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 SEQUEL 
 
 TO THE 
 
 
 FOR 
 
 THE USE OF SCHOOLS. 
 
 DUBLIN: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY DIRECTION OP THE COMMISSIONERS 
 OF NATIONAL EDUCATION ; 
 
 And re-published, by special sanction, at 
 MONTREAL, 
 
 BY 
 
 R. & A. MILLER. 
 
 1859. 
 
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.ai?Sfett»J/;;^ss?saflfe • 
 
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 i 
 
 MONTREAL: 
 
 PUBLIBBBD BT R. & A. MlLLSB, 
 
 5t FrcmcoU Javier Street. 
 
 226083 
 
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mssiasa: 
 
 s:*^aaft 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 R 
 
 The advance from the Second to the Third 
 Book of Lessons having been found to be 
 not sufficiently gradual, this little book has 
 been published for the purpose of supply- 
 ing the want. 
 
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 CONTENTS. 
 
 Iff- 
 
 n 
 
 [Monday Morning, or going to School, — 
 
 Part First, 1 
 
 Part Second, 5 
 
 ^r^ Part Third, 9 
 
 National Anthem, . '. ... '. . ". 12 
 The History of Columbus and his Discovery , 
 of America, — j _ a 
 
 Part First, . 13 
 
 Part Second, . . . . . . . , 19 
 
 Part Third, . : . .':''. T . 26 
 Perseverance ; or, the History of William 
 Hutton, — . ' " *' 
 ' Part First, 30 
 
 ;' - Part Second, , . . 36 
 
 « 
 
 <?H*a2«»i5: 
 
• 
 
 • • • 
 
 TllL 
 
 Our Ancestors — We are all of ooe race, — 
 
 Part First, 42 
 
 Part Second, 44 
 
 The Italian Carpenter and his Neigh j>onr, — 
 
 ' Part First, 48 
 
 Part Second, 53 
 
 The Italian Boy,— 
 
 Part First, 36 
 
 Th« Old Man's Story 58 
 
 Part Second, 62 
 
 OW THE TWO NATURAL^DIVISIONS OF THE WORLD, 
 — LAND AND WATBR. 
 
 Land, 67 
 
 Story of a Desert, . , 72 
 
 What things the Earth produces for Man, . 80 
 
 Water,— 
 
 Part First . 83 
 
 Part Second, 86 
 
 Springs of Water Springs, Wells, and 
 Pumps, 89 
 
 Effects produced by Water The Landslip 
 over Goldau, 93 
 
 History of Marie, 96 
 
 ■:^i'^:^z^£i^'img"i*Kr 
 
 l4^iiJ. 
 
;-^:7t&l^: 
 
 » ,' 
 
 tOOLOGT, OR THS KITOWLISOB OF AinMALS. 
 
 Ornithologj, or Knowledge of Birds, ... 99 
 First Order of Birds. — Birds of Prey, or 
 
 Rapacious Birds, 104 
 
 The Eagle, 105 
 
 The Theft of the Golden Eagle, . 106 
 
 Hawks, 109 
 
 Owls, Ill 
 
 SecoTtd Order of Birds.— FsLSserintt » . .112 
 
 Story of a Raven, 113 
 
 Story of a Robin, 115 
 
 Third Order of Birds, — Scansores or Clim- 
 bers, 116 
 
 ' The Cuckoo, 116 : 
 
 The Woodpecker, . . . . . .117 
 
 Fourth Order of Birds. — Rasores, Poultry, 
 &c., 117 
 
 Fifth Order of Birds. ^Gr^lsitoTea or 
 
 Waders, 118 
 
 The Water-Hen, ^^6 A 
 
 Sixth Order of Birds. — Natatores, or Web- 
 footed, Swimming Birds, . . ... 119 
 Story of the Goose, . . . » . 120 
 The Coot seated on his nest and floated 
 
 down the river in a storm, 121 
 
 a2 
 
 '^:^iii^U 
 
•rratf; 
 
 # 
 
 QUADRUPEDS. 
 
 Quadrumana, or four handed Animals : 
 
 The Ape and Monkey, .125 
 
 Story of the Ape Ungka, . . . .126 
 Plantigrade ; Quadrupeds which walk on 
 
 the soles of their feet 131 
 
 The Bear, . .... . . . i.n 
 
 ^'■•'' Story of a White Bear . . . .132 
 
 Marsupial, Pouched Animals, 133 
 
 Digitigrade ; Animals which walk on their 
 
 toes, 135 
 
 Anecdote of a Shepherd's Dog, . . ^37 
 
 The Cat, - 14^0 
 
 The Lion, .... . . ... li 1 
 
 Anecdote of the Lion and the 1 >t 
 
 lenioi'y •••...••. ; ^^A^ 
 
 Rodentia, or Gnawing Animals, . . . !.:{ 
 
 Edentate Animals, H5 
 
 The Dormouse, 145 
 
 ' ^ HOOFED ANIMALS. ' 
 
 ft 
 
 Ruminant Animals, 147 
 
 The Camel, : . . 149 
 
 Non-Kuminant'; called, also. Thick-skinned 
 
 Animals, or Pachydermata, 1 50 
 
 ,.- The Elephant, 151 
 
 ! 
 
XI. 
 
 Ha^e. 
 
 Privations and Natural Defects, . 154 
 
 Of the Blind, 155 
 
 The|Deaf and Dumb, .... .158 
 History of Laura Bridgman, . . .160 
 
 t"wm'^^'' 
 
w>:*Mi«.^i^.^:r*:2Sr; 
 
^r^aft 
 
 SEQUEL 
 
 TO THB 
 
 
 
 SECOND BOOK OF LESSONS. 
 
 MONDAY MORNING, OR GOING TO SCHOOL* 
 
 ti-dy 
 im-por-tant 
 
 er-rand 
 
 scAool 
 
 prec-ious 
 
 cel-e-brate 
 
 e-vent 
 
 neighrhonn 
 
 Fart First. 
 
 bus-i-nes8 
 
 pour-ing 
 
 Nat-ion-al 
 
 tbous-and . . 
 
 trip-ping 
 
 mis-tress-es 
 
 bus-y , 
 
 I '« 
 
 anx-iouB 
 
 ex-plaio 
 
 Gov-em-ment 
 
 o-ver-Iook 
 
 suf-fic-ient 
 
 an-8t^7er 
 
 8us-pect 
 
 1 > •* f • 
 
 mul-ti-tudes 
 
 It Lb Monday Morning, and tbe Tillage, at a cer- 
 tain well-known hour, is quite alive with girls 
 and boys of every age and size, their hair comb- 
 ed, their face and hands clean, and, if they are 
 tidy, or have tidy mothers, with neat clothes. 
 
 t 
 
,1 j 
 
 The big ones are kindly leading by the hand a 
 little brother, or sister, or neighbour — all on a 
 very important errand : they arc going to school. 
 It is pleasant to walk through a country town 
 or village on Monday Morning. The children 
 are all looking their cleanest and freshest, and 
 tlieir parents have not that tired worn look 
 which they get towards the end of the week ; for 
 yesterday was Sunday — a day of rest— a day 
 precious to all Christians. It was the resurrec- 
 tion day of our Lord Jesus Christ from the dead ; 
 and all people who call themselves Christians 
 celebrate this event, and consider the day as a 
 holy day. For, however, they may differ from 
 their neighbours in other things, in this they all 
 feel alike that it is happy news to all that their 
 Redeemer rose from the dead and still lives for 
 them. Surely it is the quiet, religious happiness 
 of Sunday — the first day of the week — which 
 makes us feel on the second, the first of our work- 
 a-day week, so fresh and strong " to do what- 
 soever our hand findeth to do." 
 
 It is Monday, then. Every school in (Jreat 
 Britain and Ireland is beginning the business of 
 the day. Boys and girls of all ages are pouring 
 by thousands and tens of thousands into the 
 
 I 
 
 :.f^,:*:-^cr' i-!rti*'^^'rr''7,i?y*" 
 
streets, and roads, and lanes, often over bogs , 
 and mountains, on their way to school. 
 
 But I now speak of the girls and boys of Ire- 
 laud, and among them of those only who attend 
 the National Schools, because I know most about 
 them. Of these schools there are two thousand 
 nine hundred and twelve, and no fewer than 
 three hundred and fifty thousand attend them ! 
 
 ThrcH hundred and fifty thousa(Ud children, 
 then are tripping forth, like yourselves, every 
 IVlouday morning to school. Above three thous- 
 and masters and mistresses are busy preparing 
 to teach them, and many thousands of parents 
 have just had the comfort of sending out their 
 children to learn what will be good and useful 
 for them now, for their future life, and we hope 
 for ever. 
 
 I)ut of all these multitudes of living beings, are 
 there many, are there any, who ever think as 
 they walk along why they are going to school ? 
 or, how it came about that there are schools to 
 go to ? Now this is just what I want to make , 
 you think about. How all these three thousand 
 school-houses came to be built, and the books 
 i)0ught, and the teachers paid (as far as they can 
 be paid for such a hard and anxious task) it is 
 right that you should inquire, and right that you ^ 
 
,<!. , ''l»-S*J-*«i».M»»!-C«*-' " iiiStf ■' 
 
 should be told. I will explain the thing as 
 far as I am able. 
 
 The Government, that is, those who govern in 
 the Queen's name, get leave of the Parliament, 
 that is, the gentlemen who are chosen to over- 
 look the Government and watch over the con- 
 cerns of the people, to set apart a sura of money 
 for building schools, and paying teachers and 
 other expenses belonging to them. But the 
 number of schools required is so great that tliis 
 money would not be sufficient, unless the gentry 
 gave their help towards it ; and a number of 
 them do give ground, and pay part of the ex- 
 penses, when they find that a school is wanted 
 in their neighbourhood. So you see that there 
 are very many persons in your country, and in 
 England, who are kind and care for you, though 
 most of them never saw you Perhaps some 
 dunces or idle ones among you may say, "But I 
 don't like to go to school. I don't want the gen- 
 try, or any body else, to build school-houses for 
 me." To such I can make no answer at all, for 
 I suspect they will never be able to read what I 
 write ; but to you, who do care about such things, 
 and who wish to knew how it is that so many 
 people give their money, and take trouble to 
 have them taught, I will explain it. 
 
 ',;.:^f.-.^r* ' ,.:i!if;'?'9" • ',ufU»" 
 
5 
 
 
 
 Part Second, 
 
 
 ed-u-ca- 
 
 tion 
 
 con-!' m 
 
 lan«guage 
 
 val-iw 
 
 
 nec-es-sa-ry 
 
 e-spec-ial-ly 
 
 civ-i) 
 
 
 in-ter-rupts 
 
 blank 
 
 come-ly 
 
 
 in-con-ve-ni-ent 
 
 sur-face 
 
 hab-its 
 
 
 quar-rel-ling 
 
 prof-it-a-ble 
 
 li-a-ble 
 
 
 prac-tis-ed 
 
 de-scend-ed 
 
 We tbink tbat a good education is one of tbe 
 chief blessings which we ourselves possess, and 
 therefore we wish to give it to others— to those 
 whose parents cannot afford to pay for it them- 
 selves. And, that you may see why we value it 
 so much, I will endeavor to explain to you what a 
 good education consists in. 
 
 Now, I can best do this by reminding you how 
 you were trained when you first came to school, 
 and what you have since been taught, for, as 
 many of you came when very young, you may 
 fancy that you were always as orderly in your 
 habits, as gentle ,\civil, clean ^and tidy as we trust 
 you are now. You may remember indeed, tbat 
 you did not know how to read and write ; but 
 you are very likely to have forgotten how little 
 you knew besides ; for your parents, howev^ 
 kind, bad not time to instruct you. 
 
 .i>'JWi- 
 
I 
 
 6 
 
 First, then, you were taught to come to school 
 with clean hands, face, and hair ; because dirt 
 spoils and dishonours these comely bodies, which 
 God has given us, and makes them more liable 
 to disease. 
 
 Next, you were taught habits of order, — to put 
 away your things, your hats, or cloaks, or bon- 
 nets, in their proper places, to be civil and res- 
 pectful in your behaviour towards your teachers, 
 and gentle to each other ; to be silent during les- 
 sons I and to conform to all the other rules oi 
 your school. This was the first part of your edu- 
 cation, and these things are taught first, not be- 
 cau o they are all in themselves the most im- 
 portant, but because they are necessary to the 
 peace and comfort of others, and therefore to 
 the order of the school. You know how disa- 
 greeable it is to sit by a dirty child ; how a noisy 
 one interrupts your lessons ; how inconvenient 
 it would be, both to your teacher and your- 
 selves, if each one was allowed to throw his 
 things where he pleased, what quarrelling it 
 would give rise to, and how it would liinder the 
 business of the school. It was necessary, then, 
 that you should first learn to be clean, civil, gen- 
 tle, and orderly ; tor this is part of your duty to 
 your neighbour, and must be practised at your 
 
 . JJP Vr^C*' ' ;.tJ?i'?**?'^ *> ' ■',» jf)»":^ 
 
homes, and wherever you may be, through life. 
 
 The next things you learn are for your own 
 use and advantage. You learn to read. I wish 
 I could make you perceive what an advantage 
 you gain by knowing how to read. Mind, J do 
 not, by reading, mean merely repeating aloud 
 the words and se)iteD2es in your book, but under- 
 standing the meaning of them, as you under- 
 stand the conversation of any one who speaks to 
 you. When you read them to yourselves, they 
 are to you a silent language, which your mind 
 takes in from your eye mstead of your ear. Of 
 course, you may make a bad use of reading, for 
 there are bad books in the world, as well as 
 good ones, which you may read ; but so you may 
 make a bad use of any of God's gifts — of speaking 
 especially, as I fear many people do. 
 
 Before you learned to read, you knew very 
 little about things, and places, and people be- 
 yond the place where your own friends lived, 
 and not much even about that. The face of na- 
 ture was a blank to you ; for you had never 
 learned to think about whqt you saw. You 
 knew nothing about the sun, and moon, and 
 stars 5 very little of the things which grow out 
 of the earth, or of the creatures which live upon 
 it ; very little about the clothes you wear, or the 
 
 J 
 
 •• '.a^w" 
 
8 
 
 commonest things 
 
 jour homes ; and perhaps^, 
 nothing about other people and other countries, 
 or any of those things which you have since 
 learned from your books. 
 
 But now you know something about this world 
 on which we live ; its mountains, its rivers, its 
 trees, and its plants ; what the earth contains in 
 its bosom, and what animals live upon its sur- 
 face. You have also learned many amusing 
 and useful things about your fellow-creatures, 
 both those of your own nation, and those be- 
 longing to other countries. 
 
 This is much, but this is not all, for the best 
 part of what you have been taught. You have 
 read such portions of the Word of God as were 
 thought most profitable for you ; how God made 
 the world ; who first lived in it, and how they 
 conducted themselves ; the history of the flood, 
 and of the family preserved in an ark during 
 that flood ; from whom the human race is des- 
 cended ; the history of God's chosen people, the 
 Jews 5 and last, but above all, the history of our 
 Lord Jesus Christ — of his life, his conversations, 
 his miracles, his death on the cross for us, his 
 resurrection from the dead, his ascension into 
 Heaven, of the gift of his Spirit, and of the mi- 
 racles performed by his apostles and followers^ 
 
 ..L^ 
 
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 1 
 
 ■n 
 
 J 
 
 :t 
 
 Now, though] yon had probablj heard of these 
 things before from your Clergy, it is a great 
 blessing to be ab e to read them for yourselves, 
 and to read them to your friends, especially to 
 the sick, who most of all feel the want of such 
 comfort and instruction. 
 
 
 Part Third. 
 
 
 lei-sure 
 
 pa-tient 
 
 cn-rol-led 
 
 un-der-take 
 
 do-cile 
 
 pa-trons 
 
 sc^ol-ar 
 
 laugh-ed 
 
 tal-ent 
 
 dif-fi-cul-ty 
 
 ig-nor-ant 
 
 judg-ment 
 
 per-se-ver-ing 
 
 ^noz^-Iedge 
 
 
 A few years ago there were not schools in every 
 town, and almost every village, as there are 
 now ; and I once lived noar a small country town 
 in the eastern part of England, where very few 
 of the grown-up people knew how to read. 
 They were, therefore, very ignorant, and very 
 dull. They did not know the pleasure of a book 
 in the hours of leisure, and would go to the beer- 
 house or spirit-house, to drink and pass away 
 their evening hours, especially of a Sunday. 
 The clergyman, who was over them, ^was very 
 sorry to see this state of things i so he talked to 
 the people about it, and findiog man/ of them 
 
10 
 
 I ' ! 
 
 m 
 
 I'i I 
 
 i I 
 
 ' ! 
 
 mlling to undertake the labour of learning to 
 read (for it is a much harder task to grown per- 
 sons than to children) he promised to have 
 them taught and to help to teacli them. 
 
 Now, there lived in this town a worthy man, 
 who, though poor, was a good scholar, and wish- 
 ed his neighbours to be so too ; and, when he 
 heard what the clergyman said about teaching 
 the people to read, he was very glad, and offer- 
 ed to give his help, and also to lend his room, 
 which wa? a large one, for them to meet in. 
 
 So the clergyman invited all those, who were 
 desirous of learning to read, to come twice in the 
 week to this room ; and he had got a good fire 
 and plenty of light to make them comfortable 
 in the winter evenings. Then several kind 
 persons belonging to the town, besides the own- 
 er of the room, used to come in and help to 
 teach ; for grown people require more teachers 
 than children, as they have more difficulty in 
 learning, and less time to spare for it. ' 
 
 These grown-up scholars, observe, would 
 come to learn, after labouring hard all day, of- 
 ten very tired, through the cold of the winter 
 evenings, and after the heat of summer— as per- 
 
 sev«t»ii>g and patient as one might expect 
 MKiweB, aa 4ocil« and humble as if they had 
 been children. They were not ashamed to be 
 
u 
 
 laughed at by such of their neighbours as had 
 more learning than themselves, or by such as 
 did not care to have any learning at all. They 
 had made up their minds that it was a good 
 thing to learn to read, they had found some one 
 to teach them, and they were now ashnmfd 
 only of continuing ignorant. 
 
 Such is the value wliich those, wiio are wise, 
 set upon knowledge. They think that he, who 
 has a good book on his shelf, has a frieiul laid 
 up there. Now, such a friend you may, each 
 one of you carry away with you on leaving 
 school. Leaving school! Yes: all these three 
 hundred and fifty thousand children, whose 
 names are now enrolled on our books, will, in 
 a few years, take their leave of school, and pa 
 trons, and teachers, and companions. But it 
 will be well for you all to remember, when yon 
 go forth into life, that, though it is in your 
 power to turn your backs on all the good things 
 you have learned, though you may forget or ne- 
 glect them, you cannot be as if you had never 
 been taught, w • . > ,n ij c. 
 
 You have received, in a good education a gift, 
 
 or as it is called in Scripture, a talent ; and the 
 
 use you make of it through your lives, will be 
 
 one of those things you will h*ve to give an ac- 
 count of at the day of judgment. 
 
-'■J~ ...- -' 
 
 12 
 
 I I 
 
 M 
 
 I ■ ! 
 
 r. ! 
 
 NATIONAL ANTHEM. 
 
 To the tune of "GW s(we the Queen.'^ 
 guard scene ri^A-teooa 
 
 ex-tend reign \s\e. 
 
 trans-form-ed main-tain broth-ers 
 
 friend foe in-spire 
 
 God bless our native land ! 
 Maj Heaven's protecting hand 
 
 Still guard our shore ! 
 Maj peace her powers extend, 
 Foe be transformed to friend ; 
 And may her powers depend 
 
 On war no more. 
 
 Through every changing scene, 
 Oh Lord ! preserve the Queen — 
 
 Long may she reign ! 
 Her head inspire and move 
 With wisdom from above ; 
 And in a nation's love 
 
 Her throne maintain. 
 
 • -y- 1 •: 
 
 May just and righteous lawa 
 Uphold the public cause, 
 
 And bless our isle* 
 Home of the brave and free, 
 The land of liberty I h 
 
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 m 
 
 ,13 
 
 We pray tbai still on thee 
 Kind heaven mav smile. 
 
 And not. this land alone ; 
 But be thy mercy known 
 
 From shore to shore. 
 Lord ! make the nations see, 
 That men should brothers be, 
 And form one family 
 
 The wide world o'er. 
 
 THE HISTORY OP COLUMBUS, AND HIS DISCOVERY 
 
 OF AMERICA. 
 
 m 
 
 
 Fart First. 
 
 •«i . 
 
 re-gion» 
 
 mer-chant 
 
 1 
 re-flect-ing 
 
 ven-tur-ed 
 
 man-age-ment 
 
 £u-ro-peaus 
 
 Ma-dei-ra 
 
 ex-pe-ri-enc-ed 
 
 ex-is-tence 
 
 Ca-na-ry 
 
 urg-ed 
 
 en-ter-prise 
 
 A-zore 
 
 ex-tend 
 
 dis-ap-point-ed 
 
 ex-plor-ed 
 
 oc-cur-rence 
 
 o-blig-ed 
 
 charts 
 
 dis-co-ver 
 
 fa-tigwe 
 
 guide 
 
 ad-ven-tur-er 
 
 re-Iiev-ed 
 
 Gren-o-a 
 
 sup-po-si-tion 
 
 pa-lace 
 
 ibr-agn 
 
 - ctt-ri-ous 
 
 era-bark 
 
 ge-og-ra-phy 
 
 feo-turest 
 
 ex-pe-di-tion 
 
 oc-ctt-pied ' 
 
 . 04:-our-riiig i 
 B 
 
 OC-Oa-MOD 
 
..^-■"—^3* 
 
 
 ii 
 
 M 
 
 ,1' . I . ! 
 
 14 
 
 The parts of the wo; Id, which were known 400 
 years 9go, were Europe, Asia, and Africa. The 
 people of ihese regions traded with one another, 
 and believed themselves to be the only inhabi- 
 tants of the world. They had never ventured to 
 sail out into tht great ocean that surrounded 
 them. The most westerly linds known to the 
 people of Europe were the Madeira Islands, the 
 Canary Islands, and the Azore Llands. And, 
 when we look into the map, and see how far out 
 in the great sea those islands are situated, we 
 cannot but admire the bravery of the men who 
 first dart:d to vtinture out so far as to reach them. 
 Sailors now, indeed, cross all parts of the Atlantic 
 Ocean without much danger ; but those, who 
 first discovered those islands and explored the 
 ocean which surrounds them, had no charts to guide 
 their course. 
 
 About this time Christopher Columbus was 
 born. His father was a poor, hard-working man, 
 who lived in Genoa, a city of Italy. Poor as he 
 was, however, he took care that his son should 
 be taught reading, writing and arithmetic. 
 
 Columbus was fond of studying maps, and 
 reading accounts of foreign countries. The sub- 
 ject of geography, as be grew up, occupied more 
 
 
 M 
 
15 
 
 «m400 
 .. The 
 notlier, 
 inliabi- 
 ured to 
 'ounded 
 to the 
 nds, the 
 And, 
 far out 
 ited, we 
 len who 
 h them. 
 Atlantic 
 le, who 
 red the 
 to guide 
 
 >U9 was 
 
 ig man, 
 
 )r as he 
 
 should 
 
 ps, and 
 The sub- 
 ied more 
 
 of his time than any other employment; and the 
 pleasure he derived from his stuJy made him 
 long to visit other countries. At fourteen years 
 of age he became a sailor ; and, during his youth, 
 he sailed about the Mediterranean, sometimes in 
 merchant vessels, and sometimes in men of war. 
 He endured many hardships, but be gained the 
 advantage of learning the management of a ship ; 
 and thus became, while yet a young man, an 
 experienced and clever sailor. 
 
 His daring spirit soon urged him Lo extend 
 his voyages beyond the Mediterranean. He 
 sailed through the Strait of Gibraltar into the 
 Atlantic and made a voyage to the west coast of 
 Africa. During these voyages he carefully ob- 
 served every new occurrence, and stored up all 
 the knowledge that he could obtain from other 
 sailors. It was by these observations and in- 
 ♦ quiries that hi' was first led to sujjpose that there 
 might he land to the westward of the Azores. 
 
 « " The Azores," thought he, " ^ere once un- 
 known, but it only required some man a little 
 bolder than others to discover them ; and why 
 
 * may there not be land to the westward of the 
 Azores also, which it only remains for some other 
 fortunate adventurer to make known !" 
 
16 
 
 t 
 
 Some of the facts, which eneouraged Colum- 
 bus to persevere in this supposition of the exis- 
 tence of land to the west of the Azores, are very 
 curious. He had learned that, at Madeira and 
 the Azores, tnmks of huge pine trees, such a* d'J 
 not grow in these islands, had been washed on 
 shore by westerly winds. Piece« of wood, rut 
 in strange shapes, and curiously carved, had 
 been picked up. But, above all, two dead bodies 
 of men, with features quite unlike those of the 
 people of Europe, Asia, and Africa, had been 
 cast upon one of these islands, and had occasion- 
 o<l much wonder. These strange circumstan- 
 ces, occurring at different times, appeared to 
 have been regarded as mere objects of idle cu- 
 riosity ; till Columbus, reflecting on them, was 
 led to think that the trees must have grown on 
 land, that the carved wood must have been 
 worked by men's hands and that, as all these 
 tilings came from the west, land, as yet unknown 
 lo Europeans, was to be found in that direction. 
 
 So convinced did Columbus become of the 
 exist»^nce of new countries towards the west, 
 that he was willing to risk his own life, and gail 
 over that vast untried ocean in search of them. 
 Rut he was a poor man, with neither money nor 
 
 *'?. 
 
17 
 
 rich friends to assist him. Even if he could 
 have procured a ship, he had no rewards to ofTer, 
 wiih which to persuade daring men to accom- 
 pany him in the enterprise. 
 
 At length he resolved to try and persuade the 
 king or governor of some country to f»t out for 
 him the necessary ships, so that he might go at 
 once and make the intended discovery. 
 
 Having been born in Genoa, he first offered his 
 plan to the chief men of that city ; but they only 
 laughed at him, and refused to listen to or assist 
 him. Much disappointed, but still resolved to 
 persevere, he went to the King of Portugal. At 
 this time the Portu^^^uese were the best sailors in 
 Europe, and had made the longest voyages Co- 
 lumbus was not laughed at this time, but he was 
 treated dishonestly. Pretending to listen to liim, 
 the King of Portugal got from him part of his 
 plan ; and then, refusing to assist him, sent out 
 one of his own captains with some ships to make, 
 the very discovery which the ill-used Columbus 
 had been the first to propose. However, the 
 captain, who was sent out, did not succeed : he 
 met with stormy weather, became alarmed, 
 and soon returned to Portujral. 
 
 As soon as Columbus learned the t tv i of these 
 
 b2 
 
 afi*»- 
 
— ■~.-«l* 
 
 Hhi 
 
 liiii 
 
 18 
 
 thips, he departed for Spain. He was so poor 
 that he was obliged to beg as he went along. 
 
 One cold windy nighty a stranger, carrying a 
 young child on his back, arrived at a 8maU village 
 in Andalusia, a province of Spain. He begged 
 i'or bread and water, saying that he and his child 
 where faint with hunger and fatigue. Some kind 
 people took him into their house and relieved 
 him. This stranger was Columbus, journeying 
 towards Cordova, which was then the chief 
 town of Spain, and the residence of the King 
 and Queen. The people who assisted him in 
 his misery, were so much interested in bis be- 
 half that they gave him money to continue his 
 journey, and some of them even went with him, 
 and when they arrived at Cordova, presented 
 Columbus to the Queen, and obtained her pro- 
 mise to support him. But his difficulties were 
 not yet over — many years passed away before 
 the Queen could resolve really to perform her pro- 
 mise. During this time Columbus had need of 
 (iiuch patience ; the people about the place were 
 too ignorant to understand his reasons for believ- 
 ing there might he countries beyond the seas. 
 and they laughed at him for hik poverty, and 
 called him a dreamer. At last, the Queen gave 
 
— ••«:4' 
 
 ;<1'4. 
 
 poor 
 
 19 
 
 ordeit thai three sliipg should be delirered to 
 hiir), and iurnished hiin with niotiej to engage 
 sailors and prepare everything for the voyage. 
 Di^appowUneut, however, still awaited poor 
 Columbus ; the sailors disliked to go j they were 
 afraid to embark on such ai> expedition, and re- 
 fused to accompany him. 
 
 An order from the Queen at last forced 120 
 men on board of the vessels. Their friends took 
 leave of them as of men who were never to re- 
 turn. Columbus, full of hope and joy, cheered 
 tiiem with assurances of success ; but he still saw 
 only despair in the countenances of the sailors . 
 Two of his friends joined the expedition, and to 
 each of them he gave the command of a vessel. 
 
 ■ ii"' 
 
 A •>■ 
 
 Part Second*: 
 
 sound-ings 
 
 ex-haust-ed 
 
 de-sj>on-den-cy 
 
 op-por-tu-ni-ty 
 
 gra-ti-fy 
 
 anx-i-c-ty 
 
 The ships given him to undertake a long and 
 hazardous Toyage were old and almost worn out ; 
 two of them, indeed, were little better than open 
 boats. Ou the drd of August, 14<92, the fessels 
 
 haz-ard-ous 
 leak-y 
 ac-ci-dent 
 * ob-sti-nate 
 drift-ed 
 eo-ger 
 
 ■if. 
 
 ho-ri-zon 
 
 glim-mer-iug 
 
 lux*u-ri-ant„ 
 
 9park>ling 
 
 re-trcat-iD<i 
 
 sig-ni-fy ' 
 
20 
 
 sailed. Columbus first directed bis course to tbe 
 Canary Islands, intending, wben be bad reacb* 
 ed tbem, to steer due west, , 
 
 At tbe Canary Islands be was detained some 
 time, repairing bis old and leaky vessels. On tbe 
 sixtb of September be again set sail ; and now 
 began tbe real dangers and difficulties of Colum- 
 bus. It required all bis patience and courage to 
 bear up against tbe many troubles be met witb. 
 His sailors bad, from tbe beginning opposed 
 bim, as much as tbey dared, from tbeir dislike to 
 tbeir voyage. Bnt, wben tbey bad lost sigbt of 
 Feroe, tbe most western of tbe Canary Islands, 
 and saw tbemselves in tbe midst of tbe vast 
 untrieu ocean, tbeir fears became so great tbat 
 tbey actually cried like children. 
 
 " We sball never, never again return to our 
 own homes P' tbey exclaimed; 'we sball neve'* 
 again see our friends and children ! we sball be 
 swallowed up in tbe waves of the unknown sea ! 
 Ob! foolish men tbat we were, why did we 
 consent to accompany this mad Columbus." 
 
 In vain did Columbus beg tbem to remember 
 tbat their voyage had hitherto been without 
 storm or alarming accidents, and tbat, therefore, 
 they bad really nothing t » complain of. These 
 childish men were obstinate in tbeir fears. 
 
 ...i-rf'^'' 
 
21 
 
 totUe 
 eacb* 
 
 some 
 )n the 
 I now 
 lolum- 
 ige to 
 ; with. 
 >posed 
 like to 
 rbt of 
 slands, 
 » vast 
 it that 
 
 our 
 neve^ 
 all be 
 sea! 
 Id vre 
 
 ;mber 
 litbout 
 [efore, 
 'hese 
 
 A few days after sailing from the Canaries, the < 
 ships of Columbus came within the influence of ^ 
 a favourable wind, an<l so beautifully did it waft 
 them along, that, for a nue, it cheered even the 
 discontented sailors. When they had proceeded 
 some distance, they met with large patches of sea- 
 weed, and also with land plants, drifted from 
 the west, Columbus supposed, from these ap- 
 pearances, that they would soon fall in with 
 land. One of the sailors discovered a live crab 
 on a patch of sea-weed, — another proof to Co- 
 lumbus that land was near j for crabs are gener- 
 ally picked up at low tide on the sea shore. 
 
 The sailors were now as eager to discover the 
 expected land as they had been unwilling to sail 
 in search of it. They continually mistook the 
 distant clouds for the desired shore, and shouted, 
 ** Land ! land !" When these shouts were heard , 
 by Columbus, much as he wished the guess to 
 prove true, he still doubted. A common though 
 not certain, sign of land is the gradually decreas- 
 ing depth of the water. Therefore, Columbus 
 ordered the lead to be thrown overboard, to take 
 what is called " soundings.** The sea-line, with 
 whieh soundings are taken, is a long rope with a 
 piec« of lead fastened to the end of it* When sea- 
 
I 
 
 1 
 
 ll 
 
 nil; 
 
 ;!i 
 
 I r:i.' 
 
 "•'Ill; 
 
 I I ■ PJ 
 
 Hi 
 
 li 
 
 22 
 
 men wish to know the depth of the water, they 
 throw the lead into the sea, and allow the line 
 to run out till the lead reaches the bottom. ,,. 
 
 Disappointment awaited Columbus; for, on 
 sounding, he could find no bottom, and he feared 
 he was not so near land as the sailors expected. 
 They became again troublesome, and they tor- 
 mented their brave leader with their fretful and 
 ignorant fears. ;,..- 
 
 There was, however, some cause for uneasi- 
 ness as their ships were old, and, had they met 
 with storms, they might have been sunk. Be- 
 >': :es, it was possible that their stock of pro- 
 visions might be exhausted before they reached 
 land ; and, of course, they must then perish with 
 hunger. In the midst of this despondency, some 
 breezes from the west sprung iip ; and the change 
 of weather was followed by a sight which glad- 
 dened their eyes — several little birds visited the 
 ships. They came regularly in the morning, 
 and flew away in the evening. Their chirping 
 and singing were sweet music in the sailors' ears. 
 It was the first sound of land that they had heard 
 since leaving the Canaries. "My friends," said 
 Columbus, '* now you may have hopes of seeing 
 the wished for land. These birds must havei a 
 
 :i 
 
 ^ 
 
 '9.-< 
 
23 
 
 nest or a home somewhere near. They are so 
 fresh and livelj that their journey to us cannot 
 have been long and fa!ij^ ing." ' ■ 
 
 This general content, however, did not last 
 long. The wind ceased entirely, and the ships 
 remained motionless ; the sea was so thickly co- 
 vered with weeds that it looked like a green 
 
 • marsh flooded with water. The sailors were ex- 
 ceedingly frightened at seeing that the ships did 
 not move. They forgot that such accidents 
 
 ' sometimes happened on the seas which they had 
 been accustomed to sail upon, and fancied that 
 
 'the ships were stuck fast in the weeds, and that 
 they had arrived at the end of the ocean. They 
 even threatened to throw v olumbus into the sea 
 unless he consented to give up his voyage, and 
 take the first opportunity of returning to Spain. 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Columbus, *• give up the 
 voyage, now that we have almost found the land 
 , we seek ! Surely no man among you can be so 
 I cowardly ! Sail with me but a few days longer." 
 . In order to gratify his men, Columbus altered 
 .the course of the ship to the south-west. .,,^., , 
 
 So near was land believed to be, that, as the 
 
 '/ ships were going at a great rate through the 
 
 i' water, Columbus, in order to guard agaioitac- 
 
I 
 
 If 1 
 
 24 
 
 cidents, determined to keep watch all night. — 
 Anxiety and restlessness were general in all the 
 ships : no one went to sleep ; every one was look- 
 ing out for land. 
 
 Though Columbus had, to his men, always 
 appeared cheerful and confident, be felt within 
 himself occasional doubts and uneasiness. As 
 he sat on deck, gazing earnestly into the hori- 
 zon, he saw, through the darkness, a light glim- 
 mering faintly at a great distance. He called 
 upon one of his crew, and asked him if he saw any 
 thing in the direction whicb he pof^ted to him. 
 " Yes," said the man, '* I see a light." Columbus 
 clasped his hands together and exclaimed '< Tt 
 is so! It must be so !" 
 
 He now felt certain that he had found land, and 
 that it was inhabited. They sailed on. At two 
 o'clock one of the ships, which was in advance of 
 the others fired a gun. Joyful sound ! it was 
 the signal of land. " Land ! land !" was shouted 
 from ship to ship with one glad voice. The rest 
 of the night was spent by the sailors in talking 
 over the expected sight which the morning was 
 to bring* '< Shall we find people in this aew 
 country V* asked the men one of another. ** Shall 
 we ibd boiMes and cities like Ihote of Spain ? 
 
45 
 
 it.— 
 
 1 the 
 look- 
 
 Iways 
 ¥ithin 
 
 hori- 
 glim- 
 called 
 w any 
 > him. 
 iumbus 
 i «Tt 
 
 .an^e 
 
 pain 
 
 Shall we tincl men like oiu.tlvc , o>' 
 monsters, who will be as lierce an! cf««»t Mi<.y 
 ?re frightful f 
 
 In this way the time |[)assed till llio dawn u|»- 
 pearctl, and then they beheld an i^5land ibal 
 seemed to their eyes, so long used to »iic sight 
 of nothing but sky and ?M,'a, the most heautiiul 
 they had ever beiield. Tlie trees were hixuri 
 ant as to appear a never ending grov(^ , tlio se.'« 
 along the shore was clear and sparkling. As th^; 
 day advanced, people were seen running iVom 
 the woods towards the shore, and then again 
 retreating among tlu trees, showing i>y tlieii 
 manner that they were astonialied at tiic sight o! 
 the ships. 
 
 Columbus ordered tiie boats to be got ready, 
 and entered one of them witli ^ome of his crew 
 Impatient to place hi« foot on the land which 
 he had discovered, he was the lirst to spring on 
 the shore. A.s soom as his companions had landad, 
 he planted the 1kg of the king o( ^>()aln on the 
 coast; meaning to signify that this new lami 
 henceforth belonged to that king. In doing so, 
 he only followed tlu? orders he irad recei ed j 
 but these ordeis were unjust, because the laud 
 was already oecupieu by others. ■ 
 
 C 
 
I 
 
 M! '-I 
 
 ■I . 
 
 I! !;'i 
 
 i< 1 
 
 ! I|il'! 
 
 
 i 
 
 II ( 
 
 26 
 
 Part Third. 
 
 San Sal -va- dor 
 «Iis-guis-ed 
 clothes 
 fan-ci-ful 
 
 report 
 shat-ter-ed 
 weath-er-ed 
 strai^^t 
 
 red-dish 
 an-c^or 
 trink-ets 
 er-ro-ne-ous-ly 
 
 Columbus gave the name of San Salvador to 
 the island which he had discovered. On look- 
 ing in the map, it will be found among the 
 islands called the Bahamas. ^ 
 
 The simple and ignorant people, who inhabited 
 this island, on seeing the Spaniards approach 
 the shore, were so alarmed that they fled to the 
 thickest parts of the woods. But, after a time, 
 as their curiosity got the better of their fear, they 
 began gradually to come forth from their 
 hiding-places. 
 
 They supposed that both ships and men had, 
 duiing the night, risen out of the waters, or come 
 down from the clouds. The sails they mistook for 
 wings, and the sound and flash of the guns for 
 thimder and lightning. Disguised as they were 
 with their clothes and armour, the sailors did 
 not seem to them men like themselves. Every 
 thing was so new and strange to them, that their 
 mistakes and surprises are not to be wondered at. 
 They themselves wore no clothiog but bad 
 
 iliilii' 
 
27 
 
 their bodies painted in various colours and fanci- 
 ful patterns. The natural colour of their skin was 
 a reddish brown, and their hair was straight and 
 black. They had not, like the Spanish sailors, 
 beards grown on their chins, and their only 
 arms were wooden lances pointed with fish- 
 bones. When Columbus offered them a few col- 
 oured glass beads, and some bright brass bells, 
 they soon forgot their fears, and Hocked down 
 to the shore in great numbers. As the hour of 
 sunset approached, the three boats again put off 
 from the shore, m d joined the ships that re- 
 mained at anchor 
 
 Columbus was sv; much pleased with his new 
 discovery that he did not continue his voyage 
 for some days. He also wished to make friends 
 witli the natives, whom lie found mild and gen- 
 tle, in return for the trinkets they had received 
 from the Spaniards, they brought fruit and vari- 
 ous kinds of roots to them, besides some balls of 
 cotton. These friendly natives, did a still greater 
 service to the Spaniards. The fruits, <fec, they 
 might have done without j but they could not 
 live without water ; and, owing to the length of 
 the vojage, they had drunk nearly all that they 
 had brought irom the Canaries. Springs of freab 
 
If! 
 
 
 il!r 
 
 lilt 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 1, 1 
 
 1 ' 
 
 i ,. ' , 
 
 
 ( 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 i 
 
 28 
 
 water aDounded in this island ; and the natives 
 not only pointed out the best and largest, but 
 assisted the Spaniards to fill their casks, and roll 
 ihem to and from tbe boats. . 
 
 • Columbus, having thus refreshed his men, and 
 supplied the ships with water, again s^t sail. He 
 j»roceeded in a southerly direction, because he 
 understood from the signs of the natives that he 
 would fmd a large island in that direction. On 
 the 28th of October he arrived at the large 
 island of Cuba. Still he had not discovered the 
 continent of America. The islands he had visit- 
 ed he called the West Indies, because he erro- 
 neously supposed them near to India, though 
 they are many thousand miles distant. They 
 still keep the name given them by Columbus. 
 
 After these discoveries, he determined to re- 
 turn home and report his success. His voyage 
 had hitlterto been without storms. His return to 
 Europe, however, was not so fortunate. A dread- 
 ful tempest arose when he was near the Azores. 
 He expected every instant that his frail and 
 worn-out vessels would be shattered by the fury 
 of the winds, or dashed to pieces by the waves. 
 ' b^ortunately, however, all the ships weather- 
 ed the storm, and returned to Spain in safety. 
 
29 
 
 tives 
 , but 
 I roll 
 
 , anil 
 He 
 
 se he 
 
 lat li« 
 
 On 
 
 large 
 ed the 
 1 visit- 
 
 erro- 
 though 
 
 I'hey 
 
 to re- 
 ^oyage 
 turn to 
 Idread- 
 .zores. 
 lit and 
 fury 
 livavcs. 
 rathe r- 
 Isafety. 
 
 The news of the arrival of Columbusi, and of the 
 discovery which he had made, filled the people 
 with joy and wonder. Their absence had been 
 so long that they were given up for lost ; there- 
 fore the rejoicing of their friends was very ^reat. 
 The bells were rung, all the shops closed, and 
 the people (locked in crowds to the harbour to 
 see C^olumbus land. The sight was indeed 
 remarkable. First walked Columbus, followed 
 by some of his crew carrying beautiful parrots, 
 cotton, and various other plants, and animals, 
 which they had brought from the new world. 
 Then came the most curious sight of all, six 
 natives of Cuba, who were painted after the 
 manner of their country. The streets were so 
 thronged that the sailors could hardly get a- 
 long, while the shouts of joy and welcome 
 were so loud as to be quite deafening. Col- 
 umbus, occupied with his own thoughts, walked 
 along in silence. Tn the midst of all this re- 
 joicing, he could not but remember the time 
 when he had first arrived at this very town 
 with his little son on his back, and had been 
 obliged to beg his bread. '"' '*^'" 
 
 For a long time nothing but Columbus and 
 
 the " New World," as the Spaniards called it, 
 was talked of. He was received with kindness 
 by the king and (juecn, rewarded with numer- 
 
 ^ 
 
I'U 
 
 i . '1 
 
 
 \M 
 
 '!i|i|l( 
 
 I! 
 
 30 
 
 ous presents, and shortly at'terwards was en- 
 gaged to make another voyage, that he might 
 proceed with his new discoveries. 
 
 NoTK. — It was not till his third voyage tUatOolunib»iH 
 discovered the continent of America. 
 
 J- ..!<:.. 
 
 ;if 
 
 i.> 
 
 .!■'. .A..;. 
 
 ■..U ;, 
 
 •£.V- 
 
 PERSEVERANCE ; OR, THE HISTORY OF WIl.LIAJM 
 
 ^ ... : j.,..^,. ,,j HUTTON. . ., :, 
 
 From an account written by hiri.Hclf. 
 
 .'"V 
 
 Fart First 
 
 .(.. 
 
 f 
 
 y 
 
 I, 
 
 in-dus-try 
 
 de-test-ed 
 
 se-rene 
 
 ir-ri-tat-ed 
 
 in-flict-ed 
 
 re-solved 
 
 shires iv hard-ships. • 
 
 oc-ca-sions for-lorn 
 
 por-ridge scan-ty 
 
 por-tion .; <», ex-pir-ed 
 
 a-mends ms;. stin-gy 
 
 pat-tens grudg-ed ul 
 
 William Hutton was born in Derby, a town in 
 one of the Midland shires of England, in a small 
 house on the banks of the Derwent. His history 
 shows what may be done by steadiness, perseverance 
 activity, and love of knowledge. . iF • 
 
 He was sent to school at iive *.(ua of age. 
 
31 
 
 st 
 
 L-ed 
 [ed 
 
 mm 
 iin.iU 
 [tory 
 \cv. 
 
 lage. 
 
 WLen only six, his hibtlier found him 'steady 
 enough lo take charge of his little brothei^ 
 and sisters when his father was at work, and she 
 herself obliged to leave home. 
 
 On these occasions, though he wan not the 
 eldest, it was his business to divide the milk por- 
 ridge which served for breakfast, to give to 
 each his share, and carry out his father's portion 
 before he touched his own. 
 
 It happened one morning that, in dividing the 
 porridge, he forgot his father's share. He had 
 seated himself with his little brothers and sisters 
 at table, and, while they were eatmg their 
 break&st, he recollected with surprise that hp 
 had forgotten his father. Hutton, in relating 
 this story of himself, says, ** 1 proposed that t^ach 
 of us should give up some of bis portion to make 
 one for my father. My eldest brother refus- 
 ed ; I then took a little from the others, and all 
 my own to make amends, and thin 1 carried to 
 my father." 
 
 So we see that bis mother was not wrong in 
 trusting so young a child with this important 
 business. A - , 
 
 When William was only seven yeaff^ old, ho 
 wu obliged to give up school, for he was !(ont to 
 
WW 
 
 illi 
 
 X 
 
 32 
 
 woik at a silk mill, though he was so ^mall thai 
 he could uot reach his work, anil they wert ob 
 ligcil to fasten a pair of high pattens to his feet 
 in order to make him tall enough. ,.,.. ,;,». 
 
 T l\ 
 
 •jr 
 
 h: 
 
 For seven years he continued at this work, 
 gettinf? up at five o'clock every morning, and en- 
 during many hardshipr^ ; for he was berten witli 
 a cane whenever his master was out of humour 
 Poor little fellow ! some of the hardships he me< 
 with may he seen from this little story which lip 
 telljj of himself in an account of his early life : — 
 
 ^Mn the Christmas holidays, when T was eight 
 years old, it happened on the 27th December, 
 that there fell some ?now,and afterwards thcrr 
 waf^ a sharp frost ; a thaw came on in the after 
 noon, but in the same night the ground was 
 again caught by frost, so that the streets were as 
 -^.lippery as glass. T did not wake on the morning 
 after that niglit till daylight seemed to appear. 1 
 rose in tears for fear of being punished because 1 
 was too late, and T went to my father's bed-side 
 to ask the hour : he believed it was late ; so 1 
 ran out <|uite terrified ; and, in running on the 
 slippery ground, fell nine times in the course of 
 two hundred yards? Observing, as I rarae near 
 fhe sjull, there was u<^ light in it I perceived 
 
33 
 
 taht 1 had been Jeceived by the reflection of the 
 snow. It struck two as I returned j and, as I now 
 went vvith care, 1 only fell vwice." f 
 
 IVo years after this he lost his mother ; and 
 uow his hardships increased. His mother, in 
 spite of their poverty, had contrived many little 
 things for the comfort of her family ; and now 
 bhii was gone. His father, instead of increasing 
 ins exertions went to the ale-house, became a 
 couiiimed drunkard, and entirely neglected hi^ 
 family. "My mother dead," says William Hut- 
 fon, "my father at the ale-house, and I among 
 strangers, my life was forlorn- I was almost 
 without a home, nearly without elothes, and 
 had very scanty food." , 
 
 When William's time of service with his first 
 master was expired, and he was about fourteen* 
 he went to Nottingham to work with his uncle, 
 who was a stocking-weaver. His uncle treated 
 him kindly in general, and his aunt was not 
 unkind ; though being a stingy woman, she 
 grudged him his food. ' ,^ ,1 n v? xju: 
 
 He had one serious quarrel with his uncle, 
 which led to his falling into a great fault, and 1^ 
 his suffering severely ; but his uncle seems to 
 have been more to blame than himself. , 
 
 n. 
 
 c2 
 
 -.'} 
 
Bt^'' 
 
 1 1 
 
 § 
 
 34 
 
 There was one week in the year during which 
 there was much merry-making at Nottingiiani ; 
 and, on this occasion, young Hutton, like the 
 other young people of the town, was rather idle. 
 He worked very hard all the rest of the year ; and 
 it would have been just and kind of his unchj 
 to give him a holiday. "But my uncle," says 
 Hutton, **thought that I should never return to 
 industry. 'He was very angry at my neglect^ 
 and declared that, if I did not perform my task 
 that day, he would thrash me at night. 1 had 
 
 been idle, I am sorry to say, and one hour of my 
 working task was still unfinishe ^ T hoped that 
 my former industry would vJr^w) for the present 
 idleness ; but my uncle had *. ^sed his word, and 
 did pot wish to break it." , nn.iO ' * 
 
 " You have not done the task I ordered," said 
 he. I was silent. " Was it in your power to have 
 done it ?" ^ was still silent. " Could you have 
 done it?" ne repeated. As I ever detested lying 
 [ could not thing of sheltering myself from a 
 rising storm by such means, for we both knew 
 that I had often done twice as much. I there- 
 fore answered in a low meek voice, " I could." 
 " Then," said my uncle, " I'll make you ;" and he 
 immediately brought a birch-broom handle, and 
 
35 
 
 repeated his blows with it tili J thought he 
 would have broken me in pieces. The windows 
 were open, the evening calm. th<j sky serene. 
 and every thing mild but myself and my uncle. 
 
 How unjust does passion make people ! Yt t 
 it is better to get a beating than to tell a lie. 
 
 The next day his uncle seemed sorry for 
 what had happened. He sent for Wiiliani, an«l 
 invited him to share some fruit ; " but,*" says 
 Hutton, ^*my wounds were too deep to be 
 healed with cherries." 
 
 Irritated at the cruel punishment inflicted on 
 bin:, Hutton resolved to take a wrong imi rash 
 step, for which he afterwards suffered severely ; 
 but, as he seems to have had no one to tell him 
 his duty, we may not wonder that he fsome- 
 times fell into faults. He determined to run 
 away from his uncle's house. 
 
 He packed up his best clothes and some food 
 in two bags, set off from his uncle's house, travel- 
 led all day, and at ten o'clock at night arrived 
 at Derby, his native town. 
 
Wl 
 
 m 
 
 per C/civ-dd 
 re-lief 
 dwin-dled 
 r/^ar-ac-ter 
 
 Part Seconds 
 
 jec-on-ci!e 
 iu-gen-ii-i-ty 
 con-vey-ance 
 h'tigue ,,,:. 
 
 ,-«f; 
 
 jytiw^ll-^ 
 
 strug-i>le 
 pru-dence 
 con-quer-ed 
 c-con-o-my 
 
 *<At Derby," says he, "I took a view of my 
 father's house, where I supposed all was asleep. 
 But, before I was aware, 1 perceived the door 
 open, and I ht^ard my fxither's footsteps not 
 
 three yards from me. ) retreated quickly, for 
 r dared not enter. - ' ,i - . 
 
 " Adjoiniug the town of Derby is a field called 
 Abbey-ba»ns, where I used to play when n child 
 i lere I took up my abode for the night upon the 
 cold grass in a damp place with the sky only 
 over my head, and the bags by my side." ' '"' 
 
 At four o'clock next morning William arose 
 sore and stlfl\ and set out for Burton, where he 
 arrived the same morning, having travelled 
 twenty-eight miles. In the evening he reached 
 Lichfield, placed his bags in a barn near the . 
 town, and went to look for some place where he 
 could pais the night. On his return he found . 
 that some thief had carried off his bags. ' 
 
 Terror seized him when he perceived that hi*, 
 
37 
 
 fclotLo* diul food were gone. *' I loaictl alter 
 the thiel?' says he ; '^ but I might as well have 
 been <^*'-nt ; thieves do not come at a ca^l. I was 
 too much distressed to find relief in tears. 1 spent 
 iiorae time in running about the fields and roads, 
 lamenting and calling. I told my tale, and de- 
 scribed the bags to every one T met. T found 
 pity, or seeming pity, from all, but help from 
 none. My hearers dwindled away vrith the twi- 
 light, and by eleven o'clock I found myself 
 alone in the open street." 
 
 '' I had scarcely any money. I was a stranger, 
 without food to eat, or a place to sleep in ; so I 
 Rt)ught rest in the street on a butcher's block." 
 
 The next day, unable to procure work, but still 
 seeking it, he went to Birmingham. Here he ; 
 was equally unfortunate about work ; yet he met . 
 with an act of kindness from a stranger, which 
 was a great comfort in his forlorn condition. He 
 was sitting down to rest about seven in the even- 
 ing in Philip's Street, when two men with 
 aprons on, who had been observing him atten- 
 tively, came up lo him. One of them said " You 
 seem from your forlorn looks, and dusty shoes, to .. 
 be a poor traveller without money or friends." 
 ilutton told him thai be was so. <' {f you choose/' 
 
I' ' 
 
 Hi' 
 
 Si:, 111! 
 'l! 
 
 t!!.|;|"'!! 
 
 Mil 
 
 n 
 
 '■■ i 
 
 ..I ^ 
 
 38 
 
 said he, ** to accept a pint of ale, it is at yonr s«r> 
 vice ; I myself know what it is to be a distressed 
 traveller." So saying, they took him to a house 
 near, gave him bread, cheese, and beer, and 
 provided him with a lodging for the night. 
 
 Hutton went afterwards to other places, but 
 could get no employment. He could not give 
 a satisfactory account of himself; and of course 
 no one would employ him without a character. 
 But at length he had the good fortune to meet 
 with a townsman of his own, who advised him 
 to return to his uncle. ' 
 
 He first went to Derby to his father, who re- 
 ceived him kindly, and sent to his uncle to try to 
 reconcile him to his nephew. He succeeded, 
 the uncle and nephew exchanged forgiveness. 
 ** But," says Hutton, " the sense of my miscon- 
 duct damped my spirits, and sunk me in the eyes 
 of others. I did not get over it for some time." 
 
 Soon after William Hutton's return to his uncle, 
 an old man of the name of Webb, who had met 
 with misfortune, and wished to end his days in 
 peace, came to live with them. *' He was," 
 Hutton tells us, " one of the best men, most sensi- 
 ble, and formed to instruct young people. It 
 was my good fortune to attend on him, sleep 
 
39 
 
 with bim, and love him as a father. I tried to 
 profit by bim ; and I listened by the hour to- 
 «;ether to him and bis friends, all sensible men/' 
 
 But William did not long enjoy bis friend's 
 company. Mr. Webb died in a year after. 
 
 Though engaged in hard labor, William was 
 always fond of books ; but his poverty and want 
 of friends prevented his having many to read ; 
 and the few he obtained were old and shabby. 
 But now observe his industry and ingenuity, 
 lie watched a book-binder who used to work in 
 liis neighbourhood, and soon learned how to bind 
 Ills shabby books, and make them look neat. He 
 b )ught such wretched old books as no one else 
 would buy. He also got a broken-down press 
 for two shillings, which had been laid aside as 
 useless for firewood. But he contrived to put 
 it to rights, and it served him as a binding-press 
 afterwards for forty-two years. , 
 
 He had now saved money enough from his 
 wages to buy a tol'^^rably genteel suit of clothes, 
 and was so careful jf them that they continued 
 his best for five year^s..^ ... , t • ? ■ f . 
 
 In the Sej tember of this year his uncle died. 
 For several years after this event he contiuued 
 to struggle on m the greatest poverty, support- 
 
'I i 
 
 40 
 
 '!! !i 
 
 
 : m 
 
 ing hiinicli [)aiptly by book-bmdiiig, and |»aiftly 
 by stocking-weaving. 
 
 At length he determined to make a journey 
 to London, to buy the materiari which he waul- 
 ed for book-binding, which he knew he wouhl 
 be able to get much cheaper there than at Not- 
 tingham. With the help of his friends n'^ col 
 lected a little money, and set off on Monday tin- 
 8th of April. He could spare no money toi 
 coaches or other conveyance, and therefore re 
 solved to go on foot, a distance of 125 miles. r.^ut 
 he was not to be diverted from his purpose by a 
 little pain or fatigue; he reached London in 
 three days. Here he bought th:. materials he 
 wanted for his trade, contrived, in spite of fa- 
 tigue, to see some of the curious tilings it con- 
 i^ains, and then return to Nottingham. 
 
 Willian Hutton's plan was to open a little 
 shop in some market-town near Nottingham, 
 He took a little stall at Southwell accordingly; 
 collected a few books, put up some shelves him- 
 «!elf, and began busmess as a book-binder, ^s 
 his family lived in Nottingham, he had to set ont 
 at five in tb« morning on market-days to be in 
 time at his stall in Southwell, and this during the 
 dark and wet days of winter, while he walked 
 back, a distance of fourteen miles, in the eremng. 
 
41 
 
 )OUiiiey 
 ; want- 
 . wouUl 
 at T^iot- 
 
 \]C col" 
 
 nday tho 
 aney t'o> 
 jfore I'fi- 
 es. i>ut 
 ose by a 
 london in 
 erials he 
 ite of Ca- 
 rs it con- 
 
 jn a little 
 
 )ttingliain. 
 
 ^cordingly; 
 
 elves him- 
 
 inder. As 
 to set ont 
 
 ys to be in 
 during the 
 he walked 
 
 ;heeTemng. 
 
 By the following year he had saved enough 
 to enable him to leave Southwell, and open a 
 shop in Birmingham, ^vhere by his prudence 
 and industry he had icceeded very well. But 
 it was not till he had been a whole year a1 
 Birmingham that he ventured to treat himself to a 
 new suit of clothes. , • 
 
 , » I ■ 1 1* •'i 
 
 William Hntton had now conquered all his 
 dilFiculties ; his business improved every year 
 till at length he had saved money enough to 
 buy a large stock of paper ; and he added the 
 trade of paper-selling to that of bookselling 
 and binding. By these means, and his own 
 economy, he became one of the richest men in 
 Birmingham, and, what is far more, one of the 
 best. His leisure time was spent in reading 
 and gaining knowledge, teaching his family, 
 making peace between his neighbours when- 
 ever disputes arose among them, and doing 
 other acts of kindness; and he was known as 
 one of the best informed as well as the most use- 
 ful and respected men in Birmingham. .,,,,, , . , 
 
 He died at the age of ninety-two, and was 
 ^0 strong and active to the last that he took a 
 
 walk often miles on his ninetieth birth-day. 
 
 .'1 
 
I '' i 'I ^ 
 
 fit in 
 
 
 t"!^ 
 
 I 
 
 42 
 
 OUR ANCESTORS — WF. ARE ALL OF ONE RACE. 
 
 mil-lions 
 
 ian-*guage 
 
 an-cient 
 
 re-cord-ed 
 
 ban-ish-ment 
 
 his-to-ry . 
 
 an-te-di-lu-vi- 
 
 ans 
 suc-cei-sive 
 fresh-ness 
 rep-re-sent 
 mu-tu-al 
 
 Fart First. 
 
 re-nounc-ed 
 
 sep-ar-a-tion 
 
 ac-knot£;l-edge 
 
 pro-cess 
 
 cor-rupt 
 
 gen-er-a-tion 
 
 We, who inhabit these islands of Great Britain 
 and Ireland, form but a very small portion 
 of the people on this earth; which is supposed 
 to contain about eight hundred millions of in- 
 habitants 
 
 Yet this multitude of human beings, so dif- 
 ferent in colour, in language, and in habits, are 
 all of the same race. 
 
 We must not look for the birth place of our 
 race either in Ireland, in England, or any part 
 of Europe, as you well know, but in Asia. Turn 
 to the ancient map of Asia, and look somewhere 
 between the rivers Tigris and Euphrates, in or 
 near a country called Chaldea ; there you will 
 find the recorded dwelling of our first parents 
 after they were driven out from the garden of 
 Eden. 
 
43 
 
 After the murder of Abel and the banishment 
 of Cain, the eldest sons of Adam arid Eve, other 
 children were born to them^ and it ib from one 
 of these, from Seth, that the present human 
 race are descended. 
 
 The Bible records the historv of the children 
 of Cain, and of the children of Seth, who appear 
 to have been early distinguished from each other. 
 
 The sons of ^V/ch are said to have ealled them- 
 selves by thtr naiij*- of the Lord whon tbey tvor- 
 shipped — ^^ Sons of God ;" while the children of 
 Cain renounced the Divine worship ; and it is 
 supposed that it was the daughters of his rs'^e 
 that were called the " Daughters of men ;" we 
 may, therefore, suppose that the sons of his race 
 were called the " Sons of men," to mark their 
 separation from those who acknowledged and 
 served God, and who were hence ealled ^^Sons 
 of Crod,^^ In process of time " the sons" or 
 ** people of God," were induced to intermarry 
 with " the daughters of men ;" and the next 
 thing we hear of it, " that the earth was cor- 
 rupt and full of violence.*' 
 
 In one family alone, even of the children of 
 Seth was the worship of God preserved, and hit 
 laws obeyed ; vix., in that of Noah. ** Noah was 
 
44 
 
 ! ;; 
 
 ajubt man ami peitect in all his generation," and 
 he was therefore chosen to preserve the race ol 
 mankind, when the Almighty saw (it to destroy 
 the rest of the inhabitants of the world by a flood. 
 [ do not mean to speak of the flood, as you 
 know its history well ; but before 1 leave the 
 people before the flood, or, as they arc called, an 
 tediluvianSf I must notice to you their long lives. 
 Adam lived 930 years; so that, though i()56 
 years passed between the creation and the flood, 
 there were in all this time only nine generations 
 or successive families of men. And Adam, who 
 lived 700 years after the birth of Seth, must 
 have been alive in the days of Lamcch, Noah's 
 father ; so that Noah might have hejird, through 
 his father, from Adam's own mouth, the history 
 of the creation and the fall of man ^ and these 
 great events were thus delivered in all their 
 iVeshness to those who were to represent Adam 
 upon earth — to the one family from whom the 
 world was to be once more peopled. ' ' -* 
 
 iif* .1 
 
 settled 
 
 sub-sid-ed 
 
 an-ces-tor 
 
 • j J '1^1 
 
 Part Second. 
 
 stock 
 pre-fcv , , 
 
 ■J 
 
 eu-li^At-eu-ed 
 hc/»-thcn 
 .scorn-ed 
 
45 
 
 * and 
 
 LCC ol 
 
 :sti'oy 
 flood. 
 5 you 
 D the 
 3, an- 
 lives. 
 i()56 
 flood, 
 rations 
 I, who 
 must 
 ^call's 
 lirough 
 fiislory 
 these 
 their 
 Adam 
 m the 
 
 .-en-iid 
 
 n . 
 11 . 
 
 .1 
 
 .M 
 
 'O 
 
 »V 
 
 ^^ffy 
 
 Ne-gro col-on-ists .^ in-c!ud-ing .i 
 
 Hot-ten-tot an-cient-ly ,., at-tempt-ed 
 Ne-groes sur-viv-ed ^ ex-press-ly 
 
 Shorn, Ham, and Japheth, the three sons ul 
 Noah, settled, ii is supposed, in those regions ot 
 Asia around Mount Ararat, in Armenia, where 
 the ark rested when the waters of the flood 
 subsided, and as their families multiplied, 
 spread themselves over the neighbouring coun 
 tries, and passed over to Europe. 
 
 Shem was the ancestor of the Jews, ihe Per- 
 sians, and several other nations of Asia. 
 
 Ham was the ancestor of the Canaanites, 
 Egyptians, and also, it is supposed, of the Negro 
 and Hottentot races, though these last difl'er so 
 m colour and appearance from Ham's other de- 
 scendants, and also from ourselves, that those 
 who have seen those black races — you jrourselves 
 perhaps, who may have seen some of the negroes 
 who have been brought to ikff^ country — may 
 think it strange that men, so unlike each other, 
 rould have descended from the same stock, .^^j . 
 
 But, if we consider what varieties of colour and 
 foi'm are iound in brutes of the ??ame rac!e, it will 
 cease to surprise Uh. There are black and white 
 *iheep, you know ; and the white prevail, only 
 
■il 
 
 46 
 
 because we prefer to keep up that breed. So in 
 cattle, and dogs, the greatest variety exists, far 
 greater than that between ourselves and negroes. 
 
 Some of Japheth's descen<^ants, among whom, 
 it is supposed, were our forr .athers, passed over 
 into Europe, and spread throu-h it ; and several 
 tribes of them extended gra liially northward as 
 they were driven out from the first settlement 
 by stronger tribes. In process of time und at 
 various periods, some of these tribes, either in 
 escape from their enemies or in quest of unoc- 
 cupied lands, or else driven by winds and 
 wrecked, landed on these islands. The sea 
 coasts would naturally be the first inhabited. 
 Then, perhaps, stronger adventurers, landed, 
 and drove the first colonists to the inland and 
 mountainous parts ; and in this way the whole 
 island would in course of time be settled. 
 
 The original inhabitants of England, Ireland, 
 and Scotland, were chiefly Celtic tribes ; and 
 their language ikxa in- Ireland called Erse or 
 Irish, and in Scotland Gaelic ; another branch 
 of the same language is still spoken in Wales, 
 and was anciently used over all Britain. But 
 now, though there are many parts of Ireland 
 where the Irish is still spoken, it has fallen into 
 
47 
 
 disuse wherever the people are educated ^ or 
 have mixed much with their neigbours. 
 
 I have now traced baok our race to its origin 
 from the one single family that survived the 
 flood (that of Noah) to Adam anil Eve, the 
 common parents of mankind ; and I have dom^ 
 this in order to make you think on the kind ot 
 relatioBship in which we stand to each other. 
 
 The most enlightened of the ancient heathens 
 did not know this fact of our being descended 
 from one single pair. The Greeks, for instance 
 would have scorned Uie idea of being descended 
 from the same parent as ourselves, whom they 
 would have called barbarians. It was very 
 oflensive therefore to them, when the Apostle 
 Paul, in preaching to the people of Athens (a 
 Greek city), declared that' "God has made of 
 one blood all nations of men for to dwell on the 
 face of the earth." 
 
 Now the Jews, though they too held all other 
 nations, including these very Greeks, in great 
 contempt, and would doubtless have been very 
 glad if they could have denied that the Gentiles 
 were of the same blood as themselves, never 
 seem to have attem[/ted it, because they knew 
 that they could not have done to without deny- 
 
lih 
 
 I 'ii 
 
 '; I 
 
 I 
 
 m 
 
 ' 
 
 I «i 
 
 ing their own Scriptures, which so expressly 
 declare this fact. "■ 
 
 We are, then, brethren — whether of one nation 
 and language or another — whether black or 
 white, bond or free -we are of the *' Sons of 
 God ;" Christ has acknowledged us as such in 
 dying for us ; and I trust the time will come 
 when, through the sole influence of his nainC; 
 wars, and violence, and mutual injustice will 
 cease among us, and that all the great families 
 of the earth will be brought to acknowledge theii 
 brotherhood, and to dwell together in peace, ms./ 
 
 ni i M' 
 
 i».i 
 
 .5tiv 
 
 THE ITALIAN CARPENTER AND HIS NEIGHBOUR, 
 
 
 ! .' ■ '« 1 • . 
 
 trans-Iat-ed 
 
 It-al-i-an 
 
 neigh-bour 
 
 aZms 
 
 es-cort-ing 
 
 is-su-ing ^ 
 
 tire-men 
 
 suc-ceed-ed 
 
 stu-pi-fi-ed 
 
 suf-fo-cat-ing 
 
 Fart First, 
 
 as-cend-ing ^ ,,. 
 Iran- tic 
 tre-men-dous 
 dis-may-ed ''' '' 
 m-ac-tive '• 
 
 a-void-ing 
 
 ■ ill 
 
 .• ,.'.4' 
 
 »n' 
 
 sc9'-ed 
 hud-dled 
 ben-e-fac-tor 
 en-deav-ours 
 
 con-sum-ed 
 des-ti-tute 
 dawn-ed 
 •pec'ta-torh 
 
 con-tri-bu-tions 
 
 prin-ci-pal 
 
 sub-scrip-tiou 
 
 sus-tain-ed 
 
 miteb 
 
 . liiiJ luih 
 re-pair 
 
49 
 
 m 
 
 ressly 
 
 nation 
 :k or 
 ons oj 
 ucb in 
 come 
 name, 
 e wiU 
 'amilies 
 e theii 
 I, .!••.:/• 
 
 L '• 
 
 lute 
 Id 
 
 1-torb 
 i-bu-tions 
 
 pal 
 
 •iji-tion 
 
 in-ed 
 
 The following history, which is a true one, has 
 been translated for your use from the Italian 
 language, in which it was written. It will serve 
 to show you that the command in Scripture to 
 love one's neighbour and do good. to. him, may 
 be performed by all of us, even by those who 
 arr poor, and who have therefore little c? noth- 
 ing the way of a^^a to bestow upon others. 
 
 The event happened about live or six years 
 ago in the town of Pisa, which is in Italy, and 
 is situated on the banks of the Arno. One 
 night in the^month of September, the family 
 of an honest carpenter, pamed Vincent Brae- 
 celli, was quietly sleeping in a poor cottage by 
 the side of the Arno, where he carried on his 
 trade. All was at peace, and it only wanted 
 an hour of midnight, when two soldiers, who 
 had been escorting a messenger, charged with 
 letters, out of the city, passed under the win- 
 dows of the carpenter's shop. They perceived 
 that smoke was issuing out of it, and stopped 
 to try and awaken the family by calling and 
 knocking; but they could not make any one 
 hear. One of the neighbours, however, named 
 Francis Foscanelli, a friend of Vincent's, awoke 
 and ran into the street. He joined ihe soldiers 
 in their attempts to rouse the family j but 
 
1 1'" 
 
 ; r 
 
 50 
 
 nothing was beard from within but the crack- 
 ling flames, while clouds of smoke rolled 
 out. The soldiers set spurs to their horses to 
 call for the firemen, and Francis, being left 
 alone, ran to find a ladder, that he might make 
 his way into the burning house. He succeed- 
 ed in placing the ladder against the window, 
 at which he knocked again and again till it 
 gave way. One leap brought him into the 
 room where Vincent, his wife, and a young 
 baby, lay in bed asleep. The room was 
 aleady full of smoke. Francis made his way 
 to the bed, and found the wretched people still 
 more stupified by the suffocating smoke than 
 by sleep. But he shook Vincent, dragged him 
 out of bed, and helped him out of a window, 
 and, as soon as the open air had given the 
 poor man strength to go down the ladder, he 
 left him, returned to the bed, carried out the 
 wife in his arms, and placed her on the ground 
 by her husband ; then, ascending the ladder 
 again, he forced his way for the third time to 
 the bed, lifted out the baby, and threw it safe 
 and sound into its mother's arms. 
 
 The parents, when they had come to them- 
 selves, looked round them in terror. On perceiv- 
 ing the state in which they were, they both ched 
 
51 
 
 crack- 
 
 Tolled 
 )r8es to 
 ing left 
 at make 
 succeed- 
 wiadow, 
 n till it 
 into the 
 a young 
 )om was 
 
 his way 
 jople still 
 [oke than 
 gged him 
 I window, 
 
 tven the 
 ladder, he 
 ,d out the 
 
 e ground 
 Ihe ladder 
 
 d time to 
 
 ew it safe 
 
 to them- 
 >n percciv- 
 [both cned 
 
 out. " The children ! the children !" They rushed 
 frantic to the door, but it would not give^ way. 
 They tried the ladder, but the flames were is- 
 suing from the window out of which they had 
 escaped. Again they pushed at the door in des- 
 pair, and a tremendous crash from within show- 
 ed that the upper story had fallen in. This 
 afforded fresh fuel for the fire. The windows 
 broke, and the flames burst from every opening. 
 <^ Help ! help !" cried the miserable parents ; and 
 well might they be dismayed, for six children 
 were still within. The firemen were not come, 
 and the neighbours, who collected around, were 
 unable to give assistance. Francis alone could 
 not rest inactive. His own \yfe and children 
 were standing around him ; he saw them, but in- 
 stead of making this a reason for avoiding new 
 danger, the sight of them rather urged him on to 
 try and save the children of his poor friend, who 
 was a father like himself. He searched all the 
 neighbouring houses ; he explored all the places 
 by which he thought he could get at the burning 
 room. He found at last that one part of it had 
 not yet caught fire, and he discovered a court 
 yard, on which the room of the poor children 
 
 looked. Immediately he scaled the walls of a 
 garden, from which he descended upon this 
 
52 
 
 m. 
 
 m 
 
 court yard. He heard the cries of the children. 
 " Thank God !" said he to himself, " they. are 
 screaming, therefore they are still alive !" He 
 climhed up to a window, pushed it in with one 
 blow, and the first child was presently safe. The 
 others rushed to the open window, and the light 
 of the flame shone upon them, as they stood 
 trembling with scarcely any clothes, clinging 
 to the side of the window, and huddled one upon 
 another, with fire almost close to them. But God 
 enabled their benefactor to succeed in his en- 
 deavours. Six times Francis returned to the 
 window and six times came bark safely with 
 another child. A sister and a niece of Vincent's 
 were also in the house ; hp saved them too. So 
 he preserved the lives of a whole family of 
 eleven persons. But the fire continued to rage 5 
 it lasted all night ; and everything that the 
 house contained was consumed. Not a single 
 piece of furniture, or tool, or article of clothing, 
 was saved from the flames. - ^.". .; wv^ v 
 
 The neighbours received the destitute family, 
 and collected among themselves some clothes to 
 cover them. 
 
 :u« 
 
 .-!*.«■' 
 
 yM V 
 
 As the day dawned, the number of spectators of 
 
 the sad scene increased ; a kindly feeling spread 
 among all, and they began to make contributions 
 
53 
 
 Iren. 
 .are 
 He 
 
 one 
 The 
 
 ligbt 
 stood 
 mging 
 
 upon 
 
 t God 
 
 lis en- 
 
 to the 
 
 with 
 
 cent's 
 
 . So 
 
 ily of 
 rage; 
 
 at the 
 single 
 
 othing, 
 
 family, 
 Ithes to 
 
 itors of 
 
 spread 
 
 libutioDS 
 
 The principal magistrate of the city opened a sub- 
 scription to repair the losses which the poor car- 
 penter had sustained from the fire. Other sub- 
 scription lists were opened, and before the even- 
 ing a considerable collection had been made. 
 
 But, besides those rich people who gave their 
 almS| there were many poor ones who contri- 
 buted their mites, and whose names were never 
 
 known ; whose alms, thus done in secret, their 
 heavenly Father has promised in Scripture, 
 
 •* to reward openly." 
 
 * ' Fart Second. 
 
 earn-ings di-rec-tress <. 
 
 a-sy-lum shel-ter-ed 
 
 gov-er-ness-e« hos-pi-ta-ble 
 grat-i-tude or-phan 
 
 One of the poor men who acted as we have re- 
 lated, was afterwards discovered to be a boatman 
 of the river Amo, whom we shall call Joseph. :; 
 This man was going out of his house the 
 morning after the fire, when a friend, as poor as 
 himself, who was collecting assistance for the 
 family of Vincent, met him, and told him of the 
 melancholy event. Joseph was not acquainted 
 with these poor people, but he knew what 
 misfortune was. He went back to his house, 
 and asked his wife, who was as compassionate 
 
 re-lat-cd 
 mel-an-choly- 
 com-pas-sion 
 char-i-ty 
 
 < 
 
 i\i 
 
64 
 
 m 
 
 ''l\r 
 
 as lumself, to give him the little sum of money 
 which he had put aside from hi« week's 
 earnings. 
 
 It was Saturday, and, while the wife was 
 collecting the small store of pence, which was 
 to help the family to prss their Sunday more 
 comfortably, the tailor came in, bringing with 
 him some clothes (whether new or just men- 
 ded I do not know) for Sunday. They be- 
 longed to the fathei^ and his sons ; and Joseph 
 made a bundle of them, and gave them away 
 in addition to his pence for the use of the poor 
 family of Vincent, the burnt-out carpenter. 
 
 The next day, Sunday, Joseph and his 
 family had nothing but their ragged working 
 dresses to wear at church 5 but they were m 
 the presence of Him who looks upon the heart, 
 lyad who knew why they appeared less decent- 
 ly dressed than their neighbours. ^ irt'*'; 
 
 Among many other kind actions preform- 
 ed on this occasion^ the following was by 
 the little girls educated at the ^' Infant Asy- 
 lum" in Pisa, where orphans and destitute 
 children are brought up by charity. These 
 little girls, when they heard of the fire, begged 
 
 of the governess of the asylum, to be allowed 
 to wo rk for the carpenter's poor children j their 
 
66 
 
 request was granted. The necessary mate- 
 rials were given them. They could speak of 
 nothing else, and employed all their play hours 
 in the task. They worked so hard, and were 
 so eager in encouraging each other, at it, that in 
 a short time they had finished a considerable 
 quantity of clothing. It was a joyful day for 
 them, when their t ork was ready and placed 
 in a basket. All the school-girls wished to go 
 and offer their gifts in person, but, a? only few 
 could be permitted, they were cr i'iged to draw 
 ' lots for those who were t'^ «iccompan' their di- 
 rectress. Four were ch »sei4 ; and, when they 
 came to the poor children, they were unabie to 
 speak, they could only shed tears of joy. The 
 carj^enter's children were full of gratitude on 
 receiving such an unexpected gift of labour from 
 little girls who had never even seen them before, 
 and who were still poorer than themselves, as 
 they were support a<i by the chanty of others. 
 
 I will only add that the alms, given by the rich 
 and poor, were: so well employed, that in a little 
 while the carpenter's bouse was rebuilt, and fur- 
 nished with everything they could want 5 and 
 the family, after having been sheltered for some 
 time imder the hospitable roof of some kind 
 neighbours; returned joyfully to their new home. 
 

 1' V 
 
 I'll 
 
 ) 
 
 !' 15:1 
 
 I 
 
 1 
 I 
 
 I!: 
 
 iiri 
 
 56 
 
 TUX ITALIAN BOT. 
 
 Fart First. 
 
 scam-per-ing 
 
 an-Doj 
 
 o-bey-ed 
 
 de-spise 
 
 for-eign 
 
 ser-vice 
 
 As a 
 
 af-flict-ed 
 
 pan-de-an 
 
 ear-nest-Iy 
 
 faith-ful 
 
 pat-tiog 
 
 lone-ly 
 
 wist-ful-ly 
 
 break-fast 
 
 ram-bles 
 
 lin-ger-ing 
 
 pro-long .< 
 
 pre-cise-Iy 
 
 kind old man was one day walking 
 through a country village, he heard a loud 
 shouting and hallooing at a little distance. He 
 stopped, and, leaning on his stick, waited to see 
 what was the matter. 
 
 He soon saw a poor Italian boy coming towards 
 him, running fast from a number of the village 
 children, who were scampering at his heels, 
 pelting him with dirt, and mocking and laughing 
 at him. The old man walked, as fast as he could, 
 up to the Italian boy, and promising that he 
 would protect him, calkd out to the boys and 
 girls to stop. The poor fellow stood close to the 
 old man, and his young persecutors ceased to an- 
 noy him. ^ 
 
 "My poor boy," said the old man, " Ij^am 
 very sorry to see you ill-used, because you 
 
 UlU 
 
 Jl^ ««>'»i 
 
 *%.! i *»U)' ' V 
 
 5JR 
 
67 
 
 bappen to be a stranger and witnout friends 
 here ; but tbose jomhot ones sball not burt you 
 anj more. Take tins sixpence and go on jour 
 waj. And you/' be said to tbe mob of ebild- 
 ren, "stay ; I wish to talk witb you." 
 
 Tbe Italian boy tbanked tbe kind old man 
 again and again in bis broken Englisb, and, put- 
 ting tbe sixpence into bis pocket, went bis way. 
 
 Tbe cbildren stood round tbe old man. Tbey 
 were ratber afraid of bis large stick ; but be did 
 not lay it about their shoulders, as they perhaps 
 expected and deserved. He only desired them to 
 follow hira to a log of wood by the way-side, 
 and be looked so kind and good-natured that 
 they willingly obeyed him. 
 
 The old man took his seat on this 'og, and 
 then said to the boys and girls around bim, " You 
 teased and pelted that poor boy, because you 
 thought he was not so good as you are, since he 
 cannot speak your own language as well as you 
 can, and since his sunburnt cheeks and dark 
 black eyes show that be came from foreign lands. 
 You would not pelt or laugh at a boy out of your 
 own village, who had done no harm to any 
 one? *'0b, no," answered tbe children. 
 
 " Well then," continued the old man, " who 
 
;i ii 
 
 If 
 
 
 ,• 
 
 58 
 
 this poor boy may be, I know not any more than 
 yourselves ; but I know that it is wrong to des- 
 pise a person because he looks and speaks un- 
 like ourselves, and very wrong to do him harm. 
 You know it is said that we ought to love our 
 neighbour as ourselves. Now our neighbours 
 means not merely the person who lives next 
 door to us, but any one who comes in our way ; 
 and to love, of course, does not here mean to feel 
 an affection for every one who comes in our 
 way, but to be ready to help him, and avoid hurt- 
 ing iiim. To show you, however, that there arc 
 good people in other countries besides our own, 
 &nd that some Italian boys at least, deserve to 
 be lored, I will tell you a history about an Ital- 
 ian boy whoku I once knew," 
 
 THE OLD MAN'S STORY. 
 
 r, M 
 
 During the wars between Italy and France, 
 many poor men in both countries were obliged to 
 leave their homes, and go on foreign service as 
 soldiers. Among these was a worthy man who 
 lived in the south of Italy. .^ . 
 
 This poor man had already been severely af- 
 flicted. He had lo.^t his wife the winter before, 
 and there was no o^je but himself to take care of 
 
 ►f»« 
 
 ;■• • rfr- 
 
59 
 
 his little hoy. The poor man was very fond of 
 his child. Since the death of his wife he had 
 no other companion, with the exception of a fa- 
 vorite dog. They ate together, they slept to- 
 gether, and on holidays, and during the de- 
 lightful warm evenings of that country, the 
 father used often to amuse himself with blow- 
 ing tunes upon a pandean pipe. To these 
 tunes his little boy, seated on the ground at 
 his feet, or mounted on his knee, would listen 
 earnestly, and would often beg his father to 
 let him try and play upon the pipe also. In a 
 short time, by listening and practising atten- 
 tively, the boy learned to blow some tunes in 
 his turn very prettily. 
 
 This pipe when he went away, the poor 
 man left with his boy. An order arrived to 
 hasten his departure, so that he had only time 
 to give Juan, (for that was the boy's name) to 
 the care of an old woman who lived near him. 
 He kissed his child, and with tears in his eyes 
 told him to be a good boy, and that be hoped 
 soon to come back and see him again. ** Good 
 bye, my faithfnl Fido,'' said he, patting the dog, 
 who stood close to him ; ** take care of my lonely 
 child, whilst I am away." The dog looked wist- 
 fully in his master'! face as if he understood the 
 
60 
 
 words that had been spoken to him, and licked 
 his hands, as though promising to attend to his 
 orders. ' ' " Mm ^s 
 
 Juan cried bitterly when his father left him. 
 Week after week passed on. Every night 
 young Juan, when he went to bed said, << I 
 hope my dear father will be here to-morrow." 
 Every morning he got up early, and, before he 
 ate his piece of bread for breakfast, he ran a 
 long way down the road to look for his father, 
 but no father was there. Every morning he 
 came back to the old woman's cottage very sad, 
 and often crying. 
 
 In all these rambles the dog Fido accom- 
 panied him, and would hang down his head, 
 and walk slowly home after him, with his tail 
 between his legs, as if conscious of, and shar- 
 ing in, the disappointment of his little master, 
 stopping when he stopped, and lying down on 
 the ground, when Juan, lingering still with 
 hope, sat down a few minutes to prolong the 
 time. 
 
 News came that the war was ended, and that 
 the soldiers would soon return to their homes. 
 Some of the fellow-soldiert of Juan's father did 
 return; and Juan's thoughts were fall of the 
 pltMure of again aeeiog his father. He eonld 
 
 '\*-0 \r< ••' -J ■: I \j%j ) { • f 
 
 ■n% 
 
61 
 
 ,»;..■.:• 
 
 I T.t^., 
 
 larAy eat orydrink, and, when he went to bed, 
 he dreaiht of bis father. But still no father came ^ 
 and the boy began to be sad as ever again /^ ' '' ' 
 
 One day a soldier, who was on his way home' 
 stopped at the old woman's cottage, and asked for 
 some water to drink. Juan saw that he had a 
 dress en precisely like that which had been 
 given to his father. He whispered to the old 
 woman, ^^ Ask him if he knows where my father 
 
 ,and when he is coming home." ^\ I dare say 
 he is dead," said the man, *^ for he had many 
 wounds. He was so ill that he cquld not march 
 on ; and I left him at a cottage near Milan. 
 It is a long way from here." .^j-i ),; ., .■» ul 
 
 ' When Juan heard this, he did not sit down 
 and cry, for that would do his father no good. 
 Tears, it is true, carae into his eyes; but he 
 wiped them away, and made up his mind to 
 set off and find his father*^ .^'' •''•"' " "•• **■* 
 
 ■' " Strangers," thought he, " cannot care for my 
 father so much as I do. T can wait upon him 
 much better than they can." The next morning, 
 as soon as the sun rose, Juan was ready. He 
 called his dog, and took the pipe which his father 
 had given him. "I will play the tunes which 
 my father taught me upon this pipe as T go 
 
62 
 
 along," said he ; " and then I shall get a little 
 bread from kind people, and ^fp support;, p^self^ 
 till I find my fether." 
 
 tt(*'i} 'iSjn Rill uu -'./iii 
 
 '■■ ri 1 i 
 
 
 
 firisk-ed "»ib 
 "'^»n toil-some - 
 re-fresh-ed i.ut ill-treat /* 
 
 Fart Seoondm ,, 
 
 anx-i-ous (ji'-.« 
 tip-toe 
 
 re-solv-ed 
 
 mor-sel 
 
 romp-ing 
 
 This brave child, having resolved what to do, 
 set off. Many weeks he walked all day along, 
 and very often he slept in the open air upon a 
 bank on the road side. When he slept, his dog 
 lay down at his side. Sometimes the people 
 he met did not want music, and sometimes 
 when they did, they only gave him a sn^all 
 piece of bread for his trouble; but some few 
 gave him a little money. He took great care 
 of this ; so that, wh.en no food was given to him, 
 he might be able to buy some. Through all 
 his hardships he was cheerful, and thanked the 
 people for whatever they gave him, whether 
 much or little. He always shared such food as 
 he had with his good dog Fido. But Juan and 
 his dog led a hard life,, and were often without 
 a morsel to eat. One day. after h^ bad walked 
 
/# 
 
 k«d 
 
 S3 
 
 many miles, and was very ^"ngry, he came to 
 a cottage. Some boys and girls were romp- 
 ing outside the door. Juan at any other time 
 would have liked to join them in their fun, but 
 now his thoughts were bent on something else. 
 
 He went up to them, and began to play a 
 tune. The children were so pleased with the 
 music that they left off their game and gathered 
 roundhim. ' "' •"' '' ■^' ^'•'^"' -'.-'^^ i^' u> 
 
 When he finished his tune, he asked whe- 
 ther they would like him to play any more. 
 
 " Oh yes, yes," cried the children. '*'^ 
 
 " Will you give me a seat, then 5 for 1 am 
 very tired," said Juan. '^- ^''^" ^ - -^^'t' m^r ^cri. 
 
 " Come into the house," said the boys, " and 
 play there." 
 
 ** O, no," cried the eldest of the girls, " he must 
 not, because of the sick soldier." Juan heard this. 
 " Let me come ir?, let me come in," said he, " and 
 let me see the man ; for my father is a soldier." 
 "He could say no more. He could hardly 
 draw his breath, he felt so anxious. ' '' *' 
 
 " This must be the cottage the soldier meant," 
 said he ; <' Oh ! if I should find my dear, dear 
 father here !" He could not go on speaking. '^' 
 
 "Is your name Juan]" asked one of the girls. 
 
 " Yes," said Juan. 
 
 »n 
 
 1 0mU 
 
 In .HI' 
 
64 
 
 i ! 
 
 S'T I / 
 
 " Then, perhaps, you are the little boy that 
 the sick man talks so much about, and wishes 
 so much to see!" said the girl. 
 
 " Let me go to the room where he lies," 
 cried the eager Juan ! " oh, do let me go." 
 .. ** I must first see if he is awake," replied the 
 girl. ^< He sleeps so little, owing to the pain 
 of his wounds, that it would be unkind to awake 
 him " 
 
 So she went into the cottage gently, and open- 
 ed the door. She looked in, and, turning round 
 to Juan, put her finger to her lip, and quietly 
 shut the door . again, and then walked on tiptoe 
 out of the cottage, v ^ ;, ,. „ . .^-.y^ 
 
 " He sleeps now," she whispered. " If you 
 want to see him, you must wait." * 
 
 " Play us a tune," said the children, " and we 
 will ask our mother to give you some supper." 
 
 Juan was hungry and tired, but he could not 
 
 play on his pipe. He sat down on the ground, 
 
 and leaned his head upon his bands, his heart 
 
 beating, and tears gathering in his eyes. ^,. 
 
 .^ The children looked at him, and one of them 
 
 said, " Are you ill, little boy ?" 
 
 " No," said Juan, " If I have found my father 
 I am quite well." 
 
 The children then continued their ^aniel, and in , 
 
65 
 
 lem 
 
 tbeir fun soon forgot the poor little boy and his 
 pipe. Fido laid himself down close to his joung 
 master and weiit to sleep. ^ . „ 
 
 The time seemed to pass very slowly. Poor 
 Jui n thought the sick man slept a long time, 
 and he was on the point of falling asleep too, 
 w iien suddenly he heard a voice call out from 
 tii»j cottage, " Bring me some drink." He start- 
 ed up ; he knew the voice — it was his father's ! 
 Happy child I He rushed into the cottage, 
 opened the bed-room door, and threw his arms 
 : o.md his father's neck. ' ' ' ' 
 
 ilis father did not at first perceive that it was 
 
 his own boy who was hugging him so closely ; 
 
 but when the dog Fido leaped upon the bed, 
 
 wagging his tail and barking with joy, then he 
 
 knew both, and he too was joyful. " My good 
 
 child," said he, " I shall soon be well, now you 
 
 have come, and we will all go home together." 
 I'ij. 
 He then asked the children to give Juan and 
 
 poor Fido some food. The biggest of the girls 
 
 went directly to her mother's closet in the next 
 
 room, and brought out for Juan a large piece of 
 
 barley bread and a bunch of fine ripe grapes. 
 
 This, with some water which .he fetched from 
 
 the well; made for Juan, as she thought, ttie 
 
 >«-: 
 

 I: 
 
 (I 
 
 i.l 
 
 ill' 
 
 66 
 
 pleasantest meal he hud tasted since he left 
 home. She gave Fido aiso some food. ■-*■■ 
 
 After such a hearty supper Juan felt quite re- 
 freshed and merry. He played many tunes 
 upon his pipe to the children of the cottage, 
 and Fido frisked about. 
 
 From that day Juan was constantly with his 
 father. He waited upon him, dressed his 
 wounds, watched him while he slept, and talk- 
 ed to him when he was awake. The dog too, 
 stayed in the room, and slept under the sick 
 man's bed. In a short time the Italian soldier 
 became quite well. He paid the woman of the 
 **,oitage for the room she had let him occupy, 
 and for the ft^d she had provided him with. 
 
 Both he and Juan were sorry to part with the 
 children of the cottage, and Juan played them 
 many tunes upon his pipe before he went. 
 
 At length one fine morning, the father, Juan 
 
 and their dog, set off to walk home, and after 
 
 many a toilsome day's walk they reached their 
 ownvinage. ^"'^ '^ ' ' *' '^^ ^' 
 
 " I have now," said the old man, '^ finished my 
 story. You see there are good people in other 
 countries as well as in our own, and I hope you 
 will never again ill-treat a stranger. His being a 
 
67 
 
 »7 
 ler 
 
 a 
 
 istranger pr^es that in (me point he is less 
 happy than you are.'* "' ^*'= • '* =" y 
 
 : heart wu'j u:jh'v? • — — ^li? I^^^) uisj.-. 
 
 ,1. 'i 
 
 '.{?• 
 
 or THB TWO NATURAL DIVISIONS OP THE (>«> 
 
 r.xi 
 
 .WORLD — AND AND WATER. 
 
 A 
 
 a li 
 
 earth-quake 
 
 vol-ca-noes 
 
 ex-plo-sions 
 
 Ge-og-ra-phy 
 
 con-ve-ni-ence 
 
 sub-ject 
 
 sub-stance 
 
 oc-cur-red 
 
 crum-bling 
 
 de-cay-ed 
 
 
 «r-| 
 
 n-', 
 
 peb-bles 
 mi-nutes 
 bar-ren-nesB 
 
 MO.'i 
 
 ■■•! 
 
 moul-der-ed 
 
 Q.I 
 
 veg-e-ta-ble . , 
 
 smot^l-der-ing 
 
 re-sem-bles 
 
 ' con-yul-sion 
 mowli * 
 
 pres-6ure . 
 moss-es 
 ma-te-ri-als 
 Gen-e-sig 
 
 iii 
 
 '>U. 
 
 gra-nite ^ 
 
 These were the two first great divisions of the 
 world, laid down in your books of Geography. 
 But Geography does not tell us what the land 
 and wat^r are in themselves^ only how they 
 have been divided and named by man for his 
 own use and convenience..,, }^;,jj„. .J , 
 
 These divisions or countries, with their cities 
 and the things for which they are remarkable, 
 you have already learned in your books of Geo- 
 gl^phy, together with the names of the rivers 
 
I { 
 
 '« M 
 
 iiil 11 
 
 68 
 
 which water them, and of the ocmis m^ seas 
 by which they are divided.; but the subject 
 of this chapter will be the substance of the 
 earth itself — the ground on which you tread; 
 and I shall then speak of the waters which are 
 containied within and upon it. '- • ' 
 
 . />. j i. ..• 
 
 Though you have sat upon the ground, and run 
 and stumbled and walked upon it from your ear- 
 liest childhood, I dare say it has never occurred 
 to you to think what it was all made of. You have 
 kicked up the dust on the road : you have played 
 in the fields, and dug m the gardens ; you have 
 climbed hills, or tossed about the sand on the 
 sea-shore, or, it may be, picked your way across 
 the bogs day after day without such a thought 
 having crossed your minds. Now, people who 
 have thought and inquired about these things, 
 have learned that many of the various beds of 
 sand, clay, mould and peat, of which our fields 
 and plains and bog^ are composed, were either 
 formed from solid rocks (some of them hard, 
 like our Three-rock Mountain, and some of 
 them soft and crumbling), or from the decayed 
 plants and animals which lived upon them. 
 
 • t ' * 
 
 How this came about seems very wonderful ; 
 but as the same thing is still going on in the 
 
69 
 
 ! f 
 
 world, viz., new lands being formed, and old 
 rocks broken up, people, wbo hare carefully 
 attended to tbese tbings, are able to tell us bow 
 tbey came to pass. 
 
 Some of tbe softer rocks have crumbled away 
 of themselves by exposure to the weather and 
 other causes, and the earth and soil thus formed 
 has been washed down into the valleys beneath 
 by the rains and streams of water which find 
 their way down the mountains. The beds of 
 earth are of different kinds, some of clay, some 
 of sand, according to the nature of the rock 
 frora which they came. ^ 
 
 The hard rocks, such -as granite, which you 
 see lying about in great blocks and stones, must 
 have been broken and split asunder by some 
 violent force from within the earth. This 
 force seems to proceed from certain heated 
 substances within the earth, which, in trying 
 to make their way out, split and rend it asun- 
 der, causing earthquakes. Sometimes hot melt- 
 ed materials push up the earth above them, and 
 making an opening, through which they pour and 
 throw out smoke and ashes ; these are called vol- 
 canoes or burning mountains. Those, who have 
 
 seen rocks split and blown up by gunpowder, 
 can the better understand what has been said. 
 
 , 1 
 
% 
 
 I'M I i!: 
 
 ii, 
 ii 
 
 I !( 
 
 iHC 
 
 ^ij Well, such explosions have taken place among 
 the rocks of our world, and have broken them up 
 into blocks and pieces, and scattered them far 
 and wide. These blocks, having been exposed 
 for countless ages to seas and rivers, dashing and 
 rolling them agamst each other, have been again 
 broken and their edges worn off, till at length 
 they became those smooth rounded pebbles, 
 which you find under your feet. The minute 
 portions, thus ground off or worn away, formed 
 the sand which make up a large portion of tho 
 soil of our earth, covering our shores, and extend 
 over vast tracts, which from their barrenness we 
 call deserts. When this sand is mixed with 
 pebbles, as it is in the bed of the river, it is 
 called gravel. So now, when you pick up a 
 smooth round edged stone, you know its histo- 
 ry-- that it was broken olV from some rock by a 
 great convulsion of the earth, exposed to water, 
 and rolled into its present form j and, if you in- 
 quire further, some people ean tell you from look 
 ing at it what kind of rock it once belonged to. 
 
 ^ut'te\Vtiirnfothe eartti; The rich soil of 
 our fields and gardens and hill-sides, which is 
 commonly called vwuld, has been formed in tb 
 course of ages by decayed trt es and plants, to* 
 
 .J 
 
71 
 
 gether with the moulderea remains of the ani- 
 mals which lived on them. 
 
 ■I 
 
 ., Sometimes whole forests have he en washed 
 awaj hj floods, or have sunk down with the 
 land on which thej grew, and over which moss- 
 es and other binding plants have spread them- 
 selves, one generation after another djing, till 
 at length that kind of vegetable earth wa9 
 formed, which we call bog or peat, i • li ' r 
 
 ' These bogs which extend over vast plains anS 
 valleys, are black and uglj to look at, unless 
 Where they hapj^en to be covered with plants ; 
 but you know what nice smouldering fires they 
 mike. Of the useful things, which the earth 
 contains within it, there is one which I shall 
 mention, because it somewhat resembles the 
 turf or pcfat of which I have just been speaking ; 
 1 mean coal. You would not think that this 
 hard, black, shiny substance was formed by 
 plants of various kinds, hardened in the course 
 of ages by the pressure of the earth. 
 
 Yon have now learned something of (he earth 
 you tread on, — of the stones and gravel in your 
 path, the sknd on the sea-shore, the mould and 
 clay of the fields and valleys, the peat of tfie 
 bogs aiidf fhe)[coal which if dug out from oenea^li, 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
■I : 
 
 H I 
 
 I i i 
 
 I'll '' 
 
 li 
 
 1^1 
 
 I- 
 
 72 
 
 Now, in considering all these things, are you 
 not struck with admiration at the fact that 
 nothing made by Almighty God has ever been 
 wasted or lost?— so that what seems to have 
 been destroyed, has only, we find, been changed 
 by Divine Wisdom into something more useful 
 or more beautiful still. •«*'^i ;^h»' "^'^ -''' • i ti^^ -^ ' 
 •' 'Hence, though the trees and plants, the grass- 
 es and mosses, which clothe the hills, the fields, 
 and the barren bogs, when they have delighted 
 the eye of man, perish indeed, and moulder into 
 earth, they perish only to take other forms, and 
 to supply soils for new plants, or other materials 
 wherewith to promote the comfort and happiness 
 of the human race. Well, then, it is said in thje 
 bpok of Genesis, which records the history of 
 the creation ! —^< And God saw every thing t)^!,; 
 He had made, and behold it was very good." . huj 
 -uti IrM ,;lnid: »^f' !'l»f««'^^ noY .VviO^ mvifu J 
 V'( !»•«;•:•. '.it m7T \siaU AoiiWl Jr;i;i 
 
 3T0RT OF A DESERT. , 
 
 veg-e-ta-tion ,;,^, Mo-roc-co. j , leatK-eri^, j- 
 <>-a-ses . ..^^^^*; sea-port j, .^, bag-gage.,,,.^ 
 hard-ship .^ ,^ in-duc-ed af-fect-ed .^. ' 
 
 whirl-wind ^^ ,,- ne-glect-«d ^j.^^eo-ri-ness ,^ 
 ov-er-whelm' a- void . ., . sense-les^ ^ .,,.: 
 
7 
 '1 
 
 T 
 
 78 
 
 r.'W 
 
 cam-els 
 
 Za-ha-ra 
 
 an-ces-tors 
 
 car-a-vans 
 
 drom-e-dar-y 
 
 
 in-tense Ii jj > 
 pre-ced-ing 
 fa-tigwe ^ 
 
 ex-haust-ed 
 
 .( 
 
 moist-ure 
 
 .i,>". 4.1' 
 
 char-i-ta-ble 
 - fa-tal 
 lan-guor 
 in-ter-rupt-ed 
 brook . 
 
 •A Dest:rt is a sandy plain, generally of great 
 extent, without vegetation, and almost entirely 
 without water. There are, indeed, in some 
 deserts a few wells, and on the spots thus water- 
 ed, t^hich are called OaseSy some shrubs and 
 plants are found ; but these springs are very 
 scarce and far distant from each other, so that 
 travellers suffer much from thirst.^ ^' 
 
 Nor is want of water the only hardship to 
 which those who are obliged to cross a desert, 
 are exposed. They are very likelv to lose their 
 way, for there are h objects to mark out the 
 direction in which they ought to travel, nor 
 can any roads be mpde, h^^cause the sand is 
 loose, and blown ajout v/ith every breeze. 
 
 Sometimes a whirlwind raises the sand in 
 such clouds as to overwhelm the travellers com- 
 pletely, leaving nothing but a hill of sand, 
 where, but a few minutes before had been a 
 crowd of men. horses and camds.. ' , ; "'"*' ''* 
 
 i F: 
 
 "^j f 
 
 fi'jiiiir, iHi ;■". 
 
h':, 
 
 
 .ll'll 
 
 •74 
 
 Deserts are chieflj found in Africa and A^ia. 
 Arabia, in Asia, is composed in a great measure 
 of deserts. No settled inhabitants live in these 
 wastes; but they are frequented by tribes of 
 wandering Arabs, who dwell in tents, which 
 they carry about with them from one Oases to 
 another, never remaining long in one place. 
 Besides their camels, these Arabs possess the 
 swiftest and most beautiful horses in the world. 
 In the great desert of Africa, called Zahara, 
 (lyhich means *^ desert,^) there are afso wand- 
 ering Arabs, who have left their own countrj, 
 but continue to lead much the same sort of life 
 that their ancestors did before them. Each 
 tribe is governed by a chief, who is called a 
 Sheik, a word meaning "old man."^^ , Th^se 
 Arabs are often robbers, and they seldom fail 
 1^ strip the unfortunate travellers, who fall 
 into their hands, of all their property . ,, , ,^.j^j, 
 "When merchants, or travellers, are about to 
 cross the desert, they join together for (,^ieir, mu- 
 tual safety, and form large companies, son^etimcs 
 C9n3isting of more , than a thousand peojp^^. 
 These compvanies are caUed caravan^ ; they t^e 
 horses and mules with them, but their chief 
 dependence is on the ,c^mel,^^vrbich, f/ipm^^t^ 
 form and habits, is better suited to tne desert 
 
76 
 
 than any other animal. In Africa the dro- 
 medary, which much resembles the camel, sup- 
 plies its place. The dromedary has one hump in-^ 
 stead of two, like the Asiatic camel, and it has 
 a much swifter pace ; in other respects, there is 
 
 no great difference between them. 
 
 •ii 
 
 The following story, which is a true one, will 
 give you some idea of the suffering caused by 
 want of water in a journey through a desert. •' ' 
 
 Ali Bey had been travelling in Morocco,* 
 and was on the point of leaving that country. — 
 He wished ^to go from a town, called Ouschda, 
 to Tangier, which is a sea port, whence he in- 
 tended to embark for the East. He was accom- 
 
 [ panied by two officers and thirty guards to pro- 
 tect liim on the way. He had been informed 
 that 400 Arabs were watching for him on the 
 high-road, probably with the intention of rob- 
 bing him. This information induced him to 
 leave Ouschda privately, and, quitting the high- 
 road he crossed the fields to the south, and 
 pushed forward towards the desert. The night 
 was dark, and the sky covered with clouds. — 
 
 jThey advanced very fast dunng the night, and 
 at nine in the morning they stopped near a 
 
 ♦ Morocc* IS a country to ihe north of Alridi, silimied twet-n 
 tito Atlantic Oeeani tho Mountainn of Atlai«, and the Desert of 
 ZaharH part ot wliich extendi iato Morocto itieljl 
 
 i :1 
 
 V. i- 
 
 u 
 
 i - 
 
 \. 
 
li 
 
 
 Tf 
 
 7e 
 
 stream, where the gxiards took leave of A) 
 Bey, and left him to the care of some Arabs wto 
 had joined him on the road. A dispute arose 
 among the guards at parting, which for a little 
 while alarmed Ali Bey and his companions, and 
 so occupied their attention that they neglected to 
 supply themsel?Lo with water at the stream, whos^ 
 banks they were now leaving. ,, . .,> 
 
 They continued marching on in great haste 
 for fear of bemg overtaken by the 400 Arabs 
 whom they wished to avoid. For this reasoii 
 they never kept the common road, but passed 
 through the middle of the desert, marching ov^r 
 stony places and low hills^ This country is en- 
 tirely without water, and not a tree is to be seen 
 in it, nor a rock which can afibrd a shelter from 
 the heat. There is a particular clCi^rness in the 
 air, an intense sun darting its beams on the 
 head of the travellers, and breezes scorching 
 like a flame : such is a faithful picture of the 
 desert through which Ali Bey was passing. — 
 The travellers had neither eaten nor drunk sincn 
 the precedi) <?;/, and their horses and mules 
 were in the rame condition. Soon after twelve 
 
 o'clock the men, as well as the poor animals 
 began to be w^rn out with fatigue. The mules 
 were stumbling at every step with their bur- 
 
 
 ,l> «'l -V ■; 'i4-ff ..= -»^ 
 
 ■tt.iH 
 
 ,i 
 
 
77 
 
 dens, and required help to lift them up again; 
 this exertion exhausted the little strength the 
 men had left. 
 
 At two in the afternoon a man dropped down 
 stiff, as if he were dead, from fatigue and thirst. 
 AH Bey stopped with three or four of his people 
 if assist him. The little moisture that was left in 
 one of the leathern hags, in which they carry 
 water in those countries, was squeezed out, and 
 a few drops poured into the poor man's month, 
 but without relieving him. Ali Bey began to 
 feel his strength failing, and, becoming very 
 weak, he determined to mount on horseback, 
 leaving the poor fellow behind. This seems 
 very cruel, but they could do nothing for the un- 
 fortunate man j he was dying of thirst, and they 
 had no water to give him ; it o^ould be no com- 
 fort to him for hiri companions to lie down and 
 die by his side. 
 
 From this time others of the caravan began 
 to drop, one after another, and there Has no pos- 
 sibility of giving them any assistance ; so they 
 were necessarily left to their unhappy fate^ 
 Several mules with their burdens were also left 
 behind, and Ali Bey, saw some of his trunks 
 lying on the ground without knowing what 
 had becume of the muks or their drivers. The 
 
 
!■ 
 
 ii' 
 
 l!i:^ 
 
 m 
 
 !!1 
 
 78 
 
 losk of Ms baggage aftecyi liim'Bat little ; Be 
 pushea on Tdthout caring about it.' "*''*' '"^^ ' «*^^ 
 
 His horse, though the strongest iii the whofe 
 ciaraTan, iiciw began to tremble und^r him . When 
 he endeavoured to ehconrage his men to go 
 fester, they answered by looking "hiin in the face 
 athd pointing to their mouths, to show how muc% 
 BBiey suffered from thirst. The Whole party were 
 now sehsible of the impossibility of supporting 
 i^tich fatigue until they should reach the place 
 where they were to meet with water again. ' "' 
 
 At last about four in the afternoon Ali Bey had 
 his turn, and fell down from thirst and weariness. 
 It is impossible to imagine a more wretched 
 condition than that of Ali Bey, stretched sense- 
 less on the ground in the middle of the desert, 
 left with only thfee or four men, one of whom 
 had dropped at the same time as himself, and 
 those who retained their senses without means 
 of assisting him. 
 
 He remained senseless for abdttt hailf alh hA#, 
 when at some distance a caravan was seen ap- 
 proaching. The chief of the caravan, observing 
 the distressing situation of our travellers, order- 
 ed some water to be thrown over them. Ali Bey 
 
 presently recovered his senses, and looked a- 
 round him ; at first he could not see cleai'ljr^ but 
 
79 
 
 soon he pereeived seveo or eigbt persons vtho 
 were assisting him vrith much kindness. Hn 
 tried to speak to them, but a painfol feeling in 
 his throat prevented him ; he could only point 
 to his mouth. These charitable people conti- 
 nued pouring water on his face and hands till 
 
 he was able to swallow small mouthfuls of 
 water ; this enabled him to ask " Who are you ?" 
 When they heard him speak, they expressed 
 their joy, and answered, " Fear nothing, we 
 are no robbers, but your friends." They poured 
 more water over him, filled some of his leathern 
 bags, and then left him in*haste. After sparing 
 so much of their own stock of water, they could 
 not, without danger to themselves, stay longer 
 in this desert place. 
 
 The dreadful thirst, which was so nearly fatal 
 to Ali Bey and his people, was first perceived 
 by dryness of the skin ; the eyes appeared 
 bloody, and the tongue and mouth were covered 
 with a crust. A faintness or languor took away 
 the power of moving, and a painful sensation 
 in the throat and chest interrupted the breath- 
 ing. Thus Ali Bey felt before he became in- 
 sensible, and he observed that his fellow tra- 
 vellers suffered in the same way. 
 
 After the caravan left hhii, he remdimCed his 
 
80 
 
 M 
 
 I i 
 
 If 
 
 !il 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 horse with some difficulty, and went on his 
 journey. At seven in the evening he stopped * 
 at a brook, and during the night all his men and 
 baggage arrived, and he found thai no one was 
 missing, not even the poor man who had been left 
 by himself. The caravan had met them in the 
 desert, and saved both men and sll. lals. ,,, ^ ,.. 
 
 "r 
 
 ,r^' 
 
 f^*-r")l::ir-i I'J'i 
 
 •a.-- 
 
 WHAT THINGS THE EARTH PRODUCES FOR MAN. 
 
 copse 
 
 hues ' ' 
 seed-ves-sel 
 sep-ar-at-ed 
 
 co-coon ' 
 pro-duc-es 
 grind-ing 
 A;nead-ing 
 
 ex-change 
 la-bo-ri-ous 
 sauce-pan 
 in-tel-li-gence 
 
 The earth produces food and shelter suited to 
 the wants of the brute creation, but not to those 
 of man. Cattle find food suited to their taste, 
 and fit for their support, in the grass which 
 grows beneath their feet, while the little shelt' jr 
 they requir3 is afTorded th^ by the side of a 
 hill, or the thickness of a copse ; and so with 
 other animals. ' •' . "" 
 
 3ut Providence has given few things ready for 
 
 the use of man, though he has provided much to 
 delight his eye, both in the colours of the sky, and 
 
: on his 
 I stopped 
 men and 
 one was 
 been left 
 m in the 
 
 • ' x^Ml'' ' 
 
 F"OR MAN. 
 
 nge 
 
 i-ous ' 
 pan 
 i-gence 
 
 suited to 
 to those 
 eir taste, 
 ss which 
 ;le shelttf 
 side of a 
 so with 
 
 -eady for 
 
 much to 
 
 sky, and 
 
 81 
 
 in the shapes and hues of trees, plants, nowers^ 
 and stones which cover the earth. 
 
 , It seems to have been His will that man should 
 exert and improve his reason and powers, by 
 fitting for his own use the material whicl^ the earth 
 proauces. . ^ ?>. f> m 133. -'i-;>T^ « injlr; 
 
 Tables and r rs accordingly do not grow out 
 of the ground, nc ankets on the sheep's back.— 
 Bricks, to build our houses, must be formed 
 from the proper kind of earth hardened by fire. — 
 b\:ones, for building or paving, must be cut out of 
 the pit, or the sides of a rock. Even coals must 
 be dug and raised with great labour out of the 
 earth. Iron must be separated from the earthy 
 part mixed up with it, and exposed to heat before 
 it can be made into pots and pokers, or spades. — 
 C ir cotton dresses are formed from the soft 
 lining of a seed-vessel, our silks spun from the 
 cocoon of a worm ; our blankets and carpets pre- 
 pared from the wool on a sheep's back, and so on 
 with every thing else. ' ' , ti^^ tjJvI' va«&f 
 
 Knowledge, skill and labour, are ordained by 
 C ' d to be the means with which we must work up 
 
 Some men give the knowledge they have 
 gr ned, others i^their skill, others their labour, for 
 
 

 
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 this purpose. Others, again, whose fathers have, 
 or who have themselves, grown rich by their 
 labour, skill, or knowledge, give their money 
 in exchange for what the knowledge or labour of 
 others produces. 
 
 Of all the food we eat,, none (exceptmg a few 
 fruits) is produced in a fit state to support life. — 
 All kinds of grain, such as wheat, oats, barley, 
 rice^ require, you know, grinding, kneading, 
 baking or boiling, and potatoes, carrots, and 
 almost all kinds of roots must be cooked before they 
 can be eaten. '^■^•- ^:^«^ ^^' -' '■ ^''^^i' »J • ' 
 
 But human skill and labour could not haves, 
 fitted all these things for use, cculd not have 
 softened and prepared iron, or altered the shape 
 of wood, or made grain or roots fit for food, un- 
 less one gift had been added in addition to these, 
 I mean the gift of fire. 
 
 It is supposed by those, who have thought 
 muQh about these things, that man could never 
 have found out for himself the use of this, or 
 many other gifts of Providence, unless he had 
 been taught of God, that he would have looked 
 with awe on the fire of burning mountains, and 
 on trees and dry grass kindled into fiame by 
 ligbtniog and other causes ; but that he never 
 would have ventttred to trust these iiearful 
 
 IH 
 
 =! I 
 
63 
 
 ed 
 nd 
 
 flame^i, which seenied to exist only in th^ir 
 power to destroy. Still less would it have en- 
 tered into his head to look for a spark from flint, 
 or, from long and laborious rubbing of two bits 
 of Jiard wood together. ,, > t« --• > -rit ....i,. t-|r 
 o Those who hve in towns, see few things as 
 they came from their Maker's hands. ^IffS 
 wood is become a chair, the iron a saucepfjn, 
 the tin a tea-kettle, the wool a blanket or a 
 carpet, and so on. ,. . ;, v- 
 
 But they must not forget who gave the mate- 
 rials with which these things were made ; or 
 who bestowed the intelligence and skill to put 
 them together ; and they . can never want sigi^ 
 of the power and wisdom of the Creator, while 
 they behold each other. 
 
 I.- (if; 
 
 nil K> 
 
 •i.wrf I 
 
 !l 
 
 !ior>/vv! , Part First. 
 
 con-fi^-ed waste ,^^^, 
 
 drain-ed ^j^ , re-pair-ed 
 
 eu^fj r't sol-id '■ 
 
 un-u;hole-some dou^t-less 
 
 thank va-pour 
 
 o-ceaj|s . j,.^ : mi-nute 
 
 e-SPJW-i-al par-ti-cles 
 
 WATER. ,„„ .,,,,. ,,,,,,,, 
 
 '-■: .<»• 'ti'., '\'i.:'i 
 
 at-mos-phere,, ^^^ 
 cir-cu-la-tion .„, 
 dew 
 
 »it \ . 
 
 J. t >> 
 
 re-fresh .,yy 
 
 ig-nor-ance 
 con-den-aes 
 
 n 
 
8^ 
 
 i 
 
 The second great natural division of the world, 
 viz., water, is now to be spoken of. ' ' '** 'yr^-'^o 
 
 We read in the book of Genesis that the world 
 was once a confused mass of land and water, but 
 that, when the Great Creator fitted it for our use, 
 the waters were collected together into large 
 bodies, as oceans, seas, &c., and *^ the dry land 
 appeared." This dry land was s>till further drain- 
 ed by rivers, which empty themselves into the 
 ocean. Now, when we consider that these vast 
 waters, which men have looked upon for nearly 
 six thousand years, have neither wasted nor 
 dried up, nor become corrupt in all this time, it 
 may well strike our minds as wonderful. ^'' ' '''" " 
 
 You yourselves know that if water is left in a 
 tub or tank, it soon becomes impure and un- 
 wholesome ; and doubtless this would have hap- 
 pened also with the oceans and rivers of the 
 earth, but for some especial provision against 
 such an evil. And here again we shall come 
 to the fact that nothing in God's creation is 
 wasted, or spoiled, or lost. How the waters of 
 the earth are preserved in all their freshness, 
 and how it is that '\eir waste is repaired, I 
 will endeavour to explain. "»•' -.ui*io 
 
 When we say that water is wasted or dried up, 
 what do we mean ? What becomes of it I whither 
 
 i ' -, 
 
86 
 
 ler 
 
 does it go 1 Perhaps you will say, that it sinks 
 into the earth ; but this cannot be the case 
 when the bottom is solid, or of rock, or clay 
 or when it is in a tub or other vessel. 
 
 The truth is, that it loses the form oif water ; 
 it is turned into a vapour, and mixes with the 
 air, or hangs about it as a cloud. 
 
 It is found that heat has the power of drawing 
 off minute particles of water. Accordingly the 
 heat of the sun draws forth from the waters of 
 the earth particles too minute for you to see, 
 which, being lighter than the air, rise up and 
 mingle with it. These particles of water (which 
 are called vapour,) when they meet with cooler 
 air, unite, so as to become visible to us as a cloud 
 or mist in the sky ; and under certain states of 
 the atmosphere they return to the earth and its 
 waters in the form of rain. ' • . 
 
 But, as the pure water only is light enough 
 to rise up, all that is foul in it, remains behind. 
 The sajt of the sea, for instance, and the corrupt 
 parts of the water of a marsh, are left ; so that 
 there is a constant circulation , or going and re- 
 turning of pure water between the earth and the 
 air, which preserves both io a wholesome state. 
 
 There it auoth^r form in which thewatiri. 
 

 
 1 
 
 i-, 
 
 ill! 
 
 M 
 
 i '■■'■- 
 
 : 'l„ 
 
 86 
 
 taken up in the air, return to the earth besides 
 rain ; I mean deta. After warm days, when the 
 earth suddenly becomes cold, it chills the yapour 
 contained in the air close to it, and thickens or 
 condenses it into water again, which settles on 
 the cold earth in drops, which we call deta. 
 
 You know how bep.utiful the dew drops look 
 glittering x)n the grass and hedges on a sunny 
 morning. But the sun soon turns them to 
 vapour again, and dries the earth once more. 
 
 Thus you see that, as with the earth, so it is 
 with its waters ; nothing is wasted or destroyed 
 though we in our ignorance may chance to lose 
 sight of it. 
 
 What the waters part with they gain in a 
 purer state ; and what the earth seems to lose, 
 returns to refresh and fertilize it anew. 
 
 li-quid 
 
 pour-ing 
 
 forth 
 
 in-vis-i-ble 
 
 Fart Second. 
 
 e-vap-or-a-tion 
 sledg-es 
 slip-per-ry 
 skate . ' 
 Es-qui-matia: 
 
 oc^ca-sion-al 
 val-u-a-ble "^^ - 
 ma-chin-ery 
 man-u-fac-ture 
 ex-pens-ive 
 
 Water, you know, is not always in a liquid 
 
87 
 
 state ; yon have seen it changed by cold into 
 ice, and by heat into steam or vapour. You 
 must have observed, too, that ice is ehanged 
 back into water by heat, and steam by cold. 
 
 Ice is more beautiful to look at than steam, 
 and, therefore, perhaps you have taken more 
 notice of it ; yet it is pleasant to see the steam 
 pouring forth out of the tea-kettle spout when 
 the water is boiling over the fire for te, or 
 smoke rising up from the potatoes when they 
 are just imcovered and set on table for dinner. 
 
 Now from what was said in the last pages, 
 you find that this steam, which you sometimes, 
 but not rightly, call smoke, is nothing else 
 than minute particles of the water in the tea- 
 kettle, or in the potatoes, which, being heated^ 
 fly o£r, and, melting suddenly with the cool 
 air, form a cloud. 
 
 If you were to leave a tea-kettle boiling on 
 the fire all night, you would find it in the 
 morning quite empty ; the water would all 
 have found its way out of the tea-kettle into 
 the room, but, as it had mingled with the air in 
 the room, it would be invisible to you. 
 
 This change of water into steam or vapour is 
 called evaporationf a long word, but not very 
 bard to understand* 
 
 ¥ I 
 
 I.. 
 
J 
 
 
 ) 
 
 88 
 
 ^ You see, then, that the heat of the fire acts 
 on the water in the tea-kettle and in the pota- 
 toes, just a^ the warmth pf the sun dp^ on tiie 
 water of tlje earth b^ d|rAiy^ng fprth vapour, 
 onljr that, when this vappur rises into the air 
 from boiling water, we call it steam instead of 
 cloud or mist. 
 
 kx first sight it might s^en^ that, wlien 
 water takes the form of stjeam or of ice, we lose 
 its services. But this is a mistake. Steam is 
 very useful to tho^e nations who know how to 
 make use of it; and ice is ippst useful to those 
 who have most of it. Our frosts, being only 
 occasional, do not profit us much. But in North 
 America, and the northern countries of Europe 
 where they last half the yeaj!, the frozen rivers 
 and hard snow afford them very convenient 
 roads, much better than those they have at any 
 other time, so that they hold fairs and meetings 
 more conveniently in the cold sieason. They 
 have sledges which are like flat boats, and are 
 drawn, sometimes by reindeers, sometimes by 
 dogs or small horses, over the hard and slipp^iry 
 snow. Or they skate along the frozen rivers 
 and lakes with great speed a^dd little fatigue, 
 finding warmth and health in th^ ex^erci^e. 
 Among the Esquimaux and those who inhabit 
 
89 
 
 the coldest parts of the earth, it is usual to huild 
 houses of frozen snow or hlocks of ice, which are 
 said to keep out the cold better than any other ma- 
 terial. 
 
 But, though ice is not without its use, steam, 
 the other state into which water changes, is far 
 more valuable to those who know how to make use 
 of it. 
 
 By means of steam we move our ships over 
 the water, turn our mills, travel in carriages 
 without horses at the greatest speed, and so work 
 our machinery that manufactures can now 
 send out an immense variety of cheap and use- 
 ful articles, which were formerly so expensive 
 that the rich only were able to purchase them. 
 
 .:5 
 
 I 
 
 (• 'Ji-J Oi 
 
 rf«.u*r i»r'it»%j 
 
 SPRmG9 OF WATER— SPRINGS, WELLS, AND PUMPS, 
 
 H hor-i-zon-ta^ !f 
 
 ooz-es ' ' 
 
 crev»ic-es 
 
 ti-ny ""' ' 
 
 dis-charge 
 
 oc-cur-red 
 
 pos-sess-ed 
 
 >1 
 
 coils ' y'-- 
 grad-u-al-ly 
 "Un-winds (r7;.r 
 "^ con-tri-vance 
 depth J^i' ^ i' 
 
 t> 
 
 col-um« 
 height 
 prin-ci-ple ^^ 
 brick-ed ; ^ 
 pres-sure ci* 
 ex-pand "?:> 
 
 fam-i-lies prop-er-ties re-lie v-ed 
 
 f •,:-■■ 
 
 The rainsy when they sink into the earth might 
 
 P2 
 
 IJT m ■/*:■-'"■) rj/( 
 
Vr-iU I 
 
 ■ 
 
 i ' 
 
 Of I 
 
 90 
 
 seem wasted and loilt ; but-Abey m^et at leagtb 
 with some bed of day Or bard rocK, which ' stops 
 their course downwards, and the water then ooz- 
 . e« out through the sides of a hill, or the crevices 
 : of a rock^ at first in tiny (streams ; ; but s^fterwards 
 these streams uaiit^ b^elow, and fojrm ,at lei^gth 
 those great rivers which flow through our plains 
 and valleys, and discharge their watiers into some 
 
 "Vj/r? 
 
 'Hfu! •\:,(, (jiffj 
 
 lake or sea. '•</>;7T ,-'\V.\)'. :|.J(,. ,;iffr •;;,J;;7/ '■^{) 
 
 '' But tliiese spmgs of i^'ater aJfe !§bM*times -deep 
 in the earth, often several huiidtiSd feet below 
 the surface,' so that those parts' • of ' the country, 
 through which the riveWflo^»f,' Should be unfit to 
 support the life of man unli^ss it had occurred to -him 
 to dig wells. 
 
 Lone: before men knew where and how these 
 iiprings of water are forrried,' they ittifst^ feve 
 found them in digging for other purposesN;>,<^nd 
 hence, when they were in want of water^ ,rWould 
 be led to dig for th(}m ; but from not knowing 
 whereto seelk them, theywo4iild often iabojur in 
 vain. But now, people who have attended to th« 
 subject, know in what ki&d of soil they. Tji^il) be 
 likely to find water ; so that v here, as in; 'SO many 
 other thingS) knowledge s^yesmuch useless labour 
 and loss of time. ,.r^ 
 
 I 
 
i'^ft 
 
 ^1 
 
 ' in former days a well Was the mcJkt rieiltole 
 
 property vr hich could be possessed ; so that 
 ^'families of tribes of p^bple i^Ould go to'l^^rfor 
 ^ the possession of one. In these days almost 
 '^ieVeiy village, you ' khow, has its well. These 
 
 wells ai-e soni^tiilaes Very deep, beeai^eyou 
 j bay« to dig p^erhaps sievepal hundred feet before 
 
 you cometo a'spring of water. .; j|.v;*i.- .iJrv 
 
 J ( When this is the case, the water is drawn up 
 
 ,, by means of a rope and bucket. This rope is fixed 
 
 ,to a short pole, called an axle, which is sup- 
 
 '.. ported horizontally on a frame, and turned by 
 
 va handle. The bucket is fixed to the end of a 
 
 .,:rppe, and, when you want to draw up your bucket 
 
 fjjput of' the well, you turn the handle, which winds 
 
 . or coils up the rope round the pole till the buck- 
 
 .fttis brought up ; and, if you- want to let it down 
 .Again, you turn th&.haindle_ the other way^ which 
 
 ^adually unwinds . th^ ^Offi^ and lets down the 
 j.«npty.bucket to be filled again. ,.,^ hvcmmm w 
 -,,, When the spring: of water i^ not deeper than 
 .about thirty feet,: tb^ water is raised by that 
 
 . ■ ■ tin 
 
 beautiful contrivai^fi^ called a sucking pump. , 
 J i^.,f You have all seei| • a pump, and have often 
 j.,pumped, no doubt ;.b^^ 7^^ ^^ ^^^ know,, per- 
 , hxpUf how or wby,yourpum piipig brings up w^ter ; 
 
 you only know that, when you have lifted up 
 
92 
 
 'i' 
 
 and drawn down the pump-handle two or three 
 times, water pours from the spout. , 
 
 Yet you might well feel surprised, if you 
 thought at all, that a few strokes of your hand 
 should force water to rise up from the earth at 
 the depth of many feet, to meet your wants. 
 
 It is a knowledge of the properties of air and 
 water, which has enabled men to do this. ^ ( 
 
 It is known that air has considerable weight, 
 and that it presses every where and everything 
 with equal force ; and it is found that, if you re- 
 move this pressure of air from a small part of 
 the surface of water, the water will rise up at 
 that party as in a column, to the height of nearly 
 thirty feet, being supported by the air all around 
 and under it. This may be made clear by a 
 simple example. When you amuse yourselves 
 with sucking up water through a straw, you are 
 doing this very thing without knowing it, viz., 
 you remove or suck out the air from over that 
 part of the water which is under your straw, 
 and immediately it rises up in a column to your 
 mouth. On this simple principleit is constructed. 
 
 The well over the spring is brickad and lined ; 
 and a long pipe like your straw, only much larger 
 and longer, is fixed in it, through which the Water 
 

 93 
 
 will rise when the pressure of the air is taken off 
 that portion of it which the ;• |ffe encloses. This 
 cannot be done, as in your straw, by sucking out 
 the air ; but, as it is known that air has a tendency 
 to expand or spread itself out, it is done by remov- 
 ing the air from the body of the pump into which 
 the pipe opens, and then the air in the pipe 
 will rush out into the body or barrel of the pump, 
 and the water, being no longer pressed down by 
 the air in the pipe, will rise up and fill it. But, 
 before the water can rise any higher, the air in the 
 body of the pump, also, must be got rid of. Now 
 all this is done by you when you raise the handle 
 and let it fall, and then raise it again, for to this 
 handle is hung within the body of the pump a 
 kind of leathern box or bucket, by pushing which 
 up and down , the air is driven out of the pump, 
 and the water, relieved of the pressure) of this 
 column of air, rises to the spout, whence 
 
 air, rises to the spout, 
 fortti/ clear a^d sparkling, for your use. 
 
 poum 
 
 BFBVCTS PRODUCED BY WATER-^THB LANDSLIP 
 iu;;^v . , OVER 60LDAU. 
 
 m-iu-ry 
 
 con-^ol-led 
 
 un-der-mine 
 
 o-ver-whelm 
 
 cmsh-ing 
 
 bleat-ing 
 
 ex-ert 
 
 man-ger 
 
 ef-forts 
 
 
 
n ' 
 
 94 
 
 If \' 
 
 
 oc-cu-pi-ed 
 
 ac-cus-tom-ed 
 
 im-ag-ine 
 
 ce-ment-ed 
 
 bu^-i-ed' 
 
 rack 
 
 li-a-ble 
 
 re-ceiv-ed 
 
 sol-i-tude 
 
 o-ver-charg-ed con-triv-ed 
 
 griev-ed 
 
 syuip'toms 
 
 draught 
 
 quan-ti-ty 
 
 ex-pect-ed 
 
 nour-ish-ment 
 
 oc-cur-ed 
 
 reck-less-ness 
 
 bur-den 
 
 rub-bish 
 
 e-scap-ed 
 
 eon-tin-ufi 
 
 pru-dent-Iy 
 
 cora-plete-ly 
 
 in-stead 
 
 hal-l(m^ed 
 
 I . 
 
 Water is powerful to produce evil as well as 
 good, and perhaps we are permitted from time to 
 time to witness the evil, to see the common and 
 safe course of things interrupted, in order to 
 show us that the most useful and valuable parts 
 of creation might work us fearful injury unless 
 they were controlled by Power Divine. 
 
 It sometimes, though not frequently, happens 
 that springs of water under ground, finding no 
 vent or way out, loosen and undermine the earth 
 or rocks above them, causing it to sink in, or, if 
 on the side of a mountain, to slip down. A dread- 
 ful occurrence of this kind happened some years 
 ago at Goldau in Switzerland, and, as it is con- 
 nected with a very interesting history, I will copy 
 the account from the book in which I read it. 
 
95 
 
 The village of Goldau occupied part m a val- 
 ley at the foot of the Rossberg, a mounta in of 
 Switzerland near lake Zug. The uppe^ part 
 of this mountain is formed of rounded pieces •« old 
 rock cemented together by clay ; it is called pud- 
 ding-stone and this kind of rock is very liable to 
 
 be loosened by water. 
 
 In the summer of the year 1806 (about fifty 
 years ago), after a very rainy season, whicii 
 overcharged the springs of water within the raoun- 
 taiuj and caused them, it is supposed, to loosen 
 the ground above, this part of the mountain gave 
 way, fell headlong into the valley, and buried the 
 village of Goldau, houses, cattle, and many of the 
 inhabitants, bentath it. 
 
 There were symptoms of some great move- 
 ment in the mountain several hours before, but 
 these were unheeded. At about five in the af- 
 ternoon of the 2nd September, the whole surface 
 of the upper part of the mountain was seen by 
 the wretched people of Goldau to glide down 
 at first slowly, and then to throw itself headlong, as 
 T have uescribed| over the valley, burying every- 
 thing beneath it. 
 
 An old man who had often declared that he 
 •xpecte4 sMcb aa accident* was Quietly su^okiog 
 
96 
 
 his pipe in his house when a young man, run- 
 ning bj, told him that the mountain was falling. — 
 The old man rose, looked out of doors, said that 
 he had time to fill another pipe, and went back 
 into his house. He suffered for his recklessness. 
 The young man continued flying, and at length 
 escaped though with difficulty, for he was often 
 thrown down by the trembling of the earth. — 
 When he looked back the old man's house with its 
 owner was carried off ! 
 
 HISTORY OP MARIE. ' 
 
 '!! ■ 
 
 Among those who were buried together with 
 their homes at Goldau, when the mountain of 
 Kossberg gave way, was a little girl named 
 Marie. How she came to be left alone in the 
 house when the rest of the family escaped, or 
 whether they were already from home and had 
 not time to return for her 1 do not know ; but 
 she was completely overwhelmed in the ruins 
 of her father's cottage. The earth and rocks 
 
 had fallen upon it in such a manner as com- 
 pletely to cover it, but without entirely crush- 
 ing it to pieces, so that the poor child, though 
 buried alive, was not only unhurt, but had 
 some little space to move about in. 
 
 Marie at first gave herself up for lost, expecting 
 ftothing leBB than to die of hunger, and she ent 
 
nin- 
 
 g-— 
 that 
 
 back 
 
 ness. 
 
 ingth 
 
 often 
 
 th.— 
 
 th its 
 
 *> 
 
 witl 
 in of 
 Earned 
 the 
 or 
 Id had 
 ; but 
 ruins 
 rocks 
 
 com- 
 jrush- 
 ough 
 had 
 
 acting 
 U tat 
 
 97 
 
 down and wept bitterly: she then said her 
 prayers, and felt more comfortable. After a few 
 hours she heard the sound of the bleating of a 
 goat, and she knew that it was one of her fathers's 
 goats which she had been accustomed to milk, 
 and wliich like herself, had been buried alive, but 
 without having received any injury. 
 
 " Poor Dodo," said she, " I am sure you want 
 to be milked, and how glad I should be to drink 
 your milk, but I cannot reach you in this dark- 
 ness." The sound of bleating came from above, 
 and after a great many trials she at length 
 contrived to climb up to the spot where the ^oat 
 was, and rejoiced to get a good draught of milk, 
 nor was the goat less pleased, I dare say, to get 
 rid of its burden. 
 
 Marie felt much comforted by this meal, and 
 cheered herself with the hope that the poor goat 
 would give her nourishment enough to keep 
 her from starving till she might perhaps be dug 
 out. The next day the bleating of the goat 
 was very faint, and scarcely any milk could l>e 
 drawn from it. She knew that the poor ani- 
 mal would not continue to give her milk unless 
 it was supplied with food, yet it seemed im- 
 possible for her to obtain any nourishment for 
 it. However, instead of giving way to her 
 
^^ 
 
 ! 
 
 yi. 
 
 disappointment, she resolved to exert herself to try 
 whether she could find any means of getting at 
 some liay. 
 
 She thought it very probable that the place 
 in which the goat was confined, might be the 
 stable, which in the upset of the house might 
 iiave been thrown over the room in which she 
 was ; and, if so, she knew there was plenty of 
 hay in the rack above the manger but it was 
 too high for the goat to reach. After many 
 
 if 
 
 eftbrts to get at the hay, she was obliged to 
 give that up ; but at length she contrived so to 
 place herself that the goat, by resting its hinder 
 legs upon her shoulders, could reach the hay. — 
 You may imagine what joy she felt when she ' 
 first heard the goat drawing it from the rack 
 and beginning to eat ; for she knew that she ^ 
 had thus provided not only food for the poor 
 goat, but a supply of milk for herself so long as the 
 hay lasted. . ,, , 
 
 After living several days in this solitude and 
 darkness, she heard a knocking, and guessed that 
 it was made by people digging in search of her. — 
 She called out to them as loud as she could, but " 
 received no ans^ver, for the place was too much '/ 
 closed up for them to hear her voice. This griev- 
 ed her very much, for she feared that they might ^ 
 
 - it 
 
 II 
 
 il 
 
 (v> 
 
 tf 
 
 '.I 
 
99 
 
 give over the search before they reached the spot 
 where she was. Again, however, she heard a 
 quantity of stones and earth fall near her, and, 
 thinking that an opening had been made, she was 
 rushing forward to the spot where she had heard 
 the noise, when it suddenly occurred to her that 
 she might be crashed by the falling rubbish, and 
 she prudently went back again. But she hal- 
 looed out as loud as she was able, and was at 
 length so happy as to be answered by the voice 
 of her father : in a short time he made his way 
 to her : she fell into his arras, and was carried 
 10 her mother, who was overjoyed, as you may 
 suppose, to hnd her so unexpectedly alive ; and 
 you need nol doubt that poor Dodo, the goat, 
 accompanied IVIarie, and was ever after tend- 
 ♦^rly cared for. 
 
 :* -?« 
 
 but 
 luch / 
 lev- 
 
 U 
 
 ght 
 
 ZOOLOGY, OR 
 
 di-vis-ions 
 
 in-clud-ed 
 
 or-ni-thol-o-gy 
 
 ob-jec-tion 
 
 fa-mil-i-ar 
 
 at-tach-ed 
 
 pig-ions 
 
 beaks 
 
 mar-roiir 
 
 THE iCNOWLEDGE OF ANIMALS. 
 
 lough 
 
 tap-ping 
 
 [iro-por-tion 
 
 con-trive 
 
 con-sid-er-a-ble 
 
 dove-cots 
 
 pe-cu-li-ar 
 
 im-i-ta-tion 
 
 peroh*ed 
 
 dis-tin-guish 
 
 lan-guage 
 
 clam-or-ous 
 
 bcream 
 
 bus-tie ^ 
 
 in-quis-i-tire 
 
 wea-sel 
 
 I 
 
 dis-pers-ed 
 poul-trf 
 
 ■',A 
 
100 
 
 Animals may be divided into two divisions, 
 those with back bones, and those without them. 
 In the former are men, beasts, and whales, all 
 of which suckle their young, and birds, reptiles, 
 and fishes, which lay eggs. In the latter all 
 other animals are included. 
 
 We will begin with birds. The knowledge of 
 birds is called Ornithology from two words, 
 meaning "bird" and "knowledge." This know- 
 ledge requires observation, that is, looking about 
 you, and taking notice, rather than learning. 
 
 The appearance and habits oT birds are most 
 easily studied by those who live in the country. 
 Yet there are several kinds of birds which have 
 no objection to a town life, and whicli may be 
 tamed so as to be quite familiar with the fa- 
 ' mily they belong to. 
 
 I know a duck which lived in the house, and 
 was so attached to the children of the family, 
 that it would follow them about, and walk up 
 stairs into the room where they slept. 
 
 Magpies, starlings, ravens, rooks, and pigeons, 
 are easily tamed. I remember a pigeon which 
 made friends with a cat, and they always* fed 
 at the same dish, and slept side by side in the 
 kitchen. 
 
 '•jn\\ 
 
 
 .-t. 
 
 I" Ifil 
 
 u 
 
101 
 
 ^f 
 
 up 
 
 fed 
 the 
 
 There aie many things in which birds differ 
 both from men and beasts ; some of which you 
 may observe for yourselves, such as — 
 
 1st — In having beaks instead of teeth. 
 
 2nd — Feathers instead of hair or wool. 
 
 3rd — In having hollow bones ; which (in full) 
 grown birds) are filled With air instead of mar- 
 row. ■ 
 
 4th — In being provided with wings ; and, 
 
 5th — In having their young contained in eggs. 
 
 Some birds have strong and hard beaks ; and 
 these feed on hard and tough substances, or pro- 
 cure their, food from boring or tapping trees, as 
 wood peckers do. Birds of prey have their beaks 
 more or less hooked to enable them to rip up and 
 tear flesh. Other birds have soft beaks, as robins 
 and swallows ; they live on insects, worms and 
 other soft things. By looking at and feeling the 
 beak, you may find out what the bird lives on. 
 
 As birds were intended to fly, it was necessary 
 that their bodies should be very strong and very 
 light ; they have therefore the lightest bones in 
 proportion to their strengh of any animals ; and 
 their covering (feathers) is as light-as it is warm. 
 
 The flight of birds is rery curious and inter- 
 esting. A little creature like the swallow, for 
 instancei vnll fly at the rate of ninety miles an 
 
 in 
 
102 
 
 !'■■ 
 
 l!i 
 
 ii! 
 
 ; I 
 
 hour ; and there is one kind of pigeon which 
 can he trained to return from a considerable 
 distance to the place whence it came. 
 
 Fifty-six of these birds were once brought 
 over from Holland^ and turned out in London 
 at half-past four in the morning. They all 
 reached their dovecots in Holland by noon ; so 
 that they performed a journey of 300 miles in 
 seven hours and a half. 
 
 The voice or note of birds, of those which 
 only chirp and twitter, as well as of those which 
 sing, is a very cheerful and agreeable sound. 
 They have also peculiar calls distinct from these. 
 Many birds, too, have great powers of imitation, 
 and can be taught to speak words and utter 
 various sounds. Thus we are told of a black bird 
 " which would sit perched on the top of an ash 
 tree, and crow like a cock " I have heard a 
 raven bark so that I could not distinguish it 
 from a dog. Sometimes the natural call re- 
 sembles words. The goatsucker of South Ame- 
 rica surprises travellers by its '* Who are you ] 
 who are you ?" Another calls " Work away, 
 work away ;" and another common sort says, 
 " Whip poor Will, whip poor Will." - ' 
 
 The cries and'calls of birds form a sort of Ian- 
 
M 
 
 103 
 
 guage between them. A gentleman, wlio has 
 written the most interesting hook ahout birds I 
 ever read, says — " We once happened to hear a 
 loud out-cry amongst a parcel of sparrows, tom- 
 tits, chaffinches ; the noise was evidently not their 
 usual note of pleasure, neither was it the clamo- 
 rous scream they utter when fighting. The 
 bustle occurred within a yard of our vvindow, too 
 near for a hnwk to venture ; neither was there a 
 cat within sight, nothing of the sort ; but still the 
 din increased, and the bush shook again with 
 flutterings of wings, and clackiog of tongues ; 
 when at last we espied a pair of inqusitive eyes 
 and a little sharp snout poked out from the twigs 
 at the bottom of the bush. It was a weasel, 
 which on seeing that it was discovered, took to 
 its heels ; and in an instant the crie? o ' the sparrows 
 ceased and the whole party disperse 1." 
 
 The language of the poultry yard is well 
 known. ** The chuck of the hen when she calls 
 her chickens together ; her shriek if a hawk is 
 seen flying over her brood, and the rapid rush 
 'of the chickens under her wings; and the cackle 
 of pride or pleasure when she announces to the . 
 whole farm-yard the important fact of her hav- 
 ing laid an egg. AH these sounds are as well 
 
104 
 
 !!ii 
 
 understood by those who are famUiar with 
 them, as the language of the mother or the 
 
 nurse. 
 
 99 
 
 .^:>f-,t- 
 
 1 , ; 
 
 :~ .)-. 1 
 
 FIRST ORDER OF BIRDS. 
 
 BIRDS OF PREY, OR RAPACIOUS ^BIRDS. 
 
 con-ve-ni-ent shriek 
 
 to« , 
 
 vul-tures 
 
 con-dor 
 
 swoop 
 
 seize 
 
 gal-lant-ly 
 
 res-o-lute-ly 
 
 fa-tal 
 
 copse , , 
 
 shin-gle 
 
 ey-rie 
 
 diz-zy 
 
 at-temj9t-ed 
 
 wring-ing 
 
 brakes 
 
 strew-ed 
 trrap-ped 
 prec-i-ous *, 
 hanc?-ker-chief 
 root-bound 
 
 ac-quir-ed 
 
 mat-ted 
 
 neig^-bours 
 
 de-scent 
 
 in-tense 
 
 . 'J '■- 
 
 prec-1-pice 
 e-spec-i-al-ly tal-ons 
 bar-ren su-per-nat-u-ral rug-ged 
 
 in-ter-rupt-ed un-daunt-ed faint • 
 'pest «CT'ath-ful ter-ri-ble 
 
 pierc-ing jut-ted i!;^J•^ ^i»:„i » . ., 
 
 . f. It has been found convenient to make six divis- 
 , ions (called orders) of birds ; putting those to- 
 gether or in one division which resembles each 
 other or in some one or more points. The first divi- 
 
 i 
 
106 
 
 sion is the birds of Prey, that is, birds which lire 
 on tiesb, dead or alive, 'ttese birds are known 
 by having long, hooked, sharp claws, and a beak 
 strong and hooked for tearing flesh. To this 
 division belong vultures, eagles, hawks, and 
 owls. It contains some of the largest birds we 
 know ; for the great condor of South America, 
 and all the vultures belong to it. It also con- 
 tains some small ones, as the sparrow-hawk. 
 
 THE EAGLE. 
 
 I'here is a very interesting acconnt in the 
 book I have mentioned, of an attack made by 
 a golden eagle on a little boy, in a village near 
 New York, in America. • ' 
 
 " Two boys, the one seven, the other five 
 years of age, were amusing themselves by try- 
 ing to reap while their parents were at dinner. 
 A large eagle soon came sailing over them, and 
 with a sudden swoop attempted to seize the 
 elder but luckily missed him. The bird alighted 
 at a short distance, and in a few moments re- 
 peated his attempt. The bold little fellow, how- 
 ever, gallantly defended himself with the sickle, 
 which he fortunately held in his hand, and, 
 when the biriL rushed at him, resolutely struck 
 at it. The sickle entered under the left wing 
 and proved fetal." ' '^ 
 
 c2 
 
l.\ 
 
 iip 
 
 106 
 
 'J'II'l 
 
 THE THEFT OF THE GOLDEN EAGLE 
 
 .The golden eag^ is found in the British Is- 
 lands, and especially in the loltj and barren cliffs 
 of the Orkney islands, which lie on the north of 
 Scotland. It was once the cause of great distress 
 and terror to the inhabitants of a Tillage there. 
 The villagers had gone out one midsummer's 
 day to the hay-tields. About one o'clock they 
 left their labour to rest, and to eat the provisions 
 they had brought with them. While they were 
 enjoying themselvFiS in this quiet way, this 
 vpeaceful, happy scene was suddtiily interrupt- 
 ed by a great golden eagle, the pride but also the 
 pest, of the village. The savage bird stooped 
 down over the party of villagers for a moment 
 in its flight, and then soared away with some- 
 thing in its mouth. One piercing shriek from a 
 woman's voice was heard, and then the cries of 
 the villagers, exclaiming— *' Hannah Lamond's 
 child ! Hannah Lamond's child ! The eagle has 
 carried it off!" In an instant many hundred 
 feet were burirying towards the mountain whi- 
 ther the eagle and flown. . Two miles of hill and 
 dale, copse and shingle, lay between, but io a 
 short time the foot of the mountain was cover- 
 ed with people. 
 
 The eyrie (which is the name for an eagle's nest) 
 
 til 
 
> 107 
 
 wai"Well known, and both of the old birds were 
 Tisible Oji the ledge of a high rock. But who 
 could scale that dizzy cliff, which even Jack 
 Stewart, the sailor, had attempted in vain 1 ;if 
 
 All the villagers stood gazing^ and weeping, 
 and wringing their hands, yet not daring to 
 venture up a cliff which seemed to afford them 
 no footing. Hannah Lamond meanwhile was 
 sitting on a rock beneath the mountain, as pale 
 as death, with her eyes fixed on the eyrie. 
 No one had hitherto noticed her, for every eye 
 was, like hers, fixed on the eyrie. 
 
 Presently she started up, crying out ; " Only 
 last Sunday was my sweet child baptized," and 
 dashed through the brakes over the huge stones, 
 and up the precipice, faster than the hunter in 
 piinuit of game. No one doubted that she would 
 be dashed io pieces. But the thought of her in- 
 &nt in the talons of the eagle seemed to give 
 the wretched mother supernatural strength. On 
 she went, undaunted by the dangers to which 
 she was exposed on the tremendous precipice 
 up which she was climbing* icrpi.!i:u '' '^^'^ h^k? *» 
 ' ' As she approached the eyrie, the eagles dashed 
 by so close to her head that she could see the yel- 
 low light of their wrathful eyes. They did not 
 
 fti 
 
108 
 
 hurt her, but flew to the stump of an ash-trte, 
 which jutted out of a comer in the cliff near her. 
 The devoted mother passed on, and, liaving at 
 length reached the dreaded spot, fell across the 
 eyrie in the midst of bones with which it was 
 strewed, and clasped her chM alive in her arms. 
 
 There it lay unhurt and at rest, wrapped up 
 just as she had laid it down to sleep in the har- 
 vest-field. The little creature uttered a feeble 
 cry, and she screamed out, " It lives, it lives ! " 
 
 Binding her precious burden to her waist with 
 her handkerchief, and scarcely daring to open 
 her eyes, she slid down the shelving rocks to a 
 small piece of root-bound earth. Her fingers 
 seemed to have acquired new strength as she 
 swung herself down by broom and heather and 
 dwarf birch, striking her feet from time to time 
 against the sharp-edged rocks. But she felt no 
 
 pain. "''I'jr^i -,,t ^:. 4 .-.^ *:,.';' ^<. ir^/f-K?^ :.,! 
 
 The side of the precipice now became steep as 
 the wall of a house ; but it was matted with ivy, 
 whose thick, rough stems clung to the rock, and 
 formed a ladder, down which she swung herself; 
 while her neighbours, far below on their knees, 
 were watching her descent with intense eager- 
 ness. Again she touched earth and stones. She 
 heard a low bleating beside heri and, looking 
 
109 
 
 round, saw a goat with two little kids -, she 
 followed their track down the precipice which 
 still remained to descend. Her rugged path be- 
 came easier as she went ob, and brought her at 
 length to the foot of the mountain again among 
 her neigbours and friends, who, a few moments 
 before, had scarcely dared to hope thej should 
 ever see her again. , ^ 
 
 On first reaching the ground the feverish 
 strength, which had hitherto supported her, 
 failed, and she fell on the ground in a faint. — 
 . The crowd that had gathered round to welcome 
 her, now stood back to give her air. She soon 
 recovered, and joined them in giving thanks 
 to God for the wonderful preservation of her 
 child and her own escape from danger scarcely 
 
 less terrible. 
 
 'f n 
 
 ff 
 
 HAWKS. '"•:[ tu b'il>9'> r.tt>. 
 
 seize ' 
 tal-ons ^ 
 ap-par-ent 
 res-cue " 
 
 wei 
 
 un-mo 
 
 ght 
 
 pounc-ed 
 
 pur-su-ed 
 
 prey 
 
 -lest-ed lev-er-et 
 
 n\l 
 
 '! \*on 
 
 irv 
 
 
 
 } '.I. 
 
 ■y«»5 
 
 tim-i<^ 
 
 fur-r»w " ♦* 
 un-fledg-ed 
 ^ buz-zard *' 
 
 .?n'> 
 
 tempt-ing 
 
 A%*i 
 
 This is a large and fierce tribe of birds. A KeS" 
 treal hawk (a common species) was observed to 
 
110 
 
 I : ■t 
 
 saise a jonng blackbird just able to flj, which 
 it was in the act of carrying off in its talons. — 
 The old blackbird gave chase with loud cries 
 and apparent determination to rescue her young 
 one^ when the hawk, having allowed her to 
 approach unmolested, in an instant dropped the 
 young bird, caught up the screaming parent, and 
 carried her clear off. 
 
 t . ' • 1 ,• » l-|V 
 
 The hawk hat strangth to support a great weight, 
 as ^6 following storj will show : .' fur. .:\Vi\ 
 
 ^* A gentleman in Yorkshire, walking in the 
 fieidsy saw a small hawk attempting to flj off 
 witb< some prej it had just pounced on, but 
 eyidentlj prerented by the weight from rising 
 to any heiglit above the ground. It was pursued 
 by a hare, which, whenever it came within her 
 reach, attacked it with her paws, and at last 
 succeeded in knocking it down, when it drop- 
 ped its prey. At this moment the gentleman 
 nn up, and both the hawk and hare made 
 their retreat. He found the hawk's prey to be 
 a fine leveret (the name for a young hare), 
 which the parent, though so timid an animal, 
 had thus bravely attempted to rescue. The 
 poor little creature was blcedinj; and the identic- 
 man left it in a furrow, hoping that it would 
 
Ill 
 
 recover, and that the mother would soon find it 
 and reap the reward of her tenderness." ^^^,. 
 
 Thoui)h the hawk trihe is thus hold and fierce 
 by nature, they are capable of being tamed, 
 
 A sparrow-hawk was once trained to live in a 
 dovecot with pigeons. They at first deserted, 
 it, but afterwrards became good friends with the 
 hawk ; and he was never known to touch one 
 (tbougii they are his natural prey,) not even 
 any of the young unfledged ones, helpless and tempt- 
 ing as they must have been. . , . i_^ 
 
 Tlie buzzard belongs to this tribe of birds. 
 
 v> 
 
 '■^ 
 
 j'fi>*/-sroei') mi 
 
 ra-pa-ci-ous 
 
 spe-cies 
 
 pli-ant 
 
 i« 
 
 partridge 
 
 nest-ling 
 
 ceas-ed. 
 
 OWLS. 
 
 roost-ing 
 
 steep 
 
 hen-coop 
 
 l^HE owl forms the third £eimily of rapacious 
 birds. There are many species of owls, but 
 not more than eight found in our islands. The 
 most beautiful of these is the great snowy owl ; 
 he is however a very rare bird. The common 
 white owl is well known to all of us. It fre- 
 quents our barns and outhouses, or the hollow 
 trees in our gardens ; its feathers are so soft 
 and pliant that its flight is noiseless. It dis- 
 
 / 
 
112 
 
 *. ? V 
 
 turbs us, however, with its snoring noise while 
 roosting, and by its call or hooting. Ovrh des- 
 troy rats, mice, and occasionally birds. 
 
 " A Swedish gentleman resided near a steep 
 mountain, on the top of which dwelt iwo great 
 owis. In the month of July his servants caught a 
 young owl, which had strayed from the nest. — 
 They shut it up in a large hen-coop. On the 
 following morning a young partridge was found 
 lying dead before the door of the coop, brought, 
 it was supposed, by the old owls who had tra- 
 ced out their nestling, and thus provided for its 
 support." 
 " For fourteen nights food was regularly placed 
 at the coop-door. It ceased about the time when 
 old birds usually leave oft' feeding their young." 
 
 
 gal-li-na-ce-ous 
 pas-ser-ine ' • 
 
 ac-quaint-ed 
 cli-mates 
 "war-bling 
 an-tumn 
 sa-gac-i-ty ' 
 in-ti-ma-cy '^' * 
 ex-am-in-ing 
 
 SECOND ORDER OF BIRDS. 
 PASSERINE. 
 
 vis-it-ed 
 pe-cu-li-ar 
 
 Aost-Ier 
 
 af-fec-tion 
 
 mu-tu-al • 
 
 pro-vis-ions 
 
 ac-ci-dent 
 
 peck-ed 
 
 maim-ed 
 
 in-stinc-tive 
 pair 
 
 com-part-ments 
 
 hatch-ed 
 
 du-ly 
 
 rear-ed 
 
 fledg-ed 
 
 brood 
 
 New-found-land 
 
113 
 
 while 
 « des- 
 
 i steep 
 I great 
 luglu a 
 nest. — 
 3n the 
 s found 
 wrought, 
 lad tra- 
 jd for its 
 
 7 placed 
 {Q when 
 lung." 
 
 ments 
 
 All those birds that are not swim- 
 mers, waders, climber'- rapacious, gallinaceous, 
 (which last is the namt for those that resemble 
 our poultry), are called passerine; thej have 
 one toe behind and three before. 
 
 They include a great number of birds with 
 which you are all acquainted. Some of our 
 sweetest songsters belong to this order of birds, 
 such as the family of the thrushes, to which the 
 blackbird and many others belong; the finches, 
 among which is the lovely gold-finch ; the 
 canary-bird, which comes from warm climates 
 and the pert, busy sparrow. ' '* " * 
 
 Then we have warbling birds, such as robins, 
 wrens, and nightingales ; and the lively swal- 
 lows, that leave us in the autumn, and return 
 in the spring ; with many large birds, such a^ 
 the magpie, jackdaw, raven, rook, and crow. 
 
 ;> 
 
 STORY OF A RAVEN. 1* ^^'"'t 
 
 
 id-land 
 
 Among many accounts which we have of the 
 sagacity and kindliness of the raven, when it is 
 brought into habits of intimacy with men and 
 other animals, I shall relate one which I have 
 read. ' , 
 
 It occurred many years ago at the Red liion 
 Inn, Hungerford, A gentleman, who lodged 
 
114 
 
 
 I 
 
 ; i i 
 
 '*,! 
 
 there, thus tells the history : " Coming into the 
 inn-yard,'^ says he, " my chaise ran over and 
 bruised the leg oif a favorite Newfoundland dog ; 
 and, while we were examining the hurt, Ralph, 
 the raven, looked on also, and was evidently 
 making his remarks on what was doing, for the 
 minute my dog was tied up under the manger 
 with my horse, Ralph not only visited him, but 
 brought him bones, and attended him with pecu- 
 liar marks of kindness. I obser? ed this to the host- 
 ler, who told me that the bird had been brought 
 up with a dog, that the affection between them 
 
 • 
 
 was mutual, and that man^ were the acts of 
 kindness performed by the one to the other. 
 Ralph's friend, the dog, in the course of time had 
 the misfortune to break his leg, and during the 
 long period of his confinement the raven waited 
 on him constantly, carried him his provisions, 
 and scarcely ever left him alone." 
 j"One night by accident the stable door had 
 been shut and Ralp had been deprived of his 
 friend's company all night ; but the hostler found 
 in the morniqg the door 8o pecked away that, 
 had it not been opened, Ralph would soon have 
 made his own entrance,"* , . . 
 
 '' The landlord of the inn not only declared that 
 the bo8tler'« itory was true, but r^t^u.Ioned many 
 
116 
 
 ) the 
 
 aad 
 
 dog; 
 lalpb, 
 lently 
 or the 
 langer 
 QQjbut 
 
 peca- 
 e host- 
 rought 
 
 them 
 icts of 
 
 other, 
 ne had 
 
 g the 
 
 waited 
 visious, 
 
 Dr had 
 
 of his 
 
 found 
 
 that, 
 
 have 
 
 id that 
 many 
 
 r 
 
 other acts of kindness which this raren had 
 shown to all dogs, but more especially to maim- 
 ed or wounded ones," 
 
 (; 
 
 1 
 
 STORY OF A ROBIN. 
 
 The robin, as you all know, is fond of the 
 society of men, and seems to have an instinctive 
 trust in them. I weiH remember a family of 
 robins that used to come in the coW winter 
 days regularly to be fed at our nursery. 
 
 I have read of a pair of robins that took posses- 
 sion of one of the pigeon holes or compartments 
 
 of a book-shelf in a school, which was attended 
 by seventy children. The hole they chose was 
 one just above the heads of a class of little girls 
 from four to five years old, who took care not 
 to disturb the birds. There they made their 
 nest, and there the hen robin laid and hatched 
 five eggs. One of the young ones died in a few 
 days, and the body was carried away by the 
 parent birds ; the remaining four were duly fed 
 and reared in the presence of the children. Soon 
 after they w. re fledged and had flown, the old 
 bird returned to the nest and laid three more 
 eggs, which she hatched in the same way, 
 
 About twelve years afterwards a pair of robins 
 probably the same old ones, or young ones of the 
 brood hatched there, built in the very same hole« 
 
116 
 
 
 
 THIRD ORDER OF BIRDS. 
 SCANSORES OR CLIMBERS. 
 
 'Si- 
 
 clim6-ers ,, t; op-po-site forth 
 
 blithe ,,,,, ^; pos-ses-sion in-sects 
 pre-pare /.« ,., ten-der , con-ceai-ed. , 
 
 This order consists of birds which have two 
 toes behind and two before. 
 
 Among the scansores are the cuckoos, wood- 
 peckers, and wrynecks of this country ; the par- 
 rots and cockatoos of hot countries, &c. 
 
 
 -rf- 
 
 ,t it' I 
 
 THE CUCKOO. 
 
 f. 
 
 Ob, blithe new comer ! I have heard — 
 
 I hear thee, and rejoice. v 
 
 0' Cuckoo ! shall I call thee bird, 
 
 Or but a wandering voice 1 
 
 While I am lying on the grass, 
 
 Thy two-fold shout I hear, 
 
 That seems to fill the whole air's space, 
 
 As loud far oflf as near.— Wordsworth. 
 
 /^i 
 
 As soon as winter is well over, and spring 
 showers prepare the way for May flowers, we 
 hear the cuckoo's note. We commonly hear 
 the cnckoo's call singly; but it appears that ' 
 they come to this country in little flocks. 
 
 *' Some years ago, early in spring, at dawn of 
 
 ^luii i*mH9 'rifif ' 
 
 Mibfi 
 
117 
 
 two 
 
 iprmg 
 
 , we 
 
 hear 
 
 that 
 
 rn 
 
 of 
 
 day, a gentleman; who lived on the Cheshire 
 side of the river Mersey, opposite Liverpool, 
 was awakened by a kind of c' ^ttering noise, 
 interrupted by the cry of ' Cuckoo, cuckoo' ^ 
 which came from a Ic^ plantation near his house, 
 situated among sand-hills bordering the shoro of 
 the gulf J and on looking out, he observed a pretty 
 large flock of cuckoos, which soon after sun-rise 
 all took to flight." " 
 
 The cuckoo, as is well known, makes use of 
 the nests of other birds, and leaves her young ones 
 to be brought up by the tender care of another 
 no way related to it. 
 
 THE WOODPECKER. 
 
 The woodpecker, another of the birds called 
 climbers, is common in woods in England ; and 
 its noisy, merry cry may be often heard com- 
 ing from some large tree, to which the bird may 
 be seen clinging and against which it will tap 
 with its bill to rouse the insects concealed beneath 
 the bark. 
 
 i*ii i: 
 
 ■ij •"« T » 1 .f 
 
 ..\ J:_ .Jri^y .:}i 
 
 \MIM 
 
 FOURTH ORDER OP BIRDS. 
 RASORES, POULTRY, &C. ' 
 
 pig-eon 
 in-clud-ing 
 
 quail 
 spright-ly 
 
 Guin-ea 
 os-trich 
 
 
118 
 
 
 pheas-ant 
 cor-al 
 
 short-wing-ed 
 fa-mous 
 
 breadth r, 
 mil-lions . 
 
 In this order of birds the pigeon family are 
 placed, including the pretty wood-quest, gentle 
 dove, &c. Pigeons multiply very fa^t. In 
 America they fly in vast flocks. A naturalist 
 relates that he saw a flock of pigeons one mile 
 in breadth which, he thinks must have containea 
 many millions. 
 
 The birds, properly called poultry, are our 
 common cock, a handsome, sprightly fellow, 
 with the quiet motherly hen j turkeys, which 
 are found in large flocks in America, bat are not 
 wild witn us ; the pheasant with his pretty feathers, 
 the partridge, the bustard, the little quail, and the 
 Grwrnea fowl, -^t* . < 
 
 'Inhere are several short-winged birds in other 
 coHfttries that belong to the fourth order, such 
 as the ostrich. His short wings only assist him 
 in his course, being unflt for flying. He can run 
 with very great swiftness, has legs of great power, 
 and is taller than a man. 
 
 bab-its 
 haunt ''"*^ 
 
 hhil *•} 
 
 FIFTH ORDER OF BIRDS. 
 GR ALL A TORES OR WADERS 
 
 stilts brood 
 
 for-eign con-itruct 
 
am 
 
 rer, 
 
 lis 
 
 The waders are birds who« habits » ad tliein to 
 haunt marshy and watery places. i.hey »re 
 long legs, unfeathfired up to the thighs, lich 
 enables them to walk as it were on stilth, \m<\ 
 keep their bodies out of the mud. * 
 
 Snipes, woodcocks, the water hen, the coot, 
 the plover, the stork, the heron, and many other 
 Bntish and foreign birds, belong to this order. 
 
 •' WATER-HEN. ' '•• «^ --Jil *• 
 
 This interesting bird is very common both in 
 England and Ireland. It many be found on the 
 rushy edges of narrow streams, or among the 
 broad floating leaves of the water-lily in ponds, 
 or swimming on streams, and ofteo in the even- 
 ing wandering in the uew-shorn grass or hay- 
 fields. It appears that these little creatures 
 have sometimes two broods in one season, and 
 the young ones of the first brood assist their 
 parents in feeding those of the second, leadmg 
 them out in parties, and making little nests for 
 them on the edge of the water, as had beei| 
 done for thejqaselyes by their parent^^ j, .. I 
 
 ^"f 
 
 'I/»X ll»» 
 
 uyyf i' 
 
 ♦jir 
 
 ^vtu 
 
 SIXTH ORDER OF BIRDS. 
 NATATORES, OR WEB-POOTED SWALLOW BIRX>«« 
 
 or-der kitch-en btil-rush 
 
 u-nit-ed ^ '*^' anx-i-e-ties state-ljr 
 
 .<<> 
 
 1 I 
 
 ;js! V 
 
 »ti. 
 
 fit 
 
 hIsjiio: 
 
#»./ 
 
 
 I ■ 
 
 
 120 
 
 I . 
 
 awk-ward 
 gait ' 
 sa-gac-i-tj 
 re-pair-ed 
 
 ^.y. 
 
 
 stun-ned fa/-con 
 
 ad-ven-tur-ous lurk-ing 
 
 per-ils ...^ ot-ter 
 
 sedg-y foam-ing 
 
 This order contains swimming birds which 
 have toes united by a thick skin called a web. ; 
 They have not long legs, like the waders ; their 
 habits of living do not require them. 
 
 Ducks, geese, swans, and gulls, which are 
 found in these countries, and pelicans, which 
 inhabit Asia and some parts of America, are of 
 the sixth order. ,, ,.'; . ? :t - ; /;y^ 
 
 ■A 
 
 'i)a'/^^^^l 
 
 STORT OP THE GOOSE. 
 
 i\ui;»i<)''^' '». "' 
 
 The goose has been pointed out as the most 
 foolish of birds, probably from its awkward gait. 
 The following stories, however, prove both its 
 courage and sagacity. 
 
 An old goose, which had been for a fortnight 
 sitting on some eggs in a farmer's kitchen, was 
 perceived to be suddenly taken ill. She sooi 
 after left the nest and repaired to an out-house, 
 where there was a young goose of the first year, 
 which she brought with her to the kitchen. 
 The young one immediately scrambled into the 
 old one's nest, sat, hatched, and afterwards 
 brought up the brood. ' 
 
121 
 
 a 
 
 \> .: '> 
 
 light 
 was 
 soom. 
 
 louse, 
 rear, 
 ihen. 
 the 
 rards 
 
 The old goose, as soon as the young one had 
 taken her place, sat down by the side of the 
 nest, and shortly after died. As the young goose 
 had never been in the habit of entering: the 
 kitchen before, it is supposed that the old one 
 had some mode of coramunicatinfj her thoughts 
 and anxieties to the yonng one. 
 
 At Ashbury, near Congletou, in Cheshire, 
 several geese were feeding in a barn where 
 some men were threshing with a sparrow near 
 them, when a hawk suddenly pounced on the 
 sparrow, and would have carried it oft', had not 
 the gander struck the hawk so violent a blow 
 on the head that it was stunned and taken up 
 for dead by one of the threshers. 
 
 tj.-i- 
 
 THB COOT SEATED ON ITS NEST, AND FLOATED 
 DOWN THE RIVER IN A STORM. 
 
 Oh, coot ! oh, bold, adventurous coot ! 
 
 I pray thee to tell to me 
 The perils of that stormy time '' ' 
 
 That bore thee to the sea ! 
 
 I saw thee on the river fair 
 
 Within thy sedgy screen; 
 
 Around thee grew the bulrush tall. 
 
 And retfds so strong and green. ^ 
 .... jj 
 
m 
 
 i 
 
 }■ 
 
 !/ 
 
 !• 
 
 122 
 
 The kiDg-iisher came back again 
 To view thy fairy place ; 
 
 The stately swan sailed statelier by, 
 As if thy home to grace. 
 
 .'i 
 
 • ..♦'< 
 
 A::y 
 
 But soon the mountain flood came down. 
 And bowed the bulrush strong ; 
 
 And far above those tall, green reeds 
 The waters poured along. / 
 
 " And where is she, the water-coot, 
 I cried, " that creature good !" 
 
 But then I saw thee in thine ark, 
 Regardless of the flood. 
 
 Amid the foaming waves thou satst. 
 And steeredst thy little boat. 
 
 Thy nest of rush and water-reed 
 So bravely set afloat. 
 
 And on it went, and safely, on .^ • 
 That wild and stormy tide ; 
 
 And there thou satst, a mother bird. 
 Thy young ones at thy side, 
 
 Oh, coot ! oh, bold, adventurous coot ! 
 
 I pray thee tell to me 
 The perils of that stormy course . 
 
 That bore thee to the sea ! 
 
 in: 
 
 4 I 
 
 Ht 
 
 r 
 
 ^ 
 
123 
 
 Hadst thou no fear, as night en me down 
 
 Upon thj watery way, 
 Of enemies and dangers dire 
 
 That round about thee lay ? 
 
 Didst thou not see the falcon grim 
 Sweep down as thou passedst by ? 
 
 And 'mong the waving water-flags 
 The lurking otter lie. 
 
 The eagle's screams came wildly near, 
 
 Yet caused thee no alarm ! 
 Nor man,|who, seeing thee, weak thing, 
 . . Did strive to do thee harm. 
 
 And down the foaming water-fall 
 
 As thou wast borne along. 
 Hadst thou no dread 1 oh, daring bird, 
 
 Thou hadst a spirit strong. 
 
 Yes, thou hadst fear ! But He, who sees 
 
 The sparrows when they fall, 
 —He saw thee, bird, and gave thee strength 
 ... To brave thy perils all. 
 
 He kept thy little ark afloat ; ^ 
 
 He watched o'er thine and thee ; 
 
 And safely through the foaming flood 
 Hath brought ^thee to the sea. 
 
124 
 
 
 QUADRUPEDS. 
 
 Mam-ma-li-a en-clos-ed , ha-bit 
 
 hoofs thumb form-ed 
 
 Under the name of quadrupeds I propose to 
 speak of those four-footed animals which suckle 
 their young, and from this circumstance are call- 
 ed Mammalia in common with some other ani- 
 mals. 
 
 You may observe that beasts ditfer from each 
 other very much in respect of their feet ; thai 
 some of them, such as dogs, cats, lions, &c., have 
 claws : but that others, such as cows, horses, pigs, 
 &c, have hoofs : and thus we may divide quadru- 
 peds into these two large classes ; 1st. — Those 
 whose feet are formed of fingers or toes with nails 
 or claws ; 2nd. — Those whose toe or toes are en- 
 closed in a horny case, which we call a hoof. 
 
 Of those quadrupeds whose feet are formed of 
 fingers or toes, some have fingers and a thumb 
 formed or grasping, like a hand, which they also 
 walk on ; such are the monkeys. 2nd. — Some 
 walk on the sole of the foot, as bears. 3dly. — Some, 
 and by far the greatest number, walk on their 
 toes, as dogs, cats, lions, &c., and as all hoofed 
 animaiS do. The structure of the feet is in every 
 case accompanied by corresponding difTerenee of 
 appearance and habit in the animals. 
 
125 
 
 t 
 
 -ed 
 i to 
 ickle 
 call- 
 ani- 
 
 each 
 thaV 
 have 
 
 adru- 
 
 riiose 
 
 nails 
 
 e en- 
 
 • 
 
 led of 
 ihumb 
 also 
 ISome 
 >ome) 
 their 
 tofed 
 jvery 
 ice of 
 
 QUADRUMANii., OR 
 THE APE 
 
 mis-chief 
 
 in-ge-ni-ous 
 
 nsMgh'ty 
 
 mis-chicv-ous 
 
 plan-taios 
 
 rav-en-ous-Ij 
 
 de-co-rum 
 
 FOUR-HANDED ANIMALS, 
 AND MONKEYr. 
 
 main-top 
 
 freaks 
 
 gut-tur-al 
 
 de-pos-it-ed 
 
 pre-fer-red 
 
 bis-cuit 
 
 re-pel-led 
 
 ng-ging 
 
 choc-o-late 
 
 liz-ard 
 
 Ma-nil-la 
 
 ir-ri-tat-ed 
 
 do-cile 
 
 Ma-lay 
 
 These animals bear a nearer resemblance to 
 man than does any other brute. They have a 
 quick memory, great powers of imitating, and 
 especially of imitating man, with love of fun and 
 mischief which is sometimes rather trouble- 
 some. A monkey at the Zoological Garden in 
 the Park used a very ingenious contrivance, and 
 one which showed some thought, to get at a nut 
 which was thrown outside his cage too far for 
 him to reach. He took a piece of straw, and, 
 making a loop in it, pushed it under the bars, and 
 thus drew in the nut. But the quickness and in- 
 telligence of the monkey tribe are not always 
 80 harmlessly employed, and they often remind 
 us of naughty, mischievous children. 
 
 The following account, related by Mr. J)<'nnet,* 
 
 • George Bennel, Esq., Author of " Wandeiin^^ jn New Souili 
 
 h2 
 
 1 
 
X 
 
 fjiK 
 
 126 
 
 of an ape belonging to him, and of his habiti 
 during a voyage to England, is very curious 
 and amusing. 
 
 STORY OP THE APE UNGKA. 
 
 Ungka's food was various , he preferred ve- 
 getables, such as rice, plantains, &:c., and was 
 ravenously fond of carrots. Although, when 
 at dinner, he would behave well, and not in- 
 trude his paw into our plates, having " acquired 
 politeness," as the sailors said, by being on board, 
 yet, when the carrots appeared, all his decorum 
 was lost in his desire for them ; and it required 
 some exertion to keep him from attacking them 
 with tooth and paw. A piece of carrot would 
 draw him from one end of the table to the other, 
 over which he would walk without disturbing 
 a single article, though the ship was rolling at 
 the time ; so admirably can these animals ba- 
 lance themselves. ' — 1. HMtV^f 
 This is well seen when they play about the 
 rigging of a ship at sea : often, when springing 
 from rope to rope, have I expected to see him 
 plunged into the waves, but as often did I find 
 my fears groundless. * ' 
 
 He would drink tea, coffee, or chocolate, but 
 neither wine nor sprits. Of animal food, he pre 
 fers fowl ; but when a lizard was 'caught on board, 
 
 ,^ f 
 
/ 
 
 127 
 
 he devoured it eagerly. He was very foni) of 
 sweet things also ; and was very eager to pro- 
 cure some Manilla cakes which were kept on 
 board. He would enter the cohh in which they 
 were kept, and try to lift the cover of the jar. 
 
 Ungka was very fond of liberty ; the first in- 
 stance J observed of this was soon after he had 
 been presented to me. On entering the yard in 
 which he was tied up, I observed him busily en- 
 gaged in removing his belt to which the cord or 
 chain was fixed, and which had been loosened, 
 at the same time whining and uttering a peculiar 
 squeaking noise. As soon as he had succeeded in 
 procuring his liberty, he walked in his usual erect 
 posture towards some Malays who were stand- 
 ing near the place ; and, aftec hugging the legs 
 of several of the party, without, however, permit- 
 ting them to take him in their arms, he went to a 
 Malay lad, who seemed to be the object of his 
 search ; ibr, on meeting with him, he immedi- 
 ately climbed into his arms and hugged him 
 closely, seeming glad to be in the arms of b m 
 who, I found, was his former master. 
 
 Ungka, though a little troublesome at first, soon 
 became quiet in the boat which took m to the 
 ship. When on boarrl , ^^r found that he was sn 
 irritated at being confined, and so docile when 
 
 if 
 
; i \ 
 
 
 1^ 1 
 
 128 
 
 at liberty, that he was permitted to range about 
 the deck or rigging as he pleased. 
 
 He usually went to rest at sunset on the 
 maintop, coming on deck at light ; but, when we 
 had colder weather near the Cape of Good Hope, 
 he showed a wish to come into my cabin to sleep, 
 and did not like to return to the maintop even 
 in fine weather. He would approach me with a 
 peculiar begging, chirping noise, when he wish- 
 ed to be taken into my cabin and put to bed. 
 
 He could not endure disappointment. When re- 
 fused anything, he would display freaks of tem- 
 per like a naughty, spoiled child, lie on the deck, 
 roll about, throw his arms and legs about, dash 
 everything aside that might be within bis reach, 
 then get up and walk in a hurried manner to and 
 fro ; and all this he would do orer and oyer 
 again, uttering loud, guttural sounds of ra, ra, 
 which he only pronounced when very angry 
 or frightened. This violence of temper was 
 in some degree checked by punishment. But 
 before this he often reminded me of that pest 
 to society, a spoiled child. 
 
 His look was grave, and his manner mild, 
 and he bad not much delight in those miscbie* 
 Tous tricks so peculiar to the monkey tribe 
 
 Once or twi«e I reproved him on taking away 
 
129 
 
 jway 
 
 my soap continually from the washing-place, 
 for he was in the habit oi" removing it for his 
 amusement from its place, and leaving it about 
 the cabin. One morning I was writing, the ape 
 being in ray cabin, when, casting my eyes to- 
 wards him, I saw the little fellow taking the 
 soap. I watched him without him perceiving 
 that I did so, and he now and then cast a glance 
 at me. I pretended to write, and he seeing me 
 busily occupied, took the soap and moved with 
 it in his paw. When he had walked half the 
 length of the cabin, I spoke quietly without 
 frightening him. The instant he found that I 
 saw him, he walked back again, and deposited the 
 soap in the place whence he had taken it. '' 
 
 He soon knew the name of Ungka, ♦/hich 
 had been given to him, and would readily come 
 to those to whom he was attached, when called 
 by it. His gentleness and playfulness made 
 him a general favourite ; but he preferred chil- 
 dren, and was particularly fond of a little child, 
 a native of one of the South Sea Islands, who 
 was on board. They were often seen sitting, the 
 ape with his arm around her neck, eating bis- 
 cuit together. And she would lead him about 
 hf his arms, like an elder child leading a 
 younger. He would sometimes let her amuse 
 
li 
 
 > 
 
 130 
 
 herself by dragging him about the deck with a 
 string tied to his leg. And he would good- 
 naturedly bear this for some time, as if to amuse 
 his little playmate ; but at last growing tired 
 of this fun, in which he had no share, he would 
 try and disengage himself. If he found the 
 attempt fruitless, he would walk up to her and 
 make a slight impression with his teeth on her 
 arm, as a hint that no more liberties were to be 
 taken, or, as the child would say, " Ungka no 
 play like now." 
 
 There were several monkeys on board ship, 
 with which the ape wished to make acquaint- 
 ance, but the little monkeys would have nothing 
 to say to him, and repelled his aproach by chat- 
 tering and other angry signs peculiar to them. 
 
 CJngka, who had no tail himself, would some- 
 times amuse himself, by pulling at the tails of 
 the monkeys ; but they found means at last of 
 punishing him. And he then made friends with 
 a little lean pig, pulling at his tail as he ran 
 about deck, but without seeming to annoy him. 
 
 From this account of Ungka's ways you may 
 suppose he was a very great favourite on board 
 the ship, and, when he was ill, there was as 
 many inquiries about his health as if he had 
 been a human being:, . 
 
 :»i' 
 
 tii)ia«a'f 
 
131 
 
 le- 
 of 
 of 
 ith 
 an 
 
 ay 
 
 Ird 
 
 (pi^antigrade) quadrupeds which walk on 
 the soles of their feet. 
 
 -,i 
 
 fit-ted 
 
 un-wield-y 
 
 squeeze 
 
 vic-tim 
 prin-ci-pal 
 glos-sy 
 fe-roc-i-ty 
 
 voy-a-gers 
 
 sin-gly 
 
 mor-sel 
 
 lev-el-led 
 
 crawl-ed 
 
 entice 
 
 stom-ac^s 
 
 kan-ga-roo 
 
 grez-ing 
 
 se-vere-ly 
 cbas tise 
 ag-ile 
 o-pos-sum 
 
 •HT? 
 
 plan-ti-grade 
 
 Such are bears, racoons, gluttons. Some of 
 these are carnivorous, having teeth fitted for eating 
 flesh, but partly live on fruits, roots or insects. 
 
 ■ 'ij - THE JBEAk* •? : ' 
 
 ■ - ■ • ^. 
 
 The largest of this tribe of Quadrupeds is the 
 bear, a huge unwieldly creature, and in its ap- 
 pearance very unlike some of these little animals 
 which resemble it in the shape and mode of 
 using their feet. 
 
 ' Look to your prints of a bear sitting on its 
 hind legs, and using the fore legs as arms, with 
 which when provoked it will squezee its vic- 
 tim to death. The two principal varieties 
 are the brown and the black. The black bear 
 has a beautiful glossy fur, and is found in North 
 America. 
 
132 
 
 li 
 
 I ! 
 
 II 
 
 1 
 
 The white bear of the Northern Seas differs 
 much from the other two, and is remarkable for 
 its ferocity, as well as its love for its young. 
 Some voyagers to the Northern Seas, after 
 speaking of its ferocity, tell this story of its 
 motherly love. ..#«-.» /A.^^'ci 
 
 STORY OF A WHITE BKAR. ^ I . t 
 
 Early in the morning the man at the mast- 
 head of the Carcass, the name of their ship, 
 gave notice that three bears were making their 
 way across the ice towards the ship. They 
 had doubtless been invited by the smell of the 
 flesh of a sea-horse killed a few days before.— 
 They proved to be a she-bear and her two cubs. 
 The crew from the ship threw great lumps of 
 the flesh of the sea-horse upon the ice ; these 
 the old bear fetched away singly, laid every 
 lump before her cubs as she brought it, and 
 dividing it gave each a share, reserving but a 
 small portion for herself. As she was 
 fetching away her last morsel, the sailors (very 
 cruelly I thmk) levelled their muskets at the 
 cubs, shot them dead, and wounded the dam. — 
 It would have drawn tears of pity from any 
 one but unfeeling persons to witness the affec- 
 tionate movements of the poor beast. Though 
 badly wounded, she crawled to the place where 
 
133 
 
 ffers 
 ; for 
 
 atfter 
 its 
 
 oast- 
 ship, 
 their 
 rhey 
 [ the 
 re. — 
 cubs, 
 ps of 
 these 
 every 
 
 and 
 ►ut a 
 
 was 
 
 ^very 
 
 the 
 
 her youpg ones lay, carried the lump of flesh 
 which she had fetched away, and laid it, as she 
 had done the others, before them. When she 
 saw that they refused to eat, she laid her paw 
 first on one of them, then on the other, and tried 
 to raise them up. When she found she could 
 not make them move, she went off; but after 
 she had gone a little way, she looked back and 
 moaned. Finding she could not entice them 
 away she returned, and smelling around them, 
 began to lick their wounds. Again she crawled 
 away, and, looking back, stood moaning. But 
 still her cubs not rising to follow her as she ex- 
 pected, she returned to them again, and with in- 
 expressible fondness, went first round the one and 
 then round the other, pawing them and moaning. 
 Finding at last, I suppose, that they were cold and 
 lifeless, she raised her head towards the ship, and 
 growled at the murderers of her young, who again 
 shot at her ; and she falling between them, died 
 licking their wounds. 
 
 tl 
 
 ' V 
 
 any 
 laffec- 
 lough 
 rhtre 
 
 MARSUPIAL, POUCHED ANIMALS. 
 
 .^^ There is a large species of animals of which we 
 may speak in this place, because they resemble 
 the bear in one point, — that of being plantigrade 
 
i i 
 
 '|. 
 
 ! ! 
 
 ^:i 
 
 8tl34 
 
 in the hind legs, that is, ^they rest on the whoie 
 of the foot with ihose legs. In most other re- 
 spects they are unlike these and all other qua- 
 
 diuPeds. '-^' •' Jjf*^ ♦^^^ Uiyk-L. --'l • ii>iw "WfiB 
 
 These animals have a poiich or bag under their 
 stomachs, and are hence called Marsujpial. In 
 this bag they carry their young until they are 
 able to take care of themselves. '' ' *^' ° ^^^' 
 
 There are a number of animals quite different 
 from each other, some carnivorous, and others 
 living on vegetables, which resemble each other in 
 being all furnished with this bag. 
 
 Some very diti'erent from the rest, called kan- 
 garoos, natives of New.HoUand, have been brought 
 to this country. 
 
 The common kangaroo is a beautiful animal of 
 a reddish-brown colour, with a face somewhat 
 like that of a mouse, if we can fancy a mouse so 
 large. The hind legs are long, the fore legs very 
 short and seldom used but in grazing. »,!; .M^nl;,,i > 
 ;. Their usual mode of moving forward is by long 
 leaps, much as we do when we stoop down a little 
 and jump forward. 
 
 • t-r- 
 
 ' Imagine one of those beautiful, agile creaturef 
 suddenly leaping over your head, and leaving fou 
 far bfihind. t^- ^MH - -^ Ait^. i i*ao iii -m-jci au^ 
 
135 
 
 bole 
 
 re- 
 
 qua- 
 
 tileir 
 In 
 
 are 
 
 ail' 
 
 (Bren^ 
 ithers 
 aer ni 
 
 kan-* 
 ought 
 
 \d\ of 
 
 jwhat 
 
 ise so 
 
 very 
 
 long 
 little 
 
 nture^ 
 you 
 
 They are gentle, never attacking except in self- 
 defence, and feed mostly on vegetables. 
 
 Of the other marsupial or pouch-bearing animals 
 a few are called opposums, some of which are found 
 in Central America. ». t •'? 
 
 ■I I V rj * 
 
 (dIGITIGRADE) — ANIMALS WHICH WALK ON 
 
 al-li ed 
 hy-e-na 
 ti-ny 
 in-stincts 
 Es-qui-mawx 
 - sledge ' 
 scent '. 
 
 res-cue 
 av-a-lanche 
 shear-ing 
 strag-glers 
 ex-cur-sions 
 
 TH£IR TOES. 
 
 anx-i-ous )^^ 
 
 rao-rass-es 
 
 fruit-lesS 
 
 shep-^erd 
 
 fa-tigwe 
 
 al-low-ance 
 
 cat-ar-act ' 
 
 rug-ged 
 
 de-scent j* 
 
 brink ^ - 
 
 scram-bled 
 
 * » • > •■ . f. 
 
 seiz-mg 
 fierce »' 
 sa-gac-i-ty 
 pro-pen-si-ties 
 
 de-graded 
 li-a-ble 
 
 tor-por : ^ 
 
 twi-lig^t 
 
 slop-ing 
 
 t^^ap-per 
 
 prec-i-pice 
 
 crouch-ed 
 
 r leop-ard 
 ., This is a large division of animals, including 
 dogs, cats, lions, tigers, and many other beasts 
 of prey, which are called also carnivorous ; they 
 have teeth fitted for cutting and tearing flesh, 
 and possess strength, agility, and dexterity, for 
 catching and killing their prey. There are, how- 
 ever, some families of this division of animals, 
 
I 
 
 il' 
 
 ' li 
 
 I ■ 
 
 136 
 
 which will not, or do not usually, eat flesh. The 
 onlj beasts of prej, which have been made 
 domestic, that is, fit to live with man, are dogs 
 and cats. 
 
 The dog is nearly allied to the wolf and 
 more distantly to the fox and fierce hyena. — 
 So numerous and various are the kinds of dogs, 
 that it is Cufficult to give any description which 
 applies to all : and yet we never seem to doubt 
 when we see a new variety, to what species 
 of animals it belong^, since from the great New- 
 foundland down to the tiny spaniel there is a general 
 resemblance. 
 
 They are all, though in different degrees, 
 capable of strong attachment to man, and may 
 be easily trained to habits of obedience and 
 of intelligent attention to the services requir- 
 ed of them, even when these are contrary to 
 their own natural instincts. Thus the Esqui- 
 maux dogs draw a sledge, though nothing can 
 be more opposite to his natural habits. The she- 
 pherd's dog faithfully guards a fiock, though na- 
 ture impels him to devour sheep. The mastiff 
 protects a house. The Newfoundland dog will 
 plunge into the water to save his master. The 
 keen scent of the Spanish bloodhound used to be 
 employed by its cruel master in hunting down 
 
137 
 
 jquir- 
 ry to 
 ilsqui- 
 ; can 
 J she- 
 na- 
 astifif 
 will 
 The 
 to be 
 lown 
 
 fautnaD beings to death, while the dog of St. Ber- 
 nard has been taught by means of the same keen 
 scent tb find out and rescue at the risk of his 
 life poor creatures perishing in the snow. Some 
 of these dogs are kept by the Monks who live 
 in a convent on Mount I'^t. Bernard, one of the 
 lofty mountains of Switzerland, for the purpose 
 of assisting poor travellers who have lost their 
 way, or have met with accidents. A story is 
 told of one of these dogs which found a lost 
 child among the moutains ; its mother had 
 been destroyed by the fall of a mass of snow 
 called an avalanche ; the dog induced the poor 
 little boy to mount upon his back, and thus car- 
 ried him to the gate of the convent, where his 
 masters, the kind monks of St. Bernard, lived. 
 
 ANP.«DOTE OF A SHEPHERd's DOG. 
 
 The valleys of the Grampian Mountains, in the 
 North of Scotland, are chiefly inhabited by shep- 
 herds. The pastures, over which each flock is 
 allowed to range, extend over many miles, and 
 the shepherd never has a view of his whole flock 
 at once, except when it is collected for the pur- 
 pose of shearing. His occupation is to make 
 daily visits to the diflerent parts of his pasture, 
 and to turn back by means of his dog any strag- 
 
:i 
 
 138 
 
 M 
 
 
 
 ill ' 
 
 glen that may have/ approached the boundaridii 
 of his neighbours. ..; . . —^ i^w 
 
 In one of these excursions a shepherd happened 
 to take with him one of his children, a boy about 
 three years old. After having walked some dis- 
 tance, the shepherd found himself obliged to as- 
 cend a steep place, which the child was unable 
 to climb ; he therefore left it on a small plain at 
 the bottom with strict commands not to stir till 
 his return. Scarcely, however , had he gained 
 the top of the hill when he was overtaken by ona 
 of those thick fogs which frequently descend so 
 rapidly amidst these mountains, as in the space 
 of a few minutes to change day into night. 
 
 The anxioUs father instantly hastened back 
 to find his child, but owing to the darkness, and 
 to his agitation, he unfortunately missed his 
 way. After a fruitless search of many hours 
 among the dangerous morasses and torrents with 
 which these mountains abound, he was at length 
 overtaken by night. Still wandering on, he 
 at last discovered, by the light of the moon, that 
 be had reached the bottom of the valley, and was 
 close to his own cottage. *' 
 
 To renew the search that night would have 
 been equally dangerous and fruitless ; he therefore 
 returned home, having lost his child, and also his 
 
139 
 
 
 dog, which had attended'him 1. ithfuUy tor manj 
 years. Next morning by ^ay -break the shepherd, 
 accompained by some of his neighbours set out to 
 look for his child ; but after a day of fruitless fatigue 
 he was again compelled by the approach of night to 
 descend from the mountain. ,,;,.; ....._, ^ , 
 
 On returning to his cottage, he found that his 
 dog had been home, but, after receiving a piece 
 of oat-cake for his supper, had instantly gone ofl 
 again. For several days the shepherd continued 
 the search for his lost child, and every day, on 
 returning disappointed in the evening to his 
 cottage, he found that the dog had been there, 
 had received his allowance of oat-cake, and had 
 instantly disappeared with it. Struck with this 
 circumstance, be remained at home one day, and 
 when the dog, as usual, departed with his oat-cake, 
 he resolved to follow him. 
 
 .1 
 
 ..; 
 
 jThe dog led the way to a cataract or fall of 
 water at some distance from the spot where the 
 shepherd had left his child, he then began to make 
 his way down a steep and rugged descent and at 
 last disappeared in a cave, the entrance of which 
 was close to the fall. 
 
 The shepherd with difficulty followed : but on 
 entering the cave, what was his delight on per- 
 
140 
 
 ceiving his child eating with much satisfaction^' 
 the cake which the faithful dog had just hrought 
 him ! 
 
 From the situation in which the child was 
 found it appeared that be had wandered tc* th^ 
 brink of the precipice, and either fallen or scram- 
 bled down till he reached the caVe, which fear of 
 the torrent prevented him from leaving.- -^ 
 
 The dog, by means of his scent, had traced him 
 to the spot, and had prevented the little creature 
 from starving by bringing him his own ddly al- 
 lowance. He appears never to have left the 
 child night or day except to go for his food, after 
 receiving which he had been seen running at full 
 speed firom the cottage. 
 
 We may imagine the delight of the father and 
 his'gratitude to the dumb preserver of his child. 
 
 THE CAT. 
 
 To the cat tribe of animals belong the lion, the 
 tiger, the leopard, &:c., for they resemble each 
 other in their structure, in their mode of seizing 
 their prey, and many other of their habits. 
 
 The cat then, that meek and gentle creature, 
 connects us with the proud lion and ferocious 
 tiger. The cat in its wild state, however, shows 
 all the qualities of ^a fierce beast of prey* TI16 
 
domestic cat seems peculiarly suited to be the 
 companion of our fire-side, which, perhaps, it 
 loves even better than ourselves. It is capa- 
 ble of attachment, however, has a good mem- 
 ory, and much sagacity. 
 
 There lived a cat in a family I knew, which, 
 when she was shut up in a room and wished to 
 get out, would actually ring the bell ; she must 
 therefore have observed that such a movement 
 was followed by the door being opened, and 
 she made use of it for that purpose. 
 
 The cat never loses her propensities to destroy 
 as a beast of prey. If she is too well fed to eat, 
 she will still destroy her natural prey y and here- 
 in she differs from the more generous dog. 
 
 THE LION. i- 
 
 This great and powerful animal has been 
 commonly called the king of beasts ; and his 
 appearance, even in the degraded position as 
 a state prisoner in one of our dens, makes good 
 his claim to our respect. ^. , ,,^ 
 
 We cannot look at him without feeling for 
 the inhabitants of those countries where he 
 reigns, and whose path is liable to be crossed 
 by a foe so deadly. ^ ^-^ ,. ,. 
 
 i2 
 
 I '4 
 
142 
 
 i'l 
 
 He attains liis greatest strehgfli and size in 
 the South of Africa, and is a scourge to the 
 Hottentot tribes who dwell there ; who, unable 
 to resist him by open force, sometimes escape 
 his fury by stratagem. 
 
 ANECDOTE OF THE LION AND THj; HOTTKNTOT. 
 
 A Hottentot, having with hinj no weapon of 
 defence, and happening to be out late in the day, 
 came suddenly upon a lion in a state of torpor. ' 
 It was too late for him to get home before sunset, 
 and he knew from the habits of the beast that, 
 as soon as twilight came on, he would follow 
 his scent, and spring upon him ; he therefore 
 looked about for means of deliverance. 
 
 He perceived a sloping ground at a little dis- 
 tance, on the other side of whicli there was a 
 precipice : he crept towards it, and, taking off his 
 wrapper, or whatever portion of dress he wore, he 
 hung it on a stick, which be stuck on the edge of 
 the precipice, while he himself crept a little way 
 down, so as to conceal himself from the lion. 
 
 What he expected took place. Soon after sun- 
 set the lion roused himself, and his scent directed 
 hum to the spot. He crouched down opposite ' 
 to the supposed man, viz. the piece of cloth 
 
1148 
 
 bung upon a strick, and at length, making hii 
 usual spring at it, fell over the precipice and 
 was killed. 
 
 / '.jtj 
 
 (irl) RODENTIA, OR GNAWING ANOIAJLS. i- 
 
 .»* TJ^ J. .. k 
 
 ^ 
 
 chis-els • 
 
 ^aw-ing 
 rcu^ "ol-ing 
 sep-ar-ate 
 cir-cu-lar 
 clus-ter-ing 
 
 pop-iar " 
 crev-ic-es ' 
 
 »" 
 
 /. 
 
 ..if; 
 
 taw-ny 
 
 nought 
 
 bur-row 
 
 wends 
 
 car-ol 
 
 ber-ry 
 
 .'.i^ ''\ 
 
 -^h u- lo-ny ' ** 
 * de-vours «= 
 / lar-vae 
 
 ar-ma-dil-lo 
 
 The gnawing animals have two rtrong sharp 
 front teeth, like chisels, in each jaw, fit for 
 cutting or gnawing, and hence they are called 
 Rodentia or gnawing animals. Such are rab- 
 bits, hares, rats, mice, squirrels, and beavers; 
 all small animals, some of them not unwilling 
 to eat flesh. Some of these animals are well 
 known to you. The gnawing habits of the 
 pretty little mouse, as well as of the fierce rat, 
 must have come under your notice ; and you 
 have probably seen the rabbit with its long 
 cars and soft fur.«-'» f oH .jmji i luiw r c^vvu, ftiii 
 :>H!The squirrel is found in woods, and it is some- 
 " times seen shut up in a cage. He is a pretty, 
 lively little creature, and it is amusing to see 
 
•|s 
 
 III 
 
 144 
 
 him sitting on his hind legs^^h his long tail 
 over his back, cracldng nnts, or gamboliiig from 
 tree to tree • . - ? . ^ >: :. *, 
 
 The beaver is hunted and taken for his skin, 
 with which men's hats- ^ are sometimee partly 
 made. It is found in the Northern parts of 
 Europe and Asia, but chiefly in America. ,. 
 
 Beavers have very curious and interesting 
 habits : they live in large and separate families, 
 and unite together in building their winter 
 homes. These buildings are of a circular form, 
 the walls thick, and somtimes eight leet hi^ii, 
 clustering together, like little villages, on 
 streams. They begin their joint labours early 
 ip summer, assembling together in some con- 
 venient spot, and, cutting down branches of 
 willow, birch, and poplar trees, drift them 
 down the stream to the place they have chosen ; 
 thus provided with materials, they fall to work. 
 
 When they expect a want of water in the 
 stream, their first business is to build a tlam, 
 that is, to lay logs, of wood across it^' and fiUiip 
 the crevices with mud, clay, or ston6S| so as to 
 prevent the water from eseapingw The < little 
 creatures carry these stones, &c») between* thisir 
 fore feet and threat. 
 
 i'- ,ii\j;lf,t^'i 
 
 ilorii 
 
149 
 
 The daiftvis mtA^ in an < afcbed shape, ;aad 
 of great strengtib and thiGknesS) so that it can^^ 
 not be easily washed away. Their village is 
 built around it, and the different families live'ia 
 great harmony. mi u.vf.., <; ue/=, 
 
 EDENTATE ANIMALS. ,: . f{'r 
 
 Some animals have no cutting teeth, and 
 some no teeth at all. But these families are 
 called Edentate J or toothless. They are not 
 very interesting in their appearance or habits. — 
 One of them, the sloth, so called from its supr 
 posed heavy, inactive gait, is a native of South 
 America, and has once been brought to this 
 country 5 its habit is to swing itself by its fdiii*'^ 
 leg^ round the bough of a tree where it will 
 remain suspended for a length of time together 
 without feeding^ it however moves rapidly when 
 excited. 
 
 Another, call^ the ant-eater, is a cUrious-Iooking 
 animal with a very long snout ; he bores into the 
 ant-hills and devours the inhabitants. . 
 
 The Armadillo, resembling a little pig 
 armour, belongs also to the Edentata. 
 
 THE DORMOUSE. ^ '' ^"^ 
 
 The little dbrmbuse isf taWnyTed; ' "^'^ ^^" 
 He makes against winter a nice snug bed ; u • !/J t 
 He makes his bed in a mossy bank,. 
 Where the plants in the suinmer 
 
 m 
 
 f(.; 
 
 rank 
 
 grow 
 

 146 
 
 ill ' 
 
 w 
 
 «.i'l' 
 
 A#tj from the dajligbt fir under vund, 
 His sleep through the winter is quiet hnd sound. 
 And, when all aboyehim it freezes and snows, ' ' • 
 What is it to him , for he nought of it knows ? 
 And till the cold time of winter is gone;? "'^'i ^ ' 'J^)^ 
 The little dormouse keeps still sleeping on. 
 But at last in the fresh breezy days of the spring, 
 When the green leaves bud, and the merry birds 
 
 And the dead of winter is over and past, ''/' 'Q ' 
 The little dormouse peeps out at last. '^ ''^' 
 
 Out of his snug, quiet burrow he wends, *• * '' • 
 And looks all about for his neighbours and friends, 
 Then he sajs, as he sits at the foot of a larch, 
 " ' Tis a beautiful day for the first day of March, 
 The violet is blowing, the blue sky is clear; ' ' ' 
 The lark is uprising, his carol I hear: ' ' [foal : 
 And in the green fields are the lamb and the 
 I'm glad I'm not sleeping down in^y hole." 
 Then away he runs in his merry mood 
 Over the fields and into the wood. 
 To find any grain there may chance to be. 
 Or any small berry that hangs on the tree. 
 So from early morning till late at night , ^<., j 
 Has the poor little creature its own delight, r^^. 
 Looking down to the earth and up to the sky 
 Thmking, ^ What a happy dormouse am I ?" 
 
 Bit 
 
147 
 
 .».-. 
 
 .ir 
 
 HO0F£D AlOMALS. 
 
 ru*mi-nate 
 chew-ing 
 sol-emn 
 gi-raffe 
 
 or 
 
 (reighUed 
 jour-nejs 
 
 de-spond 
 
 wastes 
 
 
 Irj"^ 
 
 H<> -'jj* 
 
 It 
 
 rein-deer 
 ^^?hole-some 
 freight 
 prec-i-ous 
 
 This is a very large and useful class, distinguish- 
 ed by having a horny case to the toe, on which 
 Ihey walk, which is called a hoof; but they 
 differ very much in their habits, and have hence 
 been divided into two tribes — those that chew 
 
 the cud, or ruminate, and those that do not. '^ ' 
 
 ./in uii' 
 1. — RUMINANT ANIMALS. 
 
 Animals that ruminate have several stomachs 
 and are so formed that, when they have swal- 
 lowed a sufficient quantity of food to fill the first, 
 stomach, it is returned into the mouth to be 
 chewed again. You may have observed cattle, 
 when they have left off grazing, stand, and look, 
 very solemn while they perform this operation, 
 which seems agreeable to them, • >: . vj; , u^.s,ff 
 
 All animals with boms on the skull ruminate, 
 as well* as some few who have not horns. '»*- *•: 
 
 Ruminant animals have also the hoof di- 
 vided, and hence are called cloven-footed. 
 
 The most remarkable among the ruminant 
 
 ' i 
 
148 
 
 cloven-footed animals are the girsrffe, the ca- 
 mel,. cattle, sheep, deer, and goats. 
 
 The giraffe is by far the tallest and most grace- 
 ful of all these animals ; it is found in Africa, and 
 has been brought to this country ; but it appears 
 to be the least useful of the ruminant animals. 
 
 The most valuable to us in this country are cat- 
 tle and sheep, To the Laplanders the reindeer 
 fills the place of both these, as well as the horse. 
 It draws their sledges over the frozen snow; 
 it gives them milk ; and its flesh and warm 
 skin are as useful as those of sheep to us. 
 
 To the inhabitants of warmer countries, and 
 ef<|»ecially to the wandering tribes of the desert, 
 both in Asia and Africa, the camel is the most 
 vsduable animal they possess. Patient and 
 gentle in its disposition, it is capable of beanng 
 the' heavy burdens, which it kneels down to re- 
 ceive from its master, over the sand of the desert ; 
 and: it is able to go a length of time without 
 water, because its stomach is provided with cells 
 capftble of preserving the twater it drinks in a 
 pure and wholesome state, v ., .^ fvu,- r , 
 
 The cannel is too valuable to be much used for 
 food, but its milk is drunk by the desert tribes, 
 
149 * 
 
 and also made into ch8e<^»'. while the softett 
 shawls are manufactured frum its hair. 
 
 ■iSs. 
 
 JK 
 
 4 I 
 
 THE CAMEL. 
 
 '\ 
 
 ■?.-t •' »' < f 
 
 }'/.' 
 
 Camel thou art good and mild, 
 Mightst be guided by a child : : ^.t 
 Thou wast made for usefulness. ,ji v ,^ 
 Man to comfort and to bless. 
 Thou dost clothe him, thou dost feed 
 Thou dost lend to him thy speed ; 
 And through wilds of trackless sand 
 In the hot Aarabian laiiu. 
 Where no rock its shadow tbriws, 
 Where no pleasant wa* ;r flows, ' ' 
 Where the hot air is aot stirred * . 
 By the wings of singing bird, 
 There thou go'st, untired and meek, " 
 Day by day and week hy week. 
 Bearing freight of precious things. 
 Silks for merchants, gold for kings. 
 Bale on bale, and heap on heap. 
 Freighted lik:^ i gooldly ship. 
 And, when week by week is gone, 
 While the irareHer journeys on, h7 
 
 Wlien his strength and hope are fieil^ 
 And his fainting heart seems dead^^ ^ 
 
 '.im- 
 
 nO^' 
 
 '.i: 
 
 -iiii' 
 
 Hi. 
 
 
 nu. 
 
 m>(M, 
 
IfiO 1 
 
 ^,j. Thj mild eye doth gently say, •>ftrti 
 " Journey on for this one day ; 
 Do not let the heart despond, 
 There is water yet beyond ! 
 I can scent it in the air, 
 Do not let thy heart despair !" ' ' 
 And thou guid'st the traveller there 
 Thus these desert wastes might be 
 Un tracked regions but for thee. 
 
 •ri/j fai: 
 
 >..{. 
 
 in,- ^,1:1 
 
 Mary Howitt. 
 
 : ;• t .- I" no : 
 
 n. — ANIMALS WITH HOOM. 
 
 NON-RUMINANT 5 CALLED ALSO THICK-SKINNFD 
 ANIMALS, OR PACHYDERM ATA. 
 
 1 *)■> 
 
 in-ter-nal ^_^^^, 
 
 struc-ture 
 
 el-e-phant 
 
 rAi-noc-e-ros 
 
 ze-bra 
 
 e-nor-mous 
 
 *ttas-sive 
 
 pil-Iars 
 
 un-wield-y 
 
 pro-ject-ing , en-tan-gled 
 ner-vous , r dis-en-gage 
 flex-i-ble , boun-da-ry 
 for-mi-da-ble rough 
 
 doc-ile * re-sent-ful 
 
 bu3-t-ness , ob-sti-nac-y 
 
 This division contains a number of large animals 
 which bear little resemblance to each other, but 
 whose internal structure is sifflilar*,^;,^ p„. ^^^^ 
 
151 
 
 it includes both those animals which have one 
 solid, undivided hoof, like the horse, ass, and 
 zebra, and some of those whose hoof is divided 
 into two or more pieces — as the elephant, the 
 rhinoceros, hippopotamus, pig, and others. 
 
 Of those with the solid hoof the horse and ass 
 are well known to you. The zebra, which re- 
 sembles them very much, inhabits the hot plains 
 of Africa ; it has not been tamed sufficiently 
 to be useful to man. 
 
 1 1 f 
 
 i;. ;;:'<;•• •;» i!^ i 
 
 THE ELEPHANT. 
 
 ^ KUsUi 
 
 The elephant belongs, as I have s^id, to the 
 tribe of divided hoofs. It has, in fact, four on 
 each foot. The elephant is an enormous ani- 
 mal, from five to thirteen feet in height, sup- 
 ported by fonr massive legs like pillars. 
 
 If you look to your print, you must notice the 
 huge trunk, like a very, very long nose, project- 
 ing above his mouth. This trunk is the most 
 valuable member he possesses, and he knows it 
 well ; and, if by chance it is wounded in the 
 slightest way, he becomes nervous and fearful j 
 he is so careful of it that he will not use it as a 
 weapon except in throvving stones at a distance ; 
 and, if a tiger attack him, he throws it up in the 
 
 air to keep it out of harm's way. 
 
 «rf> lo * i'ff 
 
 ij 
 
162 
 
 This trunk serves faim as a hand, and also 
 both as a drinking-horn and as a pump, for he 
 drops it into water, which he sucks up till it is 
 full, and then at his pleasure he pours it into his 
 mouth beneath. As a hand it is so strong that 
 he can tear off large branches of trees, and pull up 
 small trees by the roots, yet so flexible and de- 
 licate in touch that he can pick up a pin. 
 
 The elephant is found in Asia and Africa far 
 from the abodes of man, " in forests and marshy 
 plains covered with long grass." He is a most 
 formidable animal in the wild state, but most 
 docile and intelligent when tmned. He has in- 
 deed noble qualities — strong affeclions, grati- 
 tude, and patience. A very interesting anec- 
 dote (among many othess) is related of his gen- 
 tleness and intelligence. 
 
 " I have seen," says an oflScer who had served 
 in India, " the wife of a camp-follower give her 
 baby in charge to an elephant while she went on 
 some business, and have been highly amused in 
 observing the sagacity and cait^ of its unwieldy 
 nurse. The child, which, like most children, did 
 not like lo lie in one place, would, when left to 
 itself, begin to crawl about, and get among the 
 legs of the animal, or entangled in the branches 
 
163 
 
 id 
 
 to 
 he 
 es 
 
 of the trees on which|he^ was feeding. On such 
 occasions he would in the tenderest manner dis- 
 engage his little charge either hj lifting it out of 
 the way with his trunk, or hy remoTing the 
 branches. If the child had crawled to such a dis- 
 tance that he was likely to get beyond his bound- 
 ary (for the elephant was chained by the leg to 
 a peg driven into the ground), he would stretch 
 out his trunk and lift it back as gently as possi- 
 ble to the spot whence it had started ; seeming per- 
 fectly aware how easily the little creature would 
 be injured by rough treatment." 
 
 But the elephant, though so gentle, is resentful 
 of injuries, and he punishes them, though not all in 
 a cruel way. 
 
 The^^ was an elephant, called in the language 
 of the country, Fangul or Fool ; but he pro- 
 ved how little he deserved that name. Pangul, 
 when a heavier burden was placed on him than 
 he chose to bear, used constantly to pull off 
 part of it from his back and put it down. The 
 person who had ordered him to be laden, being 
 irritated at his obstinacy, threw a tent-pin at 
 his head. In a few days after, as the animal 
 was going from the camp to water, he overtook 
 this man, and seizing him with his tmnk, lifted 
 
154 
 
 him into a large tamarind tree which overhung 
 the* road, leaving him to get down as well as he 
 could. ^;;- ..- V 
 ni Another person wishing to try, how far the 
 elephant would remember a slight offence, gave 
 him some pepper between bread to eat. The 
 animal was displeased at the affront ; and about 
 six weeks afterwards, when the joker went to 
 fondle him, he gently and quietly drenched him with 
 dirty water from head to foot. . 
 
 PRIVATIONS AND NATURAL DEFECTS. 
 
 sur-viv-ed a-cute-ne«5« pre-vi-ous-ly 
 
 stilf-ling 
 
 ex-pir-ing 
 
 de-fects 
 
 pri-va-tions 
 
 hu-mane 
 
 m-tent-ly ♦• 
 
 ni-ce-ty ' 
 
 im-par-ting 
 
 re-lief 
 
 se-par-ate 
 
 raois^-en-ed 
 
 type» f' 
 
 sti-let 
 pub-lish-ed 
 mutes 
 
 m-ge-ni-ou8 
 sys-tem 
 m-ier-course 
 
 I in 
 
 ^jfr. 
 
 lio Our greatest blessings being common to all, it 
 in not until they are withdrawn that people are apt 
 to think much about their value. " • >^ 
 
 J'' Those, who survived the sufferings endured in 
 
 '^ i, stifling prison called the black hole at Calcutta, 
 where numbers of Englishmen died from want 
 
 ' of air, would never afterwards think slightly of 
 
«»55 
 
 ID 
 
 tta, 
 
 ant 
 
 of 
 
 thb blessing of breathing it pure and uneoniined. 
 
 Nor would those, who have ever been expiring 
 : of thirst, like Ali Bej and his companions in 
 
 the desert, be likely to swallow a drop of water 
 •■ without feelings of thankfulness. i? > 
 
 Few of us, perhaps, are very grateful to Provi- 
 dence for the use of all our faculties until we havf 
 learned their value by the sight of persons who 
 are deprived of them. And this is one way in 
 which* the natural defects of others may be madr 
 useful to their companions. But there is another 
 also. Those, who have witnessed the privations 
 of the blind, the deaf, and the dumb, will not 
 only, T trust, learn to value the possession of sight, 
 ^and the power of hearing and speaking, but they 
 t will be reminded to ask themselves v^hat use 
 . they have made of these gifts; whether the> 
 , have looked, and heard, and spoken in vain ; for. 
 ' however little they may think about the^e things 
 now, they will surely have to render an account 
 of them to their Great Giver hereafter. -jiu 
 
 fii divd .oil! 1j .: , 0^ "^H* SLi^o. ^j i,^^ ^i,nA,i 
 
 The catural defect of our fellow-creatures are 
 
 ^' so painful to think of, or behold, that tliOM who 
 
 kiow anything about th«n muit r^oiee ib U 
 
 n 
 
166 
 
 : how much has been done bj humane and intelli- 
 ; gent people to improve their condition. 
 
 It appears that the attention of the blind, not 
 I being employed about objects of sight, is direct- 
 ed more intently to their other senses ; so that 
 they acquire an acuteness of hearing, a quick- 
 ness of smell, and a nicety of touch, which are 
 
 unknown to other persons, and by which means 
 we are enabled to teach them things usually 
 learned through the sight. 
 
 It is chiefly by the touchy however, that they 
 
 have been taught these things, such as reading, 
 
 , wnting, geography, music, and other branches 
 
 jof knowledge, besides several arts, as to prir?t 
 
 .to spin, to weave, ajid to make baskets. 
 
 r, This is very, wonderful : and must have cost 
 7 much time, labour, and patience, to the benevo- 
 lent and ingenious persons who invented this 
 ; mode of imparting the blessings of knowledge 
 to those who are shut out from the ordinary 
 means of instruction. - ^ .. ., 
 
 There are several institutions for educating the 
 blind, and teaching them the arts of life, both in 
 Great Britain, in Ireland, and on the Continent. 
 , . A most ingenious mode of printing has been 
 
 . invenM . to eoft^e tbe bliftd to j^^i by Umch- 
 
157 
 
 igthe 
 )th in 
 mt. 
 been 
 
 The letters of the alphabet are cast in iron in 
 relief, as it is called, that is, the edges stand out, 
 so that the shape may be easily felt. These let- 
 ters are put into wooden cases with little square 
 divisions, called boxes, each hox containing one 
 sort of letter, or one sort of stop or figure. One case 
 contains the- capital letters, stops or figures, the 
 other the small letters. The pupils soon learn to 
 dis'inguish the letters from each other by fouch, 
 b' ginning wiih O as the easiest. They are then 
 taught to difetingui>h the vowtls from the conso- 
 nants, then to form syllable?, words, and sen- 
 tences. When they have learned I he use of se- 
 parated letters, and the way of combining them 
 into words and sentences, they go to books. 
 
 The books for tiie blind are printed on a 
 very thick and strong paper, raoi>tened till it is 
 almost reduced to pasfe, in order to make a deep 
 impression from the types or starts of the 
 letters, which are pressed down on it, in order 
 that they my stand out on the paper so as to 
 be perceived readily by the touch, and read 
 easily by those who have previously learned 
 their forms ; thus it is they learn to read, and 
 in this way they have been taught other lan- 
 guages besides their own. 
 
 For wriiing they have their paper fixed in a 
 
168 
 
 t 
 
 frame. At first they were unable to read what 
 they wrote ; but a blind man, Mr. Heilman, 
 proposed to have a thick silk stretched out under 
 the paper, which receives and retains the traces 
 of the letters from a stilet or pencil. » > 
 
 In order to teach geography to the blind, maps 
 of pasteboard have been coitrived with the 
 divisions of the countries marked out by wire, 
 and the towns and islands formed by round- 
 headed nails of different s'-^^s. 
 
 Music is taught by notes carved in pear-wood. 
 
 At the Institution in Paris the blind have 
 been taught to print so correctly, that a book 
 published on J^e subject of blindnesiK was prin- 
 ted by the blind themselves. 
 
 THE DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 As the objects of sight are explained to the 
 blind by the sense of touch, and a printed lan- 
 guage has been formed which they are enabled, 
 by feeling out, to read ; so for the deaf and dumb 
 a silent language of signs has been invented, 
 which they can take in through the sight. 
 
 Those simple signs, which uneducated mutes 
 acquire by imitation, and make nso of to «xpreB8 
 
159 
 
 their wantsi are called their natural language ; as 
 when, for eiample, to express night or sleeping, 
 they shut the eyes, and hang the head on the 
 hand for a moment ; when to express drinking, 
 they close round the fingers on the thumb to 
 form* a hollow like a cup, and put it to their mouth, 
 or when they put the finger to the mouth to express 
 hunger, and so on. 
 
 But these natural signs do not advance them 
 much in point of knowledge, and some kind and 
 ingenious persons therefore invented for them a 
 system of signs to be made with the hand and 
 fingers, which should represent the letters of 
 the alphabet, and might be spelled into words. 
 
 Those of you, who have seen the dumb use 
 the silent language, must have admired the 
 rapidity with which they tak on their fingers, 
 and express to each other, and to all who have 
 learned it their wapts, and wishes, and thought* 
 on different subjects, and how rapidly they receive 
 into their minds by the same language the thoughts 
 of others. 
 
 There is an institution for the deaf and dumb 
 at Glasneviu, near Dublin, where 130 pupils are 
 boarded, and also a day school in Dublin. At both 
 these places the pupils are taught to read, write. 
 
160 
 
 H 
 
 1; 
 
 
 and draw, and to do manj other useful things. 
 
 The blind then gain their knowledge of out- 
 ward objects by hearing arid touching, while 
 they have also the power of speaking to help 
 them. The deaf and dumb, on the contrary, are 
 dependent on the sight ! But how is it with 
 those few unfortunate beings who are shut out 
 from all these means of intercourse with the 
 outward world excepting touch j who are blind, 
 deaf, and dumb 1 
 
 The history of one of these children of misfor- 
 tune will show you how education in the hands 
 of the wise and good may triumph even over 
 these defects, and teach the mind which would 
 otherwise have remained for ever in a state of in- 
 activity. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF LAURA BRIDGMAN, AN AMERICABT 
 
 GIRL. 
 
 Taken from an account given of her by her 
 kind benefactor, Dr. Howe, who brought 
 
 her to the institution for the blind at Boston, 
 
 to which he devotes his time and talents 
 
 sprig/it-ly in-mates ^:, sew-ing 
 
 seiz-ed la-bels dex-ter-i ty 
 
 im-i-tate per-ceiv-ed rec-og-ni-ti-on ., 
 
 feel-ers ar- range un-con-sci-ous 
 
Ax.", ^ti 
 
 161 
 
 des-ti-tute 
 
 ex-plore 
 
 dens-i-ty 
 
 per-suad-ed 
 
 be-wil-der-ed 
 
 eon-ceal 
 
 re-pel-led 
 
 ca-rcss-es 
 
 ap-pa-rent 
 
 man-u-al 
 
 anx-i-ou8 
 
 frol-ic vague . 
 
 A;iiit-tiDg in-tense. 
 
 Laura Bridgman was born at New Hanover, 
 a town in the United States of America, on the 
 21st December, 1829. She is described as 
 having been a prettj, sprightlj infant with 
 bright blue eyes. 
 
 Before she was two years old she was seized 
 by a violent fever, which lasted seven weeks 
 during which both her eyes and ears were des- 
 troyed, her sense of smell almost entirely gone, 
 and her taste consequently much injured. It 
 was not until four years old that she was res- 
 tored to bodily health. 
 
 •* But what a situation was here ! The dark- 
 ness and the silence of the tomb were around 
 her ; no mother's smile called forth her answer- 
 ing smile ; no father's voice taught her to imi- 
 tate his sounds. Parents, brothers, and sisters 
 were to her but substances, which resisted her 
 touch, but which differed not from the furniture 
 of the house, save in warmth and in the power 
 of moving about, and differed not even in ilH^e 
 respects from the 'dog or the cat." 
 
 j2 ■ "" 
 
I 
 
 162 
 
 V' ! 
 
 I 
 'i 
 
 i 
 
 Apparently below the brute *^f ^atioii, and rtr 
 sembling the lower animals, whici, have feelers 
 and the power of motion only, yet was there 
 that within her of which the most sagacious 
 brute is desitule. God had given her a mind 
 capable of thought, capable o{ receiving im- 
 pressions from outward objects ; and in course of 
 time, we hope, to be eciunate'l to know Ilim. 
 
 '* As soon as she could walk^'she be</an to ex- 
 plore the room, and tlien the house ; she be- 
 came familiar with the form, density, weight 
 and heat of everything she could lay her hands 
 upon. She followed her mother, and felt her 
 hands anil arms as she was busy abou^ the 
 houe ; an<l her disposiion to imita'e led her to 
 repeat 4'very action herself. She even learned to 
 sew and knit." At this time Dr. Howe having 
 heard of the child, sought her out, and persuad- 
 ed her paren's to bring her to the Institution 
 for 'he Blind at Boston. She was. at this time 
 eifr'i t years old. 
 
 *• For a while she was much bewildered ; and 
 after waiting: about two weeks until she became 
 familiar with her new abode and its inmates, <he 
 att empt wa-* made to give her a knowledge of 
 signs by which she could interchange tho.igbts 
 with others. It was determined to teach her not 
 
16S 
 
 b? natural fligni^ that is, a sign for eaob obJMt, but 
 by letters." ♦ , .. 
 
 " The first experiments were ' bade by taking 
 things in common use, such as knives, forks 
 spoons, &c., and pasting upon them bits of paper 
 or labels with their names printed in raised let- 
 ters. These she felt very carefully, and then of 
 course distinguished that the crooked lines, 
 SPOON, differed as much from the crooked lines, 
 KEY, as the spoon differed from the key in form. 
 Then small separate labels with the same words 
 printed on them were put into her hands, and 
 she soon perceived that they were similiar to 
 those pasted on the articles. She shoW' d this 
 by laying the label key upon the key, and the la- 
 bel SPOON upon the spoon. Here she was encour- 
 aged by the natural sign of approbation, patting 
 the head." But it is evident that memory and 
 imitation only were exercised, that the word 
 spoon, for example, presented no image to her 
 mind. ** After a while instead of labels the se- 
 perate letters were given to her ; they were ar- 
 ranged side by side so as to spell spoon, key, 
 BOOK, &c. Then they were mixed up in a heap, 
 and a sign made for her to arrange them herself, 
 so as to express the words spoon, K£Y, &c, and 
 with others'^ 
 
 I 
 
164 
 
 Hitherto tht poor child had sat in mute 
 amazement) and patiently imitated ererything 
 her teacher did, but now the truth began to 
 flash upon her, and her mind began to work ; she 
 perceived that there was a way bj which she 
 herself could make up a sign of any thiog that 
 was in her mind and show it to anotiier miiid, 
 and at once her countenance lighted up with a 
 human expression." 
 
 The neit step was to procure a set of letters 
 like those before described. " Also a board with 
 square holes in which she could place the letters 
 so that they could be felt above the surface, then 
 on any article bemg handed to her, as a pencil, a 
 watch, she would select the proper letters, ar- 
 range them on her board, and read them with 
 aprarent pleasure." She was exercised for se- 
 veral weeks in this way until she knew a great 
 number of words with their meaning ; and then 
 the important step was taken of teaching her how 
 to represent the different letters on her fingers. — 
 After three months the following report of her was 
 made. 
 
 ^* She has jnst learned the manual (hand) alpha- 
 bet as used by the deaf mutes, and it is a subject 
 of delight to see how rapidily, correctly, and eager- 
 
 ly she 
 
 goes 
 
 on with her labours. Her teacher 
 
'■.%.'^S.i'^i- 
 
 1S5 
 
 giTM bar a new obirt, for initanee, a pencfl ; 
 first lets her examine ik, and get an idea of its use ; 
 then teaches her how to spell it by making the 
 signs for the letters with her own fingers ; the 
 child grasps her hand and feels her fingers as the 
 different letters are formed; her countenance, 
 at first anxious, gradually changes to a smile 
 when she comprehends the lesson. She then 
 holds up her tiny fingers and spells the words. 
 She then takes her box of letters and arranges 
 them for the word." . ^ *: h> . 
 
 At the end of a year she had made a rapid 
 progress. The report says, " She is fond of fun 
 and frolic, and when playing with the rest of 
 the children, her shrill laugh sounds the loudest 
 of the group. When left alone, she seems very 
 happy if she has her knitting or sewing ; or she 
 counts with her fingers, or spells out the names 
 of the things she has learned on her fingers. In 
 this lonely self-communion she seems to reason 
 and reflect. If she spell a word wrong with the 
 fingers of her right hand she instantly strikes it 
 with her left, as her teacher does in sign of dis- 
 approbation ; if right, she pats herself on the 
 head and looks pleased." 
 
 *' During the year she has attained such great 
 dexterity in the mute alphabet, and spells out the 
 

 Ui. 
 
 166 
 
 words and seiltefnces she knows so &it, that 
 only those, accustomed to this language of signs, 
 can follow her with the eye." 
 
 " With still greater ease does Laura read the 
 words of her companions, grasping their hands in 
 hers, and following every movement of their fin- 
 gers as letter after letter conveys their meaning 
 to her mind. When she is walking through a 
 passage-way with her hands spread before her, 
 she knows instantly every girl she meets. If it 
 be a girl'of her own age, and especially one of 
 her favourites, there is instantly a bright smile 
 of recognition, and a twining of arms, a grasp- 
 ing of hands, and talking upon the tiny fingers. 
 There are questions and answers, exchanges of 
 joy and sorrow, kissings and partings, as be- 
 tween children with all their senses. 
 
 *< During the course of this year, about six 
 months after Laura Bridgman had left home, her 
 mother came to visit her ; she stood some time 
 gazing with over flowing eyes on her unfor- 
 tunate child, who, unconcious of her pres- 
 ence, was playing about the room. Presently 
 Laura ran against her, and began feeling her 
 hands examining her dress, and trying to find 
 out if she knew her ; but not succeeding, 
 she turned away as from a stranger. 
 

 f^^mrn^^. 
 
 167 
 
 and the poor woman could not conceal the pang 
 she felt at finding that her child did not know 
 her. She then gave Laura a string of beads 
 *vhich she used to wear at home ; this she re- 
 rognised, but repelled her mother; other arti- 
 cles from home were given her ; then sh^ examined 
 the stranger closer, and gave me to understand 
 that she came from Hanover, but still received her 
 caresses with indilVerence." 
 
 " After a while, the mother takmg hold of her 
 again, a vague idea seemed to flit across Lauras 
 mind that she could not be a stranger ; she there- 
 fore felt her hands very eagerly, while her coun- 
 tenance expressed intense anxiety. She became 
 pale, then red. At last her mother drew her to 
 her side and kissed her fondly, when at once the 
 truth seemed to flash upon the child ; all mistrust 
 and anxiety dissappeared from her face, and she 
 threw herself on litr parent's bosora. After this 
 the beads, the pla" !ing*», were utterly disre- 
 garded, and her play.iiies vainly tried to draw her 
 from her mother." 
 
 " The parting afterwards was very painful, 
 tliough Laura showed great resolution as well as 
 affection." 
 
 Laura has siAC« learned tc' write. A gentleman 
 
 •f * pwfm*^ 
 
168 
 
 and Lady from Europe, who had visited her a 
 year before, came to see her; she felt their 
 dress and recognised them, and wrote with a 
 pencil, " Laura glad see Coorabe." ^ 
 
 Let thy repentance be without delay ; 
 . If thou defer it to another day • 
 
 Thou must repent for a day more of sin, 
 While a day less remains to do it in. ^ 
 To be religious something it will cost, 
 Some riches, honours, pleasures, will be lost ; 
 But, if thou countest the sum total o'er, 
 Not to be so will cost a great deal more. 
 
 Btroh. 
 
 «> 
 
 
 
 .V 
 
 
 > *?.'-. 
 
 MONT&XAL : E. & A. MUJUEB# 
 
■%-■ ' 
 
 iii^r'^*' *"***'*' ^J"* 
 
 
 
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