

The Bl<xck Death., a disease which scourged the northern part
of Europe in 1348, is by some supposed to have extinguished
the colony, especially since many of the sailors trading between
Norway and Greenland died of it ; but such could not be the
case, as there are records of a later date. There is no doubt,
however, that about this period the communication with Norway
began to slacken. During the reign of Queen Margaret, a
feeble attempt was made to maintain a communication with
her Greenland colony ; but she became at length so embarrassed
with hostilities at home as to be oblivious of her mo.^e remote
subjects. Since the close of the fourteenth century, the east
coast of Greenland has been completely blockaded by an im-
passable barrier of ice. through which, though it has been
frequently attempted by Norwegians, Danes, and English, a
passage has never been effected. In the opinion that the
colonists of the east side had been completely annihilated,
Mr. Scoresby did not concur ; on the contrary, ho believed that
descendants of that hardy race would still be found, were it
possible to reach the site of the colony ; but whether they
Would 1)6 met; with in their original state of civilization, or

m
iGrc

no
inhs
unci
of

of]

g the entire
•r benkjited
isu^ l dispen-
iles seem ito
iments, both
—the one on
ailed Oj^ster-
y towns and

the eastern
in the town
ants of the

Norwegian
[led against
mission by a
c, King of
to the east
b in remote
up between
the western
Skroellings,
eastern side

)rthern part
xtinguished
ing between

not be the
s no doubt,
ith Norway
largaret, a
3ation with
mbarrassed
lo.^e remote
y, the east

by an im-

has been
English, a

that the
nnihilated,
lieved that
d, were it
3ther they
ization, or

PARTING WITH THE ESQUIMAUX.

in a nearly barbarous condition, and mixed with the wild
iGreenlanders, he did not attempt to conjecture.

Of the<|iucient colonies Mr. Scoresby unfortunately obtained
no direct inlwrmation, though he believed uiat the traces of
inh^itants wiflch be met with were not entirely those of an
un civil ized race. In a <leserted hamlet, discovered at the foot
of Jill's Cliff, he found several domestic inipfements, such as
might have been chiefly the workmanship of Esquimaui: ; but
with certain exceptions, indicating an admixture of European
habits. He mentions, especially, a piece of unicorn's horn,
bearing marks of a drill, an ins^ument which the aborigines were
not likely to have discovered the use of themselves ; he lijtewise
fell in with a wooden cufUn, a circumstance which seemed to
strengthen his opinion of the exis^^ce of an enlightened race.

-Life of Capt. Scoresby. yjxtci o^'tA^

/l^^- '^6-7

PARTING WITH THE ESQUIMAUX.

The Esquimaux are camped by our side, — the whole settlement
of E^h congregated around the ** brig caldron " of Cape Alexan-

PARTING WITH THE ESQUIMAUX.

■■pi'

r'-li.ll

der, to bid us good-bye. There are Metek and Nualik his wife,
our old acquaintance, Mrs. Eider-duck, and their five children,
commencing with Myouk, ray body-guard, and ending with
the ventricose little Accoraodah. There is Nessark and Anak
his wife r and Tellerk, the " Right Arm," and Amaunalik his
wife ; and Sip-su, and Marsumah, and Aningnah — and who
not ? I can name them every one, and they know us as well.
We have found brothers in a strange land.

Each one has a knife, or a file, or a saw, or some such
treasured keepsake ; and the children have a lump of soap, the
greatest of all great medicines. The merry little urchins
break * in upon me even now, as I am writing — " Kuyunaks
Kuyunake, Nalegak-soap." " Thank you, thank you, big chief ! "
while Myouk is crowding fresh presents of raw birds on me as
if I could eat forever, and poor Aningnah is crying beside the
tent-cnrtain, wiping her eyes on a bird skin !

My heart warms to these poor, dirty, miserable, yet happy

beings, so

long

our neighbors, and of late so stagchly our

friends. Theirs is no affe^ation of regret. There are twenty-
two of them around me, all busy in good offices to the Docto
Kayens ; and there are only two women, and the old blind
patriarch, Kresuk, " Drift-wood," left behind at the settlement.

But see, more of them are coming up — boys ten years old,
pushing forward babies on their sledges. The whole nation is
gipying with us upon the icy meadows.

We cook for them in our big camp-kettle ; they sleep in the
Hed Eric ; a bei'g close at hand supplies them with water ; and
thus, rich in all that they value, — sleep, and food, and drink,
and companionship, — with their treasured short-lived summer-
sun above them, the beau ideal and sum of Esquimaux blessings,
they seem supremely happyT

AVhatever may have been the fault of these Esquimaux
heretofore, stealing was the only grave one. Treachery they
may have conceived ; and I have reason to believe* that, under
superstitious fears of an evil influence from our presence, they
woulITat one time have been glad to destroy us; but the day
of all this has passed away. When trouble came to us and
to them, and we bent ourselves to their habits, — when we looked
to tliem to procure us fresh meat, and they found at our poor
Oomiak-soak shelter and protection during their wild bear
hunts — then we were so blended in our interests as well as modes
of life that every trace of enmity wore awa^. God knows that

PAKTING WITH THE ESQUIMAUX.

ik his wife,
re children,
Oiling with
and Anak
lunalik his
— and who
us as well.

some such
•f soap, the
:le urchins

Kuyunaks
big chief!"
s on me as

beside the

yet happy
ijjchly onr
are twenty-
the Docto
I old blind
ettlement.
years old,
nation is

eep in the
ater ; and

ind drink,
summer-
blessings,

squimaux
hery they
hat, under
ence, thev
t the day
us and
we looked

our poor
iv^ild bear

as modes

ows that

since they professed friendship — ^albeit the imaginary powers of
the angekok-soak, and the marvelldTis six-shoote? which attested
them, may have had their influence — never have friends been
more true. Although, since Ohlsen's death, numberless articles
of inestimable value to them have been scattered on the ice
unwatc^ed, they have not stolen a nail. It was only yester-
day that Metek, upon my alluding to the manner in which
property of all sorts was exposed without pilfering, explained
through Petersen, in these short sentences, the argument of
their morality : — •

•* You have done us good. "We are not hungry ; we will not take
(steal). You have done us good ; we want to help you ; we are
friends."

I made my last visit to Etah while we were waiting the issue
of the storm. I saw old Kresuk (Drift-wood) the blind man,
and listened to his long, good-bye talk. I had passed with the
Esquimaux as an angekok, in virtue of some simple exj^oits of
natural magic ; and it was one of the regular old times' enter-
tainments" of our visitors at, the brig to see my hand tremble
with blazing ether, while it lifted nails with the magnet. I
tried now to communicate a portion of my wonderworking
talent. I made a lens of ice before them, and " drew down the
sun " so as to light the moss under their kolupsut. I did not
quite ui^derstand old Kresuk, and I was not quite sure *he
understood himself. But I trusted to the others to explain to
him what I had done, and burned the back of his hand for a testi-
mony, in the most friendly manner. After all which, with a
reputation for wisdom which I dare say will live in their short
annals, I wended my way to the brig again.

We renewed our queries about Hans, but could get no further
news of him. The last story is, that the poor boy and his
better-half were seen leaving Peteravick, • the halting place,"
in company with Shang-hu and one of his big sons. Lover as
he was, and nalegak by the all-hail hereafter, joy go with him,
for he was a right good fellow.

We had quite a scene distributing our last presents. My
amputating knives, the great gift of all, went to Metek and
Nessark ; 'Cut ""every one had something as his special prize.
Our dogs went to the cbmmunity at large, as tenants in com-
mon, except Toodlamick and Whitey, our representative dogs
through very many trials ; I could cot part with them, the
leaders of my team.

SIR JOHN PBAirKLIN.

And now it only remains for us to make our farewell to these
desolate and confiding people. I gathered them round me on
the ice-beach, and talked to them as brothers, for whose kind-
ness I had still a return to make. I told thein what I knew of
the tribes from which they were separated by the glacier and
the sea, of the resources that abounded in those less ungenial
regions not very far ofiF to the south, the greater nuiation of
daylight, the less intensity of the cold, the facilities of the hunt,
the frequent drift-wood, the kayack and tha tishing-net. I tried
to explF.in to them how, under bold and cautious guidance, they
might reach there in a few seasons of patient march. I gave
them drawings of the coast, with its headlands and hunting
grounds, as far as Cape Shackleton, and its best camping-
stations from Red Head to the Danish settlements.

They listened with breathless interest, closing their circle
round me ; and, as Petcsen described the big ussrk, the white
whale, the bear, and the long open water hants with the kayack
and the rifle, they looked at each other with a significance not
to be misunderstood, They would anxiously have had me pro-
mise that I would sone day return and carry a load of 'them
down to the settlemei ts ; and I shall not wonder if — guided
perhaps by Hans — they hereafter attempt the journey without
otlier aid.

' It was in the soft subdued light of a Sunday evening, June
17, that, after hauling our boats' with much hard labor through
the hummocks, we stood beside the opeii sea-way. Before mid-
night we had launched the Red JSric, and given three cheers for
Henry Grinnell and " homeward bqimd,|' unfurlinfir all our flags.
— Kane's Arctic Explorations. -wavJ'I^ /iti/ti"

SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. H'jfd'^l %^1

The Polar clouds unlift — a moment and no more —
And through the snowy drift we see them on the shore,
A band cf gallant hearts, well-ordered, calm, and br^ve,
Braced for their closing parts, — their long march to the grave.

Through the snow's dazzling blink, into the dark they've gone-
No pause : the weaker sink, the strong can but strive on.

Tttli UtTDSON BAY COMPAlJY. 7

Till all the dreary way is dotted with their dead,
And the shy foxes play ahout each sleeping head.

Unharmed the wild deer run, to gaze along the strand,
Nor dread the loaded gun beside each sleeping hand, j
The remnant that survive onward like drunkards reel.
Scarce wotting if alive, but for the pangs they feel.

The river of their hope at length is drawing nigh —
Their snow-blind way they grope, and reach its banks to. die !
Thank God, brave Franklin's place was empty in that band !
He closed his well-run race not on the iron strand.

Not under snow-clouds white, by cutting frost-wind driven,
Did his true spirit fight its shuddering way to heaven ;
But warm, aboard his ship, with comfort at his side,
And hope upon his lip, the gallant Franklin died.

His heart ne'er ached to see his much-loved sailors ta'en ;
His sailors' pangs were free from their loved captain's pain.
But though in death apart, they are together now ; —
Calm, each enduring heart, — bright, each devoted brow !

Punch.

THE HUDSON BAY COMPANT.

In the year 1669, a Cogjpany was formed in London, under
the direction of Prince Rupert, for the purpose of prosecuting
the fur trade in the regions surrounding Hudson Bay. This
company obtained a chgrter from Charles II., granting to them
and their successors, under the name " the Governor and Com-
pany of Adventurers trading into Hudson Bay," the sole right
of trading in all the country watered by rivers flowing into
Hudson Bay. The charter also authorized them to build and
fit out men-of-war, establish forts, prevent any other company
from carrying on trade with the natives in their territories, and
lequircd that they should do all in their power to promote
discovery.

Armed with these powers, then, the Hudson Bay Company
established a fort near the head of James Bay. Soon after*
wards, seven others were built in different parts of the country

THE HUDSON BAY COMPANY.

'till

I m

fc;.i.:3!i

and before long, the Company spread and grew wealthy, and
eventually extended their trade fap beyond the chartered lin^ts.

Imagine an immense extent of country many hundred miles
broad and many hundred miles long, covered with dense forests,
expanded lakes, broad rivers, wide prairies, swamps, and mighty
mountains ; and all in a state of primeval antiquity — undefaced
by the axe of civilized man, and untenanted t)y ai\g}it save a
few roving hordes of Red Indians, and m^iads of wild animals.
Imagine amid this wilderness a number of small squares, each
enclosing half-a-dozen wooden houses, and about: a dozen men,
and betwef^ each of these establishmeiits «t space of forest
varying from fifty to three hundred miles in length ; and you
will have a preUy correct idea of the Hudson Bay Company's
territories, and of the number of, and distance between, the
forts. The idea, however, may be still more correctly obtained
by imagining populous Great Britain converted into a wilder-
ness, and planted in the middle of Rupert's Land. The Com-
pany in that case would build three forts in it— one at the
Land's End, one in Wales, and one in the Highlands ; bO that in
Britain there would be but three hamlets, with a population of
some thirty men, half-a-dozen womea, and a few children !

The Company's posts extend, with these intervals between,
from the Atlantic to the PaciuC Ocean, and from within the
Arctic Circle to the northern boundaries of the United States.

The country is divided into four large departments. The
Northern 'department, which includes all the establishments in
the far north and frozen regions ; the southern department,
including those to the south \nd east of this, the post at the
head of James Bay, and along ^he shores of Lake Superior ; the
Montreal department, including the country in the neighbor-
hood of Montreal, up the Ottawa River, and along the north
shore of the Gulf of St.- Lawrence and Esquimaux Bay; and
the Columbia department, which comprehfjndp an immense
extent of country to the west of the Rocky Mountains, including
the Oregon territory, which, although the Hudson Bay Company
still trade in it, now belongs to the United States.

These departments are subdivided into a number of districts
each under direction of an influential officer ; and these again
are subdivided into numerous establishments, forts, posts, and
outposts.

V The name of fortf as already remarked, is given to all the
postHv in the country, but <?ome of them certainly do not merit

the

couni

Ston)

by si

merej

wher)

of de

plem^

only

charj

wildel

THE HUDSON BAY COMPANY.

wealthy, and
tcred Jinj;t8.
mdred miles
Jense forests,
J, and mighty
Y — undefaced
iH£}it save a
wild animals,
squares, each
dozen men,
ce of forest
th ; and you
Y Company's
t)etween, the
3tly obtained
to a wilder-
The Com-
-one at the
i ; fco that in
opulation of
Idren !

lis between,
within the
id States,
ents. The
ishments in
iepartment,
308t at the
jerior; the
neighbor-
the north
Bay; and
immense
including
Company

f districts
ese again
posts, and

to all the
not merit

the name; indeed, few of them do. The only two in the
country that are real bond Jide forts, are iurt Garry, and the
Stone Fort in the colony of Red River, which are surrounded
by stone walls, with bastions at the corners. The others are
merely defended by wo«den pickets or stockades ; and a few,
where the Indians are quiet and harmless, are entirely destitute
of defence of any kind. Some of the chief posts have a com-
plement of about thirty or forty men ; but most of them have
only ten, five, four, and even two, besides the gentlemen in
charge. As in most instances these posts are planted in a
wilderness far from men, and the inhabitants have only the
society of each other, some idea may be formed of the solitary
life led by many of the Company's servants.

There are seven different grades in the service. First, the
laborer, who is ready to turn his hand to any thing ; to become
a trapper, fisherman or rough carpenter, at the shortest notice.
He is generally employed in cutting firewood for the consump-
tion of the establishment at which he is stationed, shovelling
snow from before the doors, mending all ^.orts of damages to all
sorts of things, and, during the summer months, in transporting
furs and goods between his post and the nearest depdt. Next
in rank is the interpreter. He is, for the most part, an intelli-
gent laborer, of pretty long standing in the service, who, having
picked up a smattering of Indian, is consequently very useful
in trading with the natives. After the interpreter comes the
postaaster, usually a promoted laborer, who, for good behavior
or valuable services, has been put upon a footing with the gentle-
men of the service, in the same manner that a private soldier in
the army is sometimes raised to the rank of a commissioned
officer. At whatever station a postmaster may happen to be
placed, he is generally the most useful and active man there.
He is often placed lu charge of one of the many small stations
or outposts, throughout the country. Next are the apprentice
clerks — raw lads, who come out fresh from school, with their
mouthg agape at the wonders they behold in Hudson Bay.
They generally, for the purpose of appearing manly, acquire all
the bad habits of the country as quickly as possible, and are
stuffed full of what they call fun, with a strong spice of mischief.
They become more sensible and sedate before they get through
the first five years of their apprenticeship, after which they
attain to the rank of clerks. The clerk, after a number of
years* service (averaging from thirteen .to twenty) becomes a

THE HUDSON BAY COMPANY.

chief trader (or half shareholder), and in a few years more hfl
attains the highest rank to which any one can rise in the service,
that of chief factor (or shareholder).

Trade is carried on with the natives by means of a standard
valuation, in some parts of the country a castor. This

is to obvititc/ the necessity of circulating money, of which
there is little or none, excepting in the colony of Red River.
Thus, an Indian arrives at a fort with a bundle of furs, with
which he proceeds to the Indian trading-room. There the
trader separates the furs into different lots, and valuing each at
the standard valuations, adds the amount together, and tells the
Indian (who has looked on the while with great interest and
anxiety) that he has got fifty or sixty castors ; at the same time
he hands the Indian fifty or sixty little bits of wood in lieu of
cash, so that the latter may know, by returning those in pay-
ment of the goods for which he really exchanges his skins, how
fast his funds decrease. The Indian then looks round upon the
bales of cloth, powder horns, guns, blankets, knives, &c., with
which the shop is filled, and after a good while makes up his
mind to have a small blanket. This being given him, the
trader tells him the price is six castors. The purchaser
hands back six of his little bits of wood, and selects something
else. In this way he goes on till all his wooden cash is expended,
and then packing up his goods, departs to show his treasures
to his wife, and another Indian takes his place. The value of
a castor is from one to two shillings. The natives generally
visit the establishment of the company twice a year ; once in
October, when they bring in the produce of their autumn hunts ;
and again in March, when they come with that of the great winter
hunt.

The number of castors that an Indian makes in a winter
hunt varies from fifty to two hundred, according to his per-
severance and activity, and the part of the country in which he
hunts. The largest amount I ever heard of was ,made .by a
man called Piaquata-Kiscum, who brought in furs on one occa-
sion to the value of t"vo hundred and sixty castors. The poor
fellow was soon afterwards poisoned by his relatives, who were
jealous of his superior abilities as a hunter, and envio'is of the
favor shown him by the white men.

After the furs are collected in spring at the different out-
posts, they are packed in conveniently-sized bales, and forwarded,
by means of boats and canoes, to the three chief depots on th«

HISTORY OF VANX'OUVER ISLAND.

years more hfl
3 in the service,

1 of a standard
% castor. This
ley, of which
of Red River.
e of furs, with
1. There the
aluing each at
jr, and tells the
it interest and
. the same time
vood in lieu of
those in pay-
his skins, how
round upon the
ives, &c., with
makes up his
iven him, the
^he purchaser
ects something
h is expended,
his treasures
The value of
ives generally
j^ear ; once in
lutumn hunts ;
e great winter

in a winter
g to his per-
f in which he
s .made .by a
on one occa-
s. The poor
es, who were
nvio'is of the

different out-
id forwarded,
epots on th«

sea-coast — namely, Fort Vancouver, at the mouth of the
Columbia River, on the shores of the Pacific ; York Fort, on
the shores, of Hudson Bay ; and Moose Factory, on the shores
of James Bay, whence they are transported in the Company's
ships to England. The whole country in summer is, conse-
quently, in commotion with the passing and repassing of brigades
of boats, laden with bales of merchandise and furs ; the still
waters of the lakes and rivers are rippled by the paddle and
the oar ; and the long-silent echoes, which have slumbered in
the icy embrace of a dreary winter, are now once more awakened
by the merry voice and tuneful song of the hardy voyageur. —
Ballantyne's Hudson Bay.

VIEW OF VICTORIA.

HISTORY OF VANCOUVER ISLAND.

The history of Vancouver Island is brief. Cook, as we have
seen, sailed along its coast in 1776, communicated with the

HISTORY OP VANCOUVER ISLAND.

^!|

naCives, and anchored in Nootka Sound, believing the island to
form part of the Continent of America. Two years afterwards
a company of London merchants, at the head of which was a
Mr. Meares, formed a settlement there, with the intention of
trading with China. Their vessels were, however, seized by
the Spaniards, who laid claim to all the west coast of America
south of latitude 600. On this, a fleet assembled at Spithead,
and war was about to be declared with Spain, when she mado the
required concessions, and indemnified the merchants for their
loss, virtually abandoning her claims. Captain Vancouver, of
the Royal Navy, being sent out to receive the traosfer. He
afterwards explored its coasts, and made the discovery of its
m^lar character. It has properly, therefore, been called after
him. It was visited the same year by Quadra, by whose name
it was also for some time known. Men-of-war, crijising in the
Pacific occasionally touched there, as did whalers, and it was
occasionally resorted to by the servants of Puget Sound and
Hudson Bay Companies, to collect furs ; but no interest
whatever was taken in it by the public generally. However,
in 1849, the Hudson Bay Company succeeded in obtaining a
le^e of the island for ten years, on the condition of colonizing
it, the In^P®^^*'^ Gov_ernment reserving the right of resuming
authority over it at the termination of that period on repaying
to the company the sums they had expended in their attempt
to settle it. In 1858, gold was discovered in the neighboring
tejjitony of New Caledonia, as it was then called ; and as
numerous strangers had begun to flock to the^ 'shores of Van-
couver, on their way to the gold mines, the Government resumed
their right, and created it into a colony in 1859, New Caledonia
being created into a colony at thS" same time, under the name
of British Columbia. At that period the whole population of
Vancouver — men, women, and children— did not exceed 500,
chiefly servants of the Hudson Bay Company. That Company
however, sent in a bill to the Government for cash expended in
colonization of £162.^071 8s. 3d., so that each person cost the
nation £330. .

Mr. Douglas, an officer of the Hudson Bay Company, who
had been acting as governor, was appointed first governor
under the crowu. The governor is assisted by a nom^pated
council, and aa assembly, elected by the inhabitants holding
twenty acres ind upwards of land. Originally, the number of
representatives w^ only seven; but it J^as recently been in-

witi

islai

D. .

g the jslaod to
ears afterwards
f which was a
B intention of
v^er, seized by
8t of America
i at Spithead,
1 she mado the
ants for their
Vancouver, of
traosfer. He
iscovery of its
1 calied after
' whose name
rijising in the
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of resuming

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neighboring
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Br the name
opulation of
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ly been in-

HTSTORT OF VANCOUVER ISLAND.

Until
large
A^an-

croased to fifteen, and an executive council granted,
within a few years back, our chief knowledge of this
island was derived from the rough surveys of Captain
couver, who thus describes the southern end : — " The serenity
of the climate, the innunuerable pleasing landscapes, and the
abundant fertility that unassisted Nature puts forth, require
only to bo enriched by the industry of man, with villages,
mansions, cottages, and other buildings, to render it the most
lovely country that can be imagined, whilst the labors of the
inhabitants would be amply rewarded in the bounties which
Nature seems ready to bestow on cultivation."

Other surveyors, from time to time, added a little to the
general stock of knowledge, yet very imperfect, till the English
Government sent out H. 31. S. Plumper, Captain G. H. Richards,
by whom the coasts of the island have been thoroughly surveyed,
although part of the interior still remains to be explored.

The island may be described as consisting of a central moun-
tain ridge, which attains at Mount Arrowsmith an elevation of
5,900 feet, with various spurs branching o£f to the coast on
either hand, their sides clothed with the gigantic Douglas pine
and other fine trees ; while rich, well-watered valleys and undu-
lating prairies, precipices, and hills, and wild rocks rising out
of the ground, often surrounded by superb oaks, whose branches
afford a grateful shade in the heat of summer, beautifully
diversify the scenery. *

The outline of the coast is bold and romantic in the extreme,
its chief features being lofty promontories, rocky cliffs, bays,
inlets, sheltered coves, and pebbly beaches, with harbors where
ships can at all times find shelter ; indeed, in few spots on the
earth's surface can more picturesque scenery be found, while
from its geographical position, its great fertility, and the ex-
cellence of its harbors, it will undoubtedly play no tinimportant
part in the future history of the Pacific. Added to its other
advantages, it guards, as it were, the western portal to that
great intercolonial high-road now forming through British North
America, to be developed hereafter into a rail>yay across the
whole continent.-— Bbi'^ish North America. .

THE FISHERIES OF BRITISH COLUMBIA.

GOLD DIGGING IN BRITISH COLUMBIA.

THE FISHERIES OF BRITISH COLUMBIA.

In common with the whole of the seas, gulfs, bays, rivers, and
lakes of the entire district and coast, the Fraser swarms with
prodigious quantities of fish. Indeed, in the harbors, herrings
are literally raked into the canoes by means of a flat piece of
board, sixteen or eighteen feet long, and about two and a-half
inches broad, studded with a dozen tenpenny nails. In this rude
manner an Indian will fill his canoe in an hour or two ; and the
traveUer along the banks of the shallower streams may catch
the salmon in his hands, or " gaff" them from the bank with his
walking-stick. The herrings closely resemble the ordinary Scotch
herring, though somewhat smaller in size ; but of the salmon
there are no less than four varieties — three differing from the
English variety, but all, with the exception of the hurap-backed
salmon, of excellent quality and flavor. About the middle of
July these salmon begin to ascend the streams from the sea, in
immense shoals. Whether it is that the temperature of the
coast region is too mild for the proper development of the ova,
or that, near the entrance of rivers, they would be more liable
to be devoured by fish of prey ; certain it is that Nature has
implanted in these creatures an extraordinary desire to reach

the
onl^

rapi<
shall

On>
the
upoi
but

tfBlA.

JMBIA.

's, rivers, and

swarms with
bors, herrings

flat piece of
vo and a-half

In this rude

wo ; and the

is may catch

)ank with his

inary Scotch

the salmon

g from the
lurap-backed
le middle of
n the sea, in
iture of the

of the ova,
more liable

Nature has'
re to reach

THE FISHERIES OF BRITISH COLUMBIA. 15

>»» <

the head sources of the various streams, which they resign
only with their lives. *

** Onward they speed. The impetuous current is breasted,
rapids are passed, cascades leaped. Onward, onward ! The
shallow waters are reached ; but still they press forward, wrig-
gling through meandering streams, too scant for swimming.
Onward, onward, ever onward ! while myriads are left upon
the strand, and die still struggling onwards. The fish are,
upon entering the mouth of a river, in tolerably good order ;
but after travelling up stream a few hundred miles they becon;o
poor — poor indeed. The skin, broken and abrased, loses its
brightness, often becomes a deep pink, and robbed of its silvery
scales ;the head disfigured from blows and falls upon the rocks; the
fins torn and divided in their rffor^s to force through spots too shal-
low ; the eyes, once so b- 't, are now sunken and lustreless.
None of these poor sainnj' descend ;;he river again,but perish."

The bodies of these fl.^ i ^ nt the air for miles around ; until,
with the autumnal rains, iK are again set afloat and swf^pt back
into the ocean. The ir\ , )wever, remain in the mountains
until the following sprius^, when they descend more leisurely
to the sea, where they are said to remain for four years. In
all probability, it is thuir imngunity from danger amid thes''
mountain fastnesses which thus remits so prodigious a waste
by not less prodigious supplies. Nevertheless, from some
unassigned cause, there, is a deartli of salmon every fourth
year throughout the rivers ; and, as it furnishes the staple food
of the whole native population, they would all miserabl}'^ perish
but for another curious pheqpmenon. Every fourth year, when
the salmon fail, we are told that the country swarms with rabbits,
which are used as a sub^l-itute.

Besides herrings and salmon, there are immense quantities of
cod, bass, mackerel, flounder, skate, sole, halibut, and sardines.
Sturgeon, sometimes exceeding 500 pounds in weight, are found
at the entrance of the various rivers and in the larger inland
lakes. The harbors and coast abound with oysters, a very
large and excellent description of crayfish, crabs, mussels, and
oiher shell-fish — excepting, however, Ipbsters ; while the thou-
sand lakes with which the interior i.s studded possess trout,
pike, perch, carp, eels, and white-fish from two to six pounds
a piece, found also in the great lakes on the east side of the
Rocky Mountains, and said to be the only description of fish of
which the p^ate does not grow weary. — Edinburuu Ueview.

ill

THE CHINOOK ISfDIANS.

THE CHINOOK INDIANS.

•yi

The Chinooks evince very little taste, in comparison with some
of the tribes on the eastern side ot the Rocky Mountains, in
ornamenting either their persons or their warlike or domestic
implements. The only utensils I saw at all creditable to their
decorative skill were carved bowls and spoons of horn, and
baskets made of roots and grass, woven so closely as to serve
all the purposes of a pail in holding and carrying water. In
these they even boil their fish. This is done by immersing the
fish in one of the baskets fillt 1 with water, into which they
throw red-hot stones until the fisn is cooked ; and I have seen
fish dressed as expeditiously by them in this way as if done in
a kettle over the fire by our own people. The only vegetables
in use among them are the caraas and wappatoo. The camas is
a bulbous root, much resembling the onion in outward appear-
ance, but is more like the potato when cooked, and is very good
eating. The wappatoo is somewhat similar, but larger, and not
so dry or delicate in its flavor. They . are found in immense
quantities in the plains, in the vicinity of Fort Vancouver, and
in the spring of the year present a most curious and beautiful
appearance, the whole surface presenting an uninterrupted sheet
of bright ultra-marine blue, ifom the innumerable blossoms of
these plants. They are cooked by digging a hole in the ground,
then putting down a layer of hot stones, covering them with dry
grass, oa which the roots are placed ; they are then covered
with a layer of grass ; and on the top of this they place earth,
with a small hole perforated through the earth and grass, down
to the vegetables. Into this the water is poured, which, reach-
ing the hot stones, forms sufficient steam to completely cook the
roots in a short time, the hole being immediately stopped up on
thQ mtroduction of the water. They often adopt the same
ingenious process for cooking their fish and game.

During the season the Chinooks are engaged in gathering
camas and in fishing, they live in lodges constructed by means
of a few poles covered with mats made of rushes, which can be
easily moved from place to place ; but in the villages they build
permanent huts of split cedar boards. Having selected a dry
place for the hut, a hole is dug about three feet deep and about
twenty feet square. Round the sides square cedar boards are
sunk, and fastened together with cords and twisted roots, rising
about four feet above the outer level : a post is sunk at the

ced^

woe

ME LOST HUNTER.

Middle of each end, with a crotch at the top, on which the ridge
pole is laid, and boards are laid from thence to the top of the
upright boards, fastened in the same manner. Round the
interior are ereqted sleeping places, one above another, some-
thing like the berths in a vessel, but larger. In the centre of
this lodge the lire is made, and the smoke escapes through a
hole left in the roof for that purpose.

The fire is obtained by means of a small flat piece of dry
cedar, in which a small hollow is cut, with a channel for the
ignited charcoal to run over ; on this piece the Indian sits to
hold it steady, while he rapidly twirls a round stick of the same
wood between the palm of his hands, with the point pressed
into the hollow of the flat piece. In a very short time sparks
begin to fall through the channel upon finely-frayed cedar bark
placed underneath, which they soon ignite. There is great
knack in doing this, but those who are used to it will
light a fire in a very short time. The men usually carry these
sticks about with them, as, after they have been once used they
reduce fire more quickly.

The only native warlike instruments I have seen amongst
them were bows and arrows ; these they use with great precision.
Their canoes are hollowed out of the cedar by fire, and smoothed
oflE with stone axes. Some of them are very large, as the cedar
grows to an enormous size in this neighborhood. They are
made very light, and from their formation are capable of with-
standing very heavy seas.

The Chinooks have tolerably 'good horses, and are fond of
racing, at which they also bet considerably. They are expert
jockeys, and ride fearlessly. — Paul Kane's " Wanderings of
AN Artist among the Indians of North America."

THE LOST HUNTER.

Numb'd by the piercing, freezing air,
And burden'd by his game.

The hunter, struggling with despair,
Dragg'd pn his shivering frame ;

The rifle, he had shoulder'd late.

Was trail'd along, a weary weight j .

r^HB LOST HUNTER.

' II ^''

':H|

His pouch was void of food ;
The hours were speeding in their flighty
And soon the long keen wiuter night

"Would wrap the solitude.

Oft did he stoop a listening ear

Sweep round an anxious eye, —
Ko bark or axe- blow could he hear,

No human trace descry ;
His sinjj^ous path, by blazes wound
Among trunks group'd in myriads round,

Through naked boughs, between
Whose tangled archij;ecture, fraujght
With many a shape, grotesquely wrought.

The hemlock's spire was seen.

An an tler'd dwelle r of the wild

Had met his eager gaze,
And far his wandering steps beguil'd

Within an unknown maze !
Stream, rock, and run-way he had cross'd
Unheeding, till the marks were lost

By which he used to roam ;
And now deep swamp, and wild ravine
And rugged mountains were between

The Hunter and his home.

A dusky haze, which slow had crept

On high now darken'd there.
And a few snow-flakes fluttering swept

Athwart the thick gray air.
Faster and faster, till between
The trunks and boughs, a mottled screen

Of gliqupering naotes yas spread,
That ticked against each object round
With gentle and continuous sound

Like brook o'er pebbled bed.

The laurel tufts, that drooping hung
Close rollNl* around their stems,

And the sear besch-leavcs still that clung
Were white with powdering gems.

But hark ! afar a sullen moan

Swelled out to louder, deeper tone^

THE LOST HUNTER.

As surging near it pass'd,
And bursting witk a roar, and shock
That make the groaning forest rock,

On rushed the winter blast.

As o'er it whistled, shriek'd, and hiss'd

Caught by its swooping wings,
The snow was whirl'd to eddying mist,

Barb'd, as it seem'd, with stings ;
And now 'twas swept with lightning flight
Above the loftiest hemlock's height,

Like drifting smoke, and now
It hid the air with shooting clouds,
And robed the trees with circling shrouds,

Then dash'd in heaps below.

Here, plunging in a billowy wreath,

There, clinging to a limb,
The suffering hunter gasp'd for breath,

Brain reel'd, and eye grew dim;
As though to whelm him in despair.
Rapidly changed the blackening air

To murkiest gloom of night,
Till naught was seen around, below,
But falling flakes and mantled snow,

That gleam'd in ghastly white :

At every blast an icy dart

Seem'd through his nerves to fly,
The blood was freezing to his heart-
Thought whisper'd he must die.
The thundering tempest echoed death,
He felt it in his tighten'd breath ;
Spoil, rifle, dropp'd ; and slow
As the dread torpor crawling came
Along his staggering, stiffening frame.
He sunk upon the snow.

Reason forsook her shatter'd throne,—
He deem'd that summer hours

Again around him brightly shone
In sunshine, leaves, and flowers ;

Again the fresh, green, forest- sod,

Rifle in hand, he lightly trod, —

;'i, I

wm\\

THB LOST HUNTEH.

He heard the deer's low bleat ;
Or, crouch'd within the shadowy nook^
Was luU'd by music of the brook

That murmur'd at his feet.

It changed ; — his cabin roof o'erspread,

Rafter, and wall, and chair,
Gleam'd in the crackling fire, that shed

Its warmth, and he was there ;
His wife had clasp'd his hand, and now
Her gentle kiss was on his brow,

His child was prattling by ;
The hound crouch'd dozing near the blaze.
And, through the pane's frost-pictured haze^

He saw the white drifts fly.

That pass'd ; — before his swimming sight

Does not a figure bound ?
And a soft voice, with wild delight,

Proclaim the lost ia found ?
Ko, hunter, no ! 'tis but the streak
Of whirling snow — the tempest shriek —

No human aid is near !
Never again that form will meet
Thy clasp'd embrace ; those accents sweet

Speak music to thine ear !

Morn broke ; — away the clouds were chased,

The sky was pure and bright,
And on its blue the branches traced

Their webs of glittering white.
Its ivory roof the hemlock stoop'd,
The pine its -silvery tassel droop'd,

Down bent the burdenjd wood ;
And, scatter'd round, low points of green.
Peering above the snowy scene,

Told where the thickets stood.

In a deep hollow, drifted high,

A wave-like heap was thrown,
Dazzling in the sunny sky

A diamond blaze it shone ;
The little snow-bird, chirping sweet, -
Dotted it o'er with tripping feet ;

A FEMALE CRUSOE.

Unsullied, smooth, and fair,
It seemed like other mounds, where trunk
And rock amid the wreaths were sunk,

But, O ! the dead was there.

Spring came with wakening breezes bland

Soft suns, and melting rains ;
And, touch'd by her Ithuriel wand,

Earth burst its winter chains.
In a deep nook, where moss and grass
And fern-leaves wove a verdant mass

Some scatter'd bones beside ; —
A mother, kneeling with her child.
Told by her tears and wailings wild,

That there the lost had died.

A. B. Street.

A FEMALE CRliSOE.

One of the earliest travellers on the overland route, in search of
the north-west paggags, was Mr. Hearne, who, during the years
from 1769 to 1771, made three several jourjaeys towards the
Coppermine river, in full expectation of finding a northern
ocean, the existence of w^ich, it was inferred, would establish
the fact of a sea route north of the great American continent.
In those journeys he enco^tered the i^ost frightful perils
and underwent astonishing hardships, and he manifested un-
paralleled fortitude in contending against them. The third
journey to some extent established the factj t^e veri^cation of
which was the chief object of his expeditions, and moreover cor-
rected some important errors in the reports of preceding
explorers. But we have nothing to say on that subject here.
Mr. Hearne's expeditions have long been a dead letter ; and we
refer to them only for the purpose of introducing an epi^de in
his adventures, which strikes us as affording, perhaps, the most
remarkable instance of female resources and self-reliance ever
recorded.

When Mr. Hearne, with a company of Indian guides, was
travelling in the arctic circle, not far from the Lake Athapus-
cow, one of the guides came suddenly upon the track of a strange
snow-shoe. Astonished at the sight, in a region supposed to be
)]LQndreds of miles from any human habitation, the Indians foI->

A FEMALE CRUSOE.

lowed up the track, and after pursuing it for some distance,
arrived at a small hut or cabin, formed of snow and driftwood,
where they discovered a young woman sitting alone. She under-
stood their language, and did not need much pcrsjjasion to
induce her to return with them to the traveller's tent. Here,
on being interrogated, she told her story ; when it came out
that she was a native of the tribe of Dog-ribbed Indians, who
were, or had been, at feiid with the Athapuscans, and that at
an inroad of the latter, during the summer of 1770, she had
been taken prisoner and carried off to slavery. In the follow-
ing summer, when the Athapuscan Indians were travelling the
country, she watched her opportunity, and on arriving near the
place where she was found, managed one night to give them the
slip, intending to find her way back to her own people. In this,
however, she was disappointed. She had been carried away in
a canoe, and the twistings and windings of the river were so
many and intricate, and so often intersected each other, and there
were so many lakes and marshes, that she found it impossible to
pursue her route. In this dilemma, instead of resigning herself
to despair, she set about building a dwelling for a shelter during
the winter, and having completed it, she calmly took up her
abode and commenced her solitary housekeeping.

She had kept an account of all the moons that had passed ;
and from this it appeared that for seven months she had nut
seen a human face, and had subsisted in this desolate region en-
tirely by her own unaided exertions. How had she contrived
to sustain life ? When asked that question, she said that when
she ran away from her captors she took with her a few deer
sinews. With these she made snares, and caught partridges,
rabbits, and squirrels ; she had also killed a few beavers and
porcupines, and was not only not in want of food at the period
when she was discovered, but had a tolerably good stock of pro-
visions laid up for future use. When the snares made of the
deer sinews were all worn out, she was ready with another stock
manufactured with sinews drawn from the legs of rabbits and
squirrels, which had fallen victims to her cunning. But this
" exemplary female " had not only well stocked her la^er by
the exercise of industry and forethought, but had also taken
equal care of her wardrobe. From the skins of the various
animals she had caught she had made up an excellent winter
suit, which was not only warm and comfortable, but, according
to Mr, Hearne, was put together with great taste and exhibited

no 81

were]

the

pears

shanl

A FEMALE CRUSOE,

no small variety of ornament. " The materials, though rude,
were curiously wrought, and so judiciously arranged as to make
the whole garb have a pleasing though somewhat romantic ap-
pearance." Her working implements consisted of the broken
shank of an iron arrow-head, and a few inches of iron hoop
roughly sharpened into a knife ; and with these she had con-
structed not only her dress, but a pair of substantial snow shoes
and several other useful articles.

The keeping up her fire had given her most trouble. With
two sulphurous stones she could by dint of violent friction and
continuous pounding raise a few sparks so as to kindle a hand-
ful of loose fibres of wood carefully picked small ; but the labor
was wearisome and long ; and to avoid the necessity of it, she
had not suffered her fire to be extinguished for many months.
She was never idle. When fatigued with the toils of the chase,
or when she was noi under the necessity of hunting, she occu-
pied herself in peeling off the inner bark of the willow trees
with which the spot abounded, and twisting it into a species of
twine. Of this sort of line she had already accumulated several
liundreds of fathoms in length ; and it was her intention to
make of them a capacious net for fishing, as soon as th^ frost
should break up and the streams become practicable.

Of this remarkable female, Mr. Hearne, in his journal, says :
'^ She was one of the finest women I have seen in any part of
Noich America." It would seem that his Indian guides were
of the same opinion ; and that, while they admired her for the
comeliness of her person they were by no means insensible of
the value of her multifarious accomplishments. There was not
a man among them who did not desire to have her for his wife ;
so, according to the custom of their tribe, they put her up to
competition and wrestled in the ring for her — the strongest, after
he had overthrown all the rest, having her duly assigned to him.

We might add a whole volume of reflections upon the cheerful,
active, womanful spirit of this female Crusoe, uncivilized as she
was, as contrasted with the desponding helplessness which we
too often witness among women, and men too, who, with every
motive to industry and activity, and every encouragement to
exert both, lose all self-reliance under the first shock of adver-
sity and pass their days in useless indolence and repining. We
forbear however : such a history is better without a set mortal,
and carries its owu comme»t.-^LEJSXJ«E Hour,

THE WOLVERINE.

A MARTEN TRAP.

THE WOLVERINE.

i •

The fur-hunter's greatest enemy is the North American glutton,
or, as he is commonly called, the wolverine or carcajou. This
curious animal is rather larger than an English fox, with a long
body stoutly and compactly made, mounted oa exceedingly
short legs of great strength. His broad feet are armed with
powerful claws, and his track in the snow is as large as the
print of a man'c fist. The shape of his head, and hairy coat,
give him very much the appearance of a shaggy brown dog.

During the winter months he obtains a liveUhood by availing
himself of the labors of the trapper, and such serious injury
does he inflict, that he has received from the Indians the name
of Kekwaharkess, or the *' Evil One." With untiring pe^e-
verance he hunts day and night for the trail of man, and when
it is found, follows it unerringly. When he comes to a lake,
where the track is generally drifted over, he continues his
untiring gallop round its borders, to discover the point at which
it again enters the woods, and follows it until he arrives
at one of the wooden traps. Avoiding the door, he speedily
tears open an entrance at the back, and seizes the bait with

THE WOLVERINE.

impunitj ; or if the trap contains an animal, he drags it out,
andrwith wanton malevjglence, mauls it and hides it at some
distance in the underwood, or at the top of some lofty pine.
Occasionally, when hard pressed by hunger, he devours it. In
this manner he demolishes the M'hole series of traps, and when
once a wolverine has established himself on a trapping walk,
the hunter's onl^ chance for success is to change ground and
build a fresh lot of traps, trusting to secure a few furs before
the new path is found out by his industrious enemy.

Strange stories are related by the trappers of the extraor-
dinary cunning of this animal, which they believe to possess a
wis(i( m almost human. He is never caught by the ordinary
" deadfall." Occasionally one is poisoned, or caught in a steel
trap r but his strength is so great, that many traps strong
enough to hold securely a large wolf, will not retain a wolve-
When caught in this way, he does not, like the fox and

rme.

the mink, proceed to amp^tatQ the limb, but, assisting to carry
the trap with his mouth, makes ^11 haste to reach a lake or river,
wher»! he can hasten forward at speed, unobstructed by trees
and uUen wc od. After travelling far enough to be tolerably
safe from pursuit for a time, he devotes himself to the ex^i-
cation of the imprisoned limb, in which he not unfrequently
succeeds. The wolverine is also sometimes killed by a gun,
placed leaning on a bait, to which is attached a string communi-
cating with the trigger. La Ronde assured us most solemnly
that on several occasions the carcajou had been far too cunning
for him, first approaching the gun and gnawing in two the cord
communicating with the trigger, and the^: securely devouring
the bait.

In one instance, when every device to deceive his persecutor
had been at once seen through, and utterly futile, he adopted
the plan of placing the gun in a tree, with the muzzle pointir.g
vertically downwards upon the bait. This was suspended from
a branch, at such a height that the animal could not reach it
without jumping. The gun was fastened high up in the tree,
completely screened from view by the branches. Now the
wolverine is an animal troubled with exceeding curiosity. He
investigates evf,ry thing ; an old moccasin thrown aside in the
busGes, or a knife lost in the snow, is ferreted ^out and
examined, ajid ar y vhing suspended almost out of reach generally
offers an iiiooi^tibU temptation. But in the case related by
Xta Ronde, the carcftjou restrained his curiosity i»nd hunger for

DESTRUCTION OF THE BED EIVER COLONY.

the time, climbed the tree, and cut the cords which bound the gun,
which thus tumbled harmless to the ground, and then descend-
ing, secured the bait without danger. Poison and all kinds of
traps having already failed, La Ronde was fairly beaten and
driven off the ground. — Lord Milton*^ and Db. Chsadle's
Travels.

DESTRUCTION OF THE RED RIVER COLONY
THE NORTH-WEST COMPANY.

The North-West party, consisting chiefly of half-breeds, had
been augmented to upwards of 300 strong, all mounted on
horseback, and armed with various weapons, such as guns,
spears, and tomahawks, or bows and arrows. They were
painted like demons, their heads plumed, and they rushed to
the strife with a yell which gave fatal warning to the industri-
ous but half-starved colonists of the danger that threatened
them. At the critical period to which we have brought our
narrative, these daring marauders had penetrated through the
very heart of the Hudson Bay Company's territories as far as
the shores of the Atlantic, which reach Hudson Bay, and in
their grasping propensities set at defiance every legal restraint
and moral obligation. They pillaged their opponents or
destroyed their establishments, as suited their views at the
time, and not uiiirequently, kept armed parties marauding
from post to post. It was one of these bands, numbering about
sixty-five persons, that advanced against the infant colony on the
fatal 19th of June, when a rencontre took place, in which
twenty-one lives were lost, the flower of the Red River colo-
nists strewing the field, like the slain on the morning of Chevy
Chas^. The particulars of this conflict are briefly as follows : —
The approach of the enemy was announced by the women
and children of the settlers; who were seen running from place
to place in alarm, seeking protection, and crying out that the
settlers were made prisoners. On this, it appears, Governor
Semple, who was Governor-in-chief of the Hudson Bay Com-
pany's territories, with several other gentlemen and attendants,
walked out to meet the strangers, now discerned to be a party
of b^f-breeds f^nd Indi^os^ ^1 mounted ftad armed. Th^ir

HIAWATHA'S SAILING

OLONY BY

hostile pnrpoM being manifest, the goyernor and his party
halted, and were seen in a group, as if consulting together,
while the Indians and half-breeds divided themselves into two
bodies, and instantly commenced firing from the shelter afforded
by a few willows ; first a shot or two, and them a merciless
volley. The party of Governor Semple, consisting of twenty-
eight persons, was completely surrounded, and of that number
no less than twenty-one were killed : namely, Mr. Semple, the
governor ; Captain Rogers, mineralogist ; Mr. White, the sur-
geon ; Mr. McLean, the principal settler ; Lieutenant Holt, of
the Swedish navy ; Mr. Wilkinson, the governor's secretary, and
fifteen men ; beside which, Mr. J. P. Bourke, the storekeeper,
of whom we shall have to speak hereafter, «vas wounded, but
saved himself by flight. The unhallowed triumph of the mur-
derers was complete. Only one of their number fell in the
battle, as they called it, and one other, we believe, was
wounded, while the colonists who survived the massacre were
ordered once more t > leave their homes, without further warning
or preparation, on pain of being hunted down and shot like wild
beasts, if they should ever appear there again. It is doubtful,
indeed, whether one innocent head would have been spared ;
and that any escaped was due to the generosity and heroism of
Mr. Grant, the chief of the hostile party, who rushed before his
own people, and at the imminent peril of his life, kept them at
bay, and saved the remnant of the settlers from extirpation.
Their houses, however, w^te ransacked j*^ their goods pillaged,
and the whole colony driven into exile. They again found a
refuge at Jack River, now called Norway House, situated at
the northern extremity of Lake Winnipeg. — Ross's Red River
Settlement.

HIAWATHA'S SAILING.

Give me of your bark, O Birch-Tree !
Of your yellow bark, O Birch-Tree !
Growing by the rushing river.
Tall and stately in the valley !
I a light canoe will build me,
Build a swift Cbeemaua for sailingi

*■

HIAWATHA S SAILING.

That shall float upon the river,
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn,
Like a yellow water-lily !

" Lay aside your cloak, O Birch-Tree !
Lay aside your white-skin wrapper,
For the summer-time is coming.
And the sun is warm in heaven.
And you need no white-skin wrapper ! "

Thus aloud cried Hiawatha,
In the solitary forest.
By the rushing Taguamenaw,
When the birds were singing gaily,
In the Moon of Leaves were singing,
And the sun from sleep awaking,
Started up and said, " Behold me !
Geezis, the great Sun, behold me ! "

And the trees with all its branches
Rustled in the breeze of morning.
Saying with a sigh of patience,
" Take my cloak, O Hiawatha ! *'

With his knife the tree he girdled ;
Just beneath its lowest branches.
Just above the roots, he" cut it.
Till the sap came oozing outward ;
Down the trunk, from top to WBttom,
Sheer he rteft the bark rounder,
With a woodfeh wedge he raised it.
Stripped it from the trunk unbroken.

" Give me of your boughs, O Cedar I
Of your strong and pliant branches,
My canoe to make more steady.
Make more strong and firm beneath me !

Through the summit of the Cedar,
Went a sound, a cry of horror !
Went a murmur of resistance ;
But it whispered, bending downward,
•' Take my boughs, O Hiawatha I "

Down he hewed the boughs of Cedar,
Shaped them straightway to a framework,
Like two bows he formed and shaped them,
Like two bended bows together.

*' Give me of your roots, O Tamarack I

HIAWATHA-S SAILING*

Of your fibroua roots, Larch-Tree J
My canoe to bind together,
So to bring the ends together,
That the water may not enter,
That the river may not wet me ! "

And the Larch, with 11 its fibres,
Shivered in the air of morning,
Touched Us forehead with its tassels,
Said, with ona long sigh of sorrow,
'' Take them all, O Hiawatha 1 "

From the earth he tore the fibres,
Tore the tough roots of the Larch-Tree,
Closely sewed the bark together,
Bound it closely to the framework.

" Give me of your balm, O Fir-Tree I
Of your balsam and your resin,
So to close the seams together
That the water may not enter,
That the river may not wet me ! "

And the Fir-Tree, tall and sombre.
Sobbed through all its robes of darkness,
Rattled lite^ a shore with pebbles.
Answered wailing, answered weeping,
" Tate my balm,*0 Hiawatha ! "

And he took the tears of balsam.
Took th^esin of the Fir-Tree,*
Smeared^here#!th each seaol^nd fissure,
' Made each crevi<^Pfeafe fr^ water.

" Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog !
*"A11 your quills, O Kagh^the Hedgehog I
I will make a necklace of theoS,
Make a girdle for my beauty,
And two stars to deck her bosom ! " ,

From a hollow tree the Hedgehog
With his sleepy eyes looked at him.
Shot his shining quills like arrows.
Saying, with a drowsy murmur,
Through the tangle of his whiskers,
*' Take my quills, O Hiawatha ! "

From the ground the quills he gathered,
All the little sbming arrows,
. Stained them red and blue and yellow

• :%

80 FOUIJDING OF THE KORTS AMERICAN COLONIES

With the juice of roots and berries ;
Into his canoe he wrought them,
Round its waist a shining girdle,
Round its bows a gleaming necklace,
On its breast two stars resplendent.

Thus the Birch Canoe was builded,
In the valley, by the river.
In the bosom of the forest ;
And the forest's life was in it, ^

All its mystery and it§ magic,
All the lightness of the birch-tree^
All the toughness of the ce^ar, ^
All the larch's supple sinews ;
And it floated on the river
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn,
Like a yellow water-lily.

FOtNDING OF THE NORTH AMERICAN COLONIES.

If the close of the fifteenth century is illustrious by the fir. t
discovery of the lands of the New World, the two following
centuries are distinguished for the pro^ution of the work of
discovery in more minute and pr ac dcal avails, and for attempts
at settlement in the immense temtories which exploring enter-
f prise had brought to light. Le^ng out of view the efforts of
the Spaniards in this direction, who found a splendid field for
colonizing in the islands and continent of the South, the French
occupy a foremost place in these researches, and in endeavors
to turn them to account. About 1504, i^ome Basque and Breton
fishermen, engaged in the cod-fishery, discovered an island to the
south-west of Newfoundland, to which was given the name of
Cape Breton — the name by which it is known at the present
day. Nearly twenty years later Verazzano, furnished with
authority from Francis I., surveyed a considerable portion of the
coast of North America and in 1534, Jacques Cartier, — ^men-
tioned before as touching on Newfoundland, — after visiting parts
of that island, crossed the gulf on its western side, and passing
by Anticosti, sailed up a mighty river, the St. Lawrence, to the
site of the present city and fortress of Quebec. With bim was

COLONIES

FOtmBlUa G» THB AMftKICiLW COLOKlBS.

COLONIES.

shortly afterwards jomed Roberval., commissioned by the court
to plant a colony, and engage in trade witn the natives. Then
followed nearly half a century in which France manifested little
interest in these transatlantic possessions, — being too much ocgi-
pieS with civil dissensions within her own borders. This internal
discord being brought to an end by the elevation of Henry IV.
to The throne, attej^tion was again turned to the regions of the
west. In the year 1603, Champlain sailed for Canada, thus
beginning a coijf se of labors of the deepest interest to the rising
colony. He organized a sys^m of trade with the Indians ; he
formed amicable confederacies with them, or humbled them in
war by ttie sup^ior sc^ce of European civilization. He
fostered settlements of his countrymen, and laid the foundation
of Quebec, in which city he was buried, in the year 1635. In
the mean time, while France was consolidating her supremacy
over the region traversed by the St. Lawrence, she had also
gained an established footing in the territory bordering on the
ocean — the present Nova Scotia, to which she gave the name of
Acadia. In that country, as well as in Cape Breton, little
French commmiities were being formed, and forts erected for
the purpqse o^rotection and defence.

During the same period, England had not been idle in the
matter of taking possessi*-^n of new countries, and planting her
sons therein. The great pioneer in this work was the illustrious
Raleigh. Not discouraged by the disastrous result of the enter-
prise of which his brother-in-law. Sir Humphrey Gilbert, had
beeiTthe leader, he organized another expedition, whose desti-
nation was the remote shores of the continent. Under these
auspices, possession was taken of the country washed by the
waters of the Chesapeake, and through various vicissitudes
attending th') settlers, — often privations from the want of
supplies from Europe, and contests with the natives — the infant
colony took root, under the name of Virginia, in honor of the
maiden queen, and grew up to be a flourishing state. It was
more than a quarter of a century after the commencement of this
plantation, that there took place the memorable exodus of the
Pilgrim Fathers — a little community of men, women, and
children, who made themselves exiles for the sake of conscience
and freedom. These landed at first, to find a desolate home on
the shores of the bay to the north of Cape Cod, and laid the
foundation of the New England States, destined one day to
innugurate a successful war with the mother country, which

J J

W '

*ttl!! GilBAT At^.

■ Q

resulted in the independence of a continent. Virginia and
Massachusetts were the most notable of the English transatlantic
colonies of the seventeenth century. But soon others rose
by their side. Maryland, so called after Henrietta Maria^ wife
of Charles I., was granted to the Roman Catholic Lord Balti-
more as an asylum for his co-religionists, and, in 1634, two
hundred persons of that faith took possession of this beautiful
country, to avoid the disabilities which had pressed hard upon
them in a Protestant nation. Carolina, called after Charles II.,
was first occupied by persons who had fled from the severe
Puritan rule of Massachusetts^ whose numbers were largely
augmented by Enghsh emigrants furnished with lavish grants
of land xfom the King. It was at a much later period that
William Penn, who was a creditor of the government to the
amount of £16,000, received in payment an immense tract of
country stretching indefinitely inland^ and bounded on the east
by the Delaware river, and so was founded the Quaker State of
Pennsylvania. The territory of the now important State of
New York was first explored by the discoverer, Henry Hudson,
whose name is perpetuated in the magnificent river which
American tourists know so well. Its commencement as a
colony was, however, by the Dutch, and for half a century it
acknowledged the sovereignty of Holland, when it was
conquered and added to the dominion which prevailed in the
adjoining states.. New Hampshire and Maine were originally
planted by some earnest adherents of loyalty and of the Church
of England, but these characteristics were soon swamped by
accessions from Massachusetts, under the sway of whose
government the colony at length fell. — Pedley's Histoby of
Newfoundland.

if!!

: 'I

THE GREAT AUK

It appears that the Great Auk, a noble bird nearly three feet in
length, is on the point of becoming extinct, if indeed, it be not
already a thing of the past. The fact of a large bird thus
dying out apparently in uur own day, has naturally excited
great interest, and has led to a careful investigation of all tko
circumstances of the case.

*HE GEEAT AtrS.

In early times the prineipal haunts of the Great Auk appear
to have been tho eastern part of Newfoundland and Labrador,
where they existed in immense profusion. On the Newfound-
land fishing-banks the Great Auk was, two centuries ago, to be
found in great abundance. Its appearance was always hailed by
the mariner approaching that desolate coast as the first indication
of his having reached soundings on the fishing-banks. During
the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, these waters, as well
as the Iceland and Faroe coasts, were annually visited by
hundreds of ships from England, France, Spain, Holland, and
Portugal ; and these ships actually were accustomed to provision
themselves with the bodies and eggs of these birds, which they
found breeding in myriads on the low islands off the coast of
Newfoundland. Besides the fresh birds consumed by the ship'g
crews, many tons were salted down for future use. In the
space of an hour, these old voyagers tell us, they could fill thirty
boats with the birds. It was only necessary to go on shore,
armed with sticks, to kill as many as they chose. The birds
were so stupid that they allowed themselves to be taken up on
their own proper element by boats under sail ; and it is even
said that on putting out a plank, it was possible to drive the
Great Auks up out of the sea into the boats. On land the
sailors formed low enclosures of stones into which they drove
the birds, and as they were unable to fly, kept them there
enclosed till they were wanted for the table. It is said, too,
that as the birds were fat and burned well, they were actually
used for fuel, as the dried bodies of the Auks and Guillemots
are still employed on th« Westerraann Islands.

As may be suppose'il, this wholesale slaughter of the birds
speedily reduced their numbers, and there is no certain informa-
tion that any individuals of the species have been seen on those
coasts during the present century. The last known breeding-
places of the bird are two isolated rocks, extremely difficult of
access, off the south coast of Iceland ; and at long intervals, some
times of ten or fifteen years, a few individuals have been obtained
thence, up to the year 1844. In that year a pair of birds,
male and female, were shot at their nest on a little islet near to
one of the former breeding-places, and since that time, not-
withstanding that the most careful search has everywhere been
made for it, the Great Auk has nowhere been seen alive.

It is conjectured that the bird may still be an inhabitant of

the inaccessible shores of East (Treenland, though none of tha

4 R 3 '^^

(' :

Voyage of" the g6lden hind.

,ve88el8''pa88mg that way ever come across ' it, nor has it evei*
Ibeen seen by any of the Arctic exploring expeditions. "^^ It
may, of course, yet be discovered on some part of that ice-
bound coast ; but it is by no means improbable that the Great
'Auk has now ceased to exist, and has thus taken the place, till
now occupied by the Dodo, of the last in the series of extinct
birds. — " Links in the Chain."

THE VOYAGE OF THE GOLDEN HIND.

Impoverished by these disasters, it was not till the patent
had nearly exjnred, that Sir "Humphrey procured the means to
eqy^p anothei- expedition. With the assistance of Raleigh, now
in high favor with the Queen, he co^ected a fleet of five ships.
" We were in all," says the chronicler of thi^ voyage, " two
hundred and sixty men , among wtiom we had of every fagulty
good choice ; as shipwrights, masons, carpenters, smiths, and
such li^e, requisite to such an action ; also mineral men, and
refiners. Besio.es, for solace of our own people, and alliijj^ement
pOhe savages v.e were"* provided with music in good variety ;

■^ - ^^tF

VOYAGE OF THE GOLDEK llIND.

nor has it evel*
xpeditions. '^. It
»art of that ice-
that the Great
n the place, till
series of extinct

HIND.

till the patent

the means to

Raleigh, now

of five ships.

voyage, "two

every fagulty

, smiths, and

era! men, and

md allurement

good variety ;

Hot omitting the best toys for morris - dancers, hobby-horses
and many like conceits." Before Gilbert sailed, on the 11th of
June, 1583, the Queen sent him a jewel, representing an " andior
guided by a lady," as a token of regard. In spite of the desertion
of the barque which ^Raleigh had equiAed, the fleet reached
Newfoundland in safety^J^the end QMMI^ '^be first glimpse
of the coast — a bleak stretBtogAfCS^^Wming through a dense
fog — was disheartening; but^^more favored spot was soon
after reached, where the weary mariners were charmed with the
sight of fresh green foliage, bright flowers, and berry-bearing
plants. It was just at tJie close of the fishing season, of which
they observed a significant sign in the " incredible multitude of
sea-fowl hovering over the banks, to prey upon the offal of fish
thrown away by the fishermen." They were well received by
the ships of various nations at St. John's. Sir Humphrey at
once landed, took formal possession^ of the country in the
name of the Queen, amid a salyp of or dnance from the vessels
in the anchorage, and gave grants of land to various pe.'sons.
Disliaffection, unfortunately, broke out among his crew, one-
half of whom returned to England. With the rest h^. set
out to explf re the coast towards the south. He sailed in his
little tei^Apn cuUer, the Squirrel ; the largest ships, the De^ght
and the Golden Hind, following as near the shore as they dared.
The summer was spent in examining all the creeks and bays,
noting the soqjiding, taking the bearings of every possible har-
bor, and carefully surveying the rugged coast, at the great risk of
destruction. The admiral was satisfied with the appgj^ance of
the land. A lump of ore which was picked up was pronounced
by the mineral men to be silver, to the delight of the crew.
One night, towards the end of August, there were signs of a
gathering storm, though the wp-ither was fair and pleasant. It
was afterwards remembered that "like the swan, that singeth
^efore her death, they in tha Z^e/iV/Ai continued in the sounding
of drums and trumpets and fifes, also the windings of corjiets
and hautboys, and in the end of their jollity, left with the
battell and ringing of doleful bells." Two days after, the tem-
pest broke upon tLem. ThQ Delight, the largest vessel in the
fleet, struck upon^a rock, and went down in sight of the other
vessels, rvhich were unable to render any help. A large store
of provisions, and Sir Humphrey's papers, were lost. The Hind
and the Squirrel, which had made a narrow escape, were now
alone. The weather continued boisterous ; winter had fairly set,

l':M;%

VOYAGE Of THE GOLDEN HIND-

^^i

in, and the cold became more cruel. Provisions running shorty
both crews were put on short allowance, and used to coiidole
with each other by signs, pointing to their mouths, and exhibit-
ing their thin and tattered clothes. Not without much pressure
from his men. Sir Humphrey was pervaded to abandon his
explorations for th^^r^ent, and to return to England. He
did his best to cheer^iie dro&ping spirits of his companions,
going from one vessel to the other " making merry," speaking
hopefully of future expeditions to Newfoundland, and declaring
that, on hearing what had been done, the Queen would provide
the money for another voyage. Those in the Golden Hind
besought him not to expose himself to shipwreck in a vessel so
slight, frail, and overloaded as the Squirrel ; but he refused to
quit the men with whom he had already passed through so many
storms and perils. Soon afterwards the weather became dark
and lowering. The sailors, oppressed with a vague sense of
coming ill, declared that they heard strange voices in the air,
and beheld fearful shapes flitting around the ship. The seas
were more " outrageous " than the oldest mariner had ever
known before. " On Monday, the 9th September," says Hayes,
" in the afternoon, the frigate was near cast away, oppressed by
the waves, but at that time recovered. Giving forth signs of
joy, the general sitting abaft with a book in his hand, cried out
to us in the Hind^ so often as we did approach within hearing,
* We are as near to heaven by sea as by land,' reiterating the
same speech, — well becoming a soldier resolute in Jesus Christ,
as I can testify he was. The same Monday night, about twelve
of the clock, or not long after, the frigate being ahead of us in
the Golden Hind, suddenly her lights went out, whereof, as it
were in a moment, we lost the sight ; and withal our watch cried,
' The general is cast away ! ' which was too true.

" Thus perished Sir Humphrey Gilbert, to the end resolute in
a purpose honest and godly, as was this, to discover, possess,
and reduce into the service of God and Christian piety, those
remote and heathen countries of America."

The Golden Hind survived the storm, and bore the tidings of
the disastrous fate of the expedition to England. — British En-
terprise

PRISE BEYOND THE SEAS. I A |, I I ll «

AA./^

■''W^f^

SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT.

Southward with a fleet of ice
. Sailed the corsair, Death ;
Wild and fast blew the blast,

And the east-wind was his breath.

His lordly ships of ice

Glistened in the sun :
On each side, like pennons wide

Flashing crystal streamlets run.

His sails of white sea-mist

Dripped with silver rain ;
But where he passed there were cast

Leaden shadows o'er the main.

Eastward from Campobello,
Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed ,

Three days or more seaward he bore,
Then, alas ! the land-wind failed.

Alas ! the land-wind failed.
And ice-cold grew the night ;

And never more, on sea or shore.
Should Sir Humphrey see the light.

He sat upon the deck,

The Book was in his hand ;

" Do not fear ! heaven is as near,"
He said, " by water as by land."

In the first watch of the night,

Without a signal's sound,
Out of the sea, mysteriously.

The fleet of Death rose all around.

The moon and the evening star
Were hanging in the shrouds ;

Every mast, as it passed.

Seemed to Ts.ke the passing clouds.

'iii lU';

illi

THE MOUNTAINEER IN NEWFOUNDLAND.

They grappled with their prize,

At midnight black and cold !
As of a rock was the shock ;

Heavily the ground-swell rolled.

Southward, through day and dark,

They drift in close embrace,
With mist and rain, to the Spanish Main ;

Yet there seems no change of place.

Southward, for ever southward,
They drift through dark and day ;

And like a dream, in the Gulf Stream
Sinking, vanish all away.

Longfellow.

THE MOUNTAINEER IN NEWFOUNDLAND.

At daybreak the atmosphere was frosty, and the slender white
column of smoke still more distinctly seen. There were
human beings there, and, deserted as I was, I felt an irresistible
desire to approach my fellow-creatures, whether they should
prove friendly or hostile. Having put my guns and pistols in
the best order, and no appearance of my Indian at noon, I
left my knapsack and all encumbrances, and descended through
thickets and marshes towards the nearest part of the lake, about
two miles distant. The white sandy shore, formed of dis-
integrated granite, was much trodden over by deer and other
animals, but there were no marks of man discernible. The
extent of the lake was uncertain ; but it was apparent that it
would require two days at least to walk round either end to the
nearest point of the shore opposite to the occupied island. I
therefore kept on my own side to discover who the party was.
By firing off my gun, if the party were Red Indians, they
would in all probability move off quickly on hearing the report,
and they having no fire-arms, my fire would not be answered ;
if they were other Indians, my fire would be returned. I fired :
by and by the report of a strange gun travelled among the
islands from the direction of the smoke ; and thus all my
doubts and apprehensions were dispelled. The report of this

THE MOUNTAINEER IN NEWFOUNDLAND.

lONGFELLOW.

hrun was the first noise T had heard caused by man, except by my
Indian and self, for more than five weeks, and excited very pe»
culiar feelings. •

In about an hour my lost Indian unexpectedly made his
appearance from the direction where we had parted on the
preceding evening, brought to the spot by the report of my
gun. He accounted for himself " that after having shot a stag
about two miles from the spot appointed for our encampment,
he attempted to get round the west end of the lake to reconnoitre
the party on the island, but found the distance too great, and
getting benighted, had slept in the woods."

Soon afterwards, to my great delight, there appeared among
some woody islets in front, which precluded the view of the
other side of the lake, a small canoe, with a man seated in the
stern paddling softly towards us, with an air of serenity and
independence possessed only by the Indian. After a brotherly
salutation with me, and the two Indians kissing each other, the
hunter proved to be unable to speak English or French. They,
however, soon understood each other ; for the stranger, although
a mountaineer from Labrador, could speak a little of the
Micmac language, his wife being a Micmac. The mountaineer
tribe belongs to Labrador, and he told us that he had come to
Newfoundland, hearing that it was a better hunting country
than his own, and that he was now on his way from St.
George's Bay to the Bay of Despair, to spend the winter with
the Indians there. He had left St. George's Ba}' two months
before, and expected to be at the Bay of Despair two weeks
hence. This was his second year in Newfoundland ; he was
accompanied by his wife only. My Indian told him that I
had come to see the rocks, the deer, the beavers, and the Red
Indians ; and to tell King George what was going on in the mid-
dle of that country. He said St.George's Bay was about two weeks'
walk from u ^ if - we new the best way ; and invited us over
with him in his canoe, to rest a day at his camp, where he said
he had plenty of venison, which was readily agreed to on my
part.

The island, on which the mountaineer's camp was, lay about
three miles distant. The varying scenery, as we paddled towards
it amongst a number of islets, all of granite and mostly covered
with spruce and birch trees, was beautiful. His canoe was
similar to those described to have been used by the ancient
Britons on the invasion of the Romans. It was made of

THE MOUNTAINEER IN NEWFOUNDLAND.

;!; •lilfii::;

:,:::d|

wicker-work, covered over outside with deer-skins sewed to-
gether, stretched on it, nearly of the usual form of canoes,
with a bar or beam across the middle, and one at each end
to strengthen it. The skin covering, flesh side out, was fastened
or laced to the gunjvales with thongs of the same material.
Owing to decay and wear, it requires to be renewed once in
from six to twelve weeks. It is in these temporary barks that
the Indians of Newfoundland to the present day navigate the
lakes and rivers of the interior. They are easily carried, owing
to their lightness, across the portages from one water to another,
and, when damaged, easily repaired. There were innumerable
granite rocks in the lake a little above and below the surface.
On one of these our canoe struck, and rubbed a hole through
the half-decayed skin, which was attended with some risk to
our persons and guns.

His wigwam was situated in the centre of a wooded islet,
at which we arrived before sunset. The approach from the
landing-place was by a mossy carpeted avenue formed by the
trees having been cut down in that direction for firewood. The
sight of a fire not of our own kindling, of which we were to
partake, seemed hospjjality. The wigwam was occupied by his
wife, seated on a deer-skin, busy sewing together skins of the
same kind to renew the outside of the canoe, which we had
just found required it. A large Newfoundland dog, her only
companion in her husband's absence, had welcomed us at the
landing-place with signs of the greatest joy. Sylyan happiness
reigned here.. His wigwam was of semj-circular form, covered
with birch-rind and dried deer-skins, the fire in the fore-ground
outside. Abundance and neatness pervaded the encampment.
On hori^ntal poles over the fire hung quantities of vejjisoH
steaks, being smoke-dried. The hostess was cheerful, and a
supper of the best the chase could afford was soon set before
us on sheets of birch-rind. They told "me " to make their camp
my own, and to use every thing in it as such.". Kindness so
elegantly tendered by these people of nature in their solitude,
commenced to soften those feelings which had been fortified
against receiving any comfort except that of my own administer-
ing. The excellence of the venison, and of the flesh of young
bears, could not be surpassed. A cake of hard deer's fat, with
scraps of suet toasted brown intermixed, was eaten with the
meat ; soup was the drink. Our hostess, after supper, sang
several Indian songs at my request ; they were plaintive, and

THE MOUNTAINEER IN NEWFOUNDLAND.

sung In a high key. The song of a female, and her contentment
in this remote and secljided spot, exhibited the strange diversity
there is in human nature. My Indian entertained us inces-
santly until nearly daylight with stories about what he had seen
in St. John's. Our toils were for the time forgotten.

The mountaineer had occupied this camp for about two weeks,
deer being very plentiful all round the lake. His larder, which
was a kind of shed erected on the rocky shore, for the sake of
a free circulation oi air, was in reality a well-stocked butcher's
stall, containing parts of some half-dozen fat deer, also the
carcasses of beavers, otters, musk-rats, and martens, all method-
ically laid out. His property consisted of two guns and am-
munition, an axe, some good cujjnary utensils of iron and tin,
blankets, a number of dried deer-skins to sleep on, and with
which to cover his wigwam, the latter with the hair off ; a
collection of skins to sell at the sea-coast, consisting of those of
beaver, otter, marten, musk-rat, and deer, the last dried and
the hair off ; also a stock of dried venison in bundles. Animal
flesh < . every kind in steaks, without salt, smoked dry on the
fire forforty-eight hours, becomes nearly as light and portable as
cork, and will keep sound for years. It thus forms a good
substitute for bread, and by being boiled two hours recovers most
of its original qualities.

This lake, called Mulpegh or Crooked Lake, by the Indians,
I also named in honor of Professor Jameson. It is nine or ten
miles in length by from one to three in breadth, joined by a
strait to another lake nearly as large, lying south-east, called
Burnt Bay Lake, and is one of the chain of lakes connected by
the East Bay River of the Bay of Despair, already noticed as
running through Serpentine Lake, which forms part of the grand
route of the Indians.

We left the veteran mountaineer (James John, by name,)
much pleased with our having fallen in with him. He landed us
from his canoe on the south shore of the lake, and we took our
departure for the westward along the south side. — Cormack's
Journey Across Newfoundland.

SABLE ISLAND,

SABLE ISLAND.

Sable Island, famous for the disastrous attempt at colonization
made on its inhospitable shores by The Marquis de la Rouche, in
1598, has acquired" a still more painful notoriety from having
been the scene and occasion of very many shipwrecks, from its
lying in the direct tract of vessels to and from Europe. It is
about 85 miles distant from Cape CansOy and is included in the
province of Nova Scotia. Its length is about 30 miles ; its
breadth varies greatly, from its irregular outline, which is some-
what in the form of a bow. The west end is N. lat. 43° 56' 42",
W. long. 60° 71' 15" ; the east end is N. lat. 43^ 59' 5", W. long.
59° 42'. A considerable sum of money is annually appropriated
for the maintenance of an establishment on the island consist-
ing of a superintendent and assisj-ants, with abundant supplies
of every article likely to be required in case of shipwreck. This
establishment was formed in 1804, and kept up at the expense
of the province until 1827 ; but in the latter year the British
Government undertook to furnish a sum equal to that voted by
the province, and the establishment has consequently been
greatly enlarged, and its usefulness much increased. Its neces-
."'ity is sufficiently attested by the melancholy fact, that forty
.essels were wrecked there in a few years, and in a single win-
ter 20'"J people are stated to have perished on its coasts.

The surface of the island (according to the statement furnished
to Judge Haliburton) is undulating ; and the color is also
very similar to that of the sea, from which it is not easily dis-
tinguishable. Throughout its whole extent there is not a single
tree or shrub, and the only productions to be found upon it are
a strong, coarse grass, commonly known by the name of bent
grass, or sea mat-weed, whortleberry and cranberry bushes.
The grass is indigenous, and grows near the shore, or in low
places ; and the cranberry bushes are confined to the deep hol-
lows, which the violence of the wind has formed by scooping
out the sand, and driving it into the sea. With these exceptions,
the soil, if such it can be called, consists of a naked sand, which
is easily acted upon by the tempest, and drifts like snow. In
some places it has formed cqiiical hills, one of which is 100
feet high ; and, notwithstanding its exposure, and the looseness
of its texture, continues to increase in bulk. After a gale of
wind, human skelptons are sometimes exposed to view, and

SABLE ISLAND.

timber and pieces of wreck are disinterred, which have been
)uried for years.

From an early period there appears to have been a herd of
nld cattle upon it. The Portuguese were the* first who made
this humane provision for the unfortunate, by landing some
calves, which increased in a few years to such an extent as to
induce unprincipled men to hunt for the sake of their hides and
Itallow, and, in some instances, to remove them alive. The
[disreputable nature of the employment, and the danger attend-
jing a protracted visit to the island, were such, that they were
(not exterminated for more than a century. After this, it was
again stocked, but the cattle shared the same fate as those which
[had previously been placed there. At a subsequent period, a
French clergyman, at Boston, named Tje Mercier, who called
himself an Englishmen by naturalization, sent cattle thither,
and proposed to remove there himself. Among the records of
the province, there is an application from him to Lieutenant-
Governor Armstrong, at Annapolis, for a grant of the island,
but as he declined to accept it on the terms proposed — of paying
a quit-rent to the King — it was finally withheld. A proclama-
tion, however, was issued by the governor, forbidding people to
kill these animals, and they continued there for many years,
but at what time they were destroyed,' and succeeded by the
horses now upon it, is not known, nor is it ascertained whether
the latter are the descendants of some sent there by him, or of
others which have escaped from wrecks. Since the formation
of the establishment, and the protection afforded them by it,
they have greatly increased in number. They are small, but
strong and active, and endure with surprising hardihood the
inclemency of the weather in winter, without any other shelter
than that afforded by the hillocks of sand. The south end of
the island is their general resort, on account of the quantity of
grass on its shores, and its remoteness from the house of the
superintendent. They have increased beyond their means of
subsistence, and although many are killed every year to supply
fresh provisions for the crews of wrecks, who are detained there
until an opportunity offers for conveying them to Nova Scotia,
yet several of the aged and inlirni are genernlly found dead every
spring. They are exceedingly wild, and it is no easy matter to
approach within gunshot of them. As it is desirable that no
ineffectual efforts should be made to shoot them, and that they
should not be unnecessarily maimed or wounded, great care i«

THE COAL FIELDS OF NOVA SCOTIA.

i\ i«C

,i ''■'■

. : f

j'n
«

taken by the marksman to secrete himself in a suitable place
until an animal approaches within a convenient distance, when
one shot usually suffices to kill him. The young male horses
are selected for slaughter, and are easily distinguished from the
aged by their superior condition, and by the size of the mane,
which, in the old horses, is of extreme length, reaching nearly
to their knees. The meat is said to be tender, and by no means
unpalatable. The island is also well stocked with English rab-
bits, which make an agreeable variety in the food of the resi-
dents. The nature of the soil is so peculiarly adapted to the
habits of these animals, that they have multiplied astonishingly,
and are prevented from becoming too numerous only by a similar
increase of rats, the progeny of those that have escaped from
wrecks. Great numbers of the latter perish in the course of the
winter, and during the rainy weather of the spring and autumn.
Until within the last fifteen years, there was a small herd of
wild hogs, that became exceedingly fierce. The climate, how-
ever, which had always restricted their increase, finally overcame
them altogether, for the whole perished during an unusually
severe winter. Since that time it has not been thought advis-
able to renew this species of stock, which, considering the nature
of the food that shipwrecks must sometimes have unfortunately
furnished them, must always have been objects of horror and
disgust. During the early part of the summer, gulls, ducks,
divers, and other wild fowl, lay an immense quantity of eggs on
the southern point, and a party from the house frequently sail
up the lake, and fill their boat with them. At the approach of
winter these birds migrate to the Continent. — Martui's British
Colonies.

THE COAL FIELDS OF NOVA SCOTIA.

Coal is one of the greatest treasures which the mineral world
bestows upon man. The importance of Great Britain as the
manufacturing power of the world is owing in no slight degree
to the vast coal fields that keep her thousands of furnaces in full
blp.8t. This valuable mineral is scattered widely over the earth's
surface. Nearly every state in Europe rejoices in its own beds
of coal ; it appears in India, China, and the islands of the Indian
Ocean ; the African island of Madagascar is not destitute of it ;

THE COAL frlELDS OF iJOVA SCOTIA*

iven in remote Australia it is to be found ; and in the southern
jontinent of our western hemisphere, the Republic of Chili is the
lappy possessor of coal measures. But nowhere is coal to be
Found in greater quantity than in North America. In the
Inited States the coal-fields extend from Michigan to Alabama,
covering an area of nearly two hundred thousand square miles.
)f greater interest to us, however, are the coal measures of our
)wn country, which occur in Nova Scotia, Cape Breton, New
Brunswick, and Prince Edward Island, and are supposed to
jxtend as far as the Magdalen Islands. These extensive deposits
)f coal cover an area of 36,000 square miles, affording an almost

[inexhaustible supply of what has been fitly termed the sinews

[of commercial prosperity. Although these coal-fields t*re spread
over so large a part of the maritime provinces, they are generally

[connected with the name of Nova Scotia, because in that province
they are most conspicuous.

Coal is not a stone in the same sense as limestone or granite

[ are called stones. It consists almost entirely of carbon or char-
coal, and represents the remains of vegetable life, that flourished
hundreds of thousands of years ago. Geologists suppose that
the great coal regions of Nova Scotia and the adjoining provinces
were at one time immense swamps at the mouths of great rivers,
which brought down in their course trunks of trees, and quan-
tities of mud and sand, which mingled with, and overlaid, the
aquatic plants growing in the swamps. The water plants and
trees, decaying, furnished layers of coal, and the mud and sand
constituted the shale and sandstone that lies between them. In
order to illustrate this change. Sir Charles Lyell, the celebrated
geologist, states that "whenever any part of a swamp in Louisiana
is dried up, during an unusually hot season, and the wood set
on fire, pits are burnt into the ground many feet deep," showing
the combustible nature of deposits now going on.

Such being the origin of coal, we should naturally expect to
find some traces of vegetable organization in the structure of
this mineral. These, however, are not visible, as everybody
knows, in the majority of lumps of coal that fill our stoves and
fire-places. But were we to visit a coal mine, our expectation
would soon be realized. On the Chignecto Channel, a branch of
the Bay of Fundy, in Nova Scotia, is a line of lofty cliffs, from
150 to 200 feet in height, called the South Joggins. The ap-
pearance of these cliffs is of the most interesting character.
Alternately with shales and sandstones, are to be seen the edges

f.-'^l

DISCOVERY OP AMERICA.

of numerous seams of coal, varying from two inches to four feet
in thickness ; and, rooting in these seams, appear petrified trunks
of trees, from eight to twenty-five feet in height. Year by year, the
high tides of the Bay of Fundy, which rise more than sixty feet,
undermine and wear away the face of the cliffs, revealing new speci-
mens of fossil vegetation. In addition to the trunks and stumps of
these trees, which are called Sigillaria, and are unlike any at pre-
sent existing in the world, the coal measures of Nova Scotia and
C^ ipe Breton al)Ound ii fossil Equisetanceae, the horse-tails or scour-
ing rushes of our swai^^ps, and other remarkable trees and plants.
Each of the layers or seams of coal indicates a distinct period
of vegetable life. It has hence been concluded that no fewer
than fifty-nil e great swamp-forests must have contributed to
form the Sydney coal-field in C!a| Breton. We know, from
observation, how slowly the formation of coal is going on at the
pr'^sent day ; how great, therefore, must be the period of time
that has elapsed since the first of these forests rose from the
silent swamp, fell before the power of the watercourse, and be-
came the foundation of fifty -eight successive beds, repeating the
story of its own existence ! — Campbell's Fourth Reader.

DISCOVERY OF AMERICA.

Next morning, being Friday, the 3d day of August, in the year
1492, Columbus set sail, a little before sunrise, in presence of a
vast crowd of spectators, who sent up their supplications to
Heaven for the prosperous issue of the voyage, which mey wished
rather than expgcteoT "" . *"

As they proceeded, the indications of approj^ching land seemed
to be more certain, and excited hope in proportion. The birds
began to appear in flocks, makmg towards the south-west. Co-
lumbus, in imitation of the Portuguese n avi gators, who had been
guided in several of their discoveries by the motion of birds,
altgred his course from diie_west towards that quarter whither
they pointed their flight. But, after holding on for several days
in this new direction without any better success than formerly,
having seen no object during thirty days but the sea and the
sky, the hopes of his companions subsided faster than they had
risen ; their fears revived with additional force ; imp's^^ience, rage,
and despair appeared in every countenance. All sense of subor-
dination was lost. The officers, who fiad hitherto concurred with

DISCOVERY OF AMERICA.

nches to four feet
ar petrified trunks

Year by year, the
re than sixty feet,
ivealing new speci-
nks and stumps of
unlike any at prs-
' Nova Scotia &xid
orse-tails orscour-
3 trees and plants.

a distinct period
3d that no fewer
e contributed to

We know, from
5 going on at the
le period of time
s rose from the
ercourse, and be-
ds, repeating the
tTH Reader.

just, in the year
n presence of a
supplications to
hich they wished

ing land seemed
ion. The birds
outh-west. Co-
5, who had been
lotion of birds,
luarter whither
For several days
than formerly,
le sea and the
than they had
np'^ience, rage,
sense of subor-
concurred w^tk

[Columbus in opinion; and supported his authority, now took
[part with the prjyate men ; they assembled tumultuously ou the
[deck, expostulated with their commander, mingled threats with
Itiieir expostulations, and required him instantly to tack about,
and return to Europe. Columbus perceived that it would be of
[no avail to have recourse to any of his former arts, which, having
been tried so often, had lost their effect ; and that it was impos-
sible to rekindle any zeal for the success of the expedition among
men in whose breasts fear had extinguished every generous senti-
ment. He saw *hat it was no less vain to think of employing
either gentle or severe measures to quell a mutiny so general and
so violent. It was necessary, on all these accounts, to soothe
passions which he could no longer command, and to give way to a
torrent too impetuous to be checked. He promised solemnly to his
men that he would comply with their request, provided they would
accompany him and obey his command tor three days longer ; and
if, during thai, time, land were not discovered, he would then
abandon the enterprise and direct his course towards Spain.

Eliraged as the sailors were, and impatient to turn their faces
again towards their native country, this proposition did not ap-
pear to them unreasonable ; nor did Columbus hazard much in
confining himself to a term so short. The presages of discovering
land were now so numerous and promising that he deemed them
infallible. For some davs the sounding line reached the bottom,
and the soil which it brought up indicated land to be at no great
distance. The flocks of birds increased, and were composed not
only of sea-fowls, but of such land birds as could not be supposed
to fly far from the shore. The crew of the Pinta observed a cane
floating, which seemed to have been newly cut, and likewise a
piece of timber artificially carved. The sailors aboard the Nigna
took up the branch of a tree with red berries perfectly fresh.
The clouds around the setting sun assumed a new appearance ;
the air was n)ore mild and warm; and during nigh the wind
became unequal and variable. From all these symptoms, Columbus
v.as so confident of being near land, that, on the evening of the
11th of October, after public prayers for success, he ordered the
sails to be furled, and th( ships to lie to, keeping strict watch lest
they should be driven ashore in the night. During this interval of
suspense and expectation, no man shut his eyes ; all kept on deck,
gazing intently towards that quarter where they expected to dis-
cover laud, which had so long been the object of their wishes.
About two hours before midnight, Columbus, standing on the

iS^^^

1)1SC0VEICY of AMERICA.

, , ;<S

forecastle, observed a light at a distance, and privately pointed it
out to Pedro Guttierez, a page of the queen's warcffobe. Guttierez
perceived it, and calling to Salcedo, comptroller of the fleet, all
three saw it in motion, as if it were carried from place to place.
A little after midnight, the joyful sound of Land! Land! was
heard from the Pinta, which kept always ahead of the other ships.
As soon as morning dawned, all doubts and fears were dispelled.
From every ship an island was seen about two leagues to the
north, whose flat and verdant fields, well stored with wood, and
watered with many rivulets, presented the aspect of a delightful
country. The crew of the Pinta instantly began the Te Deum
as a hymn of thanksgiving to God, anTwere joined by those of
the other ships with tears of joy and transports of congratulation.
They threw themselves at the feet of Columbus with feelings of
self-condemnation, mingled with reverence. They implored him
to pardon their ignorance, incredulity, and insolence, which had
created him so mucH* unnecessary disquiet, an^Thad so often ob-
stru'jted the prosecution of his well-concerted plan ; and passing,
in the warmth of their admiration, from one extreme to another,
they now pronounced the man, whpm they had so lately reviled
and threatened, to be a person inspired by Heaven with sagacity
and fortitude more than human, in order to accomplish a design
so far beyond the ideas and conception of all former ages.

As soon as the sun arose, all their boats were manned and
armed. They rowed towards the island with their colors dis-
played, with warlike music, and other martial pomp. As they
apprcuched the coast, they saw it covered with a multitude of
people, whom the novelty of the spectacle had drawn together,
whose attitudes and gestures expressed wonder and astonishment
at the strange objects which presented themselves to their view.
Columbus was the first European who set foot on the new world
which he had discovered. He landed in a rich dress, and with a naked,
sword in his hand. His men followed, and, kneeling down, they all
kissed the ground which they had so long desired to see. They
next erected a crucifix, and prostrating themselves before it, returned
thanks to God for conducting their voyage to such a happy issue.
They then took solemn possession of the country for the crown of
Castile and Leon, with all the formalities which the Portuguese were
accustomed to observe in acts of this kind in their new discoveries.

The Spaniards, while thus employed, were surrounded by alipy
of the natives, who gazed in silent admiration upon actions whj^h
they could not comprehend, and of which they did not foresee the

THE PRAIRIES.

consequences. The dress of the Spaniards, the whiteness of their
skins, their beards, their arms, appeared strange and surprising.
The vast machines in which they had traversed the ocean, that
seemed to move upon the waters with wings, and uttered a dread-
ful sound resembling thunder, accompanied with lightning and
smoke, struck them with such terror that they began to respect
their new guests as a superior order of beings, and concluded that
they were children of the sun, who had descended to visit the earth.
The Europeans were hardly less amazed at the scene now be-
fore them. Every herb and shrub and tree was different from
those which flourished in Europe. The soil seemed to be rich,
but bore few marks of cultivation. The climate, even to the
Spaniards, felt warm, though extremely delightful. The inhabi-
tants appeared in the simple innocence of nature, entirely naked.
Their black hair, long and uncurled, floated upon their shoulders,
or was bound in tresses on their heads. They had no beards,
and every part of their bodies was perfectly smooth. Their com-
plexion was of a dusky copper color, their features regular rather
than disagreeable, their aspect gentle and timid. Though not
tall, they were well shaped and active. Their faces and several
parts of their bodies were fantastically painted with glaring
colors. They were shy at first through fear, but soon became
familiar with the Spaniards, and with transports of joy received
from them hawk-bells, glass-beads, or other baubles ; in return
for which they gave such provisions as they had, and some cotton-
yarn, the only commodity of value which they could produce.
Towards evening. Columbus returned to his ship, accompanied
by many of the islanders in their boats, which they called canoes,
and though rudely formed out of the trunk of a single tree, they
rowed them with surprising dexterity. Thus in the first inter-
view between the inhabitants of the old and new worlds, every
thin

THE PRAIRIES. I

These are the gardens of the desert, these
The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful.
For which the speech of England has no name ;
The Prairies. I behold them for the first,
And my heart swells, while the dilated sight
Takes in the encircling vastness. Lo ! they stretch
4s 4

THE PRAIRIES.

In airy undulations, far away,

As if the ocean, in his gentlest swell,

Stood still, with all nis rounded billows fixed

And motionless for ever. Motionless !

No, they are all unchained again. The clouds

Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath,

The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye ;

Dark hollows seem to glide along, and chase

The sunny ridges.

Breezes of the South !
"Who toss the golden and the flame-like flowers.
And pass the prairie-hawk, that, poised on high,
Flaps his broad wings, yet moves not ! ye have played
Among the palms of Mexico, and vines
Of Texas, and have crisped the limped brooks
That from the fountains of Sonora glide
Into the calm Pacific, have ye fanned
A nobler or a lovelier scene than this ?
Man hath no part in all this glorious work :
The hand that built the firmament hath heaved
And smoothed these verdant swells, and sown their slopes
With herbage, planted them with island groves.
And hedged them roun^ with forests. Fitting floor
For this magnificent temfple of the sky.
With flowers whose glory and whose multitude '

Rival the constellations ! The great heavens
Seem to stoop down upon the scene in love ;
A nearer vault, and of a tenderer blue.
Than that which bends above the eastern hills.

As o'er the verdant waste I guide my steed.
Among the high, rank grass that sweeps his sides,
The hollow beating of his footsteps seems
A sacrilegious sound. I think of those
Upon whose rest he tramples. Are they here,
The dead of other days ? And did the dust
Of these fair solitudes once stir with life,
And burn with passion ? Let the mighty mounds
That overlook the rivers, or that rise
In the dim forest, crowded with old oaks,
Answer.

THE PKAIKIES.

A race that long has passed away
Bailt them ; a disciplined and populous race
Heaped, with long toil, the earth, while yet the Greek
Was hewing the Pentelicus to forms
Of symmetry, and rearing on its rock
The glittering Parthenon. These ample fields
Nourished their harvests, here their herds were fed,
When haply by their stalls the bison lowed,
And bowed his maned shoulder to the yoke.
""All day this desert murmured with their toils,
Till twilight blushed, and lovers walked and wooed
In a forgotten language, and old tunes.
From instalments of unremgpibered form,
Gave the soft winds a voice-.

The red man came,
The roaming hunter tribes, warlike and fierce.
And the mound-builders vanished from the earth.
The solj,tude of centuries untold
Has settled where they dwelt. The prairie-wolf
Hunts in their meadows, and his fresh-dug den
Yawns by my path. The gopher mines the ground
Where stood their swarming cities. All is gone ;
All, — save the piles of earth that hold their bones ;
The platforms where they worshipped unknown gods ;
The barriers which they builded from the soils
To keep the foe at bay, till o'er the walls
The wild beleaguerers broke, and, one by one
The strongholds of the plain were forced, and heaped
With corpses.

The brown vultures of the wood
Flocked to these vast uncovered sepulchres,
And sat, unshared and silent, at their feast.
Haply, some solitary fugitive, • ^

Lurking in marsh and forest, till the sense
Of desolation and of fear became
Bitterer than death, yielded himself to die.
^Man's better nature triumphed. Kindly words
Welcomed and soothed him ; rwde conquerors
Seated the captive with their chiefs ; he chose
A bride among their maidens, and, at length,
Seemed to forget — ^yet^ut'er forgot — the wif^

t^^

S.!:

62 THE PRAIRIES.

Of his first love, and her sweet little ones
Butchered, amid their shrieks, with all his race.*

Thus change the forms of being. Thus arise
Races of living ^h'ogs, glorious in strength.
And perish, as the quickening breath of God
Fills them, or is withdrawn. The red man, too,
Has left the blooming wilds he ranged so long.
And, nearer to the Rocky Mountains, sought
A wider hunting-ground. The beaver builds
No longer by these streams, but far away.
On waters whose blue surface ne'er gave back
The white man's face ; among Missouri's springs,
And pools whose issues swell the Oregon,
He rears his little Venice. In these plains
The bison feeds no more. Twice twenty leagues
Beyond remotest smoke of hunter's camp,
Roams the majestic brute, in herds that shake
The earth with thundering steps ; yet here T meet
His ancient footprints stamped beside the pool.

Still this great solitude is quick with life.
Myriads of insects, gaudy as the flowers
They flutter over, gentle quadrupeds,
And birds that scarce have learned the fear of man,
Are here, and sliding reptiles of the ground,
Startlingly beautiful. The graceful deer
Bounds to the wood at my approach. The bee,
A more adventurous colonist than man.
With whom he came across the eastern deep,
Fills the savannas with his murmurings.
And hides his sweets, as in the golden age,
Within the hollow oak. I listen long .
To his domestic hum, and think I hear
The sound of tfiat advancing multitude
Which soon shall fill the deserts. From the ground
Comes up the laugh of children, the soft voice
■ Of maidens, and the sweet and solemn hymn
Of Sabbath worshippers. The low of herds
Blends with the rustling of the heavy grain-^
Over the dark-brown furrows. All at once
A fresher wind sweeps by, and breaks my dream,
And I am in the wilderness alone. ^ W. C. Bryant.

7-^v<i..u<^^

■\.,U0

U".'

THE tJ:^ITEr) EMPIRE LOYALISTS.

THE UNITED EMPIRE LOYALISTS.

When the thirteen colonies of North America cast off their alle-
giance to the British Crown in 1776, and erected themselves into
the Republic of the U nited Sta tes, it was not without much op-
position from many gallant and ro^al subjects of King George.
Men who loved the British flag, and cherished the name of Briton
as an honorable birthright, had no sympathy with their fellow-
countrymen in their attempt to dismenioer the empire, of which
they formed so important a part. For this reason they were
called United Empire Loyalists, a term synpnymous with gallant
daring, patient endj^rance of suffering, and often, unfortunately,
with unrewarded loyalty to King and country. Driven fronx
their homes by the Whig, or rebel party, these faithful men, with
their families, found refujje in the colonies which had been re-
cently taken from the French. They were among the earliest
settlers of New Brunswick and Upper Canada, and were found
also in considerable numbers swelling the populations of Nova
Scotia, Prince Edward Island, and Lower Canada. The peril-
ous adventures and noble daring of one of the most prominent
United Empire Loyalists is thus given by the American writer,
Sabine : —

" James Mood}'^, of New Jersey, at the beginning of the war,
with a wife and three children, was settled on a large, fertile,
and well-cultivated farm of his own, and was contented and happy.
He took no part in politics, and simply wished to live and die a
British subject. Molested, however, inces^santly, by the Whigs,
and shot at three several times on Sunday, while quietly walking
on his own grounds, he resolved to fly to the Royal army : and
in April, 1777, accompanied by seventy-three of his neighbors,
he reached Colonel Barton's corps at Bergen. His very name
soon became a terror. The cry that *' Moody is out ! " or that
" Moody is in the country ! " was uttered in intense fear in parts
of New Jersey and Pennsylvania for years. His first service
was at the head of about one hundred men, when he marched
seventy miles to annoy his former friends. He was attacked,
and of his whole party eight only escaped to the British lines.
Of the prisoners taken by the Whigs, more than thirty were sen-
tenced to death — two were executed ; the rest saved life by en-
listing in the Continental army, but except a few who died, all
who were thus spared deserted. He was next employed to pene-

THE UNITED EMPIRE LOYALISTS.

-"V

ii m

U- !;,

«li

trate the country and obtain information relative to the strength
and position of Whig corps, and was commended for his skill and
perseverance. In June, 1779, he captured a Whig colonel, a
lieutenant-colonel, a major, two captains, and several others of
inferior rank, and destroyed a considerable magazine of powder
and arms. On his return, with such public stores as he could
transport, he was assailed by a force double his own, which, after
a spirited light of forty minutes, he dispersed at the point of the
bayonet.

Next, be went out with a party of seven and secured the
persons of eighteen Whig officers of militia, and committee men.
This feat raised a new alarm, and he was hunted in caves and
forests night and day. He eluded his pursuers, but, while
retracing his steps to New York, he fell into the hands of
General Wayne, much to the joy of his captors and Whigs of
New Jersey. " Moody is in the toils at last," was the word far and
near. He was sent first to a place called " TTie Slote" thence
to Stony Point, thence to West Point, thence to Esopus, and
thence back to West Point. Arnold, who was plotting to sur-
render the latter post, treated him with absolute barbarity ;
for, by his order, he was placed in a du^ngeon excavated in a
rock, the bottom of which was ankle-deep in water, mud, and
filth. In this dismal hole the wretched prisoner was fettered
hand and foot ; compelled to sleep on a door raised on four
stones above the disgusting mixture, and proffered food at which
he revolted, and which was brought to him in a wooden bowl
that was never washed, and that was encrusted with dough, dirt,
and grease. The irons upon his wrists were ragged on the inner
side and caused sores which gave him great pain, while his legs
became irritated and swollen. He implored Arnold for relief,
declaring that he preferred death to sufferings so intense. Some
days after his second petition to be treated as a prisoner of war,
an officer came to his prison and asked, — " Are you Moody,
whose name is a terror to every good man? " When answered,
the officer pointed to a gallows near by and said, — " A swing
upon that you have long merited." Moody replied, " That ho
hoped to live to see him, and a thousand other villains like him,
hanged for being rebels." The fetters were examined but not
removed. The case was at last reported to Washington, who
ordered the irons to be taken off, and the serving of wholesome
provisions, with leave to purchase milk and vegetables. Soon

THE UNITED EMPIRE LOYALIST!.

Itoo, the prisoner was transferred to the chief's own camp, when

(the adjutant-general, the noble Scammell, examined his limbs,

land, shocked at their condition, gave instant directions for

(humane treatment. Before our partisan had fully recovered,

[he was told that he was to be tried for the murder of the Whig

[captain and of another officer who fell in the affair which I

' have mentioned ; and also for enlisting men, which, too, was a

i capital offence. He was informed besides, that "he was so

obnoxious, and likely to be so mischievous, that the Whigs were

determined to get rid of him at any rate," and that his fate was

sealed. From this moment he resolved to escape or perish in

the effort. On a dark and rainy night, he accordingly contrived

to break the bolt off his handcuffs without notice, when he

sprang past the inner sentinel, knocked down and seized the

gun of the next, avoided four others who were stationed at the

place of his confinement, and obtained his liberty, though the

cry was raised by hundreds — " Moody has escaped from the

Provost! " and though he wjis pursued in every direction.

We hear little of our partisan and spy until March, 1781,
when Oliver De Lancy the younger, who had succeeded Andr^
as Adjutant-General, requested him to undertake to intercept
Washington's despatches. Moody, ever ready, departed the
very next night, and travelled more than twenty-five miles by
the dawn of day ; when, as detection was sure to lead to a speedy
death on the gallows, he and his followers retreated to a swamp.
On the second night his guide refused to proceed ; and Moody,
in his anger, cocked his gun to shoot him, but spared him for
the sake of his family. The enterprise was, however, at an
end, and those who wer^ engaged in it made the best of their
way to New York. De Lancy was much disappointed ; and
Moody, in nowise discouraged, set out again, determined upon
success. He reached the Haverstraw Mountains in darkness,
and was there informed that, the post had already passed. To
get ahead of the rider was the only course ; and Moody and his
little band, heedless of severe suffering from the inclemency of
the weather and from the pelting snow-storm, pushed on, and on
the fifth day they obtained their prize, which, after hazardous
and distressing night marches, they placed in the possession of
their employer.

Moody himself bore fatigue, hunger, and cold, without
apparent injury ; but the hardships of this adventure were fatal
10 the health of most of his party. Soon after this L^z^K Moody,

56f

THE UNITED EMPIKE LOYALISTS.

<1?

r 1

r'li

who had served quite a year as a volunteer without pay, and
nearly three years as an ensign, was promoted to a lieutenancy.

In a month or two, De Lancy complained of the want of
intelligence, and the new lieutenant, with four men, accordingly
left camp to seize another " Rebel Mail." On the second night
they met a party of Wlugs, who enclosed them on three sides,
and who had so well executed a plan of ambush as to leave no
hope of escape, except by leaping from a high cliff of rocks.
To surrender or perish was the only alternative. Moody chose
the latter ; and, bidding his men to follow, sprang over the pre-
cipice. Strangely enough not one was hurt. But he soon saw
another band of Whigs crossing a swamp ; and satisfied that
his enemies acted upon information sent from the British lines,
he resolved to retreat. Eluding his pursuers, he reached the
Hudson River, and thought his perils over. When within four
miles of the city, seventy AVhigs emergec? from a house a
hundred yards distant, and marched directly towards him. His
guide, who insisted . that they were Loyalists, went to meet
them, and was greeted with a shot. The main body made for
Moody, who, without other means of escape^ scrambled up a
steep hill ; but, long before he reached the summit, his foes were
in full chase, and when only one hundred and fifty feet off
"gave him one general discharge." " Tlie bullets flew like a
storm of hail all around him ; his clothes were shot through in
several places ; one ball went through his hat and another
grazed his arm." He turned without slacking his pace, aimed
at one who pursued, and killed him on the spot. Thoup;h the
firing was continued he escaped unharmed, and in due time re-
ported himself at head-quarters. Still bent on success, and
giving, himself no time for rest. Moody, accompanied by four
trusty followers, left New York the very night of his arrival
there ; and, as before, he moved in darkness only, until he was
ready to pounce upon the coveted " Rebel Mail." He incurred
perils which I have not time to relate. After waylaying the
rider five days, he bore off all the despptches that were sent to
Whigs in the field and elsewhere, in consequence of interviews
between Washington and Count Rochambeau in Connecticut.

After numberless stirring adventures. Lieutenant Moody
visited England in 1781, for the sake of his health, which had
been greatly shattered ; he afterwards settled in Nova Scotia,
and died at Weymouth in 1809.

JACK FROST.

The Frost iook'd forth one still, clear night,
And whispered, " Now I shall be out of sight
So, through the valjey, and over the height,

In silence I'll take my way.
I will not go on like that blustering train —
The wind and snow, the hail and rain —
Who make so much bustle and noise in vain,

But I'll be as busy as they."

llets flew like a

Then he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest ;
He lit on the trees, and their boughs he drest
In diamond beads ; and over the breast

Of the quivering lake he spread
A coat of mail, that it need not fear
The downward point of many a spear
That hung on its margin, far and near,

Where a rock could rear its head.

He went to the windows of those who slept,
And over each pane like a fairy crept |
Wherever he breathed, wherever he stept,

By the light of the morn were seen
Most beautiful things ; there were flowers and trees ;
There were bevies of birds, and swarms of bees ;
There were cities, with temples and towers — and these

All pictured in silver sheen.

But he did one thing that Was hardly fair:
He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there
That all had forgotten for him to prepare —

" Now, just to set them a thinking,
I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he,
" This costly pitcher I'll burst in three ;
And the glass of water they've left for me

Shall ' tchick ! ' to tell them I'm drinking."

Miss Gould.

PlTCflEE PLANTS.

PITCHER PLANTS.

Pitcher plants are among the greatest curiosities of the vege-
table kingdom. In most of our Northern swamps they may be
seen, with their tall flower-stalks, and dark brownish-red
flowers, rising erect from the soft peat-moss, surrounded by
clusters of pitcher-shaped leaves. The pitchers are of all hues,
from a dark withered i)rown to a delicate green, exhibiting often
a beautiful marking of bright red lines. They are formed, it is
supposed, by a natural folding of the leaf of the plant, although
it is impossible to say for what purpose ; a^^d are of all sizes,
ranging from two to eight inches in length. On one side of
the pitcher is a winged expansion of the folded leaf, and at the
top there is formed a roundish arching hood. The neck of the
pitcher is much narrower than its body, and presents the
appearance of a solid rim, generally very bright and glossy. It
is supposed that the water, with which these leaves are generally
half filled, is drawn up from the swamp, and that its presence
is not owing to rain. These pitchers are the sepulchres of
unnumbered flies and other insects : it is an easy matter for
them to find their way into the open mouth, but not easy to
return, for the throat and hood are lined with sharp hairs
pointing downwards, that pierce the repentant intruder while
attempting to retrace his steps, and hurl him into the abyss of
water below. Once there, hope is forever shut out, and the
unfortunate insect dies a lingering death. It has been supposed
that the pitcher plant, like the little sundews 'of our bogs,
which clasp intruding flies in their glutinous embrace, has a
relish for other food than that which earth and air supply, and
that its carnivorous tastes are essential to its existence ; but
this view is not well-established. In Nova Scotia, Newfound-
land, and in parts of Canada, the root of the pitcher plant has
been used succi^ssfully in cases of small-pox, alJiough <loctors
differ as to its real value in medicine. There is no doubt that
the Indians look upon it as a valuable remedy, and one of the
^ most important articles with which the great medicine cliest of
nature supplies them. The name of our pitcher plant is Sarra-
cenia, so called from Dr. Sarrazin, of Quebec, a physician who
first sent an account of it, accompanied with speoim iis, to
Tournefort, the celebrated French botanist. The name of the
species, or particular kind of Sarracenia, which is to be found

PITCHER PLANTS.

in British North America and the Northern Cnited States, is
purpureay or the purple Sarracenia, so called from the color
of the gloomy-looking flower. Another species, called thejiava,
or yellow Sarracenia, grows sometimes to the height of three
feet, with long trumpet-shaped pitchers and yellow flowers. It
is never found north of Virginia in the United States. Another,
called the Darlingtonia, is found growing among the mountains
of California ; and still another, named Heliamphera, in the
swamps of Guiana. All the pitcher plants, therefore, are
natives of the New World.

In the East Indies, however, and in China, another class of
pitcher plant is to b^ found, even more curious than ours.
The two classes are not at all related to one another, the Sarra-
cenias being closely allied to the buttercups, and the Nepenthes
to the nettles. An interesting writer thus describes the
latter : — \ .

" It is of a half shrubby nature, and can grow to the height
of from twenty to thirty feet. Its leaves, which are the most
wonderful parts of it, are green, smooth, entire, and about three
inches broad and two feet long ; and they come out stragglingly,
and half embrace the stem. The mid-rib of each has a rusty
brown color, is very prominent behind, and is prolonged
at the tip of the leaf into a tortuous, pendulous, rue^y brown
tendril ; and this tendril bears at its extremity a perpendicular
dingy-brown pitcher, from six to nine inches in depth, and
about five inches in greatest circumference. A very distinct lid
surmounts the pitcher, and joins on to the back part of the rim ;
it continues closed while the pitcher is young, and stands open
at about a right angle with the mouth, when the pitcher becomes
old. A quantity of pure sweet water, varying from a drachm
to several ounces, is always found in both the open and the
unopened pitchers ; and seems to be a secretion from minute
globular scales with which the lower half of the pitcher is lined.
Some animals of the monkey family in Ceylon are well
acquainted with the liquid-containing character of the pitchers,
and never scruple to frequent them as convenient, pleasant wells.
A pitcher plant at Chatsworth was described, a number of years
ago, as more than twenty feet high ; as suspending nearly fifty
full-grown pitchers from the points of its strongest leaves ; and
as presenting a most magnificent and exceedingly singular
appearance."

There is yet another plant closely allied to the Sarracenia,

MOOSE HUKTING IX NOVA SCOTIA.

SI"'"

although not belonging to the same family, which presents a
similar peculiarity of leaf. The pitchers of the Cephalotus, as
it is called, resemble those of the Nepenthes in possessing a lid,
but differ from them in that they spring directly from the root,
being mingled with the ordinary leaves of the plant. The
Cephalotus is a native of King George's Sound in New Holland.
With it may be said to conclude the tribe of vegetable curiosities
known as pitcher plants. — Campbell's Fourth Reader.

MOOSE HUNTING IN NOVA SCOTIA.

About three hours after sundown we all left the camp ; my
companion, with old Paul, going down the lake in the canoe,
whilst the two young Indians accompanied me through the
woods to " Still Water," a stagnant, muddy stream, flowing into
the lake through swampy fir-wood. The " dark valley " through
which it passed was thickly carpeted by wet moss, the immerous
impressions on which showed that it was a favorite i ^^rort for
moose. As there was still an hour's daylight, we commenced
to " creep." Presently Joe, stooping down and examining a
track with unusual earnestness, beckoned to his com'-ade.

" Quite fresh track, two bull and cow ; they gone by just ten
minutes," pronounced .Joe. " See here," said he, bending down
a young maple shoot bitten off at about ten feet from the ground,
" see where he make the fresh bite."

It was evidently cropt quite recently, for on breaking it off
an inch lower down, no difference in color could be perceived
between the fracture and where the moose had bitten it.

" I think you put on cap now," said the Indian, " no tellin'
when we see um moose now."

Now begins the creeping in earnest, Jim taking the lead and
we following, noiseless as snakes, in Indian file. Suddenly, a
distant sound strikes our ears, and we stand listening in our
tracks. It is repeated — a wild roar — and appears to come over
the hill to our left.

" The moose ! " said Jim, and clearing the swamp, we dash
up the .ill-side, the energetic waving of Jim's hand, as we
arrive at the summit, warning us to exercise our utmost caution.
Yes! he is right. The brutes are in the valley beneath, and
the forest echoes with the deep guttural bello wings of the

I our gu
i ahead
leave
open
after
There

ing

his gu

)TIA.

MOOSE HUNTING IN NOVA SCOTIA.

/^hich presents a
e Cephalotus, as
possessing a lid,
ly from the root, |
;he plant. The
in New Holland,
jetable curiosities
H Reader.

:OTIA.

', the camp ; my
:e in the canoe,
ne through the
am, flowing into
valley" through
5S, the numerous
i'^orite 1 "r.ort for
we commenced
nd examining a
com''ade.
yone by just ten
e, bending down
Tom the ground,

breaking it off
Id be perceived
itten it.
iian, " no tellin'

ig the lead and
e. Suddenly, a
istening in our
rs to come over

wamp, we dash
's hand, as we
utmost caution.
;y beneath, and
owings of the

antlered monster, and the plaintive answers of his consort,
jyet we in no way relaxed our former caution. We would not
depend for any mistake on our being concealed by the tremen-
dous uproar of the moose, and our course must still be shaped
with due observation of the wind. We descend the hill
obliquely to the edge of the " Still Water," across which the
moose has just swum. We, too, cross the water on a dead
trunk that is fallen from bank to bank, and, tightly grasping
our guns, crouch down and endeavor to penetrate the thickets
[ahead for a sight of the game. Suddenly and unexpectedly we
[leave the dense underwood, and stand on the edge of a little
'open valley. Jim, as I emerge from the thicket immediately
after him, boun ^' on one side, his arm extending and poinding.
There is an enormous black mass standing behind a group of
young maples at the further end of the valley. It is the bull.
In a second the sight of the rifle bears upon him, and uttering
an appalling roar, the huge brute sinks plunging into the
laurels.

With a shout we rushed on. To our astonishment, however,
he rises with another fearful roar, and, before I have time to
check my speed and level the rifle once more, he has disappeared
throuijh the thicket.

" Come on," shouts Jim, " we sure to git him — he badly hit."

There is no tracking now ; the crushing branches and the roar
of the enraged animal direct us, and we dash through swamps,
[ and bound over fallen trees with desperate energy. But it is of
i no use ; the pace was too good to last, and presently, torn and
exhausted, we flung ourselves at full length on the moss, and for
awhile listened to our own deep breathings, and to the hoarse
bellowing of the rapidly retreating moose, and momentarily grow-
ing fainter. Joe, the younger Indian, a lad of extraordinary
endurance, had taken my rifle and renewed the chase by himself.

After a while, howev )r, Joe was seen returning, and without
saying a word flung himself down by the side of his companions,
quite done up. They did not ask him what luc he had, there
it was plain enough — a piece of moose-meat tied ♦.he barrel of
his gun. The particulars of the chase did not < ^e out till tho
day's sport was over, and master and men reclined at their ease
in camp.

" When I leave you," exclaimed Joe, " I run very hard for
'boui a mile r moose make great noise — I know he very sick ;
and soon when I come on little barren I set um standing on

PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND.

Other side. Oh, my sakes ! He got such a bad cough ! He not!
able to hold up his head. Then I shot, and he run little piecei
further and drop. You want to know where you hit um ? Well,]
I tell you, you hit um in the neck — make him cough shocking."

Lieutenant Hardy.

HISTORICAL SKETCH OF PRINCE EDWARD

ISLAND.

■ s.

The original inhabitants of this beautiful island were two tribes i
of Indians, the Abenaki and the Micmac. These tribes were]
frequently at war with each other, till, at last, the Micmacsj
prevailed, and drove the Abenakis into the adjoining provinces.
It is a difficult matter to tell who was the first European that]
landed upon the shores o! Prince Edward Island. It is sup-
posed that John Cabot, the Venetian navigator, in the service]
of the English Henry VII.; Cortereal, a Portuguese; andl
Verrazzani, a Florentine, in the employ of F'rance, may have]
discovered it in the course of their explorations. It is, at least,
highly probable that the fleets of fishing vessels, which folio wed I
the discovery of Cartier, in 1534, to the banks of Newfoundland,
did !iot overlook the valuable fishing-grounds on the western;
shores of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and that their crews formed \
temporary settlements upon this inviting island.

The celebrated Champlain, the most diligent of French ex-
plorers, was the first to give a name to the island, which he
may thus claim the merit of first having discovered. He called it|
St. John, probably from the saint's day on which he first caught i
sight of its well-wooded hills and long banks of sand. But.
although it had received a name, St. John was long destitute of
civilized habitation. In 1663, the Government of Canada granted |
the island to the Sieur Doublet, and a naval captain, who made it]
the head-quarters of an extensive fishery. In his hands it
remained until the close of the century, being visited by his
associates and employes only during the summer months, after
which all tract-? of the presence of civilized man were iiunually
destroyed by the savages, who were left iu sole possession during
the long winter season.

PBINCE EDWARD ISLAND.

EDWARD

possession during

It was not tin 1715, when the French had been deprived of
Newfoundland and Nova Scotia, that some Acadians, and other
French settlers, unwilling to live under a foreign flag, made
their way to Cape Breton and St. John, still under the power
of France. The dwellings they erected for themselves were
mere huts in the wilderness, many of them rude Indian wig-
wams, totally unconnected with each other, roads being then
altogether unknown. By degrees, immigration increased, and
in 1745, the opening year of the war between Britain and
France, the population consisted of about 800 men, women, and
children. It is supposed that the island was not molested
during this war, although it seems to have been the intention of
General Pepperell, who, with a body of New England Militia,
made the first capture of Louisburg, to take possession of St.
John also. After the restoration of Cape Breton to the French,
in 1749, the island began to assume an appearance of wealth and
dignity. Farms were cleared; villages showed ti'«eir church-
spires rising up among the forest trees ; two small forts frowned
threateningly upon possible enemies ; and two governors watched
over the welfare of the island, one civil, the other military, with
a command of sixty men. Many Acadians continued to find
their way to St. John, and, in 1758, its population had increased
to 4000. •

But before this, another w»r between France and Great Britain
had commenced. This war began in 1756, and, after several
British reverses, ended in the capture of Louisburg and the
taking of Quebec by Amherst and Wolfe. Under the con-
ditions of the capitulation of Louisburg, St. John was formally
ceded to the British crown, and Colonel Rollo took possession
of it a short time afterwards. A large number of the inhabi-
tants, dreading the fate of the Acadians of Nova ucotia, deserted
their farms and villages, and many removed altogether to the
main land. From this period, 1748, till the American Revolu-
tion, St. John remained unmolested. In 1775, however, two
war vessels of the American congress, which had been sent to
the Gulf of St. Lawrence to look after some British store ships
on their way to Quebec, having allowed these to escape them,
revenged themselves by an attack upon Charlottetown, which
had now become the chief place in the island. Finding little
opposition from the loyal but unprotected inhabitants, the
rebels plundered the town, and carried off the deputy-governor
and the surveyor-general, whom they took with them,

PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND.

to General Washington's camp. Washington, far from being
pleased with the act, condemned the officers in command for
*' leaving undone what they ought to have done, and doing
what they ought not." He restorcjd the property carried off,
and liberated the prisoners, with mijuy expressions of regret that
they had been put to such inconvenience by his followers.
After this occurrence, a small ship of war was dispatched from
the British fleet for the protection of the island. This ship
sucv eeded in capturing a merchant vessel, in which a number of
rebels from Nova Scotia intended to make a descent upon Char-
>ttetown, and brought the prize and prisoners into the harbor
w'aich they had fondly expected to enter as conquerors.

Tee island of St. John has possessed a separate government
of its own, having been separated in 1770 from Nova Scotia,
to which it had been attached since 1763. In the yep.r 1799,
when the population of the island was 5000, the Duke of Kent
visited North America as commander-in-chief of the forces
stationed in the different provinces. Feeling the inconvenience
of a name common to the chief towns of Newfoundland and New
Brunswick, the legislature of St. John altered the designation to
Prince Edward, in compliment to the Duke of Kent, and father
of her present gracious Majesty Queen Victoria. Since that time
the Island of Prince Edward has made rapid, progress in material
prosperity. Its population is now over 80,000. As an agricul-
tural country it is unsurpassed ; and its fisheries and ship-building
have long been carried on with great success. Like its sister
provinces, it musters a considerable volunteer force, prepared, if
need be, to do battle for the integrity of " this right little, tight
little island." — Campbell's Fourth Reader.

SHIP-BUILDIXG IN NEW BRUNSWICK.

SHIP-BUILDING IN NEW BRUNSWICK.

Ship-building is, undoubtedly, the characteristic feature of the
Province of New Brunswick. Nova Scotia possesses more ex-
tensive < oal-fields ; jSTewfoundland excels in fisheries ; Prince
Edwiird Island boasts a finer climate ; and the Canadas are
no mean competitors in the grain and timber markets ; but
in this important branch of industry New Brunswick takes the
lead. The vast forests of this province present an almost
inexhaustible supply of suitable materials for the construction
of vessels of all dimensions, in the plantations of oak and elm,
beech and maple, birch, ash, larch, and spruce trees, which they
contain. So numerous are the rivers and streams, which form a
net-work of navigation, as it were, over the country, that no
Uliriculty is found in conveying the raw material to the busy
ship-yards on the great rivers and along its many hundred miles
of sea-board. The principal stations of this industrial art are
the ports of St. John and Miramichi ; but almost as important
are the numerous creeks and bays of the Bay of Fundy, the
Straits of Northumberland, the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and the

4ii

.0^.

gttHP-BUILDING IN NEW BRUNSWICK.

Bay of Chaleur, in which, as well as along the banks of the
larger rivers flowing into them, ship-building is extensively
prosecuted.

A large number of the vessels built in this province,
from 100 to 150 annually, are employed in the coasting trade
carried on by the provinces of British America between them-
selves and with the United States ; in the seal, cod, and other
fisheries of Newfoundland, Labrador, and their neighboring
fishing-stations ; and in the transportation of timber to Great
Britain. Many ships constructed in the New Brunswick yards,
however, are of a far more ambitious character than these, and,
like the famous Marco Polo, have been unsurpassed for beauty of
form, for speed, and for durability. So high has the reputation
of the ship-builders of New Brunswick risen, that their vessels
are in great request even in England ; and an agent of Lloyd's,
the celebrated English underwriting or Marine Insurance
Establishment, resides permanently in the province, to watch
over its shi[vbuilding interests.

The most important kinds of timber used in this branch of
industry are the black birch, a tall tree, with compact wood,
very different from the white-barked varieties employed by the
Indians in the construction of their canoes ; and the larch, or
hackmatack, also known as the tamarack, — a graceful and
valuable member of the pine family, generally found growing
in swampy places. These woods are only made use of for the
larger and more important classes of ships; to all inferior
purposes the other varieties ai timber already specified are
applied. The lofty white pine serves for masts, and the topmasts
and yards are made of the black or double spruce. We may
form an idea of the size of many of the vessels built at St.
John, and other New Brunswick ports, from the fact that the
122 ships built in 1853 averaged 5So tons, or more than five
times the dimensions of Sir Humphrey Gilbert's vessel, the
Golden Hind.

Ship-building in New Brunswick dates back to the year 1770,
when one of the earliest settlers, named Jonathan Leavitt,
launched a small schooner in the harbor of St. John, the pigmy
ancestor of a numerous and giant })rogeny. This first attempt
of the provincial ship carpenter was dignified with the name of
" Monneguash " in honor of what is now St. John, that being
the Indian designation of the peninsula upon which part of the
city is situated* Three years afterwards, Miramichi began to

THE SHIP-BUILDERS.

divide the honors of the craft, in the person of William
Davidson, the first British settler upon the river, who built a
vessel of considerable size, and christened her the " Miramichi,'*
after her birth-place. Such were the first attempts at what is
now a most important source of revenue to the country, and an
occupation which affords employment to large numbers of
intelligent and industrious men. The great progress made by
New Brunswick in this art since the early period of its
commencement, leads us to anticipate a mighty and prosperous
future for ship-building interests in the province, and the
ultimate formation of a British- American marine inferior only
to that of the mother country. — Campbell's Fourth Reader.

THE SHIP-BUILDERS.

The sky is ruddy in the east,

The earth is gray below,
And, spectral in the river-mist.

The ship's white timbers show.
Then let the sounds of measured stroke

And grating saw begin ;
The broad axe to the gnarled oak,

The mallet to the pin !

Hark ! roars the bellows, blast on blast,

The sooty smithy jars,
And fire-sparks, rising far and fast,

Are fading with the stars.
All day for us the smith shall stand

Beside that flashing forge ;
All day for us his heavy hand

The groaning anvil scourge.

From far-off hills, the panting team

For us is toiling near ;
For us the raftsmen down the stream

Their island barges steer.
Rings out for us the axe-man's stroke

In forests old and still ;
For us the century-circled oak

Falls crashing down his hill.

.68

THE SHIP-BUILDERS.

Up ! up ! in nobler toils than ours

^o craftsman bears a part ;
We make of nature's giant powers

The slaves of human art.
Lay rib to rib, and beam to beam,

And drive the tree-nails free ;
Nor faithless joint, nor yawning seam,

Shall tempt the searching sea !

Where'er the keel of our good ship

The sea's rough field shall plough —
Where'er her tossing spars shall drip

With salt-spray caught below —
That ship must heed her master's beck,

Her helm obey his hand,
And seamen tread her reeling deck,

As if they trod the land.

Her oaken ribs the vulture-beak

Of Northern ice may peel ;
The sunken rock and cgral peak

May grate along her keel ;
And know we well the painted shell,

We give to wind and wave,
Must float, the sailor's citadel,

Or sink, .the sailor's grave !

Ho ! strike away the bars and blocks.

And set the good ship free !
Why lingers on these dusty rocks

The young bride of the sea ?
Look ! how she moves a-down the grooves,

In graceful beauty now !
How lowly on the breast she loves

Sinks down the virgin prow !

God bless her ! whereso'er the breeze

Her snowy wing shall fan,
Aside the frozen Hebrides,

Or sultry Hindostan I
Where' . - in mart or in the main,

With peaceful flag unfurled,*
She helps to wind the silken chain

Of commerce round the world I

,,;! i-

■,'M'i'

■i m

FIRE IN THE WOODS.

Speed on the ship ! but let her bear

No merchandise of sin,
No groaning cargo of despair

Her roomy hold within.
No Lethean drug for Eastern lands,

Nor poison-draught for ours ;
But honest fruits of toiling hands,

And nature's sun and showers !

Be hers the prairie's golden grain,

The desert's golden sand,
The clustered fruits of sunny Spain,

The spice of morning-land !
Her pathway on the open main,

May blessings follow free.
And glad hearts welcome back again

Her white sails from the sea.
n^o-lW5^ ')^,,^'U^,i J. G. Whittier.

I'^ol

" FIRE IN THE WOODS.

I CAN conceive of nothing in this world more awful than one
of those fires, which have frequently rushed through forests
in North America, with more fearful rapidity and destructive
fury than any lava-stream that ever poured from the fiercest
volcano. The first time I ever saw the traces of such a con-
flagration was in Nova Scotia, between Halifax and Truro, on
the road to Pictou. The driver of the stage — and a better or
merrier never mounted a box, or guided a team through mud
and over corduroy — pointed out to me the spot, in which he
and his charge had a most narrow escape. While pursuing his
journey along one of these forest roads, ramparted on each side
by tall trees that show but a narrow strip of blue sky overhead,
he found himself involved in volumes of smoke bursting from
the woods. It did not require the experience of an inhabitant
of the great Western Continent to reveal to h' instantly his
terrible position. The woods were on fire ! fc- : whether the
fire Was far off -or near he could not tell. If far off, he knew

FIRE IN THE WOODS.

''mi'

it was making towards him with the speed of a race-horse ; if
near, a few moments must involve him in the conflagration.
Suddenly the fire burst before him ! It was crossing the road,
and forming a canopy overhead ; sending long tongues of flame,
with wreaths of smoke, from one tree-top to another ; cracking
and roaring as it sped upon its devouring path ; licking up the
tufted heads of the pines, while the wind hurled them onward
to extend the conflagration. What was to be done ? To retreat
was useless. Miles of forest were behind ready to be consumed.
There was one hope only of escape. Nathan had heard, in the
morning, a report that a mill had been burnt. The spot where
it stood was about six hundred yards ahead. He argued, that
the fire having been there, and consumed every thing, could not
again have visited the same place. He determined to make a
desperate rush through fire and smoke to reach the clearance.
The conflagration was as yet above him like a glowing arch,
though it had partially extended to the ground on either side.
He had six horses, to be sure, tired animals, who knew his voice,
and whom he seemed to love as friends ; but such a coach ! —
lumbering and springless, and full of passengers, too, chiefly
ladies ; and such roads ! — a combination of trunks of trees buried
in thick mud. But on he must go, or perish. Bending his
head down, blind, hardly able to breathe, lashing his horses, and
shoutmg to the trembling, terrified creatures, and while the
ladies screamed in agony of fear, Nathan went plunging and
tossing through the terrific scene! A few minutes more, and
there is no hope, for the coach is scorched, and about to take
fire ; and the horses are getting unmanageable ! Another
desperate rush — he has reached the clearance, and there is the
mill, a mass of charred wood, surrounded by a forest of ebony
trunks growing out of charred earth ; the fire has passed, and
Nathan is safe ! " Oh ! sir," he said, " it was frightful ! Think
only if a horse had stumbled or fallen ! or had the fire caught us
further back ! — five minutes more would have done it, sir ! "
That same fire consumed a space of forest ten miles long and
three broad.

But what is such a fire, even, to the memorable one which
devastated Miramichi, in New Brunswick, about twenty-five
years ago ! That terrible conflagration is unparalleled iu the
history of consumed forests. It broke out on the 7th October,
1825, about sixty miles above the town of Newcastle, at one
in the afternoon, and before ten the same night it had reached

PIEE IN THE WOODS.

race-horse ; if
conflagration,
ising the road,
gues of flame,
her; cracking
licking up the
them onward
'^ To retreat
) be consumed.
1 heard, in the
he spot where
e argued, that
ling, could not
ed to make a
the clearance,
glowing arch,
n either side,
new his voice,
h a coach ! —
s, too, chiefly
'f trees buried
I Bending his
is horses, and
id while the
plunging and
es more, and
ibout to take
le ! Another
I there is the
'est of ebony
1 passed, and
;ful ! Think
ire caught us
3ne it, sir I "
les long and

' one which
twenty-five
leled in the
J'th October,
istle, at one
had reached

twenty miles beyond ; thus traversing, in nine hours, a distance
of eighty miles of forest, with a breadth of about twenty-five !
Over this great tract of country everything was destroyed ; one
hundred and sixty persons perished ; not a tree was left ; the
very fish in the streams were scorched, and found afterwards
lying dead in heaps.

The morning of that dreadful day was calm and sultry ; but, in
fin instant, smoke swept over the town of Newcastle (situated
on the river Miramichi), which turned day into night. The
darkness was so unexpected — so sudden — so profound — that
many cried that the Judgment had come. But soon the true
cause was suspected. Suspicions were speedily followed by
certainty, as the flames were seen bursting through the gloom.
Every one made for the river ; some got into boats moored near
the beach, some on rafts of timber, while others stood in the
water. Terrified mothers with their families ; decrepid old men
and women ; and, worse than all, the sick and dying, were»
hurried, in despairing crowds, to the stream, to escape the flames
which were already devouring their houses, and making a bon-
fire of the thriving town. Each succeeding hour added some
new horror to the scene. The rarefaction and exhaustion of
the air by the intense heat over so great a space caused, as
was supposed, such a rush of cold air from the ocean, that a
hurricane rushed in fury along the rivc^r, tearing burning trees
up by the roots, hurling flaming branches through the air for
five or six miles (which set fire to the shipping, and to the
woods on the other side of the boat stream), causing at the
same time such a rolling sea up the river as threatened to
swamp the boats, and sweep the miserable refugees from the
rafts ! It seems incredible — but we believe there is no doubt as
to the fact — that the ashes of the fire fell thick on the streets
of Halifax, St. John's, Newfoundland, and Quebec; and that
some were carried as far as the Bermudas, while the smoke
darkened the air hundreds of miles off ! That terrible night is
fresh in the memory of all who endured its horrors. One of
my informants, speaking of it, said, " No language can describe
it! I do not think I shall see anything like it again in this
world, or until the last day ! I was in a druggist's shop, getting
medicme for my wife, who was confined to the bed with a fever.
The druggist was pouring a few drops into a phial, when
literally, in a twinkling of an eye, it became so dark that he
could not see to drop the medicine, and I could not see his face I

FIHE IN THE WOODS.

■1

* The last day has come ! ' we both excluimed. I left the shop
to go home ; but it was so pitch-dark that I could not see the
road, and had to walk in the ditch which bordered it. Guided
by the paling, and assisted by a friend, I got my wife and
children to the river, and placed them on the raft ; and what a
scene ! — what crying and weeping of those whose relations lived
in the settlements further back, pnd for whom they knew there
was now no escape ! But there is no use talking abouc it. No
tongue can find words to picture that night ! Fire and smoke,
wind and water, all spending their utmost fury ; the children
crying — the timid screaming — the sick in misery — the brave
at their wit's end — aad all knowing, too, that we had lost many
friends, and all our property. I shudder to think of it.'

That fire has left singular traces of its journey. The road
from Newcastle to Bathurst, near the Bay of Chaleur, passes
for five or six miles through a district called the Barrens. The
scene which meets the eye of the traveller is, perhaps, unequalled.
Far as the eye can reach, upon every side, there is nothing but
desolation. The forest extends, as it has done for ages, across
plains, and vanishes over the undulating hills which bound
the distant horizon But while all the trees, with most of
their branches, remain, spring extracts no ^ ud from them
nor does summer clothe even a twig with foliag' All is a barren
waste. The trees are not black now, but w ite and bleached
by sun and rain ; and far to the horizon, round and round,
nothing is discerned but one vast and apparently boundless
forest of the white skeleton trunks of dead, leafless trees ! That
immense tract is doomed to remain barren, perhaps, forever —
at least, for many long years to come. l*t is avoided by the
emigrant, — nay, the very birds and wild beasts seem to have
forever deserted it. The trees would not, in a country of
forest, pay the expenses of cutting them down for fire wood, even
were the chopping process of half-burnt trunks less difficult and
disagreeable than it is ; while the land has become so scourged
by the exuberant crop of various plants vvhich grow up in such
soil, when cleared by a fire, as to be comparatively useless in a
colony of countless acres yet untouched by the plough of the
settler.

Though no such fire as that which devasted Miramichi ever
visited any of our colonies before or since, yet partial fires are
very common. I saw a very respectable Scotch emigrant in
Prince Edward Island, whose house was suddenly caught by

AUTUMN WOODS.

one of those dreadful visitations, and two interesting daughtejN
were burnt alive, before their father, who escaped, could warn
them of their danger. — Norman Macleod, D.D. .

AUTUMN WOODS.

Ere in the northerit-^ale
The summer tresses of the trees are gone,
The WQods'of autumn, all around our vale,

Have put their glory on.

The mountains that unfold,
In their wide sweep, the colored landscape round,
Seem groups of giant kings in purple and gold,

That guard the enchantment ground.

I roam the woods that crown
The upland, where the mingled splendors g^ow,
Where the gay company of trees look down

On the green fields below.

My steps are not alone
In these bright walks ; the sweet south-west, at play,
Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strewn

Alon/T the winding way.

And far in heaven, the while. ^
The sun that sends the gale to wander here,
Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile —

The sweetest of the year.

O Autumn ! why so soon
Depart the hues that make thy forests glad ?
Thy gentle w .id and thy fair sunny noon,

And leave thee wild and sad.

yi^if.^^

THE lAzARET > AT rKA^ADIl!.

Ah, 'twere a lot too hie.' 'i<,
For ever in thy colored shades to stray ;
Amidst the kisses of the soft south-west

To rove and dream for aye ;

And leave the vain low stnfo
That makes men mad, the tug for we :Ith and power,
The passions and the cures that wither life,

And waste its little hour.

Bryant.

THE LAZARETTO AT TRACADIE.

Theke is an obscure and doubtful story that, some eighty or a
hundred years ago, a French ship .v^a ■ wrecked on the shore of
the county of Gloucester or Northamberland, and that some of
those who escaped from the crew were sailors of Marseilles, who
Lad caught in the Levant the true eastern leprcsy, the terrible
Mephantiasis Grcecorum. However this may be, there is no
doubt that, for many years prist, a [wrtion of the French popula-
tion of these counties has been afflicted with this fearful malady
— or one closely allied to it — probably that form of leprosy which
is known to ^~"^ vail upon th<v coast of Norway. About twenty
years ago th- (li^ease seemed to be on the increase, and so great
an alarm was created by this fact, and by the allegation (the
truth or falsehood of which I have never been able satisfactorily
to ascertain) that settlers of English descent had caught and died
of the disease, that a very stringent law was passed, direct-
ing the seclusion of the lepers, and nuthorizing any member of
a local Board of Health, constituted by the Act, to commit to
the lazaretto any person afflicted with the disorder. After
being for a time cstabhshed at Sheldrake. Island, in the Mira-
michi river, the hospital was removed to Tracadie, in the county
of Gloucester, where it continues to remain.

The situation of the lazitretto is dreary in the extreme, and
the view which it commands embraces no object calculated to
f ease, or indeed, to arrei-it the eye. On the one side is a shal-
low> turbid sea, which at the time of my visit, was unenlivened
by a single sail ; on the other lies a monotonous stretch of bare,

THE LAZAEETTO AT TRACADIK.

cleaiod land, only relieved by the ugly church and mean woode.i
houses of a North American village.

The outer enclosure of the lazaretto consists of a gr^: ; fieioi,
containing some three or four acres of land. With) tli'^rt-
limits the lepers are now allowed to roam at will. Untii i^^tc!/,
however, they were confined to the much narrower bound , of a
smaller enclosure, in the centre of the large one, and containing
the buildings of the hospital itself.

Into their dismal precincts I entered, accompanied by the
Roman Catholic Bishop of Chatham, the Secretary to the Board
of health, the resident physician, and the Roman Catholic priest
of the village, who acts as chaplain to the hospital.

Within the inner enclosure are several small wooden buildings
detached from each other, comprising the kitchen, laundry,
&c., of the establishment ; one of these edifices, but newly com-
pleted, is furnished with a bath — a great addition to the comfort
of the unhappy inmates. The hospital itself is a building con-
taining two large rooms ; the one devoted to the male, and the
other to the female patients. In the centre of each room is a
stove and table, with a few benches and stools, whilst the beds
of the patients are ranged along the walls. These rooms are
sufficiently light and well ventilated, and, at the time of ray
visit, were perfectly clean and neat. In the rear of these rooms
is a small chaj '1, so arranged that a window, obliquely traversing
the wall on each side of the partition, which aividen '-le two
rooms, enables the patients of either sex to vk' .^sm ue cele-
bration of mass without meeting Through th same apertures
confessions are received. I may here romark h* w c ''ious an
illustration is thus afforded to architectural students of the
object of these low skew windo >, often found in iLo chancels
of ancient churches. In a remote corner of North America, in
a new wooden building of n odern date, erected by men who
never saw a mediieval church, or possess the least acquaintance
with Gothic architecture, convenience has suggested an arrange-
ment precisely similar to that which has long puzzled the anti-
quarian? and architects of Europe.

At the time of my visit there were twenty-three patients in
the lazaretto, thirteen males and ten females, ail oi whom were
French Roman Catholici*, belonging to families of the lowest
class. They were of all ages, and suffering from every stage
of the disease. One old man, nhose features were so disfigured
as to be barely human, and who appeared in the extremity of

LEFT ASHORE ON ANTICOSTL

'Xi..'-

' if

5'^

dotage, could hardly be roused from his iipathy sufficiently to
receive the Bishop's blessing, which was eagerly sought on
their knees by the others, But there were also young men,
whose arms seemed as strong, and their powers of work and
of enjoyment as unimpaired, as they had ever been ; and —
saddest sight of all — there were young children condemned to
pass here a life of hopeless misery.

I was especially touched by the appearance of three poor
boys, between the ages of fifteen and eleven years To the
ordinary observer they were like other lads — bnght-eyed and
intelligent enough ; but the fatal marks which sufficed to separate
them from the outer world were upon them, and they were now
shut up forever within the walls of the lazaretto.

An impression similar in kind, though feebler in degree, is
produced by the sight of all the younger patients. There is
something appalling in the thought that, from the time of his
arrival until his death, a period of, perhaps, many long years, a
man, though endowed with the capacities, the passions, and the
desires of other men, is condemned to pass from youth to middle
life, and from middle life to old age, with no society but that of
his fellow-sufferers, with no employment, no amusement, no
resource ; with nothing to mark his hours but the arrival of
some fresh victim; wdth nothing to do except to watch his com-
panions slowly dying around him. Hardly any of the patients
could read, and those who could had no books. No provision
seemed to be made to furnish them with any occupation, either
bodily or mental, and, under these circumstances, I was not
surprised to learn that, in the later stages of the disease, the
mind generally became enfeebled. — Governor Gordon's
"Wilderness Journeys in .New Brunswick,'.'* ^ f. . .

H'^'

LEFT ASHORE ON ANTICOSTL

At last ilih boat was lowered, and Halkett and three others,
descending noiselessly, motioned to me to follow. I stepped
boldly over the side, and waving a last good-bye to those above,
sat down in the stern to steer, as I was directed. It was a
calm night, with nothing of a sea, save that rolling heave ever
present in the Gulf of St. Lawrence ; and now the men stretched

LEFT ASHORE OX ANTICOSTI.

younff men.

to their oars and we darted swiftly on, not a word breaking the
deep stillness. Althou<ih the island lay within six miles, we
could see nothing of it against the sky. I have said that nothing
was spoken as we rowed along over the dark and swelling
water; but this silence did not impress me till I saw ahead of
us the long low outline of tht^ dreary island, shutting out the
horizon ; then a sensation of sickening despair came over me,

" Run in here ! in this creek I " cried Ilalkett to the men ;
and the boat glided into a little bay of still water under the lee
of the land ; and then after about twenty minutes' stout rowing,
her keel grated on the shingly shore of Anticosti.

'' We cannot land you dry shod," said Halkett, *' it shoals
for some distance here ; so good-bye, lad, good-bye ! " He
shook my hand like a vice, and sat down with his back towards
me ; tha others took a kind farewell of me ; and then, shouldering
my little bag of biscuits, I pressed my cap down over my eyes
and stepped into the surf. It was scarcely more than over
mid-leg, but the clay-like spongy bottom made it tiresome walk-
ing. I had only gone a few hundred yards when a loud cheer
struck me ; I turned, it was the boat's crew, giving a parting
salute. I tried to answer it, but my voice failed me ; and the
next moment they had turned the point, and I saw them no
more.

I now plodded wearily on, and in about half an hour reached
the land ; and whether from weariness, or some strange instinct
of security, on touching shore, I know not, but I threw myself
heavily down on the shingly stones, and slept soundly ; ay,
and dreamed too ! dreamed of lands far away, such as I had
often read of in books of travels, where bright flowers and da-
licious fruits were growing, and where birds and insects of
gaudiest colors floated past with a sweet murmuring song that
made the air tremble.

It was just about daybreak as, somewhat stiffened with a
sleep on the cold beach, and sore from my recent bruises, I
began my march. " Nor'-west and by west," was Halkett's
vague direction to me ; but as I had no compass I was left to the
guidance of the rising sun for the cardinal points. Not a path
or track of any kind was to be seen ; indeed, the surface could
scarcely have borne traces of footsteps, for it was one uniform
mass of slaty shingle, with here and there the backbone of a
lish, and scattered fragments of scvvwced washed up by the
storms on this low, bleak shore.

LEFT ASHORE ON ANTICOSTI.

At each little swell of the ground I gazed eagerly about me,
hoping to see the log hut, but in vain : nothing but the same
wearisome monotony met my view. The sun was now high,
and I could easily see that I was following out the direction
Halkett gave me, and which I continued to repeat over and over
to myself as I went along.

AJthough I walked from daybreak to late evening, it was
only a short time before darkness closed in that I saw a bulky
mass straight before me, which I knew must* be the lotj-house.
I could scarcely drag my legs along a few moments before ; but
now I broke into a run, and, with mary a stumble, and more
than one fall — for I never turned my eyes from the hut — I at
last reached a little cleared spot of ground, in the midst of
which stood the Refuge-House."

What a moment of joy was that, as, unable to move farther,
I sat down on a little bench in front of the hut. All sense
of my loneliness, all memory of my desolation, was lost in an
instant. There was my home ; how strange a word for that
sad-looking hut of pine logs in a lone island, uninhabited. No
matter, it would be my shelter and my refuge till better days
came round ; and with that stout resolve I entered the great
roomy apartment, which, in the setting gloom of night, seemed
immense. Striking a light, I proceeded to take a survey of my
territory, which, I rejoiced to see, contained a great metal stove,
and an abundant supply of bed-clothing, precautions required
by the frequency of ships being icebound in these latitudes.
There were several casks of biscuits, some flour, a large chest
of maize, besides three large tanks of water, supplied by the
rain. A few bags of salt, and some scattered articles of
clothing, completed the catalogue, which, if not very luxurious,
contained nearly every thing of absolute necessity. I lighted a
good fire in the stove, less because I felt cold, for it was still
autumn, than for the companionship of the bright blaze and
the crackling wood. This done, I proceeded to make myself
a bed on one of the platforms, arranged like bed-places round
the walls, and of which I saw the upper ones seemed to have a
preference in the opinion of my predecessors, since in these the
greater part of the bed-clothing was to be found, a choice I
could easily detect the reason of, in the troops of rats which
walked to and fro, with a most contemptuous indifference to
my presence, some of them standing near me while I made mv
bed, and looking, as doubtless they felt, considerably surprised

LEFT ASHORE ON ANTICOSTI.

at the nature of my operations. Promising myself to open a
spirited campaign against them on the morrow, I trimmed and
lighted a large lamp, which, from its position, had defied their
attempt on the oil it still contained ; and then, a biscuit in
hand, betook myself to bed, watching with an interest, not, I
own, altogether pleasant, the gambols of these primitive natives
of Anticosti.

If I slept then, it was more owing to my utter weariness and
exhaustion than to my languid frame of mind ; and, although
too tired to dream, my first waking thought was how to com-
mence hostilities against the rats. As to any personal hand-to-
hand action, I need scarcely say I declined engaging in such ;
and my supply of gunpowder being scanty, the method I hit
upon was to make a species of grenade, by inserting a quantity
of powder, with a sufficiency of broken glass, into a bottle, leaving
an aperture through the end for a fusee ; then, having smeared
the outside of the bottle plentifully with oil, of which I dis-
covered a supply in bladders suspended from the ceiling, I retired
to my berth with the other extremity of the fusee in my hand,
ready to ignite when the moment came.

I had not long to wait ; my enemies, bold from long impunity,
came fearlessly forward, and surrounded the bottle in myriads ;
it became a scene like an election row to witness their tumbling
and rolling over each other in the action. Nor could I bring
myself to cut short the festivity till I began to entertain fears
for the safety of the bottle, which already seemed to be loosened
from its bed of clay. Then at last, I handed a match to my end,
and almost before I could cover my head with the blanket, the
flask exploded with a crash and a cry that showed me its suc-
cess. The battle-field was truly a terrible sight, for the wounded
were far more numerous than the dead, and I, shame to say,
had neither courage nor humanity to finish their sufferings, but
lay still until their companions dragged them away, in various
stages of suffering.

Between my hours spent on the little wooden bench outside
the door, and the little duties of my household, with usually
three or four explosions against my rats, the day went over —
I will not say rapidly — but pass it did ; and each night brought
me nearer to the time when I should hoist my signal and hope
for rescue.

On the morning of the fifth day, as I left the hut, I beheld,
ubout fcur miles off, a large three-masted vessel bearing up th«

LEFT ASHOllE ON ANTICOSTI.

a :«,.

■M

Gulf, with all her canvas spread. Forgetting the distance, and
every thing save my longing to be free, I ascended a little
eminence, and shouted with all my might, waving my handker-
chief back and forward above my head. I cannot describe the
transport of delight I felt at perceiving that a fl;ig was hoisted
to the main peak, and soon after lowered — a recognition of the
signal which floated above me. I even cried aloud with joy,
and then, in the eagerness of my ecstasy, 1 set off along the
shore, seeking out the best place for ^ boat to run in. At last
she backed her topsail, and now I saw shooting out from beneath
her tall sides a light pinnace that skimmed the water like a sea-
bird. As if they saw me, they headed exactly towards where I
stood, and ran the craft into a little bay just at ray feet. A
crew of four sailors and a coxswahi now jumped ashore and
advanced towards me.

" Are there many of you ? " said the coxswain, gruffly, and
as though nothing were a commoner occurrence in life than to
rescue a poor forlorn fellow-creature from an uninhabited rock.

'• I am alone, sir," said I, almost bursting into tears, for
mingled joy and disappointment.

'' What ship did you belong to, boy ? " asked he, as shortly
as before. "^

"A yacht, sir, — the Fire-Jly.'*

" Ah, that's it ; so they shoved you ashore here. That's
what comes of sailing with gentlemen, as they call them."

" No, sir ; we landed — a iaw of us — during a calm "

" Ay, ay," he broke in, '• I know all that — the old story ;
you landed to shoot rabbits, and somehow you got separated
from the others ; the wind sprung up meantime — the yacht fii-ed
a gun to come off — eh, isn't that it ? Come, my lad, no gam-
mon with me. You're some young scamp that was had up for
punishment, and they either put you ashore here for the rats, or
you jumped overboard yourself, and floated here on a spare hen-
coop. But never mind — we'll give you a run to Quebec ; jump
in." I followed the order with alacrity, and soon found myself
on board the Hampden transport, which was conveying the — th
Kegiment of Foot to Canada. — Lever.

■ / i M

LABilADOR AND OTHER TEAS.

LABRADOR ANT) OTHER TEAS.

o tears, for

The well-known tea-plant of China is not the only shrub which
furnishes the world with the " cup that cheers but not inebri-
ates." Other portions of the globe, and particularly in the
Western Hemisphere, minister in a similar manner t(f the luxu-
ries of mankind. Ther^ is a shrub called by botanists Ledum,
belonging to the same great family as the wintergreen and the
bear-berry, from which the Indians manufacture their kinni-
kinnic, that contains many of the qualities of the tea-plant. It
is to be found growing abundantly in the sterile wastes of
Labrador, and over the more northern parts of the continent,
never extending further south than the New England States,
and rarely showing itself in Western Canada. This Ledum, or
Labrador tea, as it is named, is a low, evergreen shrub, with thick,
dark green leaves, that seem to be lined with a rusty-looking
wool, and presenting a profusion of handsome white flowers in
large terminal clusters. It grows in marshy places, or in cold,
damp moors, on mountain sides, out of the domain of civilized
man. The leaves of this plant are dried by the Indians, and a
very palatable tea is infused from them. In the " North-West
Passage by Land," written by Lord Milton and Dr. Cheadle,
this tea is thus spoken of : —

'•We had tea, too — not indeed the dark decoction of black
Chinese indulged in by unthrifty bachelors or the green bever-
age affected by careful, mature spinsters — but the " tea muskeg"
used by the Indians. This is made from the leaves and flowers
of a small white azalea, which we find in considerable quantities
growing in the boggy ground near our camp. The decoction is
really a good substitute for tea, and we became very fond of it.
The taste is like ordinary black tea, with a dash of senna in it."

Two other substitutes for tea are to be found in North
America. One of these is an evergreen of the holly family,
called Prinos glabra, or the inkberry shrub ; but the most
important is the Ceanothus, or New Jersey tea. When tha
American people were foolish enough to throw overboard the,
cargoes of good Chinese teas which had been sent out to
them, and followed this act by open rebellion against the British
crown, the Ceanothus was made to do duty for the foreign shrub,
and has thus acquired historical celebrity.

This low straggling shrub, with its downy branches, bright
green oval leaves, and feathery clusters of white flowers, belongs
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LABBADOR AND OTHER TfiAS.

to the buckthorn family, of which certain species are also used
in Abyssinia and among the poorer classes in China, as substi-
tutes for the genuine tea-plant. It is to be found growing
abundantly in the temperate regions of British America, and in
the north of the Uniteid States. A short time ago, a speculator
announced «that he had succeeded in growing the Chinese tea
plant in Pennsylvania, and sold large qiibntities of native grown
American teas, which turned out to be nothing more than the
old Revolutionary substitute, or New Jersey tea.

Turning to the Southern Continent, we find at least two of
the peoples inhabiting it provided with similar substitutes. In
Brazil, two plants belonging to the verbena family are made use
of sometimes to adulterate Chinese tea, but more frequently
to usurp its place altogether. One of these is sold very ex-
tensively in the Austrian dominions, under the name of Brazilian
tea; the other is highly esteemed by the South American
people. But a still greater favorite, and more extensively used
shrub, is a member of the holly family, closely connected with
the Prinos glabra of North America. It is known by the
name of mate, and flourishes in the republic of Paraguay,
whence it is called Paraguay tea. Even in the Eastern
Hemisphere, the Chinese shrub is not allowed to have it all its
own way. The Malays of Sumatra and the other islands of the
Eastern Archipelago, as well as the Australians, employ the
leaves of certain trees of the myrtle family, one of which *hey
call " The tree of long life," in the same manner as more
civilized peoples their pounds of tea and coffee. In Japan also,
there grows a species of hydrangea, the leaves of which afford
80 excellent a decoction tha^ the enthusiastic Japanese call it
atrM'tsja, or the tea of heaven.

It would hardly be fair to dismiss the tea-plants without a notice
of the famous one of China, which has held its place in spite of
all opposition, and seems likely to outlive all the substitutes
that have been proposed for it. The tea of commerce is derived
from three species of a genus or kind of plants called thea,
belonging to the same family as the beautiful camelias of the
greenhouse. There are cultivated very extensively, and with
the greatest care, in many parts of the vast Chinese empire ;
after an interesting process of drying and curing, the leaves are
packed in wooden boxes, and sent in immense quantities to every
quarter of the globe, to refresh and invigorate the world's
nitons of tea-drinkers. — Campbell's Fourth Readek.

StOBY OI* WAPWTAlir.

STORY OF WAPWIAN.

Well do I remember the first time I stumbled upon the
Indian village in which he lived. I had set out from Montreal
with two trappers to pay a visit to the Labrador coast ; we had
travelled most of the *way in a small Indian canoe, coasting
along the northern shore of the gulf of St. Lawrence, and
reconnoitring in the woods for portages to avoid rounding long '
capes and points of land, and sometimes in search of game — '
for we depended almost entirely on our guns for food.

" It was upon one of the latter occasions that I went off
accompanied by one of the trappers, while the other remained
to watch the canoe, and prepare our encampment for the night.
We were unsuccessful, and after a long walk thought of return-
ing to our camp empty-handed, when a loud whirling sound
in the bushes attracted our attention, and two partridges perched
upon a tree quite near us. We shot them, and fixing them in
our belts, retraced our way towards the coast with lighter hearts.
Just as we emerged from the den je forest, however, on one side
of an open space, a tall muscular Indian strode from among the
bushes, and stood before us. He was dressed in the blanket
capote, cloth leggings, and scarlet cap usually worn by the Abena-
kies, and other tribes of the Labrador coast. A red deerskin
shot-pouch, and a powder-horn, hung round his neck and at his
side were a beautifully-ornamented fire-bag and a scalping-knife.
A common gun lay in the hollow of his left arm, and a pair of
ornamental moccasins covered his feet. He was, indeed, a
handsome-looking fellow, as he stood scanning us rapidly with
his jet-black eyes while we approached him. We accosted him
and informed him (for he understood a little French) w(iencc wo
came, and our object in visiting his part of the country. He
received our advances kindly, accepted a piece of tobacco that
we offered him, and told us that his name was Wapwian, and
that we were welcome to remain at his village — to which he
offered to conduct us — as long as we pleased. After a little
hesitation, we accepted his invitation to remain a few days ; the
more so as by so doing, we would have an opportunity of getting
some provisions to enable us to continue our journey. In half
an hour we reached the brow of a small eminence, whence the
curling smoke of the wigwams was visible. The tents we
pitched on the shores of a small bay or inlet, guarded from thQ

STOEt 01* WAPWIAK.

east wind by a high precipice of rugged rocks, around which
hundreds of sea fowl sailed in graceful flights. Beyond this
headland stretched the majestic Gulf of St. Lawrence ; while
to the left of the village was shaded by the spruce fir, of which
most of this part of the forest is composed. There were in all
about a dozen tents, made of dressed deerskin, at the openings
of which might be seen groups of little children, playing on the
grass, or running after their mothers as they went to the neigh-,
boring rivulet for water, or launched their canoes to examine
the nets in the bay.

'• Wapwiiin paused to gaze an instant on the scene and then
descending the hill with rapid strides, entered the village, anO
.despatched a little boy for our companion in the encampment.

" We were ushered into a tent somewhat elevated above the
oth ?rs, and soon were reclining on a sofa full of pine branches,
smoking in company with our friend Wapwian, while his pretty
little squaw prepared a kettle of fish for supper.

" We spent two happy days in the village — hunting deer with
our Indian friend and assisting the squaws in their fishing
operations. On the third morning we remained in the camp
to dry the venLson and prepare for our departure ; the while
Wapwian shouldered his gun, and calling to his nephew, a slim,
active youth of eighteen, bade him follow with his gun, as he
intended to bring back a few ducks for his white brothers.

'* The two Indians proceeded for a time along the shore, and
then striking off into the forest, threaded their way among the
thick bushes, in the direction of a chain of small lakes where
wild fowl were numerous.

'' For some time they moved rapidly along under the sombre
shade of the trees, casting from time to time sharp glances
into the surrounding underwood. Suddenly the elderly Indian
paused and threw forward his gun, as a slight i ustling in the
bushes struck his ear. The boughs bent and crackled a few
yards in advance, and a large black bear crossed the path and
entered the underwood on the other side. Wapwian fired at
him instantly, and a savage growl told that the shot had taken
effect. The gun, however, had been loaded with small shot ;
and although when he fired the bear was only a few yards off,
yet the improbability of its having wounded him badly, and the
distance they had to go ere they reached the lakee, inclined him
to give up the chase. While Wapwian was loading his gun,
Miniquan (his nephew) had been examining the bear's track,

STORY OF WAPWIAN.

and returned, saying that he was sure the animal must be badly
wounded, for there was much blood on the track. At first the
elder Indian refused to follow it ; but seeing that his nephew
wished very much to kill the brute, he at last consented. As
the trail of the bear was much covered with blood, they found
no difficulty in tracking it ; and after a short walk they found
him extended on one side at the foot of a large tree apparently
lifeless. Wapwian, however, was too experienced a hunter to
trust himself incautiously within its reach ; so he examined the_
priming of his gun, and then, advancing slowly to the animal,
pushed it with the muzzle. In an instant the bear sprang upon
him regardless of the shot lodged m its breast, and in another
moment Wapwian lay stunned and bleeding at the monster's
feet. Miniquan was at first so thunderstruck, as he gazed in
horror at the savage animal tearing with bloody jaws the sense-
less form of his uncle, that he stood rooted to the ground. It
was only for a moment — the next, his gun was at his shoulder,
and afte^ firing at, but unfortunately, in the excitement of the-
moment, missing the bear, he attacked it with the butt of his
gun, which he soon shivered to pieces on its skull. This drew
the animal for a few moments from Wapwian ; and Mini-
quan, in hopes of leading it from the place, ran off in the
direction of the village. The bear, however, soon gave up
the chase, and returned again to its victim. Miniquan now
saw that the only chance of saving his relative was to alarm
the village ; so tightening his belt, he set off with the speed of a
hunted deer in the direction of the camp. In an incredibly "
short time he arrived, and soon returned with the trappers and
myself. Alas ! alas ! it was too late. Upon arriving at the
spot we found the bear quite dead, and the noble, generous-
Wapwian, extended by its side, torn and lacerated in such a
manner that we could scarcely recognize him. He still breathed
a little, however, and appeared to know me, as I bent over
him and tried to close his gaping wounds. We constructed a
rude couch of branches, and conveyed him slowly to the village.
No word of complaint, or cry of sorrow, escaped from his wife *"
as we laid his bleeding form in her tent. She seemed to have
lost the power of speech, as she sat hour after hour, gazing in
unutterable despair on the mangled form of her husband. Poor
Wapwian lingered for a week in a state of unconsciousness.
His skull had been fractured, and he lay almost in a state of
insensibility, and never spoke, save when, in a fit of deliriuu,

THE MAPLE.

his fancy wandered back to bygone days, when he ranged the
forest with a tiny bow in chase of little birds and squirrels,
strode in the vigor of manhood over frozen plains of snow, or
dashed down foaming currents and mighty rivers in his light
canoe. Then a shade would cros3 his brow as he thought,
perhaps, of bis recent struggle with the bear, and he would
again rekpse into silence.

** He recovered slightly before his death; and once he snxiled,
as he recognized his wife, but he never spoke to any one. We
scarcely knew when his spirit fled, so calm and peaceful was
his end.

<^ His body now reposes beneath the spreading branches of a
lordly pine, near the scenes of his childhood : where he had
spent his youth, and where he met his untimely end." — Ballan-
tyne's Hudson's Bay. v

THE MAPLE.

All hail to the broad-leaved Maple

With its fair and changeful dress—
A type of our young country

In its pride and loveliness ;
Whether in Spring or Summer,

Or in the dreary Fall,
*Mid Nature's forest children,

She's fairest of them all.

Down sunny slopes and valleys

Her graceful form is seen,
Her wide, umbrageous branches^

The sun -burnt reaper screen ;
*Mid the dark-browed firs and cedars

Her livelier colors shine,
Like the dawn of a brighter future

On the settler's hut of pine.

She crowns the pleasant hill-top,
Whispers on breezy downs,

And casts refreshing shadows

O'er the streets of our busy towns ;

THE MAPLE.

She gladdens the aching eye-ball,

Shelters the weary head,
And scatters her crimson glories

On the graves of the silent dead.

When Winter's frosts are yielding

To the sun's returning sway,
And merry groups are speeding

To sugar-woods away ;
The sweet and welling juices,

Which form their welcome spoil,
Tell of the teeming plenty,

Which here waits honest toil.

When sweet-toned Spring, soft-breathing,

Breaks Nature's icy sleep,
And the forest boughs are swaying

Like the green waves of the deep ;
In her fair and budding beauty,

A fitting emblem she
Of this our land of promise, «

Of hope, of liberty.

And when her leaves all crimson.

Droop silently and fall,
Like drops of life-blood welling

From a warrior brave and tall ;
They tell how fast and freely

Would her children's blood be shed,
Ere the soil of our faith and freedom

Should echo a foeman's tread.

Then hail to the broad-leaved Maple !

With her fair and changeful dress —
A type of our youthful country

In its pride and loveliness ;
Whether in Spring or Summer,

Or in the dreary Fall,
'Mid Nature's forest children,

$)be'9 fairest of them all.

Rsv. H. F. DasneiiL*

DEATH OF MONTCAI^.

DEATH OF MONTCALM.

A DEATH no less glorious closed the career of the brave Marquis
de Montcalm, who conimanded the French army. He was
several years older than Wolfe, and had served his king with
honor and success in Italy, Germany, and Bohemia. In the
earlier campaigns of this war he had given signal proofs of zeal,
consummate prudence, and undaunted valor. A» the capture
of Oswego he had with his own hand, wrested a color from
the hand of an English officer, and sent it to be hung up in the
Cathedral of Quebec. *He had deprived the English of Fort
William Henry ; and had defeated General Abercrombie at
Ticonderoga. He had even foiled Wolfe himself at Montmo-
renci ; and had erected lines which it was impossible to force.
When, therefore, he entered the Plains of Abraham at the head
of a victorious army, he was in all respects an antagonist worthy
of the British Genera!.

The intelligence of the unexpected landing of Wolfe above
the town was first conveyed to the Marquis de Vaudreuil, the
Governor-General, about day-break. By him it was communi-
cated without delay to Montcalm. Nothing could exceed the
astonishment of the latter at .the intelli^^ence — he refused at
first to give credence to it, obf er zing, "It is only Mr. Wolfe,
with a small party, come to burn .^ few houses, look about him
and return." On being informed, however, that Wolfe was at
that moment in possession of the I'lains of Abraham, — " Then,"
said he, " they have at last got to the weak side of this miserable
•garrison. Therefore we must endeavor to crush them by our
numbers, and scalp them all before twelve o*clock. He issued
immediate orders to break up the camp, and led a considerable
portion of the army across the River St. Charles, in order to
place them between the city and the English. Vaudreuil, on
quitting the lines at Beauport, gaviB orders to the rest of the
troops to follow him. On his arrival at the Plains, however he
met the French army in full flight towards the bridge of boats ;
and learned that Montcalm had been dangerously wounded. In
vain he attempted to rally them — tho rout was general — a^d all
hopes of retrieving the day, and of saving the honor of Fiance,
were abandoned.

Montcalm was first wounded by a musket shot, %hiiii^M^ jyjie
front lank of the Frencn left — and afterwards by a
Irdm the only gun in the possessiou of the English.

DEATH OF MONTCALM.

then on horseback, directing the reireat — nor did \ke dismount
until he had taken every measure to insure the safety of the
retrains of his army. Such was the impetuosity with which the
Highlanders, supported by the d8th Regiment, pressed the rear
of the fugitives — having thrown away their muskets and taken
to their broadswords — that had the distance been greater from
the field of battle to the walls, the whole French arm}' ^ould
inevitably havf. been destroyed. As it was, the • troops of the
line had been almost cut to pieces when their pursuers were
forced to retire by the fire from the ramparts. Great numbers
were killed in the retreat, which was made obliquely from the
Iliver St. Lawrence to the St. Charles. Some severe |^hting
took place in the field in front of the martello tower. No. '2. We
are informed by an ofRcer of the garrison, that on digging there
some years ago, a number of skeletons were found with parts of
soldiers' dress, military buttons, buckles, and other remains.-^

it is reported of Montcalm, when his wounds were dressed,
that he requested the surgeons in attendance to declare at once
whether they were mortal. On being told that they were so,
— " I am glad of it," — said he. He then inquired how long
he might survive. He was answered,—** Ten or ^twelve hours ;
perhaps less." — " So much the better," — replied he, — " then I
shall not live to see the surrender of Quebec" On being
afterwards visited by M. de Ramesay, who commanded the
garrison, with the title of LietUetzant du Roiy and by the
Commandant de Roussillon, he said to them, — " Gentlemen, I
commend to your keeping the honor of France. Endeavor
to secure the retreat of my army to-night beyond Cape Rouge ;
for myself, I shall pass the ni^t with God, and prepare
myself for death." On M. de Ramesay pressing to receive
his commands respecting the defence of Quebec, Montcalm
exclaimed with emotion, — " I will neither give ojxlers, nor
interfere any further : I have much business that must be
attended to, of greater moment than your ruined garrison
and this wretched country. — My time is very short — so pray
leave me. — I wish you all comfort, and to be happily extricated
from your present perplexities." He then addressed himself
to his religion? duties, and passed the night with the Bishop
and his own confessor. Before he died, he paid the .victorious
a|p^ Ulis magnanimous compliment : — " Since it was my mis-
fodame to be discomfited and mortally wounded, it is si great
OCMWOlatioti to me to Vd vanquished by so brave and generous

-^dBfci.-:,:

LINES ON THE DEATH OF WOLFE.

an enemy. If I could survive this wound, I would engage to
beat three times the number of such troops as I commanded this
morning, with a third of British troops.

Almost his last act was to write a letter, recommending the
French prisoners to the generosity of the victors. He died at
five o'clock in the morning of the 14th September; and was
buried in an excavation, made by the bursting of a shell
within the precincts of the Ursuline Convent — a fit resting-place-
for the remains of a man who died fighting for the honor and
defence of his country. — Ficture of Quebec.

LINES ON THE DEATH OF WOLFE.

Amidst the clamor of exulting joys,

Which triumph forces from the patriot heart.

Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice,

And quells the raptures which from pleasure start.

Wolfe, to thee* a streaming flood of woe,
Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear ;

Quebec in vain shall teach our breast to glow,
Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear.

Alive, the foe thy dreadful vigor fled.

And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes ;

Yet they shall knc w thou conquerest, though dead,
Since froai thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.

. 'C-U4tvv4>UU?aW.'" 4^^^>^ Goldsmith.

• THE RIVER ST. LAWRENCE. *^^T^'^

The noble river which Cartier was thus the first to explore, iSi
unique in its peculiarities, and perhaps unequalled by any other
in the world. The magnificent lakes, or rather inland seas of
which it is the outlet, which maintain the even and unvarying
flow of its majestic current, are assumed, upon solid grounds,
to contf^in half the fresh wat^r on this pla»et« The quantity

THE RIVER ST. LAWRENCE.

discharged hourly by this amazing flood is estimated at
1,672,704,000 cubic feet. Its basin is divided*into three parts,
the higher being occupied by Lake Superior, three hundred miles
in length, and receiving more than fifty rivers. Through the
falls of St. Mary, the whole of its waters pours into the Lakes
Michigan and Huron, of scarcely inferior dimensions. The'
almost unfathomable depths of these lakes is a most interesting
phenomenon in physical geography. Though the surface of the
two lower is 618 feet above the Atlantic level, their bottoms
are nearly 300 feet below it. By the straits of Detroit, these
upper lakes pour down into the basin of Lake Erie, which is
230 miles in length. The narrow strait, — where the whole of
this immense body rolls for ever in its restless might over the
sublime cliffs of Niagara, and then forms for several miles of
swift descent one continuous and terrific rapid, one whirl of
foam and terror, through the profound and narrow chain which
it has excavated in t^'s course of ages, — is altogether unequalled
in its fearful sublimity upon our glol)e. By this channel, it
descends to the level of Lake Ontario, the last and lowest of'
these inland seas, 200 miles long by 70 broad.

The river, as it flows out of the lake, varies from two to ten
miles wide, and is divided into numerous channels of every
width, as it passes through the " Thousand Isles." These are
of every size and form, and for the most part in a state of
primeval nature, forming a scene of soft and romantic beauty,
of dreamy, fairy strangeness— of fantastic intricacy, in striking
contrast to the terrific grandeur of Niagara. Hurrying on,
with its burden of timber-rafts, over the tremendous rapids of
the Long Sault and La Chine (which interruptions are sur-
mounted by ship canals), it is increased by the influx of the
romantic Ottawa, and flows 'past the city of Montreal, the
growing emporium of Canada, receiving, as it proceeds on its
course, the waters of Lakes George and Champlain, to expand
at length, in all its glory, beneath the crested crags of Quebec.
To this city, the great timber depot, it is 550 miles from the
sea, navigable for ships of the line of the first-class, while vessels
of considerable size ascend to Montreal, which is upwards of
730 miles above the Gulf of the St. Lawrence.

The whole of this stupendous basin (which, when Cartier first'
entered it, was the haunt of the roaming savage) is fast filling
up and becoming the seat of a mighty nation. But three cen-
tunes sinc^ it was discovered, — how much of romantic incidenti

THS BIVSB ST. LAWRS^iTGE.

of momentous change, of astonishing progress, has filled up the
short but eventful period! Upon tliese lakes, then fikimmed
only bj the wandering canoe, hc.tile fleets have been built, and
have contended in deadly conflict. On one of it8 shores, feeble
colonies have sprung up into un independent nation, rivalling
'in power the proudest states of the Old World. Populous cities
adorn the banks of these great inland waters, and splendid
steam-boate connect their remotest extremities. Canals have
been cut to overcome the occasional obstacles presented by
nature, and a chain of internal water communication, extending
from the Atlantic many hundreds of miles into the heart of
this mighty continent, serves as a highway for the countless
emigrants who are continually pouring into it from all the
nations of the civilized world.

There are some striking peculiarities in the St. Lawrence, as
contrasted with its great rival, the Mississippi. The former is us
limpid in its waters, and as unalterable in their level, as the
latter is turbid, and with its swelling inundations overflows its
banks for miles round. The St. Lawrence is magnificently
beautiful ; the grandeur of the Mississippi is gloomy and oppres-
sive. It is in moral keeping with this physical contrast that
the banks of the St. Lawrence have been settled by freemen
alone, and have never echoed, like those of the Mississippi, to
the lash of the slave-master, or the groan of the captive; but
many a hunted fugitive from the southern strongholds of slavery,
as he has passed its broad stream and felt himself on British
ground, has blessed his God who has enabled him to reach an
asylum of liberty.

No river can exhibit a greater variety of scenery ; — here the
calm and grassy expanse, studded with verdurous islands, there,
wild and tumultuous rapids with .the immense rafts that hurry
down their foaming waters. Sometimes for miles, all is the
unbroken solitude of primeval nature ; the canoe of the Indian
is still seen paddling from shore to shore, his bark wigwam still
glimmers amid the dusky shades of the forest; and then
succeeds the pleasant, quaint, white village of the French
settlers, with its antique vanes, and spire, and cross. What
more picturesque than old Quebec, with its rock-built citadel,
and antiquated buildings ? Nor is there in the New World any
river with such stirring, though often painful associations, as
the St. Lawrence. The devotedness of the first Catholic mk-
iiooaries, who counted not their lives dear in planting the cfim

JACQUES CARTtER AT HOCHELAOA.

among the Indian savages : their triaU and their martyrdom ;
together with the warlike feats of Wolfe, and Montcalm, and
Montgomery, have thrown over its banks a troubled bat
romantic halo. — London Journal.

JACQUES CARTIER AT HOCIIELAGA.

On the 19th of September, 1535, Cartler commenced his voyage
to Hochelaga with his pinnace, the Ilermerillon^ and two long-
boats, capable of holding thirty*tive persons, leaving his two
larger vessels in the harbor of St. Croix, well protected by
" poles and pikes driven into the water, and set up," but better
by the stout hearts of their gallant crews. His ascent of the
'river was prosperous, and he speaks of the scenery on both sides
as extremely rich and beautifully varied, the country being well
covered with fine timber and abundance of vines. The natives,
with whom he had frequent communication, are represented as
kind and hospitable, everywhere supplying him with all they
possessed — the taking of fish being their principal occupation
and means of subsistence. At Hochelai, now the Richelieu,
they received a visit from (he chief of the district, who also
attempted to dissuade them from proceeding further, and other-
wise showed a friendly disposition, presenting Cartier with one
uf his own children, a girl of about seven years of age, whom he
afterwards came to visit, together with his wife, during the
wintering of the French at St. Croix. On the 28th, they came
to Lake St. Peter, where, owing to the shallowness of the water'
in one of the passages between the islands, they thought it
advisable to leave the pinnace. Here they met five hunters,
who, says Cartier, " freely and familiarly came to our boats
without any fear, as if we had even been brought up together.
Our boats being somewhat near the shore, one of them took our
captain in his arms and carried him ashore, as lightly and easily
as if he had been a child of iive years old, so strong and sturdy
was this fellow."

On the 2d October, they approached Hochelaga, and were
received by the natives there with every demonstration of joy
and ' hospitality. " There came to meet us," says the relator,
^' above one thousand persons, men, women, and children, who
afterwards did as friendly and merrily entertain and receive us
as any father would do his' child which he had not of long time
seeo. Our ciptain, seeing their loving-kindness and entertain-

JACQUES CARTIER AT aOdttlELAGA.

ment, caused all the women orderly to be set in array, and gave
them beads made of tin, and other such trifles ; and to some of
the men he gave knives. Then he returned to the boats to
supper, and so passed that night, all which while all those
people stood on the shore as near our boats as they might,
making great fires and dancing very merrily."

The place where Cartier first touched the land, near
Kochelaga, appears to have been about six miles from the
city, and below the current of St. Mary. On the 3d October,
having obtained the services of three natives as guides, Cartier,
with his volunteers s.nd part of his men, in full dress,
procaeded to visit the Lown. The way was well-beaten and
frequented, and he describes the country as the best that could
possibly be seen, Hochelaga was situated in tho midst of
large fields of Indian corn, and, from the description, must
even then have been a very considerable place, and the
metropolis of the neighboring country. The name is now lost,
but on its site stands the rich and flourishing city of Montreal.
It was encompassed by palisades, or • probably a picket-fence,
in three rows, one within the other, well secured and put
together. A single entrance was secured with piles and
stakes, and every precaution adopted for defence against sudden
attack or siege. The town consisted of about fifty houses,
each fifty feet in length by fourteen in breadth, built of wood
and covered with bark, *' werll a <d cunningly joined together."
Each house contained several chambers, built round an open
court-yard in the centre, where the fire was made. The
inhabitants belong to the Huron tribe, and appear to have
been more than usually civilized. They were devote 1 to
husbandry and fishing, and never roamed about the country as
other tribes did, although they had eight or ten other villages
subject to them. Cartier seems to have been considered in the
light of a deity among them ; for they brought him their aged
king, and their sick, in order that l>e might heal them. Dis-
claiming any such power, Cartier, with his accustomed piety
prayed with them, and read part of the Gospel of St. John, to
their great admiration and joy. He concluded by distributing
presents with the utmost impartiality. On reading the whole
account, we cannot but be favorably impresced by the conduct
and character of those Indians, so different from that of some
other tribes, or the generality of sWages. It is probable,
however, that the fighting men or warriors of the tribe wer^

which
whole

PiCTUf

IPHE VICTORIA BRTDGIJ.

absent on some expedition. Cartier appears to have behaved
on the occasion with great discretion, and to have shown
himself eminently qr ified for his station. After having seen
all that was worthy of note in the city, he set out to examine
the mountain, which was about three miles from Hochelaga.
Pie describes it as tilled all round, and very fertile. The
beautiful view from the top does :^.ot escape his notice, and he
states that he could see the country and the river for thirty
leagues around him. He gave it the name of Mtmt Royq,l,
which was afterwards extended to the city beneath, and th^
whole of the rich and fertile Island, now Montreal. — Hawkins'
Picture of Quebec, a, OiUa/L , . ,

THE VICTORIA BRIDGE.

Many of our readers are probably familiar with the Britannia
Tubular Bridge, which spans the Menai. That across the
noble St. Lawrence is constructed upon the same plan, but on
a far bolder and more gigantic scale. ^ Tt was designed by the

THE VICT6EIA BRlt)Gli.

late Mr. Stephenson, whose shrewd perceptions at once recogf-*
nized the incalculable advantages to be derived from such
work, and whose scientific mind devised the means lot its
execution.

It rests on twenty-four piers, with jpaces for navigation,
exclusive of the two abutments, whence the tubes spring on
either side. The centre span is 330 feet, and each of the others
220 feet wide. The length of the bridge is 10,284 feet, or
about fifty yards less than two English miles. The clear
dfstance between the under surface of the centre tube and the
average summer level of the river is sixty feet, diminishing
towards one side. 210,000 tons of stone have been used in the
construction of these piers, and 10,400 tons of iron in the
tube, girders, &c. The expenditure has averaged $1,250,000
annually.

The Colossus of Rhodes, under which sailed the pigmy
shallops of former ages, was esteemed a wonder of the Old
AVorld. But an iron bridge, spanning a river two miles in
width, giving safe passage to hundreds of tons on its riveted
fioor, and permitting ships of large tonnage to sail beneath it,
is an achievement still moie remarkable for the New World, and
is worthy of the young giant rising in the "West.

It was always foreseen that the most formidable enemy
with which the structure would have to contend would be ice,
which, in spring, rushes down the river in vast masses apparently
irresistible. The piers, therefore, have been designed to resist
enormous pressure, greater, in fact, than any that has been known
to exist in the severest seasons.

It must have been an interesting sight to witness the laying
of the foundation-stone of the second pier, by Lord Elgin,
when ' Grovernor-General of Canada. Upon the stony bed of
the mighty St. Lawrence, sixteen feet below the surface of the
river, a large group of persons stood dry-shod, protected from
the rushing torrent which swept around them by the massive
sides of a gigantic coffer-dam, to the joints and beams of which
clung workmen and spectators, waving their hats, and vocifer-
ously cheering an occasion fraught with such important con-
sequences to the future welfare and prosperity of Canada.

^A uninterrupted communication being thus made practicable
across the St. Lawrence, the traffic of the North American
colonies will be brought — not, as heretofore, dependent on the
seasons, but al all times — into direct and easy access to all the^

THE BAPID.

ports on the Atlantic, from Halifax to Boston and New York,
and consequently — through those ports — nearer to Europe.
The cost of the vast enterprise is estimated at $7,000,000.—
Cassell's Family Paper.

THE RAPID.

All peacefully gliding,

The waters dividing,
The indolent bateau moved slowly along.

The rowers, light-hearted,

From sorrow, long-parted, ,

Beguiled the dull moments with laughter and song ;
" Hurrah for the Rapid ! that merrily, merrily,
Gambols and leaps on its tortuous way ;
Soon we will enter it, cheerily, cheerily.
Pleased with its freshness, and wet with its spray."

More swiftly careering.
The wild Rapid nearing,
They dasH down the stream like a terrified steed.
The surges delight them.
No terror affrights them,
Their voices keep pace with the quickening speed ;
" Hurrah for the Rapid ! that merrily, merrily,
Shivers lis arrows against us in play ;
Now we have entered it, cheerily, cheerily.
Our spirits as light as its feathery spray."

Fast downward they're dashing.

Each fearless eye flashing,
Though danger awaits them on every side ;

Yon rock — see it frowning !

They strike — they are drowning !
But downward they sweep with the merciless tide :
" No voice cheers the Rapid I that angrily, angrily,
Shivers their bark in its maddening play ;
Gaily, they entered it, heedlessly, recklessly,
, . Mingling their lives wkh Its treacherpus spray !

' ii^ ^'' ^a^Ay^f'UAM.L^ ^ a^Y^^^^^HABLES SaNOSTER.

•ALLASTTRT OF A MARINE.

GALLANTRY OF A MARINE.

During the summer of 1838, the peace of our North American
provinces was disturbed by Canadian Insurgents and American
sympathizers. Among other places attacked was the town of
Prescott, in Canada West, which was defended by a few men
of the 83rd Regin/ent, thirty of the Royal Marines, and such of
the Glengarry Militia as had had time to collect. The American
forces, after landing, had taken a position in which they were
protected by the walls of an orchard, from behind which they
kept up a galling fire upon the ad.vancing marines, while the
latter pushed on, firing as objects presented themselves. In this
position of affairs, lance-corporal James Huun, who was on the
right of the British line, ran forward and jumped over the
wall which covered the American sharpshooters, but found
himself on their extreme left, and almost in contact with six or
seven of them, who were separated from the main body by
another w^U running perpendicularly to that which covered their
front. These men were either loading, or in the act of firing
at the advancing marines, when Hunn leapt the wall, and were
80 intent upon their occupation that they did not notice him
until he was upon them, so that he was able to^close with them,
and was seen by his commanding officers to bayonet three, one
a^ter another, before they had time to load their pieces and fire.
A fourth man, whose piece was loaded,, turned and fired : his
ball struck the swell of Hunn's musket, where it was grasped by
the left hand, which it passed through, destroying the second
finger ; while at the same time the musket was driven so
violently against his stomach as for a moment to suspend his
breath. Recovering himself, however, he fired effectively at his
adversary, now in full retreat, but his disabled hand prevented
his again loading, and he was most unwillingly compelled to give
up any further share in the glory of the day, after having thus
disposed of four of the enemy.

Hunn was, in consequence of his intrepidity on this occasion,
promoted to the rank of sergeant, without passing through the
intermediate grade of corporal. He died a year or two after a
victim ot yellow fever, while serving in the Arab on the coast
ol Afdcfti— Ca9sei*i*'s Famh^t Paper,

4 •• .

♦

FISHIKG FOR MUSKALOUNGE.

FISHING FOR MUSKALOUNGE.

A FRIEITD and ourself took a small skiff, with one trolling line,
intending to take turns at the oars, and proceed at once to a
favorite spot among " The Thousand Islands."

We held the trolling line, with a spoon-hook attached, while
our companion pulled the oars. We sailed among the secluded
places, wherever weeds were seen below the surface of the
water, and were rewarded with good sport by taking several
fine pike, weighing from six to fifteen pounds, which we
managed to secure with ease, save the largest, which gave us
some trouble. We then thought we would try deeper water,
in the hope of tempting larger fish. A few windings among
the clusters of small islands brought us to the channel of the
river, when we directed our companion to increase the speed
of the skiff, determined that the curiosity of no fish should be
satisfied without first tasting our gilded spoon. We pulled for
half a mile, when the river wound suddenly round an island,
which presented a bold shore, from the rushing of the river's
current. The tall forest trees extended to the very brink of
the river, over which they hung, throwing a deep shadow on
the water. This quiet spot looked as though it might be
an atractive one for some solitary fish, and we accordingly
took a sweep around the foot of the island. Scarcely had we
entered the deep shade spoken of, when we felt a tug at our
line, which was so strong that we supposed our hook had come
in contact with a floating log or fallen tree. Our companion
backed water with his oars to relieve our hook, when another
violent pull at our line convinced us that it was no log, but
some living creature of great weight. Our line was already
out its full length of one hundred and fifty feet ; no alternative
was therefore left but to give the fish more line by rowing after
him.

This we did for a few minutes, when we began to pull in the
slack of our line ; some fifty feet or more, when we felt tlie fish.
The check was no sooner felt by liim than be started forward
with a velocity scarcely conceivable in the water, bringing the
line taut, and the next moment our skiff was moving off, stern
foremost, towards the river's channel. We soon perceived that
our fish bad turned his head up stream, and as the water was
deep, there was uo danger of his coming iu contact with weeds

100

FISHIKG FOR MUSKALOU:J7G S.

or protruding rocks. We therefore allowed him to tow us for
aboui five minutes, when he stopped. Then quiok'y backing
water with our oars, and taking in our line, we carefully laid it
over the skiff's side, until we had approached within twenty
feet of our fish. "We then gave him another check, which
probably turned his head, for he again darted off in a contrary
direction down stream. We pulled our skiff in the same
direction as fast as possible, to give the fish a good run before
checking him again, but h'^ soon had the line out ito full length
and was again towing our skiff after him with more rapidity
than before. This did not last long, however, for we then
took the line and hauled towards him to lesson our distance.
He made another slap, when we managed to keep the line taut
and with our oars moved towards him. Our victim now lay on
the surface of the water with his belly upward, apparently
exhausted, when we found him to be a muskalounge, between
five and six feet in length. We had no sooner got him along-
side than he gave a slap with his tail, and again darted off the
whole length of the line, taking us once more in tow. His run
was now short, and it was now evident he was getting tired of the
business. Again the line slacked, and we drew the skiff up to
the six)t where he lay turned on his back.

He now seemed so far gone that we thought we might draw
him into our skiff, so wc reached out our gaff and hooked him
under the jaw, while my companion paP':c;d iiis oar under him.
In this way we contrived to raise him ov?r the gunwale of the
skiff, when he slid to its bottom. AVe then placed our foot at
the back of his head to hold him down, in order to disengage
our hook, which passed through his upper iaw. No sooner
bad we attempted this than he began to flop about, compelling
us to give him room to avoid his immense jaws. Every
moment ijcemed to increase his strength, when our companion
seized an our in order to despatch him, while we took out our
knife for the same purpose. Tiio first blow with the oar had
only the effect to awaken our fish, which, taking another and
more powerful somerset, threw himself over the gunwale of our
skiff, which was but a few inches above the water, and with a
plunge disappeared in the deep water at our side. We had
scarcely recovered from our surprise, when we found the
drawn out again to its full length, save a few tangles
tv/ists, which had got into it in the struggle between us

line
and
and

our fish. Wc determined to trifle no longer with the fellow,

V i:,

SQUIRRELS.

101

with our ETiall skiff, but to make for the shore and there land
him. A small island, a short distance from us, seemed to
present a convenient place, and here, without further ceremony,
we pulled, towing our fish after us. We leaped into the water
about ten feet from the shore, and tugged away at our victim,
who floated like a log upon the water, while my companion
stood by with an oar to make the capture more sure this timq.
lu this way we landed him in safety, just one hour and a
quarter after he was first hooked. This mnskalounge weighed
forty-nine pounds, and had within him a pike of three pounds
weight, a chub, partially decomposed, of four pounds, and a
perch of one and a half pounds, which appeared to have been
but recently swallowed ; yet this fish's appetite was not satis-
fied, and he lost life in grasping at a glitter'.ng bauble. Any
person who has ever killed a pike of ten pounds or upwards,
can readily imagine the strength of one four times that weight

Lanman's Adventures.

ilo sooner

SQUIRRELS.

During our voyage, just at the head of the rapids, our at-
tention was drawn to some small object in the water, moving
very swiftly along. There were various opinions as to the swim-
mer, some thinking it to be a water-snake ; others, a squirrel
or a musk-rat. A few swift strokes of the paddle brought us up
so as to intercept the passage of the little voyager ; it proved to
be a fine red squirrel, bound on a voyage of discovery from a
neighboring island. The little animal, with a courage and
address that astonished his pursuers, instead of seeking safety
in a different direction, sprang lightly on the point of the
uplifted paddle, and from thence, with a bound, to the head of
my astonished baby, and having gained my shoulder leaped
again into the water, s^nd made direct for the shore, P«^vf r
having deviated a single point from the line he was swimming
in when he first came in sight of our canoe.- I was surprised
aid amused by the agility and courage displayed by this
innocent creature ; I could hardly have given credence to the
circumstance had I not been an eye-witness of its conduct,
and, moreover, been wetted plentifully on my shoulder by the
sprinkling of water from his coat.

102

BQUIBRELS.

Perhaps you may think my squirrel anecdote incredible i bat
I can vouch for the truth of it on ray own personal experience,
as I jcl only saw but also felt it.

The black squirrels are most lovely and elegant animals,
considerably larger than the red, the gray, and the striped:
the latter are called by the Indians "chip-munks." We were
robbed greatly by these little depredators last summer The
red squirrels used to carry off great quantities of our Indian
corn, not only from the stalks, while the corn wa.p ripening,
but they even came into the house through srme chinks iu the
log walls, and carried off vast quantities of grain, stripping
it very adroitly from the cob, and conveying the grain away to
their storehouses in some hollow log or subterranean granary.

These little animals are very fond of the seeds of the
pumpkins, and you will see the soft creatures whisking about
among the cattle, carrying away the seeds as they are scattered
by the beasts in breaking the pumpkins : they also delight in
the seeds of the sunflowers, which grow to a gigantic height in
our gardens and clearings. The fowls are remarkably fond of
the sunflower seeds, and I have saved the plants vrith intention
of lay ing up a good store of winter-food for ray pooi chicks. One
day I went to cut the ripe heads, the largest of which was the
size of a large dessert plate, but found two wicked red squirrels
busily eraployed in gathering in the seeds, not for me, be sure,
but themselves. Not contented with picking out the seeds,
these little thieves dexterously sa^ ed chrough the stalks, and
conveyed away whole heads at onc^ : so bold were they that
they would not desist when I approached till they had secured
their object ; and, encumbered with a load twice the weight of
their own agile bodies, ran with swiftness along the railsfanS
over root, stump, and log, till they eluded my pursuit.

Great was the indignation expressed by this thrifty little
pair, on returning again for another load, to find the plant
divested of the heads. I had cut what remained and prit them
in a basket in the sun, on a small blodk in the garden, close to
the open glass door, on the steps of which I was sitting shelling
some need beans, when the squirrels drew my attention to
them by their sharp, scolding notes, elevating their fine feath-
ery taik', and expressing the most lively indignation at the
invasion. They were not long before they discovered the
Indian basket with the ravished treasure ; a few rapid move-
ments brought the little pair to the rails^ within a few paces of

INDIAN SUMMER.

103

aiblci but
xperience,

b animals,
e striped:
We were
ner The
»ur Tndian
; ripening,
iks iu the
, stripping
in away to
rranary.
(Is of the
king about
B scattered
delight in
height in
bly fond of
\i intention
icks. One
eh was the
id squirrels
le, be sure,
the seeds,
stalks, and
they that
ad secured
weight of
railspana

rifty little
the plant
d put them
n, close to
ng shelling
ttention to
fine feath-
ion at the
overed the
ipid move-
iw paces of

r^e and th*:^ sunflower heads ; here, then, they paused, and
sitting up, looked in my face with the most imploring gestures.
I was too much amused by their perplexity to help them, but,
turning away my head to speak to the child, they darted
forward, and in another minute had taken possession of one the
largest of the heads, which they conveyed away, first one carrying
it a few yards and then the other, it being too bulky for one alone
to carry it iar at a time. In short, I was so well amused by
watching^ their manoeuvres, that 1 suffered them to rob me of all
my store.

I saw a little family of tiny squirrels at play in the spring, on
the top of a hollow log, and really I think they were, without
exception, the liveliest, most graceful creatures, I ever looked
on. The flying squirrel is a native of our woods, and exceeds
in be£.uty, to my mind, any of the tribe. Its color is the
softest, most delicate tint of gray ; the fur thick and short, and
as silken as velvet ; the eyes, like all the squirrel kind, are
large, full, and soft ; the whiskers, and long hair about the nose,
black ; the membrane that assists this little animal in its flight
IS white, and delicately soft in texture, like the fur of the chin-
chilla ; it forms a ridge of fur between the fore and hind-legs ;
the tail is like an elegant broad gray feather. I was agreeably
surprised by the appearance of this exquisite little creature, the
pictures I had seen gave it a most inelegant and hat-like look,
almost disgusting. The young ones are easily tamed, and are
very playful and affectionate when under confinement.-— Mrs. . ^

Traill's Backwoods of Canada. '*iu^JU K(xckMmdoi/^ c^cjuw^wa-

INDIAN SUMMER.

By the purple haze that lies

On the distant rocky height,
By the deep blue of the skies.

By the smoky amber light,
Through the forest arches streaming.
Where Nature on her throne sits dreaming,
And the sun is scarcely gleaming.

Through the cloudless snowy white-
Winter's lovely herald greets us,
Ere the ice-crowned giant meets us.

104

INDIAN SUMMER.

A mellow softness fills the air,-—

No breeze on wanton wing steals by,

To bre '- holy quiet there.
Or L. ... the waters fret and sigh,

Or thb yellow alders shiver,

That bend to kiss the placid river,

Flowing on, and on for ever ;

But the little waves are sleeping,
O'er the pebbles slowly creeping,
That last night were flashing, leaping,
Driven by the restless breeze,
In lines of foam beneath yon trees.

Dress'd in robes of gorgeous hue,

Brown and gold with crimson blent ;
The forest to the waters blue

Its own enchanting tints has lent ; —
In their dark depths, life-like glowing.
We see a second forest growing,
Each pictured leaf and bran(;h bestowing
A fairy grace to that twin wood,
Mirror'd within the crystal flood.

'Tis pleasant now in forest shades -. —
The Indian hunter strings his bow,

To track through dark entangling glades
The antler'd deer and bounding doe, —
Or launch at night the birch canoe,

To spear the rinny tribes that dwell

On sandy bank, in weedy cell.

Or pool, the fisher knows right well —
Seen by the red and vivid glow
Of pine-torch at his vessel's bow.

This dreamy Indian eummer-day.

Attunes the soul to tender sadness ;
We love — but joy not in the ray —

It is not summer's fervid gladness,
But a melancholy glory

Hovering softly round decay,
Like swan that sings her own sad story,

Ere she fio&ts in death away.

AN INDIAN COUNCIL.

105

The day declines, what splendid dyes,
In fleckered waves of crimson driven.

Float o'er the saffron sea that lies
Glowins: within the western heaven !
Oh) it is a peerless even !

See, the broad red sun has set,
But his rays are quivering yet,
Through Nature's veil of voilet,

Streaming bright o'er lake and hill.

But earth and forest lie so still

It sendeth to the heart a chill ;
We start to check the rising tear —
^ 'Tis beauty sleepinsr on her bier.

/^oWv^ ^^^A ^.^^'-'^^'' Mrs. Moodie.

AN MEDIAN COUNCIL.

At noon I proceeded to a point at which it had been arranged
that I should hold a council with the chiefs of all the tribes,
who, according to appointment, had congregated to meet me ;
and OQ my arrival there I found them all assembled, standing
in groups, dressed in their fine costumes, with feathers waving ;
on their heads, with their faces painted, half-painted, quarter-
painted, or one eye painted, according to the customs of their
respective tribes ; while on the breast and arras of most of the
oldest of them, there shone resplendent the silver gorgets and
armlets which in former years had been given to them by their
ally — the British Sovereign.

After a few salutations it was proposed that our council
should commence ; and, acconliiigly, while I took possession of
!i cliair, which the Chiet Superintendent of Indian Affairs had
been good enough to brng for me, the chiefs sat down opposite
to me in about eighteen or twenty lines parallel to each other.

For a considerable time we absolutely gazed at each otlier in
dead silence. Passions of all sorts had time to subside ; and the
juil lament, divested of its enemy, was thus enabled calmly to
consider and pn^pni-e tli* !^a'>i''crs of the approaching discourre ;
and, as if still further t ) acilitate this arrangement, " the pipe
of peace " was introduced, slowly lighted, slowly smoked by one

106

AN INDIAN COUNCIL.

chief after another, and then sedately handed me to smoke it
too. The whole assemblage having, in this simple manner, been
solemnly linked together in a chain of friendship, and as it had
been intimated to them by the superintendent that I was feady
to consider whatever observations any of them might desire to
offer, one of the oldest chiefs arose ; and, after standing for
some seconds erect, yet in a position in which he was evidently
perfectly at his ease, he commenced his speech — translated to
me by an interpreter at my side — by a slow, calm expression of
thanksgiving to the Great Spirit for having safely conducted so
many of his race to the point at which they had been requested
to assemble. He then, in very appropriate terms, expressed the
feelings of attachment which had so long connected the red man
with his Great Parent across the Salt Lake ; and, after this
exordium — which in co"ij)osition and mode of utterance would
have done credit to any legislative assembly in the civilized
world — he proceeded with great calmness, by very beauti-
ful metaphors, and by a narration of facts it was impossible
to deny, to explain to me how gradually, and — since their
acquaintance with their white brethren — how continuously
the ice of red men had melted, and were still melting, like
snow before the sun. As I did not tsike notes of this speech,
or of those of several other chiefs who afterwards addressed the
council, I could only very inaccurately repeat them. Besides
which, a considerable portion of them related to details of
no public importance: I will, therefore, in general terms, only
observe, that nothing can be more interesting, or offer to the
civilized world a more useful lesson, than the manner in which
the red aborigines of America, without ever interrupting each
other, conduct their councils.

The calm, high-bred dignity of their demeanor — the scientific
manner in which they progressively construct the framework of
whatever subject they undertake to explain — the sound argu-
ments by which they connect as well as support it — and the
beautiful wild-flowers of eloquence with which, as they proceed,
they adorn every portion of the moral architecture they are
constructing, form altogether an exhibition of grave interest ;
and yet, is it not astonishing to reflect that the orators in these
councils are men whose lips and gums are — while they are
speaking — black from the wild berries upon which they have
been subsisting — who have never heard of education — never
seen a town — but who, born in the secluded recesses of an almost

FALLS OF NIAGARA.

lOT

iDterminable forest, have spent their lives in either following
zig-zaggedly the game on which they subsist through a labyrinth
of trees, or in paddling their canoes across lakes, and among a
congregation of such islands as I have described ?

They hear more distinctly — see further — smell clearer— -can
bear more fatigue— can subsist on less food — and have altogether
fewer wants than their white brethren ; and yet, while from
morning till night we stand gazing at ourselves in the looking-
glass of self-admiration, we consider the Red Indians of America
as ''outside barbarians."

But I have quite forgotten to be the " Hansard " of my
own speech at the council, which was an ^attempt to explain
to the tribes assembled the reasons which had induced their
late "Great Father" to recommend some of them to ifell their
lands to the Provincial Government, and to remove to the
innumerable islands in the waters before us. I assured them
that their titles to their present hunting-grounds remained, and
ever would remain, respected and undisputed ; but that inasmuch
as their white brethren had an equal right to occupy and
cultivate the forest that surrounded them, the consequence
inevitably would be to cut off their supply of wild game, as I
have already described. In short, I stated the case as fairly
as I oould, and, after a long debate, succeeded in prevailing
upon the tribe to whom I had been particularly addressing
myself to dispose of their lands on the terms I had proposed ;
and whether the bargain was for their weal or woe, it was,
and, so long as I live, will be, a great satisfaction to me to feel
that it was openly discussed and agreed to in presence of every
Indian tribe with whom Her Majesty is allied; for, be it
always kept in mind, that while the white inhabitants of our
North American Colonies are the Queen's subjects^ the Red
Indian is, by solemn treaty, Her Majesty's ally. — Sir Fi^aNCIS

V/t.

FALLS OF NIAGARA.

^uu^C

There's nothing great or bright, thou glorious Fall ;
Thou mayst not to the fancy's sense recall —
The thunder-riven cloud, the lightning's leap—
The stirring of the chambers of the deep—

108

THE TAKING OF DETROIT.

Earth's cmeralfl green, and many-tinted dyes —
The fleecy whiteness of the upper skies —
The tread of armies, thickening as they come —
The boom of cannon, and the beat of drum —
The brow of beauty, and the form of grace —
The passion, and the prowess of our race —
The song of Homer, in its loftiest hour —
The unresisted sweep of Roman power —
Britannia's trident on the azure sea —
America's young shout of liberty !
Oh I may the wars that madden in thy deeps
There spend their rage, noi climb th' encircling steeps
And till the conflict of thy surges cease,
• The nations on thy banks repose in peace.

Earl OF Carlisle.— (1841.)

THE TAKING OF DETROIT.

Iv the year 1G70, the French authorities in Canada built a
fort upon the Detroit river, for the double purpose of trading
with the Indians, and of opposing a barrier to their progress
eastward. At the peace of Paris, in 1768, the fort and the
little settlement that surrounded it passed, with all the
adjacent territory, into the hands of the British ; and, twenty
years later, it became part of the new American Republic.
Gradually the little settlement progressed, until, in 1812 — the
year of our story — it boasted 1,200 'inhabitants ; and now
Detroit is a city with a population of 4G,000.

In 1812, the young Republic of the United States declared
war against the British Empire, cloaking their real design —
which was that of conquering Canada and her sister provinces —
under a pretence of avenging an imaginary insult oflFered to
the American marine. General Hull, an old revolutionary
ofRcer, left the fort at Detroit, and crossed over into Canada
with 2,500 men, to take possession of the country ; but after
three successive attacks upon the little village of Amherstburg,
garrisoned by only 300 regulars and a few Indians, under
Colonel St. George, he was compelled to return, and shut
hii];)self up in the old French fort.

THE TAKIisG OF DETROIT.

109

Sir Isaac Brock was at this time the Governor of Upper
Canada. He was a brave and skilful general, and had served
with great distinction in the European campaigns. Beloved
alike by the soldiers who fought under him and the people
whom he governed, no man could be better fitted for meeting
the exigencies of the time. In the whole of the upper province,
however, there were, during the period of his government, only
80,000 men, women, and children, scattered over a wide tract of
country. From his head-quarters, in Toronto, the General sent
Colonel Procter, with a small detachment, to reinforce the garri-
son at Amherstburg, leaving himself with only ninety men. This
little force he sent off towards Long Point, Lake Erie, to raise
a body of two hundred militia, and to prepare means of trans-
portation. Two hundred volunteers, from York and the sur-
rounding country, responded to his call ; and on the 6th of
August Sir Isaac set out, amid the tears and applause of the
little town's inhabitants, at the head of his newly-raised army.
While passing the Grand River, he held a council with the
Indians, who were glad to have an opportunity of wiping ouf,
old scores with the " Long knives," as they called the Americans,
and who promised to meet him at Amherstburg. On the 8th,
the little band of Canadian patriots arrived at Long Point, the
end of their weary march, where the assembled reinforcements
had provided a number of small boats for accomplishing
the remainder of the journey. The distance from Long Point
to Amherstburg is two hundred miles, over a rough sea, and
along a coast presenting no means of shelter against the
weather. This long journey was performed after four days
and nights of incessant labor ; at midnight of the 13th, the
motley fleet of transports arrived at its destination. Great
was the rejoicing when the General arrived in Amherstburg;
the regulars cheered, the volunteers shouted, and the Indians
could hardly be restrained from firing away all their ammu-
nition, at the prospect of battle under such a leader. The
whole of the Canadian force now amounted to 1,300 men,
comfirising GOO Indians, under the celebrated Tecumseh, 300
regulars, and 400 volunteers, "-disguised in red coats." All
artillery consisted of five small guns, wl ,h were planted
elevated bank opposite Detroit. On the 15th, the

awaiting the signal to fire upon
river. General Brock sent a
surrender, which they indig-

their

upon

gunners stood to their pieces

the enemy's position across the

•ummons to the Americans to

THE TAKING OF DETROIT.

nantly rejected, and immediately the little battery began to
play upon the fort and village. Next day, the Canadian army
crossed the river, between three and four miles below Detroit,
to meet the enemy on their own ground. When the dis-
embarkation was completed, General Brock sent forward the,
Indians, as skirmishers, upon the right and left, and advanced
with the remainder of his force to within a mile of the fort.
From its high sodded parapets, surrounded by tall row^ of
wooden palisades and a wide and deep ditch, thirty pieces of
cannon frowned down upon the besiegers : its garrison consisted
of four hundred soldiers of the United St tes regular army. A
larger body of Ohio volunteers occupied a i entrenched position
flanking the approach to the fort ; while, on the right, a
detachment of six hundred militia, from Ohio and Michigan,
was rapidly advancing. Another considerable force held the
town ; making the total strength of the enemy about 2,500
men. In spite of the great disparity of the opposing armies,
and of the formidable preparations made by the enemy. General
Brock prepared to carry the fort by assault. The Indians
advanced within a short distance of the American forces,
uttering their shrill war-cries, and keeping np an incessant fire
upon their more exposed positions. The regulars and volunteers
examined the priming of their muskets, and prepared to scale
the palisades and walls of the fort. All was in readiness for an
immediate attack, when a gate suddenly opened, and to the
astonishment of the gallant Canadian General, an American
officer advanced towards him, bearing a flag of truce. An hour
afterwards, General Hull surrendered the whole of his com-
mand, and the Canadian army marched into the quarters of the
enemy. By the terms of this capitulation, two thousand five
hundred prisoners, as many stands of arms, thirty -three pieces
of cannon, a large store of ammunition, three months' pro-
visions, and a vessel of war, fell into the hands of the
conquerors. So signal a victory, gained by a small and hastily-
collected force, is one of which every loyal British subject in
America may well be proud. Campbell's Fourth Reader.

LUMBERING.

Ill

LUMBERING.

The lumber trade is carried on to a greater or less extent on al ■
most all the American rivers ; but on the IMississippi and the St.
Lawrence it affords employment to a vast number of persons.
The chief raftsmen, under whose direction the timber expedi-
tions are conducted, are generally persons of very great intelli-
gence and often of considerable wealth. Sometimes these men,
for the purpose of obtaining wood, purchase a piece of land, which
they sell after it has been cleared, but more frequently they pur-
chase only the timber from the proprietors of the land on which
it grows. The chief raftsman, and his detachment of workmen,
repair to the forest about the month of November, and are occu-
pied during the whole of the winter months in felling trees, dress-
ing them into logs, and dragging them by teams of oxen to the
nearest stream, over the hardened snow, with which the country
is then covered. They live during this period in huts formed of
logs. Throughout the whole of the newly-cleared districts of
America, indeed, the houses are built of rough logs, which are
arranged so as to form the four sides of the hut, and their ends
are half-checked into each other, in such a manner as to allow of
their coming into contact nearly, throughout their whole length,

112

LUMBEKING.

and the small interstices which remain are filled up with clay.
About the month of May, when the ice leaves the rivers, the logs
of timber that have been prepared, and hauled down during
winter, are launched into the numerous small stieams in the
neighborhood of which they have been cut, and are floated down
to the larger rivers, where their progress is stopped by ^what is
called a '' boom." The boom consists of a line of logs, extending
across the whole breadth of the river. These are connected by
iron links, and attached to stone piers built at suitable distances
in the bed of the stream.

The boom is erected for the purpose of stopping the downward
progress of the wood, which must remain within it till all the
timber has left the forest. After this every raftsman searches
out his own timber, which he recognizes by the mark he puts
on it, and, having formed it into a raft, floats it down the river
to its destination. The boom is generally owned by private in-
dividuals, who levy a toll on all the wood collected by it. The
toll on the Penobscot River is at the rate of three per cent, on
the value of the timbei.

The rafts into which the timber is formed, previous to being
floated down the large rivers, are strongly put together. They
are furnished with masts and sails, and are steered by means of
long oars, which project in front as well as behind them. Wooden
houses are built on them for the accommodation of the crew and
their families. I have counted upwards of thirty persons working
the steering oars of a raft on the St. Lawrence ; from this some
idea may be formed of the number of their inhabitants.

The most hazardous part of the lumberer's business is that of
bringing the rafts of wood down the large rivers. If not managed
with great skill, they are apt to go to pieces in descending the
rapids ; and it not unfrequently happens that the whole labor
of one, and sometimes of two years, is in this "ay lost in a mo-
ment. An old raftsman with whom I had some conversation on
board of one of the steamers on the St. Lawrence, informed me
that each of the rafts brought down that river contains from
15,000 to 25,000 dollars' worth of timber, and that he, on one
occasion, lost 12,500 dollars by one raft, which grounded In de-
scending a rapid, and broke up. The safest size of a raft, he said,
was from 40,000 to 50,000 square feet of surface ; and when of
that size they require about five men to manage them. Some
are made, however, which have an area of no less than 300,000
square feet. These unwieldy craft are; brought to Quebec la

AMERICA TC GJREAT BfetTAiK.

113

great numbers from distances varying from one to twelve hundred
miles ; and it often happens that six months are occupied in
making the passage. Th^y are broken up at Quebec, where the
timber is cut up for exportation, into planks, deals, or battens, at
the numerous saw-mills with which the banks of the St. Lawrence
are studded for many miles in tfie neighborhood of the town.
Sometimes the timber is shipped in the form of logs. The tim-
ber-rafts of the Rhine are, perhaps, the onlj'^ ones in Europe that
can be compared to those of the American rivers ; but none of
those which I have seen on the Rhine were nearly so large as
those on the St. Lawrence, although some of them were worked
by a greater number of hands, a precaution rendered necessary,
perhaps, by the more intricate navigation of the river. The
principal woods exported from the St. Lawrence are white oak,
white pine, red pine, elm, and white ash. — Stevenson.

AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN.

All hail ! thou noble land,

Our father's native soil !'

Oh, stretch thy mighty hand,

Gigantic grown by toil.

O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore I

For thou with magic might

Canst reach to where the light

Of Phoebus travels bright the world o'er !

The genius of our clime.

From his pine-embattled steep,

Shall hail the guest sublime ;

While the Tritons of the deep

With their conclis the kindred league shall proclaim.

Then let the world combine,

O'er the main our naval line,

Like the milky- way, shall shine bright in fame !

Though ages long have past
Since our fathers left their home,
Their pilot in the blast,
O'er untravelled seas to roam,
Yet lives the blood of England in our veins I
And shall we not proclaim
4b ^

114

THE FALLS OF NIAGARA.

,OAJL /6'^li'l

4Jj4i<'

That blood of honest fame

"Which no tyranny can tame by its chains ?

While the language free and bold it .
Which the Bard of Avon sung, 4l\AhlJ^T^
In which our Milton told J ^^^ j - • ^-^ ^

How the vault of heaven rung, ^ op joA^iyU,

When Satan, blasted, fell with his host : — r^y*^
While this, with reverence meet, " fPQ/iCMxl^<y'rX*^'^
Ten thousand echoes greet, (/

From rock to rock repeat round our coast ; —

While the manners, while the arts.

That mould a nation's soul,

Still cling around our hearts, —

Between let ocean roll.

Our joint communion breaking with the sun :

Yet still from either beach

The voice of blood shall reach.

More audible than speech, *' We arp one." — AllstoNj|^

THE FALLS OF NIAGAI^A. l^^^-^f'vh'^

^'i\

The thoughts are strange that crowd into my brain
When I bok upward to thee. It would seem
As if God pour'd thee from his " hollow hand,"
And hung his bow upon thine awful front ;
And spoke in that loud voice, which seem'd to him
Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour's sake,
" The sound of many waters ; " and had bade
Thy flood to chronicle the ages back.
And notch His centuries in the eternal rocks.
Deep calleth unto deep. And what are we,
That hear the question of that voice sublime ?
Oh ! what are all the notes that ever rung
From war's vain trumpet, by thy thundering side
Yea, what is all the riot that man makes
In his short life, to thy unceasing roar ?
And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to Him,
Who drown'd a world, and heap'd the waters far
Above its loftiest mountains ? — a light wave,
That breaks, and whispers of its Maker's might.

Brainebd.

THE SKATER AND THE WOLVES*

115

THE SKATER AND THE WOLVES.

lAINEHD.

During the winter of 1844, 1 had much leisure to devote to the
sports of a new country. To none of these was I more passion-
ately addicted than to skating. The deep and sequestered lakes,
frozen by the intense cold of a northern winter, present a wide
field to the lovers of this pastime Often would I bind on my
skates and glide away up the glittering river, and wind each
mazy streamlet that flowed beneath its fetters on toward the
parent ocean. Sometimes I would follow the track of a fox or
otter, and run my skates along the mark he had left with his
di-agging tail, until the trail would enter the woods. Sometimes
these excursions were made by moonlight ; and it was on one of
these latter occasions that I had a rencounter which even now,
with kind faces around me, I cannot recall without a nervous
feeling.

I had left my friend's house one evening just before dusk,
with the intention of skating a short distance up the noble
river which glided directly before the door. The night was
beautifully clear. A peerless moon rode through an occasional
fleecy cloud, and stars twinkled from the sky and from every
frost-covered tree in millions. Light also came glinting from
ice, and snow-wreath, and encrusted branches, as the eye fol-
lowed for miles the broad gleam of the river that, like a jewelled
zone, swept between the mighty forests on its banks. And yet
all was still. The cold seemed to have frozen tree, and air, and
water, and every living thing. Even the ringing of my skates
echoed back from the hill with a startling clearness ; and the
crackle of the ice, as I passed over it in my course, seemed to
follow the tide of the river with lightning speed.

I had gone up the river nearly two miles, when, coming to a
little stream which empties into the larger, I turned into it to
explore its course. Fir and hemlock of a century's growth met
overhead, and formed an archway radiant with frost work. All
was dark within , but I was young and fearless, and as I peered
into an unbroken forest that reared itself on the borders of the
stream, I laughed with very joyousness. My wild hurrah rung
through the silent woods, and I stood listening to the echo that
reverberated, again and again, until all was hushed. Suddenly
a sound arose — it seemed to me to come from beneath the ice ;
it was low and tremulous at first, but it ended in one long, wild

116

THE SKATER AND THE WOLVES.

''5|

yell. I was appalled. Never before had such a noise met my
ears. Presently 1 heard the brushwood on shore crash, as
though from the tread of some animal. The blood rushed to my
forehead ; my e^drgie^ returned ; and I looked around me for
some means of escape.

The moon shone through the opening at the mouth of the
creek by which I had entered the forest ; and, considering this
the best means of escape, I darted toward it like an arjow. It
was hardly a hundred yards distant, and the swallow could have
scarcely excelled me in flight ; yet, as I turned my head to the
shore, I could see two dark objects dashing through the brush-
wood at a pace nearly double in speed to my own. By their
great speed, and the short yells which they occasionally gave, I
knew at once that these were the much dreaded gray wolves.

I had never met with these animals ; but, from the description
given of them, I had little pleasure in making their acquaint-
ance. Their untamable fierceness and untiring strength render
them objects of dread to every benighted traveller.

Witli their long gallop they pursue their prey, never straying
from the track of their victim ; and though, perhaps, the wearied
hunter thinks that he has at last outstripped them, he finds that
they have but waited for the evening to seize their prey.

The bushes that skirted the shore flew past with the velocity
of lightning, as I dashed on in my flight to pass the narrow
opening. The outlet was nearly gained — a. few . seconds more
and I would be comparatively safe ; but, in a moment, my pur-
suers appeared on the bank above me, which here rose to the
height of ten feet. There was no time for thought. I bent my
head, and dashed madly forward. The wolves sprang, but,
miscalculating my speed, fell behind, while their intended prey
glided out upon the river.

Nature turned me toward home. The light flakes of snow
spun from the iron of my skates, and I was some distance from
my pursuers, when their fierce howl told me I was still their
fugitive. I did not look back ; I did not feel afraid, or sorry,
or glad ; one thought of home, of the bright faces awaiting my
return, and of their tears if they never should see me ; and then
all the energies of body and mind were exerted for escape. I
was perfectly at home on the ice. Many were the days that I
had spent on my good skates, never thinking that they would
thus prove my only means of safety. Every half minute a
furious yelp from my fierce attendants made me but too certain

THE SKATER AND THE WOLVES.

IIT

that they were in close pursuit Nearer and nearer they came.
At last I heard their feet pattering on the ice — I even felt
their very breath, and I heard their snuffing scent ! Every
nerve and muscle in my frame was stretched to the utmost
tension.

The trees along the shore seemed to dance in an uncertain
light, and my brain turned with my own breathless speed ; yet
still my pursuers seemed to hiss forth their breath with a sound
truly horrible, when an involuntary motion on my part turned
me out of my course. The wolves, close behind, unable to
stop, and as unable to turn on the smooth ice, slipped and fell,
still going on far a-head. Their tongues were lolling out ; their
white tusks were gleaming from their bloody mouths ; their dark
shaggy breasts were fleeced with foam ; and, as they passed me
their eyes glared, and they howled with fury. The thought
flashed on my mind that by this means I could avoid them, —
namely, by turning aside whenever they came too near ; for, by
the formation of their feet, they are unable to run. on ice
except in a straight line.

I immediately acted upon this plan. The wolves, having
regained their feet, sprang directly towards me. The race was
renewed for twenty yards up the stream ; they were already
close on my back, when I glided round and dashed directly
past them. A fierce yell greeted my evolution, and the wolves,
slipping on their haunches, sailed onward, presenting a perfect
picture of helplessness and baffled rage. Thus I gained nearly
a hundred yards at each turning. This was repeated two or
three times, every moment the animals becoming more excited
and baflied.

At one time, by delaying my turning too long, my
sanguinary antagonists came so near that they threw their
white foam over my dress as they sprang to seize me, and their
teeth clashed together like the spring of a fox-trap ! Had my
skates failed for one instant, — had I tripped on a stick, or hud
my foot been caught in a fissure of the ice, — the story I
am now telling would never have been told. I thought all the
chances over. I knew where they would first seize me if I
fell. I thought how long it would be before I died ; and then
of the search for my body, that would already have its tomb ;
for oh ! how fast man's mind traces out all the dread colors of
death's picture, only those who have been near the grim original
can tell !

liii
ilj

^f\

118

THE SKATER AND THE WOLVES.

But I soon came opposite the house, and my hounds— I
knew their deep voices — roused by the noise, bayed furiously
from their kennels. I heard their chains rattle : how I wished
they would break them ! — then I should have had protectors to
match the fiercest, denizens of the forest. The wolves, taking
the hint conveyed by the dogs, stopped in their mad career,
and, after a few moments, turned and fled. I watched them
until their forms disappeared over a neighboring hill ; then,
taking off my skates, I wended my way to the house, with
feelings which may be better imagined than described. But,
oven yet, I never see a broad sheet of ice by moonlight without
thinking of that snuffing breath, and those fearful things that
foUoVi'ed me so closely down that frozen river. — Whitehead.

THE SKATER'S SONG.

Away on the glistening plain we go.

With our steely feet so bright ;
Away ! for the north winds keenly blow,

And winter's out to-night.

With the stirring sho' t of the joyous rout.

To the ice-bound stream we hie ;
On the river's breast, where the snow-flakes rest,

We'll merrily onward fly !

Our fires flame high ; by their midnight glare

We will wheel our way along ;
And the white woods dim, and the frosty air

Shall ring with the skater's song.

With a crew as bold as ever was told

For the wild and daring deed,
What can stay our flight, by the fire's red light,

As we move with lightning speed ?

We heed not the blast, who are flying as fast

As deer o'er the Lapland snow ;
When the cold moon shines, on snov» clad pines,

And wintry breezes blow.

THE PRAIRIES OF NORTH AMERICA.

119

The cheerful hearth, in the hall of mirth.

We have gladly left behind —
For a thrilling song u borne along

On the free and stormj wind.

Our hearts beating warm, we'll laugh at the storm

When it comet in a fearful rage.
While with many a wheel, on the ringing steel,

A riotous game we'll wage.

By the starry light of a frosty night

We trace our onward way ;
While on the ground, with a splintering sound,

The frost goes forth at play.

Then away to the stream, in the moonlight's beam.

For the night it waneth fast j
And the silent tread of the ghostly dead,

At the midnight hour, hath passed.

H. B. T.

THE PRAIRIES OF NORTH AMERICA.

The term " prairie," first applied to the plains of North
America by the French settlers, signifies a meadow ; and very
appropriate is it, as the vast tracts of land, which Ii. is used to
designate, are unsurp^^fi^ in verdant richness in any part of
the earth. ** ^^^

The prairies of ';he " west " and " far west " of America are
the most beautiful in the world. Of boundless extent, great
and varied richness of beauty, and undulating in a graceful
m^pner, like the swells of the retiring ocean, they present a
scene unparalleled of its kind on the face of the earth. The
" bluffs " that appear in different parts, scattered over its surface
in thousands, and especially abundant by the banks of rivers,
present a constant variety to the eye of the visitor.

The general characctT of the picture, however, is the same.
On the Missouri alone, ab^ve the Osage, there are, it is_ said,
thirty thousand squttre mihs, making an amount of territory
equal to Kentucky, Below the Osasje is another tract of

120

THE PRAIRIES OF NORTH AMERICA.

country, which has been considered the finest ground ever seen,
the chief drawback being a deficiency of wood and water.
Including all the prairie lands, they extend from St. Louis and
the Mississippi to the Rocky Mountains ; and from the Gulf
of Mexico on tlie south, to the Slave Luke on the north. The
contrast between the appearance of this part of the earth and
many others is well described by Mr. Catlin. " It is," he says,
" but to paint a vast country of green fields, where the men
are all red — where meat is the staff of life — where no laws,
but those of honor, are known — where the oak and the pine
give way to the cotton-woOd and pecan — where the buffalo
ranges, the elk, mountain-sheep, and the fleet-bounding ante-
lope — where the magpie and chattering parroquets supply the
place of the red-breast and the blue-bird — where wolves are
white and bears grizzly — where pheasants are hens of the
prairie and frogs have horns ! — where the rivers are yellow,
and white men are turned savages in looks. Through the
whole of this strange country the dogs are all wolves, women
all slaves, — men all lords. The sun and the rats alone (of all
the list of old acquaintances) could be recognized in this
country of strange metamorphoses."

The prairies are covered with grass for hundreds of miles,
during the fall of the year, it dries up and dies, and fire burning
it up, a black surface is left, giving the ground a doleful color
till the ensuing spring. There are many modes by which fire
is communicated to the grass, frequently by accident, but oftener
by white men and Indians for the purpose of obtaining a fresh
crop for grazing their horses, and to make travelling in the
summer less uncomfortable.

Over the higher ground and prairie bluffs, where the grass is
short, the flames creep slowly and feebly, and the animals remain
quiet still they approach them, when they bound over it, and,
escaping further molestation, trot off among the ashes. These
scenes at night become indescribably beautiful, when the flames
are seen at many miles' distance, creeping over the sides and tops
of the bluffs ; and, the hills being invisible, the flames appear
like sparkling and brilliant chains of liquid fire, hanging sus-
pended in festoons from the sky.

But the scene is altered from the interesting and beautiful to
the majestic and terrific. In many parts the grass is six or
seven feet high, and the flames are driven forward by the hurri-
canes, which often sweep over these vast prairies. There $x^

many

miles il

so higll

order

them.

such aJ

purticsl

travels]

entaiigl

which

and he
tiara'',
(le.siroy
Earth

The an
''A pla

during
proved 1
an in ten
w.'j'' del
country
have fo
self as i
principl
ready t
days, \\i
day, pre
charact(
sion w
Jackson
prison a
conduct
treason,
expense
to pres(
way, he

INTKGUITV lUOWAIlDKD.

121

iver seen,
d water.
lOuis and
the Gulf
th. The
arth and

he says,
the men
no laws,
the pine
B buffalo
ng ante-
ipply the
olves are
1 of the
3 yellow,
)ugh the
;, women
le (of all

in this

|of miles,
burninff
ul color
lich fire
oftener
a fresli
in the

grass is

remain

it, and.

These

flames

and tops
appear

mg sus-

itiful to
six or
! hurri-
ere »re

many tracts like this on the Platte, and the Arkansas, of many
miles in breadth, which are perfectly level, with a waving grass
so high, that men are obliged to stand erect in their stirrups, in
order to look over the waving tops, as they are riding through
them. The lire in these places, before such a wind, travels with
such an imnxuse and frightful rapidity, as frequently to destroy
j)arties of Indians who may be overtaken by it ; not that it
travels so fast as a horse at full speed, but the high grass is
entaiigled with wild pea-vines, and other plants of the kind
which imped; the rider, and compel him to ride the horse in the
zig-zig paths of the buffaloes and deer, which retard his progress,
and he is thu? overtaken by the immense cloud of smoke and
Ham'', which with its thundering sound and ligncning glare,
destroys almost every thing that it approaches. — Face of the
Earth.

INTEGRITY REWARDED.

The annals of the American war record the following story : —
''A plain farmer, Richard Jackson by name, was apprehended
during the Revolutionary war under such circumstances as
proved beyond all doubt his purposes of joining the King's forces,
an intention which he was too honest to deny. Accordingly, he
w.t'' delivered over to the high sheriff, and committed to the
country gaol. The prison was in such a state that he might
have found little difficulty in escaping ; but he considered him-
self as in the hands of authority — such as it was — and the same
principle of duty which led him to take arms made him equally
ready to endure the consequences. After lying there a few
days, he applied to the sheriff for leave to go out and work by
day, promising that he would return regularly at night. His
character for simple integrity was so well known, that permis-
sion was given without hesitation, and, for eight months,
Jackson went out every day to labor, and as duly came back to
I)rison at night. In the month of May, the sheriff prepared to
conduct him to Springfield, where he was to be tried for high
treason. Jackson said this would be a needless trouble and
expense. His word was once more taken ; and he set off alone
to present himself for trial and certain condemnation. On the
way, he was overtaken by Mr. Edwards, a member of the Council

122

A SONG OF EMIGRATION.

of Massachusetts, which at that time was the su'preme executive
of the State. This gentleman asked him whither he was going.
* To Springfield, sir,' was his answer, * to be tried for my life ! *
To this casual interview Jackson owed his escape ; when, having
been found guilty and condemned to death, application was
made to the Council for mercy. The evidence and the sentence
were stated, and the president put the question whether a par-
don should be granted. It was opposed by the first speaker ;
the case, he said, wa.v perfectly clear; the act was unquestionably
high treason, and the proof complete ; and, if mercy was shown
in this case, he saw no cause why it should not be granted in
every other. Few governments have understood how just and
politic it is to be merciful ; this hard-hearted opinion accorded
with the tej[iper of the times, and was acquiesced in by one
member after another till it came to Mr. Edwards's turn to
speak. Instead of delivering his opinion, he simply related the
whole story of Jackson's singular conduct, and what had passed
between them in the woods. For the honor of Massachusetts,
and of human nature, not a man was found to weaken its effect
by one of those dry, legal remarks, which, like a blast in the
desert, wither the heart they reach. Th& Council began to
hesitate ; and, when a member ventured to say that such a man
certainly ought not to be sent to the gallows, a natural feeling
of humanity and justice prevailed, and a pardon was immediately
made out." — Sharp's London Magazine.

A SONG OF EMIGRATION.

There was heard a song on the chiming sea,
A mingled breathing of grief and glee ;
Man's voice, unbroken by sighs, was there,
Filling with triumph the sunny air ;
Of fresh, green lands, and of pastures new,
It sang, while the bark through the surges flew.

But ever and anon,

A murmer of farewell,

Told by its plaintive tone,

That from womaq's lips it fell,

A SONG OF EMIGRATION.

123

le executive
I was going.
>r my life ! *
rhen, having
ication was
:he sentence
lether a par-
rst speaker;
questionably

was shown
3 granted in
ow just and
ion accorded
d in by one
•ds's turn to

related the
t had passed
Massachusetts,
ten its effect

blast in the
cil began to

such a man
tural feeling

immediately

lew.

' Away, away o'er the foaming main ! "
This was the free and joyous strain ;
" There are clearer skies than ours, afar,
We will shape our course by a brighter ^tar ;
Inhere are plains whose verdure no foot hath press'd,
\nd whose wealth is all for the first brave guest."

*' But alas ! that we should go,"

Sang the farewell voices then,

" P'rom the homesteads warm and low,

By the brook, and in the glen."

We will rear new homes, under trees that glow
As if gems were the fruitage of every bough ;
O'er our white walls we will train the vine,
And sit in shadow at day's decline.
And watch our herds as they range at will
Through the green savannas, all bright and still."

" Bii'. v»oe for that sweet shade .

Of the flowering orchard trees,

Where first our children play'd,

' Mid birds and honey bees ! "

" All, all our own shall the forests be,
As to the bound of the roebuck free ;
None shall say, * Hither, no further pass ! '
We will track each step through the wavy grass,
We will chase the elk in his speed and might.
And bring proud spoils to the hearth at night."

" But oh ! the gray church tower.

And the sound of the Sabbath bell,

And the shelter'd garden bower.

We have bid them all farewell ! "

•

*' We will give the names of our fearless race.
To each bright river whose course we trace,
W'i will leave our memory with mounts and floods.
And the path of our daring in boundless woods ;
And our works on many a lake's green shore,
Where the Indian's graves lay alone, before,"

*' But who shall teach the flowers

Which our children love, to dwell

In a soil that is not ours ?

Home, home and friends, farewell ! " — Mb9. Hemans,

124

THE WESTERN .HUNTEK.

THE WESTERN HUNTER.

At, this is freedom i These pure skies
Were never stain'd with village smoke ;
The fragrant wind, that through them flies,
Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke.
Here, with my rifle and my steed.
And her who left the world for me,
I plant me where the red deer feed
In the green desert — and am free.

For here the fair savannas know
No barriers in the bloomy grass ;
Wherever breeze of heaven may blow
Op beam of heaven may glance, I pass
In pastures measureless as air,
The bison is my noble game ;
The bounding elk, whose antlers tear
The branches, falls before my aim.

Mine are the river-fowl that scream
From the lo*g line of waving sedge ;
The bear that marks my weapon's gleam,
Hides vainly in the forest's edge ;
In vain the she-wolf stands at bay ;
The brindled catamount, that lies
High in the boughs to watch his prey,
Even in the act of springing dies.

With what free growth the elm and plane
Fling their huge arms across my way ;
Gray, old, and cumber'd with a train
Of vines as huge, and old, and gray !
Free stray the lucid streams, and find
No taint in these fresh lawns and shades.
Free spring the flowers that scent the wind,
Where never scythe has swept the glades.

Alone, the fire, when frost winds sear
The heavy herbage of the ground,
Gathers his annual harvest here.
With roaring like th^ battle sound,

THE BACKWOODSMA^r.

125

And trains of smoke that heavenward tower,
And streaming flames that sweep the plain,
Fierce, as if kindled to devour
Earth, to the well springs of the main.

Here, from dim woods, the aged past

Speaks solemnly ; and I behold

The boundless future, in the vast

And lonely river, seaward roll'd.

Who feeds its founts with rain and dew !

Who moves, I ask, its gliding mass,

And trains the bordering vines, whose blue,

Bright clusters tempt me as I pass ?

Broad are these streams ; my steed obeys.
Plunges and bears me through the tide :
Wide are these woods ; I thread the maze
Of giant stems, nor ask a guide.
I hunt till day's last glimmer dies
O'er wooded vale and grassy height ;
And kind the voice and glad the eyes
That welcome my return at night.

W. C. Bryant.

THE BACKWOODSMAN.

The silent wilderness for me !

Where never sound is heard.
Save the rustling of the squirrel's foot.

And the flitting wing of bird.
Or its low i;nd interrupted note.

And the deer's quick, crackling tread,
And the swaying of the forest boughs,

As the wind moves overhead.

Alone (how glorious to be free !)

My good dog at my side.
My rifle hanging on my arm,

I range the forest wide.
And now the regal buffalo

Across the plains I chase ;
Now track the mountain stream to find

The beaver's lurking-plaoe.

1^6

THE BACKtVOODSMAJ?.

I stand upon the mountain's top,

And (solitude profound ! )
Not even a woodman's smoke curls up

Within the horizon's bound.
Below, as o'er its ocean breadth

The air's light currents run,
The w;ilderness of moving leaves

Is glancing in the sun.

I look around to where the sky

Meets the far forest line,
And this imperial domain,

This kingdom, all is mine.
This bending heaven, these floating cloudi,

Waters ♦hat ever roll.
And wilderness of glory, bring ,

These offerings to my soul.

My palace, built by God's own hand,

The world's fresh prime hath seen ;
Wide stretch its living halls away,

Pillar'd and roof'd with green ;
My music is the wind that now

Pours loud its swelling bars,
>"'ow lulls in dying cadences ;

My festal lamps are stars.

Though when in this my lonely home.

My star-watch'd couch I press,
I hear no fond '' good night," think not

I am companionless.
Oh, no ! I see my father's house.

The hill, the tree, the stream,
And the looks and voices of my home

Come gently to my dream.

And in these solitary haunts.

While slumbers every tree
In night and silence, God himself

Seems nearer unto me,
I feel His presence in these shades^

Like the embracing air ;
And, as my eyelids close in sleep.

My heart is hush'd in prayer. — E. Peabodt.

Ben J

Amel

horn I

1738

1699]

not

West!

feOYHOOD OF BENJAMIN WEfef .

127

BOYHOOD OF BENJAMIN WEST.

dt,

ABODT.

Benjamin West, one of the earliest and most distinguished of
American painters, was a native of Pennsylvania. He was
born near Springfield, Chester County, on the 10th October,
1738. His family were Quakers, and emigrated to America in
1699. His father, however, being left at school in England, did
not join his relatives until 1714. The native tendencies of
West were early manifested. It is said that, when he was but
six years old, his mother left him for a few moments to keep
the flies from an infant sleeping in the cradle. While ho was
thus employed, the beauty of the little creature, smiling in its
sleep, attracted his attention, and he immediately endeavored
to delineate its portrait with a pen and ink. His mother soon
returned, and was surprised and delighted at the attempt, in
which she thought she detected a resemblance to the sleeping
infant.

Not long after this he was sent to school, but was permitted
to amuse himself during his hours of leisure, in drawing flowers
and animals with a pen. He soon desired to represent the
color as well as the shape ; but here he was at a loss, for the
community in which he lived miide use of no paints but the most
simple and grave. His American biographer says that " The
colors he used were charcoal and chalk, mixed with the juice
of berries ; but with these colors, laid on with the hair of a
cat, drawn through a goose quill, when about nine years of
age, he drew on a sheet of puper the portraits of a neighboring
family, in which the delineation of each individual was sufficiently
accurate to be immediately recognized by his father, when the
picture was first shown to him. When about twelve years old,
he drew a portrait of himself, with his hair hanging loosely
about his shoulders."

His stock of colors was soon considerably enlarged by a
party of Indians who visited Spring.^ield in the summer ; and
becoming interested in the sketches which the boy showed them,
taught him to prepare the red and yellow paints which they
were accustomed to use. A piece of indigo, which his mother
gave him, furnished him with blue ; and with these three simple
primary colors the young artist felt himself rich.

One of the earliest patrons of the young painter was the
father of General Wayne, who lived at Springfield. Happening

l28 AN ADVENTURE IN THE LIFE OF AUDUBOi?.

to notice one day several heads drawn upon hoards with ink,
chalk, and charcoal, he was so much pleased with them as to
ask the privilege of taking them home. Next diiy he callod
again, and presented young West with six dollars. This cir-
cumstance had considerable effect in inducing him subsequently
to make painting his profession.

Another circumstance which occurred about this per'od,
afforded him inexpressible delight. A merchant of Philadelpiiia,
Mr. Pennington, beiig on a visit to the family, was so ninch
pleased with the efforts of Benjamin, that he j)iomised him
a box of colors and brushes. On his return to the city, he
not only fulfilled his promise, but added to the stock several
pieces of canvas prepared for painting, and " six engravings by
Grevling." Nothing could exceed his delight at this unexpected
treasure. He carried the box to a room in the garret, and
immediately began to imitate the engravings in colors ; and
even ventur i to form a new compositirn, by using the figures
from the different prints. The result of this boyish effoit to
combine figures from engravings, and invent a system of
coloring, was exhibited sixty-seven years afterwards, in the
same room with the " Christ Rejected." — Self-Taught Men.

He
her

AN ADVENTURE IN THE LIFE OF AUDUBON.

My march was of long duration. I saw the sun sinking beneath
the horizon long before I could perceive any appearance of
woodland, and nothing in the shape of man had I met that day.
The track which I followed was only an old Indian trace ; and
as darkness overshadowed the prairie I felt some desire to
reach at least a copse in which I might lie down to rest. Shortly
after a fire-light attracted my eye. I moved towards it, full of
confidence that it proceeded from the camp of some wandering
Indians. I was mistaken. I discovered by its glare that it
was from the hearth of a small log-cabin, ai:d that a tall figure
passed and re-passed between it and me, as if busily engaged in
household arrangements. I reached the spot, and presenting
myself at the door, asked the tall figure, which proved to be a
woman, if I might take shelter under her roof for the night ?

rBOJf.

AN ADVENTURE IN THE LITE OF AUDUBON. 129

rls with ink,
them as to
y he called
. This cir-
;ubs('queutly

this per'od,
Miiladelpliia,
/as so iinich
loraised him
the citv, he
Lock several
nj;ravin<is hv
i unexpected
garret, and
colors ; and
g the figures
yish effort to
I system of
ards, in the
;ght Men.

Idubon.

dng beneath

Ipearance of

let that day.

trace ; and
desire to
[st. Shortly
l(ls it, full of

wandering
Kare that it
la tall figure

engaged in

presenting
)ved to be a

the night?

Her voice was gruff, and her attire negligently thrown about
her. She answered in the affirmative. I walked in, took a
wooden stool, and quietly seated myself beside the fire. The
next object I observed was a finely-formed young Indian,
resting his head between his hands, with his elbows on his
kuees. A long bow rested against the log-wall near him, while
a quantity oi arrows, and two or three raccoon skins lay at his
feet. He moved not; he apparently breathed not. Accus-
tomed to the habits of the Indians, and knowing that they pay
little attention lo the approach of civilized strangers, I addressed
him in French, a language not unfrequently partially known
to the people in that neighborhood. He raised his head,
pointed to one of bis eyes, and gavQ me a significant glance
with the other. His face was covered with blood. The fact
was, that an hour before, as he was in the act of discharging an
arrow at a raccoon in the top of a tree, the arrow had split upon
the cord, and sprung back with such violence into his right eye-
as to destroy it forever.

Feeling hungry, I inquired what sort of fare I might expect.
Such a thing as a bed was not to be seen, but many large
untanned bear and buffalo hides lay piled in a corner. I drew
a fine time piece from my breast, and told the woman that it
was late, and that I was fatigued. She had espied the watch,
the richness of which seemed to operate upon her feelings with
electric quickness. She told me that there was plenty of
venison and jerked buffalo-meat, and that on removing the
ashes I should find a cake. I helped ray dog to a good supper
of venison, and was not long in satisfying the demands of my
own appetite.

The Indian rose from his seat as if in extreme suffering. He
passed and re-passed me several times, and once pinched me on
the side so violently that the pain nearly brought forth an
exclamation of anger. I looked at him ; his eye met mine, but
his look was so forbiddinjj that it struck a chill into the more
nervous part of my system. He again seated iiimself, drew his
butcher-knife from its greasy scabbard, examined its edge as I
would do that of a razor suspected dull, replaced it, and again
taking his tomaliawk from his back, filled the pipe of it with
tobacco, and f>ent me expressive glances whenever our hostess
chanced to !iave her back towards us.

Never until that moment had my senses been awakened lo

the danger which I now suspected to be about me* X returned
4 » 9

180 AN ADVENTURE IN THE LIFE OF AUDUBON.

: i

glance for glance to my companion, and rested well assured that,
whatever enemies 1 might have, he was not of the number.
Under the pretence of wishing to see how the weather was, I
took up my gun and walked out of the cabin. I slipped a ball
into each barrel, scraped the edges of my flints, renewed the
primings, and returning to the hut, gave a favorable account of
my observations. I took a few bear-skins, made a pallet of
them, and calling my faithful dog to my side, lay down, with
my gun close to my body, and in a few minutes was to all
appearance fast asleep. '

A short time liad elapsed when some voices were heard, and
from the corner of my eyes 1 saw two athletic youths making
their entrance, bearing i\ dead stag on a pole. They disposed
of their burden, and, asking for whiskey, helped themselves
freely to it. Observing me and the wounded Indian, they
asked who I was, and why that rascal (meaning the Indian,
who, they knew, understood not a word of English,) was in
the hous<3 ? The mother — for so she proved to be — bade them
speak less loudly, made mention of my watch, and took them
to a corner, where a conversation took place. The last words
reached me — " That will soon settle him ! Boys, kill you ; and
then for the watch."

I turned, cocked my gun-locks silently, and tapped gently
my faithful dog, who moved his tail, and fixed his eyes
alternately on me and on the trio in the corner. I lay ready
to start up and shoot the first who might attempt my life. The
moment was fast approaching, and that night might have been
my last iu this world had not Providence made preparations
for my rescue. All was ready. The murderous hag was
advancing slowly, probably contemplating the best way of
despatching me, while her sons should be engaged with the
Indian. I was several times on the eve of rising and shooting
her on the spot ; but she was not to be punished thus. The
door was suddenly opened, and there entered two stout
travellers, each with a long rifle on his shoulder. I flew to
my feet, and making them most heartily welcome I told them
how well it was for me that they should have arrived at that
moment. The tale was told in a minute. The drunken sons
were secured, and the woman, in spite of her defence and
vociferations, shared the same fate. The Indian fairly danced
with joy, and gave us to understand that, as he could not
sleep for pain, he would watch over us. You may suppose we

BOK.

ssured that,

ae number,

ither was, I

ipped a ball

enewed the

account of

a pallet ot

down, with

was to all

B heard, and
iths making
ley disposed
I themselves
ndian, they
the Indian,
iish,) was in
— bade them
I took them
le last words
ill you ; and

pped gently
sd his eyes

I lav ready
ky life. The

t have been

preparations

us hag was

est way of

d with the

nd shooting

thus. The

two stout

I flew to

I I told them
ived at that
runken sons
lefence and

lairly danced
could not
suppose we

THE NATURi\.L BRIDGE.

IGl

»lept much less than we talked. The two strangers gave mo
an account of their once having been themselves in a some-
what similar situation. Day came, fair and rosy, and with it
the punishment of our captives.

They were now quite sobered. Their feet were unbound,
but their arms were still securely tied. Wc marched them
into the woods off the road, and having used them as
Regulators were wont to use such delinquents, we set fire to
the cabin, gave the skins and implements to the young Indian
warrior, and proceeded, well pleased, towards the settlement. —
Romantic Incidents. in the Lives of Naturalists, «&c.

THE NATURAL BRIDGE.

The scene opens with a view of the great Natural liridgc in
Virginia. There are three or four lads standing in the channel
below, looking up with awe to that Viist arch of unhewn rocks
which the Almighty bridged over chose everlasting butments,

132

THE NAT DUAL BRIDGE.

"when the morning stars sang together." Th« little piece of
sky spanning those measureless piers is full of stars, although
it is mid-day. It is almost five hundred feet from where they
stand, up those perpendicular bulwarks of limestone to the key
of that vast arch, which appears to them only the size of a
man's hand. The silence of death is rendered more impressive,
by the little stream that falls from rock to rock down the
channel. The sun is darkened, and the boys have uncovered
their heads, as if standing in the presence chamber of the
Majesty of the whole eaith. At last, this feeling begins to
wear away ; they look around them, and find that others have
been there before them. They see the names of hundreds, cut
in the limestone butments. A new feeling comes over their
young hearts, and their knives are in their hands in an instant.
" What man has done man can do," is their watchword, while
they draw themselves up, and carve their names a foot above
those of a hundred full-grown men, w ho have been there before
them.

They are all satisfied with this feat of physical exertion,
except one, whose example illustrates perfectly the forgotten
truth, that there is "' no Royal road to learning." This ambitious
youth sees a name just above his rcacli — a name which will be
green in the memory of the world, wlien those of Alexander,
Cajsar, and Bonaparte, shall rot in oblivion. It was the name of
Wasliiti.'rton. Before he marched wilh Braddock to that fatal

field he had been there and left his name, a foot above any of
Lis piedecessors. It was a <:lorious thoujjht to write his name
side l.y side with that great father of his country. He grasps
his kiule wlih a firmer hand, and, clinging to a little jutting
crag, he cuts again into the limestone, about a foot above where
he stands ; he then reaches uj) and cuts another for his hands.
'Tis a dangerous venture; but as be puts his feet and hands
into those gains, and drav.s himself up carefully to his full
length, he finds himself a foot above every name chronicled in
that mighty wall. "While his companions are regarding him
with conceri; and admiration, he cuts his name in wide capitals,
large and deep, in that flinty album. His knife is still iu his
hand, and strength in his sinews, and a new-created aspiration
in his heart. Aijain he cuts another niche, and ao-ain ho
carves his name in larger capitals. This is not enough ; heedless
of the entreaties of his companions, ho cuts and climbs again.
The gradations of his asceuding scale grow wider apart, Ho

THE NATURAL liRIDGi:

133

little piece of
stars, although
3in wheie they
tone to the key

the size of a
lOve impressive
rock down the
jave uncovered
lamber of tho
eling begins to
lat others have
f hundreds, cut
)mes over their
[Is in an instant,
atchword, while
ics a foot above
;eu there before

lysical
y the

exertion,
forgotten

This ambitious
lie which will be
of Alexander,
was the name of
>ck to that fatal
|)ot above any of
write his name
[try. He grasps
a little jutting
ot above where
[r for his hands,
feet and hands
|lly to his full
c chronicled in
^gardinff him
n wide capitals,
is still iu his
ated aspiration
and again he
ough ; heedless
\\ climbs again,
der apart, He

measures his length at every gain he cuts. The voices of his
friends wax weaker and weaker, till their words are finally
lost on his ear. He now for the first lirae casts a look beneath
him. Had that glance lasted a moment, that moment would
have been his last. He clinjjs with a convulsive shudder to liis
little niche in the rock. An awful abyss awaits his almost
certain fall. He is faint with severe exertion, and tremblinor
from the J-udden view of the dreadful destruction to which he
is exposed. His knife is worn half-way to tlie haft. He can
hear the voices, but not the words, of his terror-stricken com-
panions below. What a moment ! What a meagre chance to
escape destruction ! There is no retracing his steps. It is
impossible to put his hands into the same niche with his feet,
and retain his slender hold a moment. His companions
instantly perceive this new and fearful dilemma, and await his
fall with emotions that "freeze their young blood." He is too
high to ask for his father and mother, his brothers and sisters,
to come and witness or avert his destruction. Hut one of his
companions anticipates his desire. Swift as the wind, he
bounds down the channel, and the situation of the fated boy is
told upon his father's hearthstone.

Minutes of almost eternal length roll on, and there are
hundreds standing in that rocky channel, and hundreds on the
bridge above, all holding their breath, and awaiting the
fearful catastrophe. The poor boy hears the hum of new and
nirnerous voices both above and below. He can iust distinguish
the tones of his father, who is shouting with all the energy of
despair — " William ! William ! Don't look dcwn ! Your mother,
and Henry, and Harriet, are all praying for you ! Don't look
down ! Keep your eyes towards the top ! " The boy didn't look
down. His eye is fixed like a flint towards heaven, and his
young heart on Him who reigns there. He grasps again his
knife. He cuts another niche, and another foot is added to
the hundreds that remove him from the reach of human help
from below. How carefully he uses his wasting blade 1 How
anxiously he selects the softest places in that vast pier ! How
he avoids every flinty grain ! How he economizes his physical
powers, resting a moment at each gain he cuts. How every
motion is watched from below ! There stand his father, mother,
brother, and sister, on the very spot where, if he falls, he will
not fall alone.

The sun is half-way down in the west. The lad has made

134

THE NATURAL BRIDGE.

fifty additional niches in that mighty wall, and now finds
himself directly under the middle of that vast arch of rock,
earth, and trees. lie must cut his way in a new direction to
get from this overhanging mountain. The inspiration of hopo
is in his bosom ; its vital heat is fed by the increasing shouts of
hundreds perched upon cliffs and trees, and others who stand
with ropes in their hands upon the bridge above, or with
ladders below. Fifty more gains must be cut before the
longest rope can reach him. His wasting blade strikes again
into the limestone. The boy is emerging painfully, foot by foot,
from under that lofty arch. Spliced ropes are in the hands of
those who arc leaniug over the outer edije of the bridge. Two
minutes more, and all will be over. That blade is worn to the
last half-inch. The boy's head reels ; his eyes are starting from
their sockets. His last hope is dying in his heart; his life
must hang upon the next gain he cuts. That niche is his last.
At the last flint gash he makes, his knife — his faithful knife —
falls from his little nerveless hand, and, ringing along the
precipice, falls at his mother's feet. An involuntary groan of
despair runs like a death-knell through the channel below, and
all is still as the grave. At the height of nearly three hundred
feet, the devoted boy lifts his devoted heart and closing eyes to
commend his soul to God. 'Tis but a moment — there ! one
foot swings off ! — he is reeling — trembling — toppling over into
eternity ! Hark ! — a shout falls on his ears from above ! The
man who is Wins with half his length over the bridge has
caught a glimpse of the boy's head and shoulders. Quick as
thought the noosed rope is within reach of the sinking youth.
No one breathes. With a faint, convulsive effort, the swooning
boy drops his arm into the noose. Darkness comes over him,
and with the words ''God ! " and " mother ! " whispered on his
lips just loud enough to be heard in heaven — the tightening
rope lifts him out of his last shallow niche. Not a lip moves
while he is dangling over that fearful abyss ; but when a sturdy
Virginian reaches down and draws up the lad, and holds him
up in his arms before the tearful, breathless multitude — such
shouting, and such leaping and weeping for joy, never greeted
a human being so recovered frpm the yawning gulf of eternity !

'' fj i^ ,^>iiyu HCl tW^oZ ElIHU BURRITT.

'Zy\A

VtrOif.

n^'-- "t

rl*>vu.

IC'-'"-*..

i now finds
irch of rock,
7 direction to
ition of hopo
ling shouts of
rs who stand
ve, or with
, before the
strikes again
, foot bv foot,
the hands of
bridge. Two
3 worn to the
starting from
eart; his life
lie is his hist,
ithful knife —
ig along thf!
ary groan of
lel below, and
three hundred
losing eyes to
; — there! one
ling over into
above ! The
bridge has
Quick as
Inking youth,
the swooning
es over him,
Ipered on his
e tightening
a lip moves
hen a sturdy
id holds him
lltitude — such
ever greeted
of eternity!

BURRITT.

THE LAKK OF THK DISMAL SWAMP.

THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP.

loo

*' They tell of ft young mftn who lout hl» mind upon the death of a girl he lored,
and who, suddenly diBappearing from hid friundfl. was nevur afterwardn heard uf.
A» he frequently Bald in iiiB ravlncn that the girl wa» not dead, but gone to the
IMnmal Swamp, it in Hunponed he had wantlered into that dn-ary wildemesB, and
had died of liunger, or bc»'n lost in Bonio of its dreadful nioraBHCH."— Anon.

" TiiKT made her a grave, too cold and damp

For a soul so warm and true,
And she's gone to the Lake of tlio Dismal Swamp,
Where, all night long, by a fire fly-lamp,

She paddles her white canoe.

And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see.

And her paddle I soon shall hear ;
Long and loving our life shall be,
And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree,

When the footstep of death is near ! "

Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds

His path was rugged and sore —
Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds,
Through many a fen where the serpent feeds,
And man never trod before !

And when on the earth he sank to sleep, —

If slumber his eyelids knew, —
He lay, where the deadly vine doth weep
Its venomous tear, and nightly steep

The flesh with blistering dew !

And near him the she-wolf stirred the brake,
And the copper-snake breathed in his ear,
Till he, starting, cried, from his dream awake,
*' Oh ! when shalLI see the dusky Lake,
And the white canoe of my dear ? "

He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright

Quick over its surface played —
" Welcome," he said, " my dear one's light ! "
And the dim shore echoed, for many a night

The name of the death-cold maid !

136

iLi-' k

THE AMERICAN EAGLE.

Till he hollowed a boat of the birchen bark,

Which carried him off from shore ;
Far he followed the meteor spark,
The wind was high, and the clouds were dark,
And the boat returned no moie.

But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp,

This lover and maid so true,
Are seen at the hour of midnight damp,
To cross the Lake by a fire fly-lamp.

And paddle their white canoe.

q JiiJ. >i^.CMJ'^-<yKy lu><vcvdo \1^']~^%I5\

■XoU

'f^tkk

THE AMERICAN EAGLE.

The eagle is, in truth, no very great fisher, fcut is very
fond of fish, and finds that the easiest mode of obtaining the
desired dainty is to rob those who are better qualified than him-
self for the sport. He is capable of catching fish, it is true,
but tie does it in a very awkward manner, wading into the
iihi'lows like a heron, and snatching suddenly at any of the
finny trioe that may be passing in his direction. This pre-
datory propensity aroused the wrath of Benjamin Franklin,
whoobjected strongly to the employment of the bald eagle as
the type of the American nation, urging, as his grounds of
opposition, that it is " a bird of bad moral character, and did
not get his living honestly."

The bald eagle is very accommodating in his appetite, and
will eat almost any thing that has ever possessed animal life.
He is by no means averse to carrion, and has been seen seated
regally upon a dead horse, keeping at a distance a horde of
vultures which were collected round the carcass, and not per-
mitting them to approach until he ly,d gorged himself to the
full. Another individual was seen hy Wilson in a similar
state of things. He had taken possession of a heap of dead
squirrels, that had been accidentally drowned, and prevented
any other bird or beast of proy from approaching his treasures.
He is especially fond of lambs, and is more than suspected of
aiding the death of many a sickly sheep, by the dexterous use
of his beak and claws. Sometimes he pays the penalty of his

THE AMERICAN EAGLE.

1^7

feut is very

obtaining the

led than hira-

sh, it is true,

ding into the

t any of the

1. This pre-

lin Franklin,

bald eagle as

s grounds of

cter, and did

jappetite, and
animal life,
seen seated
a horde of
and not per-
limself to the
lin a similar
leap of dead
id prevented
[lis treasures,
suspected of
lexterous use
lenalty of his

voracity, as was very recently the case. A bald eagle had
caught a wild duck, and carrying it to large piece of ice, tore
his prey in pieces, and began to eat it. When he had finished
his repast, he spread his wings for flight, but found_ himself
unable to stir, his feet having been firmly frozen to the ice.
Several persons who witnessed the scene endeavored to reach
the bird, but were unable, owing to the masses of loose ice that
intervened between the eagle and the land. At last, the poor
bird perished, as was supposed, having been seen to flap his
useless wings in vain endeavors to escape, until night drew
on and darkness hid him from view.

The manner in which the bald eagle hunts for, procures,
and kills his prey, is so admirably told by Mr. Audubon, that
it would be impossible to do justice to the subject without
quoting uis own words : —

" The eagle is seen perched, in an erect attitude, on the
summit of the tallest tree by the margin of the broad stream.
His glistening, but stern eye, looks over the vast expanse.
He listens attentively to every sound that comes to his quick
ear from afar, glancing every now and then on the earth
beneath, lest even the light tread of the fawn inay pass
unheard. His mate is perched on the opposite side, and should
all be tranquil and quiet, warns him, by a cry, to continue
patient. At this well-known call he partly opens his broad
wings, inclines his body a little downwards, and answers to her
voice in tones not unlike the laugh of a maniac. The next
moment he resumes his erect attitude, and again all around is
silent. Ducks of many species — the teal, the widgeon, the
mallard, and others — are seen passing with great rapidity,
and following the course of the current, but tlie eagle heeds
thqm not: they are at that time beneath his attention.

"The next moment, however, the wild, trumpet-like sound of
a yet distant but approaching swan is heard. A shriek from
the leniale eagle comes across the stream, for she is fully as
alert as her mate. The latter suddenly shakes the whole of his
body, and with a few touches of his bill, aided by the action
of his ciiiicular muscles, arranges his plumes in an instant.
The snow-white bird is now in sight ; her long neck is
stretched forwai'd ; her eye is on the watcli, vigilant as that of
her enemy ; her large wings seem with difficulty to support the
weight of her body, although they flap incessantly; so irksome
do her exertions seem, that her very legs are spread beneath

la-

138

THE AMERICAN EAGLE.

her tail to aid her in her flight. She approaches, however.
The eagle has marked her for his prey.

"As the swan is passing the dreaded pair, the male bird
starts from his perch, in preparation for the chase, with an
awful scream, that to the swan's ear brings more terror than
the report of the large duck-gun. Now is the moment to
witness the display of the eagle's powers. He glides through
the air like a falling star, and like a flash of lightning comes
upon the timorous quarry, which now, in agony and despair,
seeks by various manoeuvres to elude the grasp of his cruel
talons. It mounts, doubles, and willingly would plunge into
the stream, were it not prevented by the eagle, which, possessed
of the knowledge that by such a stratagem the swan miglit
escape him, forces it to remain in the air, by attempting to
strike it with his talons from beneath.

" The hope of escape is soon given up by the swan. It has
already become much weakened, and its strength fails at the
sight of the courage and swiftness of its antagonist. Its last
grasp is about to escape, when the ferocious eagle strikes with
its talons the under-sidB of its wing, and with unresisted power
forces the bird to fall in a slanting direction upon the nearest
shore.

*' It is then that you may see the cruel spirit of this dreaded
enemy of the feathered race, whilst, exulting over his prey, he
for the first time breathes at his ease. He presses down his
powerful feet, and drives his sharp claws deep into the heart of
the dying swan ; he shrieks with deliglit as he feels the last
convulsions of his prey, which has now sunk under his* efforts
to render death as painful as it possibly can be. The female
has now watched every movement of her mate, and, if she did
not assist him in capturing the swan, it was not from want of
will, but merely that she felt full assurance, that the power and
courage of her lord were quite sufficient for the deed. She now
sails to the spot where he eagerly awaits her, and when she has
arrived there, together turn the breast of the luckless ^wan
upwards, and gorge themselves with gore."

The bald eagle is found throughout the whole of North
America, and may be seen haunting the greater part of the
sea-coast, as well as the mouths of the large rivers. — Wood'3
[Natural History. Kc^j, ^^U-*/^ 'iJ^iji^

i'V V

^S)-

at i L-U^.vV-/

\HV\

>^ti/>Ad^

KCt'^-^

.>l%

i, however.

male bird
8, with an
error than
moment to
les through
:ning comes
md despair,
)t* his cruel
blunge into
h, possessed
^wan might
tempting to

an. It has
fails at the
St. Its last
strikes with
listed power
the nearest

his dreaded
lis prey, he
a down his
he heart of
els the last
his* efforts
The female
, if she did
im want of
power and
She now
en she has
kless ^wan

of North
J>art of the
I. — Wood '3

CORTEZ IN MEXICO.

139

>IEETING OF CORTEZ AND MONTEZUMA.

CORTEZ IN MEXICO.

Among those who were called forth by the voyages of discovery,
chiefly set afloat by Spain, was Cortez, a man so deeply cqn-
cerned in the doings of these times that his name is inseparably
associated witli the history of Mexico. "^

Mexico was discovered by Grijalva, a lieutenant of Diego
Velasquez ; but to Cortez was committed the conquest of the
newly-found country. The people, who had thus b^n brought
into connection with the Spaniards, had already laid aside many
of their old customs ; and when the vessels of Cortez lay to, and
the governor went ashore, he found them no longer rude and
half-claa savages, but people well dressed in cotton garments, and
living in stone houses. The natives received the strangers with
hostility ; wild rumors were abroad of what cruel excesses the
Spaniards had already been guilty ; and so a battle ensued,
which ended in the triumph of the Spaniards. The monarch of
Mexico was named Montezuma, and he now sent to learn the
object of the visit of Cortez. The Spaniard demanded a per-

140

COUTEZ IN MEXICO.

sonal interview with the monarch ; this was respectfully but
firmly declined. Hostilities were renewed, and Cortez marched
towards the capital. The vast plajns of Mexico opened before
them, wearing an aspect of tempting prosgerity. In the middle
of the plain, partly encamped by a lake, and partly built en
the island within it, towered aloft the cjty of Mexico, like some
gorgeous fairy-land city. The Spaniards could scarcely believe
their serjses : h seemed more like \ splendid vision than reality.
Montezuma received the strange/>. with great pomp and kind-
adigitted them into the city ; appropriated to their use

ness

splendid accommodations ; supplied all their wants, and pre-
sented them with gifts. Cortez was greatly astonished at wh?it
had befallen him. He expected hostilities, a 1 was met with
hospitality. But he found himself shut up iu the midst of a
vast city ; and. naturally Guspicious, began to fear treachery on
the part of his entertainers. A bold expedient occurred to
him, which a good many people would have hesitated to
attempt, but which he successfully carried through. He seized
the person of the king, imprisoned him in his own palace, and
so worked upon his mind that he at length induced the monarch
to acknowledge himself as a servant of Spain, and to engage to
pay an annual tribute.

Shortly after this, Cortez was recalled to Spain. Cruelties, of
which he had set the example, were carried on to so extravagant
an extent as to drive the Mexicans into revolt ; so that, on his
return, he found a native army in the field, nis own forces
weakened and dispirited, and but ill prepared for a fresh cam-
paign. But Cortez never fled from danger — he had the merit
of courage, if no other ; and something of his own determination
he communicated to his followers. Battle followed battle with
varying success. As of old, the people were hunted down like
wild beasts ; and the deep bay of the blood-hound was heard
through the night. As a last resource, Cortez brought out
Montezuma, whom he had held in captivity, placed him in the
fore part of the tight, and instructed him to order his people to
desist. The monarch did the bidding of his conqueror, and
with bowed heads and deep silence, the Mexicans obeyed.
But when, still instructed by Cortez, the unhappy king spoke
well of the Spaniards, the rage of his own subjects could no
lon;^er be restrained. They saw that the man whom they had
once respected, had no longer respect for himself ; they felt the
deep indignity, and with a wild cry re-commenced the battlo.

TRAPPING A TAPTll.

141

ctfully but
3Z marched
med before
I the middle
ly built en
3, like some
cely believe
han reality.
) and kind-
.0 their use
;s, and pre-
hed at what
IS met with

midst of a
treachery on

occurred to

hesitated to

He seized

palace, and
the monarch
to engage to

Cruelties, of
extravagant
that, on his
own forces
fresh cam-
id the merit
jterraination
battle with
id down like
was heard
[brought out
him in the
jis people to
ioueror, and
ins obeyed,
king spoke
bs could no
they had
tey felt the
the battl«.

The first to fall was Montezuma. The people saw him in his
death agony — the superstitions of their creed taught them that
hea'":n's vengeance would fall upon them, for they had slain their
king ; and so they turned and fied.

Subsequently the war was continued; desperate resistance on
one side, unrelenting cruelty on the other. Now and again it
seemed that the flag of Castile would never float again upon the
walls of Mexico ; Imt Cortez fought on, steadily, determinedly ;
he never shrank from blood or tears, to raise the influence ot
his nation. But the work he accomplished met with no magni-
flcent reward. Returning to Spain, he fell into neglect, for
Spain was careless of her benefactors, when her work was done.
One day Cortez forced his way through the crowd that had
collected about the carriage of the sovereign, mounted the door-
step and looked in. Astonished it so gross a breach of
etiquette, the monarch demanded to know who he was. " I
am a man," replied the conqueror of ^ exico, " who has given
you more provinces than your ancestors left you cities ! "

And after this he withdrew from public life, brooding over his
sorrow, lived in solitude and died of a broken heart.

Cassell's Family Paper.

TRAPPING A TAPIR.

Be it understood, then, that the tapir is "at home'* in Central
America, and is, indeed, one of the chief personages of its densely
populated woods. Let us hear, then, what Mr, Squier has to
SUV about him : —

" I think it was the third dav after our arrival, when we
came u])on a patch of low ground, or jungle, densely wooded,
and distant perhaps half-a-mile from our encampment. At-
tracted by some bright flowers. I penetrated a few y rds into
the bushes, where, to my surp»:se, I came upon what appeared
to be a well-beaten patii, which I followed for some distance,
wondering over the various queer trucks which I observed printed
here and there in the moist ground."

This our author soon ascertains. Is a path worn by the pass-
ing and repassing of a tapir, which he encounters coming along
at a swinging trot, so as to oblige him to ascend a trae to get

142

TKAPPING A TAPIR.

out of its way. On telling the Indian guides of his adventure,
they proposed to trap the tapir, and forthwith commence opera-
tions.

" Before it became dark, Antonio and the boy went to the
thicket and felled several stout trees across the path in such a
manner as to form a kind of cuL-de-sac. The design of this was
to arrest the animal on his return, and enable us to spear him
before he could break through or disengage himself. We went
to the spot early in the evening, and, as the moon did not rise
uniil late, Antonio caught his hat half-full of fire-flies, whi 'v
8er> ed to guide us in the bush. He then pulled off their wings
and scattered them among the fallen trees, where they gave light
enough to enable us to distinguish objects with considerable clear-
ness."

Not being over-confident of the peaceful disposition of the
intended prey, our hero takes up his position in a tree over-
hanging the prth, where, while suflSciently out of harm's way,
he can yet give the beast a sly drive with his lance. They wait
long ; at last Antonio whispers, '' he is coming," and, " a few-
moments afterwards, I could make out the beast in the dim
light, driving on at the same swinging trot. Right on he came,
heedless and headlong. Crash ! crash I There was a plunge
and a struggle, and a crushing and trampling of branches, then
a dul' sound of the heavy beast striking; against the unyielding
trunks of the fali'jn trees."

*' He was now fairly stopped, and with a shout my com-
panions dove down apon him with their lances, which rang out
a sharp metallic sound when they struck his thick, hard hide.
It was an exciting moment, and my eagerness overcoming my
prudence, I slipped down the tree and joined in the attack.
Blow upon blow of the lances, and I could feel that mine struck
deep into the flesh ; but the strokes apj)eared to give him new
strength, and, gathering back, he drove again full u{)on the
opposing tree, and bore it down before him. I had just leaped
upon the trunk — the better to aim my lance — and went down
with it headlong, almost under the feet of the struggling
animal, one tramp of whose feet would have crushed me like
a worm. I could have touched him he was so near. I heard
the alarmed shriek of Antonio when he saw me fall, but in an
instant he leaped to my side, and shortening his lance, drove it
with desperate force clean through the animal, bringing him to
his knees. This done he grappled me as he might an infant,

and

falle

over

VEN'

SOKG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA.

148

and before I was aware of it had dragged me clear off the
fallen timber. The blow of Antonio proved fatal ; the tapir fell
over on his side, and in a few minutes was quite dead." — Ad-
ventures ON THE Mosquito Shore. ,

kilo n^ Ci^JAcxl /Hu^'^'-"^

k V ■; & t »• •- '^'

'ucf c^-^-.C' -

SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA.

Where the remote Bermudas ride
In the ocean's bosom unespied,
From a small boat that rowed along.
The listening wind received this song : —

" What should we do but sing His praise,
That led us through the watery maze,
Where He the huge sea monsters wracks.
That lift the deep upon thjeir backs,
Unto an isle so long unknown,
And yet far kinder than our own ?
He lands us on a grassy stage
Safe from the storms and prelate's rage
He gave us this eternal spring.
Which here enamels every thing,
And sends the fowls to us in care.
On daily visits through the air,
He hangs in shades the orange bright.
Like golden lamps in a green night.
And does in the pomegranates close
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows ;
He makes the figs our mouths to meet,
And throws the melons at our feet ;
But apples, plants of such a price.
No tree could ever bear them twice.
With cedars chosen by His hand
From Lebanon, He stores the land ;
And makes the hollow seas that roar
Proclaim the ambergris on shore.
He cast (of which we rather boast)
The gospel's pearl upon our coast ;
And on these rocks for us did frame
A temple where to sound His name.

144

THE BUCCANEERS.

O, let our voice His praise exalt
T'U it arrive at heaven's vi^ult, '
Which then perhaps rebounding ma}
Echo beyond the Mexique Bay ! "
Thus sang they, in the English boat,
A holy and a cheerful note ;
And all the way to guide their chime,
With falling oars they kept the time.

A. Marvell.

THE BUCCANEERS.

It is nec^sary to pause, at this period, in our review of the
grand maritime expeditions, which successively left the various
seaports of the worloTin order to refer to a pragfice which'^was
now rendering commerce hazardous and the whole highwa)' of
the seas insecure — pimpy. Besides the numerous isolated
adventu'^ers who preyedupon the vessels of any and evei-y
nation that ie\l in their way, a powerful association, or le^ue
of robbers, who infested particularly the West Indian Islands
and the Caribbean Sea, and w!io bore the name of Buccaneers,
became, during the century of which we are now speaking, the
peculiar dread of Spanish ships. The Spaniards would not
allow any other nation than their own to trade in the West
Indies, and pursued and murdered the English and French
wherever they found them. Every foreigner discovered among
the islands, or on the coast of the American continent, was
treated as a smuggler and a robber ; and it was not long before
they became such, and organized themselves into an associa-
tion capable of returning cruelty by cruelty. The Spaniards
employed coast-guards to keep off interlopers, the commanders
of which were instructed to massacre all their prisoners. This
tended to produce a close alliance, offensive and defensive,
among the mariners of all other nations, who in their turn
made descents upon the coasts, and ravaged the weaker Spanish
towns and settlements. A permanent state of hostilities was
thus established in the West Indies, independent of peace or
war at borne, After the failure of the mine of St. Domingo,
and its abandonment by the Spaniards, it was taken possession
of, early in the seventeenth century, by a number of French

IfiE BtJOCANEEftS.

A.RVELL.

ipw of the
he various
whiclTwas
highway of
us isolated
and every
1, or legfi^ue
ian Islands
Buccaneers,
)eaking, the
would not
1 the West
nd French
lered among
Itinent, was
long before
an associu-
Spaniards
;ommarders
lers. This
defensive,
their turn
:er Spanish
Itilities was
\i peace or
,. Domingo,
possession
of FroncU

wanderers vho had been driven out of St. Christopher ; and
their numbers were soon augmented by adventurers from all
quarters. ^

As they had neither wives nor children, they generally lived
together by twos, for mutual protection and assistance ; when ,
one died, the survivor inherited his property, unless a will wais-
found bequeathing it to some relative in Europe. Bolts, locks,
and all kinds of fastenings were prohibited among them, the
maxim of " honor among /hieves " being considered a more
efficient safeguard. The dress of a buccaneer consisted of a
shirt dipped in the blood of an animal just slain ; a leathern
girdle, in which hung pistols and a short sabre ; a hat with
feathers, but without a rim, except a fragment in gui'"^ of a
visor, to pull it on and off ; and shoes of untanned hide without
stockings. Each man had a heavy musket, and usually a pack
of twenty or thirty dogs. Their business was, at the outset,
cattle-hunting; and they sold hides to the Dutch, who resorted
to the island to purchase them. They possessed servants and
slaves, consisting of persons decoyed to the West Indies, and
induced to bind themselves for a certain number of years.

The Spaniards, inhabiting other portions of St. Domingo,
conceived the idea of ridding the island of the buccaneers by
destroying all the wild cattle ; and this was carried into execution
by a general chase. The buccaneers abandoned St. Domingo,
and took refuge in the mountainous and well-wooded island of
Tortuga, of which they made themselves absolute lords and
masters. The advantages of the situation brought swarms of
adventurer's arid desperadoes to the spot; and from cattle-
hunters, the buccaneers became pirates. They made their
cruises in open boats, exposed to all the inclemencies of the
weather, and captured their prizes by boarding. They attacked
indiscriminately the ships of every nation, feeling especial
hostility, and exercising peculiar cruelty towards the Spaniards.
They considered themoelves to be justified in this by the oppres-
sion of the Mexicans and Indians by Spanish rulers, and quieting
their consciences by thus assuming the characters of avengers,
and dispensers of poetic justice, they never embarked upon an
expedition without publicly offering up prayers for success, nor
did they ever return laden with spoils without as publicly
giving thanks for their good fortune.

They seldom attacked any European ships except those

homeward-bound — which were usually well-.'reighted with gol(i

4 R 10 ' '

146

THE BUCCA5JEERS.

A vrs

r*nd silver. The Spaniards held them in such tejjor that they
I sually surrendered on coming to clo'se quarters. The spoil was
equitably dmded, provision being"Tir8t made for the wounded.
The loss of an arm was ratea at six hundred dollars, and other
wounds in proportion. The commander could claim but one
share; although, when he had acquitted himself with distinction,
it was usual to co mpli ment him by the addition of several snares.
"When the division was effected, the buccaneers abandoned them-
selves to all kinds of rioting and licentiousness tiirtheir wealth
was expended, when they started in pursuit of new booty.

The iSuccaneers now rapidly increased in strength, daring,
and numbers. They sailed in larger vessels, and undertook
enterprises requiring great energy and audacity. Miguel de
Basco captured, under the guns of Portobello, a Spanish galleon
valued at a million of dollars. A Frenchman of the name of
Montbars, conceived so deadly a hatred for the Spaniards, and
killed so many of them, that he obtained the title of " The
Exterminator." But the fame of all the buccaneer comnanders
was eclipsed by that of Henry Morgan, a Welchmar The
boldest and most astonishing of his exploits was his forcing his
way across the Isthmus of Darien, from the Atlantic to the
Pacific Ocean. His object was to plunder the rich city of
Panama : his expedition, however, opened the way to the great
Southern Sea, where the buccaneers laid the foundation of much
of our geographical knowledge of that ocean. He first took the
Castle of San Lorenzo, at the mouth of the river Chagres, where,
out of three hundred and fourteen Spaniards, he put two hundred
to death. He left five hundred men in the castle, one hundred
and fifty on board of his thirty-seven ships, and with the rest —
who, after deducting the killed and wounded, amounted to
about twelve hundred men — began his progress through a wild
and trackless country, which was then known only to the native
Indians. After a desperate combat with the Spaniards, he took
and plundered Panama, which then consisted of about seven
thousand houses. He returned to the mouth of the Chagres
with an enormous booty, and after defrauding the fleet of their
shares of spoils, sailed for Jamaica, which was already an
English colony. He was made deputy-governor of the island
by Charles the Second, by whom he was also knighted. He
proved an efficient officer, and gave no quarter to the Buccaneers.
»--The Sea and Her Famous Sailors.

Theri
Garde
Jane a|
dirty
This
inches
same
thread
papa o
Youh
the wa
"Th
buildin,
hangin*
"Th
believe
"No
to a pei
of mine
roof w;
He got
hair wr
ner; bu
Spaniar
upon m
nearly f
quickly
"I s;
difficultj
" Ind(
here wl:
charm t
his lips,
fingers a
or the
dug for 1
he insta
and all
stung, ai

A VISIT to THE BOTANIC GARDES'S Ot* feT. \^^'CENT. 147

that ttey
i spoil was
! wounded,
and other
m but one
distinction,
eral^ares.
loned them-
[leir wealth
>oty.

rth, daring,
undertook
Miguel de
oish galleon
he name of
Einiards, and
le of "The
:omr.ianders
mar The
forcing his
in tic to the
rich city of
to the great
on of much
irst took the
gres, where,
wo hundred
ne hundred
the rest —
nounted to
5ugh a wild
the native
ds, he took
ibout seven
le Chagres
eet of their
already an
the island
ghted. He
Buccaneers.

A VISIT TO THE BOTANIC GARDENS OF

ST. VINCENT.

There was little worth noticing about the house in the Botanic
Garden — it was in very bad repair ; but one thing soon caught
Jane and Susan's observant eyes, and chat was something of a
dirty light clay color, hanging from the roof in many places.
This thing was of a flattish oval form, about eight or ten
inches long, and was suspended by a substance like glue, of the
same color, and not thicker than a piece of common pack-
thread. They looked so long at these bags hanging, that their
papa observed them, and said, " Those are Jack Spaniards' nests.
You have already seen them ; you recollect I told you they were
the wasps of the West Ii dies.

" They are very troublesome," said Mr. Elliot, " in all old
buildings, and by-and-by, I will show you plenty of them
hanging in trees, where they also make their nests."

" They sting very severely," said Colonel Maxwell ; " but I
believe they seldom attack any one unprovokedly."

" Not often," said Mr. Elliot ; " but they may be attracted
to a person by the perfume of any thing they like ; and a friend
of mine, who was dining in the country, in a house where the
roof was full of nests, was a sad sufferer from them lately.
He got in very hot, just in time for dressing, and rubbed his
hair with honey-water ; immediately after he sat down to din-
ner ; but the perfume of the honey-water attracted the Jack
Spaniards to such a degree that, in a second they all pounced
upon my friend's head, and stung him so severely that he was
nearly frantic, although he plunged his head in cold water as
quickly as possible."

" I suppose," said Mrs. Maxwell, " it is a service of great
difficulty to destroy their nests."

"Indeed it is," said Mr. 'Elliot; "but I have a negro lad
here who does it most successfully, and who' pretends he can
charm them by holding the green leaf of some weed between
his lips, when he goes up very softly to the nest, and with his
fingers and tljuiib breaks the attachment of the nest to the roof
or the tree, cari'ies it most gravely and quietly to a hole
dug for the purpose, and dropping it down slowly and cautiously,
he instantly places a turf upon the top, and consigns the nest
and all its troublesome inmates to a living grave. He is never
stung, and I have seen him frequently perform the operation.''

148 A VISIT TO THE B6TANIC GARDENS Ot' ST. VINCENT.

" And now, young ladies, I am going to show you what I
won't call an ugly, but certainly one of the most troublesome
weeds in the West Indies."

They suw before them a weed covered with pretty, small,
delicate, pink blossoms, with very elegant-looking leaves ; the
plant was thick and bushv, and several feet high.

" Touch it," said Mr. Elliot.

" It is covered with thorns," said Jane.

" Well," said Mr. Elliot, " come near it, and wave your hand
close to it. *

The leaves all closed. ,

" How curious ! " said the children.

" What is it ? " said Mr. Elliot.

" It cannot be, and yet, somehow, I think it must be the
sensitive plant," said Jane; " but I never saw it except in a
hot-house at home, and I had no idea it grew in its own home
to such a size."

" It does," said Mr. Elliot ; *' and I show it to you as an
example of the great effect climate has upon plants, far more
than people, who, generally speaking, if they are prudent, live
and often enjoy excellent health in all different climates, while
it is next to impossible for art to produce plants in the same
perfection and health as in their natural climates. You are sur-
prised at the great height and strength of the sensitive plant ;
but now I am going to show you a shrub, for here we 'cannot
by any art make it grow taller than a shrub, though in England
it is the pride of the forest."

" What a curious looking stunted oak ! " said Susan ; " what
an ugly thing ! "

" I daresay you think so," said Mr. Elliot ; " but I can tell
you, my little lady, that were you to live as long as I have done
without seeing your own country, you would love this little oak,
diminutive as it is, because it would seem something belonging
to home ; and, hfbwever happy we may be abroad, there is
something wrong about our hearts if we forget o.ur home ; but
I am sure there is no fear of the daughter of a brave British
officer doinsr that."

" No, indeed," said Susan, " we sha'n't do that, although
England may not be so pretty or so curious a country."

" I am not sure of that," said Mr. Elliot ; " for where we
are unaccustomed to all around us, we naturally fancy it more

curious b

curiosities

most beai

so r"ch, ai

admirinir

country."

Mr. Elll

megs, and

explain tc

had no i<

when drie

so exactly

in Englai]

then show

the West J

disagreeab!

sometimes

This tree,

— JUVENII

Whi

And

Amii

A CO

Fair

Spar

The3

Whe

The

In m

Eart]

Amb

O'er

Natu

In all

Proc^

§bel

THE WEST INDIA ISLANDS.

149

curious because more uncommon. Enjjland abounds in natural
curiosities ; though, I must allow, after having seen some of the
most beautiful spots in England, I am not sure that I ever saw
so r'ch, and at the same time so grand a view, as we are now
admiring of the Bay of Kingstown and the surrounding
country."

Mr. Elliot showed his visitors his young plantation of nut-
megs, and was kind enough to cut off the only ripe one to
explain to his young friends how the nutmeg grew, for they
had no idea that the nutmeg was inclosed in rind, which,
when dried, was called mace. Indeed, it looked, when fresh,
so exactly the color and size of an apricot, that, had they been
in England, they would have taken it for one. Mr. Elliot
then showed them the jack-fruit, which is very uncommon in
the West Indies ; the fruit is large and coarse, and has a very
disagreeable smell. Mr. Elliot told them " that the fruit
sometimes grew so immense as to weigh thirty pounds."
This tree, in the Botanic Garden, was the only one in the Island.
— Juvenile Forget-me-not.

THE WEST INDIA ISLANDS.

Where first his drooping sails Columbus furled,
And sweetly rested in another world.
Amidst the heaven-reflecting ocean, smiles
A constellation of El^an isles ;
Fair as Orion when he mounts on hij;h.
Sparkling with midnight splendor from the sky ;
They bask beneath the sun's meridian rays,
Where not a shadow breaks the boundless blaze ;
The breath of ocean wanders through their vales,
In morning breezes and in evening gales :
Earth from her lap perennial verj;|yre pours,
Amb|;gsial fri^its and amaranthine flojj^ers ;
O'er the wild mountains aruT luxuriant plains,
Nature in all the pomp of beauty reigns.
In all the pride of freedom. Nature free
Proclaims that Man was born for liberty.
She flourishes where'er the sunbeams play

150

8HAKK ADVEXTLTIE IN PANAMA.

•■>-*-■*-

'/(a

O'er living fountains, sallying into day ;
She withers where the waters cease to roll,
And night and winter stagnate round the pole.
Man, too, where freedom's beams and fountains rise,
Springs from the dust, and blossoms to the slcies :
Dead to the joys of light and life, the slave
Clings to the clod, his root is in the grave :
Bondage is winter, darkness, death, despair ;
Freedom, the sun, the sea. the mountains, and the air.
ci' W<x. Montgomery.

kT.n>

/L .1''. ■ Ju-^"

SHARK ADVENrUllE IN PANAMA.

A NATIVE of the country, called Don Pablo Ochon, who was
for many years the superintendent of the fishery, and who was
himself a practical diver, relates the following adventure, which
he says happened to him in one of his submarine excursions.
Pie had been told of a reef, on which it was said that a great
number of large oysters might be found, and after a great deal
of trouble he succeeded in discovering it. Hoping to pick up
some fine specimens of shells, Don Pablo dived to a depth of
eleven fathoms. The rock was not more than one hundred and
fifty or two hundred yards in circumference. He swam round
it and examined it without seeing any thing to induce him to
prolong his stay under water. As there were no oysters to be
seen, he was preparing to ascend, and he looked up, as divers
generally do, to be sure that no monster is watching them.
When Don Pablo raised his eyes, he saw a tintorero (a species
of shark) standing sentinel over him, a few yards- above his
head, wliich had probably been watching him from the time he
plunged into the water. The size of this monster was so great
that it was useless to think of defending himself with his
pointed stick, for the horrible creature had a mouth that could
have swallowed both stick and man at one mouthful. Don
Pablo felt ill at ease when he saw his retreat so completely cut
off ; but in the water there is not much time for reflection ; he
swam, therefore, as quickly as ho could towards another point
of the rock, hoping thus to deceive the vigilance of his enemy.
Imagine his horror when ho again saw it hovering over his

head, 1
its grea
in such
made I

The
— to be
water t
was on
life, wh
sand on
imagina
soon as
clouds
dark anc
other.
Don Pal
the surfa

Happi
boatmen
escaped 1
used the
Pablo wl
alive. — T

The inhf
which, on
had expe:
where, on
and nigh I
the provi:
drop of ]
miles aroi
stryction <
hot; the
Thursday,
churches,

THE EARTHQUAKE IN CARACCAS.

151

head, like a falcon watching a little bird. The shark rolled
its great fiery eyes, and opened and closed its formidable jaws
in such a way that for long after the very remembrance of it
made Don Pablo tremble.

The unfortunate diver saw only two alternatives before him
— to be drowned, or to be eaten. He had been so long under
water that he could not keep in his breath any longer, and he
was on the point of risini? to breathe, even at the risk of his
life, when he remembered all at once that he had seen some
sand on one of the sides of the rock. He swam thither with all
imaginable speed, always escorted by his attentive enemy. As
soon as he reached the point he intended, he began to raise
clouds of sand with his pointed stick, which made the water so
dark and muddy that the man and the fish lost sight of each
other. Then, profiting by the darkness which he had raised,
Don Pablo ascended speedily in an oblique direction, and reached
the surface safe and sound, but completely exhausted.

Happily, he came up very near one of the boats, and the
boatmen seeing him in such a pitiful state, guessed that he had
escaped by some manoeuvre from an enemy. They accordingly
used the ordinary means to frighten away the monster, and Don
Pablo was drawn into the boat in safety, but more dead than
alive. — Travel and Adventure.

THE EARTHQUAKE OF CARACCAS.

The inhabitants of terra firma were ignorant of the agit^ion,
which, on the one hand, the volcano of the island of St. Vincent
had experienced, and on the otFer, the basin of the Mississippi,
where, on"the 7th and 8th February, 1812, the ground was day
and night in a state of continual oscillation. At this period,
the province of Venezuela laoored un'^er great drought ; not a
drop of rain had fallen at Caraccas, or to the distance of 311
miles around, during the five months which pre^^eded the de-
stryction of the capital. The 26th of March was exccRsively
hot ; the air was calm and the sky cloudless. It was Holy
Thursday, and a great part of the popuh.tion was in the
churcheSf The calamities of the day were preceded by no m-

162

THE EAETHQUAKE IN CARACCAS.

dications of danger. At seven minutes after four in the evening,
the first commotion was felt. It was so strong as to make the
bells of the churches ring. It lasted fr^ m five to six seconds,
and was immediately followed by another shock of from ten to
twelve seconds, during which the ground was in a constant
state of undulation, and heaved like a fluid under ebullition.
The danger was thought to be over, when a prodigious subter-
ranean noise was heard, resembling the rolling of thunder, but
louder and more prolonged than that heard within the tropics
during thunder storms. This noise preceded a perpendicular
motion of about three or four seconds, followed by an undulatory
motion of somewhat longer duration. The shocks were in
opposite directions, from north to south, and from east to west.
It was impossible that any thing could resist the motion from
beneath, upwards, aad the undulations crossing each other.
The city of Caraccas was completely overthrown. Thousands
of the inhabitants (from nine to ten thousand) uere buried
under the ruins of the churches and houses. The processions
had not yet set out ; but the crowd in the churches was so
great that three or four thousand individuals were crushed to
death by the falling in of the vaulted roofs. The explosion
was stronger on the north side of the town, in the part nearest
the mountains of Avila and the Silla. The churches of the
Trinity and Alta Gracia, which were more than a hundred and
fifty feet in height, and of which ti <i nave was supported by
pillars from twelve to fifteen feet in diameter, left a mass ol"
ruins nowhere higher than five or six feet. The sinking of the
ruins had been so great, that at the present hardhy any vestige
remains of the pillars and columns. The barracks, called El
Quartel de San Carlos, situated further to the north of the
Church of tha Trinity, on the road to the custom-house de la
Pastora, alm-SiC entirely disappeared. A regiment of troops of
the line, which was assembled in it under arms to join in the
procession, v^as, with the exception of a few individuals, buried
under this large building. Nine-tenths of the fine town ot
Caraccas were entirely reduced to ruins. The houses which did
not fall, as those of the street of San Juan, near- the Capuchin
Hospital, were so cracked that no one could venture to live in
them. The effects of the earthquake were not quite so
disastrous in the southern and western parts of the town,
between the great square and the ravine of Caraguata ; — there

the Ci

standing

In e

of Car

unhappj

several

The nii

scenes

which

mist, ha(

never wj

the full,

serenity

the~"eart

Mothers

hoped to

quest of

were ignc

from ther

which nc

arranged

111 th(

Lisbon, I

fatal day

under the

loud cries

Never wa

we may s

efforts mi

readied t

adapted fc

and the p

of disintei

as the pati

on the bai

otiier shel

dressing t

every thin

the ruins.

not even i

The comm

falling of

m A

THE EARTHQUAKE IN CARACCAS.

153

evening,
lake the
seconds,
m ten to
constant
bullition.
5 subter-
ttder, but
e tropics
endicular
idulatory
were in
t to west,
tiou from
^h other,
'housands
re buried
rocessious
3 was so
irushed to
explosion
rt nearest
es of the
dred and
jorted by
mass of
iig of the
ly vestige
called M
1 of the
,ise de la.
troops of
n in the
Is, buried
town of
hich did
^japuchiii
;o live in
[quite so
le town,
; — there

the Cathedral, supported by enormous buttresses, remains
standing. ' " . **

In estimating the number of persons killed in the city
of Caraccas at nine or ten thousand, we do not include those
unhappy individuals who were severely wounded, and perished
several months after from want of food and proper attgjjtion.
The night of Holy Thursday presented the most distressing
scenes of desolation anosorrow. The thick cloud of dust
which rose alSove the ruins and darkened the air like a
mist, had fallen again to the ground ; the shocks had ceased ;
never was there a finer or quieter night — the moon, nearly at
the full, illuminated the rounded summits of the Silla, and the
serenity of Hie heavens contrasted strongly with the state of
the^earth, which was strewed with ruins and dead bodies.
Mothers were seen carrying in their arms children whom they
hoped to recall to life ; tiesolate females ran through the city in
quest of a brother, a husband, or a friend, of whose f^e ihey
were ign(y;^nt, and whom they supposed to have been separated
from them in the crowd. The people pressed along the streets,
which now could only be distinguished by heaps of ruins
arranged in lines.

All the csHamities experienced in the great earthquakes of
Lisbon, Messina, Lima, and Riobamba, were repeated on the
fatal day of the 26th of March, 1812. The wounded, buried
under the ruins, implored the assistance of the passers-by with
loud cries, and more than two thousand of them were dug out.
Never was pity displayed in a more affecting manner ; never,
we may say, was it seen more ingeniously active, than in the
efforts made to succor the unhappy persons whose groans
reached the ear. There was an entire want of instruments
adapted for digging up the ground and clearing away the ruins,
and the people were obliged to use their hands for the purpose
of disinterring the living. Tliose who were wounded, as well
as the patients who had escaped from tlie hospitals, were placed
on the bank of the little river of Guayra, where they had no
other shelter than the foliage of the trees. Beds, linen for
dressing their wounds, surgical instruments, medicines, in short
every thing necessary for their treatment, had been buried in
the ruins. During the first days nothing could be procured, —
not even food. Within the city, water became equally scarce.
The commotion had broken the pipes of the fountains, and the
falling of the earth had obstructed the springs which supplied

154 A HAIR-BREADTH ADVEIfTURE IN DEMERARA.

them. To obtain water it was necessary to descend as far as
the Rio Guayra, which was considerably swollen, and there
were no vessels for drawing it. — Humboldt's Travels asd
Researches, ftj^^ c , , o(,. ^ 1 6 ^'/Sd ?

A HAIR-BREADTH ADVENTURE IN DEMERARA.

One morning, — and it was a morning by him never afterward
to be forgotten, — the subject of this anecdote left home, and
proceeded alone on a shooting excursion. I should scarcely
however, be justified in asserting that he went forth absolutely
alone ; for two powerful tiger-hounds followed closely at his
heels. His favorite blood-hound howled long and plaintively
for pci'mission to join the party, but his master was inexorable ;
he was tied up and left behind. Indeed, even the two dogs he
took with him were more as companions than from any idea he
entertained that their services would be called into requisition.
Had he expected danger, it was not on them he would have
relied, but on the noble animal whose courage and fidelity he
had so often proted, and who was now left at home. The day
. passed over without any remarkable encounter ; and Mr. A.
was on his return home, his game-bag laden with feathered
spoil, and a fine buck suspended from a projecting branch of a.
marked tree, awaiting the morning's sun till a slave should be
sent for it. He had now nearly reached the outskirt of the
wood, when he suddenly perceived in the thicket, on one side
of the path through which he must pass, two small faint and
twinkling lights, like that of a pair of glow-worms , his practised
eye informed him that this appearance proceeded from nothing
but the malevolent eyes of a wild beast, whether Cougar, or
Puma or Jaguar, he hesitated not to determine ; one thing was
certain, retreat was fatal, and to advance was apparently equs^lly
so. Now for a I \ shot, a steady hand, and a cool sight, and
you may yet be saved ! Take care, sir ; take care ! The sports-
man's first action is to throw the barrel of his piece, unfortu-
nately only a smooth bore, across his left arm ; the thumb of
bis right hand cautipuily and noiselessly cocks tliQ guq, und tbQ

^RA.

A HAIK-BREADTH ADVE>'TURE IX DEMERARA. 166

as far as
and there
VELS ArlD

ERARA.

' afterward
home, and
d scarcely
. absolutely
)sely at his
plaintively
inexorable ;
wo dogs he

anv idea he
requisition ,
ould have
fidelity he
!. The day
lud Mr. A.
1 feathered
iranch of «*
|e should be
kirt of the
n one side
|1 faint and
is practised
•om nothing
Cougar, or
thing was
tly equally
ll sight, and
The sports-
:e, unfortu-
le thumb of
p, jind thQ

fourth finger of the same hand feels the trigger. Mr. A.
steadily advanced ; he was not suffered to remain long in
suspense ; he had proceeded but three paces, when, with a
terrific cry, the Cougar (for such it was) sprang from its lair,
and dashed upon him : he fired, but apparently without effect.
Where were now his hounds ? They had fled at the first
glimpse of the furious beast, and rent the woods with their
cowardly wailings. He struck, indeed, a few blows with the
butt-end of his piece, but the robber of the forest was too nimble
for him ; a momentary struggle and he was upon his back.
The ferocious Couga^ was standing, or rather crouching, over
him ; one paw was upon his broad chest, and each protruded
talon penetrating his clothes and flesh, caused a stream of blood
to trickle down his side; the other paw grasped his skull, and
he felt as if each claw penetrated to his brain ; his senses reeled
and his blood suffused his eyes, and nearly blinded him ; still,
however, this heroic American fainted not, nor ceased struggling
manfully for the victory. His vigorous arms were extended,
and his hands grasped the monster's throat, thus keeping him
for a time from bringing into play those rapacious jaws which,
as the hunter's strength declined, were gradually advancing into
closer proximity with his face; — such a fearful struggle could
not be of long continuance. The burning eyeballs of the Cougar
glared nearer and more near still, as they looked into the blood-
shot orbits of the prostrate but fearless victim ; their owner was
forced to turn them aside from the encounter, as if conscious of
the dastardly nature of his attack, and the superior bravery,
though inferior strength, of the man upon whom he crouched.
The powers of the man relaxed ; nature had done her utmost —
she was at length exhausted. The darkness of despair was on
the point of plu^iging his senses in unconsciousness, and death
was about to seize upon his victim, when the brushwood behind
him cracked, and yielded before a heavyweight; the . y of a
blood-hound awoke him to consciousness and hope large

animal bounded on the merciless foe : the shock > .icd the
animal from its prey, and the brave hunter felt he was saved.
NeeJ I explain the occasion of this truly providential and
almost miraculous rescue? The favorite blood-hound, which,
on quitting home, he had left behind him, had continued howling
all day, as if possessing a sort of prophetic prescience of the
accident by which hi. own(?r's life would be placed In such

156

THE TAITHFUL NEGRO.

extreme danger ; and having at length broken loose, had gone
forth in quest of his nrissing master, and found him in time,
but only just in time, to save him from one of the most horrible
of deaths. — From the Naturalist.

THE FAITHFUL NEGRO.

In 1848, the French liberated all the slaves in their various
colonies without having given sufficient time for preparations.
The blacks made instant use of their freedom by deserting their
masters and setting up little huts for themselves, with gardens,
where the tropical climate enabled them to grow ull their wants
required without any need for exertion. This was, of course,
ruin to the owners of the large plai;tatioiis hitherto dependent
on slave labor. Amonor those thus deserted was one in French
Guiana, named La Parterre, and belonging to a lady, a widow
with a large family. Out of seventy negro slaves not one
remained on the estate excei)t Paul Dunez, who had become
a sort of foreman, and who promised his mistress that he
would do his utmost for her. He tried at first to obtain
some hired labor ; but, not succeeding, he tried to keep as much
as possible under cultivation, though he had no one to help him
but his wife and young sons. The great difficulty was in
keeping up the dikes which fence out the coast f ronl the sea, on
that low marshy coast of northern South America, a sort of
tropical Holland. Day after day was Paul laboring at the
dikes, and at every spring-tide he would watch for two or
three nights together, so as to be ready to repair any break in
the embankment. This went on for thirty-two months, and
was labor freely given without hire for faithful loyalty's sake :
but at last the equinoctial tides of 1851 were too much for
Paul's single arm — he could not be at every breach at once, and
the plantation was all laid under water.

To work he set again to repair the damage as best he might,
and the government at Cayenne, hearing of his exertions,
resolved to assign to him a prize which had been founded for
the most meritorious laborer in the colony, namely, the sum of
600 francs, and admission for his son into the college at the

THE HCMMrNG BIED.

157

, had gone
m in time,
)st horrible

capital. But Paul's whole devotion was still for his mistress.
Her son, not his son, was sent to the college, and the 600 francs
were expended in fitting out the boy as became the former
circumstances of his family, in whose service Paul continued to
spend himself.

The next year his name was sent up to Paris, and the first
prize of virtue was decreed to him for his long course of self-
denying exertions. — Book of Golden Deeds.

leir various
reparations,
serting their
ith gardens,
their wants
s, of course,
o dependent
3 in French
ly, 11 widow
es not one
had become
ss that he
t to obtain
!ep as much
to help him
Ity was in
the sea, on
la, a sort of
Irins at the
Ifor two or
Ly break in
lonths, and
laity's sake :
much for
It once, and

1st he might,

exertions,

founded for

the sum of

liege at th©

THE HUMMING-BIRD.

The humming bird ! the humming bird !

So fairy like and bright ;
It lives among the sunny flowers,

A creature of delight !

In the radiant islands of the East,

Where fragrant spices grow,
A thousand thousand humming-birds

Go glancing to and fro.

Like living fires they flit about,

Scarce larger than a bee.
Among the brortd palmetto leaves,

And through the fan-palm tree ;

And in those wild and verdant woods.

Where stately mosses tower,
Where hangs from branching tree to tree

The scarlet passion flower ;

Where on the mighty river banks,

La Platte and Amazon,
The cavman, like an old tree trunk,

Lies basking in the sun ;

Thei

here builds her nest the humming bird,
Within the ancient wood —
Her nest of silky cotton down —
And rears her tiny brood.

158 AN ADVENTtJRft IN BRAZIL.

She hangs it to a slender twig,

Where waves it light and free.
As the campanero tolls his song.

And rocks the mighty tree.

, All crimson is her shining breast,
Like to the red, red rose ;
Her wing is the changeful green and blue
That the neck of the peacock shows.

Thou happy, happy humming-bird,

No winter round thee lowrs ;
Thou never saw'st a leafless tree,

Nor land without sweet flowers. /

, A reign of summer joyfulnest

To thee for life is given ;
Thy food, the honey from the flower,
. Thy drink the dew from heaven !

^ AM'^J^"^ H^"^' ^''^'' HOWITT.

// AN ADVENTURE IN BRAZK..

During my stay at Rio de Janeiro, I had heard so much of the
rapidly-increasing prosperity of Petropolis, — a German colony
lately founded in the neighborhood, — of the magnificent
scenery amidst which it lies, of the primeval forests through
which one part, of the road leads, that 1 could not resist the wish
to make an excursion to it. My travelling companion, Count
Berthold, was of the party, and we, therefore, engaged two places
in a boat that goes daily to Port d'Estrello, about twenty-two
leagues off — whence the joarney must be performed by land,
and as the Count wished to botanize, and I to collect insects,
we determined to make it on foot. We passed the night at this
little port, which carries on a considerable trade with the
interior of the country, and the next morning set out on our
pedestrian ramble. We soon found ourselves in a broad valley,
mostly overgrown with thick shrubs and young trees, and
surrounded by lofty mountains. The sides of the road which

AK AbVEKTUkE In fetlAZtt.

lo^

fortn the principal communication with the province of Minaa
Geraes, were adorned by the wild pine-*pple, not yet ripe, jiit
glowing with a lovely rosy red-color ; the taste of the ♦ruit
is, however, not quite equal to its appearance, and it is thereiore
seldom plucked. The sight of the humming-birds also afforded
me great pleasure. One can fancy nothing prettier than these
delicate little creatures, as they hover about, getting their food
out of the cups of flowers, like butterflies, for which, indeed, in
their rapid flight, they may easily be mistaken. The appearance
of the forest did not quite fulfil my pre-conceived notions, as I
had expected thick and high trunks of trees ; but I believe the
power of vegetation is too strong for vhi- ; the large trees are
choked and rotted by the mass of smaile ones, of creepers and
parasites, that spring up around thcL . Both the latter are so
abundant, and cover these trees so entirely, that one can often
hardly see their leaves, much less t eir trunks. A botanist
here assured me that he had Qf xnted, on a single tree, six
and thirty different species.

We had made a rich harvest of flowers, plants, and insects,
and were pursuing our way, enchanted by the glories of the
woods, and not less by the views of mountain and valley, sea
and bay, which opened to us from time to time ; and as we
approached a ridge of mountain, 3,000 feet high, which we had
to ascend, we met several troops of negroes and other passengers.
It did not, therefore, occur to us to take much notice of the
movements of a single negro who appeared to be following us.
As soon, however, as we had reached a rather solitary spot, he
suddenly sprang on us, with a long knife in one hand and a
lasso in the other, and gave us to understand, by very expressive
gestures, that it was his intention to murder us and drag us
into the wood. We- had no weapons — for this part of the road
had been represented to us as quite safe — and nothing to
defend ourselves with but our umbrellas. I had, however, in
my pocket, a penknife, which I instantly drew out, and opened,
fully resolved to sell my life as dearly as possible. We warded
off several blows which our assailant aimed at us, but the
umbrellas did not hold out long. He broke mine short off, so
that only the handle, was left in my hand ; but, in the struggle,
he dropped his long knife. I darted after it, but he was quicker,
and getting hold of it again, gave me with it two deep cuts in
the arm. Despair, however, gave me courage, and I made a
thrust at his breast with my pocket-knife, but I only wounded

m....

160

AN ADVENTURE IN IJRAZiL.

his hand, and he threw me down. The Count now seized hinl
from behind, and this gave me the opportunity of gfttinnj up
again ; but my companion had received a severe wound, ii:id it
would certainly have been all over with us had we not heard on
the road the sound of horsemen approaching. As soon as the
negro distinguished this sound he desisted from his attack, and,
gnashing his teeth like a wild beast, fled into the wood. Imme-
diately afterwards the riders made their appearance round a
turning in the road ; we hastened towards them, and the appear-
ance of our umbrellas, and our freshly-bleeding wounds, soon
explained our condition. They inquired what direction the
fugitive had taken, sprang from their horses, and hastened after
him, but they would scarcely have overtaken him had not two
negroes lent their assistance. He was at length brought in, tied
f;ist, and when he refused to walk, received such a shower of
heavy blows on the head that I thought the poor creature's skull
must have been beaten in. He remained, nevertheless, lying
on the ground, quite motionless, until the two other negroes
were compelled ii take him up and carry him to the nearest
house, struggling, and making furious attempts to bite. It was
not till afterwards that I learned that he had been, a short time
before, punished by his master for some offence, and when he
met us in the wood, he probably thought it would be an
excellent opportunity to revenge himself on the whites.

The Count and I got our wounds bound up, and then
continued our excursion, not altogether without fear, but in
perpetual admiration of the lovely landscape. — Madame
Pfeiffer.

BRAZIUAN SCENERY

CONQUEST OF PERU.

161

3ize(l him
'ttiii;:^ up
kI, iiiid it

heard on
ion as the
tack, and,
. Imme-

round a
le appear-
inds, soon
iction the
ened after
d not two
ht in, tied
shower of
lire's sknll
less, lying
er negroes
he nearest
e. It was

short time
I when he
aid be an

and then
!ar, but in
Madame

CONQUEST OF PERU.

HuAYNA Capae, the last monarch, under whom the country-
had seen its greatest prosperity, left at his death two sons. To
the one, Iluascar. he left the enyjire ; to the other Atahualpa
tlio province of Quito. Atahualpa revolted, and though at first
defeatril and taken prisoner, he contrived to escape, and in turn
made his brother Iluascar a captive.

Just at this jun(^xire the apprg p ,ch of the Spaniards was
made known to Atahualpa, and he marched against them with-
out dclav. On reachini; the citv of Caxamalca, Pizarro beheld
tlic Peruvian army encj^nped with a de<jree of regulgj;ity which
proved to him that further progi-ess would be ditHcult, if not
itn[)0ssihle. It is probable that, in his desjiierationriie formed
the scheme of treacherously possessing himself of the ])erson of
the Inca. as a sure mode of attaining his o])ject. Some his-
torians of our countrv, more zealous for its honor than for the
truth, ha\e attempted to show that the blame of this trans-
action rests with the Inca, who, they say, was caught in ^ is
own trap ; but the dexterous audacity, the craft, and remorsd*
4 k *• 11

f " •

J.'.jfi

■

iftf

Pf*

»^"

itt

^tP

;■■■■:{

1«2

CONQUEST or PEBU.

less cruelty exhibited by Pizarro, and the part he took through-
out the whole affair, clearly iudicatu that the desiga was his
own.

' Two oflicers, commanding detachments of cavalry, bore his
homage to the Inca. On their approach, Atahualpa came
forward to meet them, and demanded the reason of their enter-
ing his country. In reply, they said that Don Fi-ancisco
Pizarro, their captain, greatly desired the honor of an audience
of his majesty, in order to state why he had entered his king-
dom, and to beseech him to sup with him in the evening, in the
city, or on the following day to dine with him. To this the
Inca replied that the day was now near a close, and that on
the morrow he would enter the city with his army, but that
the Spaniards ought not on this account to be disconcerted.

On the following day, Atahual{)a, agreeably to his promise,
proceeded at the head of 20,000 of his. troops, to enter Cax-
amalca. He was carried by his chief nobles on a litter, beauti-
fully ornamented with gold. His person was a blaze of jewels,
and on his forehead was the sacred tuft, or Borla, peculiar to
the descendants of the Sua. The slowness with which the
procession moved brought it to the city laie in the evening ;
and had the Inca delayed his visit but one day longer, the fall
of the empire might have yet been averted, for the ambuscades
planted by Pizarro would, doubtless, have been discovered during
the night by some stragglers from a camp so large as that of
the Peruvians. As it was, however, his curiosity was fatal to
him, and his desire to see a aet of men whom he considered the
most exalted' of mankind, led him blindly into the snare.
Pizarro had pointed his cannon to command the gates, placed
his musketry in ambush, formed his cavalry into squadrons,
and with twenty shield-bearers as a body-guard, awaited the
execution of his infamous plot.

On entering the fatal gates, the Inca, forgetful of his usual
gravity, exhibited the utmost curiosity, starting up in his
palanquin, and examining every object with the greatest
eagerness.

A Dominican friar, bearing a cross and Bible, now approached
him. The friar declared t\. t the Pope had given Peru to Spain ;
that he owed the Pope his allegiance ; and that the book he
carried showed the only way by which the Deity could be wor--
shipped ; and that unless he granted peace to the new Governor,
of Peru, his coiintry would be given up to all the horrors of w-m

l\f *■:

CONQUEST OF PERU.

163

t through-
a was his

, bore his
Alpa came
their enter-

F^rancisco
II audience

his king-
ling, in the
ro this the
,nd that on
y, but that
arted.

is promise,
enter Cax-
tter, beauti-
e of jewels,
peculiar to

which the

16 evening ;

zer, the fall

ambuscades

ered during

as that of
as fatal to
isidered the

the snare.
ites, placed

squadrons,
awaited the

>f his usual
up in his
lie greatest

approached
•u to Spain ;
pa book he
laid be wor-
Governor,
[rors of w.kr

On this, the Inca inquired, " Wliere am I to find your religion ? "
'' In this book," said the friar. He then took the book, and,
opening it, placed it to his ear. After a pyuse, he exclaimed,
flinging it contemptuously down, " This has no tongue ; it tells
me nothing."

The friar, horrified at the act of impiety, urged his country-
men to revenge the insult oft'ered to the Deity. The danger of
his situation was now apparent to the Inca, and turning to his
officers, his words instantly produced murmurs of anger and
indignation.

Pizarro then gave the signal to his troops, who immediately
poured on the unfortunate Peruvians a simultaneous discharge
from cannon, musketry, and crossbows. The cavalry attacked
the King's body-guard, and broke through it at the first charge ;
and Pizarro, following up the attack with his shield-bearers, at-
tempted to take the luca alive. Now was displayed that
fortitude and devoted loyalty for which the Indian of Peru is
still characterized. A band of faithful nobles surrounded their
sovereign, and only left his side to •throw themselves in front of
the enemy. Their number rapidly decreased ; and the Inca
would have died fighting for his liberty, had not Pizarro rushed
forward to the litter, and, seizing Atahualpa, pulled him to the
ground. On seeing their leader fall, the Peruvians conceived
him slain, and immediately gave up the contest, following the
practice of their ancestors. The struggle was now at an end,
and the Peruvians thought only of flight, and in their terror
the crowd burst through the walls and fled in every direction.
Two thousand were slain within the city, and not a Spaniard
had been wounded but Pizarro, who received a spear thrust in
the hand.

The scene which now followed baffles all description. The
dreams of Spanish adventurers were now more than fulfilled ;
and the reality far exceeded what had been anticipated. The
oaptive Inca, seeing the base purpose for which his enemies
had come, offered, if he was set at liberty, to cover the floor of
his chamber with wedges of gold and silver. His ofler was
received with incredulous shouts of lauirhter. and niistakiiisj it
for the laugh of contempt, he started up, and stretchii; up his
arms, offered to fill the room as high as he could rea This

unparalleled ransom was instantly accepied, and Pi/., ro J^ent
three of his soldiers to hasten the arrival of the Inca's mes-

seni^ersi

£f1' f f fe

164

CONQUEST OF PERU.

As the Spanish soldiers passed through the country on their
way to the capital, Cuzco, they were received with every mark
of honor, and the ransom would soon have been levied but
for t!i-.ir immorality, which defeated the ol)ject of their mission.

The treasure of the country w^as collected in the different
temples, and it was hastily concealed by the priests, along with
the temple ornaments. The messengers were unsuccessful ;
and it was only after Hernando, the brother of .Pizarro, had
been sent with twenty horses, that the treaty was enforced.
Twenty-six horse loads of gold, and a thousand pounds weight
of silver, were biought in by this means, besides what was
brought by the caciv^ues and captive -generals of the Inca.

At the distribution of this enormous booty, after deducting
a fifth for the king, 9,000 pesos (ounces) of gold fell to the
share of each soldier, besides 300 marcas (eiglit ounces each) of
silver. The share of the commander-in-chief was enormous,
amounting to a7,120 pesos of gold, and 2,o.)0 marcas of silver,
and the gold tablet taken from the litter of the Inca, valued at
25,000 pesos. ,

Their avarice was now satisfied : and the next struggle was
for ambition — a struo^le which was fatal to these daring men
— laying them in succession in a bloody grave.

For some time Pizarro governed the country by means of
the fallen King ; but his ambition was not satisfied with this — he
resolved to govern in his own name alone. The Inca was ac-
cused of plotting insurrection, and he was shamefully put to
death, with many of his nobles. One of his sons was placed
as a puppet on the throne, and Pizarro, in the year 1553, took
possession of the royal city of Cuzco, after a long but ineffectual
resistance of the Peruvians. The city was given up to pillage,
and the spoil, when divided, afforded to each soldier 4,000 pesos,
tliough the number of the claimants was 480. But the nml-
titude who followed the army soon plundered the plunderers.
Pizarro had now reached the height of his ambition, having
nothing more to hope fur, but every thing to fear. Dissension
and rebellion broke out in the empire, and, worse than all, the
Spaniards quarrelled among themselves. Almagro, a man of
great bravery, though unequal to Pizarro in cunning, unsatisfied
with his position, tjok up arms against him, but was defeated,
taken prisoner, and strangled.

Soon after, Pizarro. now the Marquis de las Ohazcas, was
assassinated, i'uUiug a victim to the revenge of Diego, the son

of Aim
the cai
sustains
the sam
anrelen

A MARV

good fol
pathos
the Lioi
investiga
ticity of
Durin<
Paraguaji
the catti
soft persi
inhabitan
garments
regarded
on all the
sea had, e
dwelt on i
how the
however,
who were
subject, i
thinking.

What ij
tliat out ii
there was
Indians, w
(lid not ch(
l)is camp 1)
for bread,
to go into
outskirts o:
banner of

STOKv OF MIALDOXATA AND Ti^lE PUMA.

165

on their
ery mark
ivied but
r mission.

different
long with
iccessful ;
arro, had

enforced.
[Is weight
what was
ca.

deducting
ell to the
!S each) of
enormous,
5 of silver,
, valued at

ruirsle w^as
laring men

means of
,h this — He
ca was ac-
lUy put to
as placed
1553, took
ineffectual
to pillage,
000 pesos,
the mul-
ilunderers.
n, having
Dissension
|an all, the
a man of
unssitistied
defeated,

lazcas, was
\o, the son

of Almagro, whom he had caused to be strangled. Thus ended
the career of the most remarkable man of his age, who hac" *
sustained his fortune by the most consummate daring, and at
the same time, I am bound to say, by many acts of fraud and
unrelenting cruelty. — Annals of Romantic Adventure.

STORY OF MALDONATA AND THE PUMA.

A MARVELLOUS legend concerning a puma is treasured by the
good folks of Buenos Ajres — a legend that for romance and
pathos quite eclipses the world-famed story of Androcles and
the Lion ; and I am bound to state, that the most thorough
investigation has discoven.'d no reason for doubting the authen-
ticity of the one legend mere than the other.

During the government of Don Diego de Mendoza, in
Paraguay, a direful famine swept the land. A murrain fell on
the cattle, and the hari-liearted earth, lacking the rain's
soft persuasion, refused to yield a single green blade. As the
inhabitants sauntered listlessly through the silent streets, their
garments hung sluttishly on their lean bodies ; and as they
regarded each other with eyes great with hunger, they thought
on all they had heard of the way in which famishing men at
sea had, ere now, assuag(!d their appetites ; and the more they
dwelt on it, the more excusable the thing appeared. That was
how the strong, gaunt men, viewed the matter ; it is probable,
however, if the tender youth of the city, and the little men
who were onstitutioualjy plump, had been consulted on the
subject, they would prohably have been of a different way oi
thinking.

What LT .de the desti ution more aggravating was the fact,
tliat out hf the eci'.i'.fry, and beyond Don Diego's jurisdiction,
there was food in ploniv ; hut the food was in the hands of the
Indians, with wlioni the S|»;inish governor was at war, and he
(lid not choose that his subjects shoulrt reveal the weakness of
his camp by appearing before l^he enemy as lean beggars suing
for bread. To this end, he forbade the people, onpaiu of death,
to go into the field«i in search of relief, placing soldiers at the
outskirts of the city, tc shoot down all deserters from the pala
baauer of hun^ , that hung over Don Diego's dominions.

„..,.•/,**-'■

1G6

STOr.y OF MALDOXATA AND THE PUMA.

['^m :

wl'

;K:|:

yflu^-'

Mm I i

Many made the attempt, and were duly brought down by ihe
ballet, much to the satisfaction of the animated carrion bones-
and-feathers, that perched disconsolate on the city walls. At
last, however, a woman, named Maldonata, cheated soldiers,
vultures, and all, and fled into the open country.

How long a time elapsed before l)er indomitable courage was
rewarded with a meal, the legend does not record; but, »'heii
night came, and Maldonata required a lodging, she crept into
a cavern and there crouched down to sleep. By-and-by, how-
ever, she was roused bv the most melancholy moaninjjs, and.
raising her head, her astonished eyes met those of a great female
puma pacing up and down before the cavern entrance. Th*
puma presently paused in its uneasy pacing, and approached
Maldonata with the full intention, as that person naturally su])-
posed, of eating her up ; but wonderful to relate, instead ot
falling on her tooth and nail, it merely applied its tongue, and
kicked Maldonata's hand, as a lap-dog might, htrs being the lap it
■was familiar with. The fact, however, was, the poor puma was
about to become a mother ; and when the cubs were born and
the animal out of its trouble, it still maintained the friendly
spirit it had at first evinced, and signified, as plainlv as a dumb
beast could, its desire that Maldonata should con nue to make
herself at home — cheerfull}' taking upon it, J the whole
responsibility of providing food for the entire family.

This state of things continued till the cubs grew up and
went about their business, as did their parent, leaving Maldonata
to shift for herself. But venturing abroad, she speedily fell
into the hands of the soldiers, who brought her back to Buenos
Ayres, and took her before Don Francis Ruez De Galen, who
then commanded in Mendoza's stead. " Take her," said De
Galen, who was a man of coarse and bloody mind, " take her
into the forest, and bind her to a tree ; as to her death, let
starvation and the wild beasts settle it amongst them." So poor
Maldonata was taken, and tied, and left in the forest.

Curioup to know the fate of the woman, however, the same
company of soldiers, two days afterwards, visited the spot.
when, instead of finding, as they confidently expected, the
empty waist chain dangling from the tree, and the victim^
tattered and talon-torn rags strewing the ground, there she was.
alive, with a great female puma keeping sentry before her, and
guarding her from a host of other pumas and jaguars that
chafed and mouthed on every side. As soon as the guardian

VIA.

lown by ihc
irrion bones-
Y walls. At
ted soldiers.

courajre was
I; but, v'hen
e crept into
and-by, how-
Danings, and.
great female
;rance. Tlu
[ approached
laturally sup-
;, instead ot
, tongue, and
;ing the lap it
)or puma was
ere born and

the friendly
Iv as a dumb

nue to make
i the whole

ew up and

y Maldonata

speedily fell

c to Buenos

Galen, who

said De

d, " take her

r death, let

n." So poor

St.

rer, the same

ed the spot.

expected, the
the victim's*

here she was.

jfore her, and
jaguars that
the guardian

!r,

THE GArCHO OF THE PAMPAS.

167

puma saw the .soldier;!, she, with the rest of the savage beasts,
retired ; and then, having been released from hei bonds, Mal-
donata related the story of the puma in the cavern, and liow
that it, and the one that had protected her through two long
days and nights, were identical. Hearing this, the soldiers
ventured to represent the case to De Galen ; who, ashamed to
avow himself more heartless than a puma, pardoned Maldonata,
uud sent her home to her family. — Wild Sports of the World.

THE GAUCHO OF THE PAMPAS.

TiORN in the rude hut, the infant Gaucho receives little atten-
tion, but is left to swing from the roof in a bullock's hide, the
corners of which are drawn towards each other by four strips
of hide. In the first year of his life, he crawls about without
clothes, and I have more than once seen a mother give a child
of this age a sharp knife, a foot long, to play w'th. As soon as
lie walks, his infantine amusements are those which prepare
him for the occupation of his future life ; with a lasso made of
twine he tries to catch little birds, or the dogs, as ihey walk in
and out of the huts. By the time he is four years old he is on
horseback, and becomes useful by assisting to drive the cattle
into the village. The manner in which these children ride is
extraordinary ; if a horse tries to es<:;'pe from the flock which is
being driven to the corral, a child may frequently be seen to
pursue and overtake him, and then bring him back, flogging
him the whole way ; in vain the creature tries to dodge and
escape, for the child always keeps close to him ; and it is a
curious fact, that a mounted horse is alway.^ able to overtake a
loose one.

His amusements and occupations soon become more manly ;
careless of the holes which undermine the plains, and which
are very dangerous, he gallops after the ostrich, the gama, the
lion, and the tiger ; he catches the wild cattle, and then drags
them to the hut, either for slaughter or to be mark(-d. He
breaks in the young horses, and in these occupations is often
away from his hut many days, changing his horse as soon as
the animal is tired, and sleeping on the ground. His constant

.. f

I' f'

^;>V

iMiiM

168

THE GAtJCHO Ol^ tHl-: PA^iPVS.

.')-i.(

food is beef and water ; his ooiiSt.itution i.. so ^f.mr<r that he is
able to endure great fatigue, and the distance he will I'idn, and
the number of hours he will remain on ]iorsei)ack, would hardly
be credited. The unrestrained freedom of sueh a life he fully
appreciates ; and, unactpiainted witli subjection oi; any sort^ his
mind is often inspired with sentiments of libcty which are as
noble as they ai"e harudess. althouixh they do o" coui'sc partake
of the wild habits of his life. Vain is the endeavor to explain
to liim the luxuries and blessing;* of a more civilized life ; his
ideus are, that the noblest effort of a man is to raise himself
off the ground, and ride instead of walk ; that no rich garments
or varieties of food can atone :^or the want of a horse, and the
print of a human foot on the <,n-ound is the symbol of barbarism.
—Sir F. B. Head

::^

Of flowe
fr
^ haa mv
iiut I mi
\V"as the
E

The Rosf
Drift o'ei
■'^iie hows
>nie smile

A lion w;
l-^ set wit
I>iit der>p
^Vlappod

rrn

Then, Ion
All green

•i.:.''

f -i h

i*'.

I .1]

A NATIONAL SONG.

Of flowers that bloom in i^artlens lair, that bloom in '^noadowri

^ haa my choice of all that blow, and I chose me only ^i je ;
But I must have them all or none, — the first one that chose
Was the Queen of all the Flowers that be — the red, tlio royal
Rose !

>(«■

>J^^A

The Rose tliat blooins upon the rock, and lets the salt sea-spriy
Drift o'er her cheek, nor asks if ^his be answer or be J^iay ;
She Icjws not down her stately head for any breeze that blows,
She smiles in kindness on her friends, in pride upon her foes.

A lion \v:itchc;s by her foot, and all her irallant stem

* t

Is set with thorns, ah ! woe betide the hand that touches them .
l»nt deep witiiin the Rose's h.vart. in many a silken fold,
\\*iap[)ed ronn<l and round, a treasure lies of fragrance and of

Then, lone and free, by hill and lea, uuguarded. yet unharmed,
All green T saw the Thistle grow — that groweth ready armed ;

iff.]

170

A NATIONAL SONG.

!I)

ill

I ^^fSuuBsnt^

'U'*' '

i^^

' .^K

iif

^^K

■ Wm

Sho flings her arrowy seeds afar to thrive where'er they fall,
Oh, grasp the hardy Thistle close, or grasp it not at all !

Oh, love the Thistle well, for she will love thee to the end,
For scorching sun she will not droop, for storm she will not

bend ;
How fair upon the Thistle's head her purple-tasselled crown.
And, oh, within the Thistle's heart how soft and kind the down !

But I must seek a milk-white flower, a flower that loves the

West,
I only found a little leaf with mystic signs imprest ;
" Hast thou no flower ? " I sadly said : " and hast thou nought to

show
But this thy high and heavenward hope, but this thy patient

woe ? "

Yet, saints have loved thee, fairies danced across thee at thy

birth,
And thine are gifts that suit with grief, and gifts that suit with

mirth
Smile on green leaf, to kindly trust, to Wit, to Valor dear,
We would not miss thy smiJe although thou smilest through a

tear.

Of flowers that bloom in gardens fair, that bloom in meadows

free.
Now I have had my choice of all, and I have chosen three ;
I would not live, I would not die, 1 would not sing for one,
1 love them ail so v/ell that 1 must have them all or none I

Dora Greenwell.

It is

,t loves the

thee at thy
it suit with

t through a

in meadows

rREENWELL.

LONDON.

171

THE ROYAL EXCHANGE.

LONDON.

It is a sinijnlar fact, that almost from the days when London
was only a cluster of huts on a little patch of firm ground,
between a dense forest and a reedy fen, its extension has been
exposed to every species of check and obstacle. The Romans
burned down the British city, and a new one rose from its
ashes, to be in turn destroyed by the Danes, and re,-built by the
Saxons. Successive sovereigns issued proclamations against the-
increase of the city. Parliament and corporation seconded the
prohibition, but to no purpose. Yet the growth of the capital,
which gave rise to such apprehensions, was slow and imper-
ceptible compared with what it has been since the beginning of
the present century. The London of to-day is equal to three such
Londons as that of 1800. It has already a population of nearly
three millions, which will, in all probability, be doubled before
the end of the century. Its commerce has kept pace with its
population. In 168i;, the inhabitants boasted of the forest of
masts which covered the river from the Bridge to the Tower.

■ "u','

' \ si

172

LONDON.

I;
i!

The shipping of London was then about seventy thousand tons,
or more than a third of the whole tonnage of the kingdom ; but
less than a fourth of the present tonnage of Newcastle, and
about as much as the tonnage of the steam-vessels of the
Thames. There are now three thousand vessels with an aggro-
gate tonnage of a million, belonging to the port ; and the
tonnage of the vessels yearly entered " inwards " considerably
exceeds six millions, of which the proportion of British bottoms
is as si^j to one.

The forest of masts now covers the river from Limehouse to
London Bridge, and also vast docks which have been excavated
on each side. At the end of the last century the river had
become too confined for the accommodation of the shipping
which resorted thither. It was often blocked up by fleets of
merchantmen, which had sometimes to submit to a long delay
before they could unship their cargoes. The quays also were
heaped with bales, boxes, bags, and barrels, so as to be almost
impassable, and thieves profited by the confusion to commit
constant and serious depredations. For the covenience of
traders, and the protection of goods ''j was resolved to excavate
wet docks, capable of receiving a large number of ships, together
with spacious and secure warehouses. The West India Docks,
the first of these undertakings, and the largest belonging to the
port, were opened in 1802. They comprise nearly three hundred
acres, of which a fourth is water, and can accommodate five
hundred large merchantmen. With these are now incor-
porated the East India Docks, covering thirty acres, which
were opened in 1808. The London Docks date from 1805.
The walls enclose a hundred acres, of which a third is water.
The tobacco warehouse, which occupies five acres of ground, and
can contain twenty-four thousand hogsheads of tobacco, and a
vast series of subterranean vaults for storing wine, of which
there is room for sixty-five thousand pipes, are among the
wonders of the metropolis. The Commercial, St. Catherine's
and Victoria Docks, also receive a great number of vessels
annually. The last named are the most recent, and in extent
rank next to the West India Docks, having an area of two
hundred acres. The part of the river known as the Pool is
reserved for colliers, but is not large enough to accommodate
them all at once. Only a certain number are allowed to
enter at a time, and a flag is hoisted to announce when the
•pace is all occupied. The rest ha^ then to aachor a littl*

further
the firs

The
amouni
ulthou^
idea of
visit to
the si":l
from al
their sit
as badi;
days an
dangers
been e^
pool !
and in
sea-fariii
the Dai
built D
favorite
Italian,
and dist
wanting
turbable
world ; ]
shirted
even a fl
handkert
his felloe

But t
immensil
the worli
in those
chests of
mines of
bales of (
Indies t(
chests of
lieads of
lemons, j
cases in '
pork fror

LONDON.

173

further down the river, and wait until a de[uirture occurs, when
the first in order of arrival takes tiie vacant })lace.

The value of the trade of London may he inferred from the
amount of custom-dues, which now exceed £1 1.000,000 a year,
althouy;h they were only £330,000 a year in 1085. The best
idea of its extent and variety is, however, to he obtained by a
visit to the chief docks. There is something very impressive in
the sight of such a great concourse of vessels gatiiered together
from all quarters of the world, bearing red strij)es of rust upon
their sides, or, perhaps, clusters of barnacles below water-mark,
as badges of their pilgrimage across the deep. How many weary
days and nights have been spent upon the waters, how many-
dangers have been overcome, how much skill and courage have
been exercised, before they cast anchor in this still, sheltered
pool! The flags of all nations are flying at the mast-heads ;
and in the mariners we see the men of many lands. P]very
sea-farin-T people of the Continent is, of courvse, represented here ;
the Dane, with his blue eyes and fair hair ; the squat, broad-
built Dutchman ; the Frenchman, slim and agile, with his
favorite red cowl and high boots ; the bearded Russ ; the
Italian, Spaniard, and Portuguese, alike swarthy and passionate,
and distinguishable only by their tongues. Nor are there
wanting denizens of regions more remote, — tall, sallow, imper-
turbable Yankees, the most spirited and daring seamen in the
world ; Lascars, shivering in the cold English sunshine ; red-
shirted Brazilians, and wild-looking Malays, with, perhaps,
even a flat-faced Chinaman, with his tail hidden away under a
handkerchief to preserve it from the rough practical humor of
his fellow voyagers.

But the caigoes afford the best evidence of the wealth and
immensity of our commerce. Specimens of all the produce of all
the world are discharged upon these long quays, and stowed away
in those high, many-storied warehouses. There are iron-bound
chests of gold from the placeros of Australia, or silver from the
mines of Mexico and Peru. These bundles of raw silk, these
bales of cotton, these piles of dye-woods, are the gifts of the two
Lidies to the weavers of England. One ship is discharging
chests of fine teas ; another, pipes of rich wines ; a thii d, hogs-
lieads of tobacco, and boxes of fragrant cigars. Oranges and
lemons, glowing through the bursting sides of the slender wooden
cases in which they are packed, are discharged alongside of salt
pork from Connecticut and salt cod from Nantucket. In one

i ■'■ f''

f . '

1 i

- T

. !-',

it '.'».

I '-

1 !

_ . «-

#i'-i

i- !i

174

THE BEST KI^'D OF KEVE^"GE.

shed stacks of timber, of beautiful grain, are being raised ; in
another, costly turs from the steppes of Siberia, or the hunting-
grounds of Hudson Bay, have found a temporary resting place.
In yonder warehouse lie vast heaps of elephants' tusks and
rhinoceros' horns from the deserts of Africa, and stag antlers
from the Deccan. Hemp, hides, tallow, tar, grain, sugar, oil,
also abound among the motley contents of this overflowing horn
of plenty.

As one surveys this vast variety of produce, one is led to
think of the legions of laborers in all quarters of the globe to
whose skill and industry we owe these things. The coster-
monger as he puffs his pipe, and the old charwoman as she sips
her cup of tea, may reflect with pride that they are waited opi
by more servants than compose a royal retinue ; and that every
time they rap on the counter for their ounce of tobacco or little
dose of tea, they are issuing commands to thousands of their
fellow-creatures' which will not fail to be as implicitlv obeved
as though they fell from the lips of a monarch. In tracing out
the many links in the long chain of events, which are involved
in the simplest transaction over a grocer's counter, more true
romance and more real wonders are disclosed than in the
wildest narrative of fairy lore. — Merchant Enterprise.

THE BEST KIND OF REVENGE.

Some years ago, a warehouseman, in Manchester, England,
published a scurrilous pamphlet, in which he endeavored to
hold up the house of Grant Brothers to ridicule. William
Grant remarked upon the occurrence, that the man would live
to repent what he had done ; and this was conveyed by some
tale-bearer to the libeller, who said, " Oh, I suppose he thinks
I shall some time or other be in his debt ; but I will take good
care of that." It happens, however, that a man in business can
not always choose who shall be his creditors. The pamphleteer
became a bankrupt, and the brothers held an acceptance of his
which had been indorsed to them by the drawer, who had also
become a bankrupt.

The wantonly-libelled had thus become creditors of the
libeller ! They now had it in their power to make him repent

THE BEST KIND OF REVENGE.

175

of his audacity. He could not obtain his certificate without
their signature, an(i without it he could not enter into business
again. He had obtained the number of signatures required by
tlie bankrupt law, except one. It seemed tolly to hope that the
tirni of •• the brothers " would supply the deficiency. What !
they who had cruelly been made the laughing-stocks of the
])ublic forget the wrong, and favor the wrongdoer ? He
despaired. But the claims of a wife and children forced him at
last to make the application ; and, humbled by misery, he
presented hiuisulf at the counting-house of the wronged.

Mr. William Grant was there alone, and his first words to
the delinquent were, " Shut the door, sir ! " — sternly uttered.
The door was shut, and the libeller stood trembling before the
libelled. He told his tale, and produced his certificate, which
was instantly clutched by the injured merchant. "You wrote
a pamphlet against us once ! " exclaimed Mr. Grant. The sup-
])licaut expected to see his parchment thrown into the fire.
l>ut this was not its <lestination. Mr. Grant took a pen, and
writing something ui)on the document, handed it back to the
bankrupt. He, poor wretch ! expected to see '* rogue, scoundrel,
libeller," inscribed ; but there was, in fair, round characters, the
signature of the firfti.

" We make it a rule," said Mr. Grant, " never to refuse
signing the certificate of an honest tradesman, and we have
never heard that you were any thing else." The tears started
into the poor man's eyes. " Ah," said Mr. Grant, "my saying
was true. I said you would live to repent writing that
])amphlet. I did not mean it as a threat. I only meant that
some day you would know us better, and be sorry you had tried
to injure us. I see you repent of it now." "I do, I do!"
said the grateful man ; '■' I bitterly repent it." " Well, well,
my dear fellow, you know us now. How do you get on? What
are you going to do ? " The poor man stated that he had friends
who could assist him when the certificate was obtained. •• But
how are you ott' in the mean time ? "

And the answer was, that, having given up every farthing
lo his creditors, he had been compelled to stint his family of
even comniou necessities, that he might be enabled to pay the
cost of his certificate. *' My dear fellow, this will not do ; your
family must not suffer. Be kind enough to take this ten-pound
note to your wife from me. There, there, my dear* fellow!
Nay, don't cry ; it will be all well with you yet. Keep up your

? 1'

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(716)f72*4S03

176

THE STAGE COACH.

spirits, set to work like a man, and you will raise your head
among us yet." The overpowered man endeavored in vain to
express his thanks : the swelling in his throat forbade words.
He put his handkerchief to his face and went out of the door
crying likq a, child. — Cuaaib^rs. j^^ ; jUcOt »>7 '

/ THE STAGE COACH. r

UXUCf

When the coach came round at last, with " London " blazoned
in letters of gold upon the boot, it gave Tom such a turn that
he was half inclined to run away. But he didn't do it ; for he
took his seat upon the box instead, and looking down upon the
four grays, felt as if he were another gray himself, or, at all
events, a part of the turn-out ; and was quite confused by the
novelty and splendor of his situation.

And, really, it might have confused a less modest man than
Tom to find himself sitting next that coachman ; for, of all
the swells that ever flourished a whip, professionally, he might
have been elected emperor. He didn't handle his gloves like
another man, but put them on — even when he was standing on
the pavement, quite detached from the coach — as if the ^our
grays were, somehow or other, at the ends of his fingers. It was
the same with his hat. Pie did thMi<;s witn his hat which nothinj;
but an unlimited knowledge of horses, and the wildest freedom
of the road, could ever have made him perfect in. Valuable
little parcels were brought him, with particular instructions,
and he pitched them into his hat, and stuck it on again, as if
the laws of gravity did not admit of such an event as its being
knocked off or blown off, and nothing like an accident could
befall it. The guard, too ! Seventy breezy miles a day were
written in his very whiskers. His manners were a canter; his
conveisation a round trot. He was a fast coach upon a down-
bill turnpike road; h« was all pace. A wagon couldn't have
moved slowly with that guard and hia key-bugle on the top
of it. I

These were all foreshado wings of London, Tom thought, as
he sat upon the box, and looked about him. Such a coachman
and such ti guard never could have existed between Salisbury
aod any other place. The coach was uoue of your steady-goiug

yokel

coach

life. H

It rattle

took th

making

country

its last

It Wj

with the

sity anc

captivati

The foui

as Tom <

the c(>ael

hummed

was an <

jingling,

buckles c

boot, waf

Yo, ho

and peop

drawn sa

horses, wl

and held

until the

Ycho! 1

with rusl

green, an<

dead. Y

and whei

rick yards

showing, i

Yo, ho ! <

splash, an

Yo, ho !

Yo, ho!

the deep

light and

miles awa

Yo, ho I b

yet, and e
4r

^nt STAGE COACff.

177

ur head

vain to

) words.

he door

^.c'Ji

blazoned
turn that
t ; for he
jpon the
)r, at all
1 by the

nan than

or, of all

he might

oves like

iding on

the ^our

It was

h nothing

freedom

Valuable

ructions,

lit), as if

its being

nt could

ly were

Iter ; his

a dowu-

n't have

the top

)ught, as
oachman
Salisbury
dy-goiug

yokel coaches, but a swaggering, rakish, dissipated London
coach ; up all night, and lying by all day, and leading a terrible
life. It cared no more for Salisbury than if it had been a hamlet.
It rattled noisily through the best streets, defied the cathedral,
took the worst corners sharpest, went cutting in everywhere,
making every thing get out of its way ; and spun along the open
country road, blowing a lively defiance out of its key-bugle, as
its last glad, parting legacy.

It was a charming evening. Mild and bright ; and even
with the weight upon his mind, which arose out of the immen-
sity and uncertainty of London, Tom could not resist the
captivating sense of rapid motion through the pleasant air.
The four grays skimmed along as if they liked it quite as well
as Tom did ; the bugle was in as high spirits as the grays ;
the coachman chimed in sometimes with his voice ; the wheels
hummed cheerfully in unison ; the brass-work on the harness
was an orchestra of little bells : thus, as they went clinking,
jingling, rattling smoothly on, the whole concern, from the
buckles of the leader's coupling-reins to the handle of the hind
boot, was one great instrument of music.

Yo, ho ! past hedges, gates, and trees ; past cottages and barns,
and people going home from work. Yo, ho I past donkey -chaises
drawn aside into the ditcli, and empty carts with rampant
horses, whipped up at a bound upon the little water-course,
and held by struggling carters close to the five-barred gate,
until the coach had passed the narrow turning in the road.
Yo, ho ! by churches dropped down by themselves in quiet nooks,
with rustic burial-grounds about them, where the graves are
green, and daisies sleep — for it is evening— on the bosom of the
dead. Yo, ho ! past streams, in which the cattle cool their feet,
and where the rushes grow ; past pad«lock-fences, farms and
rick yards ; past last year's stacks, cut slice by slice away, and
showing, in the waning light, like ruined gables, old and brown.
Yo, ho ! down the pebbly dip, and through the merry water-
splash, and up at a canter to the level road again. Yo, ho I
Yo, ho !

Yo, ho ! Among the gathering shades ; making of no account
the deep reflections of the trees, but scampering on through
light and darkness, all the same as if the light of London, fifty
miles away, were quite enough to travel by, and some to spare.
Yo, ho! beside the village green, where cricket-players linger
yet, and every little indentation made in the fresh grass by bat

178

THE STAGE COACH.

or wicket, ball or player's foot, sheds out its perfume on the
night. Away ! with four fresh ho;'ses from the " Bald-faced
Stag," where topers congregate about the door, admiring ; and
the last team, with traces hanging loose, go roaming off towards
the pond, until observed and shouted after by a dozen throats,
while volunteering boys pursue them. Now, with the clatter-
ing of hoofs and striicing out of fiery sparks, across the old
stone-bridge and down again into the shadowy road, and through
the open gate, and far away, away, into the world. Yo, ho !

See the bright moon! High up before we know it; making
the earth reflect the objects on its breast like water. Hedges,
trees, low cottages, church-steeples, blighted stumps, and flour-
ishing young slips, have all grown vain upon the sudden, and
mean to contemplate their own fair images till morning. The
poplars yonder rustle, that their quivering leaves may see them-
selves upon the ground. Not so the oak ; trembling does not
become him ; and he watches himself in his stout old burly stead-
fastness, without the motion of a twig. The moss-grown gate,
ill-poised upon its creaking hinges, crippled and decayed, swings
to and fro before its glass, like some fantastic dowager, while
our own ghostly likeness travels on. Yo, ho ! Yo, ho ! through
ditch and brake, upon the ploughed land and the smooth, along
the steep hill side and steeper wall, as if it were a phantom
hunter.

Clouds too ! And a mist upon the hollow ! Not a dull fog
that hides it, but a light, airy, gauze>like mist, which, in our eyes
of modest admiration, gives a new charm to the beauties it is
spread before, as real gauze has done ere now, and would again,
so please you, though we were the Pope. Yo, ho ! Why, now
we travel like the moon her-elf. Hiding this m nute in a grove
of trees ; next minute, in a patch of vapor ; emerging now upon
our broad, clear course; withdrawing now, but always dashing
on, our journey is a counterpart of hers. Yo, ho ! A match
against the moon ! Yo, ho ! Yo, ho I

The beauty of the night is hardly felt when day comes leap-
ing up. Yo, ho ! two stages, and the country roads are almost
changed into a continuous street. Yo, ho ! past market-gardens,
rows of houses, villas, crescents, terraces, and squares ; past
wagons, coaches, carts ; past early workmen, lute stragglers,
drunken men, and sober carriers of loads ; past brick and mor-
tar in its every shape ; and in among the rattling pavements,

where a jaunty seat upon a coach is not as easy to preserve !

■ it

*HE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.

179

Yo, ho ! down countless turnings, and through countless mazy
ways, until an old iiMi-yai'd Ih gained, and Tom Pinch, getting
down, quite stunned and giddy, is in Liondon. — Charles Dickens.

It was a summer evening.

Old Kaspar's work was donc^
And he before his cottage door

Was sitting in the sun,
And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin

Roll something large and round,
Which he beside the rivulet,

In playing there, had found ;
He came to ask what he had found,

That was so large, and smooth, and round.

Old Kaspar took it from the boy,

Who stood expectant by ;
And then the old man shook his head.

And, with a natural sigh,
" *Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he,
** Who fell in the great victory.

" I find them in the garden,

For there's many hereabout ;
And often, when I go to plough,

The ploughshare turns them out 1
For many thousand men," said he,

" Were slain in that great victory."

" Now tell us what 'twas all about,"

Young Peterkin he cries ;
While little Wilhelmine looks up,

W ith wonder-waiting eyes ;
" Now tell us all about the war,
And what they kill'd each other for ? "

180

THE BATTLE OP BLEXHEIM-

" It was the English," Kaspar cried,

" Who put the French to rout •.
But what they kill'd each other for,

I could not well make out.
But everybody said," qooth he,

" That 'twas a famous victory.

" My father lived at Blenheim then,

Yon little stream hard by ;
They burnt his dwelling to the ground,

And he was forced to fly ;
So with his wife and child he fled,
Nor had he where to rest his head.

" "With fire and sword the country ronud

Was wasted far and wide ;
And many a childing mother then,

And new-born baby died ;
But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.

" They say it was a shocking sight

After the field was won ;>
For many thousand bodies here

Lay rotting in the sun ;
But things like that, you know, must be
After a famous victory.

** Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won,

And our good prince, Eugene."
" Why, 'twas a very wicked thing ! "

Said little Wilhelmine.
" Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he,
" It was a famous victory.

" And everybody praised the duke.

Who this great fight did win."
" And what good came of it at last ? "

Quoth little Peterkin.
" Why, that I cannot tell," said he,
" But 'twas a famous victory."

^jris^tJS. SOUTHBT.

THE DEATH OF KEELDAlt.

181

THE DEATH OF KEELDAR.

Up rose the sun o'er moor and meed,
Up with the sun rose Percy Rede ;
Brave Keeldar, from his cou|»les freed,

Career'd aloii«^ the lea;
The palfrey sprung with sprightly bound,
As if to match the gamesome hound ;
His horn the gallant huntsman wound, —

They were a jovial three.

Man, hound, and horse of higher fame,
To wake the wild deer never came,
Since Alnwick's earl pursued the game

On Cheviot's rueful day :
Keeldar was matchless in his speed.
Than Tarras ne'«r was stancher steed,
A peerless archer Percy Rede ;

And right dear friends were they.

The chase engross'd their loys and woes ;
Together at the dawn they rose,
Together shared the noon's repose.

By fountain or by stream ;
And oft, when evening skies were red,
The heather was their common bed,
"Where each as wildering fancy led,

Still hunted in his dream.

Now is the thrilling moment near.
Of sylvan hope and sylvan fear ;
Yon thicket holds the harbor'd deer

The signs the hunters know.
With eyes of flame, and quivering ears,
The brake sagacious Keeldar nears ;
The restless palfrey paws and rears,

The archer strings his bow.

The game's afoot ! Halloo ! hulloo !
I^untcr, and horse and hound pursue ;
But woe the shaft -that erring flew—
That e'er it left the string 1

182

THE DEATH OF KEBLDAB.

And ill betide the faitliless yew !

The stag bounds scathless o'er the dew,

And gallant Keeldar's life blood true

Has drenched the gray -goose wing.

The noble hound — he dies, he dies, —
Death, death has glazed his fixed eyes,
Stiff on the bloody heath he lies,

Without a groan or quiver ;
Now, day may break and bugle sound.
And whoop and hallo ring around,
And o'er his couch the stag may bound,

But Keeldar sleeps for ever.

Dilated nostrils, staring eyes,

Mark the poor palfrey's mute surprise.

He knows not that his comrade dies.

Nor what is death ; but still—
His aspect hath expression drear
Of grief and wonder, mix'd with fear,
Like startled children when they hear

Some mystic tale of il].

But he that bent the fat',1 bow
Can well the sum of evii know,
And o'er his favorite benr^ing low.

In speechless jr;rief recline.
Can think he hears the senseless clay
In un reproachful accents say,
" The hand that took my life away.

Dear master, was it thine ?

And if it be, the »haft be blessed
"Which sure some erring aim address'd,
Since in your service prized, caress'd,

I, in your service die ;
And you may have a fleeter hound.
To match the dun deer's merry bound.
But by your couch will ne'er be found

So true a guard as I."

And to his last, stout Percy rued
The fatal chance ; for when he stood .
'Gainst fearful odds in deadly feud,
And fell amid the fray ;

Edward,

spoil of th

u^e of his

There wt.T

Eiiglijlj, w

AVdsli, the

had expcllt

on the Tior

peiidence,

iincL'Stors 1

countryniei

broad lands

You will

when a big

the little oi

is never vei

up among t

ing iit a his

down ; and

certainly to

leader of t

marauding

friendly /isi

by the Wai

of course, s

off the force

himself of t]

ority over t

to his suzen

his allegiaiK

people, the

CONQUEST OF WALES.

183

E'en with his dying voice he cried,
" Had Keeldar but been at my side,

Your treacherous ambush had been spied— • . i / »

j^ I had not died to-day." ^ . i/f^^w-iAyiyt^

h \\ .PQ^'Q^'JEST OF^WA^LES (1276). fUt^^''

Edward, the soldier, the statesman, and king, rich with the
spoil of the unfortunate Hebrews, determined to make the best
u^e of his wealth by exteiiding the circumference of his power.
There wore two separa.'e nations at that iTme, in auditioiTi to the
Eiiillili, who inhabited the British Isle. On the west were the
Wei:)]), the descendants of the ancient Britons, whom the Saxons
had exjX'Ued from England nearly a thousand years before : and
oil the north, the Scots still held, in a barren and proud inde-
])endence, the mountains and valleys of which their Suxon
ancestors had taken possession at the same time that their
countrymen — more fortunate or more wLse — had seized the
broad lands and gentle hills of the south.

You will have observed at school, or even in after life, that
when a big boy wants to quarrel with a little one (especially if
the little one happens to be in po'isession of a cherry tait), he
is never very long in want of an e2:<^use. Here was a little fellow
up among the ranges of Snowdon, looking very bold and speak-
ing in a high tone of voice, whom Edward determined to bring
down ; and if he had such a thing as a cherry tart, most
certainly to get hold of it himself. At that time, the prince or
leader of the ancient Britons was named Llewellyn. Some
marauding excursions had been made into England ; and the
friendly "isit had, of course, been returned with fire and sword
by the Warders of the English March. Llewellyn retaliated,
of course, and succeeded on two or three occasions in cutting
off the forces sent against him. Whereupon Edward, availing
himself of the principle of the feudal system, claimed a superi-
ority over the Welshman's country, and declared him a traitor
to his suzerain or feudal lord. Llewellyn still resisted, denied
his allegiance, and kept the r;reat king at bay. An active, fiery
people, the Welsh, but v/itU about as much chance against the

184

CONQUEST OF WALES,

heavy, steady, indomitable masses of the English ar^gies as a
flight of fire-flies against the Chinese wall. Wherever they
dashed in, they were broken by their own impe^tuosity and the
solidity of their opponent. Inspired by their bards or po^ts,
and cheered on by a superstitious belief in the prophecie. of
their soothsayer Merlin, they never thought of yielding, even
when they had lost the power of resistance.

Availing himself of his superiority7and even of the patriotism
of the people, Edward gave utterance to the only piece of wit
recorded of him ; and though it was not quite so brilliant as some
of his other achievements, it was a great deal more harmless,
and con.sisted in this : He called a meeting of the Welsh
together. Told them he admired their fidelity to their native
rulers, and that he had determined to give them a prince, a
native of Wales, who could not speak a word of English.
Great was the rejoicing of the mountaineers at this speech, but
it was soon damped when he presented to them his infant son,
who certainly could not speak a word of English, or any
other tongue, and who had been born in the Welsh Castle of
Carnarvon. On this occasion he created him Prince of Wales,
a title always since that time bestowed on the eldest son of our
kings. But the other achievement, by which he broke the
spirit of the Welsh, was of a very different kind. He sum-
moned an assembly of the bards, on some fictitious pretence,
and commanded every one of them to be put to death ; and in
this, though guilty of enormous cruelty, he pursued a very
effectual way of attaining his object. The office of the bard has,
I think, been generally r asuuderstood, and did not consist
merely in composing poetry, or singing it to a harp at the feast
of great men and on the village green. Poems they certainly
composed, and songs they certainly sang ; but they were, at
that time, the only medium of conveying intelligence end dis-
cussing political subjects. When Edward, therefore, put them
to death, he extinguished at once the knowledge of his plans,
and the opposers of his politics. They were, in fact, the editors
of the newspapers at that time, and they were all in opposition.
Whether by this he facilitated the concjuest of the country,
it is diflicult to say ; but he, at all events, succeeded in exciting
a hatred of the English name among the population, which has
scarcely yet died out. Our own poet. Gray, has so far entered
into the feeling of his fellow bards that he has celebrated this
action ol Edward in an ode which shows the hatred with which

CONQT y.ST OF WALES.

Id5

es as a
er they
and the
•I* po^ts,
ecie. of

'g»

even

itriotism
e of wit
; as some
larmless,
J Welsh
r native
prince, a
English.
3ech, but
fant son,
, or any
Castle of
f Wales,
n of our
roke the
He sum-
pretence,
and in
a very
ard has,
consist
jhe feast
certainly
Iwere, at
end dis-
)Ut thcin
[is plans,
editors
position,
country,
exciting
ich has
entered
,ted this
;b which

the invader was regarded. A hard is supposed to meet the
king in one of the defiles of Snowdon, and thus addresses
iilm : —

' Ruin sci/e t!ie(\ ruthless king I

Confusion on tiiy banners wait !
Though fuuird by Conquest's crimson >Ving,

Thov mock the air with idle state.
H.'^lm, nor liauberk's twisted mail,
Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears.
From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears I *

" On a rock, whose haughty brow
Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,

Robed in the sable garb of woe.
With haggard eyes the poet stood. ;

*' Loose his beafd, and hoary hair
Stream'd like a meteor, to the troubled air ;'
And with a master's hand and prophet's fire,
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.

*' Hark, how each giant oak and desert cave
Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath !

O'er thee, O King ! their hundred arms they wave,
Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe ;

Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal dayT

To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay."

But, in spite of poetry and valor, the independence of Wales
/as lost, and, happily for herself, instead of being a feeble
iistrict, despised and overshadowed by her overwhelming
neighbor, she has assumed her share in the glorious inheritance
of English renown, and contributes, in her due proportion, to
English wealth and English power. — White's " Landmarks."

186

THE TAKIiJG OF EDINBURGH CASTLE.

THE TAKING OF EDINBURGH CASTLE.

"While Robert Bruce was gradually goftinsj possession of th«
country, and driving out the English, Edinburgh, the principal
t )wn of Scotland, remained with its strong Castle in possession
of the invaders. Sir Thomas Randolph, a nephew of Bruce,
and one of his best supporters, was extremely desirous to gain
this important place ; but, as you well know, the Castle is
situated on a very steep and lofty rock, so that it is difficult,
or almost impossible, even to get up to the foot of the walls,
much more to climb over them. So, while Randolph* was
considering what was to be done, there came to him a Scottish
gentleman named Francis, who had joined Bruce's standard,
and asked to speak with him in private. He then told
Randolph that, in his youth, he had lived in the Castle of
Edinburgh, and that his father had then been keeper of the
fortress. It happened at that time that Francis was much in
love with a lady, who lived in a part of the town beneath the
Castle, which is called the Gi c»ssmarket. Now, as he could not
get out of the Castle by day to see the lady, he had practised a
way of clambering by night down the Castle crag on the south

side, and
foot of
was not
trusted t
gone so
was now
that he
night to
ladders
The grea
while in t
of them ra
Nevertl
adventure
sure they
dark night
under the
his hands
another, m
All the wh
one after t
man. The
to another
obliged, the
they were i
they heard
safe in an
nothing for
he

crag, as
would pass
waiting in
One of the i
suddenly th:
see you wt
heads of R
selves discc
noise, they )
above might
down stone
remained q
comrade wai
passed 00 w

s.^jti

of the
)rincipal
issession
Bruce,
to gain
astle is
difficult,
e walls,
plr was
Scottish
taudard,
lien told
lastle of
of the
luch in
lath the
iuld not
[jtised a
|e south

THE TAKING OF EDINBURGH CASTLE. , 18Y

I
side, and return inor up at his pleasure ; when he came to tho

foot of tho wall he made use of a ladder to get over it, as it
was not very high on that point, those who huilt it having
trusted to the steepness of tho crag. Francis had come and
gone so frequently in this dangerous manner, that, though it
was now long ago, he told Randolph he knew the road so well,
that he would undertake to guide a small party of men by
night to the bottom of the wall, and as they might bring
ladders with them, there would he no difficulty in scaling it.
The great risk was that of l>eing discovered by the watchmen
while in the act of ascending the clill, iu which case every man
of them rau<^t have perished.

Nevertheless, Randolph did not hesitate to attempt the
adventure. He took with him only thirty men (you may be
sure they were chosen for activity and courage), and came one
dark night to the foot of the crag, which the) began to ascend
under the guidance of Francis, who went before them upon
his hands and feet, up one cliff down another, and round
another, where there was scarce room to support themselves.
All the while these thirty mer. were obliged to follow in a line,
one after the other by a path that was fitter for a cat than a
man. The noise of a stone falling, or a word spoken from one
to another, would have alarmed the watchman. They were
obliged, therefore, to move with the greatest precaution. When
they were far up the crag, and near the foundation of the wall,
they heard the guards going their rounds, to see that all was
safe in and about the Castle. Randolph and his party had
for it but to lie close and quiet, each man under the
happened to be placed, and trust that the guards
by without noticing them. And while they were
breathless alarm, they got a new cause of fright.
One of the soldiers of the Castle, wishing to s'artle his comrade,
suddenly threw a stone from the n'all and cried out, " Aha, I
see you well ! " The stone came thundering down over the
heads of Randolph and his men, who naturally thought them-
selves discovered. If they had stirred, or made the slightest
noise, they would have been entirely destroyed, for the soldierT
above might have killed every man of them merely by rolling
down stones. But, being courageous and chosen men, they
remained quiet, and the English soldiers, who thought their
comrade was merely playing them a trick (as, indeed, he was),
passed on without further examination.

nothing

crag, as
would pass
waiting in

188

BRUCE AND THE SPIDER.

Then Rana^ \ih and his men got up, and came in haste to the
foot of the wall, which was not above twice a man's height in
that place. They planted the ladders they had brought, and
Francis mounted first to sht'^ them the way. Sir Andrew
Grey, a brave knight, followed him, and Randolph himself was
the third man who got over. Then the rest followed. When
once they were within the walls there was not much to tlo, for
the garrison wer« asleep and unarmed, excepting the watch,
who were speedily destroyed. Thus was Edinburgh Castle
taken in the year 1313. — Tales of a GRAr»>FATuiiii.

BRUCE AND THE SPIDER.

King Bruce of Scotland flung himself down in a lonely mood

to think ;
'Tis true he was monarch, and wore a crown, but his heart was

beginning to sink,
For he had been trying to do a great deed to make his people

glad,
He had tried and tried, but couldn't succeed, and so he became

quite sad.

He flung himself down in low despair, as grieved as man could

be;
And after awhile as he pondered there, • I'll give it all up," said

^ he.
Now, just at the moment a spider dropped, with its silken

cobweb clew,
And the king in the midst of his thinking stopped, to see what

the spider would do.

'Twas a long way up to the ceiling dome, and it hung by a rope

so fine,
That how it would get to its cobweb home. King Bruce could

not divine.
It. soon began to cling and crawl straight up with strong

endeavor,
But down it came with a slipping sprawl, as near to the ground

Hs ever.

tTp, up
com

Till it fe

Its head
high

'Twas a
wou

Again it
Till up

were
" Sure,"

to cli
When it

time.

But up t
minut

He's onlv
win it

Steadily, s

And a bol
uativt

" Bravo, br
try,

The spidej
should

And Bruce

That he trii
not fai

Pay goodl)

"I can
'Tis a COM

Want.
Whenever

thing,
Con over i

Spider

fenUCK AND THE SPIDEU.

189

to the
ght in
t, and
ndrew
If was
When
uo, for
watch,
Castle

Up, up it ran, not a second it stayed, to utter the least

complaint.
Till it fell still lower, and there it lay, a little dizzy and faint.
ItB head grew steady — again it v.cni, and travelled a half yard

higher,
'Twas a delicate thread it had to tread, and a road wh'^re its feet

would tire.

Again it fell and swung below, but again it quickly mounted,
Till up and down, now fast, now slow, nine brava attempts

were counted.
" Sure," cried the kinij, " tliut foolish thing will strive no more

to climb.
When it toils so hard to reach and cling, and tumbles every

time."

y mood

art was

people

became

could
)," said

silken
te whut

a rope

could

strong

bround

But up the insect went once more, ah me, 'tis an anxious

minute.
He's only a foot from his cobweb door, oh, say will he lose or

win it?
Steadily, steadily, inch bv inch, hieher and higher he got.
And a bold little run, at the very lust pinch, put him into his

native spot. >

" Bravo, bravo," the king cried out, "all honor to those who

trv,
The spider up there defied despair, he conquered, and why

shouldn't I ? "
And Bruce of Scotland braced his mind and gossips tell the tale,
That he tried once more as he tried before, and that time he did

not fail.

Pay goodly heed, all you who read, and beware of saying

" I cun't,"
'Tis a cowardly word, and apt to lead to Idleness, Folly, and

Want.
Whenever you find your heart despair of doing some goodly

thing.
Con over this strain, try bravely again, and remember the

Spider and King.

Eliz^ Cook. ' ^ ' ?

ftATTLE OF CLOXTAfef^.

THE BATTLE OF CLONTARF.

Long before the English first set foot in Ireland, it was in-
habited by a brave and generous, but ver'y quarrelsonie, race.
Irish historians suppose them to have been of Scythian and
Iberian origin ; they were, however, very similar in language,
personal appearance, and manners to the Welsh and the High-
landers of Scotland, who belong to the great Celtic family.
The whole country was divided into numerous small kingdoms,
"vvhich were incessantly at war with each other, or with the'r
bitter enemies, the Danes. In many parts of Ireland the
Danes had gained a strong foothold, and would soon have
conquered the entire country had not the valor and patriotism
of an eminent Irish monarch succeeded in overthrowing their
ascendancy. The name of this king was Brien Borombe, one
dear to every Irish heart. Brien was not originally the king
of Ireland, but of the province of Munster only. The Irish
king's name was Malachi, a brave but very indolent prince,
who was called Malachi of the Golden Collar, because, in an
engagement with the Danes, he had overcome a gigantic leader
of the enemy, and taken this trophy from him. But Malachi,

bATTLE OF CLONTARF

161

High-
[araily.
jdoms,
II theT
Id the
have
liotism
their
|e, one
king
Irish
n'ince,
I in an
leader
ilachi,

who dwelt in the halls of the royal palace at Tara, in the
county of Meath, disgusted his subjects by constantly seeking
his own selfish gratification and neglecting the affairs of state.
Accordingly, they called in Brien Borr)mbe to rule over the
whole of the kingdom and deposed Malachi, who still pro-
tended great friendship for Brien, but bore secret malice in his
heart towards the usuri)er of his throne. The new king dis-
played the same vigor in governing his realm, and the same
vrtlor in protecting it, that he had shown when ruler of Mun-
ster. So excellent was his government, that a young lady of
great beauty and adorned with the richest dress and most
costly ornaments, is said to have travelled alone from the
north to the extreme south of the island, without the slightest
violence being ofiPered to her. This brave king also overcame
the Danes in twenty-five battles, and expelled the greater
number of them from his native land.

King Brien had a brother-in-law who was king of Leinster,
and, of course, tributary to himself as king of all Ireland.
This king, when on a visit to his sister, the wife of Brien, was
insulted by his nephew, Morrough, and, burning for vengeance,
retired to his principality, where he raised an army, and called
upon the Danish king for assistance. The King of Denmark,
glad of the opportunity of again obtaining a foothold in
Ireland, sent over a large bodv of men under his two sons, and
summoned his subjects in the Orkney and Shetland Islands, in
the northern counties of Scotland, and in the Hebrides, to aid
the rebellious prince. The King of Leinster thus collected a
very large army in Dublin, and sent a challenge to his sovereign
to meet him on the plains of Clontarf. On Good Friday,
in the year 1034 the two opposing armies faced each other
upon these memorable plains. There stood the forces of the
King of Leinster, who, with banners flying, had marched upon
the field before daylight, in three formidable divisions. The
first consisted of the Irish Danes, and their brethren from
Sweden, Norway, and Denmark — brave sea rovers, that never
feared the face of man, many of them clothed in complete
suits of brazen armor, and commanded
Sitric and the two princes of Denmark,
the plundering Norsemen from Scotland
by another Sitric from Orkney. And in the third were ranked
the native Irish troops and a band of foreign auxiliaries under
the King of Leinster himself. Opposite this magnificent array

by the Irish Dane
In the second stood
and the Islands, led

BATTLE OF CLONTARF.

the good old King Brien, for he was 88 years of agd, mar-
shalled his three native columns ; the first, composed of his own
tribe, commanded by himself and his five sons, and tlje forces
of Malachi; the second, of Connaught and Munster men,
under the tributary King of Connaught ; and the third, of
miscellaneous forces, among whom were a large number of
Ulster men under their king.

Before the battle commenced, the treacherous Malachi drew
oflf his troops, and remained at some distance from the fiold
waiting for the result. Brien Borombe, nothing daunted,
harangued his soldiers, bidding them be of good courage, and
assuring them of the protection of Heaven while fighting in so
holy a cause as that in which they were engaged. With the
cross in his left hand and the sword in his right, the brave old
king now gave the signal of battle, and the hostile armies
closed in deadly conflict. " It was dreadful," says Malachi
afterwards, " to behold, when both the powerful armies en-
gaged and grappled in close fight, how the swords glittered
over their heads, being struck by the rays of the sun, which
gave them the appearance of a numerous flock of seagulls
flying in the air ; the strokes were so mighty, and the fury of
the combatants so terrible, that great quantities of hair, torn
or cut off from their heads by the sharp weapons, was driven
far off by the wind, and their spears and battle-axes were so
encumbered with hair cemented together with clotted blood
that it was scarce possible to clear or bring them to their former
brightness."

Encouraged by the example of their venerable king, who,
with his division, reduced to half its size by the desertion of
Malachi, was closely engaged with the first body of the enemy,
every officer and man of the Irish army fought like a hero.
Brien's youngest son, 'furlough, only fifteen years old, fell by
his father's side ; his nephew and three of his favorite officers
were also slain ; but still the old king, with his four remaining
sons around him, pressed forward in the fight. Meanwhile
the King of Leinster had fallen at the head of his column, and
his forces were rapidly giving way before the impetuous onset
of Brien's third division. Sitric of Orkney, having gained
some advantages over the men of Connaught and Munster,
engaged these victorious troops, whose hands ha4 become
weary with slaughter, and made fearful havoc among them.
But this superiority of the enemy was of short duration.

Seeing the
who had
victorious
gallant M
worthy of
with the bi
blow the Ir
mail, leh th
men cf Ulst
the leaderlei
Morrough c
where. Bi
eldest of tl
battle-axe u
a weapon no
rushe* upon
blows of th(
says the ch]
one hand, he
armor, and. t
the hilt of hi;
dying prince,
from Morrou
tilled him.

Meanwhile,
pavilion, acco
followers. 1
the Danes
in every dire
auxiliaries, pj
entered it, ant
battle-axe, bu
by the royal
duty to their
him.

Jn this fan
from sunrise
l-^000 men, w
fbeir nobility,
including, how<
sons, with mai
officers. The
4 R

BATTLE OF CLOi^TASlT.

193

tnaf-

own

Lorces

men,

rd, of

)er of

drew
B field
.untcd.
e, and
2 in so

□r, who,

!5 f

Seeing the state of affairs, Brien sent his eldest son Morrough,
who had already performed prodigies of valor, to meet the
victorious Orkneyman. Charging through the throng, the
gallant Morrough stood face to face with this foeman so
worthy of his steel. For a short time they engaged in a duel
with the battle-axe, in sight of both armies, till b / a terrible
blow the Irish champion's weapon, cleaving helmet and coat of
mail, left the Dane dead upon the field, Fiercely the rejoicing
men cf Ulster sped on their way of death, giving no quarter to
the leaderless men of the Isles, now flying over the plain. But
Morrough does not pursue ; his powerful arm is wanted else-
where. Back he speeds to his father's help, cuts down the
eldest of the Danish princes, and hews with his ponderous
battle-axe until his right hand, mangled and bleeding, can hold
a weapon no longer. Anrud, the brother of the fallen prince,
rushes upon him sword in hand ; he endeavors to parry the
blows of the avenging Dane with his left arm, " and at last,"
says the chronicler, "seizing hold of his antagonist witli his
one hand, he lifts him from the ground, shakes him out of his
armor, and, throwing him down, presses his own breast against
the hilt of his sword, and drives it into Anrud's body." The
dying prince, writhing upwards on the ground, snatched a knife
from Morrough's belt, and, thrusting it into his murderer's body,
killed him.

Meanwhile, Brien, wearied with fighting, had retired to his
pavilion, accompanied only by a small number of his wounded
followers. The rout of the enemy soon became general, and
the Danes and their Irish allies were fleein"^ from the field
in every direction. Brodar, the commander of the Danish
auxiliaries, passing in his flight close to the king's pavilion,
entered it, and slew the aged monarch with a blow Irom his
hattle-axe, but was killed, together with all his followers,
by the royal guards, who at that moment remembered their
duty to their sovereign, and arrived only in time to avenge
him.

In this famous and sanguinary engagement, which lasted
from sunrise to sunset, the Danes and their Irish allies lost
12,000 men, with twelve of their generals, and the flower of
their nobility. The loss of the patriot army was 4000 ii^en,
including, however, that of their beloved monarch and his two
sons, with many of his most faithful adherents and bruveit
ofjicers. The remnaut of the Danes escaped to Dubliaj ftud
4 R 13

194

THE FOTTR-LEAVED SHAMROCK.

thence to their ships, closely pursued by the infuriated Irish,
who cut down, withoAt mercy, all whom they overtook.

TVhile the tribe of the fallen monarch was returning home-
wards after the battle, under the guidance of Brien's son,
Donough, they were met by the King of Ossory and a body of
Leinster men, who had not been on the field of Clontarf.
These opposed the progress of the little band, many oi whom
were severely wouaded. Since a battle seemed inevitable, the
wounded men begged to be allowed to share in it. Taking off
their bandages, and filling their wounds with moss, they pre-
vailed on their companions to bind them to stakes driven into
the ground, and thus opposed a front to the enemy. Such an
Urparalleled- instance of determined valor dismayed the men
of Leinster and Ossoiy, who declined the proffered battle, and
contented themselves with harassing their patriotic country-
men, cutting off one hundred and fifty of their number before
they reached home.

The traitor Malachi now recovered his kingdom and reigned
over it for nine years, after which Donough, the son of Brien
Borombe, ascended the throne of his father.

And Hope
sea.
And Misery
Oh ! thus i
And not a t

THE FOUR-LEAVED SHAMROCK.

I'll seek a four-leaved Shamrock in all the fairy dells,
And if I find the charmed leaves, oh, how I'll weave my spells I
I would not waste my magic might on diamond, pearl, or gold,
For treasure tires the weary sense — %uch triumph is but cold ;
But I would play th' enchanter's part in casting bliss around, —
Oh, not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found.

To worth I would give honor! — I'd dry the mourner's tears,

And to the pallid lip recall the smile of happier years.

And hearts that had been long estranged, and friends that had

grown cold,
Should meet again — like parted streams — and mingle as of old !
Oh ! thus I'd play th' enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss around,
And not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world bo found !

The h(^art that had been mourning o'er vanished dreams of love,
Should see them all returning, — like Noah's faithful dove ;

B
A

LORD ULLIX S DAUGHTER.

195

rish,

3me-
son,
iy of
itarf.
irhom
}, the
igoff
r pre-
i into
ch an
( men
!, and
untry-
before

eigned
Brien

)ell8!
told,
)ld;
lund, —
^und.

rs,

lat had

love,

And Hope should launch her blessed bark on Sorrow's darkening

sea,
And Misery's children have an ark, and saved from sinking be.
Oh ! thus I'd play th' enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss around.
And not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the worl(| be found !

'V/cXA^/M?/ /'--^^/_^^^^ '. ^o..-;". Lover

kt/rt^ f ^y^^^ XORD^ULLIVS DAUGHTER. ;

(J A CHIEFTAIN', to the Highlands bound

Cries, " Boatman, do not tarry.
And I'll give thee a silver pound

To row us o'er the ferrv."
" Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle,

This dark and stormy water ? "
Oh, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle.

And this Lord Ulliu's daughter.

" And fast before her father's men,

Three days we've fled together ;
For, should he find us in the glen,

My blood would stain the heather.
His horsemen hard behind us ride ;

Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride,

When they have slain her lover ? "

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,

" I'll go, my chief — I'm ready :
It is not for your silver bright,

But for your winsome lady ;
And by my word, ^he bonny bird

In danger shall not tarry ;
So, though the waves are raging white

I'll row you ^o'er tiie ferrv."

By this the storm grew loud apace,

The water- wraith was shrieking ;
And, in the scowl of heaven, each face

Grew dark as they wen^ speaking.
But still, as wilder grew the wind.

And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armed men.

Their trampling sounded nearer.

196

THE VETEKAN TAR.

•* Oh haste thee, haste I " the lady cries

*' Though tempests round us gather :
I'll meet the ra^^ing of the skies.

But liot an angry father."
The boat has left a stormy land.

A stormy sea before her —
Wlien oh I too strong for human hand,

The tempest gather'd o'er her.

And still they row'd amidst the roar

Of waters hst prevailing :
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore.

His wrath was chansred to wailing ;
For, sore dismay 'd through storm and shade «

His child he did discover —
One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,

And one was round her lover.

'* Come back ! come back J " he cried in grief,

'* Across this stormy water,
And I'll forgive your Highland chief,

My daughter ! oh my daugiitor ! "
'Twas vain : the loud waves lashed the shore,

Return or aid preventing :
The waters wild went o'er his child,

And he was left lamenting.

Thomas Campbell.

THE VETERAN TAR.

A MAHiNER, whom fate compcU'd ^
To make his hofne ashore,

Lived in yon cottage on the mount,
With ivy mantled o'er ;

Because he could not breathe beyond
The sound of ocean's roar.

He placed yon vane upon the roof,
To mark how stood the wind ;

For breatliless days and breezy days
Brought hack oid times to mind,

When rock'd amid the shroudSj QV oft
The suuny deck recUoecJ.

THE VETERAN TAR.

197

-.4jQd in his spot of garden ground

All ocean plants were met —
Salt lavender, that lacks perfume,

With scented mignonette ;
And, blending with the rose's bloom,

Sea thistles freak'd with jet.

Models of cannon 'd ships of war,

Rigg'd out in gallant style ;
Pict:ires of Camperdown's red fight,

And Ni'lson at the Nile,
Were round his cabin hung — his hours,

When lonely, to beguile.

And there were charts and soundings, made

By Anson, Cook, and Bligh ;
Fractures of coral from the deep,

And storm-stones from the sky ;
Shells from the shores of gay Brazil ;

Stuff'd birds, and fishes dry.

Old Simon had an orphan been.

No relative had he ;
Even from his childhood, was he seen

A haunter of the quay ;
So, at the age of raw thirteen,

He took him to the sea.

Four years on board a merchantman

He saird, a growing lad ;
And all the isles of Western Ind,

In endless summer clad,
He knew, from pastoral St. Lucie

To palmy Trinidad.

But sterner life was in his thoughts,

When 'mid the sea-fight's jar,
Stoop'd victory from the batter'd shrouds,

To crown the British tar ;
'Twas then he went — a volunteer —

On board a ship oi war.

Through forty years of storm and shine,
He plough'd the changeful deep ;

198

THE VETERAN TAR.

From where, beneath the tropic line.

The winged fishes leap,
To wher ^ . .^ rocks the polar seas

To e\... i'lng sleep.

I recollect the brave old man, —

Methiuks upon my view
He comes again, — his varnish'd hat.

Striped shirt, and jacket blue ;
His bronzed and weather-beaten cheek,

Keen eye, and plaited queue.

Yon turfen bench the veteran loved,

Beneath the threshold tree,
For from that spot he could survey

The broad expanse of sea, —
The element, where he so long

Had been a rover free !

And lighted up his faded face,

When, drifting in the gale,
He with his telescope could catch,

Far off, a coming sail :
It was a music to his ear

To list the sea-mews ' wail !

Oft would he tell how, under Smith,

Upon the Egyptian strand.
Eager to beat the boastful French,

They join'd the men on land.
And plied their deadly shots, intrench'd

Behind their bags of sand.

And when he told how, through the Sound,

With Nelson in his might,
They pass'd the Cronberg batteries,

To quell the Dane in fight,
His voice with vigor fill'd again !

His veteran eye with light !

But chiefly of hot Trafalgar
The brave old man would speak ;

Andf when he show'd his oaken stump,
A glow suffused his cheek,

THE VBTEEAN TAR.

While hU eye fill'd — for wound on wound
Had left him worn and weak.

Ten years in vigorous old age,

Within that cot he dwelt ;
Tranquil as falls the snow on snow,

Life's lot to him was dealt ;
But came infirmity at length,

And slowly o'er him stealt.

We miss'd him on our seaward walk:

The children went no more
To listen to his evening talk,

Beside the cottage door ; —
Grim palsy held him to the bed,

Which health eschew'd before.

'Twas harvest time ; — day after day

Beheld him weaker grow ;
Day after day, his laboring pulse
* Became more faint and slow;
For in the chambers of his heart,

Life's fire was burning low.

Thus did he weaken and he waned.

Till frail as frail could be ;
But duly at the hour which brings

Homeward the bird and bee.
He made them prop him in his couch ^

To gaze upon the sea.

And now he watch'd the moving boat,
And now the moveless ships,

And now the western hills remote
With gold upon their tips,

As ray by ray, tbo mighty sun
Went down in calm eclipse.

Welcome as homestead to the feet

Of Pilgrim travel-tired,
Death to old Simon's dwelling came,-

A thing to be desired ;
And breathing peace to all around,

199

The man of war expired.

D. M. MoiR.

200

INCIDENT AT BRUGES.

In Bruges town is many a street,

Whence busy life bath fled;
Wbere, witbout liurry, noiseless feet,

Tbe grass-grown pavement tread.
There heard we, baiting in the shade,

Flung from a conven*-tower,
A liarp that tuneful prelude made

To a voice of thrilling power.

The measu?'e. simple truth to tell,

Was lit for Eome gay throng ;
Though from the same grim turret fell

The shadow and the song.
When silent were both voice and chords,

The strain seem'd doubly dear,
Yet, sad as sweet, — for English words

Had fallen upon the ear.

It was a breezy hour of eve ;

And pinnacle and spire
Quivered, and seemed almost to heave,

Clothed with innocuous fire ;
But, where we stood, the setting sun

Showed little of his state ;
And, if the glory reached the nun,

'Twas through an iron grate.

Not always is the heart unwise,

Nor pity idly born.
If even a passing stranger sighs

For them who do not mourn.
Sad is thy doom, self-solaced dove,

Captive, whoe'er thou be!
Oh ! what is beauty, what is love,

And opening life to thee ?

Such feeling pressed upon my soul,

A feeling sanctified
By one soft trickling tear, that stole

From the maiden at my side ; —

THE BAFFLED TRAVELLER.

201

Less tribute could she pay than this,

Borne gaily o'er the sea,
Fresh from the beauty and the bliss

Of English liberty?

'^// /^c-ui/L^'^^''- Wordsworth.

THE BAFFLED TRAVELLER.

Once upon a time an honest Yorkshire squire determined to take
a journey to Warsaw. Uutrayelled and unknowing, he prepared
himself with no passport. His business concerned himself alone,
and what had foreign nations to do with him ? Unfortunately
for him, the Continental states were at war with each other just
then.

His route lay through the states of neutral and contending
powers. He landed in Holland, passed the usual examination ;
but, insisting that the affairs which brought him there were of
a private nature^ he was imprisoned, and questioned, and sifted,
and, appearing to be incapable of design, was at length permitted
to pursue his journey.

To the officer of his guard who conducted him to the frontier
he made frequent complaints of his treatment, and of the loss
he should sustain by delay ; he declared it was uncivil, and
unfriendly, and ungenerous. Five hundred Dutchmen might
have travelled through Great Britain, without a question — they
never questioned any strangers in Great Britain, nor stopped them,
nor guarded them.

Roused from his native phlegm hy these reflections on the
policy of his country, the officer slowly drew the pipe from his
mouth, and emitting the smoke therefrom —

" Mynheer," says he, ** when you first set your foot on the land
of the Seven United Provinces you should have declared that
you cam^ thither on affairs of commerce ; " and, replacing his
pipe, relapsed into immovable taciturnity.

Released from this unsociable companion, he soon arrived
at a French post, where the sentinel of the advanced guard
requested the honor of his permission to ask for his passport ;
and on his fulling to produce any, he was entreated to pardon
the liberty he taok of conducting him to the commandant, but
it was his duty, and he must, however reluctantly, perform it.

202

THE BAFFLED TRAVELLER.

Monsieur le Commandant received him with cold and pompous
politeness ; he made the usual inquiries, and our traveller, de-
termined to avoid the error which had produced such inconve-
nience to him, replied that commercial concerns drew him to
the continent.

" Ma foi ! " says the commandant, " c'est un nogociant, un
bourgeois. Take him away to the citadel, we will examine liim
to-morrow ; at present we must dress for the comedi*;. Allons."

" Monsieur," said the sentinel, as he reconducted him to the
guard room, ''you should not have mentioned commerce to IMoii-
sieur le Commandant; no gentleman in France disgraces him- ( If
with trade: we despise traffic. You should have iiifornifd
Monsieur le Commandant that you entered the domi lions of rlie
Grand Monarque for the purpose of improving your elf in sing-
ing, or in dancing, or in dressing; arms are the profession ot a
man of fashion, and glory and accomplishments Ins pursuits.
Vive le Roi ! " He had the honor of passing the night with a
French guard, and the next day he was dismissed.

Proceeding on his journey, he fell in with a detachment of
German chasseurs. They demanded his name, his quality, and
his business in their country.

He came, he said, to learn to dance, and to sing, and to dress.

" He is a Frenchman," said the corporal.

" A spy," cried the sergeant.

And he was directed to mount behind a dragoon, and was
carried to the camp.

The officer, v/hose dut}' it was to examine prisoners, soon
discovered that our traveller was not a Frenchman, and that, as
he did not understand a syllable of the language, he was totally
incapable of being a spy ; he therefore discharged him, but not
without advising him no more to assume the frippery character
of a French ma 11.

'' We Germans," says he, " eat, drink, and smoke ; these are
our favorite employments ; and had you informed the party
that you followed no other business yoii would have saved them,
me, and yourself trouble."

He soon approached the T>russian dominions, where his exami-
nation was still more strict ; and on his answering that his only
designs were to eat, to drink, and to smoke, —

•' To eat, to drink, and to smoke ! " exclaimed the officer, with
astonishment, '' Sir you must be forwarded to Potsdam ; war
is the only business of mankind."

THE BAFFLED TRAVELLER.

203

But the acute and penetrating Frederick soon comprehended
the character of the traveller, and gave him a passport under
his own hand.

"It is an ignorant and innocent Englishman," says the
veteran. *' The English are unacquainted with military duties •
when they want a general they borrow him of me."

At the barriers of Saxony he was again interrogated.

" I am a soldier," says the traveller ; " behold the passport
of the first warrior of the age."

" You are a pupil of the destroyer of millions," replied the
sentinel ; " we must send you to Dresden. And hark ye, sir,
conceal your passport as you would avoid being torn to pieces
by those whose husbands, sons, and relations have beeu wan-
tonly sacrificed at the shrine of Prussian ambition."

A second examination at Dresden cleared him of suspicion.

Arrived at the frontiers of Poland, he fiattered himself his
troubles were at an end; but he reckoned without his host.

"Your business in Poland ? " interrogated the officer.

"I really don't know, sir," replied the traveller.

" Don't know your own business, sir ? " resumed the officer ;
" I must conduct you to the starost."

*' For gracious sake," said the wearied traveller, *' take pity
on me. I have been imprisoned in Holland for being desirous
of keeping my own affairs to myself ; I have been confined all
night in a French guard-house for declaring myself a merchant ;
I have been compelled to ride seven miles behind a German
dragoon for professing myself a man of pleasure ; I have been
carried fifty miles a prisoner in Prussia for acknowledging my
attiichment to ease and good living ; and have been threatened
with assassination in Saxony for avowing myself a warrior;
and, therefore, if you will have the goodness to let me know
how I may render such an account of myself as may not give
offence, I shall consider you as my friend and preserver. — The
Christmas Tkee.

204 HERMANN, THE DELIVERER OF GERMANY.

HERMANN, THE DELIVERER OF GERMANY.

A FORMIDABLE insurrection in Dalmatia and Pannonia (now
Hungary) had calle(r' Tiberius away from the Rhine and the
Elbe to another field of warfare. In his place, came Quintilius
Varus, formerly governor in Syria, who allowed the poor
Germans to be oppressed in every imaginable way, extorted
money from them, drove them from tl»eir possessions, and
sought to dispose of their lands after quite & Roman fashion.

But what the honest Germans felt to be ti e worst of all their
hardships, was their being ruled according to Roman lajv, and
the introduction among them of Roman courts of justice.
Formerly, when they had any cause of complaint or dispute,
they went to their ruler, told him the matter in a few words, and
in a quarter of an hour, had the whole affair settled. Now,
however, it was quite otherwise. By the artifice of the Roman
advocates and pettifoggers, the smallest affair led to a tedious
law suit, and the justest causes were frequently lost. Equally
enraged were they at the sight of the fasces (a magisterial
emblem, consisting of a bundle of rods with an axe in the
centre) which were daily paraded before their eyes, and which
they, who had never before experienced corporal punishment,
looked upon as a symbol of degrading servitude. Over all these
things the proud spirit of the Germans inly chafed, and they
deeply cursed the annoyanci s to which tlieir tyrants subjected
them. Another cause of grief was the removal of the most
hopeful sons of their princes to Rome, as hostages for the good
behavior of the people. On account of this, however, they
had no real cause for complaint, since it was in Rome that these
princely Germans first learned the art of conquering the Romans.

Hermann, or Arminius, as the Romans called him, son of a
German prince, was among these hostages. He was not

treated as a prisoner, but was allowed perfect liberty to go
where he pleased, and was educated thoroughly as a Roman
youth. He had abundant opportunities of learning the Roman
art and tactics of war, and soon perceived that his countrymen,
with their rude valor alone to aid them, could never prevail
against so experienced an enemy. On this account he paid
particular attention to every thing he saw, fully resolved to make
use of it on his return to his native land, and to free his nation
from its foreign yoke.

their

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Now,

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ected
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oman
oman
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revail
paid
make
Lation

HERMANN, THE DELIVERER OF GERMANY. 205

At length the hour of his return came ; he arrived in Germany
at the time when Varus was draining it of its resources, and
\}^ heavily oppjywng the people. Hermann concealed nis inten-
tions, and sought the fjiyor and friendship oT Varus, in which
he was perfectly successful. Doubtless he considered it quite
fair to meet force with cunning, and to oppose dissimulation to
tyranny. Varus, at that time, did exactly" the same thing as
Napoleon has done in our day, lie pressed German troops
into his army, and endeavored to subdue one German people
by another. Hermann, with other prices, entered his service
without hesitation ; and the former exhibited such an appear-
ance of genuine zeal that he won the confidence ot Varus, was
made a Roman 'citizen, and had the dignity of a Roman knight
conferred upon him. In secret he was preparing for the
destruction of the enemies of his country.

Several 5'ear3 soon passed over. He made use of this time
to lay before the heads of the different German people the
situation r ' their common fatherland, to make theni feel the
shame of the yoke they were bearing, and to inflame their hearts
to vengeance upon their oppressors. " Choose," said he, at the
close of his last address, " choose, ye princes and nobles of our
nation, between freedom and slavery, bet\;een honor and
shame, between a glorious death for your altJirs and hearths,
and the shameful yoke of the insolent foreigner ! The hour of
freedom, if you would be free, may be no lunger delayed ; —
speak ! which will you choose ? " '' Liberty ! liberty ! " they
cried unanimously, and swore the oath of vengeance on the
altar of their war-god, "Wodin.

All preparations for the accomplishment of their designs were
now made. In order to weaken and scatter the Roman army,
several German peoples were to rise in insurrection in different
places at the same moment. This plan was carried out, and
succeeded perfectly. Varus found himself compelled to send
his legions, now here and now there, to quell an insurrection.
When at last he had but three legions (from, 27 to 30,000 men,
including allies,) with him, intelligence was brought by the
couriers that a frightful rebellion had broken out on the Weser.
This required to be quelled with the greatest celerity and
completeness, lest it should spread to other places. Varus
determined to place himself at the head of his army, and to
chastise the rebels In person. This was exactly what the
Gerroaii princes wished j they fortified him in his inteutio%
Hod promised to follow hlra promptly with tlieir troops,

7*;

II i

j^ « jils'Bi

Mt^:

206 HERMAITN, THE DELIVERER OF GERMANY.

And so, indeed, they did ; not, however, to assist him, but
to aid in the destruction of his legions. Varus had been
warned by Segestes, a prince of the Cherusci and an enemy of
Hermann, that the latter meditated desertion; but the Roman
general disbelieved the story, knowing that Hermann had
carried off Segestes' beautiful daughter, Thusneldar, and that
the bitterest enmity existed between < them. Forward, then, he
went, to his destruction. The Germans awaited him in the
Teutoburg forest, in what is now the principality of Lippe,
posted upon mountains that enclosed a narrow valley through
which his way led. A long-continued rain had made the
marshy ground almost impassable. Everywhere the Romans
were sinking into the soft moss, and the moisture made their
bows and arrows comparatively useless. In this unfavorable
situation, they had to sustain the fiery attack of the Germans
from the mountains. Arrows rained upon them from all sides.
They wished to retire, but in vain. Hermann, who commanded
the rear-guard of the Roman army, consisting of German troops
only, feU upon the amazed legionaries in the rear, and, instead of
rendering assistance, made a frightful slaughter among them.
Too late Varus now opened his eyes to Hermann's treachery.
Despair gave his legions strength to hew their way through the
enemy and reach open ground. Soon, however, they came
into another forest, where they were a second time surrounded
by the Germans. The Romans entrenched themselves, and for
three days maintained a stout defence. Without provisions,
and drenched by the continual rains, they could hold out no
longer. The whole army was annihilated ; Varus, to escape
falling into the hands of the enemy, threw himself upon his
own sword.

A host of Roman princes were dragged to ♦lie altar of the
Germans and sacrificed to Wodin, the god of war ; their heads
were placed as trophies upon the surrounding trees. The head
of Varus, however, was sent to Marbod, king of the Marco-
manni, and by him forwarded to Tiberius, All who were not
cut to pieces or ofi^ered up to the gods, were condemned to
perpetual slavery. But the Germans reserved their most cruel
tortures for the Roman advocates and other pettifoggers who
remained in the towns, and who had made themselves so odious
to the natives. They cut off the hands of some, deprived
others of their eyes, and tore the tongues from the throats of
others, with the savage expression, " Hiss now, viper ! "

This was t
far from the
birth of our
it, he cried >
Quintilius Vj
to cry, striki
and beard to
all I^ome and
vailed, for ev
at the city ga

All the for
and the Elbe,
rial ot their c
Jebrer

AN A

It happened
Gonsalvo de (
overrunning j
himself of a 1
his way. Oi
inhabitants fl(
drew near, an(
within the ws
of whom, ha'
into this worj
her husband, c

The anxiet}
conceived thai
both courage
bethought hin
chance of escc
to put into exi

The inhabit
left almost al
difficulty in

THE VILLAGE GARRISON

207

This was the famous battle of Hermann, that took place not
far from the little town of Detmold, in the 9th year after the
birth of our Saviour. When the Emperor Augustus heard of
it, he cried out again and again, as one inconsolable , " Oh»
Quintilius Varus, give me back my legions ! " So he continued
to cry, striking Iiis head against the wall, and allowmg his hair
and beard to grow for several months in token of his grief. In
all Rome and tlie surrounding country the greatest dismay pre-
vailed, for every one expected to behold the dreaded barbarians
at the city gates.

All the fortresses of the Romans on the Rhme, the Weser,
and the Elbe, were demolished by the victors, and every memo-
rial ot their domination was destroyed — From the German op
Jebrer

THE VILLAGE GARRISON.

AX ANECDOTE OF THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR

It happened in the course of the thirty years' w,ar, that
Gonsalvo de Cordova, who commanded the Spanish troops then
overrunning the Palatinate, found it necessary to possess
himself of a little walled village, called Ogersheim, that lay in
his way. On the first intelligence of his approach, all the
inhabitants fled to Mannheim ; and when Gonsalvo at length
drew near, and summoned the place to surrender, there remained
within the walls only a poor shepherd and his wife, the latter
of whom, having that very morning brought a little infant
into this world of misery, was unable to leave her bed ; and
her husband, of course, staid with her.

The anxiety and distress of the poor man may be more easily
conceived than described. Fortunately, however, he possessed
both courage and shrewdness, and on the spur of the moment,
bethought himself of a scheme to give his wife and baby a
chance of escape, which, after embracing them both, he hastened
to put into execution.

The inhahltants, having run off in a tremendous hurry, had
left almost all their property at his disposal ; so he had no
difficulty in finding what was requisite for his purpose,—

20S

THE TILLAGE GABKISON.

namely, a complete change of dress. Having first accoutred
his lower raun in military guise, he tossed away his shepherd's
hat, which he replaced with a huge helmet, " a world too
wide ; " — he buckled a long sword to his side, threw a goodly
cloak over his shoulders, stuck two enormous pistols in his belt,
and, putting on boots so thick in the soles and high in the
heels that they lifted him about a foot from the ground, he
fastened to them a pair of those prodigious jingling spurs which
were the fashion of the times. Thus accoutred, he forthwith
betook himself to the walls, and, leaning with a pompous air on
his sword, he listened coolly to the herald, who advanced to
summon the village to surrender.

" Friend," said our hero, as soon as the herald had concluded
his speech, " tell your commander that though I have not yet
made up my mind to surrender at all, I may possibly be induced
to do so provided he agrees to the three following conditions,
in which I shall make no abatement whatever. Firsts the
garrison must be allowed to march out with military honors ;
second^ the lives and property of the inhabitants must be
protected ; third, they must be left to the free exercise of their
religion."

The herald immediately replied that such preposterous
conditions could not for a moment be listened to ; adding, that
the garrfeon was known to be weak, and concluding by again
demanding the instant surrender of the place.

" My good friend," answered the shepherd, " do not be too
rash. I advise you to inform your general from me, that
nothing but my desire to avoid bloodshed could make me think
of surrendering on any terms whatever ; and please to add, that
if he does not choose to agree to those I have already stated,
he will gain possession of the town only at the point of the
sword ; for I swear to you on the faith of an honest man and
a Christian, as well as by the honor of a gentleman, that the
garrison has lately received a reinforcement he little dreams of."

So saying, the shepherd lighted his pipe and pufEed away
with an air of the most consummate indifference. Confounded
by this appearance of boldness and security, the herald thought
it prudent to return and state to Gonsalvo the demands which
had been made. The Spanish general, deceived by this show
of resistance, and being unwilling to waste either men or time
jn reducing i\m paltry town, resolved to agree to the conditions
offered 5 and, foUowed by bis troops approached the gates, Thii

lenient det
shepherd, w
commander
let down t!
allowed the 1
seeing no on
caricature of
Gonsalvo be|
demanded to
" If your
the rustic.

"Kfdp by

the 'siast syn

b'^ilet throug

"Agreed,"

swear by the

as by the h(

you no injury

He then p

by the troops

till, at length

mean-looking

enter, he led

her little boy

"Noble gei

our garrison;

" is the reinfo]

Aware, now

cleverness of

Gonsalvo gav(

rich gold chai

round the \\ec\

"Permit m

naturedly, "fo

hand of a sold;

ment; and yoi

gold for the usi

He then sto

her boy, and q

for many a sur

stratagem. — Ei

4 It

*HE VILLAGE GARRTS05C.

209

r, that
again

je too
that
think
d, that
stated,
of the
n and
at the
■ns 01.
away
unded
loucjht
which
show
)r time
Iditions
Thia

lenient determination was announced by the herald to the
shepherd, who only vouchsafed to say in reply, " I find your
commander is a man of some sense." He then left the walls,
let down the drawbridge, deliberately opened the gates, and
allowed the Spanish troops to pour into the town. Surprised at
seeing no one in the streets but a strange-looking fellow, whose
caricature of a military costume hung upon him like patchwork,
Gonsalvo began to suspect treachery, and, seizing the shepherd,
demanded to know where the garrison was ?

" If your highness will follow me I will show you," answered
the rustic.

" Kf <3p by my stirrup, then," exclaimed Gonsalvo ; " and on
the 'jast symptom that you mean to betray me, I shall send a
b'iilet through your heart."

"Agreed," said our friend. "Follow me, Spaniards! fori
swear by the word of an honest man and a Christian, as well
as by the honor of a gentleman, that the garrison will offer
you no injury."

He then placed himself by Gonsalvo's stirrup, and, followed
by the troops, passed through several silent and deserted streets,
till, at length, turning into a narrow lane, he stopped before a
mean-looking house, and having prevailed on Gonsalvo to
enter, he led him into a small room where lay his wife, with
her little boy beside her.

"Noble general!" he said, pointing to the former, " this is
our garrison ; and this," he added, taking his son in his arms,
" is the reinforcement of which I told you." %

Aware, now, of the real state of matters, the absurdity and
cleverness of the trick moved even Spanish gravity, and
Gonsalvo gave free course to his mirth. Then, taking off a
rich gold chain which decorated his own person, he passed it
round the neck of the infant.

" Permit me to offer this mark of esteem," he said, good-
naturedly, "for the valiant garrison of Ogersheim. By the
hand of a soldier^ I envy you the possession of such a reinforce-
ment ; and you must let me present you with this purse of
gold for the use of the young recruit."

He then stooped down and kissed the delighted mother and
her boy, and quitted the house, leaving the shepherd to boast
for many a summer day and winter night of the success of his
stratagem. — Edinburgh Literary Journal.
4 R 14

210

THE F0trNt)lN6 OF AIX-LA-CHAPELUfi.

THE FOUNDING OF AJX-LA CHaPELLE.

Charlemagne delighted in hunting. It was his solace and
recreation in the few hours he could snatch from the manifold
and weary cares of state. "The chase," he used, to say,
*' keeps up a man's mettle and spirit, and makes him active
and stalwart in body. It is the s<;hool where the chumpion
fits himself for war ; for, in the one as in the other, he must
have his wits about him when danger threatens, aud thus know
how to extricate himself."

A favorite hunting-ground of his was the tract of land
where Aix-la-Chapelle now stands. In those days there
stretched, far and wide, forests of lofty oaks and beeches, with
here and there tangled thickets, mixed with groves of saplings
and evergreen pine- woods. In other parts, marsh and moor-
land, and patches of stunted underwood, lay between hills
whose shelving sides were beautiful with silver-stemmed birch
trees, and glades of the greenest sward. The hand of man had
left no trace in those wilds ; their only inmates were the wolf
and the crested boar, the stag and the roebuck, the badger and
the fox, and all these dwelt within them in multitudes. Hence
it was no wonder that Charlemagne often hunted there with a
great following. In one of these gatherings the dogs started a
deer and a doe. The terrified creatures bounded through the
forest side by side, the hounds in full cry on their track, and
the Emperor pressing close behind. Suddenly burst on his
sight an old and mouldering castle, called the ruins of Ephen,
stately even in decay, and mirrored in the clear waters of a
lake. On nearing the ruin, Charlemagne reined in his horse,
when suddenly the noble steed shied, the ground gave way,
and he sank past the fetlocks. Wild with terror, he plunged
and struggled till he found safe footing. Charlemagne could
not make out what had come over his charger, nor what was
amiss with the ground, till he saw, a few paces off, a cloud of
steam rising from the earth, in the very spot the horse had just
trampled. Then almost instantly a boiling spring bubbled up
and overflowed. He sprang from the saddle, fell on his knees,
and thanked God for the benefit He had granted him, by the
means of a brute beast. For, then and there, it flashed on his
mind how these waters would be a blessing to men from
generation unto generation. He then resolved to build a hunt-

ing-seat on
and a city
palace a £
of God.

Then he
Haroun al
mighty bias
and his Pt
together at
Prompt a
in carrying
ruins of Ej
our Blessed
came from :
up on all 8i(
the neighbo
superfluous
the warm tl
built. His
enjoy the lu
when worn c
Tradition
used to bathe
Thus was

Yoi

On
S

Wit
I

As
O

Just
Tl

Let
Wl

AK INCIDENT AT KATlSBON.

21 1

!ng-8eat on the site of the ruined fortress, and to erect a palaog
and a city near at hand. He also vowed to raise hard bv his
palace a stately temple in honor of the ever-blessed Mother
of God.

Then he rose from his knees, and wound his horn, admiring
Haroun al Raschld's precious gift. His followers knew the
mighty blast, and came flocking at his call, and the Emperor
and his Paladins, down to the meanest of his train, rejoiced
together at the good gift God had sent them.

Prompt and decisive in all things, Charlemagne lost no time
in carrying out his plans. The hunting-seat rose from the
ruins of Ephen, and the foundations of a kingly palace, and of
our Blessed Lady's church, were laid without delay. Builders
came from far and near, and a city was begun. Houses rose
up on all sides. The desolate moorland vanished, at least in
the neighlK>rhood of the new city. A canal carried off the
superfluous waters, and, while draining the ground, brought
the warm medicinal stream to the bath-house Charlemagne had
boilt. His Prankish warriors resorted thither in numbers to
enjoy the luxury of the bath, or to test its healing powers,
when worn out with toil or sickness.

Tradition still points to the very spot where Charlemagne
used to bathe with his Paladins.

Thus was Aix-la-Chapelle founded. — Once-a-Week.

s>«

could
It was
oud of
ad just
led up
knees,
jy the
on his
from
huut-

AN INCIDENT AT RATISBON.

You know we French stormed Batisbon :

A mile or so away,
On a little mound Napoleon

Stood on our storming day ;
"With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,

Legs wide, arms locked behind,
As if to balance the prone brow,

Oppressive with its mind.

Just as perhaps he mused, " My plans

That soar, to earth may fall,
Let once my army-leader, Lannes,

Waver at yonder wall ; "

212

TttE DOWyi'ALL OF POLAND.

Out 'twixt the battery smokes there flew

A rider, bound on bound
Full-gallopiug ; nor bridle drew
Until he reach 'd the mound.

Then off there flung, in smiling joy,

And held himself erect,
Just by his horse's mane, a boy :

You hardly could suspect —
(So tight he kept his lips compressed,

Scarce any blood came through,)
You look'd twice ere you saw his breast

Was all but shot in two.

" "Well," cried he, " Emperor, by Grod's grace

We've got you Ratisbon I
The marshal's in the market-place,

And you'll be there anon,
To see your flag-bird flap his vans

Where I, to heart's desire,
Perch'd him." The chief's eye flash'd ; his plana

Soar'd up again like fire.

The chief's eye flash M ; but presently

Soften'd itself as sheathes
A film the mother eagle's eye.

When her bruised eaglet breathes :
" You're wounded ! " " Nay," his soldier's pride

Touched to the quick, he said :
" I'm kill'd sire ! " And his chief beside.

Smiling, the boy fell dead.

Browning.

THE DOWNFALL OF POLAND.

O Sacred Truth ! thy triumph ceased a while,
And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile,
When leagued Oppression pour'd to Northern wars
Her whisker'd paudours and her fierce hussars,

THB DOWNFALL OP POLAND.

218

UNO.

Waved her dread standard to the breeze of mom,
Peal'd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet-horn ;
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van,
Presagmg wrath to Poland — and to man !

"Warsaw's last champion from her height survey'd

Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid, —

" O Heaven ! " he cried, " my bleeding country save \

Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ?

Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains,

Rise fellow-men ! our Country yet remains !

By that dread name we wave the sword on high,

And swear for her to live ! — with her to die ! "

He said, and on the rampart-heights array'd
His trusty warriors, few, but undi^may'd ;
Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form,
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm :
Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly,
Revenge — or death ! — the watchword and reply ;
Then peal'd the notes, omnipotent to charm,
And the loiid tocsin toll'd their last alarm !

In vain, alas ! — in vain, ye gallant few !
From rank to rank your volley'd thunder flew ;
Oh ! bloodiest picture in the book of time,
Sarmatia fell ; unwept, without a crime !
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe,
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe !
Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp the shatter'd npear,
Closed her bright eye, and curb'd her high career!
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell,
And freedom shriek'd, as Kosciusko fell !

The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there, ,
Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air ;
Ou Prague's prond arch the fires of ruin glow,
His blood-dyed watr^rc murmuring far below !
The storm prevails — the rampart yields away —
Bursts the wild cry oi horror and dismay !
Hark I as the smouldering piles with thunder fall,
A thousaud shrieks for hopeless mercy call !

214

THBEE SCENES IN THE TYBOL.

Earth shook — red meteors flash'd along the sky—
And conscious Nature shudder'd at the cry !
Departed spirits of the mighty dead !
Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled !
Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man ;
Fight in his sacred cause and lead the van !
Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone,
And make her arm puissant as your own !
Oh ! once again to Freedom's cause return
The patriot Tell — the Bruce of Bannockburn !

THREE SCENES IN THE TYROL.

THK RESCUE.

now clingir

he reaches

the jutting

for thee, a

Look ! Tl]

ledges wher

hold ; and i

down to tl

marvellous

dence. Zy\

felsen — « L

pension list
an entry to i
to one " Zyi
Martinswant
I'n^ been pla
re.scued by tl

You are standing on a narrow, thread-like road, which has
barely room to draw itself along between the rocky bank of the
River Inn, and the base of a frowning buttress of the Solstein,
which towers many hundred feet perpendicularly above you,
You throw your head far back and look up ; and there you
have a vision of a plum- '^ hunter, lofty and chivalrous in his
bearing, who is bounding heedlessly on after a chamois to the
very verge of a precipice. Mark ! — he loses his footing — he
rolls helplessly from rock to rock ! . There is a pause in his
headlong course. What is it that arrests him? Ah! he puts
forth his mighty strength and clings, hand and foot, with the
gripe of despair, to a narrow ledge of rock, and there he hangs
over the abyss ! It is the Fmperor Maximilian I The Abbot
of Wiltau comes forth from his cell, sees an imperial destiny
suspended between heaven and earth, and, crossing himself with
awe, bids prayers be put up for the welfare of a passing soul.
Hark ! there is a wild cry ringing through the upper air ! Ha !
Zyps of Zirl, thou hunted and hunting outlaw, art thou out
upon the heights at this fearful moment? Watch the hardy
mountaineer ! He binds his crampons on his feet — he is
making his perilous way towards his failing Emperor; — now
bounding like a hunted chamois ; now creeping like an insect ;

There is a

dark and w

mountain-pas

and whirling

clouds are re

the • ,'orld bel

for there an

tempest, in tl

bruck on the

a crowding

gorge, a mutt

which now fl

before the de

meMe there is

footed bun ten

moving const

from the rue

figures, wrapp

in the torchli

onward beside

teeth firmly

anguish ? He

THTIEE SCENES IN THE TYROL.

215

now clinging like a root of ivy ; now dropping like a squirrel :—
he reiiches the fainting monarch just as lie relaxes his grasp on
the jutting rock. Courage, Kaiser ! — there is a hunter's hand
for thee, a hunter's iron-shod foot to guide thee to j-alety.
Look! They clamher up the face of the rock, on points and
ledges where scarce the snaall hoof of the chamois might fnid a
hold ; and the peasant-folk still maintain that an angel came
down to their master's rescue. We will, liowever, refer the
marvellous escape to the interposing hand of a pitying Provi-
dence. Zyps, the outlaw, becomes Count Ilallooer von Iloiien-
felsen — " Lord of the wild cry of the lofty rock ; " and in the old
pension list of the proud house of Haps burg may :r,\i t»e seen
an entry to this effect : that sixteen florins were paid annually
to one " Zyps of Zirl." As you look up from the base of the
Martinswand, you may, with pains, distinguish a cross, which
li.'i^ been planted on the narrow ledge where the Emperor was
rescued by the outlaw.

v THE RUN.

There is another vision, an imperial one also. The night is
dark and wild. Gusty winds come howling down from the
mountain-passes, driving sheets of blinding rain before them,
and whirling them round in hissing eddies. At intervals the
clouds are rent asunder, and the moon takes a hurried look at
the 'vorld below. What does she see ? and what can we hear ?
for there are other sounds stirring beside the ravings of the
tempest, in that wild cleft of the mountains, which guard Inns-
bruck on the Carinthian side. There is a hurried tramp of feet,
a crowding and crushing up through the steep and narrow
gorge, a mutter of suppressed voices, a fitful glancing of torches,
which now flare up bravely enough, now wither in a moment
before the derisive laugh of the storm. At the head of the
mel^e there is a litter borne on the shoulders of a set of sure-
footed hunters of the hills ; and around this litter is clustered a
moving constellation of lamps, which are anxiously shielded
from the rude wrath of the tempest. A group of stately
figures, wrapped in rich military cloaks, with helms glistening
in the torchlight, and plumes streaming on* the wind, struggle
onward beside the litter. And who is this reclining there, his
teeth firmly set to imprison the stifled groan of physical
anguish ? He is but fifty-three years of age, but the lines of

THREE SCENES IN THE TYROL.

premature decay are ploughed deep along brow and cheek,
while his yellow locks are silvered and crisp with care. Who
can mistake that full, expansive forehead, that aquiline nose,
that cold, stern blue eye, and that heavy, obstinate Austrian
under-lip, for other than those of the mighty Emperor Charles
V. ? And can this suffering invalid, flying from foes who are
almost on the heels of his attendants, jolted over craggy passes
in midnight darkness, buffeted by the tempest, and withered
by the sneer of adverse fortune — can this be the Emperor of
Germany, King of Spain, Lord of the Netherlands, of Naples,
of Lombardy, and proud chief of the golden Western World ?
Yes, Charles, thou art reading a stern lesson by that fitful
torch-light * but thy strong will is yet unbent, and thy stern
nature yet unsoftened. And who is the swift " avenger of
biood," who is following close as a sluth-houud on thy track ?
It is Maurice of Saxony, the unscrupulous but intrepid leader
of the Protestant cause — a match for thee in boldness of daring,
and in strength of will. But Charles wins the midnight race ;
and yet, instead of bowing before Him whose " long-suffering
would lead to repentance," he ascribes his escape to the " star
of Austria," ever in the ascendant, and mutters his favorite
saying, " Myself, and the lucky moment."

THE RUIN.

One more scene : it is the year 1809. Bonaparte has decreed
in the secret council chamber, where his own will is his sole
adviser, that the Tyrol shall be cleared of its troublesome nest
of warrior-hunters. Ten thousand PVench and Bavarirm
soldiers have penetrated as far as the Upper Innthal, and are
boldly pushing towards Prutz. B'Ut the mountain-walls of
this profound valley are closing gloomily together, as if they
would forbid even the indignant river to force its wild way
betwixt them. Is there a path through the frowning gorge
other than that rocky way which is fitsrcely held by the torrent ?
Yes, there is a narrow road, painfully grooved by the hand of
man out of the mountain side, now running along like a gallery,
now dropping down to the brink of the stream. But the
glittering array winds on. There is the h^avy tread of the foot
soldiers, the trampling of horse, the dull rumble of the guns,
the waving and flapping of the colors, and the angry remon-
strance of the Ion. But all else is still as a midnight sleep,

except inde
eyries, rais
ab ve the
far up ami(
tim" — n<tt
wh ch sa/
breath and
with its k"i
the dark gii
aririy pauso
serpent-Ienij
along the li
hills is hear
the wild av;i
death. Tlu
paration, coi
of pine-tree
launched d(
deadly hail
descends ak
thirds of tli
along the ^
into the chol
would Willi u
Sorrowful tli
his fierce rev
as the hand
man, in lea
scenes as the

Bray
Hat

And s
Anc
That 1
With

THE SIEGE OF HENSBURGH.

217

except indeed when the eagles of the crag, startled from their
eyries, raise their shrill cry as they spread their living wings
al) ve the gilded eagles of France. Suddenly a voice is heard
fur up amid tlie mists of the heights — not the eagle's cry this
tim" — not the freak of wayward echo — b'<i human words,
wh cli sa/ • Shall we begin ? " Silence ! It is a host that holds its
breath and 'istens. Was it a spirit of the upper air parleying
with its k'liu ? If so, it has its answer countersigned across
thi' dark gu'f. " Noch nicht! " — " not yet! " The whole invading
ar:Tiy pause : there is a wavering and a writhing in the glittering
serpent-len,;tli of tfiat mighty force which is helplessly uncoiled
along the l)ase of the mountain. But hark ! the voice of the
hills is heard again, and it says, " Now ! " Now then descends
the wild avalanche of destruction, and all is tumult, dismay, and
death. The very crags of the mountain-side, loosened in pre-
paration, come bounding, thundering down. Trunks and roots
of pine-trees, gathering speed on their headlong way, are
launched down upon the powerless foe, mingled with the
deadly hail of the Tyrolese rifles. And this fearless storm
de.:icends along the whole line at once. No marvel that two
thirds of that brilliant invading army are crushed to death
alo!ig the grooved pathway, or are tumbled, horse and man,
into the choked and swollen river. Enough"- of horrors ! Who
would willingly linger on ihe hideous details of such a scene ?
Sorrowful that man should come, with his evil ambitions and
his fierce revenges, to stain and to spoil such wonders of beauty
as the hand of the Creator here has moulded. Sorrowful that
man, in league with the serpent, should writhe into such
scenes as these, and poison them with the virus of sin. — Titan.

'li

ii{

'I I

THE SIEGE OF HENSBURGH.

Brave news ! brave news! the Emperor

Hath girded on his sword.
And swears by the rood, in an angry mood,

And eke by his knightly word.
That humbled Hensburgh's towers shall be,
With all her boasted chivalry,

218

THE SIEGE OF HEN8BUEQH

The brazen clarion's battle note

Hath sounded through the land ;
4nd brave squire and knight; in their armour dight,

Ay, many a gallant band,
Have heard the summons far and near,
A.nd come with falchion and with spear

" Ho ! to the rebel city, ho !

Let vengeance lead the way ! "
And anon the sheen of their spears was seen.

As they rushed upon the prey.
Beneath where Hensburgh turrets frowned
Great Conrad chose his vantage ground.

Far stretching o'er the sterile plain

His snow-white tents were spread;
And the sweet night-air, as it lingered there

Caught the watchful sentry's tread.
Then o'er the city's battlement
The tell-tale breeze its echo sent.

Day after day the leaguer sat

Before ttiat city's wall,
And yet, day by day, the proud Guelph cried " Nay'*

To the herald's warning call ;
Heedless, from morn to eventide.
How many a famished mother died.

Weak childhood, and the aged man,

Wept — sorely wept for bread ;
And pale hunger seemed, as his mild eye gleamed

On the yet unburied dead.
As if he longed, alas ! to share
The night dog's cold unhallowed fare.

No longer Hensburgh's bfl^'ner floats ;

Hushed is her battle-cry.
For a victor waits at her shattered gates,

And her sons are doomed to die.
But Herjsburgh's daughters yet shall prove
The saviours of the homes they love !

THE SIEGE OF HENSBUEGH.

All glory to the Emperor,

The merciful and brave ;
Sound, clarions, sound, tell the news around,

And ye drooping banners wave !
Hensburgh's fair daughters, ye are free ;
Go forth, with all your *' brqverie ! "

" Bid them go forth," the Emperor cried.

Far from the scene of strife.
Whether matron staid, or the blushing maid,

Or the daughter, or the wife ;
For ere yon sun hath left the sky.

Each rebel male ahall surely die."

" Bid them go forth," the Emperor said,
" We wage not war with them ;

Bid them all go free, with their ' bravene,*
And each richly-valued gem ;

Let each upon her person bear

That which she deems her chiefest care."

219

■m

^rliS

The city's gates are opened w ide ;

The leaguer stands amazed ;
'Twas a glorious deed, and shall have its meed,

And by a minstrel shall be praised, \,
For each had left her jewelled tire
To bear a husband, or a sire.

With faltering step each ladened one

At Conrad's fe*it appears ;
Ir amaze he stood, but his thirst for blood

Was quenched by his falling tears ;
The victor wept aloud to see
Devoted woman's constancy.

'All glory to the Emperor, —

All g.ory and renown !
He hath sheathed his sword, and his royal word

Hath gone forth to save the town ;
For woman's love is mightier far

i k 'i^

Than all the strategies of war.

Bentlet* Ballaps,

220

WILLIAM TELL AND HIS SOX.

WILLIAM TELL AND HIS SON.

The sun already shone brightly as William Tell entered the
town of Altorf, and he advanced at once to the public place,
where the first object that caught his eyes was a handsome cap,
embroidered with gold, stuck upon the end of a long pole.
Soldiers were walking around it in silence, and the people of
Altorf, as they passed, bowed their head to the symbol of
authority. The cap had been set up by Gessler, the Austrian
commander, for the purpose of discovering those who were not
submissive to the Austrian power, which had ruled the people
of the Swiss Cantons for a long time with great severity. He
suspected that the people were 'about to break into rebellion,
and with a view to learn who were the most discontented, he
had placed the ducal cap of Austria on this pole, publicly
proclaiming that every one passing near, or within sight of it,
should bow before it, in proof of his homage to the duke.

Tell was much surprised at this new and strange attempt to
humble the people, and, leaning on his cross-bow, gazed scorn-
fully on them and the soldiers. Berenger, captain of the guard,
at length observed this man, who alone amidr.t the cringing
crowd carried his head erect. lie ordered him to be seized
and d'"'>»'med hy the soldiers, and then conducted him to
Gesslci, .vho put some questions to him, which he answered so
haughtily that Gessler was both surprised and angry. Suddenly,
ho was struck by the likeness between him and the boy Walter
Tell, whom he had seized and put in prison the previous day
for uttering some seditious words ; he immediately asked his
name, which he no sooner heard than he knew him to be the
archer so famous, as the best marksman in the Canton. Gessler
at once resolved to punish both father and son at the same
time, by a method which was perhaps the most refined act of
torture which man ever imagined. As soon, then, as the youth
was brought out, the governor turned to Tell, and said, '• I
have often heard of thy great skill as an archer, and I now
intend to put it to the proof. Thy sou shall be placed at a
distance of a hundreds yards, with an apple on his head. If
thou strikest the apple with thy arrow I will pardon you both ;
but if thou refusest this trial thy son shall die before thine eyes."

Tell implored Gessler to spare him so ci'uel a trial; in which
he might perhaps kill his beloved boy with his own hand. The

iVv tf

governor woi
shoot at the
Walter stooc
distance beh
one arrow w
weapon, and
emptied at hi
to choose an

After bein
his face, his 1
at length ro
the apple, stri

The market
flew to embra(
fainting to the
Gessler stood
taking place,
with horror,
thus addresse
promise ; but ^
see in your ^
bowmen of Ui
nay," said Ges
may have bee
second shaft," :
I had chanced

WILLIAM TELL AND HIS SOX.

221

ered the
ic place,
)me cap,
ng pole,
eople of
mbol of
Austrian
were not
lO people
ity. He
rebellion,
anted, he
publicly
ight of it,

ttempt to
ed scorn-
he guard,
criiiging
be seized
him to
;wered so
luddenly,
fy Walter
ious day
Lsked his
to be the
Gessler
Ithe same
id act of
Ihe youth
said, '• I
|nd I now
;ed at a
lead. If
lu both;
|ne eyes."
in which
id. The

governor would not alter his purpose ; so Tell at last agreed to
shoot at the apple, as the only chance of saving his son's' life.
Walter stood with his back to a linden tree. Gessler, some
distance behind, watched every motion. His cross-bow and
one arrow were handed to Tell ; he tried the point, broke the
weapon, and demanded his quiver. It was brought to him, and
emptied at his feet. He stooped down and taking a long time
to choose an arrow, managed to hide a second in his girdle.

After being in doubt a long time, his whole soul beaming in
his face, his love for his son rendering him almost powerless, he
at length roused himself — drew the bow — aimed — shot — and
the apple, struck to the core, was carried away by the arrow.

The market-place of Altorf was filled by loud cheers. "Walter
flew to embrace his father, who, overcome by his emotions, fell
fainting to the ground, thus exposing the second arrow to view.
Gessler stood over him, awaiting his recovery, which speedily
taking place, Tell rose, and turned away from the governor
with horror, who, however, scarcely yet believing his senses,
thus addressed him — " Incomparable archer, I will keep my
promise ; but what needed you with that second arrow which I
see in your girdle ?" Tell replied that it was the custom of the
bowmen of Uri to have always one arrow in reserve. '' Nay,
nay," said Gessler, " tell me thy real motive ; and, whatever it
may have been, speak frankly, and thy life, is spared." " The
second shaft," replied Tell, '' was to pierce thy heart, tyrant, if
i I had chanced to harm my son." — Chamb^'rs's " Tracts."

. 3 w'

''tJ

|i"')! iff f

222

THE GEYSBRS OF ICELAND.

THE GEYSERS OF ICELAND.

The following day, we came upon a wide, flat valley, along
which we skirted till we began to see, at the distance of two or
three miles, on a piece of slopiuj ground, under a small hill, a
strange assemblage of masses of steam waving in the evening
breeze. Our eyes became fixed, of course, on this object, which
every minute had a different aspect. Presently, there shot up
amongst the waving masses a column of steam, spreading at the
top like a tree ; and I then felt sure that we were at length
approaching the object of our journey. Crossing the flooded
meadow-ground, and passing a farm-house on the hill-face, we
came, about ten o'clock at night, to the field which contains
these wonderful springs. It Vas still clear daylight. The
ground seemed like a place where some work is going on that
calls for extensive boilings of caldrons. Were 5000 washer-
women to work in the open air together, the general effect, at a
little distance, might be somewhat similar.

As the baggage horses, with our tents and beds, had not yet
arrived, we sat quietly down to coffee, brewed in Geyser water;
when suddenly it seemed as if beneath our very feet a quantity

deigned to fa

THE GETSfiBS OF ICELAND.

2^3

, along

of cannon were going ofiF underground. The whole earth shook.
We set off at full speed toward the Great Geyser, expecting to
see the grand water explosion. By the time we reached its
hrim, however, the noise had ceased, and all we could see was a
slight trembling movement in the centre.

Irritated at this false alarm, we determined to revenge our-
selves by going and tormenting the Strokr. Strokr, or the
chum, you must know, is an unfortunate Geyser, with so little
command over his temper and his stomach that you can get a
rise out of him, whenever you like. All that is necessary is
to collect a quantity of sods and throw them down his funnel.
As he has no basin to protect him from these liberties, you can
approach to the very edge of the pipe, about five feet in
diameter, and look down at the boiling water which is perpet-
ually seething at the bottom. In a few minutes the dose of
turf you have just administered begins to disagree with him ;
he works himself up into an awful passion. Tormented by the
qualms of sickness, he groans and hisses, and boils up, and
spits at you with malicious vehemence ; until at last, with a roar
of mingled pain and rage, he throws up into the air a column
of water forty feet high. This carries with it all the sods that
have been chucked in, and scatters them scalded and half-
digested at your feet. So irritated has the poor thing's
stomach become by the discipline it has undergone, that even
long after all foreign matter has been thrown off it goes on
retching and sputtering, until at last nature is exhausted. Then
sobbing and sighing to itself, it sinks back into the bottom cf
its den.

As the Great Geyser explodes only once in forty hours or
more, it was, of course, necessary that we should wait his
pleasure ; in fact, our movements entirely uepended on his. For
the next two- or three days, therefore, like pilgrims round an
ancient shri..e, we patiently kept watch ; but he scarcely
deigned to favor us with the slightest manifestation of his
latent energies. Two or three times the cannonading we had
heard immediately after our arr:''al, recommenced ; and once, an
eruption, to the height of about ten feet, occurred. But so
brief was its duration, that by the time we were on the spot,
although the tent Tvas not eighty yards distant, all was over.
At length, after three days' watching in languid expectation of
the eruption, our desire was gratified. A cry from the guides
made us start to our feet and rush towards the basin. The

■lit I

I* '¥'
■ i, '^.

hi'.'i

THE MAELSTROf.

usual underground thunders had already commenced, a violent
agitation was disturbing the centre of the pool.

Suddenly a dome of water lifted itself to the height of eight
or ten feet, then burst and fell ; immediately after which a
shining liquid column, or rather a sheaf of columns, wreathed
in robes of vapor, sprang about seventy feet into the air ; and
in a succession of jerking leaps, each higher than the last, flung
their silvery crests against the sky. For a few minutes the
fountain held its own ; then all at once appeared to lose its
ascending energy. The unstable waters faltered, drooped, fell,
" like a broken purpose," back upon themselves, and were
immediately sucked down into the recesses from which they
had sprung.

The spectacle was certainly magnificent ; but no description
can ijive anv idea of its most striking features. The enormous
wealth of water, its vitality, its hidden power, the immeasurable
breadth of sun-lit vapor rolling in exhaustless abundance, all
combined to make one feel the stupendous energy of nature's
slightest movements. — Dufferin.

THE MAELSTROM.

The most tremendous whirlpool in the whole wona is that
which is called the Maelstrom, and which is situated on the
western coast of Norway. The water near ibis Maelstrom is
continually in the most fearful commotion. Ships of the
heaviest burden, if drawn into it, are inevitably destroyed; the
whale is sometimes overcome by the power of its suction, and
dashed to pieces in its vortex. Its influence is felt in all the
surrounding waters, and those who are once drawn towards
it seldom escape. The following story may not be without
interest, in association with this fearful Maelstrom • —

On the shore, nearly opposite the whirlpool, one fine
afternoon in the month of July, a party of young ladies and
gentlemen agreed to take an excursion that evening in a
pleasure-boat. They were not much accustomed to ' the
dangers of the sea.' The young men could not ply the oars
as dexterously as many others, but they supposed there could
be no danger. All nature seemed to smile. The sunbeam

briskly playe
thrown its oi
presenting a
The most tim
in its most ter
The evenir
beach. The
and then slee
The pleasure-
boat was mo^
It was rapidlj
discovered tha
deep when the
allowed the h
All was thou^
which they sa
more rapid. 1
pool. Their m
to the same sf
moment, the oi
saved, a numb(
discovered them
those in the boj
shore, if pos^bl
pleasure laught
making one a
ruin. The boa
tinually increasii
by the rotary i
soon appeared a
Again they m
whose danger th(
l)y their own <
launched anothe
could not save
inactive, and be
round this moui
them and their
Peals of laught(
thanks given to
them. For a tin

thoughtlessness.
4r

TB£ MAELSTRuM.

225

that
)n the
rom is
the
p; the
n, and
111 the
awards
rithout

fine

and

in a

'the

le oars

could

ibeam

briskly played on the bosom of the ocean. Calmness had
thrown its oily wand on the billow, and it slept. The water,
presenting a smooth unruffled surface, seemed a sea of glass.
The most timorous would scarcely have suspected that danger,
in its most terrific form, was lurking just beneath the surface.

The evening came — the young people assembled on the
beach. The mellow moonbeam would tremble for a moment
and then sleep on the calm, unagitated bosom of the ocean.
The pleasure-boat was unmoored — the party gaily entered ; the
boat was moved from the shore. It was soon under way.
It was rapidly propelled by those at the oars. But they soon
discovered that it would skim gently over the bosom of the
deep when the motion produced by the oars had ceased. They
allowed the boat to glide gently along — they felt no danger.
All was thoughtless hilarity. The motion of the vessel in
which they sailed became gradually, and to them insensibly,
more rapid. They were moved by the ijifluence of the whirl-
pool. Their motion was rotary. They soon came round almost
to the same spot from which they had sailed. At this critical
moment, the only one in which it was possible for them to be
saved, a number of persons on shore, who knew their danger,
discovered them, and instantly gave the alarm. They entreated
those in the boat to make one desperate effort and drive it on
shore, if pos^ble. When they talked of danger, the party of
pleasure laughed at their fears, and passed along without
making one attempt to deliver themselves from impending
ruin. The boat moved on, the rapidity of its motion con-
tinually increasing, and the circle around which it was drawn
by the rotary movement of the water becoming smaller. It
soon appeared a second time to those on the land.

Again they manifested their anxiety for the safety of those
whose danger they saw, but who", if delivered, must be delivered
by their own exertions ; for those on shore, even if they
launched another boat and rushed into the very jaws of peril,
could not save them, while they were determined to remain
inactive, and be carried by the accelerated velocity of the water
round this mouth of the sea, ready to swallow at once both
them and their boat. They still moved along in merriment.
Peals of laughter were often heard. Sneers were the only
thanks given to those who would, with delight, have saved
1 them. For a time they continued to movf, round in all th«ir
I thoughtlessness. Presently, however, they began to hear the
4it 15

;>■■

226

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.

tremendous roar of the vortex below. It sounded like the
hoarse, unsteady bellowings of the all-devouring earthquake, or
like the distant sea in a storm. By this time, the boat ever
and anon would quiver like an aspen-leaf, and then shoot like
lightning through the now foam-covered^ sea.

Solemnity now began to banish mirth from the countenances
of those in the pleasure-boat. They half-suspected that danger
was near. Soon they felt it. When they came again in sight
of land their cries of distress would have pierced a heart of
stone.

" Oh, help !• for mercy's sake," was now the exclamation of
despair. A thick, black cloud, as if to add horror to the scene
of distress, at this moment shrouded the heavens. The oars
were plied with every nerve. They snapped, and their frag-
ments were hurried into the yawning abyss. The boat, now
trembling, now tossed, now whirled suddenly round, now lashed
by the spray, was presently thrown with violence into the jaws
of death, opened wide to receive it and the immortals whom it
carried. — Wonders of the World.

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.

Of Nelson and the North

Sing the gJorious day's renown,

When to ba'ttle fierce came forth

All the might of Denmark's crown,

And her arms along the deep proudly shone ,

By each gun the lighted brand,

In a bold determined hand —

And the prince of all the laud

Led them on.

Like leviathans afloat

Lay their bulwp,rks on the brine ;

While the sign of battle flew

On the lofty British line ;

It was ten of April morn, by the chime,

As they drifted on their path :

There was silence deep as death,

And the boldest held his breath,

For a time.

BAfxLK OF THK BALTIC.

the

s, or

But the might of England flush 'd

To anticipate the scene ;

And her van the fleeter rush'd

O'er the deadly space between.

" Hearts of oak ! " our captains cried ; vvheu each guu

From its adamantine lips

Spread a deatli-shude round the ships,

Like the hurricane eclipse

Of the sun. *" "■

Again ! again

again

And the havoc did not slack.

Till a feeble cheer the Dane

To our cheering sent us back —

Their shots along the deep slowly boom :

Then ceased, and all is wail,

As they strike the shatter'd sail,

Or in conflagration })ale,

Light the^oom. "*

Out spoke the victor, then.

As he hail'd them o'er the wave,

*' Ye arelbrothers ! ye are men !

And we conquer but to save ;

So, peace instead of death let us bring.

But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,

With the crews, at England's feet,

And make submission meet

To our King." **

Then Denmark bless'd our chief.

That he gave her wounds repose ;

And the sounds of joy and grief

P^'rom her people viltlly rose.

As death withdrew his shades from the day ;

While the sun look'd smilinir brisht

O'er a wide and woeful sight,

Where the fires of funeral light

Died away.

Now joy, old England, raise !
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze.
Whilst the wine-cup shiues in light j

228

THE BURNING OF MOSCOW.

And y(.'t, amidst that joy and uproar,
L(!t us think of tliom that sleep,
Full many a fathom deep,
\\y thy wild and. stormy stee{) —
Elsinore I

Brave h(;arts ! to Britain's pride,

Once so faithfid and so true.

On the deck of fame that died

With the gallant, good lliou —

Soft sigh the winds of Injaven o'er their grave :

While the billow mournful rolls.

And the meimsiid's song condoles.

Singing glory to the souls

Ol the brave.

Campbell.

THE BURNING OF MOSCOW.

The disasters of Napoleon's Russian Campaign have been
portrayed by French writers,- who were eye witnesses of this
Hignal defeat of blind ambition and the insane lust of conquest*

The whole el

the once-fav

whom he ca

remnant reti

June, 1812.

the horrors of

At day-br

encamped, an(

city we obs<

parapet of e;

enclosure. W

capital was in

80 deserted thi

French soldie

imposing solitu

redoubled wliei

from the cent

proceeded from

had set fire in

conflagration,

tranquilize o

satisfying it red

In conformity

ruin of the anci(

The criminals <

liberty, on con(

flliould be in pos

its destruction, t

might have be<

The exchange

flames. The sto

valuable commo

filled with sugar

The French end<

pjement, but the;y

The fire brcakii

increased by a h

great a calamity j

the presentiment,

fall on the first ai

A great part o

their houses, froj

t
ou

THE BURNING OF MOSCOW.

229

been
)f this
iquest*

The whole elements of nature seemed to have conspired against
the once-favored child of victory ; out of the vast host
whom he carried with him only a melancholy and enfeebled
remnant returned. Tlio Russian territory was entered in
June, 1812. Moscow was burnt on the 9th of September, and
the horrors of the retreat commenced on the 6th of November : —

At day-break, our corps left the village, where it had
encamped, and marched upon Moscow. As we drew near the
city we observed that it had no walls, and that a single
parapet . of earth was the only work which formed the outer
enclosure. We had hitherto seen nothing to indicate that the
capital was inhabited, and the road by which we arrived was
so deserted that we did not see a single Muscovite, nor even a
French soldier. No noise, no cry, was heard amidst this
imposing solitude, anxiety alone guided our footsteps, which was
redoubled when we perceived a column of thick smoke arising
from the centre of the city. At first we imagined that it only
proceededfromsoin magazines, to which the Russians, as usual,
had set fire in thoir retreat. Eager to know the cause of this
conflagration, we sought in vain for some one who could
tranquilize our restless curiosity ; but the impossibility of
satisfying it redoubled our impatience and increased our alarm.

In conformity with the desolating plan of the campaign, the
ruin of the ancient capital of the Czars had been determined.
The criminals confined in the different prisons received their
liberty, on condition of setting fire to the city as soon as it
should be in possession of the French army. In order to insure
its destruction, the engines and every means by which the fire
might have been extinguished were removed or destroyed.
The exchange was the first building that fell a prey to the
flames. The stores contained an immense quantity of the most
valuable commodities of Europe and Asia ; the cellars were
filled with sugar, oils, and resin which burnt with great fury.
The French endeavored to check ^he progress of the devouring
element, but they soon discovered that their efforts were useless.
The fire breaking out in different quarters of the city, and
[increased by a high wind, spread with dreadful rapidity. So
great a calamity impressed even the most hardened minds with
the presentiment, that the wrath of divine justice would one day
I fall on the first authors of this frightful devastation.

A great part of the population had concealed themselves in
I their houses, fropa the terrors caused by our arrival, but they

f:..n

i^W'M

230

THE Bmi>1NG OF MOSCOW.

left them as the flames reached their asylums. Fear had
rendered their grief dumb, and, as they tremblingly quitted
their retreats, tlnjy carried off their most valuable effects, while
those who were possessed of more sensibility, actuated by
natural feelings, souvlit only to save the lives of the parents oi
the cuildren. On one side we saw a son carrying a sick father ;
on the other, womon who poured the torrent of their tears on
the infants, whom they chisped in their arras. They were
followed by the rest of their children, wlio, fearful of being lost,
ran crying after their mothers. Old men, overwhelmed more
by grief than by the wei<rht oi year;;, were seldom able to follow
their familie;; ; many of thi^m. weeping for tlie rum of their
con try, lay down to die near the houses where they were born.
Thti streets, the public .squares, and especially the churches,
v/ere crowded with these unhappy persons, who mourned as
thev lay on the remains of their property,, but showed no signs of
despair. The victors and the vanquished were become equally
brutish ; the fonner by excess of fortune, the latter by excess
of misery.

The hospitals, containing more than twelve thousand wounded.
be.fja:: to burn. The heart, frozen wuh horror, recoils at the
ia> a] disaster which ensued. Almost all these wretched victims
perisi.'^.d. The few who were still living were seen crawling:,
half-lnrnt, undc the smoking ashes, or groaning under the
heaps of dea<'t bodies, making ineffectual efforts to extricate
themselves.

It is impossible to depict the confusion and tumult that
ensued, when the whole of this immense city was given up to
pillage. Soldiers, sutlers, and galley-slaves, ran through the
streets, penetrated the deserted palaces, and carried off every
thing that could gratify their insatiable desires.

Dismayed by so many calamities, I had hoped that the shades
of night would veil the dreadful scene ; but darkness, on the
contrary, rendered the conflagration more terrible. The flames
which extended from north to soutli, burst forth with greater
violence, and, agitated by the wind, seemed to reach the sky.
Clouds of smoke mai-ked the track of the rockets that were
hurled by the incendiary criminals, from the tops of the steeples,
and v/hich, at a distance, resembled falling stars. But nothing
was so terrific as the dread that reigned in every mind, and which
was heightened, in the dead of the night, by the groans and
shrieks of the unfortunate creatures who were robbed and

massacredc

bowlings

palace, ace

escape the

Many oi

induced tl

<langer ; e;

midst of tl

on the de

wood fell

have peris]

pelled then:

Tv the war
on the day j
a German
with a hand
a lamentabi
ordered twc
whether the
of laughter,
invited him
he saw an o
ance, who h
fled to this
feebled, by 1
to leave it.
of his men,
Entering,

'«'

had meanwh
tears of joy
j^^oodness to
thanks, provi
for him amo
ICameoez in

THE GRATEFUL JEW.

231

ar had
quitted
J, while
ited b\
ents 01
father ;
ears on
y were
ing lost,
id raor<5
o follow
af their
sre born,
hurches,
irned as
signs of

i equally

ly excess

vounded,
s at the
i victims
crawling,
der the
extricate

lult that
n up to
)Ugh the
)ff every

e shades
3, on the

massacred. To these heart-piercing groans were added the
bowlings of the dogs that were chained to the gates of the
palace, according to the custom of Moscow, and were unable to
escape the flames that enveloped them.

Many of our soldiers fell victims to their own rapacity, which
induced them, heedless of the extreme risk, to brave every
danger ; excited by the love of plunder, they rushed into the
midst of the fire and smoke ; they waded in blood, trampling
on the dead bodies, whilst the ruins and pieces of burning
wood fell upon their murderous hands. Perhaps all would
have perished, had not the insupportable heat at length com-
pelled them to take refuge in the camp. — Segur's Narrative.

V^Va. ,/7 9-^-/S7 3

THF GRATEFUL JEW.

In the war between Russia and Turkey, which began in 1769,
on the day after the great battle of Choczim, Lieutenant Pfuhl,
a German in the service of the PLmpress Catherine, rode out
with a handful of dragoons on a foraging expedition. Hearing
a lamentable voice issuing from a neiglikoring thicket, he
ordered two of his men to dismount, in order to discover
whether the ""oice was that of a friend or an enemy. A peal
of laughter, raised by the dragoons on their arrival at the spot,
invited him to follow with the remainder of his party. There
he saw an old Turkish Jew, of venerable and dignified appear-
ance, who had been wounded by the Russian cavalry, and had
fled to this place for shelter, but who was now too much en-
feebled, by loss of blood and the pain of his wound, to be able
to leave it. After Pfuhl had gravely reprimanded the laughter
of his men, he ordered the Jew to be carried into his own tent.
Entering, a little while after, the aged Israelite, whose wound
had meanwhile been carefully attended to, address'ed him with
tears of joy : " Sir, who can ever repny you for your great
•loodness to me ? " The noble lieutenant disacknowledged all
thanks, provided the Jew with a pass, collected a sum of money
lor him among the officers of his regiment, and sent him to
Kamenez in Podolid, there to await his recovery.

232

THE CJ HATEFUL JEW.

The Russian army advanced further into tlie Turk'sh terri-
tory, and Pfuhl, who ever distinguished himself as a brave
soldier and the protector of defenceless innocence, was on the
road to high promotion ; but, being attacked on one occasion
by the enemy, he was deserted by an envious brother officer,
and, in spite of his brave defence, fell into the hands of the
Turks. He was taken to Adrianople, and there sold as a slave
to Abdul Melek, a Sicilian by birth, wlio had apostatized to
Mahommedanism, and who was then journeying to Servia.
Abdul Melek, a rich but wicked and cruel man, on account of
Pfuhl's knowledge of Italian and his skilful treatment of horses,
at once appointed him overseer of his stables and gardens. It
happened, shortly afterwards, that a favorite horse of Abdul'^
fell and injured itself severely, and, although Pfuhl was in no
way to blame for the matter, his tyrannical master confined him
for forty-eight hours in a horrible dungeon, and condemned
him to the roughest field labor. The unhappy Pfuhl, whose
name had been changed to Ibrahim, now began to feel the
misery of his situation, and looked forward to nothing but a
life of hard work and harder blows, when an unexpected cir-
cumstance gave another turn to the state of affairs. A young
ludy, the daughter of Colonel B., had fallen into the hands of
the Turks, and under the pov/er of Abdul Melek, from whom
she had nothing to expect but the most shameful treatment.
Having discovered the presence of a countryman, she sent a
trustworthy slave to Pfuhl, praying him most earnestly to
deliver her from bondage. Pfuhl at once acceded to her
request, all preparations were made, and the devoted pair wer»_
ready for flight, when their whole plan was betrayed by a slave
named Hassan, in whom they had placed the utmost confidence.
The consequence was, that they were both loaded with chains,
and confined in two strong adjoining dungeons. For eight days
Ibrahim was most cruelly ill-treated, and the cries of Natalie
— for such was the maiden's name — assured him that she was
undergoing a punishment no less severe. At last, no sound
came from her place of confinement, and his mind was filled
with the most frightful conjectures as to her fate, which were
all the more unbearable, as the slave who brougnt him his food
answered all iiis inquiries concerning her with morose silence.
Sunk in the deepest melancholy, witliout daring to entertain a
single consoling thouglit, he sat one day in his dungeon, when
bis muster entered^ attended by two slaves, and informed him

THB GRATEFUL JEW.

23a

that although Iiis offence merited a crael death, he had heen
lenient enough to sell him to another master. Thereupon, he
commanded him to rise and go into the carriage that waited
for him. Pfuhl entered the vehicle, and it drove off with the
greatest speed.- For three days the journey lasted without
Pfuhl's knowing his destination, or receiving any other answer
from his conductors, who treated him not as a slave but as their
superior, than that he might be at his ease and fear no harm.
On the evening of the third day they came to a large place.
The carriage stopped in a courtyard. Pfuhl got out, and the
first person whom the light of the torches showed him was —
the Jew, whose life he had saved at Choczim. " God be
thanked," said he, " that I can repay you, sir, for what you
have done for me ! enter the house of your servant, to whom
you once showed such compassion ! " Pfuhl did not know what
to think. One question rapidly followed another, and the Jew
promised to answer them all in the morning. But who can
picture Pfuhl's delight when, next morning, the Jew introduced
him to a lady whom he at once recognized as Natalie. After
the first transport of joy, the Jew related that, having acci-
dentally visited Abdul Melek, the latter had offered to sell him
a slave, who turned out to be Natalie. The tears of his new
slave moved him to ask the cause of them, and he learnt from
her that a Russian officer named Pfuhl languished in prison.
The name of his deliverer at Choczim at once came into his
'aind, and he immediately resolved to free him. — " I set out at
;iL once," continued the Jew, " to your tyrant, who intended to
leave you to perish by a miserable death, but, being as avaricious
as he is cruel, he consented to sell you, on my promising to dis-
pose of you to a hard master. . In this way you came into my
hands. God be praised that I have been able to pay you what
1 owe for your goodness to me. In a few days I shall go to
the camp, taking you and Natalie with me, where I shall take
a by-way, and, by God's help, land you safely among your
countrymen." Weeping and deeply affected, Natalie and Pfuhl
hung upon the neck of the old Jew. He brought them safely
to Bucharest in Wallachia, where the Russian army then la}',
and they found it hard indeed to part with their magnanimous
deliverer. When he had departed, Pfuhl, to add to his astonish-
ment and thankfulness towards the Jew. found a purse with a
thousand ducats, and a costly ring for Natalie, presents which
the grateful Israelite had, quite unperceived, coQcealed Id

rN f

f-M

u^ ^1

234

THE ROAD TO THE TRENCHES.

Pfuhl's clotbes. Natalie found her father still alive, and by
him the friendship that had sprung up in captivity was
sanctioned for life. The remembrance of the grateful Jew's
noble generosity, often furnishes them with their happiest
moments. — From the German cf Ewald.

THE ROAD TO Tllii TRENCHES.

" Leave me, comrades, here I drop, —

No sir, take them on,
All are wanted, none should stop,

Duty must be done;
Those whose guard you take will find me

As they pass below."
So the soldier spoke, and staggering,

Fell amid the snow ;
And ever on the dreary heights

Down came the snow.

*' Men, it must be as he asks,

Duty must be done ;
Far too few for half our tasks.

We can spare not one.
Wrap him in this, I need it less ;

Fear not, they shall know ,
Mark the place, yon stunted larch,

Forward," — on they go ;
And silent on their silent march

Down sank the snow.

O'er his features as be lies

Calms the wrench of pain :
Close faint eyes, pass cruel skies,

Freezing mountain plain ;
With far. soft sounds, the stillness teems,

Church bells — voices low,
Passing into English dreams

There amid the snow ;
And darkening, thickening o'er the heights,

Down fell the snow.

THE BATTLE OF THERMOPYL^.

236

Looking, lookiv;g for thfj mark,

Down the others came,
Struggling through the snowdrifts stark,

Calling out his name ;
" Here, — or there ; the drifts are deep,

Have we passed him ? " — No !
Look, a little growing heap,

Snow above the snow.

Strong hands raised him, voices strong

Spoke within his ears ;
Ah ! his dreams had softer tongue,

Neither novv he hears.
One more gone fpr England's sake,

Where so many go.
Lying dov7n without complaint,

Dying in the snow ;
Starving, striving for her sake,

Dying in the snow.

Simply done his soldier's part,

Through long months of woe ;
All endured with soldier heart.

Battle, famine, snow ;
Noble, nameless, English heart,

Snow cold, in snow.

'^(•^mi''-'^ LUSHINGTON.

Z/^^"

THE BATTLE OP THERMOPYL^.

After such time as Xerxes had transported the army over
the Hellespont and landed in Thrace — leaving the description
of his passage along that coast, and how the river of Lissus
was drunk dry by his multitudes, and the lake near to Pi. syrus
by his cat'le, with other accidents in his marches towards
Greece — I will speak of the encounters he had, and the shame-
ful and incredible overthrow j which he received. At first at
Thermopylae, a narrow passage of half an acre of ground,
lying between the mountains which divide Thessaly from
Gr«ec«, where sometime the Phocians had raised c wall with

236

THE BATTLE OF THERMOPYLiE.

gates, wnich was then for the most part ruined. At this
entrance, Leonidas, one of the kings of Sparta, with 300
Lacedemonians, assisted with 1,000 Tegeatas and Mantineans,
and 1,000 Arcadians, and other Peloponnesiaus, to the number
of 3,100 in the whole; besides 100 Phocians, 400 Thebans,
700 Thespians, and all the forces — such as they were — of the
bordering Locrians, defended the passage two whole days
together against that huge army of the Persians, The valor of
the Greeks appeared so excellent in this defence, that, in the first
day's fight, Xerxes is said to have three times leaped out of his
throne, fearing the destruction of his army by one handful of those
men whom, not long before, he had utterly despised ; and when
the second day's attempt upon the Greeks had proved vaiu, he
was altogether ignorant how to proceed further, and so might
have continued, had not a renegade Grecian taught him a secret
way, by which part of his army might ascend the ledge of
mountains, and s' t upon the backs of those who kept the
straits. But, when the most valiant of the Persian army had
almost enclosed the small forces of the Greeks, then did
Leonidas, King of the Lacedemonians, with his 300, and 700
Thespians, which were all that abode by him, refused to quit
the place which they had undertaken to 'aake good, and ^\\\\
admirable courage not only resisted that world of men which
charged them on all sides, but, issuing out of their strength,
made so great a slaughter of their enemies that they might
well be called vanquishers, though all of them were slain upon
the place. Xerxes, having lost in this last fight, together with
20,000 other soldiers and captains, two of his own brethren,
began to doubt what inconvenience might befall him, by the
virtue of such as had not been present at these battles, with
whom he knew that he was shortly to deal. Especially of the
Spartans he stood in great fear, whose manhood had appeared
singular in this trial, which caused him very carefully to
inquire what numbers they could bring into the field. It is
reported of Dieneces, the Spartan', that when one thought to
have terrified him by saying that the flight of the Persian
arrows was so thick as to hide the sun, he answered thus :
*' It is very good news, for then shall we fight in the cool shade."
— Ealeigh's History of the World.

THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII,

23T

I thus :
lade."

THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII.

Once upon a time there stood a town in Italy, at the foot of
Mount Vesuvius, which was to Rome what Brighton or Hast-
ings is to London — a very fashionable watering place, at which
Roman gentlemen and members of the sen^ite built villas, to
which thev were in the habit of retiring from the fatigues of
business or the broils of politics. The outsides of all the
houses* were adorned with frescoes, and every shop glittered
with all the colors of the rainbow. At the end of each street
there was a charming fountain, and any one who sat down
beside it to cool himself had a delightful view of the Mediter-
ranean, then as beautiful, as blue, and as sunny, as it is now.
On^a fine day, crowds might be seen lounging here ; some
saui^ring up and down in gala dresses of purjile, while slaves
passed to and fro, bearing on their heads splendid vases ; others
sat on marble benches, shaded from the sun bv awnings, and
having before them tables covered with wine, and fruit, and
flowers. Every house in that town was a little palace, and
every palace was like a temple, or one of our great public
buildings.

■m,U

288

THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII.

Any one, who thinks a mansion in Belgravia the acme of
splendor, would have been astonished, h^d he lived in those
days, to find now completely the abode of those Roman lords
outshone "the stately homes of England." On entering tho
former, the visitor passed through a vestibule decorated with
rows of pillars, and then found himself in the impluvium, in
which the household gods kept guard over the owner's treasure,
which was placed in a safe, or strong box, secured with brass
or iron bands. In this apartment guests were received witl)
imposing ceremony, and the patron heard the complaints,
supplications, and adulations of his great band of clients or
dependants, who lived on his smiles and bounty, but chiefly on
the latter. Issuing thence, the visitor found himself in the
tablinunif an apartment paved with mosaic, and decorated with
paintings, in which were kept the family papers and archives.
li contained a dining room and a supper room, and a number
of sleeping rooms, hung with the softest Syrian cloths ; a cabi-
net, filled with rare jewels and antiquities, and sometimes a
fine collection of paintings ; and, last of all, a pillared peristyle,
opening out upon the garden, in which the finest fruit hung
temptingly in the rich light of a golden sky, and fountains,
which flung their waters aloft in every imaginable form and
device, cooled the air and discoursed sweet music to the ear ;
while from behind every shrub there peeped out a statue or
the bust of some great man, carved from the purest white
marble, and placed in charming contrast with bouquets of rare
flowers springing from stone vases. On the gate there was

always the

image

of a dog, and underneath it the inscription,

*' Beware the dog."

The frescoes on the walls represented scenes in the Greek
Legends, such as " The Parting of Achilles and the Beautiful
Maid Briseis." " The seizure of Europa," " The Battle of the
Amazons," &c., many of which are still to be seen in the
Museum at Naples. The pillars in the peristyle, of which we
have just spoken, were encircled with garlands of liowers, which
were renewed every morning. The tables of citron-wood were
inlaid with silver arabesques.; the couches were of bronze, gilt
and jewelled, and were furnished with thick cushions an<l
tapestry, embroidered with marvellous skill. When the master
gave a dinner party, the guests reclined upon these cushions,
washed their hands in silver basins, and dried them with nap
kins fringed with purple ; and, having made a libation on the

altar of £

Britain, kii

fruits serve

while the <

and most <

crowned tl

executed tl

panied by tl

After the

invisible pi]

thing aroun

fountain, si

from the m<

at the pres

the palled a

these had

which senal

provinces ai

the tapestrj

attired, wre

hands, issue

graceful ma2

One day,

Vesuvius ser

thing like a

ness black as

diti of crie

together. 1

the mothr ]

nothing ooul

then darted

tain. The c

and the sea

became thiol

awful noise,

the town and

The iahah

guests in th

soldiers at t.

their theft,

traders in tli

Attempted flig

th(i
with

Greek
utiful
of the
in the
ich we
which
d were
zo, gilt
US and
master
ishions,
h nap
on the

THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEn.

239

altar of Bacchus, ate oysters brought from the shores of
Britain, kids which were carved to the sound of music, and
fruits served up on ice in the hottest days of summer ; and
while the cup-bearers filled their golden cups with the rarest
and most delicate wines in all the world, other attendants
crowned them with flowers wet with dew, and dancers
executed the most graceful movements, and singers, accom-
panied by the lyre, poured forth an ode of Horace or Anacreon.

After the banquet a shower of scented water, scattered from
invisible pipes, spread perfume over the apartment; and every
thing around, even the oil and the lamps, and the jets of the
fountain, shed forth the most grateful odor; and suddenly^
from the mosaic floor, tables of rich dainties, of which we have
at the present day no idea, rose, as if by magic, to stimvlate
the palled appetites of the revellers into fresh activity. "VV hen
these had disappeared, other tables succeeded them, upon
which senators, and consuls, and pro-cOnsuls, gambled away
provinces and empires by the throw of dice , and, last of all,
the tapestry was suddenly raised, and young girls, lightly
attired, wreathed with flowers, and bearing lyres in their
hands, issued forth, and charmed sight and hearing by the
graceful mazes of the dance.

One day, when such festivities as these were in full activity,
Vesuvius sent up a tall and very black column of smoke, some-
thing like a pine-tree ; and suddenly, in broad noonday, dark«
ness black as pitch came over the scene I There was a frightful
diti of cries, groans, and imprecations, mingled confusedly
together. The brother lost his sister, the husband his wife,,
the mothr her child ; for the darkness became so dense that
nothing could be seen but the flashes which every now and
then darted forth from the summit of the neighboring moun-
tain. The earth trembled, tb.o houses shook and began to fall,
and the sea rolled back from the land as if terrified ; the air
became thick with dust ; and then, amidst tremendous and
awful noise, a shower of stones, scoria, and pumice, fell upon
the town and blotted it out forever !

The inhabitants died just as the catastrophe found them —
guests in their banqueting hulls, brides in their chambers,
soldiers at their post, prisoners in their dungeons, thieves in
their theft, maidens at the mirror, slaves at the fountain,
traders io their shops students at their books. Some people
attempted flight, guided by some blind people, who had walked

C.'/

J iff J

240

VIEW OF LISBON.

80 lo'jg in darkness that no thicker shadows could ever coxno
upon them ; but of these many were struck down On the way.
"When, a few days afterwards, people came from the surround-
ing country to the place, they found naught but a black, level,
smoking plain, sloping to the sea, and covered thickly with
ashes ! Down, down beneath, thousands and thousands were
sleeping " the sleep that knows no waking," with all their little
pomps, and vanities, and frivolities, and pleasures^ and luxu-
ries, buried with them.

This took place on the 23d of August, a.d. 79 ; and the
name of the town, thus suddenly overwhelemed with ruin,
was Pompeii. Sixteen hundred and seventeen years after-
wards, curious persons began to dig and excavate on the spot,
and lo ! they found the city pretty much as it was when over-
whelmed. The houses were standing, the paintings were fresh,
and the skeletons stood in the very positions and the very
places in which death had overtaken their owners so long ago !
The marks left by the cups of the tipplers still remained on *.he
counters; the prisoners still wore their fetters; the belles t) eir
chains and bracelets ; the miser held his hand on his hoarded
coin ; and the priests were lurking in the hollow images of
their gods, from which they uttered responses and deceived the
worshippers. There were the altars, with the blood dry and
crusted upon them ; the stable in which the victims of the
sacrifice were kept ; and the hall of mysteries, in which were
symbolical paintings. The researches are still going on, new
wonders are every day coming to light, and we soon shall have
almost as perfect an idea of a Roman town, in the first century
of the Christian era, as if we had walked the streets and gos-
siped with the idle loungers at the fountains. Pompeii is the
ghost of an extinct civilization rising up before us. — Illustrated
Magazine of Art.

VIEW OF LISBON.

Lisbon, like ancient Rome, is built on at least seven hills. It
is fitted by situation to be one of the most beautiful cities in
the world. Seated, or rather enthroned, on such a spot, com-
manding a magnificent harbor^ and overlooking one of the
noblest rivers of Europe, it might be more distinguished fof

View oi* LISBON,

241

s. It
ies in
com-
f the

^tternal beauty than Athens in the days of lier freedom. Now,
it seems ratlier to be the theatre in which the two great powers
of deformity and loveliness are perpetually struggling for the
mastery. The highest admiration and the most sickening disgust
alternately prevail in the mind of the beholder. Never was
there so strange an intermixture of the mighty and the mean —
of the pride of wealth and the abjectness of poverty — of the
memorials of greatness and the symbols of low misery — of the
filthy and the romantic. I will dwell, however, on the fair side
of the picture ; as I envy not those who delight in exhibiting
the frightful or the gloomy in the moral or natural world.
Often after traversing dark and wretched streets, at a sudden
turn, a prospect of inimitable beauty bursts on the eye of the
spectator. He finds himself, perhaps, on the brink of a mighty
hollow, scooped out by nature amidst hills, all covered to the top
with edifices, save where groves of the freshest verdure are in-
terspersed ; or on one side, a mountain rises into a cone far above
the city, tufted with woods, and crowned with some castellated
pile, the work of other days. The views fronting the Tagus are
still more extensive and grand. On one of these I stumbled a
few evenings after my arrival, which almost suspended the
breath with wonder. I had labored through a steep and narrow
street almost choked with dirt, when a small avenue on one side,
apparently more open, tempted me to step aside to breathe the
fresher air. I found myself on a little plot of ground, hanging
apparently in the air, in the front of one of the churches. I
stood against the column of the portico absorbed in delight and
wonder. Before me lay a large portion of the city — houses
descended beneath houses, sinking almost precipitously to a
fearful depth beneath me, whose frameworks, covered over with
vines of delicate green, broke the ascent like prodigious steps,
by which a giant might scale the eminence. The same " wilder-
ness of building " filled up the vast hollow, and rose by a more
easy slope to the top of the opposite hills, which were crowned
with turrets, domes, mansions, and regal pavilions of a dazzling
whiteness. Beyond the Tagus, on the southern shore, the coast
rose into wild and barren hills, wearing an aspect of the roughest
sublimity and grandeur ; and, in the midst, occupying the bosom
of the great vale, close between the glorious city and the un-
known wilds, lay the calm and majestic river, from two to three
miles in width, seen with the utmost distinctness to its mouth,
on each side of which the two castles which guard it wert
ia 16

K) -w

.:i

U i

242

BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.

visible, and spread over with a thousand ships — onward, yet
further, far as the eye could reach, the living ocean was glisten-
ing, and ships, like specks of purest white, were seen crossing
it to and fro, giving to the scene an imaginary extension, by
carrying the mind with them to far distant shores. It was the
time of sunset, and clouds of the richest saflfron rested on the
bosom of the air, and were reflected on softer tints in the waters.
Not a whisper reached the ear. " The holy time was quiet as
a nun breathless with adoration." The scene looked like some
vision of blissful enchantment, and I scarcely dared to stir or
breathe least it should vanish away. — Talfourd.

BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.

Don Sancho Saldana, of Spain, had been long imprisoned by King Alphonso, in
Bpite of the ellortfl of his eon, Bernardo del Carpio, to leleaae him. At lengih the king
promised to free the father if ihe son would yield up hiB fortress tohim. Bernardo
did so, when the Icing caused Don Sancho to be put to death, his body to bo set on
hoi-seback, and thus presented to his son. This incident occurred in the early part
of the ninth century.

The warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire,
And sued the haughty king to free his long imprisoned sire ;
" I bring thee here my f oj;j yess keys, I bring my cagtive Train :
I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord, — oh ! break my father's
chain."

" Rise ! rise ! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man this day :
Mount thy good horse, and thou and I wilt meet him on his way."
Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed.
And urged, as if with lance in rest, his charger's foamy speed.

And lo ! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band.
With one, who midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land:
*' Now, haste, Bernardo, hasteT for there, in very truth, is he.
The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see."

His proud breast heaved, his dark eye flashed, his cheek's blood
came and went ;

He reached that gray -haired chieftain's side, and there, dismount-
ing, bent ; ^

A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took —

What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook ?

That hand
He looked
A plume w
He met at

Up horn t
that g
They hushi
They mighi
For the po^
blood.

" Father," i

then, —

Talk not of

He thought

He flung th<

Then coveri

brow,
** No more, tl
My king is f
The glory an

" I thought t(

yet ;

I would that i

Thou woulds

were woi

And thou has

son ! "

Then, starting

rein,
Amidst the pa
And, with a fie
And sternlv se

" Came I not f
Be still ! and ^
The voice, the

the^ ?
If thou would;

cold clay.

BERNARDO DEL CARflO.

243

i, i

yet
ten-
sing

5 by

the
I the
iters,
et as
some
ir or

oiiBO, In
,he king
eruardo
e set on
Illy part

3f fire,

P"'
ain:

ather's

is day •.
way."

Bed.

J band,
land :
he,
see."

blood

lount-

Thathand was cold — a frozen tiling — it <lroppcd from his like lead ;
He looked up to the face above, — the face was of the dead ;
A plume waved o'er the noble brow — the brow wjis fixqd and white ;
He met at length his father's eyes, but in them was no sight !

Up from the ground he sprang and gnzed, but who ("ould paint

that gaze r
Thev hushed their very hearts, that saw its horror and amaze :
They might have chained him, as beftire that stony form he stood ;
For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lips the

blood.

" Father," at length he murmured low, and wept like childhood

then, —
Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men —
He thought on all his glorious hopes, on all his young renown ;
He flung the falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down.

Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly-mournful

brow,
'• No more, there is no more," he said, " to lift the sword for now ;
My king is false, my hope betrayed, my father — oh I tiie worth,
The glory and the loveliness are passed away from earth !

"I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire ! beside thee

yet:
I would that Mere our kindred blood, on Spain's free soil had met !
Thou wouldst have known my spirit then — for thee my tields

were won —
And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no

son!" *

Then, starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's

rein^
Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train ;
And, with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led,
And sternly set them face to face — the kini» before the dead.

" Came I not forth upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss ?
Be still ! and gaze thou on, false king, and tell me, what is this ?
The voice, the glance, the heart I sought — give answer, where are

the^r?
If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this

cold clay.

i '■

■^V^,i:

. : t

• ;■■ i

% tS-

i . w

pi]

244

TAKING Ot GIBRALTAR.

Into these glassy eyes put light — Be still ! keep down thine ire :
Bid these cold lips a blessing speak, — this earth is not my sire ;
Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was

shed ;
Thou canst not — and a king ! His blood be mountains on thv

head!"

He loosed the steed, his slac^t hand fell ; upon the silent face
He cast one long, deep troubled look, then turned from that sad

place ;
His hope was crushed, his after-fate untold in martial strain :
His hannep led the spears no moi?e amidst the hills of Spain.
*5<n^^.^ 4 ^(ryyt^ir^^^J'^^A^tt-atk^a^^a^'; Mrs. Hemans.

A-i^

TAKING OF GIBRALTAR.

We now come to the pejao^^ when Gibraltar fell into the power
of the English. When William III. engaged to assist Charles
111. of Spain against Philip V., the cession of Gibraftar to the
English was the segret con(iJj,ion of the* conipact ; and thus the
interest of the Spanish nation was sacrificed to a quarrel for

its throi
been sen
unable
war neai
The pla(
son was
under th
fleet arri
men, und
were lane
of Admii
of the
vain sum
on the
driven fro
the Admi
possession
who were
at the wo
blew up
lieutenants
which, the
Whittaker,
Mole and
capitulate,
sooitt rep la
Hesse as
French flee
to refit, an(
sailed home
at Lisbon, i
if needful, }
The wis<
appjirent, f
Gibraltar, tl
received ore
now surarao
he could a
talions, whic
superior fore
baclTfor rei
suddenly r^l

TAKING OF GIBRALTAR.

245

ttl>'^>' '

"^^^DL

Lrxt:^

^^m

=-_-l-7-|

^^m

— r~" '

^=S=i=i=

i=H;==^

power

Charles

to the

lius the

rrel for

its throne. In the following reign, Sir George Rooke haviLg
been sent into the Mediterranean with his fleet, finding himself
unable to accojpplish anything of importance, held a council of
war near Tetuan, at which it was resolved to surprise Gibraltar.
The place mounted at that time a hundred guns, but the garri-
son was totally disproportionate, consisting of but 150 men
under the command of the ^Marquis de Saluces. The English
fleet arrived in the bay on the 21st of July, 1701, wlien 1,800
men, under the command of the Prince of Hesse Darmstadt,
were landed on the istlimus, while the ships, under the command
of Admirals Byng and Vunderdussen, took tiieir station in front
of the town and New INfole. The governor having been in
vain summoned to surrender, an animated attack was made
on the 23rd, and in five or six hours the garrison were
driven from their guns near the New Mole head ; whereupon,
the Admiral ordered Captain Whittaker to advance and take
possession of that point. Captains Hicks and Jumper, however,
who were somewhat nearer with their pinnaces, arrived first
at the work, which the Spaniards, no longer able to maintain,
blew up as soon as the besiegers had landed, killing' two
lieutenants and forty men, and wounding sixty ; notwithstanding
which, the remainder still kept their post, and being joined by
Whittaker, advanced and took a redoubt, half-way between the
Mole and the town, which obliged the Spanish governor to
capitulate. The flag of Charles III. was at first hoisted, but
soon replaced by that of England. Leaving the Prince of
Hesse as governor. Sir George shortly after engaged the
French fleet in a drawn battle, and, after returning to Gibraltar
to refit, and leaving what men and provisions he could spare,
sailed home on the 4th September, leaving eighteen men-of-war
at Lisbon, under the command of Sir John Leake, to advance,
if needful, to the assistance of the £!nglish garrison.

The wisdom of this provision was shortly after rendered
apparent, for scarcely had Philif) V. heard of the loss of
Gibraltar, than the Marquis of Villadarias, a grandee of Spain,
received orders to att^ipt its recovery. Sir John Leake was
now summoned to repair to Gibraltar with his forces, but before
he could arrive a fleet of French shij)s had landed six bat-
talions, which joined the Spanish army. On learning that a
superior force was getting ready to attack him, Sir John sailed
back for reinforcements, which he had prepared at Lisbon, and,
suddenly returning, captured three frigates and other vessels

-,»' ■

11 '

i r'

246

TAIiD^G OF GIBRALTAR.

and landed 500 sailors with a six months' supply of provisions.
Thus baffled, the Spanish attempted to surprise the place by
scaling the back of the rock, but the forlorn hope who actually,
made their way to the summit, were driveu over the precipice
by the garrison. A body of near 2,000 men were shortly
after conveyed from Lisbon, on board some transports, conveyed
by four frigates, who perceiving a fleet under English and
Dutch colors, and supposing it that of Sir John Leake, when
it was in reality that of the Spaniards, would have been cap-
tured, but for the circumstance of its being a calm, which
enabled them, being lighter, to escape by the exertions of their
boats. The Spanish f^eneral, being alsp reinforced, made a
desperate attack upon the king's lines at the north-west angle
of the Rock, into which a body of his troops succeeded in
forcing their way, but were so vigorously charged by the garrison
as to be compelled to retreat. The English government now
sent reinforcements, nndor Sir Thomas Dilkco and Sir John
Hardy, to join Sir John Lcakc, who, with a force thus increased
to twenty-eight English, four Dutch, and eight Portuguese
men-of-war, captured several of the French vessels, compelled
the rest to retreat to Toulon, and so well supplied the garrison
that the French Marshall Tebse, who had superseded Villa-
darias, thought tit to withdraw his forces, of whom 10,000
were lost during the course of the siege.

Gibraltar was formally, but reluctantly, ceded to England
by the Spanish king on the 13th July, 1713. Its value
appears to have been very differently estimated both by Parlia-
ment and the nation than at the period of its capture, when,
after a debate, it was considered a useless acquisition, if not
an actual iucuDabrance, and unworthy of a vote of thanks
to Admiral Sir George Rooke. Philip V., on afterwards
acceding to tb'^ Quadruple Alliance, made it a condition that
Gibraltar shouid be restored to him ; and there is little doubt
that George 1. would have acceded to his wish had he not
feared to awaken the oppobitiou of the house and the country
to so unpopular a measure. — Overland Route,

"Ti

/ :

■i.f

A ROMAN'S HONOR.

gland
v^alue
arlia-
when,
if not
thanks
wards
m that
doubt
tie not
ountry

UTE,

The Carthaginians were driven to extremity and made horrihle
offerings to Moloch, giving the little children, of the noblest
families, to be dropped into the fire between the brazen hands of
his statue ; and grown up people, of the noblest families, rushed
in of their own accord, hoping thus to propitiate the gods and
obtain safety for their country. Their time was not yet fully
come, and a respite was granted them. They had sent, in their
distress, to hire soldiers in Greece, and among these came a
Spartan, named Xanthippus, who at once took the command,
and led the army out to battle, with a long line of elephants
ranged in front of them, and with clouds of horsemen hovering
on the wings. The Romans had not yet learnt the best mode
of fighting with elephants, namely, to leave lanes in their
columns where th/WM^age beasts might advance harmlessly ;
instead of which tlw^ranks were thrust and trampled down by
the creatures' bulk, and suffered a terrible defeat ; Regulus
himself was seized by the horsemen and dragged into Carthage,
where the victors feasted and rejoiced through half the night,

■?' 'i

fkr

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■A

248

A ROMAN'S HONOR.

and testified their thanks to Moloch, by offering in his fires the
bravest of their captives.

Regains himself was not, however, one of these victims.
He was kept a close prisoner for two years, pining and sicken-
ing in his loneliness ; while, in the meantime, the war continued,
and at last a victory so decisive was gained by the Romans, that
the people of Carthage were discouraged, and resolved to ask
terms of peace. They thought that no one would be so readily
listened to at Rome as Regulus, and they therefore sent him
there with their envoys, having first made him swear that he
would come back to his prison, if there should neither be peace
nor an exchange of prisoners. They little knew how much
more a true-hearted Roman cared for his city than for himself —
for his word than for his life.

Worn and dejected, the captive warrior came to the out-
side of the gates of his own city and there paused, refusing to
enter. " I am no longer a Roman citizen," he said ; " I am but
the barbarian's slave, and the Senate may not give audience to
strangers within the walls." \

His .vife, Marcia, ran out to greet him, with his two sons, but
he did not look up, and received their caresses as one beneath
their notice, as a mere slave, and he continued, in spite of all
entreaty, to remain outside the city, and would not even go to
the little farm he had loved so well. »

The Roman Senate, as he would not come in to them, came
out to hold their meeting in the Campagna.

The ambassadors spoke first ; then Regulus, standing up, said,
as one repeating a task, " Conscript fathers, being a slave to the
Carthaginians, I come on the part of my masters to treat with
you concerning peace and an exchange of prisoners." He then
turned to go away with the ambassadors, as a stranger might
not be present at the deliberations of the Senate. His old friends
pressed him to stay and give his opinion as a senator, who had
twice been consul ; but he refused to degrade that dignity by
claiming it, slave as h<3 was. But, at the command of his Car-
thaginian masters, remained, though not taking his seat.

Then he spoke. He told the senators to persevere in the war.
He said he had seen the distress of Carthage, and that a peace
would be only to h' advantage, not to that of Rome, and there-
fore he strongly advised that the war should continue. Then,
as to the exchange of prisoners, the Carthaginian generals, who
were in the hands of the Romans, were in full health and

strength, w
fit for serv
had given
Thus he ins
It was w
ing agUinst
declared thi
he was not
was too nc
resolved to
death and
what are t
wounds of
still the spi
my duty lo ^
The Senal
they bitterlj
entreated in
repeat their
prevail with
chains and d(
turning to his
Golden Dei

It is an old
story can neve
The Bay is
blue water am
of the Frenc
Buonaparte a
moored in the
vastly superior
towara;; the n
westward by t
position impre
he wrote to
Was he qodec

THE BATTLE OF THE NILE.

249

strength, whilst he hir^aelf was too much broken down to be
fit for service again ; and, indeed, he believed thaf his enemies
had given him a slow poison, and that he could not live long.
Thus he insisted that no exchange of prisoners should be made.

It was wonderful, even to Romans, to hear a man thus plead-
ing agUinst himself; and their chief priest came forward and
declared that, as his oath had been wrested from him by force,
he was not bound by it to return to his captivity. But Regulus
was too noble to listen to this for a moment. " Have you
resolved to dishonor me?" he said. "I am not ignorant that
death and the extremest tortures are preparing for me ; but
what are these to th*' shame of an infamous action, or the
wounds of a guilty mind ? Slave as I am to Carthage, 1 have
still the spirit of a Roman. I have sworn to return. It is
my duty lo go ; let the gods take care of the rest."

The Senate decided to follow the advice of Regulus, though
they bitterly regretted his sacrifice. His wife wept and
entreated in vain that they would detain hira — they could merely
repeat their permission to him to remain ; but nothing could
prevail with him to break his woi^, and he turned back to the
chains and death he expected, as calmly as if he had been re-
turning to his home. This was in the year B.C. 240. — Book of
Golden Deeds.

s ; ;.

'■Jim

- ' M

THE BATTLE OF THE NILE.

It is an old story now, that battle of the Nile ; but a brave
story can never die of age.

The Bay is wide, but dangerous from shoals : the line of deep
blue water and the old Castle of Aboukir, map out the position
of the French fleet on the 1st of August, 1798. i a Mng
Buonaparte and his army, Brueys, the French admir . lay
moored in the form of a crescent close along the shor . His
vastly superior force, and the strength of his position (protected
towarOc the northward by dangerous shoals, and towards the
westward by the castle and batteries), made him consider that
position impregnable ; and, on the strength of this conviction,
he wrote to Paris that Nelson had purposely avoided him.
Was be undeceived wbta Hood, in the Zealous, made signal

;r.*.''

■:m

(.!•

] ■.•i, .1*1
!- It J;

.'^/

250

THE BATTLE OF THE NILE.

an Englishman

that the enemy was in sight, and a cheer of triumph burst
from every ship in the British fleet? — that fleet which had been
sweeping the seas, with bursting sails, for six weeks in search of
its formidable foe, and now bore down upon him with fearless
exultation. The soundings of that dangerous bay were unknown
to Nelson ; but he knew that where there was room for a
French ship to swing there must be room for
to anchor at either side of him, and the closer the better.

As his proud and fearless fleet came on, he hailed Hood to
ask whether the action should commence that night ? then,
receiving the answer he longed for, the signal for "' close battle "
flew from his mast-head.

The delay thus caused to the Zealous gave Foley the lead.
He showed the example of leading inside the enemy's lines,
and anchored by the stern alongside the second ship ; thus
leaving to Hood the first. The latter, putting his own generous
construction on an accident, exclaimed, "Thank vjiod, he has
nobly left to his old friend still to lead the van ! " Slov/ly and
majestically, as the evening fell, the remainder of the fleet
came on beneath a cloud of stiils, receiving the fire of the castle
and the batteries in portenious silence, only broken by the
crash of spars, or the boatswain's whistle, each ship furling her
sails calmly, as a sea-bird might fold its wings, and gliding
tranquilly onward till she found her destined foe. Then the
anclior dropped astern, and the fire burst her blood-stained
decks with a vigor, that showed how sternly it had been
repressed till then. The leading ships passed between the
enemy and the shore ; but when the admiral came up he led
the remainder of the fleet along the seaward side, thus doubling
on the Frenchman's line, and placing it in a defile of fire. The
sun went down soon after Nelson anchored ; and his rearward
ships were only guided through the darkness and the dangers
of that formidable bay by the Frenchman's fire flashing fierce
welcome as each enemy arrived and went hovering along the
lines. He coolly scrutinized how he might draw most of that
fire upon himself. The BeUerophon, with reckless gallantry,
fastened on the gigantic Orient^ by whose terrible artillery she
was soon crushed, and scorched into a wreck. Then she drifted
helplessly to leeward. But she had already done her work —
the Orient was on fire, and, through the terrible roar of
battle, a whisper went for a moment that paralyzed every eager
heart and h^nd. Duriug that dread pause the %ht was sua*

I'l

THE BATTLE OF THE NILE.

251

pended ; the very wounded ceased to groan ; yet the burning
ship still continued to fire broadsides from her flaming decks,
the gallant crew alone unawed by their approaching fate, and
shouting their own death-so.ig. At length the terrible explosion
came, and the column of .flame, that shot upwards into the very
sky, for a moment, rendered visible the whole surrounding
scene, from the red flags aloft to the reddened decks below ; the
wide shore with all its swarthy crowds, and the far-ofiE glittering
seas with the torn and dismantled fleets. Then darkness and
silence came again, broken only by the shower of blazing
fragments, in which that brave ship fell upon the waters.

Till that moment Nelson was ignorant bow the battle went.
He knew that every man was doing his duty ; but he knew not
how successfully. He had been wounded in the forehead, and
found his way unnoticed to the deck, in the suspense of the
coming explosion. Its light was a fitting lamp for eyes like
his to read by. He saw his own proud flag still floating every
where ; and, at the same moment, his crew recognized their
wounded chief. Their cheer of welcome was only drowned in
the renewed roar of their artillery, which continued until it no
longer found an answer, and silence had confessed destruction.

Morning rose upon an altered scene. The sun had set upon
as proud a fleet as ever sailed from the gay shores of France.
Now, only torn and blackened hulls marked the position they
had then occupied ; and where their admiral's ship had been,
the blank sea sparkled in the sunshine. Two ships of the line
and two frigates escaped, to be captured soon afterwards ; but
within the bay the tricolor was flying on the Tonnant alone.
As the Theseus approached to attack her, attempting to capitu-
late, she hoisted a flag of truce. " Your battle-flag or none ! "
was the stern reply, as her enemy rounded to and the matches
glimmered over her line of guns. Slowly and reluctantly, like
wn expiring hope, that pale flag fluttered down from her lofty
spars, and the next that floated was that of England.

And now the battle was over — India saved upon the shores
of Egypt — the career of Buonaparte was checked, and his navy
was annihilated. Seven years later that navy was revived, to
perish utterly at Trafalgar — a fitting hecatomb for the obsequies
of Nelson, whose life seemed to terminate as his mission was
accomplished, — Warburton,

v.m.

> 5 .;?«'

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■ ?

,K 1

''11

xi'

h>n

252

OCEAN.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll !
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ;
Man marks the earth with ruin— his control
Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plaiu
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own ;
^-''hen, for a moment, like a drop of rain,
l^fc sinks into thy depths, with bubbling groan,
VVitho ■*. i^rave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.

His steps are not upon thy paths — thy fields
Are not a spoil for him, — thou dost arise
And shake him from thee ; vile strength he wields
For earth's destruction, thou dost all despise.
Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies,
And send'st him, shivering, in thy playful spray,
And howling, to his gods, where haply lies
His petty hope in some near port or bay,
And dashes him again to earth ; there let him lay.

The armaments, which thunderstrike the walls
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
And monarchs tremble in their capitals, —
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
Their clay creator the vain title take ^
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war :
, These are thy toys, and as the snowy flake.
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar
Alike the Aiinada's pride, or spoiled of Trafalgar.

Thy shores are empire, changed in all save thee —
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, where are they ?
Thy waters wasted them while they were free,
And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey , '
The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay
Has dried up realms to deserts : — not so thou,
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves play —
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow —
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou roUest now.

ftLAVBttY.

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time,
Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Dark-heaving ; boundless, endless, and sublime —
The image of Eternity — the throne
Of the invisible ; even from out thy slime
The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone
Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone

25S

And I have loved thee, Ocean ! an*d my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : or'' a boy
I wanton'd with thy breakers — they t me
Were a delight ; and if the freshi, i:ng sea
Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear,
For I was, as it were, a child of tl e,
And trusted to thy billows far ind near.
And laid my hand upon thy man. —as I do here.

Byron.

SLAVERY.

Thkre id no flesh in man's obdurate heart —
It does not feel for man ; the natural bond
^f brotherhood is sever'd, as the flax.
That falls asunder at the touch of fire.
He finds his fellow guilty of a skin
Not color'd like his own ; and having power
T' enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause
Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey.
Lands intersected by a narrow frith
Abhor each other. Mountains interposed
Make enemies of nations, who had else,
Like kindred drops, been mingled into one.
Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys ;
And worse than all, and most to be deplored.
As human nature's broadest, foulest blot,
Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat

■ ' }n

%i 'i'

254

ArAK IN THE DESERT.

"With stripes, that Mercy, with a bleeding heart,
"Weeps, when she sees inflicted on a beast.
Then, what is man ? And what man, seeing this,
And having human feelings, does not blush,
And hang his head, to think himself a man ?
I would not have a slave to till my ground,
To carry me. to fan me while I sleep,
And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth
That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd.
No • dear as freedom is — and in my heart's
Just estimation, prized above all price —
I had much rather be myself the slave,
And wear the bonds, than fasten them oi> him.

-Tvy,

AFAR IN THE DESERT.

Afar in the Desert I love to ride.

With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side ;

Away, away from the dwellings of men.

By the wild-deer's haunt, by the buffalo's glen ;

By valleys remote, where the oribi plays.

Where the gnu, the gazelle, and the hartebeest graze,

And the kiidu and eland unhunte<l recline,

By the skirts of gray forests, o'erhung with wild vine;

Where the elephant browses at peace in his wood,

And the river-horse gambols unscared in the flood,

And the mighty rhinoceros wallows at will

In the fen, where the wild ass is drinking his fill.

Afar in the Desert I love to ride.
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side ;
O'er the brown Karroo, where the bleating cry
Of the springbok's fawn sounds plaintively ;
And the timorous quagga's shrill vhistling neigh
Is heard, by the fountain at twilight gray ;
Where the zebra wantonly tosses his mane.
With wild hoof scouring the desolate plain ;
And the fleet-footed ostrich over the waste
Speeds like a horseman who travels in haste.

255

AFAlt IX THE DiESERT.

Hieing away to the home of her rest,

"Where she and her mate have scooped their nest,

Far hid from the pitiless plunderer's view,

In the pathless depths of the parch'd Karroo.

Afar in the Desert I love to ride,

With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side ;

Away, away in the wilderness vast„

Where the white man's foot hath never pass'd,

And the quiver'd Cordnna or Bechudn

Hath rarely cross'd with his roving clan —

A region of emptiness, howling and drear.

Which man hath abandon'd from famine and fear ;

Which the snake and the lizard inhabit alone.

With the twilight bat from the yawning stone ;

Where grass, nor herb, nor shrub takes root,

Save poisonous thorns that pierce the foot ;

And the bitter melon, for food and drink.

Is the pilgrim's fare by the salt lake's brink —

A region of drought, where no river glides.

Nor rippling brook with osiered sides ;

Where sedgy pool, nor bubbling fount.

Nor tree, nor cloud, nor misty mount.

Appears to refresh the aching eye ;

But the barren earth and the buriyng sky.

And the blank horizon, round and round.

Spread — ;-void of living sight or sound.

And here, while the night-winds round me sigh,
And the stars burn bright in the midnight sky ;
As I sit apart by the desert stone,
Like Elijah at Horeb's cave alone,
" A still small voice " comes through the wild,
(Like a father consoling his fretful child,)
Which banishes bitterness, wrath, and fear.
Saying, " Man is distant, but God is near ! "

Pringle.

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■1 ■

256

THE SOUBCE OF THE NILti.

THE SOURCE OF THE NILE.

The remarkable properties of the Nile, such as the regularity
of its overflow, the fertilizing influence of its inundation, i\wA
sweetness and salubrity of the water, contributed to fix atten-
tion upon it in early ages, and to rouse curiosity respecting its
origin. The question of its source engaged the schools of
philosophers and the councils of sovereigns. Both Alexander
the Great and Ptolemy Philadelphui contemplated the solution
of the problem; and Lucan ascribes the same design to Julius
Caesar, whom he represents thus speaking at the feast of
Cleopatra :

" Yet still no views have urged my ardor more

Than Nile's remotest fountains to explore ;

Then say what source the famous stream supplies, ,

And bids it at revolving periods rise ;

Show me that head, from whence since time begun,

The long succession of his waves has run ;

This let me know, and all my toils shall cease.

The sword be sheathed, and earth be blessed with peace."

Seneca tells us that the Emperor Nero despatched two centu-
rions fruitlessly upon the mission. Poets indulged in vague
conjectures, while not^a few resigned themselves to the convic-
tion that, by the will of the gods, the veil was not to be removed
from the sources of the mighty stream.

It was known to the ancients that the Nile proper is formed
by the junction of two main branches, which takes place nenir
the modern town of Khartoum, in Upper Nubia. The east
branch, or the Blue Rivdr, descends from the Abyssinian high-
lands, and is the Nile of classical geography, and of Bruce.
But the West branch, or the White River, is the principal arm
and main body of the stream, the soui'ce of which has remained
obscure to the present period, though not without many at-
tempts to reach it by ascending the current. M. Linant, in
1827, passed up to a considerable distance about the confluence.
In 1841-2, an expedition, under D'Arnaud and Sahatier, fitted
out by Mohammed Ali, Pasha of Egypt, advanced along the
channel to within 3° 40' of the equator, or to a distance of 3,200
miles from Alexandria, following the windings. It was there
found to be still a broad stream, containing many islands, and

THE SOUBCE OF THE HILB.

2o7

etrity
1, ilu'A
ktteii-
g its
Is of
ander
lution
Julius
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convic-
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formed
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e east
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>al arm
imained
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•, fitted
)ng the
f 3,200
Js there
lids, and

coming apparently from a great distance in the interior. Be-
tween the years 1853-58, Mr. Petherick, the British Consul,
advanced much further, close to the equator, if not quite to the
line, and would probably have reached the cistern of the river,
in a renewed attempt, had he not been encountered on the way
by its two visitors, Captains Speke and Grant. Reversing the
natural order of discovery, they had struck, the fountain-head
from the east coast, and thence descended upon the channel.
Departing from the neighborhood of Zanzibar, these gallant
Anglo-Indian officers made for the lofty and extensive lacus-
trine plateau of the equatorial interior, reached the Victoria
Nyanza, skirted its shores to the main outlet, and followed its
course to the meeting with Mr. Petherick at Gondokoio, thence
proceeding by Khartoum, Assouan. Thebes, and Cairo, to
Alexandria. They left the east coast in October, 1860; dis-
appeal^ed in the wilds of the interior in September, 1861 ; and
nothing was heard of them till the pithy telegram was received
at the Foreign Office, London, in Mav, 1^63, "The Nile is
settled." The secrets of ages is thus out at last ; and it is a fair
subject for congratulation, that its disclosure has been effected
by two of our countrymen, who have accomplished a feat which
baffled Egyptian kings and Roman emperors in the plenitude of
their power.

" The mystery of Old Nile is solved : brave men
Have through the lion-haunted inland passed,

Dared all the perils of desert, gorge, and glen,
Found the far source at last."

The journey was performed on foot, and involved a walk of
1,300 miles. From the middle of the northern boundary of
the lake, the parent stream of the Nile issues with considerable
width, and leaps over a fall of twelve feet in height. Though
the main reservoir of the river, the Nyanza, has its feeders,
amoijg which the ultimate source remains to be detected — »
Milker's Gallery of Geography.
4r |7

.^^'•U.

I i
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258

THE GORILLA.

The Gorilla, as M. du Chaillu presents him to us, is a huge
creature whose height, when erect, usually varies from five feet
two inches to five feet eight inches — covered with iron-gray
hair — living in the loneliest and darkest portions of the jungle —
preferring rugged heights and wooded valleys, where the surface
is strewn with immense houlders. It is a restless nomadic beast,
wandering from place to place, in search of food, consisting
of berries, nuts, pine-apple leaves, and other vegetable matter
of which it eats an enormous quantity, as it shows by its vast
paunch, which protrudes before it when it stands upright.
Usually, however, the Gorilla walks on all-fours ; but the arms
being very long, the head and breast are considerably raised,
and the animal appears, as he moves along, to be half erect.
In walking thus, the back of tlie fingers, not the palm of the
hand, is placed on the ground ; and the leg and arm on tlie
same side move together, so as to give the animal a curious
waddle. The first sight M. du Chaillu had of the Gorilla was
afforded by four young ones, of which he just caught a glimpse
as they were ruuniug off in this fashion towards the depths of

the foi

fearfuj

down

tells u

to brin

^t w

travelh

came i

was tci

While 1

woods V

'' TL(

presentl

gone thi

party h(

stood al

shall ne'

shorter),

arms, fie

«ion of fj

thus stoo

*'Hev

with his

which is

roar after

" The

noise hea

bark, like

literally a

tlie sky, i

where I d

Pioceed le

and vast p

"His e^

on the de

liis forehci

powerful fj

roar. Anci

hellish dre£

half beast,

mentations c

then stoppf

KE GORILLA.

2.j9

V-*^'

the forest. lie had iired without hitting cither of them ; but so
fearfully like hairy-men did tUoy look as they ran — their heads
down and their bodies inclined forward — ihat M. du Chaillu
tells us, he " felt almost like a murderer " in merely attem})ting
to bring them down.

^t was not long after this first sight of the Gorilla, that the
traveller secured his first tiophy as the Gorilla Slayer. They
came upon the animal in a dense part of tlie forest, where it
was tearing down the branches to get at the fruit and heiries.
While they were creeping along in perfect silence, suddenly the
woods were filled with a tremendous barking roar : —

'•Then the uiulerbrusli swayed rapidly just ahead, and
presently before us stood an immense male Gorilla. He had
gone through the jungle on his all-iours ; but when he saw our
party he eidcted himself and looked us boldly in the face. He
stood about a dozen yards from us, and was a sight, I think, I
shall never forget. Nearly six feet high (he proved four inches
shorter), with immense body, huge chest, and great muscular
arms, fiercely-glaring, large, deep gray eyes, and a hellish expres-
sion of face, which seemed to me like some niifht-mare vision —
thus stood before me this kins of the African forest.

" He was not afraid of us. He stood there and beat his breast
with his huge fists till it resounded like an immense bass drum,
which is their mode of offering defiance, meantime giving vent to
roar after roar.

" The roar of the Gorilla is the most singular and awful
noise heard in these African woods. It begins with a sharp
bark, like an angry dog, then glides into a deep bass loll, which
literally and closely resembles the roll of distant thunder along
the sky, for wliich I have : ometimes been tempted to tak<i it
where I did not see the animal. So deep is it, that it seems to
proceed less from the mouth and throat than from his deep chest
and vast paunch.

" His eyes began to flash fiercer fire, as we stood motionless
on the defensive, and the crest of short hair whi(;h stands on
his forehead began to twitch rapidly up and down, while his
powerful fangs were shown, as he again sent forth a thunderous
roar. And now, truly, he reminded me of notliing but some
hellish dream creature — a being of that hideous order, half man,
half beast, which we find pictured by old artists in some repr«;-
sentations of the itifernal regions. He advanced a few steps —
then stopped to utter that hideous roar again — advauced again,

!»

260

A SLAVE FTUXT TN THE SAHARA.

and finally stopped, when at a distance of about six yards from
us. And here, just as he besan another of his roars, beating his
breast, in rage, we fired and killed him." — Links in the Chains.

A SLAVE IIU^ST IN THE SAHARA

A REGULAR razzia, or slave hunt in the Sahara, is perhaps the
most extraoi:dniarv of all the operations invented by man to
obtain wealth. For some time before, there is generally a
rumor in the city that this event is to take place, and great is
the excitement in the bordering countries until it is known in
which direction the sarkee, or governor, will march. This vil-
lage is now named, and now that ; but a mystery usually pre-
vails till within a few days of the start. Meanwhile, small
parties are sent out from ti?ne to time to steal " a family, or
two," in order to be exchanged for certain nuts which the sar-
kee is pieased to like. Then, perhaps, a boy pilfers a little fruit.
Public justice must be vindicated ! He is sold in the bazaar,
and not only he, but his father, mother, and sisters, and perhaps
the whole circle of his relations, the money being apprr iated by
the chief.

Gradually, however, the plan of the great razzia is completed.
A thousand slaves are required, — so many to be sent to the
sheikh, so many to be distributed among the inferior traders,
and so many to be kept by the sarkee. If a common man
catches five, three belong to him, and two to his feudal master ;
if he kidnaps two, each has one for his shnr^. Thus the whole
populace has an interest in the result of the expedition ; and
all join with hope and glee to chase the peaceful villagers of the
contiguous country, and bring them home desolate in chains.
Five thousand cavalry and thirty thousand bowmen assemble
on the plain near the city ; the drums of Zinder beat ; the people
shout ; gaudy ilags and emblems stream in the sun ; and away
goes the cavalcade with as much pomp and pride as Napoleon's
legions winding along the heights to conquer at Marengo.

After three or four hours' ride they usually encamp, and
market is opened for traffic in provisions. Since no women
accompany the razzia, the men cook and do all the work. The
first advance ia often made m a direction contrary to that actually

propo
profoi

taken
arouni
his p]
This i
the vf
length
hills, t
The cIj
body-g
vyarrio]
against
the atti
to capti
Aftei
slaves 1
and viJI;
with th
and sel
surprise!
celebrati
them, c^
be girt
sionally
a second
with the
inside is
with the
or set or
swept ou
Meanv\
of the hu
tlic city
ward-mar(
I>i"olonged
J>opulatioi
with hi si"-
horseman
newly-raac
fearless, p
fitrinnr of i^

A SLAVE HUNT IN THE SAHARA

261

jds from
sating lu8
i Chains.

Brhaps the
^y man to
rene rally a
lid great is

known in
This vil-
Lsually pre-
rhile, small
I family, or
ich the sar-
a little fruit.

the bazaar,
an(^ perhaps
,r( iatedby

s completed.
Isent to the
Irior traders,
mmon man
dal master;
AS the whole
dition; and
agers of the
in chains,
n assemble
; the people
; and away
Napoleon's

nigo.

incamp, anil

no womep-

iwork. 'fl>^

Ithat »ctu»Uy

proposed to be taken — for the rout of the expedition is kept a
profourd secret, so that an unsuspecting population may be
taken by surprise. At night, the leader calls his chosen troops
around him, distributes nuts among them, indicates a part of
his plan, and orders the hour and the line of the next march.
This is made at midnight, or as soon as the moon rises, when

the whole black army is again in motion, dragging its huge

length through date-groves and stubble-fields, and valleys and
hills, toward some devoted town, destined for the first plunder.
The chief takes care not to expose himself, but marches with a
body-guard, which surrounds him while a battle goes on. These
warriors are covered with mattrass-stuffing, to prctect them
against arrows and spears ; while a number of '' generals " direct
the attack, and the archers and the shield-bearers press forward
to capture or die !

After several days journey, the army reaches a country where
slaves may be caught, and disperses itself to the several cities
and villages. Sometimes the people defend themselves heroically
with their bows and arrows ; flying to the summits of rocks,
and selling their liberty dearly. Often, however, they are
surprised while they are preparing their meals or dancing, or
celebrating a bridal-feast ; and then the enemy rush in, seize
them, chain, and bear them unresistingly away. If the hamlet
be girt with stockades, a garrison of expert archers mu;- occa-
sionally drive back the forlorn-hope of the slave hunters ; but
a second assault is victorious, and the dwellings are left level
with the earth. The hut doors are violently broken open ; the
inside is ransacked ; the milk-bowls and calabashes are taken
with the bows, arrows, and axes ; and the ruin is next unroofed
or set on fire, while the cattle, the sheep, and the goats, are
swept out of every field to swell the general booty.

Meanwhile, in Zinder. the inhabitants await eagerly the return
of the hunters. These are sent out to different elevations near
the city to watch for the shadow and the dust of the home-
ward-marching army. At length, after an absence more or less
I)rolonged, a cry Is heard, " Tlie sarkee is coming ! " All the
l)opulation throngs out to learn the truth. If he is not himself
within sight, the fruits of his achievement are visible. A single
horseman paces along, showing the way to a miserable train of
newly-made slaves. Here comes a group of little boys, naked,
fearless, playing about as f'.ough it were a holiday ; then a
string of mothers dragging themselves alouij with babes at their

■^Sf^_

262

THE SLAVES V-- «'^;*5.

breai<ts ; thon girls of various ages, sonr sr^pi r-el}' bloomed out
of childhood, others ripened to maturity ; then, us Richardson
describes in his wonderfully-striking narrative, old men bent
double with the weight of many years, their trembling chins
drooping toward the ground, " their poor old heads covered with
white wool ; " next come ngcd women, tottering, and helping
themselves along with staves, ami after them stout youths,
chained neck and neck together, who are huddh d through the
gateways, never to pus^ them but in bonds.

There is joy in Zinder. All day long the triumph is prolonged.
Following this vanguard — the abject trophies of misery — come
single cavaliers, then lines of horsemen galloping across the
plain, then cavalry with drums beating ; ond then a body of
mounted warriors, with helmets of brass and padded coats, who
march around the sarkee or sultan. At le^igt'i the mass of the
hunting army appears in. sight, toiling along a rolling canoi)y
of dust ; and with it comes tiie spoil of the expedition, perhaps
three thousand slaves. This is the beginniriO, of a sorrow which
is to end, perhaps, with insults and lashei^ in a plantation of
Virginia. — Horack St. John'.

THE SLAVE'S DREAM.

Beside the ungather'd rice he lay.

His sickle in his hand ,
His breast • ^ bare, his matted hair

Was bu ( t^ n the sand;
Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep

He saw his native land.

Wide through the landscape of his dreams

The lordly Niger flow'd ;
Beneath the palm-trees on the plain

Once more a king he strode,
And heard the tinkling caravans

Descend the mountain road.

He saw once more his dark-eyed queen

Among her children stand ;
They clasp'd his neck, they kiss'd his cheeks,

They held him by the hand :
A tear burst from the sleeper's lids,

And fell into the sand.

'■^f^^': "^

,.-!*.■■ ^^^'":

THE sl.avf's i>rea;>I.

26^

imed out
chardson
nen bent
ng chins
ived with
I helpinj;
t youths,
•ough the

jrolonged.
;iy — come
.cross the
1 body of
coats, who
uss of the
x]<r canopy
»n, perhaps
•row which
antatlon of

And then at furious speed he rode

Along the Niger's bank ;
His bridle-reins were golden chains,

And with a martial clank.
At each leap, he could feel his scabbard of steel.

Smiting his stallion's flank.

Before him, like a blood-red flag,

The bright flamingoes flew ;
From morn till night he follow'd their flight,

O'er plains where the tamarind grew,
Till he saw the roof of Kaffir huts,

And the ocean ro:3e to view.

At night he heard the lion roar.

And the hyena scream,
And the river-horse, as he crush'd the reeds,

Beside some hidden stream ;
And it puss'd, like a glorious roll of drums,

Through the triumph of his dream-

The forests, with their myriad tongues,

Shouted of liberty ;
And the blasL of the desert cried aloud

With a voice so wild and free,
That he started in his sl(!ep, and smiled

At their tempestuous glee.

He did not feel the driver's whip ,

Nor the burning heat of day.
For death had illumined the land of sleep

And his lifeless body lay
A worn-out fetter, that the soul

Had broken and thrown anay

Longfellow.

264

SCENE AT ST. HELENA*

SCENE AT ST. HELENA.

On the 12th of October we arrived at St. Helena, and on
coniing round Munden Point, what was our astonishment and
dismay to perceive five or six French men-of-war lying there,
with their tricolor flags flying and flaunting in the wind !
All our apprehensions were verified, all our fears proved true. .
St. Helena was in possession of the French! That we were
morally sure of ; and here were we caught like mice in a trap ;
— the wind, so favorable to us hitherto, blowing us right in
towards the enemy. Escape was out of the question — resistance
was in vain ; and we resigned ourselves in despair to what
appeared our inevitable fate. P^very mothei-'s son on board
would infMllibly become prisoners to the French. On our
unliap|)y heads would be wreaked the vengeance which had
slumbered since the bloody day of Waterloo ! All the dire
miseries and privation of the prisoner's lot flashed upon our
imagination — all that we had read and heard of captivity came
poignantly before our minds — the dungeons of the Conciergerie,
damp and dismal, the Black Hole of Calcutta, the horrible
Bastile itself, rose up iack, bare, and terrible, in our remem-
b-Mucc !

There is, however, one sweet drop in the cup of misery, like
Hope, the Charmer, at the bottom of Pandora's box. Even in
the most depressed situation of life, there is still something to
console, if not to comfort. To us, peaceable landsmen — I speak
of til.' mere pa.';sengers, some mei'cantile men and others in
the *' civil service " — war, with all its glory, offered nothing very
attractive. And there was something even consolatory in the
fact, that the force opposed to us was so overwhelming, as to
preclude all idea of opposition or resistance ; and that, when we
did =;uriender, as surrender we must, it would be with our
rcqni'ire number of legs and arms, and without any of those
uiuightiy wounds and bruises which disfigure a man for life,
and 'cuJv;rs him a fitter inmate for a hospital than a prison !

Those were our reflections when the quarantine surgeon at
St. Helena came on board, and, to our unspeakable relief,
informed us that tVie Fi-ench ships were there for the purpose
of conveying the remains of Napoleon to the soil of France, —
the British Government liaving magnanimously given up the
body of the great Captain to the nation over which he had

SCEXIi AT ST. HELENA.

266

, and on
cient and
itiir there,
he wind!
oved true.
t we were
in a trap ;
s right in
-resistance
r to what
on board
On our
which had
I the dire
I upon our
dvity came
jnciergerie,
le horrible
)ur remem-

lisery, like
Even in
nething to
In — I speak
others in
•thing very
:ory in the
Iming, as to
It, when we
with our
ly of those
j'n for life,
Irison !
Lurgeon at
Tble relief,
le purpose
J France, —
len up the
ch he had

ruled in the days of his power ; and that the Prince de Joinville,
third son of Louis Philippe, had come, in the frigate La Belle
Poule, to remove it to its last resting-place in the " Invalides "
at Paris.

What a load was, by this information, removed from our
minds ! Here was happy news I Here was something to
enliven us, after all our " doleful dumps," — something to make
us dance, and sing, and caper, and rejoice, — something to boast
of among our friends, after we got home I A man might sail
between India and Europe for a century, and never behold such
a spectacle as that we had now the opportunity of seeing. The
tropical sun shone unclouded in the firmament ; while a light
breeze languidly moved the surface of the brilliant blue sea.
All the ships at anchor iu the bay, English and foreign, dis-
played their gayest colors. La Belle Poule was truly a noble
frigate. She carried sixty guns, and looked superb in the
water. Judging fi-om those ships of war, which I now had the
opportunity of examining, the vessels of the French navy
appear to be built on a liner model than those ni the British
service ; but they are assuredly not so strong, nor so capable of
standing '• the battle and the breeze," as the wooden walls of old
England. Right in front of us was the island of St. Helena,
which lu that vast ocean, the South Atlantic, lies like a pinhead
in a counterpane — a small speck in a wilderness of waters.
But like an oasis in a desert, it is eagerly hailed by homeward-
bound ships as a place for refreshments during their long and
weary passage. *

Having received the usual permission from the surgeon —
there being no sickness on board — we cast anchor in the Roads,
opposite St.. James's Valley, within less than a quarter of a
mile of the island. Anxious to see what was going forward,
;iiid glad to put our feet once more on terra firma., i\\G passen-
•(crs immediately went on shore, and [)roceeded to visit Napo-
leon's gi-ave — the usual pilgrimage made by the passengers of
every ship that stopped at St. Helena. The tomb has
Ijeen so often described that the scene must have become
familiar to every one. We had only been a few minutes there,
when the ship's crew of Za Faoorite, the French corvette, with
lour of their oHicers.were marched up to view the spot, which
lor nineteen years liatl bw^n "sabred to the memory" of the
},M'eatest man of the j)resent century. As soon as they arrived,
they surrounded the tomb, with heads uncovered, und loudly

266

SCENE AT ST. HELENA.

gave vent to their grief. Such a scene of excitement I never
witnessed ! Some of them shed tears, while others smote their
brows and their hearts; and nothing but the iron bars, that
protected the grave, prevented them from throwing themselves
on the three large Hat stones, which covered the mortal reuiaius
of their great Emperor I After a while they, at first singly and
separately, and then altogether, began to pull up the shrubs and
whatever else they could lay their hands on in the vicinity, to
bear away as memorials of the scene and the occasion. Even
the favorite willow of Napoleon was not spared — branch aiter
branch was torn away, ;ind carried off to form tiophies — the
trunk was cut bv innumerable knives, a. id lifde was left I'or
the men of La Belle Poide^ who next day were in their www
marchetl u[), under the direction of their ollicers ; and wii.j
after displaying similar manifestations of sorrow, proceeded to
the same acts of securiui; for themselves tokens of remembrance.
What remained of the willow tree became tlteir spoil. Trunk
and branch, it was carried off — not a vcsage of it remained —
it disappeared, as if by magic, off the face of the earth, and 1
question if the root remains to tell the tale of wheie it stood.
Probably it too has been removed, to be planted on the ''sacred
soil of France," near Napoleon's grave at the Invalides, to
furnish mementoes for generations of Frenchmen yet unborn. —
Tales of DiscoviiRr and Advknture.

NAPOLtON 8 TOMB AT ST. HELENA.

THE GIRAFFK.

267

THE GIRAFFE.

It was on the morniniT of our doparture from the residence of
his Araazoola majesty, that I first actually saw the giraffe.
Although I had been for weeks on the tip-toe of expectation,
we had hitherto succeeded in finding the gigantic footsteps only
of the tallest of all quadrupeds upon the earth ; but, at dawn of
that day. a large party of hungry savages, with four of the
Hottentots on horseback, having accompanied us across the
Marigua in search of elands, whicli were reported to be
numerous in the neighborhood, we formed a long line, and,
having drawn a great extent of countrv blank, divided into two
parties, Richardson keeping to the right and myself to the left.
Beginning at length to despair of success, I had shot a harte-
beeste for the savages, when an object which had repeatedly
attracted my eye, but which, I had as often persuaded myself,
was nothing more than the branchless stump of some withered
tree, suddenly shifted its position, and the next moment I
distinctly perceived that singular form, of which the apparition
had oft-times visited my slumbers, but upon whose reality I
now gazed for the first time.

268

THK GIIiAFFE.

Gliding rapidly among the trees, above the topmost branches
of many of which its graceful head nodded like some lofty
pine, all doubt was in another moment at an end — it was the
stately, the long-sought giraffe ; and, putting spurs to my horse
and directing the Hottentots to follow, 1 presently found
myself, half-choked with excitement, rattling at the heels of an
animal, which to me had been a stranger even in its captive
state, and which thus to meet free on its native plains, has fallen
to the lot of but few of the votaries of the chase. Sailing
before me with incredible velocity, his long swan-like neck
keeping time to the eccentric motion of his stilt-like legs — his
ample black tail curled above his back, and whisking in
ludicrous concert with the rocking of his disproportioned frame,
— he glided gallantly along like some tall ship upon the ocean's
bosom, and seemed to leave whole leagues behind him at every
stride. The ground was of the most treacherous description :
a rotten black soil, overgrown with long coarse grass, which
concealed from view innumerable gaping fissures, that momen-
tarily threatened to bring down my horse.

For the first five minutes I rather lost than gained ground,
and despairing, over such a country, of ever diminishing the
distance, or improving my acquaintance with this ogre in seven-
league boots, I dismounted, and the mottled carcass presenting
a fair and inviting mark, I had the satisfaction of hearing two
balls tell roundly on his plank-like stern. But as well might
I have fired at a wall ; he neither swerved from his course nor
slackened his pace, and pushed on so far a-head during the time
I was reloading, that, after remounting, 1 had some difficulty
in even keeping sight of him amongst the trees. Closing again,
however, I repeated the dose on the other quarter, and spurred
my horse along, ever and anon sinking to his fetlock ; the
giraffe, now flagging at every stride, until, as I was coming up,
hand over hand, and success seemed certain, the cup was
suddenly dashed from my lips, and down I came headlong, my
horse having fallen into a pit, and lodged me close to an ostrich's
nest near which two of the old birds were sitting.

Happily, there were no bones broken ; but the violence of the
shock had caused the lashing of my previously-broken rifle to
give way, and had doubled the stock in half, the barrels only
hanging to the wood by the trigger guard. Nothing dismayed,
however, by this heavy calamity, I remounted ray jaded beast,
and one more effort brought me ahead of my wearied victim,

THE Gm^\J'FE.

269

re m seven-

which stood still and allowed me to approach. In vain did I
now attempt to bind my fractured rifle witii a pocket-handker-
chief, in order to admit of my administering the coup de grace.
The guard was so contracted that, as in the tantalizing fantasies
of the nightmare, the hammer could not by any means be
brought down upon the nipple. In vain 1 looked around for a
stone, and sought in every pocket for my knife, with which
either to strike the copper cap and bring about ignition, or
hamstring the colossal but harmless animal, by whose towering
side I appeared the veriest pigmy in the creation.- Alas ! I had
lent it to the Hottentots, to cut off the head of the harte-beeste,
and, after a hopeless search in the remotest corners, each hand
was withdrawn empty.

Vainly did I then wait for the tardy and rebellious villains
to come to my assistance, making the welkin ring, and my
throat tingle, with reiterated shouts. Not a soul appeared, and
in a few minutes the giraffe having recovered his wind, and
being only slightly wounded in the hind-quarters, shuffled his
long legs, twisted his bushy tail over his back, walked a few
steps, then broke into a gallop, and, diving into the mazes of
the forest, presently disappeared from my sight. Disappointed
and annoyed at my discomfiture, I returned towards the
wagons, now eight miles distant ; and on my way overtook
the Hottentots, who, pipe in ipouth, were leisurely strolling
home, with an air of total indifference as to my proceedings,
having come to the conclusion that " Si. coukl not fuiig de
kameel " (catch the giraffe), for which rea.son they did not
think it worth while to follow me as I had directed. — Harris.

coming up,

^^^^R^i

HOTTBNTOT KRAAl<,

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

|Jj_

11.25

Li 125
L£ 12.0

lit
u

U ij.6

— A"

Hiotographic

Sciences
Corporation

*5^

as WIST MAIN STRUT

WIUTIR.N.Y. 14SM

(7)6) 173-4503

270

DISCOVERY OP THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE.

DISCOVERY OF THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE.

We now approach an era of great achievements. King John
determined, in 1486, to assist^ the attempts made on sea by
journeys overland. Accordingly, a squadron was fitted out
under Bartholomew Diaz, one of the officers of the royal
household, while Pedro de Covillam, and Alphonso de Payra,
both well versed in Arabic, received the following order
respecting a land journey : — '• To discover the country of Prester
John, the King of Abyssinia ; to trace the Venetian commerce
in drugs and spices to its source; and to ascertain whether it
were possible for ships to sail round the extremity of Africa to
India." They went by the way of Naples, the island of Rhodes,
Alexandria, and Cairo, to Aden, in Arabia. Here they separated,
Covillam procev^ding to Cananor and Goa, upon the Malabar
coast of Hindustan, was ;i)3 first Portuguese tliat ever
saw India. He went from there to Sofala, on the eastern coast
of Africa, and saw the island of the Moon, now Madagascar.
He penetrated to the coast of Prester John, the King of
Abyssinia, and became so necessary to the happini^ss of that
potentate that he was compelled to live and die in his
dominions. An embassy sent by Prester John to Lisbon made

fe^fe^-

•PE.

John

sea bv

ted out

". royal

Payra,

order
Prester
mmerce
3ther it
rica to
Ihodos,
)arated,
lalabar
ever
n coast
i<rascar.
[ing of
of that
in his

made

DISCOVEllY OF THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE. 271

the Portuguese acquainted with Covillam's adventures. Long
ere this, however, Bartholomew Diaz had sailed upon the
voyage which has immortalized his name. He received the
command of a fleet, consisting of two ships of fifty tons each,
and of a tender to carry provisions, and set sail towards the
end of August, 148G, steering directly to the south. Jt is much
to be. regretted that so few details exist in reference to this
memorable expedition. We know little more than the fact,
that the iirst stone pillar which Diaz erected was placed four
hundred miles beyond that of any preceding navigator. Striking
out bohlly here into the oi)en sea, he resolved to nuike a wide
circuit before returning landward. He did so ; and the fir^t land
he saw, on again touching the Continent, lay one hurj<lred miles
to the eastward of the great Southern Cape, which he had passed
without seeing it. Ignorant of this, he still kept on, amazed that
the laud should now trend to the east, and finally to the north.
Alarmed, nearly destitute of provisions and mortified at the failure
of his enterprise, Diaz unwillingly put back. What was his joy
and surprise when the tremendous and 'onor-sought promontory
— the object of the hopes and desires of the Portuguese for
seventy- five years, and which, either from the distance or the
haze, had before been concealed — now burst upon his view!

Diaz returned to Portugal m December, 1487, and, in his
narrative to the king, stated that he had given to the formidable
promontory he had doubled the name of " Cape of Tempests."
But the king, animated by the conviction that Portugal would
now reap the abundant harvest prepared by this cheering event,
thought he could suggest a more appropriate appellation. The
Portuguese poet, Camoens, thus alludes to the circumstance : —

" At Lisbon's court they told their dread escape.
And from her raging tempests named the Cape.
* Thou sonthniost point.' the joyful king exclaimed.
' Cape of Good Hope * be thou forever named ! "

Successful and triumphant as was this voyage of Diaz, it
eventually tended to injure the interests of Portugal, inasmuch
as it withdrew the regards of King John from other plans of
discovery, and rendered him inattentive to the efforts of rival
powers upon the ocean. It caused him to turn a deaf ear to
the proposals of Columbus, who had humbly brought to Lisbon
the mighty scheme, with which he had been contemptuously
repulsed from Genoa,— Tue Sea and Her Famous Sailors.

I ■

I • ! ■

.a 4,

272

THE FALLS OF THE ZAMBESI.

THE FALLS OF THE ZAMBESL

As this was the point from which we intended to strike off to
the north-east, T resolved on the following day to visit the falls
of Victoria, called by the natives Mosioatunya, or, more
anciently, Shongwe. Of these we had often heard since we
came into the country ; indeed, one of the questions asked by
Sebituane was, " Have you smoke that sounds in your
country ? " They did not go near enough to examine t lem,
but, viewing them with awe fiom a dl:,tance, said in refeience
to the vapor and noise, "Mosi oa tunya" (smoke does sound
there). It was previously called Shongwe, the meaning of
which I could not ascertain. The word for a " pot " resembles
this, and it may mean a seething caldron ; but I am not certain
of it.

Sekeletu intended to accompany me, but one canoe only
having come instead of the two he had ordered, he resigned it
to me. After twenty minutes' sail from Kalai we cume in
sight, for the first time, of the columns of vapor appropriately
called *'' smoke," rising at a distance of five or six miles, exactly
fti when krge tracts of grass »re burned in AfriWt Five

*rHE FALLS OF THE ZAMBESt.

278

Columns now arose, and, bending in the direction of the win(i.
they seemed placed against a low ridge covered with trees, and
the tops of tho columns, at this distance, appeared to mingle
with the clouds. They were white below, and higher up
became dark, so as to simulate smoke very closely. The whole
scene was exceedingly beautiful : the banks and islands dotted
over the river are adorned with sylvan vegetation of great variety
of color and form. At the period of our visit several trees
were spangled over with blossoms. Trees have each their own
physiognomy. There, towering over all, stands the great hurley
baobab, each of whose enormous arms would form the trunk of
a large tree ; besides groups of graceful palms, which, with
their feathery -shaped leaves depicted on the sky, lend their
beauty to the scene. As a hieroglyphic they always mean
" far from home," for one can never get over their foreign air
in a picture or landscape. The silvery mohonono, which, in
the tropics, is in form like the ceda' of Lebanon, stands in
pleasing contrast with the dark color of the motsouri, whoso
cypress-form is dotted over at present with its pleasant scarlet
fruit. Some trees resemble the great spreading oak ; others
assume the character of our own elms and chestnuts ; but no
one can imagine the beauty of the view from any thing wit-
nessed in England. It had never been seen before by Euro-
pean eyes ; but scenes so lovely must have been gazed upon by
angels in their flight. The only want felt is that of mountains
in the back-ground. The falls are bounded on three sides by
ridges 300 or 400 feet in height, which are covered with forest,
with the red soil appearing among the trees.

When about half a niile from the falls, I left the canoe by
which we had come down thus far, and embarked in a lighter
one, with men well acquainted with the rapids, who, by passing
down the centre of the stream, in the eddies and still places
paused by many juttiug rocks, brought me to an island situated
in the middle of the riv r, and on the edge of the cliff over
which the water rolls. In coming hither, there Mas danger of
being swept down by the streams which rushed along on each
side of the island ;*but the river was not low, and we sailed
where it is totally impossible to go with safety when the water
is high. But, though we had reached the island, and were
within a few yards of the edge of the falls, I believe that no
one could perceive where the vast body of water went ; it
seemed to lose itself in the earth, the opposite lip of the fissure
4 R 18

. I,,

:: U

1i , :; •

274

THE tALL^ OF THE ZAMBESI.

being only eighty feet distant. I, at least, did not comprehend
it, until, creeping with awe to the verge, I peered down into a
large rent which had been made from bank to bank of the broad
Zambesi, and saw that a stream of a thousand yarda broad
leaped down a hundred feet, and then became suddenly pressed
into a space of fifteen or twenty yards. The entire falls are
simply a crack made in a hard, basaltic rock, from the right to
the left bank of the Zambesi, and then prolonged from the left
bank away through thirty or forty miles ^of hills. Let one
imagine the valley of the Thames filled with low tree-covered
hills immediately below the tunnel, and extended as far as
Graresend ; the bed of the river of black basaltic rock instead
of London mud, and a fissure made therein, from one end of
the tunnel to the other, down through the keystones of the arch,
and prolonged from the left end of the tunnel through thirty
miles of hills, the pathway being 100 feet below the bed of
the river instead of what it is, and the lips of the fissure from
80 to 100 feet apart. Then, let him fancy the Thames leaping
bodilv into the gulf, and forced there to change its direction,
and riow from the right to the left bank, and then rush boiling
and roaring through the hills, and he may have some idea of
what takes place at this, the most wonderful sight I had wit-
nessed in Africa.

In looking down into the fissure on the right of the island,
one sees nothing but a dense white cloud, which, at the time
we visited the spot, had two bright rainbows in it. From this
cloud rushed up a great jet of vapor exactly like steam, which
ascended *200 or 300 feet ; there condensing, it changed its hue
to that of dark smoke, and came back in a constant shower,
which soon wetted us to the skin. To the left of the island we
see the water at the bottom, a white rolling mass moving away
to the prolongation of the fissure, which branches off near the
left bank of the river. A piece of rock had fallen oflf a spot
on the left of the island, and juts out from the water below ;
and from it I judged the distance which the water falls to be
about 100 feet. The walls of this gigantic crack are perpen-
dicular, and composed of one homogeneous mass of rock. The
edge of that side over which the water falls, is worn oflf two or
three feet, and pieces have fallen away so as to give it some-
what of a serrated appearance. That over which the water
does not fall, is quite straight, excei)t ut the left corner, where
U rent appears, and a piece seems inclined to fall ofl[.

THE FALLS OF THE ZAMBESI.

275

On the left side of the island, we have a good view of tho
mass of water, which causes one of the columns of vapor to
ascend, as it leaps quite clear of the rock, and forms a thick,
unbroken piece all the way to the bottom. Its whiteness gave
the idea of snow, a sight I had not seen for many a day. The
snow-white sheet seemed like myriads of small commets rushing
on in one direction, each of which left behind its nucleus rays
of foam. It seemed to be the effect of water leaping at once
clear of the rock, and but slowly breaking up into spray. The
columns of vapor are evidently formed by the force of the
water's own fall into an unyielding wedge-shape space. Of
the five columns, two on the right, and one on the left of the
island, were the largest, and the streams which formed them
seemed each to exceed in size the falls of the Clyde at Stone-
byres, when that river is in flood. This was the period of low
water in the Zambesi; but, as far as I could judge, there was
a flow of five or six hundred yards of water, which, at the
edge of the fall, seemed at least three feet deep.

At three spots near these falls, — one of them the island on
which we were, — three Batoka chiefs offered up prayers and
sacrifices to the Barimo. They chose their })laces of prayer
within the sound of the roar of the cataract, and in sight of
the bright bows in the cloud. The words of the canoe-song
are : —

y'.

i*f-

:U.r

" The Leeambye ! Nobody knows
Whence it comes and whither it goes."

;F ;"

The play of colors of the double iris in the cloud, seen by
them elsewhere only in the rainbow, may have led them to the
idea that this was the abode of the Deity.

Having feasted my eyes long on the beautiful sight, I
returned to my friends at Kalai, and told Sekeletu that he had
nothing else worth showing in his country. — Livingstone.

'■ -W'-

THE ALMA RIVER.

Though till now ungraced in story, scant although thy waters be,
Alma, roll those waters proudly, roll t!iem proudly to the sea !
Yesterday unnamed, unhonor'd, but to wanaering Tartar known,
Now thou art a voice for ever, to the world's four corners blown.
In two nations' annals written, thou art now a deathless name,
And a star for ever binning in their firmament of fame.

Many a great and ancient river, cro^^n'd with city, tower, and

shrine.
Little streamlet, knows no magic has no potency like thine ;
Cannot shed the light thou sheddest around many a living head,
Cannot lend the light thou lendes-t tc the memories of the dead;
Yea, nor, all unsoothed their sorrow, who can, proudly mourning

say,—
When the first strong burst of anguish shall have wept itself

away, —
" He hath pass'd from us, the lovjd one ; but he sleeps with

them that died
By the Alma, at the winning of that terrible hill-side '*

27»

THE LAMENT OF THE PEKI FOR HINDA. 277

Yes, 8nd in the days far onward, when we all as cold as those
Who beneath thy vines and willows, on their hero-beds repose,
Thou, on England's banners blazon'd with the famous fields of

old,
Shalt, where other Selds are winning, wave above the brave and

bold;
And our sons unborn shall nerve them for some great deed to be

done
By that twentieth of September, when the Alma's heights were

won.
Oh I thou river, dear for ever to the gallant, to the free.
Alma, roll thy waters proudly, roll them proudly to the sea !

Trench.

• THE LAMENT OF THE PERI FOR HINDA.

Farewell — farewell to thee, Araby's daughter !

(Thus warbled a Peri beneaih the dark sea ;)
No pearl ever lay under Oman's green water,

More pure in its shell than thy spirit in thee.

Oh, fair as the sea-fiower close to thee growing,
How light was thy heart, till love's witchery canite.

Like tiie wind of the south o'er a summer's lute blowing,
And hush'd all its music, and wither'd its frame I

But loUj', upon Araby's green sunny highlands,
Shall maids and their lovers remember the doom

Of her who lies sleeping among the Pearl Islands,
With nought but the sea-star to light up her tomb.

And still, when the merry date-season is burning.
And calls to the palm groves the young and the old,

The happiest there, from their pastime returning
At sunset, will weep when thy story is told.

The young village-maid, when with flowers she dresses
Her dark flowing hair for some festival day.

Will think of thy fate, till, ntglecting her tresses,
She n»ournfully turns froci the mirror away.

iMr

;i'

278

A8KEL0X.

Nor shall Iran, beloved of her hero I forget thee,
Though tyrants watch over her tears as they start,

Close, close by the side of that hero she'll set thee,
Embalm'd in the innermost shrine of her heart.

Farewell ! be it ours to embellish thy pillow

Each flower of the rock, each gem of the billow,
Shall sweeten thy bed, and illumine thy sleep.

Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber,
That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept ;

With many a shell, in whose hollow-wreath'd chamber.
We, Peris of ocean, by moonlight have slept.

We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling,
And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head ;

We'll seek where the sands of the Caspian are sparkling,
And gather their gold to strew over thy bed.

Farewell I farewell I — until Pity's sweet fountain
Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave.

They'll weep for the chieftain who died on that mountain,
They'll weep for the maiden who sleeps in this wave.

Moore.

ASKELON.

AsKELON differs from the other celebrated cities of the Philistines,
being seated ou the sea ; while Ekron, Gath, Jamnia, Ashdod,
and Gaza are in the interior. It never could have been a har-
bor of any considerable size, however, and what once existed
appears to have been filled up by Sultan Bibars of Egypt, that
great scourge of mankind, and destroyer of cities in this country.
The topography of thi» place is very peculiar. A lofty and abrupt
ridge begins near the shore, runs up eastward, bends round to
the south, then td the west, and finally north-west to the sea
again, forming an irregular amphitheatre. On the top of this
ridge ran the wall, which was defended at its salient angles by

ASKELON.

270

strong towers. The specimens, which still exist along the south-
east, and west sides, show that it was very high and thick ; builc
however, of small stones, and bound together by broken columns
of granite and marble. This clearly proves that it is patchwork,
and not Askelon's original rampart. These extraordinary frag-
ments, tilted up in strange confusion along the sandy ridge, are
what generally appear in the pictures of Askelon, and impart
such an air of desolation to the view. The position, however, is
one of the fairest along this part of the Mediterranean coast ; and
when the interior of this amphitheatre was crowded with splendid
temples and palaces, ascending, rank above rank, from north-
west to south-east, the appearance from the sea must have been
very imposing. Now the whole area is planted over with
orchards of the various kinds of fruit which flourish on his coast.
It is especially celebrated for its apples, which are the largest and
best I have overseen in this country. When 1 was here in June
quite a caravan , started for Jerusalem loaded with them, and they
would not have disgraced even an American orchard. Dr. Kitto
has labored in several of his works to prove that the Hebrew
word taffuah^ translated " apples," means citron ; but I think this
is one of his least happy criticisms. The Arabic word for apple
is almost the same as the Hebrew, and it is as perfectly definite,
to say the least, as our English word, as much as the word for
grape, and just as well understood ; and so is that for citron, but
this is a comparatively rare fruit. Citrons are also very large,
weighing several pounds each, and are so hard and indigestible
that they cannot be used except when made into preserves. The
tree is small, slender, and must be propped up, or the fruit will
bend it to the ground. Nobody ever thinks of sitting under its
shadow, for it is too small and straggling to make a shade. I
cannot believe, therefore, that it is spoken of in the Canticles. It
can scarcely be a tree at all, much less would it be singled out as
among the choice trees of the wood. As to the smell and colors
all the demands of the Biblical allusions are fully met by these
apples of Askelon ; and no doubt, in ancient times and in royal
gardens, their cultivation was far superior to what it is now, and
the fruit larger and more fragrant. Let tqffuah, therefore, stand
for apple, as our noble translation has it. — The Land and the
Book,

i' i.

280

THE SPONGE.

RICH-A

THE SPONGE.

The sponge of commerce is found attached to rocks in various
depths between three fathoms and thirty. When alive it is of
a dull bluish-black above, and of a dirty white beneath,
several qualities, possibly indicating as many

are

There
distinct
species. The best are taken among the Cyclades. The sponge
divers, however, are mostly people from the islands of the
Carian Coast, from Calymnos and Rhodes. They go in little
fleets of caiques, each of six or seven tons burthen, and manned
by six or eight men. The season for the fishery lasts from May
until September. All the men dive in turn. They remain
under water from one to three minutes. They descend to the
bottom at various depths, between live fathoms and twenty, or
even, though rarely, thirty. Very few of the Archipelago
divers can descend so deep as the last named depth, and it is
doubtful whether they can work, in such a case, when down.
Some years ago, a diver asserted he had bent a rope round the
beam of a Turkish frigate, sunk in thirty fathoms water, off
Scio. Mr. Love, when engaged in raising the guns of some of
the sunken ships, confirmed his statement by finding the rope
still bent round the beam. In deep water, a rope weighted by
a stone is let down, by which the divers ascend when they have
gathered the sponges. They carry nothing about their persons
except a netted bag whicli is attached to a hoop suspended
round their necks ; in this they place the sponges. In a good
locality, a diver may bring up fifty okes of sponges in one day.
A very large sponge may weigh two okes. The weight is
culculated from the sponges when they are dried. A sponge is
dried in the sun, after being cleaned in sea-water ; fresh water
rots it and turns it black. The slimy or animal matter is
stamped out by the diver's feet. When dried, the sponges are
strung in circles. They are sold at twenty-five drachms an oke.
The chief markets for them are Smyrna, Rhodes, and Napoli.

The sponge fisheries were probably conducted among the
ancient Greeks as they are now. Hence, information being
obtainable with facility, we find a full account of the sponge in
the writings of Aristotle. He appea^"" to have been deeply
interested in its history, on account of the link it seemed to
present between the animal and vegetable natures. Therefore,
the questioa whether sponges possessed sensation is discussed

by liim
and aga
forward,
the pres
vocates
two heat
not. Of
but perfc
other sp(
tion exa
-.Egean,
sponges
varieties
close tex
finer, moi
were rar
protectioi
on the ro
surface, I
grow on t
the superi
greater u
When ali\
canals an
leading pc
of the His

RICHAR

The goo(]
expedition
doughty I
for the H
presence (
men, soon
the nurse!
" Be quiet
ful in thei
seeing the
those Chr
be was tol

RICHARD THE LION-HEAKT AXD THE SARACENS. 281

by him more than once, and left undocided ; the statements for
and against tlieir capacity for feeling aro, however, fairly put
forward. The same ijnestion is debated among naturalists at
the present day; and, as anciently, there are not wanting ad-
vocates for either view. Aristotle distinguishes sponges under
two heads; those that might be cleaned, and those which could
not. Of the last, he states that their substance was compact,
but perforated by large canals. They were more viscous than
other sponges, and, when dried, remained black. The descrip-
tion exactly applies to the common coast-line sponges of the
JEgean, useless for economic purposes. His account of the
sponges of commei'ce is more detailed. II(^ distinguishes three
varieties ; those which were lax and porous ; those of thick and
close texture ; and a third kind, called sponges of Achilles,
finer, more compact, and stronger than the otlu'is. These last
were rarest, and used to be placed in helmets, and in boots, as
protections from pressure for the head and feet. They all grow
on the rocks, adhering not by one point only, nor by the whole
surface, but by some extent of the surface. The best kinds
grow on the coasts which become suddenly deep. He attributes
the superior fineness of texture in these deep-red kinds to the
greater uniformity of temperature of the water in such places.
When alive, and before they are washed they are black. Their
canals are often inhabited by little crustaceie. Such are the
leading points of the account given of sponges in the fifth book
of the History of Animals. — Spratt and Foubes.

J; :i

)s are

|n oke.

loli.

Iff the

being

^ge in

leeply

led to

refore,

3USS^

RICHARD THE LION-HEART AND THE SARACENS.

The good King Richard suraamed Lion-heart, set out on an
expedition over seas with a vast train of barons, the most
doughty knights and cavaliers of every rank, all taking ship
for the Holy Land, and all consisting of foot. When in the
presence of the Sultan's army, King Richard, leading on his
men, soon made such dreadful havoc among the Saracens, that
the nurses used to sav to the infants, when they chid them,
'* Be quiet, or King Richard will hear you ; " for he was as dread-
ful in their eyes as death itself. It is said that the Sultan, on
seeing the rout of his finest troops, cried out. " How many are
those Christians who thus deal with my people?" And when
he was told that there were only King Richard with his English

1 >.",

282

THE CEDAR OF LEBANON

axemen and archers, and the whole on foot, he added, " It is a
scandal to our prophet, that so brave a man as King Richard
should be seen to fight on foot ; bear him ray noblest charger."
And a steed was instantly, after the battle, despatched to the
King's tent, with a message from the Sultan that he trusted he
should no longer behold him fight on foot. Casting his eye
upon the horse, Richard commanded one of his squires to mount
him to observe his paces. The squire found him very hard in
the mouth, and, in a short time, losing his command over him,
he was borne full speed into the Sultan's camp, who came forward
expecting to greet King Richard. The King very wisely, by
this contrivance, escaped, and showed, how imprudent it always
is,' to confide in the good offices of an enemy. Roscoe's Italian
Novelists.

THE CEDAR 01 LEBANON.

I AM going to give the history of what was, perhaps, the first
Cedr^ of Lebanon brought over to Europe,

It grew in the Jardln cles Plantes^ in taris, and was such a
Jovt;d and favorite tree that people lik^d to repeat the story

THE CEDAR OF LEBANON.

283

of its being first planted, the adventures it had gone through,
and the changes it had seen ; nd these I am now goin^ to tell
you. °

A Frenchman was travelling in the Holy Land, and found a
little seedling among the Cedars of Lebanon, which he longed
to bring away as a memorial of his travels. He took it up
tenderly, with all the earth about its little roots, and for want
of a better flower-pot planted it carefully in his hat, and therei
he kept it and tended it. The voyage home was rough and
tempestuous, and so much longer than usual that the supply of
fresh water in the ship fell short, and they were obliged to
measure it out most carefully to each person. I'he captain was
allowed two glasses a day ; the sailors who had the work of the
ship on their hands, one glass each, and the poor passengers
but half a glass. In such a scarcity you may suppose the little
cedar had no allowance at all. But our friend, the traveller, felt
for it, as his child, and each day shared with it his small half-
glass of precious water ; and so it was that, when the vessel
arrived at port, the traveller had drunk so little water that he
was almost dying, and the young cedar so much that, behold,
it was a noble and fresh little tree, six inches high !

At the custom-house, the officers, who are always suspicious
of smuggling, wished to empty the hat, for they would not
believe but that something more valuable in their eyes lay hid
b6neath the moist mould. They thought of lace, or of diamonds,
and began to thrust their fingers in the soil. But our poor
traveller implored them so earnestly to spare his tree, and
talked to them so eloquently of all that we read in the Bible of
the Cedara of Lebanon, telling them of David's house and
Solomon's Temple, that the men's hearts were softened, and
they suffered the young cedar to remain undisturbed in its
strange dwelling.

From thence it was carried to Paris, and planted most care-
fully in the Jardin des Plantes. A large tile was set up against
it as a protection and a shade, and its name was written in
Latin, and stuck in front, to tell all the world that it was some-
thing new and precious. The soil was good, and the tree grew ;
grew till it no longer needed the shelter of the tile, nor the dig-
nified protection of the Latin inscription ; grew till it was taller
than its kind protector, the traveller ; grew till it could give a
shelter to a nurse and her child, tired of walking about in the
pleasant gardei^s, and glad of the coolness of the thick dark

■ It.

Bi,

f.i

! ■.!'

<il

W-\

284

THE CEDAR OF LEBANON.

branches. Soon these branches spread so far on every side,
that other nurses and other children could assemble under the
shade, and play their littlo games together.

The cedar grew larger and larger, and became the noblest
ti*ee there. All the birds of the garden could have assembled
in its branches. All the boas and tigers, and apes and bears,
and panthers and elephants, of the great menagerie close at
hand, could have lain at ease under its shade. It became the
tree of all the trees in the wide garden that the people loved
the best ; there, each Thursday, when the gardens were open to
all the city, the blind people irom their asylum used to ask to
be brought under the cedar ; there they would stand together
and measure its great trunk, and guess how large and wide
must be its branches. It was a pleasure to see them listening
to the sweet songs of the birds overhead, and breathing in its
fragrant Eastern perfume. They thought of the distant East —
the East from whence comes the True Light, their only light ;
they could only hope to see it with their mortal eyes, but here
the East seemed to visit them, and they could touch it.

The blind seemed to call the dumb there ; for the deaf and
dumb, too, chose the cedar for their friend. The blind dreamed
that they could see the cedar when they heard the murmur of
its branches ; the deaf thought that they heard the song of the
birds as they saw them fly from branch to branch.

Not only on Thursday were the blind and the deaf and
dumb to be seen there, but the poor foundlings, those desolate
children whose fathers and mothers have deserted them, and
who are abandoned to the charity of strangers, found it their
greatest treat to collect under the cedar, and dance around it ;
or, perhaps, with sadder thoughts, they would sit to rest and
watch the happier children passing, with -fathers and mothers
and sisters by their side, all talking and laughing together. To
these poor children the cedar was a kind of a father; year by
year they measured their growth by it ; at their earliest recol-
lections they were no higher than this little projection of rough
bark ; now they can almost touch the lowest sweeping. branch,
when the wind waves it downwards.

There was once a prison at the end of these gardens ; a dark,
and dismal, and terrible place, where the unfortunate and the
guilty were all mixed togevher in one wretched confusion. The
building was a lofl ; one divided into many stories, and, by the
time you reached the top, you were exhausted and breathlQsa.

TbE LEFfeE.

The ceils were as dreary and comfortless there as in the more
accessible ones below ; and yet those who could procure a little
money by any means gladly paid it to be allowed to rent one
of those topmost cells. What was it made them value this
weary height? It was that, beyond the forest of chimneys
and desert plain of slates, they could see the Cedar of
Lebanon ! His cheeks pressed against the rusty bars, the poor
debtor would pass hours looking upon the cedar. It was the
prisoner's garden, and he would console himself in the weariness
of a long, rainy, sunless day, in thinking the cedar will look
greener to-morrow. Every friend and visitor was shown the
cedar, and each feli it a comfort in the mid^t of so much
wretchedness to sec it. They were as proud of the cedar in
this prison, as if they had planted it.

Who will not grieve for the fate of the Cedar of Lebanon. It
had grown and flourished for a hundred years, for cedars do
not need centuries, like the oak, to attain their highest growth,
when, just as its hundredth year was attained, the noble, the
beautiful tree, was cut down to make room for a railway. This
was done just ten years ago ; and now the hissing sleam-engine,
passes over its withered roots. Such things, it seems, must be ;
and we must not too much grieve or complain at any of the
changes, that pass around us in this world of changes ; and yet
we cannot but feel sorry for the Cedar of Lebanon. — Sharpe's
London Magazine.

THE LEPlJR.

It was noon ;
And Helon stood beside a stagnant pool
In the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow,
Hot with the burning leprosy, and touched
The loathsome water with his fevered lips,
Praying that he might be so bless'd — to die !
Footsteps approached, and with no strength to flee
He drew the covering closer on his lip.
Crying " Unclean ! unclean ! " and in the folds
Of the coarse sackcloth shrouding up his face,
He fell upon the earth till they should pass.

i>i

■'■'i ■

Ti!!

i!U.

THE LEPER.

Nearer the stranger came, and bending o^ef
The leper's prostrate form, pronounced his name—
" Helen ! " The voice was like the master-tone
Of a rich instrument — most strangely sweet ;
And the dull pulses of disease awoke.
And for a moment beat beneath the hot
And leprous scales with a restoring thrill.
" Helon ! arise ! " and he forgot his curse,
And rose and stood before Him.

Love and awe
Mingled in the regard of Helon 's eye.
As he beheld the stranger. He was not
In costly raiment clad, nor on His brow
The symbol of a princely lineage wore ;
No followers at His back, nor in His hand
Buckler, or sword, or spear, yet in His mien
Command sat throned serene, and if He smiled,
A kingly condescension graced His lips,
The lion would have crouch'd to in his lair.

His garb was simple, and his sandals worn ;
His stature modell'd with a perfect grace ;
His countenance the impress of a god,
Touched with the opening innocence of a child i
His eye was blue and calm, as is the sky
In the serenest noon ; His hair, unshorn,
Fell to His shoulders ; and His curling beard
The fulness of perfect manhood bore.

He looked on Helon earnestly a while.

As if His heart was moved, and stooping,

He took a little water in His hand, and said, " Be clean."

And lo ! the scales fell from him, and his blood

Cqursed with delicious coolness through his veins.
And his dry palms grew moist, and on his brow
The dewy softness of an infant stole.
His leprosy was cleansed ; and he fell down
Prostrate at Jesus' feet, and worshipped Him.

■U ^1, f;

N. P. WlLLIi.

MAHOMM.

MAHOMET.

287

The Arabs oi the sixth century were not unlike what they are
now. The sandy table-laud which fills the centre of the
peninsula was dotted with encampments of rovi ig Bedouins,
whose black tents nestled under the shade of acacia and date-
trees, only so long as (;rass grew green and fresh round the well
of the oasis. The fringes of low coast-land were filled with
busy hives of traders and husbandmen. Mingled with these
were men of many races, Persians, Jews and Greeks, scraps of
whose various creeds had come to be woven up with the native
worship of sun and stars. The great temple was the Caaba at
Mecca, in whose wall was fixed a black stone,, said by tradition
to have been a petrified angel, once pure white, but soon
blackened by the kisses of sinners. Strongly marked in the
national character was a vain of wild poetry, and their wander-
ing habits predisposed tnem for plunder and war.

Among this people a child was born in a. d. 571, in tlie city
of Mecca. His father, Abdallah, of the great tribe Koreish,
was one of the hereditary keepers of the Caaba. His mother,
Amina, was of the same noble race. Left an orphan at six, the
little Mahomet passed into the care of a merchant uncle, Abu
Taleb, whose camel driver and salesman he grew up to be. So it
happened that, in early life, he took many journeys with the
caravans for Syria and Yemen, and filled his mind with the
wild traditions of the desert. At twenty-five, he undertook to
manage the business of a rich widow, Cadijah, whose forty
years did not prevent her from looking with fond eyes upon her
clever, handsome steward. They were married, and lived an
uneventful life, until, in his fortieth year, Mahomet proclaimed
himself a prophet. For some years before this, he was in the
habit of retiring often to a mountain cave, for secret thought and
study.

Then to his wife, his cousin Ali, his servant Zeid, and his
friend, Abu Bekr, he told his strange story. Gabriel had
come from God, had revealed to him wonderful truths, and had
commissioned him to preach a new religion, of which the sum
was to be, "There is but one God, and Mahomet is his prophet."
This faith he called Islam an infinitive denoting homage or
surrender, and expressing the believer's relation towards God.
The word Moslem (corrupted into Mussulman) is from the same
root salniy to pay homage.

'C! '

'i:n

^ii

5':

iif

■ 'l;!i ■

, Mi

MAHOMET.

In three years he gained only forty followers. Then, heni
upon a wider sphere, he invited his leading kinsmen to l>'s house
and there proclaimed his mission, demanding to know whicli of
them would be his vizier. None but AH, a boy of fourteen,
the son of Abu Taleb, answered the call ; the rest laughed at
the madman and his silly cousin. All the weight of the tribw
Koreish was opposed to him, until ridicule and persecution
drove him fi:om fhe city. Taking refuge in his old uncle's
castle, he continued to preach Islam in the face of their an£,er,
and even returned to Mecca for a while. But tlie death of his
protector, Abu Taleb, left him naked to the rage of his enemies ;
and when the leaders of Koreish laid a plot to murder him,
each swearing to plunge a sword in his body, he fled at midnight,
leaving Ali on his bed, wrapped in a green robe to deceive the
murderers. After hiding in a cave ior three days with Abu
Bekr. he reached Medinn, where many of his converts lived.
This was the great Mahometan era, called Hejira^ or the flight,
from which Moslems have since reckoned the years. In
Medina the prophet; built his first mosqve, beneath whose palm-
wood roof his own body was to be laid \.\ the grave, ten years
later. Thus the preaching of Islam began to radiate from a new
centre.

But a great change came. The dreamer and meek preacher
for thirteen years turned into a red handed soldier. Islam
became a religion of the sword. " The sword," cried Mahomet,
" is the key of heaven and hell : " and ever since — never more
loudly and ruthlessly than in our own day, at Lucknow and
Cawnpore — that fierce gigantic lie has been pealing its war-note
in the Moslem heart.

His earliest attacks were upon the caravans of his ancient
enemies the Koreish. In the valley of Beder, with 314 men,
he fell upon nearly 1,000 Meccans, who had hurried out to
protect a rich camel-train from Syria. The caravan escaped;
bat its defenders were driven in headlong rout into Mecca.
Among the spoil, was a sword of fine temper, which was in the
prophet's hand in all his future battles. Next year he was
defeated and wounded in the face at Mount Chod, a few miles
north of Medina. This was a heavy blow, but the elastic spirit
of the warlike apostle rose bravely beneath it, although he had
now to struggle not alone with the Koreish but against the
Jews, who mustered strong in Northern Arabia. From Medina,
now fortified with a deep moat, he beat back a great host,

MAfiOMEl*.

289

m, i)ent
'h house
^liicli of
ourteen,
ighed at
he tilbu
secutloii
uncles
ir an<,>;r,
th of his
nemies ;
ler hira,
lidnight,
eive the
ith Abu
;s lived,
lie flight,
LI'S. In
se palm-
;n years
m a new

preacher
[ Islam
ahomet,
er more
ow and
/var-note

ancient

4 men,

out to

iscaped ;

Mecca.

,s in the

16 was

w miles

ic spirit

he had

nst the

yiedina,

it host,

lieaded by Abu SoCan, Prince of the Koreish. So gr^&tly Was
his name now feared, that when he approached Mecca in the
holy month with 1,400 warlike pilgrims, an embassy from the
Koreish offered peace. A treaty for ten years was made of
which one condition was, that he and his followers should have
leave to visit Mecca on pilgrimage for three days at a time.

He then turned his sword upon Chaibar. the Jewish capital of
Northern Arabia, where, we are told, the bearded Ali, glittering
with scarlet and steel, in the front of the battle, having lost
his buckler, tore a heavy gate from its hinges and bore it as a
shield all day. The fortress was taken, but it was near being
a dearly-bought conquest to the prophet. When he called for
food, a shoulder of lamb, cooked by a Jewish girl, was set
before him. The first mouthful told him something was wrong ; a
sharp pain seized him; the meat was poisoned. One of his
followers, who had eaten some, died in agony. Mahomet recov-
ered for the time, but his frame received a fatal shock.

The battle of Honein laid all Arabia at his feet. Then,
king in all but name, he turned his eyes beyond Arabian
frontiers. He sent embassies to Heraclius of Constantinople,
and Chosroes of Persia, demanding submission to his faith.
Chosroes tore up the letter ; Heraclius received the message
more courteously, but with equal disregard. An envoy of the
prophet having been slain in Syria, a Moslem army, under
Zeid, marched from Medina to avenge the murder. At Muta,
some distance east of the Dead Sea, the troops of the Eastern
empire were met in battle for the first time by the soldiers of
Islam, and thoroughly beaten. Zeid, however, and two other
Moslem leaders, were slain.

The great achievement of Mahomet's later life was the
occupation of Mecca, in 629. At the head of 10,000 men he
began a hurried, silent march. No trumpet was blown, no
watchfire lighted, till they can^e close to the city. Abu Sofian,
made prisoner outside the walls, and converted by a naked
sabre, which was swung over his head, being allowed to return,
told the Meccans how useless it would be to resist the warrior
prophet. And so, unopposed, clad in a pilgrim's garb, but
preceded by a forest of swords and lances flashing in the sun-
rise, the conqueror entered his native city. Three hundred and
sixty idols of the Caaba were broken to pieces. Ar?d from every
Meccan's throat burst the watchword of Islam, " Allah Achbar j "
« God is great, and Mahomet is his prophet."

I ■•

Stii-

i"i,.

;;i.;'i?

2&0 IKTEUtOii OF AN ANCIENT l»ALACti IN NINfiVAtt.

The last military efforts of Mahomet were directed against
Syria. His lieutetiant, Khaled, spread his dominion from the
Euphrates to j^Uah (Akaba), at the head of the eastern prong
of the Red Sea, the capture of which opened the path of the
Moslems into Africa. The prophet himself was half-way to
Damascus, when he turned at the oasis of Tabuk, and came buck
to Medina to die.

At sixty-one, older than his years, racked by ineradicable
poison, and spirit-broken by the death of his only son; the
infant Ibrahim, he fell a victim to a violent fever. Though
the apostle of a great falsehood, we cannot deny his excelling
genius, and the moulding power of his strong and pliant will.

Great Events of History.

INTERIOR OF AN ANCIENT PALACE IN NINEVEH.

Their interior was as magnificent as imposing. I have led the
reader through its ruins, and he may judge of the impression
Its halls were calculated to make upon the stranger, who in the
days of old, ente^'ed for the first time the abode of the Assyrian
kings. He was ushered in through the portals guarded by the
colossal lions, or bulls, of white alabaster. Ii the first hall he
found himself surrounded by the sculptured records of the
empire. Battles, sieges, triumphs, the exploits of the chase,
were portrtiyed on the walls, sculptured in alabsvster, and painted
in gorgeous colors. Under each picture were engraved, in
colors, filled up with bright copper, inscriptions describing the
scenes represented. Above the sculptures were painted other
events — the king, attended by his eunuchs and warriors,
receiving his prisoners entering into alliances with other
monarchs, or performing some sacred duty. These representa-
tions were enclosed in colored borders of elaborate and elegant
design. The emblematic tree, winged bulls, and monstrous
animals, were conspicuous among the ornaments. At the upper
end of the hall was the colossal figure of the king, in adoration
before the supreme deity or receiving from his eunuch
the holy cup. He was attended by warriors bearing his arms,
and by the priests or presiding divinities. His robes, and those

VA«.

taE DfiSXnuCTION OF SEXJ^ACtiEftttl.

201

against
rom the
n prong
1 of the
-way to
.me bu,ck

'adicable
soi»: the
Though
ixcplling
will.

TORY.

rEVEH.

e led the

ipressicn

10 in the

A-ssyrian

d by the

hall he

of the

chase,

painted

ived, in

)iiig the

d other

varriors,

other

>resenta-

elegant

OQStrous

16 upper

doration

eunuch

IS arms,

nd those

of his followers were adorned with groups of fif^Mires, animals,
and flowers, all painted with brilliant colors. Tiie stranger
trod upon alabaster slabs, each bearing an inscription recording
the titles, genealogy, and achievements of tlie great .king.
Several doorways, formed by gigantic winged lions or bulls, or
by the figures of guardian deities, led into other apartments,
which again opened into more distant halls. The ceilings above
him were divided imo square comj^arrments, painted with flowers
or with the figures of animals. Some were inlaid with ivory,
each compartment bthig surrounded by elegant borders and
mouldings. The beams, as well as the sides of the chambers,
may have been gilded, and even plated with gold and silver ;
and the rarest woods, in which the cedar was conspicuous, vvei e
used-for the wood-work. Square openings in the ceilings of
the chambers idmitted the light of day. A pleasing shadow
was thrown over the sculptured walls, and gave a majestic
expression to the human features of the colossal forms which
guarded the entrances. Through these apertures was see i the
ligiit blue of an eastern sky. enclosed in a frame on which were
painted, in vived colors, the winged circle, in the midst of
elegant ornaments and the graceful forms of ideal animals.
These edifices, as it has been shown, were great national monu-
ments, upon the walls of which were represented in sculpture,
or inscribed in alphabetic characters, the chronicles of the
empire. He who entered them might thus read the history,
and learn the glory and triumphs of the nation. They served
at the same time to bring continually to t4ie remembrance of
those who assembled within them on festive occasions, or for the
celebration of reliffious ceremonies, the deeds of their ancestors and
the power and majesty of their gods. — Layard's " Nineveh."

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.

2 Kings, xix. 35.

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee,

,u\

29-i

GOOD ADVTCK XOT TO BK DESt>tSEt>.

Like the leaves of the forest when sttnimer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset was seen ;
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay \ A and strown.

For the /Vngel o( Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in tlie face of the foe as he passed ;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever were still !

And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide,
But through them there rolled not the breath of his pride.
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf.
And cold as the spray on the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider, distorted and pale.

With the dew on his brow, and tlie rust on his mail ;

The tents were all silent, the banners alone,

The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Asshur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword.
Hath melted like suow in the glance of the Lord.

Byron.

GOOD ADVICE NOT TO BE DESPISED.

One day, as an ancient King of Tartary was ric^g with his
officers of state, they met a dervise crying aloud, "To him that
will give me a hundred dinars, I will give a piece of good
advice." The king, atoracted by this strange declaration,
stopped, and said to the dervise, " what advice is this that you
offer for a hundred dinars ? " " Sire," replied the dervise, " I
shall be most thankful to tell you as soon as j^ou order the
money to be paid to me." The king, expecting to hear some-
,thing extraordinary, ordered the money to be given to the
dervise at once. On receiving it, he said, " Sire, my advice is, —
Begin nothing without considering what the end may be."

The officers of state, smiling at what they thought ridiculous
advice, looked at the king, who they expected would be so en-

GOOD ADVICE NOT TO BE DESPISED.

298

raged at this insult as to order the dervise to be severely
punished. The king, seeing the amusement and surprise wliich
this advice had occasioned, said, " I see nothing to laugh at in
the advice of this dervise ; but, on the contrary, I am persuaded
that, if it were more frequently practised, men would escape
many calamities. Indeed, so convinced am I of the wisdom of
this maxim, that I shall have it engraved on my plate, and
written on the walls of my palace, so that it may be ever before
me." The king having thanked the dervise for his advice,
proceeded towards his palace ; and, on his arrival, he ordered
the chief bey to see the maxim was engraved on his plate
and on the walls of his palace.

Sometime after this occurrence, one of the nobles of thecourt,
a proud, ambitious man, resolved to destroy the king and place
himself on the throne. In order to accomplish his diabolical
purpose, he secured the confidence of one of the king's surgeons,
to whom he gave a ])oisoned lancet, saying, '• If you will bleed
the king with this lancet I will give you ten thousand pieces of
gold ; and when I ascend the throne, you shall be my vizier."
This base surgeon, dazzled by such brilliant prospects, wickedly
assented to the proposal. An opportunity of effecting his evil
design soon occurred. The king sent for this man to bleed him :
he put the poisoned lancet into a side pocket, and hastened into
the king's presence. The arm was tied, and the fatal lancet
was about to be plunged into the vein, when suddenly the
surgeon's eye read this maxim at the bottom of the basin —
"Begin nothing without considering what the end may be."
He immediately paused, as he thought within himself, " If I
bleed the king with this lancet he will die, and I shall be seized
and put to a cruel death ; then of v. hat use will all the gold in
the world be to me? " Then, returning tlie lancet to his pocket,
he drew forth another. The king, observing this, and perceiving
that he was much embarrassed, ask^d why he changed his lancet
80 suddenly ? He stated that the point was broken ; but the
king, doubting his statement, commanded him to show it. This
so agitated him that the king felt assured that all was not
right. He said, " There is treachery in this ; tell me instantly
what it means or your head shall be severed from your body."
The surgeon, trembling with fear, promised to relate all to the
king if he would only pardon his guilt. The king assented ; and
the surgeon related the whole matter, and acknowledged that
had it not been for the words in the basin, he should have used
the f«ital lancet,

• 1

I 'hi

294

THE SIEGE OF DELHI.

The king summoned his court, and ordered the traitor to be
executed. Tlieu, turning to his otfieers of state, he said, " You
now see that the advice of the dervise, at wliich you laughed, is
most valuable ; it has saved ray life. Search out this dervise,
that 1 may amply reward him for his wiue maxim." — Sharpe's

LONPON JoUKNAL.

THE SIEGE OF D^^LHI.

The siege and storming of Delhi was the most illustrious event
which occurred in the course of that ciijantic strujjjjle. The
leaguer of Lucknow, during which the merest skeleton of a
British regiment — the 32nd — held out for six months against
two hundred thousand armed enemies, has perhaps excited
more intense interest; but Delhi was the feat of arms of
■which Britain has most cause to be proud. There, too, the
British were really the besieged, though ostensibly the be-
siegers; they were a mere handful of men "in the open" —
not more than 3,700 bayonets, European and native — without

THE SIEGE OF DELHI.

295

event
The
of a
rainst
cited
lis of
the
be-

Ltbout

any defences or support other than their indomitrihle conrajro
and tenacity of purpose, assuilotl from day to day by an army
of rebels, numbering at one time as many as '7.3,000 men,
trained to European discipline ly Englisli officers, and suf)-
plied with all but exhaustless munitions of war. The heroic
little band sat down before tho city, under the burning ray a
of a tropical sun. Death, wounds, and fever, failed to turn
them from their purpose. Thirty times tliey were attacked by
overwhelming numbers, and thirfy times did they drive back
the 6nemy behind their defences. As Captain Hodson — himself
one of tho bravest there — has said, " I venture to av*»r that no
other nation in the world would have remained here, or avoided
defeat, if they had attempted to do so." Never for an instant
did these heroes falter at their work ; witli sublime endurance
they held on, fought on, and never relaxed until, dashing through
the " imminent deadly breach," the place was won, and the
British lag again unfurled on the walls of Delhi. All were
great — piivates, officers, and generals ; men taken from behind
English j^loughs aiid from English workshops, and those trained
in the best schools and colleges, displayed equ:d heroism when
the emergency arose. Common soldiers who had been iinired
to a life o: hardship, and young officers who had been nur.sed in
luxurious ^omes, alike proved their manhood, and emerged from
that terrille trial with equal honor ; the native strength and
soundness of the English race, and of manly English training
and disci|Jine, were never more powerfully illustrated ; and it
was there emphatically proved that the men of England are,
after all, ts greatest products. A terrible price was paid for
this great chapter in our history : but if those who survive, and
those who come after, profit by the lesson and example, it may
not have leeu purchased at too great a cost. — Smiles'-" Self-
Help."

296

THE PEARL FISHERIES OF CEYLON.

THE PEARL FISHERIES OF CEYLON

The only exportable articles of any importance which Ceylon
produces are pearls, cinnamon, and elephants. Mr. Percival
has presented us with an extremely interesting accomt of the
pearl fishery, held in Condatchy Bight, near the Island of
Manaar, in the straits which separate Ceylon from he main-
land.

" There is perhaps no spectacle, which the island cf Ceylon
affords, more striking to a European than the bay of Con-
datchy, during the season of the pearl fishery. This ^sert and
barren spot is at that time converted into a scene which
exceeds, in novelty and variety, almost any thing I ever
witnessed. Several thousands of people, of different colors,
countries, castes, and occupations, conf'nually passing and re-
passing in a busy crowd ; the vast numbers of small tents a»d
huts erected on the shore, witn the bazaar or market-placg
before each ; the multitude of boats returning in the afternooi
from the pearl banks, some of them laden with riches ; the
anxious expecting countenances of the boat-owners, while the
boats are approaching the shore, and the eagerness ftu4 avidity

THE PEARL FISHEEIES OF CEYLON.

297

with which they run to them when arrived, in hopes of a rich
cargo; the vast number of jewellers, brokers, merchants of
all colors and all descriptions, both natives and foreigners,
who are occupied in some way or other with the pearls, some
separating and assorting them, others weighing ard ascertaining
their number and value, while others are hawking them about,
or drilling and boring them for future use ; all these circum-
stances tend to iL>press the mind with the value and importance
of that object which can of itself create this scene.

" The bay of Condatchy is the most central rendezvous for
the boats employed in the fishery. The banks where it is
carried on extend several miles along the coast from Manaar
southward off Arippo, Condatchy, and Pompuripo. The prin-
cipal bank is opposite to Condatchy, and lies out at sea about
twenty miles. The first step, previous to the commencement
of the fishery, is to have the different oyster banks surveyed,
the state of the oysters ascertained, and a report made on the
subject to government. If it has been found that the quantity
is sufficient, and that they are arrived at a proper degree of
maturity, the particular banks to be fished that year are put up
for sale to the highest bidder, and are usually purchased by a
black merchant. This, however, is not always the course pur-
sued : government sometimes judges it more advantageous to
fish the banks on its own account, and to dispose of the pearls
afterwards to the merchants. When this plan is adopted, boats
are hired for the season on account of government, from
different quarters ; the price varies considerably according to
circumstances, but is usually from five to eight hundred pagodas
for each boat. There are, however, no stated prices, and the
best bargains possible is made f jr each boat separately. The
Dutch generally followed this last system ; the banks were
fished on government account, and the pearls disposed of in
different parts of India, or sent to Europe. When this plan
was pursued, the governor and council of Ceylon claimed a
certain per centage on the value of the pearls, or, if the fishing
of the banks was disposed of by public sale, they bargainer! for
a stipulated sum to themselves over and above what was paid
on account of government. The pretence on which they
founded their claims for this perquisite was their trouble in
surveying and valuing the banks."

The banks are divided into six or seven portions, in order to
give the oysters time to grow, which (^re supposed to attaia

■|i!

! I

fV'

298

A DAY IN BANGKOK.

their 'maturity in about seven years. The period, allowed to the
merchant to complete his fishery, is about lix weeks, during
which period all the boats go out and return together, and are
subject to very rigorous laws. The dexterity of the divers is
very striking ; they are as adroit in the use of their feet as
their hands, and can pick up the smallest object under water
with their toes. Their descent is aided by a great stone, which
they slip from their feet when they arrive at the bottom, where
they can remain about two minutes. There are instances,
however, of divers who have so much of the aquatir in their
nature as to remain under water for five or six minutes Their
great enemy is the ground-shark ; for the rule of eat and bo
eaten, which Dr. Darwin called the great law of nature, obtains
in as much force fathoms deep beneath the waves as above
them. This animal is as fond of the legs of Hindoos, as Hindoos
are of the pearls of oysters ; and r.s ono appetite appears to him
much more natural and less capricious than the other, he never
fails to indulfje it. Where fortune has so much to do with
peril and profit, of course there is no deficiency of conjurors,
who, by divers enigmatical grimances, endeavor to ostracize this
submarine invader. If they are successful, they are well paid
in pearls ; and, when a shark indulges himself with the leg of a
Hindoo, there is a witch who lives at Colang, on the Malabar
coast, who always bears the blame. — Sydney Smith.

A DAY IN BANGKOK.

ABOtJT half-an-hour before daybreak the new-comer is utvoke
by the most interminable cawing of innumerable flights of crows,
passing in every direction overhead to fields and gardens. This
cawing continues till daylight has fairly set in, and then a host
of sparrows create such a rioting as renders sleep or repose per-
fectly out of the question. The busy little gray squirrel com-
mences its sharp and piercing series of cries ; and the vendors
of fresh-culled flowers, fruits, and vegetables, are busily engaged
in their various occupations. You rise up from your bed little
refreshed by the troubled slumber of the night, and the quiet
rippling of the waters invites you to plunge your fevered form
Wto their cool and refreshing depths, Half-ao-hour's swim

\.'

A DAY IN BANGKOK.

299

to the
during
id are
rers is
eet as

water

which

where

tances,

1 their

Their
and be
obtains

above
lindoos

to him
) never
lo with
ijjurors,
ize this
ell paid
leg of a
ilalabar

awoke

crows,
This

a host
)se per-
il com-

rendors
ingaged
little
|e quiet
Id form

swim

makes ample amends for the loss of sleep ; and this, aided by
the cool morning breeze, braces you up to combat against the
heats of the coming day. About sunrise you are astonished to
see so many canoes, tilled with unearthly-looking beings, clad
in bright yellov. garments, like so many dire emblems of the
plague. These are the priests belonging to the different watts,
or churches, that extend along the banks of the river on either
side, and they come round at this early hour to gather their
provisions for the day, for they live upon the charity of the
people, and the people are charitable, either from goodwill and
pure purposes, or from necessity ; for every man in Siam must,
malgre lui, be charitable, as far as supporting the priesthood is
concerned. Betel-nut vendors dispose of their goods as fast as
they can supply customers, for this said betel-nut is as indis-
pensable to a Siamese household as the rice they eat and the
water they drink. Then comes the Guineaman, with his ready-
cooked pork; and *he fishmonger, with his fried and well-stewed
fish ; and the baker s girl, with bread and hoppers (hoppers are
a delicious species of cake made of rice-flour and cocoa-nut
milk) ; and then an interminable string of raw commodities,
sea and river fish, goats' meat and poultry, fruits, vegetables,
and other minor articles of consumption ; and, amidst this com-
motion amongst the floating vendors, the city wakes to the
business of the day, and man goes forth to his labor and toil.

After the royal trumpet has sounded permission for the
universe to dine, folks dine and sleep until the sea-breeze comes
freshening up the river. -'Then the drowsy populace awake
once more to a sense of business, and the whole river is very
soon one scene of lively animation ; more boats than ever are
now to be seen, and more people throng the floating houses.
About this period of ^the day there is generally a great stir
amongst the shipping— vessels arriving and departing, loading
and discharging. By-and-by the sun sets in the west, the short
dull twilight is fast giving way to the more sombre tinges of
night ; the cawing of crows once more resounds through the
air as they fly homeward for the night to roost ; small lamps
are twinkling in the floating houses and on board the vessels ;
the boats of the river grow darkish; objects become indistinct;
an old gong strikes the half-hour after six ; and the whole place
is wrapt in impenetrable night. For nn hour or two after this,
or, at the latest, till ten p.m., the long row of lights in the float-
ing houses give symptoms of wakefulness, and of supper being

lii.li I

1;-,

I'M

^in^

!i!i

^ii

ii 1

t6o

THE DEATPI OF MAGELLAN.

under way. An occasional snatch of a Chinese carol would
reach us as we sat at the hospitable board of our worthy host ;
by degrees even this sound would cease, and, save the low
mournful cry of some hapless young vendor of fish or fruits,
who dared not seek her home before disposing of a stipulated
quantity, for fear of chastisement from her ruthless master,
nothing disturbed the solemn stillness of the night. — N bale's
Narrative.

THE DEATH OE MAGELLAN.

On the 7th of April the squadron entered the harbor of the
island of Zubu, one of the group which has since been named
the Philippines. Magellan sent a messenger to the king to ask
an exchange of copamodities. The king observed that it was
customary for all ships entering his waters to pay tribute; to
which the messenger replied, that the Spanish adniinil was the
servant of so powerful a sovereign that he could pay tribute to
no one. The king promised to give an answer the next day,
and, in the mean time, sent fruit and wine on board the ships.
Magellan had brought with him the King of Massana, a neigh-
boring island, and this monarch soon convinced the King of
Zubu that, instead of asking tribute, he would be wise to pay
it. A treaty of peace and perpetual amity was soon established
between his majesty of Spain and his royal brother of Zubu.

On the 26th of April, Magellan learned that a neighboring
chief, named Cilapolapu, refused to acknowledge the authority
of the king of Spain, and remained in open prafession of
paganism in the midst of a Christian community. He deter-
mined to lend his assistance to the concerted chiefs to reduce
and subjugate this stubborn prince. At midnight, boats left
the ships, bearing sixt_y men armed with helmets and cuirasses.
The natives followed in twenty canoes. They reached the
rebellious island, Matan by name, three hours before day-
break. Cilapolapu was notified that he must obey the Christian
King of Zubu, or feel the strength of Christian lances. The
islanders replied that they had lances too. The invaders waited
for daylight, and then, jumping into the water up to their
thighs, waded to shore. The enemy was fifteen hundred in
number, formed into three battalions; two of these attacked
them on the flank, the third in front. ,The musketeers fired

for half
to the s
Christiar
the fire,
Magellai
order,
when an
this obse
wounded
his smal
hour, sta
now evic
ness, pre
violently
immediat
till he d
unable to
boats upo
" Thus,
our suppc
with ever
con Stan tl}
jected bin
than any
perfect m
of the w
ventured.'
the earth
he was th
the way h
to the P
Malacca.-

I^HE i)EATH OF MAGELLAN.

sol

for half an hour without making the least impression. Trusting
to the superiority of their numbers, the natives deluged the
Christians with showers of bamboo Jances, staves hardened in
the fire, stones, and even dirt. A poisoned arrow at last struck
Magellan, who at once ordered a retreat in a slow and regular
order. The Indians now perceived that their blows took effect
when aimed at the nether limbs of their foe, and profited by
this observation with telling effect. Seeing that Magellan was
wounded, they twice struck his helmet from his head. He and
his small band of men continued fighting for more than an
hour, standing in the water up to their knees. Magellan was
now evidently failing, and the islanders, perceiving his weak-
ness, pressed upon him in crowds. One of them cut him
violently across the left leg, and he fell on his face. He was
immediately surrounded and belabored with sticks and stones
till he died. His men, every one of whom was wounded,
unable to afford him succor or avenge his death, escaped to their
boats upon his fall.

" Thus," says Pigafetta, " perished our guide, our light, and
our support. But hig glory will survive him. He was adorned
with every virtue. In the midst of the greatest adversity, he
constantly possessed an immovable firmness. At sea, he sub-
jected himself to the same privations as the men. Better skilled
than any one in the knowledge of nautical charts, he was a
perfect master of navigation, as he proved in making the tour
of the world — an attempt en which none before him had
ventured." Though Magellan only made half the circuit of
the earth on this occasion, yet it may be said with reason that
he was the first to circumnavigate the globe, from the fact that
the way home from the Philippines was perfectly well known
to the Portuguese, and that Magellan had already been at
Malacca. — The Sea and Her Famous Sailors.

fiii
m

^*pi

; ■ i" ■ < ii

■;t

!'ii "

i-)i

DISCOVERY OF AUSTRALIA.

It was towards tlie close of the year 1616 that the Dutch began
to distinguish themselves by discovery in the waters of Aus«
tralia. At that date, the ship Eendracht made the west coast,
part of which bear.' its name ; while that of its commander,
Dirk Hatichs, or, as it is commonly written, Hertoge, still
denotes a cape and roadstead iu one of ils bays. In a very
brief period afterwards, Zeachen, Edels, Leuwin, De Nuitz,
De Witte, and Carpenter, all Dutchmen, ran along the whole
coast, north and west, with part of that on the south, and
originated names which now figure in our maps. But the most
important accessions to knowledge in this region were made by
Tasman, wlio was sent out by Anthony van Diemen, the
Governor of Batavia, in 1642. He proved the southerly insula-
tion of Australia, before supposed to extend indefinitely to the
pole ; and reached the coast from the westward, which he called

Van Diemen's Land, " in honor of our high

magistrate,

the

but

which is now more generally styled Tasmania, in memory of

302

governor-general, who. sent us out to make discoveries,"

biSdOVElJY OF AtTSTRALli.

303

the discoverer. A nearly detached tract on the eastern side, to
which convicts were deported, commemorates him also, as
Tasman's Peninsula ; and a little to the north, the name of
Maria Island, where Smith O'Brien passed his confinement,
originated with a navigator, in remembrance of a daughter of
his patron. He subsequently came in sight of New ZeiTland on
the north, visited several Islands more fully made known by
Cook, and was only occupied with the voyage for the short space
of nine months and a few days. His published note-book thus
commences : " Journal or Description by me, Abel Jansz
Tasman, of a voyage from Batavia, for making Discoveries of
the unknown South Land, in the year 1642. May God
Almighty be pleased to give His Blessing to this Voyage !
Amen." So highly did his countrymen appreciate his services
that, upon the erection of a new stadthouse at Amsterdam, they
placed among its ornaments a map of the world cut in stone,
marked with his discoveries. Tbese enterprises of the Dutch
led them to call the great south land New Holland, which the
States-General formally imposed, and which was retained
generally till the present century, when the name of Australia
was adopted.

The region destined to form such an important part of our
empire, and attract universal notice, owing to its auriferous
wealth, was not visited by any Englishman till the time of
Captain Darapier, who, while with the buccaneers, appeared on
the north-west coast. After leaving the rovers, he was expressly
'despatched to it again by King William III., in 1689, and to him
we are indebted for the first notice of its products and people.
He now hit the land in the bay discovered by Dirk Hatichs,
and denominated it Sharks' bay, from the number of
sharks observed in it; a name which has been retained.
Dampier, one of the most faithful and graphic of all descrihers,
having landed for water, came into contact with the natives,
whose mental and physical inferiority he duly noted. " All the
signs we could make," says he, " were to no purpose, for they
stood like statues without motion, and grinned like so many
monkeys, staring upon one another." He considered them the
most miserable people in the world, in comparison with whom
the Hottentots might rank as gentlemen. " Their eye-lids," he
adds, *• are always half-closed, to keep the flies out of their eyes,
so that they never open their eyes like other people; and tlitre-
lore they cannot see far unless they hold up their heads as if

THE LARK AT TH3 DIGGINGS.

they were looking at something over them. They have fid
houses, lying in the open air, without covering — the earth their
bed, the heaven their canopy." When a gun was fired with a
view of alarming them, they dimply tossed up their arms, and,
after a momentary pause, said something like " Pooh, pooh," as
if in mimicry of the noise. The characteristic animals of the
country, the kangaroos, came under notice, and are spoken of
as a kind of raccoon, differing from those of the West Indies
chiefly in having very short fore-legs, with which they go
jumping about. Sailing to the north, a labyrinth of small
islands was encountered, the Dampier archipelago of the present
day. One of them he called Rosemary Island, from a plant,
which seemed to be of that kind, growing there in abundance.
Hence, Brown, the great botanist, in honor of this celebrated
navigator, called the genus Dampeira, consisting of thirteen
species of shrubby or perennial herbaceous plants, all natives
of Australia. Dampier, eulogized by Humboldt and Malte-Brun
as a prince among observers, returned to his native land to sink
into complete obscurity, after forty years of wandering over the
world. No record exists of how he fared in his old age, or
when and where he died. — Milner's "Gallery of Geography."

THE LARK AT THE DIGGINGS.

The friends strode briskly on, and a little after eleven o'clock
they came upon a small squatter's house and premises.

" Here we are," said George, and his eyes glistened with
innocent delight.

The house was thatched and whitewashed, and English was
written on it and on every foot of ground round it. A furze
bush had been planted by the door. Vertical oak palings were
the fence, with a five barred gate in the middle of them. From
the little plantation all the magnificent trees and shrubs of
Australia had been excluded, with amazing resolution and con-
sistency, and oak and ash reigned safe from over-towering rivals.
They passed to the back of the house, and there George's
countenance fell a little, for, on the oval grass plot and gravel
walk, he found from thirty to forty rough fellows, most of them
diggers.

«Ah

have it

you kr

there."

Tom

Hev

twelve

"Ay

"Wc

« Thi

"Thi

"We

«0h,

Robii

strance

end of t

*'Hol

the who

the bird

just at

him to s

his pipe

moment,

uucertai

memorie

one, and

And t

home ca

for it mi

glistenin

burst in

It SW€

ino' fore
think oi
Streams,
SO well-
and wicl
breath t(
poured
brooks, I
4

THB LARK AT THE DIGGINGS.

305

bave lad
;th their
I with a
ms, aud,
?oh," as
I of the
oken of
t Indies
they go
of small

present

a plant,

andance.

slebrated

thirteen

natives
Ite-Brun
i to sink
over the
I age, or

RAPHY."

o'clock

ed with

Ush was
A furze
gs were
From
irubs of
ind con-
rivals.
3reorge's
gravel
ot them

" Ah, well," said he, on reflection, " we could not expect to
have it all to ourselves, and, indeed, it would be a sin to wish it,
you know. Now, Tom, come this way, here it is, here it is—
there."

Tom looked up, and in a gigantic cage was a light brown bird.

He was utterly confounded. " What ! is this what we came
twelve miles to see ? "

" Ay ! and twice twelve wouldn't have been much to me."

" Well, but where is the lark you talked of ? "

« This is it."

"This? This is a bird."

" Well, and isn't a lark a bird."

« Oh, ay. I see. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! "

Robinson's merriment was interrupted by a harsh remon-
strance from sevel-al of the diggers, who were all from the other
end of the camp.

*' Hold your cackle," cried one ; " lie is going to sing ; " and
the whole party had their eyes turned with expectation towards
the bird.

Like most singers, he kept them waiting a bit. But, at last,
just at noon, when the mistress of the house had warranted
him to sing, the little feathered exile began as it were to tune
his pipes. The savage men gathered round the cage that
moment, and amidst a dead stillness the bird uttered some very
uncertain chirps ; but, after a while, he seemed to revive his
memories, and call his ancient cadences buck to him, one by
one, and string them sotto voce.

And then the same sun that had warmed his little heart at
home came glowing down on him here, and he gave music back
for it more and more, till at last, amidst breathless silence and
glistening eyes of the rough diggers hanging on his voice, out
burst in that distant land his English song.

It swelled ids little throat, and gushed from him with thrill-
ing force and purity ; and every time he checked his song to
think of its theme — the green meadows, the quiet steuHng
streams, the clover he first soared from, and the spring he sang
so well — a loud sigh from many a rough bosom, many a wild
and wicked heart, told how tight the listeners had held their
breath to hear him ; and when he swelled with song again, and
poured with all his soul over the green meadows, the quiet
brooks, the honey clover, and the Engli-sh spring, the rugged
4 R 20

806

THE WEECK OF THE ORPHEUS.

mouths opened, and so stayed, and the shaggy lips trembled, and
more than one drop trickled from fierce unbridled hearts down
bronzed and rugged cheeks.

Dulce domum!

And these shaggy men, full of oaths, and strife, and cupidity,
had once been curly-headed boys ; and some had strolled about
the English fields with their little sisters and brothers, and seen
the lark rise, and heard him sing this very song. The little
playmates lay in the churchyard, and they were full of oaths,
and drink, and lusts, and remorses ; but no note was changed in
this immortal song. And so, for a moment or two, years of vice
rolled away like a dark cloud from the memory, and the past
shone out in the song-shine ; tlien came, bright as the immortal
notes that lighted them, those faded pictures and those fleeted
days ; the cottage, the old mother's teais when he left her with-
out one grain of sorrow ; the village church and its simple
chimes — ding-dong bell ; ding-dong bell, the clover field hard by,
in which he lay and gambolled, while the lark praised God over-
head ; the chubby playmates that never grew to be wicked ; the
sweet, sweet hours of youth, and innocence, and home. — Charles
Reade's " Never Too Late to Mend."

THE WRECK OF THE ORPHEUS.

All day amid the masts and shrouds,

They hung above the wave ;
The sky o'erhead was dark with clouds,

And dark beneath, their grave.
The water leaped against its prey.

Breaking with heavy crash.
And when some slack'ning hands gave way, ,

They fell with dull, low splash.

Captain and men ne'er thought to swerve ;

The boats went to and fro ;
With cherry face and tranquil nerve,

Each saw his brother go.
Each saw his brother go, and knew

As night came swiftly on,
That less and less his own chance grew-

Night fell, and hope was gone.

THE WRECK OF THE ORPHEUS.

Tlie saved stood on the steamer's deck,

Straining their eyes to see
Their comrades clinging to the wreck,

Upon that surging sea.
And still they gazed into the dark.

Till, on their startled ears,
There came from that switt-sinking bark

A sound of gallant cheers.

Again, and yet again it rose ;

Then silence round them fell —
Silence of death — and each man knowu

It was a last farewell.
No cry of anguish, no wild shriek

Of men in agony —
No dropping down of watchers weak,

Weary and glad to die.

But death met with three British cheers —

Cheers of immortal fame ;
For us the choking, blinding tears —

For them a glorious name.
Oh England, while thy sailor-host

Can live and die like these,
Be thy broad lands or won or lost,

ThouTt. mistress of the seas !

807

I !

,'! ii

U':

C. A. L.

808

iriGHT WITH A KX:SQARO0.

FIGHT WITH A KANGAROO.

"Wild and innocent, however, as the l%ai)garGo looks, to bring
him to bay is only half-way townrds ronquering him. He may
take to a water hole, and standing therein and seizing the dogs
as they approach hira, thrust them under -water, holding this one
at the bottom with his hinder feet, and this by the nape of the
neck, with his hand-like fore-paws, till fi«^ath by drowning thins
the pack very considerably ShouUt the hunter bring the
kangaroo to bay on land, the animal v/ill fight desperately for his
life. Each of his hind legs is furnished with a claw as formidable
as a boar's tusk, and woe betide the dog that comes within the
range of a lunge of either of them ; or, worse still, if the kan-
garoo shpuld catch his assailant in his fore arms, there he will
hold him till he is flayed from chest to tail. Even man may not
attack the kangaroo with impuitity, as the following incident,
extracted from the Sporting Ecriew, will show. The narrator
had commenced the atnick with his doss, one of which had been
seized and treated in the unceremonious fashion above noticed.
Exasperated by the irreparable loss of my poor dog, I hastened
to its revenge, nothing doubting that with one fell swoop of my
formidable club my enemy would be prostrate at my feet. Alas !
decay and the still more remorseless white ants frustrated my
murderous intentions, and all but left me a victim to my strange
and active foe. No sooner had the heavy blow I aimed descended

prey
vigor

FIGHT WITH A KANGAROO.

noo

on his head, t>ian my weapon shivered into a thousand pieces (the
heart of it had been eaten out by the wliite ants — a customary
practice with tliese interesting insects), and I found myself in
the giant embrace of my antagonist, who was l)ugi;ing me with
rather too warm a demonstration of friendship, and ripping at
me in a way by no means pleasant. IMy only remaining dog,
too, now thoroughly exhausted by wounds and loss of blood, and
apparently quite satisfied of her master's su]jeriority, remained a
mute aivd motionless spectator of the new and unequal contest.

Notwithstanding my utmost efforts to release myself from
the grasp of the brute, they were unavailing, and I found my
strength gradually diminishing ; while, at the same time, x^y
sight was obscured by the blood wliich now lloA^d freely from
a deep wound, extending from the back part ot my head over
the whole length of my face. I was, in fact, becoming an easy
prey to the kangaroo, who continut d to insert with renewed
vigor his talons into my breast, iu^'kily however, protected by
a loose, coarse canvas frock, which, in colonial phrase, is called
a "jumper." and but for which I must inevitably have shared
the fate of poor Trip. As it was, I had almot given myself
up for lost ; my head was pressed with surpassing strength
beneath my adversary's breast, and a faintness was gradually
stealing over me, when I heard a long and heart-stirring shout.
Was I to be saved ? The thought gave me new life ; with
increased r>ower I grappled, ai:d succeeded in casting from me
my determined foe ; and, seeing a tree close at hand, I made a
desperate leap to procure its shelter and protection. I reached
and clung to it for support, when I iieard the sharp report of
a rifle, and the bark about three inches above my head was
penetrated with a ball. Another shot followed with a more
sure aim, and the exasperated animal — now once more within
reach of me — rolled heavily on its side. On the parties nearing,
1 found them to be my brother and a friend, who had at first
mistaken me for the* kangaroo, and very nearly consum-
mated what had been so strangely begun. You may imagine
that the little beauty I ever possessed is not much improved by
the wound on my face, which still remains, and ever will. I
am now an older*^ hand at kangaroo hunting, and never venture
to attack so formidable an antagonist with an ant-eaten club ;
my dogs, also, have grown too wary to rush heedlessly within
reach of his deadly rips. We have killed many since, but
rarely so fine a one as that which first tried our mettle on th«
plains of New Holland. — Wild Spokts of the World.

i^i^

"h. t

'P^^

310

A HEW ZEALAND CHIEF.

A NEW ZEALAND CHIEF.

Nene, or — as he is now more generally known by his baptismal
name — Thomas Walker {Tamati Waka) is the principal chief
of the Ngatihao tribe, which, in common with many others, is
comprised in the great assemblage of tribes usually called
Ngapuis. The residence of this celebrated man is near the
Wesley an Mission Station, on the banks of the river Hokianga,
where he fully established his cbaracter as the friend and
protector of Europeans long before the regular colonization of
the country. In common with most of his countrymen, Nene
was, in his younger days, celebrated for his cxpertness in acts
of petty pilfering ; and he himself will now laugh heartily if
reminded of hist youthful iricks. On one occasion, when on a
visit to one of the missionaries at Waimato, a fine gander
attracted his attention, and he secretly ordered it to be seized
and prepared for liis dinner in a native oven ; but to prevent
detection, the bird was cooked in its feathers. However, it was
soon missed, and a rigorous inquiry instituted by its owner, but
without success, until certain savory steams arising from
Nene's camp excited suspicion. To tax him with the theft,
however, would have been contrary to all the rules of New
Zealand etiquette ; and the mystery of its disappearance was
not unravelled until the morning after he liad taken his depart-
ure, when the ill-fated gander was found concealed among the
bushes, it having been found tf>o tough for even a New
Zealander's powers of mastication. Some years after this, a
chief of East Cape killed a relation of Nene's ; and, according
to the customarv law in New Zealand of " blood for blood,"
Nene went in a vessel, accompanied by only one attendant, to
seek revenge. Landing near the spot where the chief resided,
Nene entered his pah, called the murderer by name, and, after
accusiiig him of the crime, deliberately levelled his gun and
shot him dead at his feet, and then coolly walked away.
Though in the midst of his enemies, none dared to touch the
avenger, all were paralyzed at his sudden appearance and
determined bravery. But Nene is no longer tlie thoughtless,
mischievous New Zealander ; for many years he has been play-
ing a nobler part in the great drama of life, and his conduct has
deservedly gained for him a lasting reputation. Some traits
may be mentioned to his honor. About the year 1839, the
body of a European was discovered on the banks of one of the
tributary streams of Hokianga, under circumstances which l«d

JL NE\r ZEALAND CHIEF.

311

to the suspicion that he had been murdered by a native called
Kete, one of Nene's slaves. A large meeting was convened on
the subject, and the guilt of Kete being established, Nene
condemned him to die the murderer was accordingly aken to
a small island in the river called Moliti and there shot. So
rigid were NeneV ideas of justice! When Captain Hobson
arrived, and assembled the chiefs at Waitangi, in order to
obtain their a'^quiescence in the sovereignty of the Queen over
the islands of New Zealand, the governor was received with
doubt, and his proposals were at first rejected ; but, when Nene
and his friends made their appearance, the aspect of affairs was
changed ; Nene, by his eloquence and by the wisdom of iiis counsel,
turned the current of feeling, and the dissentients were silenced.
In short, Nene stood recognized as the prime agent in effecting
the treaty of Waitangi. On another occasion, his intervention
was of great service to the British authorities. After the flag-
staff at the Bay was cut down by Heki, Governor Fitzroy
proceeded to the disaffected district with a considerable body of
military, thinking by a show of force to overawe the rebellious
natives. A large concourse of chiefs was gathered together
and many speeches were made ; but amongst them all the
words of Nene were conspicuous for their energy. " If," said
he, " another flag-staff is cut down, I sliall take up the quarrel,"
and nobly has he redeemed his pledge. During the whole
course of the rebellion, up to the present period, he has steadily
adhered to his purpose, and has on numerous occasions rendered
the most essential assistance to the military. He fought in
several engagements with the rebels, and each time has proved
himself as superior in courage and conduct in the field as he is
in wisdom and sagacity in the council. The settlers in the
northern parts of New Zealand are under the greatest obligations
to this chief. But for him and his people many a hearth, at
present the scene of peace and happiness, would have been
desecrated and defiled witli blood ; many a family now occupy-
ing their ancient homes would have been driven away from
their abodes, exposed to misery and privation. Those settlers
who were livino- near the disaffected districts, but remote from
the influence, and out of tlie reach of the protecting arm of
Nene, have been driven as houseless wanderers to seek safety
in the town of Auckland ; and such would most probably have
been the universal fate of the out-settlers, but for the courage
and loyalty of this br.ave and noble chief. Angus's Scenes il^
Australia. «

812

THE CORAL GROVfi.

THE CORAL GROVE.

Deep in the wave is a coral grove,

Where the purple mullet and gold-fish rove,

Where the sea-flovver spreads its leaves of blue,

That never are wet with falling dew,

But in bright and changeful beauty shine,

Far down in the green and glassy brine.

The floor is of sand like the mountain drift,

And the pearl-shells spangle the flaky snow ;

From coral-rocks the sea-plants lift

Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow ;

The water is calm and still below.

For the winds and waves iire absent there,

And the sands are bright as the stars that glow

In the motionless fields of the upper air :

There, with its waving blade of green,

The sea-flag streams through the silent water,

And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen

To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter :

There, with a slight and easv motion,

The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea ;

And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean

Are bending like corn on the upland lea ;

And life, in rare and beautiful forms,

Is sporting amid those bowers of stone.

And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms

Has made the top of the waves his own :

And when the ship from his fury flies,

Where the myriad voices of ocean roar,

When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies.

And demons are waiting the wreck on the shore ;

Then far below in the peaceful sea.

The purple mullet and gold-fish rove.

Where the waters murmur tranquilly.

Through the bending twigs of the coi

grove.

Percival.

;.■!

THE JOURNEYING OF THE ISRAELITES.

CIVAL.

A YEAR and a mopth after the departure of the twelve tribes
from Egypt, they broke up their encampment in tlio elevated
region aboiit Mount Sinai. The nation assumed the appearance
of a regular army ; mili.ay onlcir and disci[,line were established,
and each tribe marched in succession under i:;3 own leaders, with
its banner displayed, and took ii;) its position in the aj)pointed
quarter of tho camp. TIio wholo number of fighting men was
6J3,5o5. This formidable r.rmy set forward si. lining, "Zd God
arise, and let His cninies le scattered." And thus, already fur-
nished with their cotle of law.^, and irresisLlble both in their
numbers and in the promised assi^^tance of God, th(>y marched
onward to take possession of tlic fruit.'nl land, wliich had been
prondsed to tlieh- fathois. The j)'.Ilar of lire st II K'd tho way by
night, and tho pill ir of cloud by dsy ; but Tdoses likewise secured
tlic assistance of liobib, bis brot\<nxn-law. wlio had been accus-
tomed to traverse tho desert, and knew intimately the bearings
of the country, tlie usu.l resting places, the water-springs, and
the character and habits of the wandering tribes.

Their march was not uninterrupted by adventures, most of
which were occasioned by tlieir own seditious murmurings ; but
at length tliey arrivrd uttbe sou:hern frontier of tlie promised
land, at a place calK d Kadesli Darnea. Their wanderings are
now drawing to an end, and they are to reap the reward of all

2J3

•I

314

THE JOURKEYING OF THE ISRAELITES.

their toil and suffering, the final testithony of the divine favor.
Twelve spies, ooe from each tribe, are sent out to make observa-
tions on the fruitfulness of the country, the character of the
inhabitants, and the strength of their fortifications. Among
these the most distinguished are Caleb, of the tribe of Judah,
and Joshua, of Ephraim. During the forty days of their absence
the assembled people anxiously await their return ; and at length
they are seen advancing towards the camp, loaded v/ith delicious
fruits, for it was now about the time of the vintage.

In one respect their report is most satisfactory : Canaan had
undergone great improvement since the time when Abraham and
Jacob had pastured their flocks in the open and unoccupied plains.
The vine, the olive, the pomegranate, and the fig were cultivated
with great success ; and the rich sample whicli they bear (a bunch
of grapes, almost as much as two men could carry, suspended
from a pole, with figs and pomegranates) confirms their cheering
narrative.

But, at the same time, they bring intelligence which over-
whelms the whole people with terror. These treasures were
guarded by fierce and warlike tribes, not likely to abandon their
native plains withdut an obstinate and bloody contest. Their
cities were strongly fortified ; and, above all, nearly the first
enemies they would '• ve to encounter would be men of colossal
stature, the descendants of the gigantic people celebrated in
their early national tradition, a people before whom they would
be as grass hoppers. The inhabitants of Egypt are in general of
small stature ; and the same causes which tended to the rapid
increase of the Jewish people in that country, were unfavor-
able to their height and vigor. But, worse than this, their
long slavery had debased their minds : their confidence in the
divine protection gave way at once before their sense of physical
inferiv.nty, and the total deficiency of moral courage. " Back to
Egypt'* is the general cry. Joshua and Caleb in vain reproved
their pussillanimity, and want of faith in the promises of God.
Moses therefore is instructed by God to inform the people that,
on account of their murmurings, all who left the land of Egypt
should perish in the wilderness, save only Joshua Jind Caleb. He
therefore commands them, on the authority of God, to retreat
directly from the borders of the promised land. They are neither
to return to Egypt, nor to assay an easier con<juest ; but they are
condemned to wander for a definite period of forty years in the
br^ren and dismal regions through which they had marched. . No

hope is ]

distinctly

ings, on t

to the gu

wildernes

Of the

years pas!

their stat

a course <

quest froE

generatioi

new race

of the w{

invigorate

worn out

support f(

assistance

at Kadesh

fi'om whicl

was burie(

for the wa

Here likev

assistance,

lead the m.

formidable

this frontie

to pass roi

ceed at one

of the coun

and was bu

them pass l

to march S(

turn the ri(

Red Sea.

serpents, of

gazing on a

Moses. A\

abites, Mid

Balaam, th

But the trii

of the lawg

land. Odc(

THE JOITENEYING OF THE ISRAELITES.

815

favor.

>serva-

3f the

Lmong

Judah,

bsence

length

slicious

in had
im and
plains,
[tivated
I bunch
ipended
heering

[1 over-
3S were
in their
Their
he first
Icolossul
ated in
would
iieral of
,6 rapid
nfuvor-
|s, their
in the
ihysical
hck to
proved
if God.
|le that,
Egypt
leb. He
retreat
neither
,hey are
s in the
led. . No

hope is held out that their lives shall be prolonged ; they are
distinctly assured that not one of them shall receive those bless-
ings, on the promise of which they had surrendered themselves
to the guidence of Moses, abandoned Egypt, and traversed the
wilderness.

Of the Hebrew history during the succeeding thirty-eight
years passed in the desert, nothing is known except the names of
their stations. But during that period they were undergoing
a course of discipline, which fitted them for achieving the con-
quest from which they had formerly shrunk. When the former
generation, therefore, had gradually sunk into the grave, and a
new race had sprung up, trained to the bold and hardy habits
of the wandering Arab ; when the free air of the desert had
invigorated their frames, and the canker of slavery had
worn out of their minds ; and when continued miraculous
support for so many years had strengthened their faith in the
assistance of God, the Hebrew nation again suddenly appeared
at Kadesh, the same point on the southern frontier of Palestine
from which they had retreated. At this point Miriam died, and
was buried« with great honor. The whole camp was distressed
for the want of water, and was again miraculously supplied.
Here likewise Moses himself betrayed his mistrust in the divine
assistance, and the final sentence was issued, that he should not
lead the nation into the possession of the promised land. Many
formidable difficulties opposed their penetrating into Canaan on
this frontier. They were therefore directed to make a circuit ;
to pass round the Dead Sea, and, crossing ..he Jordan, to pro-
ceed at once into the heart of the richest and least defensible part
of the country. Before they commenced this march, Aaron died,
and was buried on Mount Hor. As the Edomites refused to let
them pass through the defiles of the mountains, they were /forced
to march southward along the valley, now called Ei Araba, and
turn the ridge where it is very low, close to the branch of the
Red Sea. It was at tliis period that they weie infested by fiery
serpents, of the biting of which they were cured by steadfastly
gazing on a serpent of brass erected at the command of God by
Moses. At length, notwithstanding the opposition of the Mo-
abites, Midianites, and Amorites, aided by the divinations of
Balaam, they drew near the termination of their wanderings.
But the triumph of the people was to be preceded by the death
of the lawgiver. He was to behold, not to enter, the promised
land. Once he had sinned from want of confidence in the

■ \ 1

' "t ■'

\ ' f -

■! i^

i 1

: i;^;

; ■ 't

y,s

'I "1

;t ;r

316

THE JOURNEYING OF THE ISBAELITES.

divine assistance, and the penalty affixed to his offence was now
exacted. As his end approached, he summoned the assembly of
all Israel to receive his final instructions. He recounted their
whole eventful history since their deliverance, their toils, their
dangers, their triumphs. He recapitulated and consoliilated in
one brief code the book of Deuteronomy, the whole law, in some
degree modified and adapted to the future circumstances of the
republic. He then appointed a solemn ratification of this cove-
nant with God, to be made as soon as they were in possession of
the country which now lay before them. And, finally, having
enlarged on the blessings of obedience ; having, with dark and
melancholy foreboding of the final destiny of the people, laid
before them still more at length the consequences of apostasy
and wickedness ; and having enriched the national poetry with
an ode worthy of him who composed the Hymn of Triumph by
the Red Sea, Moses was d ected to ascend the loftiest eminence
in the neighborhood, in order that he might once behold, before
his eyes were closed for ever, the land of promise. From the top
of Mount Abarim, or Nebo, the lawgiver, whose eyes were not
dimmed, and who had suffere i none of the infirmities of age,
might survey a large tract of country. To the right lay the
mountain pastures of Gilead, and the romantic district of Bashan ;
the windings of the Jordan might be traced along its broad and
level V. lley, till, almost beneath his feet, it flowed into the Dead
Sea. To the north spread the luxuriant plains of Esdraelon, and
the more hilly, yet fruitful country of Lower Galilee. Right
opposite stood the city of Jericho, embowered in its groves of
palms ; beyond it the mountains of Judea, rising above each
other till they reached the sea. Gazing on this magnificent
prospect, and behohling in prophetic anticipation his great and
happy commonwealth occupying its numerous towns and bloom-
ing fields, Moses breathed his last. The place of his burial was
unknown ; lest, perhaps, the impious gratitude of his followers
might ascribe divine honors to his name, and assemble to wor-
ship at his sepulchre. — Irish National Series.

THE I^'QUIKY.

Sir

was now
sembly of
ited their
oils, their
liilated in
V, in some
ces of the
this cove-
session of
Iv, liaviriff

dark and
eople, laid

apostasy
3etry with
riumpli by
. eminence
uld, before
)m the top
were not
ies of age,
^t lay the
f Bashan ;
broad and
the Dead
'aelon, and
e. Right
groves of
30ve each
oagniticent
great and
ind bloom-
burial was
followers
le to wor-

THE INQUIRY.

Tell me, ye winged winds.

That round my pathway roar,
Do I 3 not know some spot

Where mortals weep no more ?
Some lone and pleasant dell,
* Some valley in the w^st.

Where, free from toil and pain.
The weary soul may rest ?
The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low.
And sigh'd for picy as it auswer'd — " No."

Tell me, thou mighty deep,
Whose billows round me play

Hi
'! J.

ai8

((

ENOCH WALKED WITH GOD.

Know'st thou some favor'd spot

Some island far away,
Where weary man may find

The bliss for which he sighs-
Where sorrow never lives,
And friendship never dies ?
The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow,
Stopp'd for a while, and sigh'd to answer — " No."

And thou, serenest moon,

That with such lovely face
Dost look upon the earth

Asleep m night's embrace, —
Tell me, m all thy round,
- . Hast thou not seen some spot

Where miserable man

Might find a happier lot ?
Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe.
And a voice, sweet but sad, responded — " No."

Tell me, my secret soul,

Oh, tell me, Hope and Faith!
Is there no resting place

From sorrow, sin, and death ?
Is there no happy spot,

Where mortals may be bless'd.
Where grief may find a balm,
And weariness a rest ?
Faith, Hope, and Love, best boon to mortals given,
Waved their bright wings, and whisper'd — "Yes, iif
HEAVEN." — Charles Mackay.

ENOCH WALKED WITH GOD."

He walk'd with God, in holy joy '

While yet his days were few ;
The deep glad spirit of the boy

To love and reverence grew.
Whether, each nightly star to count,

The ancient hills he trod.
Or sought the flowers by stream and fount,

Alike he walk'd with God.

THE PASSAGE Or THE RED SEA.

319

iven,

Yes, iK

The graver noon of manhood came,

The time of cares and fears ;
One voice was in his heart — the same

It heard through childhood's years.
Amid fair tents, and flocks and swains, >

O'er his green pasture sod,"
A shepherd king on eastern plains,

The patriarch walk'd with God.

And calmly, brightly, that pure life

Melted from earth away ;
No cloud It knew, no parting strife,

No sorrowful decay ;
He bow'd him not, like all beside.

Unto the spoiler's rod,
But joined at once the glorified.

Where angels w^lk with God !

So let us walk ! — the night must come

To us, that comes to all ;
We through the darkness must go home,

Hearing the tempest's call.
Closed is the path for evermore,

Which without death he trod ;
Not so that way, wherein of yore,

His footsteps walk'd with God.

Anon.

THE PASSAGE OF THE RED SEA.

They come — they come !
See, see the sabre flashing through the gloom.
And the deadly scythe from out the battle car,
And the lance-head glittering like a baleful star.

Portending Israel's doom.
Hark ! to the rolling of the chariot-wheel.
And the neighing of the war-horse in his ire.
And the fearful straining of his hoof of steel.
Spurning the mountain flint that flashes fire. ,

Hark to the booming drum.
The braying of the trumpet and the boastful cheer.
Pealing in horrid echoes on the frighted ear- -

They come — they come !

ir' tf

820

THE PASSAGE OF THE RED SEA.

They come — they come !
Now, now they've clamber'd up the gorge*s height,

And for a moment, in its rugged jaws,
(Like a fierce mountain torrent gathering all its might
In one huoje billow, ere it bursts its bank at night)

They pause —
Pennon and scarf, and gallant plumage fair,
Spread out and flutter on the mountain air,
Like ocean's whitening spray.
Hark ! to the hum,
The cheer, the charge, the bursting battle-cry ;
Rider and steed and chariot headlong fly.
Down, down the mountain way
They come.

Thou Mighty of Battles, for Israel's sake,
Smite the crest of the horseman, the chariot-wheel break ;
Check the speed of the swift, crush the arm of the strong,
And lead thine own people in safety along.

Lo ! 'twixt that dread exultant host
And Israel's chasten'd, timid throng,
The awful pillar cloud has cross'd,
Aiid Egypt, in its shadow lost,
In blind rage gropes along.

Near and more near, with sullen roar,
Bene£^h their feet the white surge raves ;
The prophet-chief stands on the shore,
His eye uptura'd, his hand stretch'd o'er
The phosphorescent waves.

Deep yawn the ocean's billows wild,
Its coral depths disclosed are seen,
The lashing surge sinks calm and mild.
The mighty waves in walls are piled,
And Israel walks between.

While ever through that fearful night,
God's solemn lustrous glory beams,
And safe beneath its holy light
His wondering people speed their flight
Between the harmless streams.

Onward the vengeful Pharaoh flies,
*Mid Egypt's lordly chivalry—

THE BURIAL OF MOSES.

The mists of heaven are in their eyes.
The greedy waves o'erwhelm their prize,
And roar around in glee.

Slowly and chill, the morning spreads
Its light along the lonely shore ;
No billows lift their whitening heads,
The waves sleep in the cavern beds
Of ages long before.

See where the glittering water laves
The high and rugged coral coast ;
The sea-bird screams along the waves,
And smells afar the timeless graves
Of Egypt's onqe proud host.

But Israel's hymn is pealing far
To God, that triumphs gloriously —
The Lord, the mighty man of war,
That hurls the captain and his car
Into the hungry sea.

And Israel's maids with dance and glee.
And timbrel sweet, take up the strain —
The Lord hath triumph'd gloriously ;
The Lord hath crush 'd the enemy,
And Israel's free again.
From the Dublin University Magazine,

::<^l

THE BURIAL OF MOSES.

By Nebo's lonely mountain.

On this side Jordan's wave,

In a vale in the land of Moab

There lies a lonely grave ;

And no man knows that sepulchre.

And no man saw it e'er,

For the angels of God upturn'd the sod,

And laid the dead man there.

That was the grandest funeral
That ever pass'd on earth ;
But no man heard the trampling.
Or saw the train go forth —
4r 21

:if

322

THE BUKIAL OF MOSES.

THE

Noiselessly as the daylight

Comes back when night is done,

And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek

Grows into the great sun ;

Noiselessly as the spring-time

Her crown of verdure weaves,

And all the trees on all the hills

Open their thousand leaves ;

So without sound of music,

Or voice of them that wept,

Silently down from the mountain's crown

The great procession swept.

Perchance the bald old eagle,

On gray Beth-peor's height,

Out of his lonely eyrie, ♦

Look'd on the wondrous sight ;

Perchancer the lion stalking

Still shuns that hallow'd spot,

For beast and bird have seen and heard

That which man knoweth not.

But when the warrior dieth,

His comrades in the war,

With arms reversed and muffled drum.

Follow his funeral car ;

They show the banners taken,

They tell his battles won,

And after him lead his masterless steed,

While peals the minute gun.

Amid the noblest of the land

We lay the sage to rest.

And give the bard an honor'd place.

With costly marble drest.

In the great minster transept

Where lights like glories fall.

And the organ rings, and the sweet choir sings

Along the emblazon'd wall.

This was the truest warrior,
That ever buckled sword,
Tl^is tl^e ipost gifted poet,
f l^^l pY^T ^rea^hed a wor(^ i

THE

The ext(
Hebrew
the true
on the n<
Syrian de
millions o
the poss^i

THE SETTLEMENT OF TflE ISRAELITES IN CANAAN. 323

And never earth's philosopher

Traced with his golden pen,

On the deathless page, truths half bo sage,

As he wrote down for men.

And had he not high honor • . '

The hill side for a pall.

To lie in state while angels wait *

"With stars for tapers tall,

And the dark rock pines, like tossing plumes,

Over his bier to wave.

And God's own hand, in that lonely land,

To lay him in the grave.

In that strange grave, without a name,

"Whence his uncoffind clay

Shall break again, O wondrous thought !

Before the jud<,'ment-day,

And stand win glory wrapt ar^nd,

On the hills he never trod.

And speak of the strife, that won our life,

With the Incarnate Son of God.

O lonely grave in Moab's laud !

O dark Beth-poor's hill !

Speak to these curious hearts of t)urs,

And teach them to be still.

God hath His mysteries of grace, '

"Ways that we cannot tell ;

He hides them deep, like the hidden sleep

Of him He loved so well.

Mrs. C. F. Alexander.

ri''

THE SETTLEMENT OF THE ISRAELITES IN

CANAAN.

The extent of that portion of Syria which was granted to the
Hebrew nation has been variously estimated ; but, assuming that
the true boundaries of the promised land were. Mount Libanus
on the north, the wilderness of Arabia on the south and the
Syrian desert on the east, it may be computed at about fifteen
millions o£ acrps. If this computation be correct, there was in
tbe poss^8§lpft qI ^h^ Hebrev^ phiefs lan^ sufljcient tQ AUf>^ to

324 THE SETTLEMENT OF THE ISRAELITES IN CANAAS".

every Israelite capable of bearing arms a lot of about twenty-
acres ; reserving for public uses, as also for the cities of the
Levites, about one-tenth of the whole. This territory was or-
dered to be equally divided among their tribes and families,
according to their repnective numbers ; and the persons selected
to superintend this national work were, Eleazar, the high priest;
Joshua, who acted in the character of judge ; and the twelve
princes or heads of Israel. The rule which they followed is ex-
pressed in these words : — " And ye shall divide the lard by lot,
for an inheritance among your families : and to the more ye
shall give the more inheritance, and the fewer ye shall give
the less inheritan^^e : every man's inheritance shall be in the
place where his lot falleth ; according to the tribes of your
fathers ye shall inherit." Every tribe was thus put in possession
of a separate district or province, in which all the occupiers of
the land werx3 not only Israelites, but more particularly sprung
from the same stock, and descendants of the same patriarch.
The several families, again, were placed in the same neighbor-
hood, receiving their inheritance in the same part or subdivision
of the tribe. To "f^cure the permanence and mutual indepen-
dence of every seiara^e tribe, a law was enacted by the authority
of Heaven, providing' tha' the landed property of every Israelite
should be unalienable. "Whatever circumstances might befall
the owner of a fields and wlntever might be the obligations
under which he placed himself to his creditor, he was released
from all claims in the year of jubilee. " Ye shall hallow," said
the inspired legislator, " the fiftieth year, and proclaim liberty
throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof. It
shall be a jubilee unto you, and ye shall return every man to his
possession, and ye siiall return every man unto his family. And
the land shall not be sold for ever ; for the land is mine, saith
the Lord ; for ye are strangers and sojourners with me."

The attentive reader of the Mosaical law will observe, that,
though a Hebrew could not divest himself of his land in per-
petuity, he could dispose of it so far as to put another person in
J" Dssession of it, during a certain number of years; reserving to
himself and his relations the right of redeeming it, should they
ever possess the means ; and having, at all events, the sure pros-
pect of reversion at the period of the jubik'«i. In the eye of the
lawgiver, this transaction was not regarded as a sale of the land,
but merely of the crops for a stated number of seasons. It
might, indeed, have been considered simply as a lease, had not

twenty
of the
vas or-
Eimilies,
jelected
priest ;
twelve
sd IS ex-
l by lot,
more ye
all give
in the
of your
»ssession
piers of
r sprung
atriarch.
eighbor-
)division
indepen-
luthority
Israelite
It befall
ligations
released
)w," said
liberty
eof. It
to his
y. And
ine, saith

rve, that,
in per-
person in
jrving to
)uld they
ure pros-
ye of the
the laud,
.sous. It
, bad not

SONG OF MIRIAM.

325

the owner, as well as his nearest kinsman, enjoyed the privilege
of resuming occupation, whenever they could repay the sum for
which the temporary use of the land had been purchased. The
houses which were built in fields or villages were, in regard to
the principle of alienation, placed on the same footing as the
lands themselves ; being redeemable at all times, and destined to
return to their original owners in the year of jubilee. But it is
worthy of notice, that houses in cities and large towns were, when
sold, redeemable only during one year, after which the sale was
held binding for ever. There was, indeed, an exception m this
case in favor of the Levites, who could at any time redeem " the
houses of the cities of their possession," and who, moreover,
enjoyed the full advantage of the fiftieth year.

The Hebrews, like most other nations in a similar state of
society, held their lands on the condition of military service.
The grounds of exemption allowed by Moses prove clearly that
every man of competent age was bound to bear arms in defence
of his country ; a conclusion which is at once strikingly illus-
trated and confirmed by the conduct of the Senate or Heads of
the Tribes, in the melanchbly war undertaken by them against
the children of Benjamin. Upon a muster of the confederated
army at Mizpeh, it was discovered that no man had been sent
from Jabesh-Gilead to join the camp ; whereupon it was imme-
diately resolved that twelve thousand soldiers should be de-
spatched to put all the inhabitants of that town to military
execution. " And the congregation commanded them, saying.
Go and smite Jabesh-Gilead with the edge of the sword, with
the women and children ; " and the only reason assigned for this
severe order was, that " when the people were numbered, there
were none of the men of Jabesh-Gilead there."— Irish Nation-
al Series.

SONiG OF MIRIAM.

Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea !
Jehovah hath triumph'd, — His people are free !
Sing, for the pride of the tyrant is broken.

His chariots and horsemen, all splendid and brave,
How vain was their boasting !— The Lord hath but spoken,

And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave.
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ;
Jehovah hath triumph'd,— His people are free !

326 HISTORY OF THE ISRAELITES, ETC

Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord,

His word was our arrow, Ilis breath was our sword !

AVho shall return to tell Egypt the story

Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride ?
For the Lord hath look'd out from His pillar of glory,

And all her brave thousands are dash'd in the tide.
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ;
Jehovah hath triumph'd. — His people are fre? !

Moore

"broi
of
kin|
pliet
to wl

TOUll

** r

was
choil
as al

VIEW OF JERUSALEM.

HLSTORY OF THE ISRAELITES

FROM THE ESTABLISHMENT OF THE MONARCHY

TILL THE REVOLT OF THE TEN TRIBES.

It has been already remarked that the judges were not ordinary
magistrates, elected by the people, or receiving their power by
hereditary descent, but personages raised up by the special prov-
idence of God, to discharge the duties of an office which the
peculiar circumstances of the chosen people from time to time
rendered necessary. But, after a period of about four centuries
and a halt, the Hebrews, either from the love of change, or be-
cause they imagined that their present form of government was
ngt well adaoted to the relations into which they had been

HISTORY OF TliE ISPwAELITES, ETC.

327

brought with other states, chiefly by their disregard of the law
of Moses, and by dissensions among themselves, demanded a
king. With this demand Samuel, the last of the judges, com-
plied, after he had warned them cf the exactions and oppressions
to which they might be exposed under a monarchy ; and Saul, a
young man of the tribe of Benjamin, remarkable for his stature,
was elected. The qualities which recommended Saul to the
choice of the tribes leave no room for doubt that it was chiefly
as a military leader that he was raised to the throne. Nor was
tlieir expectation disappointed, so far as courage and zeal were
required in conducting the affairs of war. But the impetuosity
of the king's character, and a certain indifference in regard to tlie
claims of the national faith, paved the way for his downfall, and
the extinction of his family. The scene of Gilboa, which ter-
minated the career of the flrst Hebrew monarch, exhibits a most
affecting tragedy; in which the valor of a gallant chief con-
trasted with his despair and sorrow, throws a deceitful lustre over
an event which the reader feels that he ought to condemn.

David, to the skill of an experienced warrior, added a deep
reverence for the institutions of his country and the forms of
divine worship ; whence he procured the high distinction of being
a man after God's own heart. To this celebrated kinij was re-
served the honor of taking from the Jebusites a strong fortress
on the borders of Judah and Benjamin, and of laying the foun-
dations of Jerusalem, viewed at last as the metropolis cf Pales-
tine ai 1 the seat of the Hebrew government. On Mount Zion
he buiiL a suburb of consideri^ble beauty and strength, which
continued for many years to bear his name, and to reflect the
magnificence of his genius. Not satisfied with this acquisition,
he extended his arms on all sides, till the borders of his kingdom
reached from the river Euphrates to the confines of Egypt. But
the splendor of his reign was afteiwards clouded by domestic
guilt and treason ; and the nation, which could now have defied
the power of its bitterest enemies, was divided and miserably
reduced by the foul passions, that issued from the royal palace.
Still, notwithstanding the rebellion of Absalom, and the defeo
tion of certain military leaders, David bequeathed to his successor
a flourishing kingdom ; rapidly advancing in the arts of civilized
life, enjoying an advantageous commerce, the respect of the
neighboring states, and a decided preponderance among the
minor governments of Western Asia. His last years were spent
in making preparations for the building of a temple at Jeru-

ttiSTORY OF THfi ISRAELITES, IETC.

salem ; work which he himself was not allowed to accomplish,
because his hands were stained with blood, which, however
justly shed, rendered them unfit for erecting an edifice to the God
of mercy and peace.

The success which had attended the arms of his father ren-
dered the accession of Solomon tranquil and secure, so far, at
least, as we consider the designs of the surrounding nations.
Accordingly, finding himself 'n\ possession of qui^t, as well as of
an overflowing treasury, he proceeded to realize . e pious inten-
tions of David in regard to the house of God, and thereby to
obey the last commands which had been imposed upon him be-
fore he received the crown. The chief / lory of Solomon's reign ^
is identified with the erection of the temple. Nor were t' e
advantages arising from this great undertaking confined to iue
spiritual objects to which it was principally subservient. On the
contrary, the necessity of employing foreign artists, and of draw-
ing purl of liis materials from a distance, suggested to the king
the benefits of a legular trade ; and as the plains of Syria pro-
duced more corn than the natives could consume, he supplied
the merchants of Tyre and the adjoining ports with a valuable
commodity, in return for the manufactured goods which his own
subjects could not fabricate. It was in his reign that the He-
brews first became a commercial people ; and although consider-
able obscurity still hangs over the tracks of navigation which
were pursued by the mariners of Solomon, there is no reason to
doubt that his ships were to be seen on the Mediterranean, the
Red Sea, and the Persian Gulf. It was also in this reign that
the limits of Jewish power attained their utmost reach, compre-
hending even the remarkable dictrict of Palmyrene, a spacious
and fertile province in the midst of a frightful desert. There
were in it two princ'pal towns, Thapsacus or Tiphsah and Pal-
myra, from the latter of which the whole country took its name.
Solomon, it is well known, took pleasure in adding to its beauty
and strenjjth as beinjj one of his m:»iii defences on the eastern
border, and hence it is spoken of in Scripture as Tadmo^ in the
wilderness.

But the popularity of Solomon's government did not keep pace
with the rapidity of his improvements or the magnificence of his
works. Perhaps the vast extent of his undertakings may have
led to unusual demands upon the industry of the people, and
may have given rise to those discontents which, though repulsed
Juring his own lifetime, were openly and boldly avowed on the

access

vice

and

of hie

his p(

clare(

demar

to yoi

chastij

languj

goveri

Jerol

origin

HlStrORY OF THE ISRAELITES, ETC.

\329

■)pace
of his
have
and
lulsed
a the

accession of his son Rehoboam. Th?;* prince, rejecting the ad-
vice of his aged counsellors, and following that of the younger
and more violent, soon had the misfortune to see the greater part
of his kingdom wrested from him. In reply to the address of
his people who entreated an alleviation of their burdens, he de-
clared that, instead of requiring less at their hands, he should
demand more. " My father made your yoke heavy, I will add
to your yoke ; my father chastised you with whips, but I will
chastise you with scorpions." Such a resolution, expressed in
language at once so contemptuous and severe, alienated from his
government ten tribes, who sought a more indulgent master in
Jeroboam, a declared enemy of the house of David. Hence the
origin cf the kingdom of Israel, as distinguished from that of
Judah ; and hence, too, the disgraceful contentions between those
kindred states, which acknov/ledged one religion, ".nd professed
to be guided by the same law. — Irish National Series.

FROM THE REVOLT OF THE TEX TRIBES TILL

THE CAPTIVITY.

After the revolt of the ten tribes, Jerusalem soon ceased to be
regarded bv the Israelites as the centre of tlieir reliirion, and the
bond of union among the descendants of Abraham. Jeroboam
erected la his kingdom the emblems of a less pure faith, to which
he confined the attention of his subjects ; while the frequent
wars that ensued, and the treaties formed on both sides with the
Gentile nations on their respective borders, completed the es-
trangement which ambition had begun. Little attached to the
native line of princes, the Israelites placed on the throne of Sa-
maria a number of adventurers, who luid no qualities to recom-
mend them besides military courage and an irreconcilable hatred
towards the nior*^ legitimate cliliuuints of t!ie house of David.
The reigns of these sovereigns possess little interest; let it suffice,
therefore, to say, that, about two hundi-ed and seventy years
after the death of Solomon, the Israelites were subdued by Shal-
maneser, the powerful monarch of Assyria, who carried them
away captive into the remote provinces ">f liis vast empire.

The kingdom of Jiulah, less distracted by the pretensions of
usurpers, and confirmed in the principles of patriotism by a more
rigid adherence to the law of Closes, continued during one hundred
and thirty years longer to resist the encroachments of the rival

380

HISTORY OP THE ISEAELITES, ETC.

powers, Egypt and Assyria, which now began to contend in earnest
for the possession of Palestine. Several endeavors were made, even
after the destruction of Samaria, to unite the energies of the twelve
tribes, and thereby secure the independence of the sacred terri-
tory. But a pitiful jealousy had succeeded to the aversion cre-
ated by a long course of hostile aggression, while the overwhelm-
ing armies, which incessantly issued from the Euphrates and
the Nile to select a field of battle within the borders of Canaan,
soon left to the feeble councils of Jerusalem no other choice than
that of an Egyptian or an Assyrian master. At length, in the
year 602 before the Christian era, when Jehoiakim was on the
throne of Judah, Nebuchadnezzar, who already shared with his
father the government of Assyria, advanced into Palestine at the
head of a formidable army. A timely submission saved the city
as well as the life of the pusillanimous monarch. But, after a
short period, finding the conqueror engaged in more important
affairs, the vanquished king m: >de an effort to recover his domin-
ions by throwing off the Babylonian yoke. The siege of Jeru-
salem was renewed with greater vigor on the part of the in-
vaders, in tlie course of which Jehoiakim was killed, and his son
Coniah or Jehoiachin ascended the throne. Scarcely, however,
had the new sovereign taken up the reins of goverument, than
he found it necessary to open the gates of his capital to the As-
syrian prince, who carried bin*, his principal nobility, and the
mot.'t expert of his artisans, as prisoners to the banks of the Ti-
gris. The nominal authority v, as now confided to a brother or
uncle of the captive king, whose original name, Mattaniah, was
changed to Zedekiah by his lord paramount, who considered him
merely as the governor of a province. Impatient of an office so
subordinate, and mstigated, it is probable, by emissaries from
Egypt, he resolved to hazard his life and liberty for the chance
of reconquering the independence of his crown. This imprudent
step brought Nebuchednezzar once more before the walls of Jeru-
salem. A siege, which appears to have continued fifteen or six-
teen months, terminated m the final reduction of the holy city,
and in the captivity of Zedekiah, who was treated with the ut-
most severity. His two sons were executed in his presence, after
which his eyes were put out ; when, being loaded with fetters,
he was carried to Babylon and thrown into prison. The work
of destruction was entrusted to Nebuzar-adan, the captain of the
guard, "who burnt the house of the Lord, and the king's house,
and all the houses of Jerusalem, and every great man's house,

awav.

USE. THE PEN.

331

earnest
le, even
i twelve
sd terri-
ion ere-
whelm-
tes and
Oanaan,
ice than
I, in the
J on the
vith his
e at the
the city
after a
iportaut
5 domin-
>f Jeru-
the in-
[ his son
lowever,
nt, than
the As-
and the
the Ti-
other or
ah, was
red him
office so
es from
chance
prudent
of Jeru-
or six-
)ly city,
the ut-
2e, after
fetters,
e work
n of the
house,
house,

burnt he with fire. And tlie army of the Chaldees that were
with the captain of the guard brake down the walls of Jerusalem
round about. The rest of the people that were left in the city
and the fugitives that fell away to the King of Bablyon, with the
remnant of the multitude, did the captain of the guard carry
away. But he left the poor of the land to be vinedressers and
husbandmen." — Irish National Series.

USE THE PEN.

Use the pen ! there's magic in it,

Never let it lag behind ;
Write thy thought, the pen can win it

From the chaos of the mind ;
Many a gem is lost for ever

By the careless passer-by ;
But the gems of thought should never

On the mental pathway lie.

Use the pen ! reck not that others

Take a higher flight than thine;
Many an ocean cave still smothers

Pearls of price beneath the brine ;
But the diver finds the treasure,

And the gem to light is brought;
So thy mind's unbounded measure

May give up some pearl of thought.

Use the pen ! the day's departed

When the sword alone held sway.
Wielded by the lion-hearted.

Strong in battle. Where are they ?
All unknown the deeds of glory

Done of old by mighty men.
Save the few who live in story,

Chronicled by sages' pen.

Use the pen ! the sun above us,
By whose light the chemist's art

Stamps the forms of those who love us,
Showing us their counterpart.

332

THE HOUR OF DEATH.

Cannot hold so high a power

As within the pen enshrined,
When, with genius for its dower,

It daguerreotypes the mind.

Use the pen ! but let it never

Slander write, with death-black ink ;
Let it be thy best endeavor

But to pen what good men think ;
So thy words and thoughts, securing

Honest praise from wisdom's tongue,
May, in time, be as enduring

As the strains which Homer sung.

J. E. Carpenter.

THE HOUR OF DEATH.

Leaves have their time to fall
And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath.
And stars to set — but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death !

Day is for mortal care.
Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth,
Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer,
But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth !

The banquet hath its hour —
Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine ;
There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power,
A time for softer tears — but all are thine !

Youth and the opening rose
May look like things too glorious for decay,
And smile at thee — but thou art not of those.
That wait the ripen'd bloom to seize their prey.

Leaves have their time to fall,
And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
And stars to set — but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death ! t

We know when moons shall wane.
When summer birds from far shall cross the sea,
When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain —
But who shall teach us when to look for thee ?

HISTOET or THE ISRAELITES, ElC.

833

Is it when spring's first gale
Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie ?
Is it when roses in our paths grow pale ?
They have one season — all are ours to die !

Thou art where billows foam ;
Thou art where music melts upon the air ;
Thou art around us in our peaceful home ;

And the world calls us forth—and thou art there.

Thou art where friend meets friend,
Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest —
Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend
The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest.

Leaves have their time to fall.
And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
And stars to set — but all —

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, Death !

Hemans.

FROM THE RESTORATION OF THE JEWS TILL THE

BIRTH OF CHRIST.

It had been foretold by the prophets that the Jews should re-
main in captivity during seventy years ; and as they were led
away exactly six centuries before the Christian era, their return
to the Holy Land must have occurred about the year 530 prior
to the same great epoch. The names of Zerubbabel, Nehemiah,
and Ezra, occupy the most distinguished place among those
worthies who were selected by Divine Providence to conduct the
restoration of the chosen people. After much toil, interruption,
and alarm, Jerusalem could once more boast of a temple, which,
although destitute of the rich ornaments lavished upon that of
Solomon, was at least of equal dimensions, and erected on the
same sacred ground. But the worshipper had to deplore the
absence of the ark, the symbolical Urim and Thummim, the
Shechinah or Divine Presence, and the celestial fire which had
maintained an unceasing flame upon the altar. Their sacred
writings, too, had been dispersed, and their ancient language was
fast becoming obsolete. To prevent the extension of so great an
evil, the more valuable manuscripts were collected and arranged,
containing the law, the earlier prophets, and the inspired hymna
used for the purpose of devotion.

•If

334

HISTORY OF THE ISRAELITES, ETC.

Under the Pers'an satraps, who directed the civil and military
government of Syrir, the »Jews were permitted to acknowledge
the authority of their high priest, to whom, in all things pertain-
ing to the law of Moses, they rendered the obedience which was
due to the head of their nation. Their prosperity, it is true, was
occasionally diminished or increased by the personal character of
the sovereigns who successively occupied the throne of Cyrus ;
but no material change in their circumstances took place until
the victories of Alexander the Great had laid the foundation of
the Syro-Macedoniau kingdom in AVesr>ern Asia, and given anew
dynasty to the crown of Egypt. The struggles which ensued
between these powerful states freipiently involved the interests of
the Jews, and made new demands on their allegiance ; although
it is admitted, that as each was desirous to conciliate a people
who claimed Palestine for their unalienable heritage, the Hebrews
at large were, during two centuries, treated with much liberality
and favor. But this generosity or forbearance was interrupted
in the reign of Antiochus Epiphanes, who, alarmed by the report
of insurrections, and harassed by the events of an unsuccessful
war in Egypt, directed his angry passions agaiust the Jews.
Marching suddenly upon Jerusalem, he put forty thousand of the
inhabitants to death, pillaged the treasury, seized all the sacred
vessels, and commanding a sow to be sacrificed on the altar of
burnt-offerings, caused evei-y part of the temple, even the holy of
holies, to be sprinkled with the blood of the unclean animal. A
short time afterwards, he issued an edict for the extermination of
the whole Hebrew race, which one of his generals, Apollonius,
proceeded to execute with the most atrocious cruelty. Driven to
desperation by these severities, the Jews flew to arms, led on by
the brave family of the Maccabees, vv Iiose valor and perseverance
soon enabled them to dispute with the powerful monarch of
Syria the sovereignty of Palestine. Success at last crowned the
efforts of those who fought for their religion and liberty, and
the Maccabees or Asraoneans raised themselves to supreme power
by uniting the offices of king and pontiff. They continued
to govern Palestine for upwards of a hundred years ; during the
greater part of which time the Jews were far from enjoying unin-
terrupted tranquillity. The kingdom was often threatened by
external enemies, and torn by internal dissensions, till at length
the disputes of two rival claimants of the throne gave a pretext
for the interference of the Romans, Pompey, who had already
pverrun the finest provinces pf Syri^, ^(^y^pced to Jerusalem, m^

HISTORY OF THE ISRAELITES, ETC.

335

id military
knowledge
js pertain-
;v^hich was
3 true, was
laracter of
of Cyrus ;
>lace until
iclation of
iven a new
3h ensued
nterests of
; although
I a people
e Hebrews
I liberality
nterrupted
the report
^successful
the Jews,
land of the
(he sacred
altar of
he holy of
limal. A
lination of
.pollonius,
Driven to
led on by
severance
onarch of
)wned the
berty, and
me power
continued
uring the
i'^ing unin-
atened by
at length
a pretext
d already
alem, m^

having listened to the claims of the two competitors, settled the
priesthood upon Hyrcanus, but without annexing to it the civil
power. After some delay this was conferred by Caesar on Anti-
pater, an Idumean, who was succeeded by his son Herod.
Irish National Series.

FROM THE BIRTH OF CHRIST TILL THE
DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM.

Upon the exile of Archelaus, the prefecture of Syria was com-
initted to Publius Sulpicius Quirinius. This commander is men-
tioned in the gospel of St. Luke by the name of Cyrenius, and is
described as the person under whom the tax was imposed, which
had previously rendered it necessary for Joseph and Mary to go
from Nazareth to Bethlehem to be enrolled. It was about the
twenty-sixth year of our epoch that Pontius Pilate was nomi-
nated to the government of Judea. Ignorant or indifferent as
to the prejudices of the Jews, he roused amongst them a spirit of
the most active resentment, by displaying the image of the em-
peror in Jerusalem, and by seizing part of their sacred treasure
for the purposes of general improvement. As the fiery temper
of the inhabitants drove them, on most occasions, to acts of
violence, he did not hesitate to employ force in return ; and we
find, accordingly, that his administration was dishonored by
several acts of military execution directed against the Jews and
Samaritans indiscriminatelv. The character of Pilate, and of the
times in which he lived, given in profane history, is in strict
harmony with the narrative of the Gospel. The expectation of
the Jews when Jesus of Nazareth first appeared — their subsequent
disappointment and rage — their hatred and impatience of the
Roman government, — the perplexity of the military chief, and
the motive which at length induced him to sacrifice the innocent
person who was cited before him, — are factr, which display the
most perfect accordance with the tone of civil history at that
remarkable period.

During the troubles w hich agitated Judea, the districts that
owned the sovereignty of Herod-Antipas and I'hilip — namely,
Galilee and the country beyond the Jordan, enjoyed comparative
quiet. The former, who is the Herod described by our Saviour
as " that fox," was a person of cool and crafty disposition, and
piffht ^^jQ terminated his Jong reign in peace ]\^(\ not Herodias,

o36

HISTORl' OF THE ISRAELITES, ETC.

whom he seduced from his brother Philip, irritated his ambition
by pointing to the superior rank of his nephew, Herod-Agrippa,
whom Caligula had been pleased to raise to a provincial throne.
Urged by his wife to solicit a similar elevation, he presented
himself at Rome, and obtained an audience of the emperor ; but
the successor of Tiberius was so little pleased with his conduct
on this occasion, that he divested him of the tetrarchy, and ban-
ished him into Gaul.

The death of Philip, and the degradation of the Galilean
tetrarch, paved the way for the advancement of Heiod-Agrippa
to all the honor and power which had belonged to the family
of David. He was permitted to reign over the whole of Pales-
tine, having under his dominion the usual number of Roman
troops, which experience had proved to be necessary for the
peace of a province at once so remote and so turbulent. But no
position could be more difficult to hold with safety and reputa-
tion than that which was occupied by this Hebrew prince. He
was assailed on the one hand by the jealousy of the Roman
deputies, and on the other by the suspicions of his own country-
men, who could never divest themselves of the fear that his
foreign education had rendered him indifferent to the rights of the
Mosaical law. To satisfy the latter, he spared no expense in
conferring magnificence on the daily service of the temple, while
he put forth his hand to persecute the Christian Church, in the
persons of Peter and James^ the brother of John. To remove
every ground of disloyalty from the eyes of the political agents,
who were appointed by Claudius to watch his conduct, he ordered
a splendid festival at Cesarea in honor of the new emperor; on
which occasion when arrayed in the most gorgeous attire, certain
words of adulation reached his ear, not fit to be addressed to a
Jewish monarch. The result will be best described in the words
of Sacred Scripture: "And upon a set "day Herod, arrayed in
royal apparel, sat upon his throne, and made an oration to them.
And the people gave a shout, saying. It is the voice of a god, and
not of a man. And immediately the angel of the Lord smote him,
because he gave not God the glory ; and he was eaten of worms,
and gave up the ghost." He left a son and three daughters, of
whom Herod-Agrippa II., Bernice, and Drusilla, made a con-
spicuous figure towards the close of the Acts. These events
took place between the fortieth and fiftieth years of the Christian
era.

The youth and inexperience of Herod-Agrippa II. dictated to

tttfeTORY OF THE ISRAELITES, ETC.

3S7

the Roman government the propriety of assuming once more the
entire direction of Jewish affairs, especially as the people were
every day becoming more turbulent and impatient of foreigu
dominion; and accordingly, Caspius Fadus, Felix, and Festu8
were successively appointed procurators of Ju«lea. Fadus was a
stern but upright soldier; hut the administration of Felix was an
habitual combination of violence and fraud ; an equal stranger
to righteousness and temperance, this ruler presented a fit subject
for the eloquence of St. Paul. The short residence of Festus
procured for the unhappy ,Iews a respite from apprehension.
He labored successfully to put down the b^nds of insurgents,
whose ravages were now inflicted indiscriminately upon foreigners
and their own countrymen ; nor was he less active in checking
the excesses of the military, so long accustomed to rapine and
free quarter. Herod-Agrippa at the same time transferred the
seat of his government to -Jerusalem, where his presence served
to moderate the rage o^ parties, and thereby to postpotie the final
rupture between the piovincials and their imperial master.

But this brief interval of repose was followed by an increased
degree of irritation and fury. Florus, who had succeeded Festus
in the procuratorship, countenanced by Cestius Gallus, the prefect
of Syria, so galled the people by his tyranny and by certain insults
directed against their faith, that the Jewish inhabitants of Cesarea
set his power at defiance, and declared their resolution to repel
his injuries by force. The capital was soou actuated by a similar
spirit, and made preparations for defence. Cestius marched to
the gates, and demanded entrance for the imperial cohorts, whose
aid was required to support the garrison within. The citizens,
having refused to comply, already anticipated the horrors of a
siege ; when, after a few days, they saw, to their great surprise,
the Syrian prefect in full retreat, carrying with him his formid-
able army. Sallying from the different outlets with arms in
their hands, they pursued the fugitives with the usual fury of
an incensed multitude ; and overtaking their enemy at the
narrow pass of Bethhoron, they avenged the cause of indepen-
dence by a considerable slaughter of the legionary soldiers, and
by driving the remainder to an ignominious flight. Nero re-
ceived the intelligence of this defeat while amusing himself in
Greece, and immediately sent Vespasian into Syria to assume the
government, with instructions to restore the tranquillity of the
province by moderate concessions, or by the most rigorous war-
fare. It Was in the sixty-seventh year of Christianity thftt
4r 22

:<\

S-S8

^tlttSAtfik BEFORJB THE Sri:6l5.

this great commander entered Judea, accompanied by his sotl,
the celebrated Titus. The result is too well known to require
details. A series of sanguinary battles deprived the Jews of
their principal towns one after another, until they were at length
shut up in Jerusalem ; the seige and final reduction of which
compose one of the most affecting stories that pre anywhere
recorded in the annals of the human race. — Irish National
Series.

JERUSALEM BEFORE THE SEIGE.

Titus, It must be —
And yet it moves me, Romans ! it confounds
The counsel of my firm philosophy,
That Ruin's merciless ploughshare must pa^jS o'er,
, And barren salt be sown on, yon proud city.
As on our olive-crowned hill we stand,
Where Kedron at our feet its scanty waters
Distils from stone to stone, with gentle motion,
As through a valley sacred to sweet peace.
How boldly doth it front us ! how majestically !
Like a luxurious vineyard, the hill-side
Is hung with marble fabrics, line o'er line,
Terrace o'er terrace, nearer still, and nearer
To the blue heavens. There bright and sumptuous palaces
With cool and verdant gardens interspersed ;
There towers of war that frown in massy strength ;
While over all hangs the rich purple eve,
As conscious of its being her last farewell
Of light and glory, to that faded city.
And, as our clouds of battle, dust, and smoke
Are melted into air, behold the Temple
In undisturb'd and lone serenity,
Finding itself a solemn sanctuary
In the profound of heaven ! It stands before us •
A mount of snow, fretted with golden pinnacles.
The very sun, as though he worshipp'd there,
Lingers upon the gilded cedar roofs ;
And down the long and branching porticos,
On every flowery -sculptured capital,
Glitters the homage of his pa»'ting beams. Milman.

rn""^

\ 'i '^' %

I^ALLEN IS THY TtlRONE.

si -I,

339

his sot))
o require

Jews of

at length

of which

anywhere

National

us palaces

[iLMAN.

PALESTINE.

REPt of thy sons, amid thy foes forlorn,
Mourn, widow'd queen ! forgotten Sion, mourn !
Is this thy place, sad city, this thy throne.
Where the wild desert rears its craggy stone ?
While suns unbless'd their angry lustre fling,
And wayworn pilgrims seek the scanty spring.
Where now thy pomp, which kings with envy view'd ?
Where now thy might, which all those kings subdued ?
No martial myriads muster in thy gate ;
No suppliant nations in thy temple wait ;
No prophet-bards, the glittering courts among,
Wake the full lyre, and swell the tide of song ;
But lawless Force, and meagre Want are there,
And the quick-darting eye of restless Fear,
While cold Oblivion, mid thy ruins laid,
Folds his dank wing beneath the ivy shade.

'k^

i '•

^A'irVLJ^ VAi/vi /J

FALLEN IS

THY

JJ-xl'j'

Old / Heber

THRONE.

4''

■i*\

',/W^'

Fallen is thy Throne, O Israel !

Silence is o'er thy plains ;
Thy dwellings all lie desolate,

Thy children weep in chains.
Where are the dews that fed thee

On Etham's barren shore ?
That fire from Heaven which led thee

Now lights thy path more.

Lord ! Thou didst love Jerusalem —

Once she was all Thine own j
Her love Thy fairest heritage.

Her power Thy glory's throne.
Till evil came, and blighted

Thy long-loved olive-tree ; —
And Salem's shrines were lighted

For other gods than Thee.

Then sunk the star of Solyma —
Then pass'd her glory's day.

Like heath that in the wilderness*
The wild wind whirls away.

340

l^ltfi sAvrotrtt.

Silent and waste her bowers,
Where once the mighty trod,

And sunk those guilty towers,
Where Baal reign'd as God.

*' Go," said the Lord, " ye conquerors,

Steep in her blood your swords.
And raze to earth her battlements,

For they are not the Lord's ;
Till Zion's mournful daughter

O'er kindred bones shall tread.
And Hinnom's vale of slaughter

Shall hide but half her dead ! "

Moore.

THE SAVIOUR.

djodiiy-fi^-ihir.

Hail ! to the Lord's annointed, '

Great David's greater Son ;
Hail, in the time appointed,

His reign on earth begun.

He comes to break oppression,

To set the captive free ;
To take away transgression, i

And rule in equity.

He comes with succor speedy

To those who suffer wrong.
To help the poor and needy.

And bid the weak be strong :

To give them songs for sighing ;

Their darkness turn to light ;
Whose souls 'ondemn'd and dying.

Were precious in His sight.

As such He shall be fear'c
While sun and moon endure.

Beloved, obey'd, revered.
For He shall judge the poor.

Through changing generations.

With justice, mercy, truth.
While stars maintain their stations,

Or moons renew their vouth.

-4**tAi#».i^jt.

THE SAVIOUR.

341

He shall come down, like showers

Upon the fruitful earth,
And love, joy, hope, like flowers,
^ Spring in His path to birth.

Before Him on the mountains
Shall peace the herald go,

And righteousness in fountains
From hill to valley flow.

Arabia's desert ranger

To Him shall bow the knee ;
The Ethiopian stranger

His glory come to see.

With offerings of devotion.

Ships from the isles shall meet,

To pour the wealth of ocean
In tribute at His feet.

Kings shall fall down before Him,
And gold ^nd incense bring ;

All nations shall adore Him,
His praise all nations sing.

For He shall have dominion,

On river, sea, and shore ;
Far as the eagle's pinion,

Or dove's light wing, can soar.

For Him shall prayers unceasing

And dailv vows ascend.
His kingdom still increasing,

A kingdom without end.

The mountain dews shall nourish,
A seed in weakness sown,

Whose fruit shall spread and flourish,
And shake like Lebanon.

O'er every foe victorious.
He on His throne shall rest ;

From age to age more glorious,
All blessino and all blest.

t *.

842

A PSALM OF LIFE.

The tide of time shall never
The covenant remove ;
• His name shall stand forever ;

That name to us is love.

/-f

yl.ra^.jf^W'OF LIFE.

What the heart of the young man said to the psalmist.

Tell me not in mournful numbers,
" Life is but an empty dream ! "

For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real .' Life is earnest !

And the grave is not its goal ;
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"

Was not spoken of the soul.

*
Not enjoyment, and not -sorrow,

Is our destined end or way ;
But to act, that each to-morrow

Find us further than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave.

Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle.

In the bivouac of life.
Be not like dumb, driven cattlo !

Be a hero in the strife !

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant.
Let the dead Past bury its d'^ad !

Act — act in the living present !
Heart within, and God o'erhead !

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sauds of time ;

THE TEACHING AND CHARACTER OF JESUS CHRIST. 343

VA^:?

Footprints, that perhaps another,

Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwreck'd brother,

Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us then be up and doing

With a heart for any fate ;
Still achieving, still pursuing.

Learn to. labor ar^l to wait.

^'vM,- • i.'^<f'/-'-'^Jj' Longfellow,

■yM

'^^^^tKAjucjiili^t-f. ' ^'^<<xxt-cvai^\>'

THE TEACHING AND CHARACTER OF JESUS CHRIST.

Jesus Christ appears among men full of grace and truth ; the
authority and the mildness of His precepts are irresistible. He
comes to heal the most unhappy of mortals, and all His wonders
are for the wretched. In order to inculcate His doctrines He
chooses the apologue, or parable, which is easily impressed on
the minds of the people. While walking in the fields. He gives
H 5 divine lessons! When surveying the flowers that adorn the
mead. He exhorts His disciples to put their trust in Providence,
who supports the feeble plants, and feeds the birds of the air ;
when He beholds the fruits of the earth, He teaches them to judge
of men by their works ; an infant is brought to Him, and He
recommends innocence ; being among shepherds. He gives Him-
self the appellation of the Good Shepherd, and represents Him-
self as bringing back the lost sheep to the fold. In spring He
takes His seat upon a mountain, and draws from the surrounding
objects instruction for the multitude sitting at His feet. From
the very sight of this multitude, composed of the poor and the
unfortunate, He deduces His Beatitudes : Blessed are they that
weep — blessed are they that hunger and thirst. Such as observe
His precepts, and those who slight them, are compared to two
men who built houses, the one upon a rock, the other upon sar''
When He asks the woman of Samaria for drink, He expounds .'
her His heavenly doctrine, under the beautiful image of a ^ipi
of living water.

His character was amiable, open, and tender, and His charity
unbounded. The Evangelist gives us a complete and admirable
idea of it in these few words : He went about doing good. His
resignation to the will of God is conspicuous in every moment
gf Hi9 life ; He loved and fe+y the sentiment of friendship : the

' '9-r

S44 ON THE DEATH AND SACRIFICE OPlCHRIST.

man whom He raised from the tomb, Lazarus, was His friend ;
it was for the sake of the noblest sentiment of life that He per-
formed the greatest of His miracles. In Him the love of country
may find a model, " O Jerusalem, Jerusalem," He exclaimed, at
the idea of the judgments which threatened that guilty city, " how
often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen
gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not ! "
Casting His sorrowful eyes from the top of the hill over this city,
doomed for her crimes to signal destruction, he was unable to
restrain His tears : " He beheld the citi/,^' says the Evangelist," and
wept over it," His tolerance was not less remarkable ; when His
disciples begged Him to command fire to come down from heaven
on a village of Samaria, which had denied Him hospitality. He
replied with indignation, " Ye know not what manner of spirit

ye are of." — Chateaubriand. " Jrish National Series^." . >

GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE.

ON THE DEATH AND SACRIFICE OF CHRIST.

Father ! the hour is come f "V\Tiat hour ? An hour the most
critical, the most pregnant with great events since hours had
begun to be numbered, since time had begun to run. It was the
hour in which the Son of God was to terminate the labors of
His important life, by a death still more important w^ illustri-

ON THE DEATH AND SACRIFICE OF CHRIST. 345

ous; the hour of atoning, by His sufferings, for the guilt of
mankind ; the hour of accomplishing prophecies, types, and
symbols, which had been carried on through a series of ages ;
the hour of concluding the old, and of introducing to the world
the new dispensation of religion ; the hour of His triumphing
over the world, and death, and hell ; the hour of His erecting
that spiritual kingdom which is to last for ever. This was the
hour in which Christ atoned for the sins of mankind, and accom-
plished our eternal redemption. It was the hour when the
great sacrifice was offered up, the efficacy of which reaches back
to the first transgression of man, and extends forward to the end
of time : the houi* when, from the cross, as from a high altar,
that blood was flowing which washed away the guilt of the
nations. This awful dispensation of the Almighty contains mys-
teries which are beyond the discovery of man. It is one of those
things into which the angels desire to look. What has been
revealed to us is, that the death of Christ was the interposition
of Heaven for preventing the ruin of mankind. We know that
under the government of God, misery is the natural consequence
of guilt. After rational creatures had by their criminal conduct
introduced disorder into the Divine kingdom, there was no
ground to l)elieve that by prayers and penitence alone they
could pi'event the destruction which threatened them. The
prevalence of propitiatory sacrifices throughout the earth pro-
claims it to be the general sense of mankind, that mere repent-
ance is not of sufficient avail to expiate sin, or to stop its penal
effects. By the constant allusions which are carried on in the
New Testament to the sacrifices under the law, as pre-signifying
a great atonement made by Christ, and by the strong expressions
which are used in describing the effects of His death, the sacred
writers show, as plainly as language allows, that there was an
efficacy in His sufferings far beyond that of mere example and
instruction. Part we are capable of beholding ; and the wisdom
of what we behold we have reason to adore. We discern, in
this plan of redemption, the evil of sin strongly exhibited, and
the justice of the Divine government awfully exemplified, in
Christ suffering for sinners. But let us not imagine that our
present discoveries unfold the whole influence of the death of
Christ. It is connected with causes into which we cannot pene-
trate. It produces consequences too extensive for us to explore.
God^s thoughts are not as our thoughts. In all things we see only
in part ; and here, if anywhere, we see only through a glass

ii'%

; i'li

846

THE KOCK OF AGES.

darUy. This, however, is fully manifest, that redemption is one
of the most glorious works of the Almighty. If the hour of the
creation of the world was great and illustrious, that hour, when
from the dark and formless mass, this fair system of nature arose
at the Divine command, when the morning stars sang togtthery
and all the sons of God shouted for jog, no less illustrious is the
hour of the restoration of the world, the hour when, from con-
demnation and misery, it emerged into happiness and peace.
With less extern ' nrdjetty it was attended, but is on that account
the more wondt.. !, t! it, under an appearance so simple, such
great events were •. i/^erec— Blair. Irish Natioiial Series.

THE ROCK OF AGES.

Rock of Ages ! cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee.

Let the water and the blood.

From Thy riven side which flow'd,

Be of sin the double cure ;

Cleanse me from its guilt and power.

Not the labors of my hands
Can fulfil Thy law's demands ;
Could my zeal no respite know.
Could my tears for ever flow.
All for sin could not atone ;
Thou must save, and Thou alone.

Nothing in my hand I bring ;
Simply to Thy cross I cling ;
Naked, come to Thee for dress ;
Helpless look to Thee for grace ;
Foul, I to the Fountain fly ;
"Wash me. Saviour, or I die.

While I draw this fleeting breath,
When my eye-lids close in death.
When I soar through tracts uriknown,
See Thee on Thy judgment-throne,
Rock of Ages, cleft for me.
I^et me hide myself in Thee I

TOPLA»T«

/ .XjO < JJ'A \'\M- V»>W l'Vlii\'-' ♦

ALL CREATUBICS CALLED ON TO PRAISE GOD 347.

CHRIST'S SECOND COMING.

The Lord i^hall come, the earth shall quake,
The mountains to their centre shake ;
And, withering from the vault of night,
The stars shall pale their feeble light.
The Lord shall come ! a dreadful form,
With rainbow ,wreath and robes of storm ;
On cherub wings, and wings of wind,
Appointed Judge of all mankind.

Can this be He, who once did stray,
A pilgrim, on the world's highway,
Oppress'd by power, and mock'd by pri 'c,
The Nazarene, the crucified ?
While sinners in despair shall call,
*' Rocks, hide us ; mountains, on us fal^ ! "
The saints, ascending from the tomb,
Shall joyful sing

■I

■)4\jyL'

ing, ""ij^he Lord is co; ) ! Ji'/A,.^A,^./>fttEBER.

I *■

X P-^,l^,J?..l-j..

ALL CREATURES CALLED UPON TO PRAISE GOD.

Begin, my soul, th' exalted lay !
Let each enraptured thought obey,

And praise th' Almighty's name :
Lo ! heaven and earth, and seas and skies,
In one melodious concert rise,

To swell th' inspiring theme.

Join, ye loud spheres, the vocal choir :
Thou dazzling orb of liquid fire,

The mighty chorus aid :
Soon as gray evening gilds the plain,
Thou, moon, protract the melting strain

And praise Him in the shade.

Let every element rejoice :

Ye thunders, burst with awful voice,

To Him who bids you roll ;
His praise in softer notes declare,
]£ach whispering breeze of yielding air,

And breathe it to the souL

348 ALL CREATURES CALLED ON TO PRAISE GOD.

To Him, ye graceful cedars, bow ;
Ye towering mountains, bending low,

Your great Creators own ;
Tell, when affrighted nature shook,
How Siniii kindled at His look.

And trembled at His frown.

Ye flocks, that haunt the humble vale
Ye insects, fluttering on the gale,

In mutual concourse rise ;
Crop the gay rose's vermeil bloom,
And waft its spoils, a sweet perfume

In incense to the skies.

Wake, all ye mounting tribes and sing ;
Ye plumy warblers of the spring,

Harmonious anthems raise
To Him, who shaped your finer mould,
Who tipp'd your glittering wings with gold

And tuned your voice to praise.

Let man, by nobler passions sway'd,
The feeling heart, the judging head.

In heavenly praise employ ;
Spread His tremendous name around,
Till heaven's broad arch rings back the sound,

The general burst of joy.

Ye whom the charms of grandeur please,
Nursed on the downy lap of ease.

Fall prostrate at His throne !
Ye princes, rulers, all adore :
Praise Him, ye kings, who makes your power

An image of His own.

Ye fair, by nature form'd to move,
Oh, praise th' eternal source of love,

With youth's enlivening fire :
Let age take up the tuneful lay,
Sigh His bless'd name — then soar away,

And ask an angel's lyre.

Ogilvie,

■i^-^it^-^fiimmfi

ttiE CHRISTIAN SALVATIOi^.

INTERIOR OF THE CHURCH OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE.

THE CHRISTIAN SALVATION.

Salvation means deliverance from something that is feared or
suffered, and it is therefore a term of very general application ;
but in reference to our spiritual condition it means deliverance
from those evils with which we are afflicted in consequence of
our departure from God.

It implies deliverance from ignorance — not ignorance of human
science, but ignorance of God, the first and the last, the greatest
and the wisest, the holiest and the best of beings, the maker
of all things, the centre of all perfection, the fountain of all
happiness. Ignorant of God, we cannot give Him acceptable
worship, we cannot rightly obey His will, we cannot hold com-
munion with Him here, we cannot be prepared for the enjoyment
of his presence hereafter. But from this ignorance we are res-
cued by the salvation of the gospel, which reveals God to us,
which makes us acquainted with His nature, His attributes, His
character, His government, and which especially unfolds to us
that scheme of mercy, in which He has most clearly manifested
His own glory.

Salvation implies deliverance from guilt. The law denounces
a penalty against those who break it. That penalty is exclusion
from heaven, and deprivation of God's favor, and consignment
to the place of misery. But from this penalty there is deliver-

S50

THte CHUlStlAK SA1.VAT10S^

ance provided. Christ has expiated guilt. He has " made re-
conciliation for iniquity. He has purchased eternal life. And
" to those who are in Him there is now no condemnation." Their
sins are forgiven. They are at "peace with God." And there
is nothing to prevent Him from pouring out upon them the riches
of His mercy, and making them happy for ever.

This salvation implies deliverance from the power of sin. We
are naturally the slaves of this power. Sin reigns in us as the
descendants of apostate Adam. We cannot throw off its yoke by
any virtue or efforts of our own. And so long as it maintains
its ascendancy, we are degraded, and polluted, and miserable.
But provision is made in the gospel for our emancipation. Christ
" gave Himself for us that He might redeem us from all our
iniquities," and that sin might have no more " dominion over
us." And all who believe in Him are made free to serve that God
whose service is the sweetest liberty and the highest honor.

The salvation of the gospel implies deliverance from the ills
and calamities of life. It does not imply this literaJly ; for, un-
der the dispensation of the gospel, there is, strictly speaking, no
exemption froiA bodily disease, from outward misfortune, or from
the thousand distresses that flesh is heir to. But Christ has
given such views of the providence of God, — He has brought life
and immortality so clearly to light, and has so modified and sub-
dued the operations of sin, which is the cause of all our sufferings,
that these are no longer real evils to them that believe. When
we are brought into a filial relation to God, the afflictions that He
sends form a part of that discipline which He employs to improve
our graces, and prepare us for His presence. He supports us
under them, He overrules and sanctifies them for our spiritual ad-
vantage, and He thus divests them of all that is frightful, and
converts them into blessings.

This salvation implies deliverance from the power and the fear
of death. It is indeed an awful thing to die. Nature recoils
from the agonies of dissolution, and from the corruption of the
grave. But Christ has '* vanquished death, and him that had the
power of it." He has plucked out its sting, He has secured our
final triumph over it, and has thus t&ugl ' us to dismiss all our
alarms. Our bodies must return to our kindred earth ; but they
shall be raised again, spiritual, incorruptible, and glorious. They
shall be re-united to their never-dying and sainted partners, and
shall enter into the regions of immortality.
, And while the salvation of the gospel implies our deliverance

,i«»«;>t#"^»V.

THE HOLY SPIRIf.

351

and

from all these evils, it also implies our admission into the heavenly
state. It is in order to bring us there at last, that all the benefits
just enumerated are conferred upon us, and it is there accordingly
that they shall be consummated. We are delivered from igno-
rance ; and in heaven no cloud shall obscure our view — no veil of
prejudice shall cover our hearts. We are delivered from guilt ;
and in heaven, at its very threshold, our acquittal and justification
shall be proclaimed before an assembled world, and God's recon-
ciled countenance shall shine upon us forever. We are delivered
from the power of sin ; and in heaven there shall be found no
tempter and no temptation — nothing that defileth, and nothing
that is defiled. We are delivered from the ills and calamities of
life ; and in heaven all tears shall be wiped from the eye, and all
sorrow banished from the heart, — there shall be undecaying
health, and there shall be unbroken rest, and there shall be songs
01 unmingled gladness. We are delivered from the power and
fear of death ; and in heaven there shall be no more death ; the
saints shall dwell in that sinless and unsuffering land as the re-
deemed of Him who " was dead and is alive again, and liveth
for evermore." All things are theirs ; theirs is the unfading
crown, theirs is the incorruptible inheritance, theirs is the king-
dom that cannot be moved, theirs are the blessedness and the
glories of eternity. — Thompson. — Irish National Series.

THE HOLY SPIRIT.

When God of old came down from heaven,
In power and wrath He came ;

Before His feet the clouds were riven,
Half darkness and half flame.

Around the trembling mountain's base,

The prostrate people lay ;
A day of wrath, and not of grace ;

A dim and dreadful day.

But when He came the second time

He came in power and love ;
Softer than gale at morning prime

Hover'd His holy Dove.

The fires that rush'd on Sinai down.
In sudden torrents dread,

ALL*S FOR THEJ BE^f.

Now gently light a glorious crown,
For every sainted head.

Like arrows went those lightnings forth,

Wintif'd v\ ^th the sinner's doom ;
But these, like tongues, o'er all the earth,

Proclainung life .to come.

And. as on Israel's awestruck ear,

TIk^ voice exceeding loud,
The trump, that angels quake to hear,

Thrill 'd from the deep, dark cloud ;

So when the Spirit of our God

Came down His flock to find,
A voice from heaven was heard abroad,

A rushing, mighty wind. . v

Nor doth the outward ear alone

At that high warning start ;
Conscience gives back th' appalling tone .

'Tis echo'd in the heart.

It fills the church of God, it fills

The sinful world around ;
Only in stubborn hearts and wills

No place for it is found.

To other strains our souls are set ;

A giddy whirl of sin
Fills ear and brain, and will not let

Heaven's harmonies come in.

Come, Lord ! come, Wisdom, Love, and Power ;

Open our ears to hear !
Let us not miss the accepted hour ;

Save, Lord, by Iovq or fear.

"^^j '' : ■ Hrv^A. ^j-t-^'-^ KeBLE.

« AtL'S f6R THE BEST. }0 xuv^<i^^'V

All's for the best ! be sanguine and cheerful.
Trouble and sorrow are friends in disguise ;

Nothing but Folly goes faithless and fearful,
Courage for ever is happy and wise :

((

..-■^WAf*?.

The bettek lAx^d.

S53

)wer ;

Keble.

All's for the best, — if a man would but knoW it,
Providence wishes us all to be blest ;

This is no dream of the pundit or poet,

Heaven is gracious, and — All's for the best !

All's for the best! Set this on your standard,

vSoldier of sadness, or pilgrim of love,
Who to the fihores of Despair may have wander'd,

A way-wearied swallow, or heart- stricken dove.
All's for the best ! Be a man, but confiding,

Providence tenderl}'^ governs the rest.
And the frail bark of His creature is guiding

Wisely and warily, all for the best.

All's for the best! then fling away terrors,

Meet all your fears -and your foes in the van ;
And in the midst of your dangers or errors.

Trust like a child, while you strive like a man.
All's for the best ; — unbiass'd, unbounded.

Providence reigns from the east to the west ;
And, by both wisdom and mercy surrounded,

Hope, an4^ be happy, that — All's for the best.

^fi^^v4jrl<^l V'' •. ' .'.Wj^-- ^Tupper.

THE BETTER LAND.

" I HEAR thee speak of the better land ;
Thou call'st its children a happy band :
Mother! oh, where is that radiant shore ?•
Shall we not seek it, and weep no more ?
Is it wliere the flower of the orange blows.
And the fire-flies glance througli the myrtle boughs? '
*' Not there, not there, my child ! "

" Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under the sunny skies ?
Or midst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze;
And straiiiie. bright birds, on their starry wings,
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things ;"
" Not there, not there, my child I "

" Is it far away in some region old,
Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold ?
4 a 23

854 THE IKCAENATiOif*

Where tlie tDiirning rays of the ruby shine,
An(J the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleam forth from the coral strand, —
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land ? "
Not there, not there, my child !

" Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy,
K:ir hath not heard its dee[) songs of joy —
Dreams cannot picture a woi'ld so fair —
Sorrow and deiitii may not ent(;r there :
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom ;
For beyond the clouds, and bevond the tomb—

" It is there, it is there, my child! " IIkmans.

X, THE INCARNATION.

For Thou wast born of woman ; Thou didst come,
O Holiest! to thi-i world o' sin and gloom,
Not in Thv drea*! omnipotent array;

And not by thunders strevv'd

Was Thy tempestuous road ;
Nor indignation burnt before Thee on Thy way,

But Tliee a soft and n;iked child,

Thy mother undefiled.

In the rude manger laid to rest

From off her virgin breast.

The heavens were not commanded to prepare

A gorgeous canopy of golden air ,

Nor stoop'd their lamps th' enthroned fires on high '.

A single silent star

Came wandering from afar,
Gliding uncheck'd and calm along the liquid sky;

The eastern sage.i leading on,

As at a kingly throne.

To lay theii" gold and odors sweet

Before Thy infant feet.

The earth and ocean were not hush'd to liear
Bright harmony from every stjirry sphere;
Nor at Thy presence brake the voice of song

rr^

Iemans.

1:ttE INCARNATION^. 855

!Prom all the cherub choirs,
And seraph's burning lyres
Pour'd through the host of heaven the charmed clouds
along ;
One angel troop the strain began,
Of all the race of man,
By sinrple shepherds heard alone,
That soft hosanna's tone.

And when Thou didst depart, no car of flame,
To bear Thee hence, in lambent radiance came ;
Nor visible angels mourn'd with drooping plumes ;

Nor didst Thou mount on high

From fatal Calvary,
"With all Thine own redeemed outbuisting from their
tombs ;

For Thou didst bear away from earth

But one of human birth.

The dying felon by Thy side, to be

In Paradise with Thee.

Nor o'er Thy cross di.d clouds of vengeance break ,
A little while the conscious earth did shake
At that foul deed by her fierce children done ;

A few dim hours of day,

The world in darkness lay.
Then bask'd in bright repose beneath the cloudless
sun :

Whilst Thou didst sleep beneath the tomb,

Consenting to Thy doom,

Ere yet the white-robed Angel shone

Upon the sealed stone.

And when Thou didst arise, Thou didst not stand
With devastation in Thy red right hand
Plaguing the guilty city's murderous crew ;

But thou didst haste to meet

Thy mother's coming feet.
And bear the words of peace -mi to the faithful few ;

Then calmly, slowly didst Thou rise

Into Thy native skies.

l[ , no. Ktto.

[i!n-

3r)6

AN ELEGY,

PTV'!*

AN ELECT.

WRITTEN T\ A COITNTRY rilURCIiyARD.

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day.
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea.

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,

Sr \ 3 where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds :

S.we *\:VLt, froDi yonder ivy -mantled tower,
The mopii'9" owl does to the moon complain

Of such as, wandering near her secret bov/er
Molest her ancient solitary reign.

AN ELEGY.

Zol

Beneath tlf^so ruggofi elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves tlie turf iu mat)y a mouldering heap,

Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

The breezy call of incense^breathing morn,

The swallow twittering trom the straw-built shed,

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.

For them no mare the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care ;

No children run to lisp their sire's return.
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield.

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke :

How jocund did they drive their team a-field 1 '

How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke !

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ;
Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile.
The short and simple annals of the poor.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power.
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,

Aw^.it alike the inevitable houi —

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Nor yous ye proud ! impute to these the fault.
If memory o'er their toff') no trophies rnise.

Where, through the lonij-drawn aisle and i,etted vault
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

Can storied urn, or animated bust.

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ?

Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death ?

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ;

Hands that the rod of empire migiit have sway'd,
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.

But Knowledge to their eyes lier ample page,
Ilich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ;

S58

AK ELEGY.

Chill penury repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear :

Full many a flower is born, to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast,
The little tyrant of his fields withstood ;

Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest.

Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.

The applause of listening senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,

To scatter i)lenty o'er a smiling land,

And read their his^toiy in a nation's eyes.

Their lot forbade ; nor circumscribed alone

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;

Forbade to wade throusfh sUiiiorhter to a throne,
And ohut the gates of mercy on mankind.

The Eiruggling pangs of consci as truth to hide,
To qucaich the blushes of ingenuous shame

Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride
With incense kindled at the muse's flame.

Far from the madding crowd's isrnoble strife,
Their sol)>^r wishes never Jearn'd to stray ;

Along the cool sequester'd vale of life

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Yet even tnese bones from insult to protect,

Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
Wi'J: uncoo.ib rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd,

Kmploi ;js i!;! passing tribute of a sigh.

Their nam^ , tlr^Ir years, spelt by the unletter'd Muse,

The pUce oi" fame, and elegy supply,
And manv a holy text around she strews.

That teui;h the rustic moralist to die.

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey
This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigh'd.

Left t'le warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ?

AN ELEGY.

859

:'d,

On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires ;

Even from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
Even in our ashes live their wonted fires.

For thee, who, mindful of the unhonor'd dead.
Dost in tliese lines tlieir artless tale relate,

If chance, by lonely contemplation led,

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, —

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
" Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn,

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away.
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

" There at the foot of yonder nodding beech.
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high.

His listless lengtii at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

" Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove ;

Now drooping, woful, wan, like one forlorn.

Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.

" One morn T miss'd him on the accustom'd hill,
Along the heath, and near his favorite tree ;

Another came : nor yet beside the rill.
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he :

" The next, with dirges due, in sad arrav,

Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne ;
Approach, and read (for thou canst read) the lay

Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn : "

THE EPITAPH.

ise.

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth,
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown :

Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere.
Heaven did a recompense as largely send :

He gave to misery all ho luid — a tear,

He gain'd from heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend-

360

THE VOICE OF SPRING.

No further seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,

(There they alike in trembling hope repose,)
The bosom of his father and his God.

Thomas Gkay.

-1 -^

HOPE BEYOND THE GRAVE.

' Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more ;

I mourn — but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you ;
For morn is approaching, your churms to restore.

Perfumed with fre.sh fragrance, and glittering with dew.
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn ;

Kind nature the embryo blossom will save ;
But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn ?

Oh, when shall it dawn oil the night of the grave?

'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betraj^'d.

That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind.
My thoughts wont to roam, from sliade onward to shade.

Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.
" O pity, great Fathor of light." then I cried,

" Thy creature, who fain would not wander from Thee !
Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride ;

From doubt and from darkness Thou only canst free."

And daikness and doubt are now flying away, ^

No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn:
So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray.

The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.
See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending.

And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom !
On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending,

An^ Beauty imqiortal awakes from the tomb !

'Aq^i,, Beattie,

f THE VOICE

♦»

OF SPRING.

I COME, I come ! ye have call'd me long —
I come o'er the mountains with li<;ht and sono-.
Te may trace my step o'er the wakening earth,
By the winds which tell of the violet's birth,
By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves opening as I pass,

/-.

THE VOICE OF SPRING.

361

Ming,

;attie.

■a.

T have breatlied on the South, and the chestnut flowers
By thousands liave burst from the forest-bowers ;
And tlie ancient graves, and the fallen fanes
Are veii'd with wreaths on Italian plains ;
But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom,
To speak of the ruin or the tomb !

I have pass'd on the hills of the stormy North,

And the larch has hung all its tassels forth,

Tiie fisher is out on the sunny sea,

And the reindeer bounds through the pastures free.

And the pine has a fringe of softer green.

And the moss looks bright where my foot hath been.

I have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh,
And call'd out eacli voice of the deep-blue sky ;
From the night bird's lay through the starry time,
Jft the proves of th^ soft Hesperian clime,

362

TBIES AND SEASONS.

To the swan's wild note by the Iceland lakes,
"When the dark fir-brauch into verdure breaks.

From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain ;
They are sweeping on to the silvery main, ,

They are flashing down from the mountain-brows.
They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs,
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves,
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves !

Come forth, O ye children of ghidness ! come !
Where the violets lie may be now your home.
Ye of the rose-lip and dew-bright eye.
And the bounding footsteps to meet me fly !
"With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay,
Come forth to the sunshine — I may not stay.

Away from the dwellings of care-worn men.
The waters are sparkling in wood and glen !
Away from the chamber and sullen hearth,
The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth !
Their light stems thiill to the wild-wood strains,
And youth is abroad in my green domains.

IfJl^ 4 ton...-. J^^'J ' "^^ ', ' rh 91- . J 3 i-

L I' ^.«ri.w' times' i|jDSEASb'^S.//a :^,oJ-h

The lark has sung his carol in the sky.

The bees have humra'd their noontide lullaby;

Still in the vale the village bells ring round.

Still in Llewellyn hall the jests re.-onnd;

For now the caudle-cup is circling there,

Now, ghid at heart, the gossips bieathe their prayer,

And, crowding, stop the cradle to admire

The babe, the sleeping image of his sire.

A few short years, and then theso sounds shall hail

The day airiin, and gludness fill the vale ;

So soon the child a youth, the youth a man,

Eager to run the race his fathers ran.

Then the hiwe ox shall vield the broad sirloin ;

The ale, new brew'd, in floods of amler shine;

And basking in the chimney's ample blaze,

Mid many ji tale told of his boyisli days

Cvt.tltl tO

WHAT IS TIME?

363

lam ; .

HANS.

(M-.ti'-'-''''

rayer,
hail

The nurse shall cry, of all her illp beguiled,

" 'Twas on these knees he sK so oft and smiled."

And soon again shall n^usic swell the breeze ;
Soon, issuing forth, shpll glitter through the trees
Vestures of nuptipl /vhite ; and hymns be sung,
And violets scat'-er'd round ; and old and young,
In every cottage porch with garlands green,
Stand still to ^'aze, and gazing, bless the scene,
While, her dark eyes declining, by his side,
Moves in hor virgin veil the gentle bride.

And once, alas ! nor in a distant hour.
Another voice shall come from yonder tower ;
When in dim chambers long black weeds are seen
And weeping heard where only joy has been ;
When by his children borne, and from his door,
Slowly departing to return no more.
He rests in holy earth with them that weut before.

Rogers.

WHAT IS TIME? /^^r4(^ux^^V ''''''/

I ask'd an aged man, a man of cares, '^

Wrinkled and curved, and white with hoary hairs :

" Time is the warp of life," he said ; " oh tell

The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it well ! "

I ask'd the ancient, venerable dead.

Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled ;

From the cold grave a hollow murmur flowed :

" Time sow'd the seed we reap in this abode ! "

I asked a dying sinner ere the tide

Of life had left his veins : " Time ! " he replied ;

" I've lost it ! Ah the treasure ! " — and he died.

I asked the golden sun and silver spheres,

Those bright chronometers of days and years ;

They answered : " Time is but a meteor glare,'

And bade us for eternity prepare.

I ask'd the Seasons, in their annual round,

Which beautify or desolate the ground ;

And they replied, (no oracle more wise,)

" 'Tis Folly's blank, and Wisdom's highest prize ! *

I ask'd a spirit lost, but oh ! the shriek

That pierced my soul ! I shudder while I speak !

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864

AUBUIt^^

It cried* " A particle, a speck, a mite

Of endless years, duration infinite 1 "

Of things inanimate, my dial I

Consulted, and it made me this reply.

" Time is the season fair of living well.

The path of glory, or the path of hell."

I ask'd my Bible, and methinks it said :

*' Time is the present hour, the past is fled ;

Live ! live to-day ! to morrow uever yet

On any human being rose or set."

I ask'd old Father Time himself at last ;

But in a moment he flew swiftly past ! —

His chario* was a cloud, the viewless wind

His n jiseless steeds, which left no trace behind.

I ask'd the mighty Angel, who shall stand

One foot on sea, and one qn solid land :

" By Heaven ? " he cried, " I swear the mystery's o'er ;

Time was," he cried, " but time shall be no morb! "

MA.RSDEN.

AUBURN.

SwKET Auburn ! loveliest village of tiie plain.
Where health and plenty cheer'd the laboring swain
Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid ;
And parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd ;
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,
Seats of my youth, when e^a^ry sport could please ;
How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green.
Where humble happiness endear'd each scene •!
How often have I paused on every charm,
The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the busy mill.
The decent church that topt the neighboring bill ;
The hawthorn-bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age, and whispering lovers made ?

Sweet was tl>e sound, when oft, at evening's close,
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ;
There as I pass'd, ^Vith careless steps and slow,
The mingling notes came soften'd from below ;
The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung ;
The sober herd that low'd to meet their young ;

THE GRAVES OF A HOlTSEHOttt.

The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool ;
The playful children just let loose from school ;
The watchdog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind,
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind ;
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,
, , And fillVl each pause the nightinffMle had made.

fvLO

THUNDER STORM AMONG THE ALPS.

The sky is changed ! — and such a change ! O night,
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong.
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among,
Leaps the live thunder ! not from one lone cloud,
But every mountain now hath found a tongue.
And Jura answers, throuirh her misty shroud,
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud i •

And this is in the night : — most glorious night I
Thou wert not sent from slumber ! let me be
A sharer in thy fierce and far delight —
A portion of the tempest and of thee !
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea.
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth
And now again 'tis black — and now the glee
Of the loud hill shakes with its mountain-mirth,
As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth.

THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.

They grew in beauty, side by side,
They lill'd one home with glee ;

Their graves are sever'd far and wide,
By mount, and stream, and sea.

The sam3 fond mother bent at night,

O'er each fair sleeping brow ;
She had each folded flower in sight,^

Where are those dreamers now ?

SEfAUATlOi^.

One, 'midst the forests of the West,

By a dark stream is laid —
The Indian knows his place of rest,

Far in the cedar-shade.

The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one-
He lies where pearls lie deep ;

He was the loved of all, yet none
O'er his low bed may weep I

One sleeps where southern vines are drest

Above the noble slain ;
He wrapt his colors round his breast,

On a blood-red field of Spain.

And one — o'er her the myrtle showers

Its leaves, by soft winds fann'd ;
She faded 'midst Italian flowers —

The last of that bright band.

And parted thus they rest, who pray'd

Beneath the same green tree ;
Whose voices mingle as they pray'd

Around one parent knee !

They that with smiles lit up the hall,
And cheer'd with mirth the hearth —

Alas for love ! if thou wert all,
And naught beyond,. Earth !

'Iv-i y^'^\ . '^sX/iKriQ. ui ' ■ Mrs Hemans.

ft',

(.*^» I '-x vv: '"-'-^

.) ^ -

^0/

SEPARATION. J

Friend after friend departs ;
Who hath not lost a friend ?
There is no union here of hearts
That finds not here an end !
Were this frail world our final rest,
Living or dying, none were blest.

Beyond the flight of time, —
Beyond the reign of death, —

There surely is some blessed clime,
Where life is not a breath :

1^,

,cf: 4^C4AA

SEPARATIOK.

se:

jCi^A

Nor life's affections transient fire,
Whose sparks fly upward and expire.

There is a world above,

Where parting is unknown ;
A long eternity of love,
Form'd for the good alone ;
And faith beholds the dying here
Translated to that glorious sphere !

Thus star by star declines,
Till all are pass'd away ;
As morning high and higher shines,
To pure and perfect day :
Nor sink those stars in empty night,
But hide themselves in heaven's own light.

rt \.-K^ •'-■v

\1 {/'I'i i'H

/ y

STOEY OF LE FEVKE.

STORY OF LE FEVRE.

•

It was sometime in the summer of that year in which Dender-
mond was taken by the Allies, when my uncle Toby was one
evening getting his supper, with Trim sitting behind him at a
small sideboard, — I say sitting ; for, in considerution of the
corporal's lame knee, which sometimes gave him excpiisite pain,
— when my uncle Toby dined or supped alone, he would never
suffer the corporal to stand : and the poor ftdlow's veneration for
his master was such, that, with a proper artillery, my uncle Toby
could have taken Dendermond itself with less trouble than he
was able to gain this point over him ; for many a time, when
my uncle Toby supposed the corporal's leg was at rest, he would
look back, and detect him standing behind him with the most
dutiful respect. This bred more little squabbles betwixt them
than all other causes for five and twenty years together.

He was one evening sitting thus at his supper, when the land-
lord of a little inn in the village came into the parlor with an
empty phial in his hand, to beg a glass or two of sack. " 'Tis
for a poor gentleman — I think of the army," said the landlord,
who has been taken ill at my house, four days ago, and has never
held up his head since, or had a desire to taste anything — till
just now that he has a fancy for a glass of sack and a thin toast
— ' I think,' says he, taking his hand from his forehead, ' it
would comfort me.' —

— '• If I could neither beg, borrow, nor buy such a thing,"
added !.he landlord, " I would almost steal it for the poor gentle-
man he is so ill. — I hope he will still mend," continued he :
**■ we are all of us concerned for him."

— " Thou art a good-nutured soul, I will answer for thee,"
cried my uncle Toby " and thou shalt drink the poor gentle-
man's health in a glass of sack thyself, — and take a couple of
bottles, with my service, and tell him he is heartily welcome to
them, and to a dozen more, if they will do him good.

" Though I am persuaded," said my uncle Toby, as the land-
lord shut the door, " he is a very compassionate fellow, Trim,
yet I cannot help entertaining a high opinion of his guest too ;
there must be something more than common in him, that, in so
short a time, should win so much upon the affections of his
host " — " And of his whole family," added the corporal ; " for
they are all concerned for him."—" Step after him," said my
uncle Toby — " do, Trim, and ask if he knows his name,"

—"I

back in

son aga

Toby— '

twelve J

little as

him nig

two duyi

" ' If

his son

*But, ala

the land

long; an

with him

*• I wa

the youth

lord spoi

youth. — '

said I, ta

chair to i

sir,' said 1

am sure,'

for being

iiand, and

uncle Tob

and the m

of a friend

** I nev(

great a mi

What coul

" Nothing

nose — * bu

" When

thought it

vant, and t

concerned 1

house or eel

said my ui

made a ve

answer, his

* I Warrant

* your fathe

4»

STORV OF L13 FEVRB.

369

toast
d, 'it

Itbee,"
rentle-
[ple of
Ime to

laiid-
iTrim,
^t too ;
in so
I of liis
"for
lid my

— " I have quite forgot it, truly," said the landlord, coming
back into the parlor with the corporal ; " but i can ask his
son again." — " Has he a son with him, then ? " said my uncle
Toby — " A boy," replied the landlord, " of about eleven or
twelve years of age ; but the poor creature has tast^ almost as
little as his father — he does nothing but mourn and lament for
liim night and day — he has not stirred from the bedside these
two days." ....

*' * It" I get better, my dear,* said he, as he gave his purse to
his son to pay the man, — ' we can hire horses from hence.' —
' But, alas ! the poor gentleman will never get from hence,* said
the landlady to me, — ' for I heard the death-watch all night
long ; and when he dies, the youth, his son, will certainly die
with him ; for he is broken-hearted already.'

*• I was hearing this account," continued the corporal, " when
the youth came into the kitchen to order the thin toast the land-
lord spoke of. — ' But I will do it for my father myself,* said the
youth. — ' Pray, let me save you the trouble, young gentleman,'
said I, taking up a fork for the purpose, and offering him my
chair to sit down upon by the fire whilst I did it. * I believe
sir,' said he very modestly, ' 1 can please him best myself.' — ' I
am sure,' said I, ' his honor will not like the toast the worse
for being toasted by an old soidier.' The youth took hold of my
hand, and instantly burst into tears ! — *' Poor youth ! " said my
uncle Toby, — " he has been bred up from an infant in the army,
and the name of a soldier, Trim, sounded in his ears like the name
of a friend ; — I wish I had him here."

*' I never in the longest march," said the corporal, " had so
great a mind to my dinner as I had to cry with him for company.
What could be the matter with me, an't please your honor?" —
" Nothing in the world, Trim,*' said my uncle Toby, blowing his
nose — '' but that thou art a good-natured-fellow.'*

" When I gave him the toast," continued the corporal, " I
thought it was proper to tell him I wa^ Captain Shandy's ser-
vant, and that your honor — though a stranger — was extremely
concerned for his father : — and that if theie was anything in your
house or cellar " — "And thou raightest have added my purse, too,"
said my uncle Toby ; " he was heartily welcome to it." — " He
made a very low bow, which was meant to your honor, but no
answer, his heart was full, so he went up-stairs with the toast,

* I warrant you, my dear,* said I, as I opened the kitchen door,

* your father will be well a^ain.' Mr. Yorick's curate was smok«
^ 4r ** 24

870

STORY OF LB FEVRB

ing a pipe by the kitchen fire, but said not a word, good or bad,
to comfort the youth. 1 thojght it wrong," added the corporal.
— •' I think so too," said m^ uncle T'oby.

" When the lieutenant had taken ?r.L ;;la8s of sack and toast
he felt himself a little revived, and sent -'own into the kitchen to
let me know that in about ten minutes he should be glad if I
would step up-stairs. ' I believe,' said the landlord, ' he is going
to say his prayers — for there was a book laid upon liis chair by
his bed-side ; and, as I shut the door, I saw his son take up his
cushion' —

" ' I thought,* said the curate, * that you gentlemen of the
army, Mr. Trim, never said your prayers at all.' — ' I heard the
poor gentleman say his pra3'ers last night,' said the landlady, ' very
devoutly, and with my own ears, or I could not have believed it.' —

* Are you sure of it ? ' replied the curate. — ' A soldier an't please
your reverence,' said I, ' prays as often, of his own accord, as a
parson : and when he is fighting for his king, and for his own
life, and for his honor too, he has the most reason to pray to
God of anvone in the whole world.' " — '' 'Twas well said of thee.
Trim," said my uncle ^.' 'y "But when a soldier,' said I,
' an't please 3'our reverrjce, has been standing for twelve hours
together in the trenches, up to his knees in cold water, or engaged,
said I, 'for five months tosether, i?i 1 m<i and dangerous marches :
harassed, perhaps, in his rear to-day ; harassing others to-morrow ;
detached here, countermanded there ; resting this night out upon
his arms ; beat up in his shirt the next ; benumbed in his joints,
perhaps without straw in his tent to kneel on ; he must say his
prayers how and whc7i he can. I believe,' said I — for I was
piqued," quoth the corporal, " for the reputation of the army —

* I believe, an't please your reverence,' said I, *■ that when a sol-
dier, gets time to pray, he prays as heartily as a parson, though
not with all his fuss and hypocrisy." — " Thou shouldst not have
said that, Trim," said my uncle Toby ; " for God only knows
who is a hypocrite and who is not. At the great and general
review of us all, corporal, ai the day of judgment, an 1 not till
then, it will be seen who have done their duties in this world,
and who have not ; and we shall be advanced, Trim, accordin^^ly."
— '' I hope we shnll," said Trim. — " It is in the Scripture/' said my
uncle Toby, " and I will show it thee to-morrow. In the mean-
time, we may depend upon it. Trim, for our comfort," said my
uncle Toby, '' that God Almighty is so good and just a Governor
of the world, that if we have but done our duties in it, it will

laever
or a b
Trim,'
"\V
tenant
minute
hand, I
kerchie
up the
book w
cushion
away at
the lieu
'•He
to his b<
\Vou m
boy's th;
of Level
' Then,'
and rem(
of any 5
You will
laid unde
Angus's ;•
possibly
captain I
tunately h
tent,' — ' I
' very wel

handkerch
little rino-
ribbon abc
he. The )
dowi upon
then kissec

"I wish,
Trim, I we

" Your h
shall I pou

** Do, Tri

"Iremet
of the ens

STORY OF LE FETHE.

871

»ral.

oast
n to
if I
;oing
irby
p his

E the
i the
' very
lit.'—
please
I, as a
s own
i-ay to
f thee,
laid I,

never he inquired into whether we have done them in a red coat
or a black one." — " 1 hope not/' said the corporal. — " But go on,
Trim," said my uncle Toby, " with the story."

" When 1 went up," continued tlie corporal, " into the lieu-
tenant's room, which I did not do till the expiration of the ten
minutes, he was lying in his bed with liis head raise'^ upon his
hand, his elbow upon tlie pillow, and u clean white cambric hand-
kerchief bes'de it. The youth was just stooping down to take
up the cushion, upon which I suppose he had been kneeling, (the
book was laid upon the bed;) and, as he rose, in taking up the
cushion with one hand, he reached out his other to take the book
away at the same time. 'Let it remain there, my dear,' said
the lieutenant.

'• He did not offer to speak to me till I had walked up close
to his bed-side. ' If you are Captain Shandy's servant,' said he,
*you must present my thanks to your master, w^th my little
boy's thanks along with them, for his courtesy to me. — If he was
of Leven's,' said the lieutenant ; — I told him your honor was. —
' Then,' said he, ' I served three campaigns with him in Flanders,
and remember him ; — but, tis most likely, as 1 had not the honor
of any acquaintance with him, that he knows nothing of me.
You will tell him, however, that the person his good nature has
laid under obligations to him is one Le Fevre, a lieutenant in
Angus's ; — but he knows me not,' said he a second time, musing :
possibly he may know my story,' added he ; ' pray tell the
captain I was the ensign at Breda whose wife was most unfor-
tunately killed with a musket-shot, as she lay in my arms in my
tent,' — 'I remember the story, an't please your honor,' said I
' very well.' — ' Do you so ? ' said he, wiping his eyes with his

handkerchief. ' then well may I' In saying this he drew a

little ring out of nis bosom, which seemed tied with a black
ribbon about his neck, and kissed it twice—' Here, Billy, | said
he. The boy flaw across the room to the bed-side, and falling
dowi upon his knee, took the ring in his hand, and kissed it too,
then kissed his father, and sat down u )on the bed and wept."

"I wish," said my uncle Toby, with a deep sigh— " I wish,
Trim, I were asleep."

" Your honor," replied the corporal, " is too much concerned ;
shall T pour your honor out a glass of sack to your pipe ? " —

*■ Do, Trim," said my uncle Toby.

"1 remember," saidiry uncle Toby, sighi'.ig again, " the story
of the ensign and his wife — and particularly well that he, as

STORY OF LE FEVRE.

well as slie, Upon some account op other — I forget what— was
universally pitied hy the whole rejjiment : — hut finish the story."
— " 'Tis finished already," said the corporal — " for I could stay
no longer, — so wished his honor a good night. Young Le
Fevre rose from oif the hed, and saw me to the bottom of the
stairs ; and, as we went down together, he told me they had come
from Ireland, and were on their route to join the regiment
in Flanders. — Rut alas ! " said the corporjd, the " lieutenant'^
last day's march is over ! " — "Then what is to become of his
poor boy ? " cried my uncle Toby.

" Thou hast left this matter short," said my uncle Toby to the
corporal, as he was putting him to bed — " and I will tell thee
in what, Trim. — In the first place, when thou madest an offer of
my services to Le Ft-vre, — as sickness and travelling are both
expensive, and thou knewest he was but a poor lieutenant, with
a son to subsist as well as himself out of his pay, — that thou
didst not make an offer to hiin of my purse ; because, had he
stood in need, thou knowest, Trim, he had been as welcome to it
as myself." — "Your honor knows," said the corporal, '* I had
no orders." — *' Thou," quoth my uncle Toby, " thoa didst very
right, Trim, as a soldier, but certainly very wrong as a
man:

'' In the second place — for which, indeed, thou hast the same
excuse " — continued my uncle Toliy, " when thou offeredst him
whatever was in my house, thou shouldst have offered him my
house too ; — a sick brother-officer should have the best quarters,
Trim ; and if we had him with us we could tend and look to
him ; thou art an excellent nurse thyself. Trim ; and what with
thy care of him, and the old woman's, and his boy's, and mine
together, — we might recruit him again at once, and set him
upon his legs.

" In a fortnight or three weeks," added my uncle Toby,
smiling, " he might march." — " He will never march, an't plaase
your honor in this world," said the corporal. — ** He will
march," said my uncle Toby, rising up from the side of the bed
with one shoe off. — " An't please your honor," said the cor-
poral, " he will never march, but to his grave." — " He shall
march," cried my uncle Toby, marching the foot that had a
shoe on. though without advancing an inch — "he shall march to
his regiment." — " He cannot stand it," said the corporal. — " He
shall be supported," said my uncle Toby. — " He'll drop at last,"
said the corporal ; " and what will become of his boy ? " — ^'* He

shall
whal
poor
with
Th
with
Angi
and t

pocke

morni

Th,

vilhim

presse

the cij

got up

room,

the chj

custom

brothei

how h

where i

withou

on and

with th

"Yoi

** to my

matter,-

be your

Then

familiar

soul, an<

was som

which cc

shelter

finished

insensibl

the brea!

blood an<

within hi

rallied b

looked u|

STORY OF LE FEVRE.

373

-was
>ry."
stay
; Le
the
come
ment
lant'^
>i his

:o the
thee
ffer of
J both
;, with
t thou
:id he
ie to it
a had
t very
t as a

same
ist him
|im my
artera,
lOok to
,t with
mine
fct him

Toby,
please
le will
(he bed
Ihe cor-
|e shall
had a
iich to
I—" He
It last,"
— " Ho

shall not drop," said my uncle Toby, firmly. — " Ah, well-a-day, do
what we can for him," said Trim, maintaining his point, *' the
poor soul will die." — " He shall not die," cried my uncle Toby,
with an oath.

The Accusing Spirit, which flew up to Heaven's chancery
with the oath, blushed as he gave it in ; and the Rkcordino
Anoel, as he wrote it down, droj)ped a tear upon the word —
and blotted it out for ever !

My uncle Toby went to his bureau, put his purse into his
pocket, and having ordered the corporal to go early in the
morning for a physician, he went to bed and fell asleep.

The sun looked bright, the morning after, to every eye in the
village but Le Fevre's and his afflicted son's ; tiie hand of death
pressed heavy upon his eyelids, and hardly could the wheel at
the cistern turn round its circle — when my uncle Toby, who had
got up an hour before his wonted time, entered the lieutenant'^
room, and, with »iit preface or apology, sat himself down upon
the chair by the bed-side, and, independently of all modes and
customs, opened the curtain in the manner an old friend and
brother-officer would have done it, and asked him how he did, —
how he had rested in the night, — what was his complaint, —
where was his pain, — and what he could do to serve him ? — and,
without giving him time to answer any one ot the inquiries, went
on and told him of the little plan which he had been concerting
with the corporal the night before for him.

" You shall go home directly, Le Fevre," said my uncle Toby,
" to my house, — and we'll send for a doctor to see what's the
matter, — and we'll have an apothecary, — and the corporal shall
be your nurse, — and I'll be your servant, Le Fevre ! "

There was a frankness in my uncle Toby, — not the effect of
familiarity but the cause of it, — which let you at once into his
soul, ami showed you the goodness of his nature. To this there
was something in his looks, and voice, and manner superadded,
which continually beckoned to the unfortunate to come and take
shelter under him ; so that, before my uncle Toby had half
finished the kind offer he was making to the father, the son had
insensibly pressed up close to his knees and had taken holu of
the breast of his coat, and was pulling it towards him. The
blood and spirits of Le Fevre, which were waxing cold and slow
within him, and were retreating to their last citadel, the heart,
rallied back ! The film forsook his eyes for a moment, he
looked up wistfully in my uncle Toby's face, then cast a look

374

ADAMS MORNING HYMN.

upon his boy. And that ligament, fine as it was, was never
broken !

Nature instantly ebbed a^jain — the film returned to its place —
the pulse fluttered — stop])ed — we. 1 1 on — throbbed — stopped
again — moved — stopped. Shall I go on ? — No ! Stkune.

' Jaa,^^^'-^ »

^i^ <--

ADAM'S MORNING HYMN.

These are Thv jjlorlous works, Parent of good.

Almighty ! Thine this universal frame,

Tluis wondrous fair ; Thyself how wouih'ous then !

Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heavens,

To us invisible, or dimly seen

In these thy lowest works ; yet these declare

Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.

Speak, ye, who best can tell, ye sons of light,

Angels ; for ye behold Him, and, with songs

And choral symphonies, dny without night.

Circle His throne rejoicing; ye in heaven,

On earth, join, all ye creatui-es, to extol

Him first, Him last. Him midst, luid without t;nd.

Fairest of stars, last in the train of night.

If, better, thou belong not to the dawn.

Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn

With thy bright circlet, praise Him in tliy sphere,

While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.

Thou sun, of this great world both eye and soul,

Acknowledge Him thy greater, sound His praise

In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st.

And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou fall'st.

Moon, that now meet st the orient sun, now fliest

With the fix'd stars in their orb that flies .

And ye T.ve other wandering fires, that move

In mystic dance, not without song, resound

His praise, who out of darkness call'd up light.

His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow.
Breath soft, or loud ; and 'vave your tops, ye pines,
With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow.

mmss*^

MAN WAS MADE TO MOUKN.

875

NE.

Melodious murmurs, warbling tune His praise.
Join voices, all ye living souls; ye birds,
That singing up to heaven-gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes His praise*
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep.
Witness if I be silent, morn or even.
To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade,
Made vacaljby^v song, and taught His praise.
fili'. ^ V «jGra,^ j^'tiia^ <' < . Y/j:\ a V v;>h Milton.

/^6>$,'/67V

AS MADE TO MOURN.

O Man ! while in thy early years,

How prodigal of time !
Misspending all thy precious hours,

Thy glorious youthful prime !
Alternate follies take the sway ;

Licentious passions burn ;
Which tenfold force give nature's law.

That man was made to mourn. ♦

Look not alone on youthful prime,

Or manhood's active might;
Man then is useful to his kind.

Supported is his right :
But see him on the edge of life.

With cares and sorrows worn
Then age and want, oh, ill-match'd pair !

Show man was made to mourn.

A few seem favorites of fate.

In pleasures lap caress'd ;
Yet, think not all the rich and great

Are likewise truly blest :
But, oh ! what crowds in every land

Are wretched and forlorn ;
Through weary life this lesson learn

That man was made to mourn.

Many and sharp the numerous ills
Inwoven with our frame I

S76

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.

More pointed still we make ourselves
Regret, remorse and shame !

And man, whose heaven-erected face
The smiles of love adorn,

Man's inhumanity to man

Makes countless thousands mourn.

Yet let not this too much, my son,

Disturb thy youthful breast ;
This partial view of human kind

Is surely not the best.
The poor, oppress'd, honesf: man

Had never, s ire, been born.
Had there not been some recompense

To comfort those that mourn !

^oJZux io' ' Vi^i^?^U> Burns.

CovCf^:'^

THE END.

ir.-r •.^»

■"*^

EHGt^TSH.

P. Mavon.

060

000

OSO

oas

088

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